Linda, my mother's best friend and a wonderful, funny, sweet, kind, generous person, passed away last night after a year-long battle with ovarian cancer. I will miss her dearly.

To all my female friends, especially those of you who aren't planning on having children: there's a very simple test for ovarian cancer. Take the test on a regular basis, because by the time symptoms start showing, it's usually too late. And to everyone else: treasure your friends.

Love to you all.

I've been incredibly slack about updating lately, but I do still exist. Here's a brief taste of what's been going on:

1. I didn't get into grad school. Disappointing, but it's been a couple of weeks, so I'm pretty much over it. I'm going to get in touch to ask what I steps I should take to make my application more attractive next year. I'm already planning on auditing some classes in the department starting in the fall. In the mean time, it's back to the Job Hunt Of Doom.

2. Two excellent concerts on consecutive days; darwins_fox and I went to see Cowboy Junkies a couple of Thursdays ago, and I went to see Stars on my own the following night. Both of them were incredibly fun, and great shows. Margo Timmins' voice is still pretty much the sexiest on the planet, and Stars just lit the entire State on fire with their passion and energy and gorgeous indie rock love. I was amused to note that L and I were slightly on the younger side of the Cowboy Junkies demographic, but I'm pretty sure I was one of the ten oldest people in the Stars audience. I managed to get seated next to a couple who was probably about five years older than me, and a few seats down were a couple in their 50s/60s. It was a comforting island in the sea of Cornell/IC/IHS hipster kids.

3. Deviled eggs: delicious.
Deviled eggs + tuna: more delicious.
Deviled eggs + tuna + bacon: most delicious.

Yeah, okay, that's two goings-on plus an assertion, but I stand by all of it. Now maybe I'll get caught up on all of your posts.

Happy New Year, everyone.

My right wrist has been hurting a lot lately, between trackpad useage and fake guitar playing, so I went to see my primary care provider yesterday. The LPN diagnosed me with tendinitis; I'm now wearing a wrist brace, avoiding activities that will further strain my wrist, and taking 600mg of ibuprofen every six hours.

Considering that ibuprofen makes me really drowsy, I think I'm pretty much going to spend the next few weeks in a coma.

This is also not making my current task any easier; I'm applying to grad school at Cornell (development sociology), and I'm down to just needing to study for and take the GREs and write my personal statement, neither of which is really helped by varying degrees of chemical haze. I'm not sure why the personal statement is proving to be so hard; it's really just talking about yourself. I'm very good at talking about myself. Hell, I've kept a blog for long enough that I ought to have enough life credit for a Ph.D in self-discussion by now.

Back to it. Wish me luck.

There are rumors going around that Frank Miller has his eyes on making a Buck Rogers movie. I'm sorry, but I really do not see this as a terribly good idea considering what he's doing to The Spirit (a.k.a. Sin City 1 1/2). I mean, I liked Sin City and all, but the man is... how can I put this delicately... batshit insane, and pretty much obsessed with violence and the hypersexualization of women.

I imagine his Buck Rogers as going something like this:

AERIAL VIEW OF A FUTURISTIC CITY IN BLACK AND WHITE BUT MOSTLY GREY. IT IS RAINING, BECAUSE, COME ON, WHEN IS IT NOT EVER RAINING?

BUCK (voiceover): The future. The future is my whore.

SLOW ZOOM IN ON BUCK ROGERS, STANDING ON A ROOFTOP. EVERYONE ALWAYS STANDS ON ROOFTOPS.

BUCK (voiceover): The future is my mother and my whore all at the same time.

FAST ZOOM INTO A FULL BODY SHOT OF BUCK, BACKLIT AGAINST THE RAIN. HE IS A BLACK PROFILE EXCEPT FOR THE ANTENNA ON HIS HELMET, WHICH IS GLOWING RED.

BUCK (voiceover): There are some people who say I've got woman issues, but there's no law against fucking a whore. Who is also your mother. Not in the future. Not in *my* future.

CLOSE SHOT OF BUCK'S EYES AS HE SCANS THE STREETS BELOW.

BUCK (voiceover): And make no mistake, this is *my* future. But somewhere, there is crime. Crime against whores. Crime against mothers.

REVERSE SHOT, BUCK IN PROFILE AGAINST THE GRIM, GREY, GRITTY ALLEYS OF THE FUTURE.

Buck (voiceover): And I will fuck that crime. I mean those whores. I mean my mother. I MEAN, I will stop that crime. Why? Because I'm motherfucking Buck Rogers.

HE LEAPS DOWN TEN STORIES, LANDING IN A CROUCH AND CRACKING THE PAVEMENT AS HE LANDS. OH, WHOOPS, HE'D PROBABLY HAVE A JETPACK OR SOMETHING, WOULDN'T HE. OH WELL, NOT USING IT JUST MAKES HIM MORE BADASS.

Buck (voiceover): And this is my future. Did I mention that?

HE RUNS OFF TO FUCK A CRIME. I MEAN A WHORE. I MEAN STOP A CRIME. WITH HIS FISTS AND A FEW HUNDRED BULLETS. OR MAYBE LASERS, SINCE THIS IS THE FUTURE AND ALL. ...WAIT, LASER BULLETS. YEAH. I AM SO BADASS.

You know what's good exercise? Shoveling eight inches of snow off your driveway, especially when there's nowhere convenient to put the snow. Arms, back, legs, cardio... it's all getting punished pretty severely.

Well over an hour in and I'm halfway done. Needed to come take a break. Must. Not. Collapse.

Alternately, if anyone would like to aid me in my *other* plan of kidnapping Daniel Craig and transplanting my brain into his body, I'd be grateful for the support in that endeavor.

It's just as likely to work, really.

I hate exercising. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hATE hAtE HATE it. It has never once given me an endorphin rush; instead, it makes me feel exhausted, sore, cranky, and completely inadequate. On the rare stretches when I've stuck with it enough to actually make a difference to how in shape I am, I've still never actually enjoyed it.

You know what I hate more? Looking pregnant and/or dying of heart disease in my 40's. So I will stick with this, no matter how much I fucking detest the whole horrendous process.

Emotional support and encouragement will be greatly appreciated.

What did I do to piss you off so badly that I am now allergic to APPLES?

APPLES? Fresh ones, that is. I can have cooked ones; heck, I can even have unpasteurized/unfiltered cider. And it's not a pesticide thing, because this was an organic Jonagold from the same place we get the cider. It's the same reaction I get to fresh peaches/cherries/anything with a pit/stone. The addition of apples to the list displeases me GREATLY.

In other news, I finally got around to watching the Live at Red Rocks DVD that came with the Under a Blood Red Sky reissue, and it is SO good. The rain certainly works to their advantage in that Bono's hair looks far less ridiculous much better after a good dampening. Dammit, where's a TARDIS when I need one?

...so I'm sparing you all and just cutting this. But it was too intricate not to write up, as it was this whole horror-fantasy scenario that morphed into an RPG.

( The Legend of the Crystal Fire )

but AAAAAAA HOLY CRAP HBO GREENLIGHTED THE PILOT FOR GAME OF THRONES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay, now someone needs to get Felicia Day cast as Catelyn, NOW.