My sister Amanda and I use to sing this song together a lot growing up. It puts a smile on my face every time I hear it

In case you were wondering what Gojira wants for the holidays/Gojira’s national birthday, here’s a list from which you can pick and choose. And by you, Gojira doesn’t mean you, Gojira means them. Them, over there. Don’t you see them? That one, in the too-short pants. And that other one, with the little dog. A little more to the right. See them now? No, that’s Ed Begley Jr. and a cat. Further to the right. Got it? Good. Oh and a side glance at the really tall one all the way to the left: You have already given Gojira all the DVDs of Home Movies. Twice. Well, okay, there are some seasons you only gave Gojira once. So you could give Gojira those again, Gojira supposes.

As for Baji, her national birthday has already passed. But you could still get Baji something and with Eid falling on Black Friday, you are in luck. Yes, you the cranky one over there whose secret favorite movie is The Devil Wears Prada. And you two little zouaves, trying to act all innocent and stumbly like newborn puppies. Even puppies can get jobs! Go forth and get puppy jobs and bring Bajira! some cash with which to buy goodies.

Gojira would like:

An 8GB iTouch because her Shuffle is on its last legs and has forgotten how to pause. Also because she would like to be able to look up words while on the go. Gojira cannot live with having to wait until she gets home to find out what a drupelet is. (And she is not going to just give away the answer by linking it, either, but she’ll give you a hint: It’s a small drupe.)

An immersion blender so Gojira can make butternut squash soup and also so Gojira can whip cream for her drupelets without getting whip creamer’s elbow.

Funky CB2 glasses.

Some shiny government insurance, please! One with extra abortions!

A new coat. Any suggestions? Must be medium-length (above the knee), tailored and ideally a fun color.

Isn’t this dress cute? But Gojira is concerned that it will clash with her scales.

A red carafe made of plastic so Dr. Clo can bat it to the floor with ease.

This book or that book so Gojira can keep her excessive joie de vivre in check.

Baji would like:

An 8GB iTouch but not the iPhone.  Baji already has a phone with Verizon (best for DC) and doesn’t want the ATT network (not so best for DC) and Baji doesn’t like talking on the phone anyway.  She just wants to be able to compare prices whilst shopping because she is nothing if not canjoose.

Assorted Kiehls products because Baji has a contradictory nature in that although she hates to spend money (see above), she doesn’t mind watching it wash down the drain on a daily basis (see attached).  “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” Walt Whitman (soon to be TP’s former employer).

A new coat similar in style to this one (grommets!  pirates with mutton liners!  stoners! ) but not so much with the “skinny fit” or the “hips 28″ … Baji’s body has not quite returned to her pre-mother-of-two shape.

Adorable Lollibird mugs because although these kinds of mugs are in non-threatening apple green and pink and in sunny orange, they may scare off guests.  Then again, what guest of Baji’s would be put off by such a thing? Nary a one.  Therefore, also add robot monkey pirate bowls to your cart!  [note: although the bowls only have robots on them, all robots are robot monkey pirates in disguise]. You know, to go along with the mugs to complete the mismatched set.

Herbal slippers so Baji can stride purposefully around the house in the winter efficiently and effectively rather than hobbling over to the kitchen on her blocks of ice, taking the time to heat up the stove, boil some water, and scald her frozen tootsies in order to recover from the ill effects her ice chest of an office has on her extremities.

A new digital camera for capturing Zugzy Bugz’s and Mushkadoo’s antics for future enjoyment/blackmail/both.

Coooooooooooooooooooooooooooogan! Whether it was because of the jet lag, the altitude, the lack of any other choice, or a combination of all three, Baji found herself doubling over with laughter during one leg of a trip from the US to Pakistan when she first encountered him as Alan Partridge (sort of like the precursor to Ricky Gervais’s David Brent when it comes to uncomfortable situations made worse and worse with each attempt to make things right or to CHA).

Michael Chabon’s latest, because Baji exists to lend books to Gojira. And also because the cover is nice, although it looks a bit too much like Yiddish Policemen’s Union.  Even though she’s only a quarter of the way through this year’s “no buying new books” new year resolution, it doesn’t count if someone else buys books for her.

