The Isle of Marm

One of many awkward me-affiliated places. Time-Dependent SemiPublic Memory Bank, Super Secret Dumping/Proving Ground, Displaced Miscellany Collection, 3 Hours in the Future (EST)

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The Evolution of a Style

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The End of an Error

[Sigh for the lack of so much of what would have eventually have been mostly redacted content]

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Old Stories

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Middle of the night making of the things!

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Someone here had a moment the other day.

(img: Truth* coming out of her well actually to shame mankind.)

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I’ll tell you this, because we are friends: I sit and use tumblr to arrange and rearrange my Bird Alignments constantly because it is the easiest to drag squares of images program that exists on my phone.

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Greetings from the Ozarks~

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…[¡DING!] has sort of evolved into something else, which is also great—it’s dubious that one could ever go wrong with a bell as punctuation for exultation—but I still have an inappropriate love for this 69 seconds of audio.

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There is this crystalline memory I have of January 16, 2002, 12:30 (the 2nd set of quarter hour bells had just rang) Ithaca, NY.  I’d mostly finished lunch but was eating a piece of cheesecake on Ho Plaza, not with particularly great ceremony save for the fact that I was straddling a bench as one might if they were having lunch with someone else.  And it was snowing.  And a friend of mine (the Muay Thai guy I’d train with but couldn’t bring myself to hit; if memory serves [and it always does], with whom I might have been a little in love at the time, but in an awkward TV watching buddy kind of way–the internet says “Combat Missions” would start that night–we watched all of CM at his apartment; there is another recent and amusing quip here I’d make but I’d just delete it later: anyhow, he was pretty great) walked by, bundled up as was appropriate as it was below freezing, cf. snow.  (I was not, but that was not particularly unusual for me.)  And he stopped to chat.

Whatcha doin’, Coldstuff?

Birthday lunch.

Is it your birthday?

Nope.

…Do you often celebrate other people’s birthdays when they’re not around?

Only the important ones.

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Westminster Quarters.  

I’ve since learned that’s the proper quarter-hour bell routines’ name…and the fact that I get it makes me feel good, about me. 

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erry year.

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First (super)cut, index:

Alfalfa working pants,

Athletic pants,

Balloon pants,

Bell bottoms,

Bespoke pants,

Cargo (pants, shorts, skirts, see “Balloon”),

Cartoon pants,

Dazzle (, Razzle) camouflage pants,

Expensive pants,

Fat pants,

Hammer (Magic, M.C.,) pants,

Jodhpurs. (Jodhpurs?) Jodhpurs.

Jeans

Chuck Norris action,

baggy,

bleached,

cool dad,

girl,

pegged,

relaxed straight leg,

spiked,

super skinny,

70’s,

Tina Fey style mom,

Rappy pants,

Secondhand pants,

Stretch pants,

Suit pants,

Sweatpants,

Underpants,

Women’s pants,

(no pants)

(Weighing in at 1.902E6 milliseconds, I feel okay calling this a megamix.)

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6+ years of content…That’s a lot of bottoms. (Maybe fix those interstitials and make file work without downloading required?)

Ed. 201306230850: Better!

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Rainbow gussets are almost enough to tilt the balance of energy to “enough to go find the hard drive with all the pieces and parts.

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I’d always sort of assumed on some level that I would have to Jenny Fields my way into motherhood; but it was not until that moment on the plane—as I flipped through the safety guide—that I had an epiphany, complete with proverbial lightbulb in the water and sky: I think it is somewhat likely that I will find my child while adrift at sea.

I’d think about naming him something found-water-baby appropriate; like Moses, though I would quickly enough run through name troubleshooting and assume that kids¹ will call him Grandma, and if he is not my biological offspring perhaps he will not naturally have thick skin; so either “Moses” and I would tease him from a very young age, or—more likely—would choose something like Marko Alexandrovich Ramius² (maybe just Alex). I assume I have a little time to figure it out.

But, in any case, I would surely encourage my ward from the sea to always be at home in the water, as I was and am always at home in the water and as it would surely be something that would come up in the future.

¹ Or terrible jokey parents the likes of which I would imagine I would immediately become upon taking on a human stewardship position.

² I just found out about the Jack Ryan movie to be released this Winter and may have ever so slightly wet my pants. I love them all, but TH4RO most.

