Now Playing Tracks


Anonymous asked:

You don't know who this is, do you?

How, now, brown cow?

What would be the value of an anonymous ask if I did?

Though… there are only a handful of people who would care to look me up on tumblr. so, the odds are, you are in that handful, or else some chance fan of Douglas Adams. Nevertheless, the latter is less probable, as you’d have been like to make some reference if that were our connection.

I suppose this could also be a random query, made to a multitude, and intended to spark correspondence with some former non-acquaintance, if a reply were hazarded that was writ to your liking…

in which case, I have absolutely no idea who you are, but immediately find you an interesting sort. In good time, supposing a correspondence is maintained, that incognito might very well pass or become irrelevant.

The real question at hand is rather more like: who do you want me to think that you are?

ummm...: because I can't see it... but it belongs with the picture...



Ari’s reactions when he sees himself drawn are really rather hysterical. I hadn’t thought to show him this before a few minutes ago, as he is fighting sleep. I think he’s trying to hold out for another chapter of Hugo, but I doubt I’ll read him anymore this evening… but yeah. He looks at it, and…

I love this!!

Was laughing the whole way through…

Honestly, just reading about him reacting to a drawing of him makes me want to draw tons more. I just love how he acts towards them. Especially how proud of it he is. xD

Oh, and of course you’re allowed to swear on tumblr! The idea that they wouldn’t allow it kinda makes me giggle…

lol yeah. He’s a smug little chap. Also… why you laugh at me for being insecure about Ari’s habitual swearing?? lol. I didn’t know if large doses of profanity mightn’t get you in trouble, here. D: But, yeah. The next time I do any Ari-anecdotes, I will record his speech true to form, lol.

because I can’t see it… but it belongs with the picture…

Ari’s reactions when he sees himself drawn are really rather hysterical. I hadn’t thought to show him this before a few minutes ago, as he is fighting sleep. I think he’s trying to hold out for another chapter of Hugo, but I doubt I’ll read him anymore this evening… but yeah. He looks at it, and his eyes get all wide and he grins. “Hey!! THAT’S ME!!! Lookit, I’m CUTE, HUH??” He acts like I’m not the one showing it to him… He acts, in fact, as if it is something he wants you to compliment him on, as if he had some sort of part in the creation of this work of art instead of just… existing. “uhhh… yeah Ari, I’ve already seen it… you’re cute.”
“No, look how cute I am!!” then he real-life jumps out of bed and poses. He’s in his underwear. :facepalm: He laughs and tries to pose like the drawing. Then he acts as if I ought to be impressed with how he can balance in that action position.
“I’m a good poser, huh?”
“Yep. Get back in bed.”
He doesn’t. He runs to the prop box and pulls out… a duplicate hard-copy of the picture I’ve just shown him. And stares at it as he stands idly… NOT in bed.
Then he compliments the drawing.
“Get in your bunk, Ari.”
Then he points out everything that’s wrong with it.
“Ari. Bed. POST.”
“…” (Those dots… well, because all he says is the f-word. His dialogue-it’s all peppered with the f-word. idk if you’re allowed to use the f-word on tumblr. So I’ve omitted it.)
And a glare. And a taping up of the picture in the most defiant manner possible. Yeah. That’s right. Sheer rebellion, there with every swaggering little footfall to his little desk and the neat little clipping off of the tape, and the singular way he smacks it to the upper bunk and goes “Hmph” with satisfaction as if he has acheived some incredible thing by hanging his picture without permission. And yet… he manages to find his way into his bed after all of that showing off.

But it’s really funny, ‘cause he gets super excited every time he sees artwork of himself. I think he thinks it makes him some kind of celebrity or something that he gets drawn, lol. Anyway. He’s a vain little guy, neh?

tumblrbot asked:


So, I guess I’m going to answer the tumblrbot question.  Maybe that will get me writing, yo.  I tried this thing where I subscribed to a “topic of the day” writing group type thing… but it was sort of a fail.  I think I only actually did the daily topic ONCE.  I will try to do better with this, though.  Writing again would be really good for me.

So first off… seriously?  Why just stick to my MY planet?  I want to visit someone else’s planet.  Ya never know, could be verah nize.  This question is sort of awful for me.  There are so many places I would like to see, and am, by no means, an experienced traveller.  My hitlist:

I want to see Macchu Picchu (Ist that how it’s spelled?)

The Colliseum @ Rome. 

I like ruins.  I want to visit some good ruins.  Ruins in Greece would be awesome, too.

The Eifel Tower AND the Leaning Tower.  I would like to take a picture pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower and have my awesome Chucks in it, like 2 hands and one foot against the tower, just to feature the Chucks.  But which pair??  hmmmm…  (Actually, I just like taking pictures of my feet in interesting places… It’s a simple pleasure, but makes for sort of bad photography I think…)

Okay.  Moving on.  I want to see the Pyramids.

The Sidney Opera House.

That famous amphitheatre I can’t remember the name of.  And I would like to yell something from the stage.

Taj Mahal.

Galapagos Islands.  (I heard there is a humongous wait-list to visit this archipelago… but, as long as you don’t go where you’re not supposed to, they WILL let you visit them)  Above all, I would like to go the the Galapagos Islands and accidentally step on a butterfly.  I know this sounds cruel and unusual, and I like butterflies, but something about the pseudo-offlimits of the Galapagos and all of the amazingly unique flora & fauna there makes me think of that Ray Bradbury short story “A Sound of Thunder” and I just think it would be wicked cool to have this experience because it would be crazy deja-vou-ish for me, even though I have obviously never had that experience.