A brand-new show by Joss Whedon that won’t be constantly on the verge of cancellation and that will star Felicia Day. A brand-new show by Joss Whedon that will be constantly on the verge of cancellation and that will star Felicia Day is also acceptable.  An inclusion of “Firefly” in the title would be most appreciated as well.

And finally, for your rich uncle from your rich aunt (or vice versa; or LB and KG; or A or Z or A):

Alice in Wonderland–inspired tableware. Just because someone needs to have these.

“Welcome to the Hellmouth”

There have been numerous articles in the last few years declaring that geeks are now cool. Shows like Big Bang Theory and Glee are held up as proof of this trend. It’s not the Marcia Bradys or the Mike Seavers we want to root for anymore. We love outcasts and braniacs. ComicCon isn’t just for Trekkers anymore. When did the tide turn? My first answer would be with Veronica Mars. But thinking back, there was Freaks and Geeks—short-lived as it was. But, wait. Even before that, there was Buffy. She may have been the original cool social reject; it helped that she was hot.

So imagine it’s 1997. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a campy film starring Kristy Swanson that you may remember from earlier in the decade. Joss Whedon is not a name you hear regularly, if at all (did you know he was a writer on Toy Story?), and you’ve certainly never heard of a Whedonverse.

The stage, complete with eerie horror movie music, is set when a horny teenage couple break into the high school, apparently to get it on, but—oops—the perky blond chick is a vampire who changes and brutally kills the guy. (Sucks to be that actor. Congratulations, you landed a part in what promises to be a hit teen drama. But you die in the first two minutes.)

For those not familiar with slayerism, the opening credits and voiceover give the gist; in every generation, there is a chosen one, etc., etc. Here, Buffy is the fresh-faced Sarah Michelle Gellar, known mainly as a soap actress.

Buffy’s mom drops her off at her new school in fictitious Sunnydale, CA, where she has apparently transferred following the events of the film. And wouldn’t you know it? Sunnydale is smack on top of the Hellmouth, a portal to all things occult. On Buffy’s very first day, a body turns up in a locker with telltale bite marks on its neck. But we’ll get back to that…

In addition to introducing Hellmouth-adjacent life, the pilot takes as its storyline a typical teenage tale; Buffy’s attempt to fit in with the cool crowd, only to find that she is destined to walk among the outcasts. She approaches her new school with hope for normalcy, but nevertheless carries a sharpened wooden stake in her bag. (“Pepper spray is just so passé.”)

She first befriends the self-centered beauty queen Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter), who picks on the brainy Willow (Alyson Hannigan). Meanwhile, charmingly awkward Xander (Nicholas Brendon) can’t keep his eyes off of Buffy. Willow likes Xander. Mr. Giles (Anthony Head), new librarian in the apparently deserted school library, seems to already know all about Buffy’s slaying ways. So she goes to him when she learns about the locker body.

 Vampires live under the city and are gearing up for some huge revolt, called The Harvest. So Buffy’s going to have a busy sophomore year, what with cheerleading, homework, and ass-kicking.

 Oh, and I did I mention there is a dark and mysterious, and ridiculously hot guy trailing Buffy around town? We don’t get a name, or much information at all, except that he knows what’s up with the Harvest.

 So the pilot gets us off and running with plenty of action, love triangleism, and more on the mysterious guy (who will, of course, be introduced later in the series as Angel), to look forward to. It’s a bit dark, often funny, and has enough eye candy to get addictive. And this is all despite the fact that, objectively speaking, it’s kind of bad. The acting, the dialogue… but stuff can be bad and still plenty entertaining. Just look at the original Star Wars.

 For added fun, there is an unaired version of Welcome to the Hellmouth floating around the ‘net.

 Memorable quote: (Said all SoCal bitchy) “God, what is your childhood trauma?”

Recently I went to my friend N’s house, where we stayed up until 6 a.m. watching half the complete series of Firefly. It took us so long because there was a blackout for several hours in the evening, during which time we cleaned approximately 150 mussels by candlelight. Well, N cleaned while I held a candle over the sink and gave my opinion as to which mussels I thought were trying to kill us by being dead.

