Monday, December 13, 2010

Fuzz-Bucket Leaves, The Henderson's New Car, And Bendaroos

It is a little known fact that I collect blog material constantly.
If I see a funny picture, or a video I think I can use later, I'll sock it away in the kitty for a future post.

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No, Reginald Kitty does not eat the blog material.

I find the only problem with this system is that, sometimes, certain things will just not fit with any subject discussed on this blathering slice of the dubya-dubya-dubya (www, for those of you not familiar with the Texas Drawl).
Though possibly seen as a disadvantage, I find that this just opens up the opportunity for a rarity on this here blog (pfffftttt): a totally random post!
If you're ready, we'll begin the slum-gullery right now!

Mother was going through the shed today (why she decided to do this eleven days before Christmas, I still don't know), when she found some give-away boxes.
Curious, I looked in one of them, and discovered it was a box I had packed when we moved ten years ago.
Three items stood out to me; not only because, at nine years old, that was what I decided needed to get switched to the new house, but that I haven't changed much in those ten years (I was advanced for my age, sue me).

Exhibit A:
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Fresh off the 2000 election, I suppose I was feeling the lack of political action (much as I still do after an election, really), and left this out as a reminder.
That's what I'm telling my future therapist, anyway.

Exhibits B and C:
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I suppose this was the beginning of the end, so far as the grammar department was concerned. Why I kept them, I don't recall, though I find it amusing. In even odder news, my hand did not grow much after this tracing; my fingers just got about two inches longer. This makes me feel sorry for Dan Radcliffe, in an odd way (believe me, this will make sense). When I placed my hand in his imprint at Grauman's Chinese Theater, I was stunned that his hand was exactly the same size as my own; I mean, no one would have known the difference if I had put my hand in that wet cement instead (kind of in that Lucy stealing John Wayne's footprints way).
Unfortunately, no one was particularly interested in this story as we talked about that specific vacation, so it hasn't ever really come up again. UNTIL NOW!
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See? Interchangeable hand prints.

Switching gears, now!
One of our little traditions for Christmas is to color. Yes, like, in coloring books, with our big 100+ crayon kit. My Mommy liked mine, so she hung it on the fridge...
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Look, Ma! I stayed inside the lines!

I was actually quite surprised at how well the colors worked together; when I do my little doodles, I work in shades of black/white/gray, never any other colors...
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The latest sketch! I left the photo a little large, so you could see some of the detail work.

...so I was quite pleased when I noticed the colors blended nicely.
And that's how seriously I take coloring.

It's hard to believe that we're almost two weeks away from Christmas.
A couple of days ago, as I went out to look at the sunset (yeah, I do stuff like that... 'cause, one day, I'll be dead), I saw our little purple weeds blooming through the cracks in the flagstone path by our house. You know, those early/mid-spring purple weeds? In December.
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We're having crazy weather in our neck of the woods, though, so I'm not as surprised as I should be.

While they're blooming outside, my geraniums are blooming away inside, too...
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...and even growing some little fuzz-bucket leaves (no, that's not a technical term)...
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I just love this picture, by the way. I thought of editing the header to include it.

What I'm most excited about, though, are these.
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I have this freshly cut one, and two more on the plant.
And I'm really, really glad to have 'em.
When I started growing geraniums, I was probably fourteen (that was a big year for me). When one of these little spriggy things appeared in the middle of my carefully tended blooms, I asked my grandfather, who's mother also grew geraniums, if he could tell me what they were.
He said something along the lines of "if ya plant 'em, you'll get another plant".
Ahh, seed pod!
I usually don't get these, but I've got an abundance this year!
I'm currently drying this one, and I'll (maybe) attempt to plant them this spring/early summer. It depends on how adventurous I'm feeling this growing season.
Two weeks to Christmas, I have high hopes. We'll see when it's two weeks to spring.

Speaking of Christmas, let's talk advertising; newfangled-this, shiny-cool-that, new-packaging,-same-great-flavor, or whatever they're trying to shove on us this time of year, they're always trying to sell you something.
Here are a couple of ads I took notice of.
Exhibit A:

Overall, a pretty ordinary commercial, right?
No.
Please, take note at the 0:10 time stamp, as GMC tries to tell you about their special "multiflex" seating. You will notice a little stick family. Let's look at them for a second.
Moving right to left, we see Daddy Stickman, Mommy Stickman, Oldest Sibling Stickman, Youngest Sibling Stickman, and... Harry Henderson?
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I didn't get it, either.

Or what about the amazingly-fantastical Bendaroos? What child of the 90s didn't encounter Bendaroos at some point in their young, as-yet-meaningless lives? That waxy smell from the package, and the odd tacky-sticky feeling that lingers on yer fingers after you've twisted your little primary colored stick into goofy shapes like swirls or hearts (my sister once got adventurous and made a pretzel).
Judging by this commercial, Bendaroos have changed since I last saw them.
Apparently, they now glow in the dark, as well as bend into swirls and hearts.
Let us observe the ad...

Let's look at the 0:36 time stamp, shall we?
"Turn old, scratched CD's..." is pretty much what we're looking at, here.
You know, as much as I love MP3 (and heaven knows I loves me some MP3... young and impressionable during the first decade of the Millennium, doncha know), there's a magic about having the tangible record in your hands, being able to read the liner notes, and look through the little booklets. I have always loved to look at a physical CD. When I was younger, and CD players were still a status symbol, I used to watch the discs spin through the clear plastic cover; occasionally, I would take other CDs out of their cases (when I had on a favorite or appropriate track) and play with the rainbows the back of the disc would make on the wall if the light hit it just right. Of course, it dawned on me the other day that my little niece, aged one year, will one day ask what a CD is. And why it was cool; especially since, with newer albums, you can download the booklet with the album, and have it on your computer. Then, she'll ask her Gammy what a record is. And then, we'll all feel freaking old.
In our family, there was/is no such thing as a scratched CD. Albums cost money, so you take care of them just like anything else you pay for.
I think hearing you can stick Bendaroos on CDs was more like an insult to my childhood from these younger hoodlums than actually using old discs for amusement. What right have they to take our antiquated technology and twist it to fit their little UFO Village? That's right, they haven't. At least, that's what stingy little me thought as I watched them fitting pink sticks onto a disc.
I don't care that they're outdated, personally. I still get a rush when I look at a CD booklet, and look at the label on the disc itself. I know there are at least two wrapped and under our tree right now, and I'm looking forward to getting them... and looking at the booklets. Incidentally, I find it ironic that the two albums I know are under our tree are two of the albums helping keep me sane during this Christmas music season. As I type, I've got my headphones on, relying on the good people of YouTube to keep me supplied. Perhaps it's karma for figuring out which two albums they were. It was all fair, I swear! I didn't snoop or anything. I just have supersluth skills. That, and Mother didn't know what one of them was, so I had to make sure she ordered the right thing.

Believe it or not, I've got about four more tabs of stuff to talk about. I have realized, though, that my mother is absolutely right on a certain point; I don't talk much, but once you get me going, it's hard to shut me up.
I love her. And I get to pick the home.
Ahhh, the perks of being the baby of the family.

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Reginald Kitty is amused. He suggests Shady Pines.

Since Christmas is driving me bonkers, here's something that has nothing to do with Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything.

It's like The Kinks and The Who had a love-child circa 1965/early '66. Not too shabby, considering this band's first album was only released this summer. Never fear, once I unwrap the album on Christmas (whoops!), we'll talk about it. In detail. It will be fun! Well, for me, anyway.

Is It A Subscription Box, Or Something More Sinister? (It's A Subscription Box. Maybe.)