23 Days to Doctor Who

The BBC One trailer. Squee!

Dogs and Cats Living Together!

Usually there's a strict no touching rule in play between the canines and the felines (save for Pete's signature pounce/swat/run), but since Wilson was in a snit from a traumatic trip to the bathtub and Pete was displaced by a laundry-folding operation, they happened to end up in the same quadrant of the bed. I'll use this for blackmail later.

In other news, the spymobile is home early, which is surprising because in order to install a new clutch in a Volkswagen you have to completely dismantle the vehicle into each single component piece, do a ritual dance handed down from the Visigoths, and sacrifice a two-headed chicken before reassembling the car. There must have been a sale on two-headed chickens. Coming back from New Orleans I only got lost once, due in part to my non-existent navigational abilities and due in part to the fact that the footprint of New Orleans was laid out by absinthe-addled pirates. Now the spymobile just has to last four more years to break even on repairs.

I am slacking on my rewriting/proofreading, because I am a terrible person. I should be sent away, preferably to some nice quiet place far, far from screaming children and barking dogs, where I can properly meditate on my shortcomings. Probably won't happen, so tonight I will set up the wall of Coke Zero cans and sharpen my virtual red pencil for the virtual bloodbath.

The Black Keys in the Most Awesome Video Ever.

I have no word for the amount of cool in this video. Sean Patrick Flanery in a an eye-patch! Corbin Bernsen punching things! Tricia Helfer in a leather bustier! Ninja cowboy henchmen on horseback! Revenge, murder, and stuffed dinosaurs! Mariachis with fake mustaches! Todd Bridges as a chupacabra-killing priest! This is the most awesomest thing in the history of awesome things.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Back to the Cell Phone

For my sweetie, who even in the midst of a knock-down/drag-out argument, is still surreptitiously playing on his phone . I have never, ever played a single second of Angry Birds, which technically means I WIN!

This Proves the Universe Is Not A Cold, Unfeeling Void

Fringe has been miraculously renewed for a fourth season.

Why I Don't Like Bigots

Okay, you know how I said one of the reasons I created this blog was so I could safely rant when people pissed me off? Well, dog knows I have better things to do today (and a lot of them), but my day has been rudely interrupted by people being jackasses. It all started with an email. Another stupid email from the kids' school. It was letting people know that the Domincan Provincial was holding an emergency meeting today to talk to parents about Father Hank. Wait, who is Father Hank? I don't know any Father Hank. And being that the school is administrated by a woman with the common sense of an artichoke, that was all the email said.

Since I trust the Catholic church about as far as I can throw it, I called the S/O and asked him to find out who the hell Father Hank was and why I should care. After playing telephone with numerous people, the S/O sent me a link in an email. At first glance I could find no rational reason why Paula Deen's Family Sex Shocker! had a damn thing to do with anything. This entailed a follow-up phone call, where I learned that in 2003, Paula Deen's brother-in-law was nabbed for soliciting sex from an undercover policeman. Oh, and he happens to be a priest. Oh, and he's a local priest who sometimes fills in at the church affiliated with the kids' school.  So I was pissed off at the school for their cryptic email, and for being stupid in general.

The day wears on and there's another email. This one assuring me that Father Hank has been relieved of his duties in his parish and counseling will be available to children who are upset by this fooferaw.

First off, let me say that the Catholic church is totally fucked up when it comes to sex, heterosexual sex and especially homosexual sex. They are bigots. Sorry. If you hate people for the way they are intrinsically, you're a bigot. I don't care what fancy little dress you put on it, you're a bigot. I hate bigots. Now, some smartass might say I'm a bigot because I don't care for Republicans (which is ignoring the fact that the S/O is, gulp, a Republican) but it's well within my rights to despise people for what they think. That's different than despising people for what they are. You can change political parties if you're so inclined, but you can't stop being gay.

So in their haste to care so much about what people do with their naughty bits, the church sets up situations just like this, and then everybody has to deal with the fallout. Lives are ruined. I don't know Father Hank. Maybe he's a jerk. He certainly did something ill-advised. But being taught that sexuality is sinful and awful warps people, whether they're gay or straight. It takes one of the best things about life and turns it into something ugly, something to be ashamed of. I can't help but think of the likelihood that he's someone now paying the price for dedicating his life to an institution that despises him for the way he was born.

The Beatings Will Continue Till Morale Improves

Remember how I was bemoaning the anticipated slow decline of the spymobile? Well, turns out it's not so slow. Coming home from chauffeur duty the other day, the clutch went kablooey. It was actually kind of terrifying, seeing as I was going about 70 on the interstate at the time. But with my mad skillz, I managed to downshift into second, push the hazard blinkers, and ride the clutch the last three miles home without killing us all. Soon I was waving a tearful goodbye as the spymobile was loaded onto a tow truck for another stint at the mechanics.

But with the bathroom floor needing replacing, kid #3 taking a summer class (do you know how much three credit hours costs? yikes!), and the prospect of filling my car with hundred dollar bills and setting it on fire, we are rapidly leaving the territory of "Sorry, kids, no vacation this year," and crossing the border into, "Hey, who wants to sell a kidney on the black market?"

On top of that, the overwhelming mental weight of the whole publishing thing is causing my brain to short circuit. In studying up on what it takes to properly format a novel manuscript across all the different publishing platforms, I have realized that typesetting is far more terrifying than having your car explode on the interstate. I'm actually having nightmares about typesetting. It's like the Microsoft Word Zombie Formatting Apocalypse. 

But I think my initial panic attack is fading, so I'm pressing forward. Slow and steady wins the race, blah, blah, blah, blah. I just hope to make enough money to pay for all the tranquilizers I see in my future.