It’s an accepted fact (by the two of us) that when N and I get together, things take a turn for the ridiculous. A lot of this has to do with us being separately quite ridiculous. She builds armor and crinolines, has an extensive collection of dried mushrooms, and teaches people how to throw themselves down the stairs; I am nowhere near as interesting, but far more clumsy, having never been the beneficiary of any of her falling-down-the-stairs expertise. She is Chico minus the gambling and womanizing, I am Harpo, by which I mean that I enjoy throwing my leg over the crook of people’s arms at random intervals; we both want to be Groucho. As children, we lived in an imaginary world whose currency was farthings and whose signature cocktail was gummy worms marinated in water; when we left that world, we went upstairs to play bridge and watch Perry Mason or dissect bees, unfortunately the former more often than the latter. Downstairs, we ran a bank, a grocery store, an apothecary, and a handkerchief-monogramming station. We kept her sister under the pool table.

When we go our separate ways, N does things like travel to South Africa and present a paper at a conference or think about the applications to real life of the spread of disease on World of Warcraft. I accidentally take my garbage to work or discover, on two different occasions at the same job, that one coworker of mine is actually two coworkers of mine with almost no physical characteristics in common (in one case they had similar haircuts and 10 years’ age difference; in the other case, they were simply both male).

All this to say that, to paraphrase my brother, Firefly, c’est vraiment fucking good, bro, CRIPES! (That’s turn-of-the-last-century Franglish.) And I need to get back to Jersey soon to finish the remaining episodes.

Joss Stone Kaarten

Geweldig nieuws voor alle fans van Joss Stone! Kaarten voor haar aanstaande concerten in Paradiso Amsterdam en Oosterpoort Groningen vindt u hier!

A 10ª edição do Griffe Show teve início na sexta-feira (06-11)
e já conta com um público intenso e ávido por marcas de qualidade
com desconto de até 75%. As novidades são roupas e acessórios femininos
e masculinos, roupas infantis e uma variada praça de alimentação.

LEIA MAIS NO SITES
:: SORTIMENTOS.COM >> http://www.sortimentos.net/?p=4252
:: GEBBEG >> http://gebbeg.com.br/?p=7270
:: MODA EVENTOS >> http://modaeventos.com.br/?p=2343

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O 10º Griffe Show apresenta desconto de até 75% em marcas consagradas.
Este é uma bela oportunidade de adquirir uma bermuda xadrez (R$ 70,00)
da Joss ou uma sapatilha azul (R$ 89,90) da Le Solier, conforme
a foto acima. O evento, que acontece iniciou no dia 06 de novembro
e se estende até o dia 22 no Minascentro (Rua Guajajaras, 1022, Centro)
em Belo Horizonte (MG).

LEIA MAIS NOS SITES
:: SORTIMENTOS.COM >> http://www.sortimentos.net/?p=4249
:: GEBBEG >> http://gebbeg.com.br/?p=7273

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This is a pattern for a beanie similar to the one worn by Jayne Cobb in the episode “The Message.” There are several patterns available for knitted versions, but I don’t know how to knit, so I made one up for all of us non-knitters. Comments and critiques are appreciated! More pictures will be posted in mid December (it is a birthday gift for a friend, so I’d like the hat’s “on the head” debut to be on her). In the mean time, if you have any questions please ask via comment, and I’ll answer as best (and as soon) as I can.

The Crochet Jayne Cobb Beanie!

Instructions

Materials:
-5.00 mm (K) Crochet Hook
-2 skeins each of:
-Red Heart Super Saver in Gold (198g, 4 wt.)
-Lion Brand Vanna’s Choice in Rust (100g, 4 wt.)
-Red Heart Collage in Rust (100g, 4 wt.)
-Stitch markers (four different colors)

Gauge: 4″ = 11 stitches

Since this pattern is worked in a spiral, using stitch markers to mark the beginning of each “row” will be necessary.

This entire pattern is worked using two strands of yarn held as one.

