phosfate

My most recent itunes receipt:

1 F#@k the Creationists Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
2 E=Mc Hawking Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
3 Obey the Moderator Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
4 Good Morning Charlie Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
5 Dumbledore Is Gay (and That's Ok) Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
6 Eff the Ministry Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
7 Sherlock Holmes Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99
8 No Shit Sherlock Write a Review Report a Problem $0.99

"Killer robots and polar bears — now I see what "The Book of Daniel" lacked!"
--Maureen Ryan writes in the Chicago Tribune about faith in network dramas.


(The Book of Daniel is out on DVD, and well worth a look.)

OMG best Lost spoiler EVER. :D :D :D

ETA: SPOILERS INNA COMMENTS NOW.

The four toed foot belongs to Fred Flintstone. Since they only have four fingers & toes & the theme song of the Flintstones had the line "Through the courtesy of Fred's two feet"

Which means the island is older than we think.

--"Garry," commenter on
http://featuresblogs.chicagotribune.com/entertainment_tv/2008/04/lost-tidbits-ar.html

I WAS RIGHT ABOUT DESMOND AND I RULE!

Hello. Stuff happens, but not so good with make typey typey. Is brain wear.

Got a digital camera last night. So far I have learned how to put in the batteries, insert the memory card (Wow! It's like paying $30 for a postage stamp!), and turn it on and off. Oh, and sort of take pictures, albeit orange ones, but they disappear when the camera turns off. So that's the next thing to work on. It has a swell close-up macro thing, so I can photograph tiny toys. And apparently, video. Also it was on sale.

The last one I used was much easier, because I took a picture, gave the camera back to Sharon, and she did everything else.

Sewing stuff for the goddamn doll. Nothing much to show yet -- stuff's finished, but we're kind of low on coordinates. I'm very pissed, because she can get better sneakers than I can, for much less money. The black faux-Converse knee-high boots are fantastic. Yesterday I sent off for a pair of brown and gold brocade hi-tops. For her. Little bitch.

On the other hand, her pre-made clothing costs a good deal more than mine, whereas a half-yard of silk on the remnant table can be had for a buck, so...sewing.

Brisco County, Jr. remains the awesomest thing that ever awed. Bowler's assertion in the last episode that they'll be back after a brief hiatus still hurts, dammit. I still remember a phone conversation with Charlene:

"I didn't get to see it. I think we taped it."
"I hope you did. It had Pirates. And quicksand. And a whipping."
"Quicksand? Oh, my God!"
"Quicksand! Swear to God. When's the last time you saw a show with quicksand?"
"Pirates? Really? Pirates?"
"Pirates! It was like every show from when we were little squoze down into an hour."
"Quicksand..."
"Yeah. Really, all it needed was a tarantula going up somebody's arm."
And then, I swear, I can hear the expression on her face get that little devious grin thing it used to get. "And a gorilla," she said.
"Oh God, yes!"

If Lost had been made in 1969, there would be so...much...quicksand. The Black Rock would be full of pirates. And the polar bear would fight a gorilla. In quicksand.

You remember our second or third MediaWest, when I accidentally locked the keys in the rental car? And I had a total crazy-ape-batshit hysterical squealy must-eat-planet-of-the-asparagus-people fucking meltdown and cried like Gloria Bunker until the AAA guy showed up? Well, listen to this:

Yesterday morning, when I was leaving the house, I fiddled with the key that's supposed to work the deadbolt lock on the back door. It didn't, as near as I could tell, actually do anything. I made a note to work on it when I had actual time, because it would be nice if I could make it go from the outside.

I got home last night after a couple hours' fooling around (needed matboard, valet hook, new issue of Newtype, etc.), got out the key to let myself in the back door, unlocked it, and...kunk. So, I tried the key again. Kunk kunk.

Well, I thought, I musta locked the deadbolt after all. I got out the deadbolt key, put it in the lock, and...no turny.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fucksticks on a fuck.

Went around to the front door. I have a key. Works fine. Unfortunately, the steel storm door with two layers of glass, a layer of screens, and a decorative grille displaying the house number were all between me and the front door.

I went back to the back door and tried the keys again. And stared at it. Then I went round to the front door, and stared at it. There's a police substation across the street, but the most they can really do is help me break a window safely. Perhaps later. I could call a locksmith, but that's like a hundred and fifty dollars, and I would prefer to spend that on, like, food. Plus who knows when he'd get there. And Lost is on and I already missed one because Mom was selfishly kicking it and I'm not missing another in the same month. 'Cause it's Lost for Christ's sake.

I look at the hinges on the storm door. I try a dime on one of the screws, but this isn't an episode of that other great Wednesday night drama, Search, and my confidence in American currency is not justified.

So I pad across the lawn to Chris and Nina next door, and ring their bell. Nina comes up, all cute in lavender jammies and unidentifiable accent. "Blah blah locked out," I say. "Blah blah borrow screwdriver? Blah Lost." "Of course!" she says. "Philips or the other thing?" "The other thing." "Be right back." So she brings me a screwdriver. "Call if you need Chris to lift anything heavy!"

It's kind of a pussy compared to my screwdriver, which I have just now decided is called The Widowmaker, but it gets the job done. In ten minutes, I've got the door off its hinges and am inside my house. In five more minutes, I've got the power drill out of the kitchen and have re-hung the door. Which is good because it's getting fucking dark out. Return screwdriver, wash feeeeelthy hands, etc. Call sister to tell her how much I fucking rock. Watch Lost. Frame vintage V for Vendetta comics poster. Completely full of self, because I am Q.E.D! I am MacGyver! I am Jerry fucking Robinson!

I still have no idea how to break into a rental car, but now know that's AAA's job anyway.

Love,

Ann

Mom v. ill on Tuesday night. I knew something was up because she kept wanting to have conversations, and that's just wrong. She ended up asleep and dithering like a bad Victorian medium. Sat up most of night patting her, which kept her quietish. Finally crawled to own bed at 5:00. Last memory is of making hands into little praying claws, swearing to world at large that GODAMMIT, I WILL EAT THESE KITTENS IF YOU INSIST ON TRYING MEzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Am bitter now because Mom remembers none of it, so WHERE ARE MY BONUS KARMA POINTS?

Also, Charlie from Lost is a tool.

Straight from the stills. ( clickity click )

Wait...how can there be a Lost "original novel based on" thingie when the continuity is tight and the time frame compacted? Is it the adventures of Arzt or something?