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I scalded the bejesus out of my index finger pulling a tea-kettle off the stove the other night and was thinking about the fact that it was among my top 4 fingers (inclusive of both hands and apropos of this song, which is on the arguably terribly short list of tracks on CDs that I purchased in the 90′s).

…Which was secondarily on mind because of a subway incident last week, which solidified my general Sally Draper stance on the city.

It’s formed a blister; and I know I have clean lancets in lab, but I woke up in a pretty positive space: so I figure I will deal with it when eventually ganging a load of dealing with less good things.

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A week ago, I had a bit of a fire in my apartment and ended up with enough plastic melted on—quite possibly—my favorite pointing finger and I have consequently thought about this song for about a week through to a meeting exactly 168 hours later, where—if it had been anyone else—*I* probably still wouldn’t’ve considered the other useful finger’s situationally appropriate utility, but *one* might.

I realized just now that I have only really purchased music by dudes I’ve loved a little, whether it’s the new WSH album (which has been playing on a loop here), 3 of DL’s (timetravelling bedfellow!) albums, or I dunno, what other CDs do I own? You wanna call me out on the “Out to Sea” Soundtrack? It has Walter Matthau on the cover AND includes Lt. Commander Data singing on it: heck yes that was a weird affiliation driven purchase!

Tatertot needs a new hard drive and everything feels a little broken. I am riding out a suspension from the bird site with all the pent up angst of someone who will always find a vent. (Ah, blabnotebook; Ah, humanity.) Which, I guess, includes here. But really this place I knew had that track at the ready.

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M°: Ohman, this morning as I drove up to the office there was a car in my usual parking spot so I dropped a full “F.U.,” and then read out his personalized license plate and then realized he was a C-level guy at my company and also he was sitting in his car watching me deploy a fully formed F-bomb at him personally.

M¹: See, I know that can’t be true because you are pretty measured in your use of swears.

M°: ohh, behind the wheel ME lets slip the dogs of war when it comes to colorful language. Johnny5 knows all my secrets, maybe chief among which: I swear like a chimney.

M¹: Are you confusing some other phrase with “smoke like a chimney”?

M°: …nah, see a chimney doesn’t swear a lot either, maybe a couple loud ones from the house make it out periodically; but you figure maybe about once a year a chunky guy with gifts gets stuck in there and just all heck breaks loose.

M¹: …evocative.

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M¹: I can’t place why I feel SO sub-optimal. Like legit bad. Like I wept while singing along to “Under Pressure” in the car. Twice. It came on both ways.

M²: Is it the move? You do form attachments to places. Plus the jobtalk kinda work stuff and more general will have to make some decisions anxiety?

M¹: I don’t think that’s it. It feels more physical.

M²: Is it the movING? All those boxes yesterday were probably the biggest workout you’ve done all year.

M¹: Soreness is only part of it. It’s not allergies either.

M²: What’d you watch last night?

M¹: Alright, I did finish up S3 of “The Good Place” again so I was a little very sad about that, but I have seen it before so it’s not like it’d suddenly be haunting me in the car.

M²: Uhuh. And are you still poorly dealing with feelings about that boy? Indeed, weren’t you particularly sad about it for a tic at around 2AM—

M¹: Stopping you right there; that’s been part of baseline noise for 2⁺ years, even when I was dating other people, so I don’t think that’s it.

M²: What’ve you been eating?

M¹: Admittedly, last night I ate straight garbage. But it’s not quite gastrointestinal.

M²: What’ve you been drinking?

M¹: I’ve been having like a pot of coffee a day, but it’s not just feeling wired.

M²: Hmm. Head, Hands, Heart, Health...Horm—hey, what phase of the moon is it?

M¹: Ne-ewwwohh dagnabbit. Diagnosis: Murder.

M²: I always discover the truth. It’s a blessing and—

M¹: a curse.

M²: Right. But also? Surely none of that other stuff is great.

M¹: Resolved: straightening up and flying right September 1.

M²: Tomorrow’s not—

M¹: I know. One more day.

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"Hey there, blimpy boy…flyin' through the sky so fan…cy free" x100 —You are now caught up with my afternoon in Tampa.

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…it's kind of like the dry heaves of sadness.

I'm not sure if language actually gets or it just *seems* more evocative on the way out of the woods. Either way, I suppose.

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Monday night I downloaded an application. (I …really need to be careful about games.)