Main Part (If you have made a hat before, it may be easier for you to improvise this part… I generally don’t follow a pattern and just use my best judgement, so these instructions are a little weird)
Row 1: Working in Gold, 8 sc into slipknot, pull to tighten. Slipstitch in first stitch. Do not turn.
Rows 2-3: 2 sc in each stitch; don’t work over the raw end, as it will be needed later to affix the pom-pon. Do not turn.
Row 3: *1 sc in first stitch, 2 sc in next stitch. Repeat from * for remaining stitches. Do not turn.
Row 4: 1 *sc in first two stitches, 2 sc in third stitch. Repeat from * for remaining stitches. Do not turn.
Row 5: *sc in first four stitches, 2 sc in fifth stitch. Repeat from * for remaining stitches. Do not turn.
Row 6: *2 sc in first stitch, 1sc in next nine stitches. Repeat from * for remaining stitches. Do not turn. Place a stitch marker across from the row marker (estimate).

Place fabric markers at the row beginning and opposite.

Row 7: sc in each stitch except first stitch and opposite (marked) stitch. Place a stitch marker halfway between the other two markers on each side, so that you have a marker on the North, East, West, and South directions (estimate). We will designate the row (beginning) marker as North.
Row 8: 1 Sc in all stitches except East and West marked stitches; 2 sc in those. (For a larger hat, 2sc in North, South, East, and West)
Row 9: 1 Sc in all stitches except North and South marked stitches; 2 sc in those. (For a larger hat, 2sc in North, South, East, and West)
Rows 10-15: Repeat steps in italics. Remove South, East, and West markers; place markers in Northwest, Northeast, Southwest, and Southeast positions.
Row 16: Using Vanna’s Choice in Rust, 1 Sc in all stitches except Northwest and Southwest marked stitches; 2 sc in those.

Move stitch markers 45 degrees.

Row 17: 1 Sc in all stitches except Northeast and Southeast marked stitches; 2 sc in those.
Rows 18-20: Repeat steps in italics.
Rows 20-28: sc in each stitch. Tie off.
Using Vanna’s choice in Rust, fold edge of hat up to meet three rows from edge. Slip stitch all the way around.

Here, you see the back of the hat. At the bottom of the photo, you can see the rolled edge.

Don’t go crazy trying to follow the instructions above exactly… use your best judgement and adjust if needed. If you deviate from the pattern, don’t worry — it’s a hat, not a souffle! As long as it looks like a hat and fits okay, it will be just fine.

Ear Flaps (make two, of course!)
Try hat on, so that the color-change “bump” is in the middle back. On the inside of the hat, one stitch from the chain stitches you just made (towards the edge), place markers where you think the ears should start and end.
Row 1: Using Red Heart Collage in Rust, sc 12 stitches into this row (insert hook into hole and out next hole, pull loop through).
Rows 2-8: 1 sc in each stitch. Chain 1, turn.
Row 9: Decrease first and last stitches, sc in each stitch in between. Chain 1, turn.
Row 10: 1 sc in each stitch. Chain 1, turn.
Repeat rows 9 and 10 until you have two stitches per row. Chain 1, turn. Sc in each stitch; chain 1, turn, for 14 rows.
Using two strands of same color yarn, sc along the edges of earflaps. Tie off.

Note how the ear flaps are attached to the inner bottom part of the rolled edge.

Pom-Pon
Make a 3″ pom-pon: Using Red Heart Collage in Rust, wrap the doubled yarn around four fingers a bajillion times, cut the end. Tie an eight inch length of doubled yarn around the middle of the pom-pon, pull as tight as you can, and knot securely. Turn pom-pon over, and using another 8 inch length of yarn, repeat. Do not cut these tie ends! Cut the loops, puff the pom-pon out, and trim.

Although the picture makes the pom-pon look enormous, it is a trick of perspective. The pom-pon is only about 3" across.

Finishing
Pull ends of pom-pon ties through second row from middle, so that the eight strands are equally spaced. pull to tighten. Knot with hat ends. Turn hat right-side out. Knot ends of earflaps and pull to tighten. Put it on!

For an authentic look, tie a knot in the ends of the earflaps.

I’d love to hear your comments and feedback, or to see a photo of your versions of this project!

I previously posted this tutorial on Hubpages.com, so if you’ve seen it before, that’s where!  I didn’t steal it.

Additionally:  I am not affiliated with the show Firefly, Serenity, or Joss Whedon in any way — I am a fan, and offer this tutorial as a tribute to the awesomeness that is Firefly!  I am not profiting from this project pecuniarily.

Joss Stone is one to speak her mind. Lily Allen is too. So, this looks like the feud that will go on and on. Both British mini-divas are at it. Joss started by firing at Allen.

