Saturday, August 25, 2007

"[Botulinum toxin (Botox)] is one of the most poisonous naturally occurring substances in the world, and it is the most toxic protein."

"There are no documented cases of the toxin actually being used in warfare; however, it has been claimed to have been used in the Operation Anthropoid to kill top Nazi Reinhard Heydrich[15] and in "Operation Mongoose", where in 1961, the CIA saturated some cigars, of Fidel Castro's favorite brand, with botulinum toxin for a possible assassination attempt. The cigars were never used, but when tested years later were found still effective.[16] The notorious Japanese biological warfare group Unit 731 fed botulinum to prisoners during Japan's occupation of Manchuria in the 1930s.[17]"

I'm really abusing this site. I don't think I like the idea of using this as an actual journal - stupid internet with no privacy. But it's fun to put stuff that I find interesting up.
Yeah, fun for me. Not for you.
Too bad.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

The reason why the internet is the way it is.

This is it. Trust me.

Dunning-Kruger effect

Sunday, August 19, 2007

When I get really old, I am going to be a random kicker. Just walk up to people and kick them in the shins if I think they are jerks. Like people who are rude to bodega owners and shopkeepers. Or people who throw litter. And definitely people who read Ayn Rand.

If all A are B,
and all A are C,
then some B are C.

Like, gag me with a smurf.

The show Heroes has hooked it's grimy little claws into me - I'm addicted, darn it all. So this is like, what, the tenth show I've gotten addicted to in the course of like, a season? I'm such a nutjob. Sigh.

I want to skate on treadmills like OK GO! I do realize, though, that as soon as I attempt anything of the sort on my own treadmill, I'm going to end up in the ER with a broken skull and two broken arms.

So I rented season 1 again of the show Monk. Is it ironic that somebody switched all the dvds around in Blockbuster? I felt insane reorganizing a show about an OCD Detective.

Friday, August 17, 2007

10 Things I've learned in the past week:

1) Listening to bad but obnoxiously catchy pop music over and over (and OVER) on their myspace page is a bad idea. Now I flinch any time any bad pop music comes on, just because I've made myself so sick of Mika.

2) Sabotaging the cookies you originally made for the new neighbors just so you can scarf them down yourself is mean.
Mean, but very yummy.

3) When the doctor lets you take the top amount of antidepressants, just as a "summer experiment", don't drink your normal amount of coffee and diet coke. I almost exploded with the bounciness that ensued.

4) Barefoot is the best way to go. I literally spent the whole weekend (Thursday through Sunday) at the DeLew's new lakehouse with bare feet. I didn't put shoes on once, and loved it.

5) I still have a deep, instilled love for boating. I've grown up on the DeLew's boats, and even though I have a phobia of drowning, I still count boat rides among some of my most favorite activities.

6) Because I make anyone going out skiing, wakeboarding, tubing, etc. take me with them on the boat, they make me spot the people that actually go into the water to do such activities. This annoys me. Therefore, I can't resist the temptation to act like a jackass, and order the driver to speed up when the person out on the water does the thumbs down to slow down, and wait five minutes before informing the driver that the skiier went down a ways back. Hee. Being a jerk is just so much more amusing than being nice...

7) My family and the DeLew's family need new joke material. I fall out of the boat once when I'm five years old, and I never hear the end of it. Honestly, we go on vacations with this family at least twice a year, every year, and every single time, they revisit the same story, over and over again. Ok, so it's a pretty funny story. I get that. But it's gotten a spidge old over the last ten years. Can we move on, please? kthx.

8) Clive Barker's Abarat books are amazing fantasy novels, if you feel like indulging in some of that genre. It's all very original and creative - takes some getting used to, and perhaps an open mind, but I adore these books. Great vacation reads. As is Charles de Lint - his works are true art. They're haunting and beautiful and terrifying all at once...I'm in the midst of reading Dreams Underfoot; check out all his Newford series and you won't be disappointed.

9) Zack Efron is no Kevin Bacon. Leave us the original Footloose and lose the remake, you little punk.

10) Anyone at all who was involved in passing the law against smoking in public in Illinois is a little bitch.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007


Okay, those things are NOT the Chipmunks. I'm sorry, but they're not. WHERE IS ALVIN'S CAP?! WHERE ARE SIMON'S GLASSES?! And why does Simon look like a gangsta when he is supposed to be a NERD?! The Chipmunks aren't supposed to TERRIFY you! They're supposed to be cute and cuddly and dance and sing '80s pop songs! Ugh.

This is what the Chipmunks are supposed to look like:

See that expression of puzzlement on their faces? Me, too, boys. Me, too.

My inner child wants to cry.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

I put all the cigar smokers in your foursome in case your golf cart has a gas leak.

It's been brought to my attention that pretty much everyone has a regimen they stick to when responding to something or someone personally annoying them. For example - mine is as follows:

Step 1. Glance at offending person(s) with mild look of annoyance.
This is just to see if they can get the idea that they're being annoying - some people catch on remarkably quick, and aren't as offended as they would be if I used more intense means to shut them up.