I want to go on a tour of all of the world-ranked roller-coaster parks on a day that they were not employing their crazy mascot people if they have them.  I LOVE roller-coasters, I just can’t deal with the characters.  I will not write about my phobia in this post.  I will put it up some other time, maybe.

I also would like to go on a tour of the graves of all of my favorite authors that are dead and leave little tokens on them and/or visit their childhood homes/places they lived.  Dorky, but, I still think that is cool.  Flannery O’Connor—check.  So many left to go… 

Stuff in America that I want to see, because I know more about the major landmarks here than anywhere else, being that I am a shallow and culturally-underexposed American:

The Grand Canyon.  Heck yes I want to hike that thing.  It looks so awesome in pictures.

Believe it or not, I think it would be cool to see Mt. Rushmore.

Yellowstone park, because it is actually a massive volcano, and it would be exciting to walk around on top of a massive volcano even if it is mostly dormant…

Area 51—DEFINITELY.  I know you can’t actually get ONTO Area 51, but I have heard there is a white mailbox somewhere in the vicinity of Area 51 that some people have signed.  I would like to put my name on that mailbox.

Alaska, to watch the aurora borealis.

These are going to sound cheesy, but, seriously, they are on my hit-list:

I want to see the “world’s biggest” stuff scattered across the midwest… like the biggest frying pan and the biggest ball of twine.  I just think it’s cool to stand next to big stuff.

That humongous dinosaur in PeeWee’s big adventure.  I am assuming that this is a real thing.  I WANT TO SEE IT.

I am sure that I am forgetting about a heck ton of good places.  But, I am also tired of this topic now, so, meh.

King Cake

So this is a journal entry from whenever Mardi Gras was that I always have thought was a little funny.  I don’t want my page to look empty, so if I can figure out how, I will post it…

Hey I don’t know how to get rid of all of the junk code or whatever that is above the actual journal entry, but I’m not going to retype it.  Oh, and if for some reason I ever refer to you (the reader) as Copernicus and/or Copper, it is because that is the name/nickname of my journal, and I generally actually address my entries to him… so… anyway.  Enjoy the lameness.

EDIT: Probably a year later… but… i got rid of all the gunk that used to be here. O.O !!

I had never had king cake before.  It is pretty good.  The cream cheese part is nigh on fantastic.  The most exciting part about the king cake, though, is the fact that there is a little plastic baby hidden in it!  (There is also awesome colored sugar all over it, but mostly, the exciting thing is that somewhere in the cake, you know there is this little plastic baby and you have to keep eating the cake until someone finds it…)  The expectation is magnificent.  Every time you sink your fork through the gooey cream cheesy frosting and pastriesque cakey substance, there is a little thrill of suspense where you’re stuck wondering if this time, when you try to cut through the cake to form a bite of proper size, the fork will stop midway, stuck from dividing mouth-size portions asunder, by a little plastic baby, just waiting to be rescued.  The baby, we were told, would be pink.  We must be cautious and chew well, so as not to accidentally choke on or swallow the baby.  (I guess there have been some “canapalistic” accidents with king cake.)  I did not find the baby.  Heather, who ate two pieces, did not find the baby.  In fact, we had given up all hope of finding the pink baby, because all of the cake had been eaten but for one slice, and that slice had been nearly demolished with no pink plastic in sight.  We began accusing one another in a jesting manner if someone had not better confess that he had accidentally eaten the baby.  We began defaming the cake maker for not having actually hidden the baby in it.  I began discrediting the properties of plastic and the temperature at which it melted and worried, just a small amount, if we hadn’t ingested melted plastic that had dissolved into the cake mixture.  Coralie said the baby could not have melted since it was put in after the cake was baked.  Ridiculous, says I, then one would see where it had been poked in. All in all, it was a major let down, all that pent up emotional turmoil, and a baby gone unrescued.  It was quite dissatisfying.  I felt very cheated and emotionally unprepared for the keen loss and mourning I experienced.  But wait.  This is not the end of the anecdote.  Jonathan Jett (trooper that he is) decided to have a go at the final piece.  Suddenly, with a flourish of fork and a puzzled expression he exclaimed, “I think I found the baby?” (Yes, it was intoned as a question.)  On his plate was something that looked mostly like a wriggly nut.  Not that it wriggled.  It wasn’t moving, it’s just an apt description because of the shape of it, because you could imagine it wriggling in the soil in time lapse photography as it grew into its gnarly shape.  But there are NOT nuts in a king cake, even though Megan said, “is that a nut?”  This little brownish object with cake stuck to it (clearly baked on if you ask me…) wasn’t the pink baby we were expecting.  And yet, there was no other explanation.  It was in fact, THE BABY.  On closer inspection I exclaimed, “It’s not a little pink baby; it’s a little BLACK baby.”  It was the excitingest moment of the day, to suddenly encounter tiny plastic baby after all expectation had ceased and hope had given way to jaded disillusionment and complaining about how the cake people surely must have gypped us our baby.  Upon closer inspection still, we discovered it was also not a black baby, but a gold baby.  Coralie said that must be because of the Saints and the superbowl, but I think it is just because it’s a king cake and kings are rich and have gold and stuff.  But, then again, she is the one who is from Louisiana where they actually do mardis gras for real like.  She probably knows better than I, having never really been party to that festivity of which king cake is apparently only a small part, but an exceptional ritual nonetheless.  At any rate, baby was rescued and pocketed, and Jonathan, according to tradition is supposed to get the king cake next year.  Some reward for rescuing the baby, eh?  And a baby KING no less.  You would think that the reward would be better than the responsibility of baking or purchasing next year’s cake.

We make Tumblr themes