“[Lily] needs to sell records because she’s not a singer, and that’s not an offence to her because I think that she knows that too,” Stone told the Press Association.

Joss said she is “making real music [and] people [will] come to the show” for “artist[s] like Lily … it’s about the track, their personality and their celebrity.”

She also said: “She’s not going to win [the] fight [over downloads],” Stone said. “None of us will win that fight. So let’s just accept it and see it as something that can be beautiful and might change music for the better. It might sort the weeds from the flowers.”

Bring it!

OMG, this cracks me up so freakin much!  Found it here.

Chris Joss é, como ele mesmo acha uma boa descriçao; “um multi-instrumentista e produtor musical autônomo”.

Depois de trabalhar como engenheiro de som e DJ por muitos anos pela Europa ele começou seus trabalhos autorais em CD. Este é o último dele, lançado em 2009 e achei MTO NICE!!! O Groove rola solto! Vale a pena!

http://www.myspace.com/chrisjoss

This one slipped under the radar for us. We just found out today that Joss Stone has released a new album (on the date of release). Not sure why it didn’t receive enough publicity or promo, but we knew it had to do with the record company. It turns out that there was some industry mud-slinging. Her record label has been obtained my an equity firm and Joss Stone does not like that at all. So the album got delayed and shelved. Then when it came time to release it there was no video and very little promo (mostly word-of-mouth and blog frenzy). But, its available for download now and the album cover has been changed with one with no image and just text. Apparently, the record company didn’t want Joss Stone to be enslaved on the cover.

British singer/songwriter Joss Stone’s care free nature obviously doesn’t fit in well with EMI’s corporate structure. The singer reveals how the label became annoyed after she recorded latest album ‘Colour Me Free‘ without telling them. There have been rumors circulating recently that Joss wants out of her contract with the label. This latest issue certainly won’t help matters. ‘Colour Me Free’ is currently scheduled for release October 20th

It’s a damn roller coaster here right now.  With a flipping birthday coming on Sunday, it’s too damn much.  So much shit going on in here.  Rachel is scared.  Mara thinks she needs to go to The Father and take care of him like she had to when Michelle was growing up.  Cait is freaked about the memory last week.  I need to freaking cut and burn to get away from HIS voice and the pain.  Michelle says pandemonium has ensued–those words are too hifallutin for me.  I just say it’s downright crazy.  Cait, Michelle and me are suicidal and there’s nothing we can do about it.  Which is supposedly a good thing.  I mean, I know it would hurt people.  But they have NO CLUE what it’s like for us.  We’re really hurtin, people.  Michelle says it looks like we’ll do the respite thing over the weekend because the birthday issue has become so damn huge.  Hope the husband’s family isn’t too disappointed.  Guess they’d rather we were gone over the weekend than be gone forever.  I promised T I’d talk to her or someone else if I got to feeling this way so we’ll take care of things in the morning.  Damn, this sucks!
~Joss

“Siento que me esta entrando un aire colado…”

Parece que a Joss Stone cada vez se la da mas la encueradera, pues en sus faldas cada vez escasea mas la tela.

Nada queda de aquella niña hippie que se la pasaba hablando de amor, amistad, florecitas, etc,etc, etc. Y que juraba nunca se convertiria en una popera que se desnuda cada vez que sus ventas andan bajas, que su cuerpo es (o era) un templo de pureza…bla…bla…bla…

Pero claro, eso fue  mientras cumplia la mayoria de edad, pues apenas tuvo los años suficientes para chupar (vino, cerveza, vergas, vaginas)  y saco su verdadero “Yo” y, ¡a putear se ha dicho!

¿Cuantas veces no hemos visto a actricitas y cantantes jurar y perjurar por el cielo, la tierra y lo que hay debajo de ellas, que son castas, puras y que van a llegar virgenes al matrimonio y, cuando son mayores de edad, se lan vuel0 al culo y se montan a todo el que tienen cerca, hombres, mujeres, animales, muertos y vivos? Las hipocritas santurronas siempre resultas las putas las podridas…. la neta!!!

LA ANTIGUA JOSS STONE

“Soy tan pura y santa que me meten a los lagos contaminados para limpiarlos”

“¡Como odio a las supuestas artistas que para vender andan enseñando todo! ¿Que no tienen dignidad?”