Step 2. Rachet up "glances" to patented Nebulous-stare of impassive disgust.
I have a very specific look I use that, when leveled on someone, can generally make them feel ridiculous in a fairly short span of time. It's quite fun. I enjoy it muchly.

Step 3. Speak to the offending person(s) with quiet disgust.
There's an art to this step - it's all about body language. In this case, I'll speak the words politely enough, but I'll adopt a very fake, thin smile while keeping the eyes from the above step in impassive disgust. If they're stupid enough to ignore the above stare, they won't completely connect the dots between words and body language, but they'll get enough of an idea to, hopefully, bugger the hell off.

Step 4. Speak to the offending person(s) with complete and utter contempt, and endeavor not to rip their head off with my bare hands.
I rarely have to resort to this on people outside my immediate family. However. It does indeed happen. I cannot stand it when the above three steps combined don't knock enough sense into the person(s) for them to stop whatever the offensive action is. Now remember, this last step is only used in completely justified situations. I must say, though, this one has proven effective the times I have had to use it.

Honestly, my experience has been that while a few people catch on quickly, most people it takes until Step 2 to stop. About a quarter make it to Step 3, and about 5% actually make it to Step 4. Chances are, if you're annoying me enough to get me to speak to you, and after that you still persist, I'll probably just walk away myself and stop bothering with you imbeciles. But sometimes, it's inexcusable what you say. I'm still royally pissed at a spectacular display of racism I had the misfortune to witness in Algebra 1 freshman year...Never liked the guy. Still sorta hate him. Anyway.

"Sarcasm. It beats killing people."

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Stop campaigning on my shoe.

My neighbors across the street have three wiemeraners - two standard grey, one blue. For several months now, I've been taking jobs watching the dogs, feeding them when my neighbors, an elderly couple, go out to golf. They've also gone on vacation before, and had us (my sister and I) stay overnight at their house with the dogs. These dogs are like their children, so caring for them is very extensive.

Max, the ancient old one that can hardly walk anymore, has his own double bed in his own bedroom on which he sleeps which two blankets over him, the window open just the right amount, the lights dimmed and the door open. He takes around five pills each morning, needs oil and water mixed with any dry dog food he's fed, and requires a liberal amount of orange-flavored Metamusal sprinkled in his dish. Because his arthritis is so bad, one has to keep a sharp watch on him; anytime his legs give out on the tile floor, one has to drag a rug over to let him ground his feet and stand up, instead of scrabbling helplessly on the slippery tile. He has to be lifted into bed, lifted halfway up the stairs sometimes, and, as he's nearly deaf, talked very loudly to.

Sam's old too, though still spry enough to stalk you throughout the house, nudging constantly at your hands for attention, panting in your face with reeking bad breath, and trying to sponge half your face off if you come too close to his tongue. When his arthritis acts up, he barks. And barks. And barks. When he doesn't get attention - after tripping you by planting himself square in your path, pawing madly at you, and whining - he barks some more. He sleeps upstairs in the master bedroom, in the master bed with whomever human happens to be sleeping there. The few times I've slept there, I've woken up with him sprawled almost completely on top of me, snoring his doggy breath into my face, and passing gas what seemed like every ten seconds.

Maxi is the blue, still a puppy, but being a weimeraner, huge. He's not one for too much attention of the petting kind, but even mention the word "ball", "outside", or "play", and he's all over you, jumping and slobbering and trumpeting his bark right in your ear. He, also, takes a pill - for just about the canine equivalent of ADHD. Anything will set this guy off, be it the doorbell, playtime, even toilet flushing and rising out of your chair after you've been still for a while. He'll often bite you accidentally, letting go as soon as he realizes your arm is not his ball. It still hurts, and more often than not, leaves some pretty nasty bruises. As long as he doesn't draw blood, I'm good. He, like Sam and sometimes Max, will stalk you about the house, though Maxi's style is markedly different. Whereas the older two stalk for attention, Maxi does it for the stalking itself - If I turn a corner to wash my hands in the bathroom, for example, Sam and Max will heave themselves off their butts and rush to follow me, hoping for ever more physical affection. Maxi actually stalks. A few seconds after I turn the corner, I'll hear a pause, then click, click, click, click as he pads after me, and finally, I'll see his head peer cautiously around the corner. I've concluded that the dog is quite simply insane; As such, he's my favorite of the three.

~See now, I've just written all that out, and looking back at it, I'm faced with the question of Why. These dogs, as much a hassle as they can be (owing to the fact that I've never had a dog), are absolutely lovable, but writing this much about the things is stretching it. I'm just surmising that as college fast approaches, my innate procrastination instincts kicked into effect and let me unload a dump of drivel onto xanga while my homework for Intro to Liberal Arts awaits. Nice job, brain.

Tally Ho.