LA ACTUAL JOSS STONE

“¿Que pues papacito, quieres un buen revolcon? ¡Solo tienen que pedirlo!”

Fuck the Fuck yeah! Suit up Uncle Fuckers, Cuz its all about NPH, todayz.

Howz about a little Monday Meta-blog about Neil Patrick Harris?

Yup, some dedicated blogger has carved out a little slice of cyberspace (gawd, are we still using that term? I am such an old man. Do the kids even know what that means?) in homage to everyone’s favorite multi-talented, out, gay, sassy, hilarious comeback kid-actor.

…In case you are an old man like me, and have been totally snoozing (snoozy? toats!) for the past several years, your ol’ pal Doogie Howser (yes, the “M.D.”) is killing it in the prime time and among the nerd/geek/whedon/buffy blogosphere. I believe his words to People Magazine were

“I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love.”

Lets hear it for very content gay men!

Okay, so- Start with his antics on Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along-Blog (where he plays the title character), note his slam dunk contribution to the ensemble cast of How I Met Your Mother (which includes Whedon’s superstar Alyson Hannigan who played Willow in some other show), and oh yeah, he like hosted the Emmy Awards and the Tony Awards (or something)- so like what rock have you been under since the Doogie Days, eh?

Which is all to say: Fuck Yeah!!! Neil Patrick Harris!!

Its a blog.
Its insipid.
Its fucking hilarious.

Fuck Yeah.
Sunshine Superboy

In our first post you got a brief run-down of who we are but we want you to know more about us.  There will be posts about each of us in this system but for now this will give you an idea of who this system is.  The remarks in the brackets–such as [little]–refer to Silent Symphony’s wonderful explanation of the different members of a system family.  Insiders are listed by age because it is not always clear when someone has made him or herself known to Michelle and/or the rest of the world.

MICHELLE: born 18 October 1968 [core]

Charlie: 3? * blonde * pensive, scared * “I be dead” * took on extreme violence    [little]
A little guy who is scared but loves to play.  Loves lots of different toys—stuffies, vehicles, Duplos, blocks, small resin/plastic animals.  Loves the kitties.

Rachel: 6 * medium length straight brown hair * slight build * took on ritual & organized abuse and much of what happened with/around The Mother    [little]
A sweet girl who is quite smart but held back some because of the things that happened.  A girly-girl.  Loves pink & purple, dolls, coloring, blowing bubbles, playing Farmville on Facebook, watching Little Bear on TV.  She reverts to younger behavior at times because of the abuse.  Still worries some that someone may come and hurt her.  Stays out of the closet now, though.  Loves the kitties and her blanket.  Because of extremely violent sexual abuse, Rachel deals with body memories more than the rest of us.

Mara: 8 * shoulder length wavy brown hair * The Father’s little wife in every way    [little; ~dark]
Wise beyond her years because of the responsibilities she took on.  Smart and knows it.  Can read and write well.  Wants to be grown up and not at the same time.  Feels a strong allegiance to F even though she’s learning he was hurting her, not loving her, and has a hard time not wanting to go to him and give him what he expected from her for so many years.  Is learning to admit she enjoys 8-year-old things like American Girl books.  Enjoys Farmville almost as much as Rachel.  Enjoys puzzles, on- and offline.

Little Davy: 10 * scraggly longish dark brown hair * a split from David * not as scared, wants to be tough since David can’t be    [little]
Loves Lego, enjoys reading if it’s the right things, likes watching the cats play.  Thinks girls are silly.  Loves to be outside and would tramp around in the woods & countryside forever.  All boy!

Tommy: 14 * tidy light brown hair * keeps an eye on the little ones    [protector; ~light]
Can we say teenage boy?  Tough on the outside, sweeter than you think on the inside.  Has a real tenderness for the little ones.  Longs to be himself; very hard being a teenage boy in a middle-age woman’s body.  He likes TV shows like COPS and CSI.

David: 16 * messy mousy brown hair * timid & scared (terrified at times) * took on torture & neglect and being shut in small dark places    [fragment?]
Just wants things to be okay and no one to know how bad he is.  Not much sense of who he is or what he likes or wants.  Feels he doesn’t deserve anything anyway.  Wants to be loved but believes no one could.  Just scared in the background.

Cait: 17 * short brown hair * lesbian and proud of it * confident, outgoing * helps everyone get along and function * took on The Father’s sexual abuse when Michelle was a teenager    [light]
Has been in front a good portion of time compared to the others and has a lot of influence.  Hates being 17 and queer and unable to do anything about the way she feels about certain women. Can feel sad and depressed about this and has resorted to self-injury to chase away the pain.  Loves music and drawing.  Gets along with nearly anyone.  Enjoys life in general.

Joss: 19 * nondescript * jeans and t-shirts gal * bisexual * confrontational * took on sexual & emotional abuse and programming.  Joss & Rachel are connected    [dark; destructive; ?internal programmer; working on turning to protector]
Loves snarkiness (sarcasm & dry wit).  Likes getting some expression in through “bumper stickers” on Facebook—but knows where to draw the line for Michelle’s sake.  Enjoys snarky websites and wishes she could do harmless pranks.  Has had a lot to do with self injury and suicidal activity that has occurred.

Richard: 34 * tall & thin * here to make sure Michelle doesn’t get hurt by men anymore * quite in the background now for the most part (fairly merged?)    [protector; now light]
Smart and likes a mental challenge.  Enjoys crosswords and other word puzzles, loves playing solitaire of all sorts.  Analytical.  Hates being a man in a woman’s body.

Robert: early 50s? * short * hair short & starting to gray * took on programming    [dark; internal programmer; destructive]
Don’t know much about Robert.  Working with him to defuse and refute the programmed messages.  Aside from spewing the messages at us, he pretty much keeps to himself.

Gloria: mid-50s? * shoulder length, flowy blonde hair * maternal/motherly * keeps things under control * takes care of many things * is in front more than anyone else, probably even Michelle    [internal self helper; gatekeeper; light]
Caretaker all the way.  Loves being domestic, taking care of things, taking care of people.  Cooking, entertaining, giving of herself.  She holds things together and loves most of it.

Cait here.  I wish so much I could draw people, faces.  I would do drawings of each of us, including Michelle.  I want to take a drawing class or at least get a couple books so maybe I could eventually draw us all.  I wish I could show you who we are!

~Michelle, Gloria, Cait

Snuckles the kitten joins the cast of Dollhouse this season as "Tango," a doll once banished to the attic who makes an unexpected return...

In consideration of those Hulu watchers (named Ishirō) of Dollhouse, I am putting this behind the jump.

Ah, that’s better. Now we can say rude things about Ishirō and he’ll never know it. Well, not until tomorrow in any case.

At first I was totally icked (technical term) by the premiere episode of Dollhouse, primarily during all the scenes that featured Echo. Every time I watch an episode, I think of another actress who would have done a better job than Eliza Dushku with this role (Summer Glau, Felicia Day, Amy Acker, Dichen Lachman, who would surely have the role if not for being—gasp—Asian, probably Jane Lynch, definitely Victor Garber, and the list goes on). But the hangar scene sucked me in. Whiskey, Boyd, and Topher were delightful, as always. A favorite line: “My entire existence was constructed by a sociopath in a sweatervest.”

So, Bajis little and big, mister and mrs., what did you think?

Your present will be late because Clo only just laid it today.

P.S. Joss sends his love. He said you should tune in to something called Fox tonight at 9 pm in order to receive your present.

I’ve been a fan of accents since I was a wee girl.  I’m not sure how it happened, but I feel as though I’ve always been enamored of them.  A thick brogue will stop me in my tracks.  A dusty twang will bring a smile to my lips. A silky patois from most of the characters in True Blood will seep into my head.  Growing up, I was exposed to two accents:  the sing-songy lilt of my parents’ desi accents and the southern drawl of my teachers and classmates.  Somehow, I did not pick up either of them.  I won’t say that I didn’t have an accent because I’m sure our Pakistani and French fans would say otherwise; but I ended up with a pretty neutral American accent.  In college and thereafter, nobody could really tell where I grew up based on my accent.  The invariable question of “so, where are you from?” always led to the awkward pause when I had to decide whether or not I’d respond with an answer (“My parents are from Pakistan”) or a question (“Do you mean where was I born (Wales) or where did I grow up (Southern Indiana/Louisville, KY)?” — neither of which is what they really wanted to know).

I can remember entertaining my parents (and later, other family members and friends) with my faux British accent.  I’d be pretty tickled myself if I saw a skinny, brown eight-year-old chattering away like she was delivering the news on the BBC.  It’s not ego talking when I say I was good.  I tested my accent out on some British schoolchildren on one visit with my cousins when their family was stationed in Birmingham, England.  I went to class with my cousin one day and when some gangly pre-teen got all up in my face to ask me who I was and where I was from, I told him I was a cousin visiting from London and he and his cronies totally bought it.  Suckahs!

To amuse myself, I tried my hand, or vocal chords as the case may be, at different accents.  Thanks to my smattering of Urdu, I could trill my “r”s with the best of them.  My adoration of movies exposed me to a plethora of accents: the sexy French, the (back then) evil Russians, the “that’s not a knife; this is a knife” Australians.  That was before I was exposed to my most favorite accent in the world: the Scottish accent.  If I ever come down with foreign accent syndrome, I guarantee you that I will emerge with the thickest brogue you’ve ever encountered west of Ednbrah.  If ye want to join me, I’d suggest ye start here.

At a friend’s behest, I contributed my version of Joss Whedon’s Ballad of Serenity in a Scottish accent.  My goal is to brush up on my brogue and give “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns a shot.   As my first homework assignment, I will revel in … I mean study this:

Fave: minute 9’s clip of the guys’ attempts to come up with good slogan about scones.

I don’t think the Chinese in Singapore have any idea how much they get away with, simply by merit of outnumbering everyone else. The majority will always make the rules, official or otherwise.

We carry with us all these values that sound great on paper. Filial piety, which as the term suggests, involves giving your parents pies in the flavours they like. Respect for your elders. Education as the way forward.

The trouble is, off paper, they get fucked up. I’m supposed to be kind to and respect my worthless, self-serving, wife-beating father. Old people think they can do whatever they want because they always have right of way. And if you listen to the nastier relatives, if you don’t have a degree, all you’re going to be able to do is sell bah chor mee.

People like my father, the pushy elderly and the nasty relatives are in the minority. But these are the ones who are relevant to this ejaculation, because they’re the ones who are religious.

Say what you want about the Christians and the Catholics – at the very least, they’ve got a book for reference. With the joss-burning, red altar-erecting Chinese of which I’m supposed to number, we haven’t much of a clue what we believe in. We go by hearsay, and we don’t question.

A Singaporean Buddhist will surprise the fuck out of the unwary. No, no zen-like calm and such. We haven’t a clue who Siddhartha was, and it’s unlikely we can pronounce it. We bai fuo de. Pray to the buddhas. And that’s why we call ourselves Buddhists.

And then sometimes someone who wants to sound smart will tell you that you mean Taoist. No. Don’t just say that because it’s the only other option for Chinese religion here. Taoism is something quite different. Involves beards instead of earlobes.

The most sensible term I’ve heard of is Common Religion, seen at the Peranakan Museum. It’s a mixing and reheating of various leftover bits of belief, like chop suey. With a cow god here and a kwan yin there, ee ai ee ai oh. Hence you’ll see the odd difference between the Chinese dialect groups – each one flavours the dish wiith something of its own. And every time we see someone Chinese doing something different from our own group, we smirk. Because they’ve got it wrong, you see.

If you’re a different colour from us, we don’t really care. Our heavens and hells only accept Chinese people. But if you’re Chinese and trying to subscribe to radical, baby-eating beliefs like Christianity, you’re going to get your tongue pulled out and get deep-fried in lard when you die. We’re quite sure about that.

The premise is that we go to some sort of netherworld when we die, to hang around presumably forever. Reincarnation is loosely worked in somewhere in there. And up here on earth, we have to do what we can to continue respecting our elders.

In the beginning, we just looked at each other, shuffled our feet and said ‘Um,’ a lot. And then some bloke who had studied and passed the Imperial exams had an epiphany. If they go to the netherworld when we cremate the bodies, then other stuff we burn must go to the same place. So to respect our elders, we should burn stuff so it gets to them and makes their un-life more comfortable!

But what could we burn to make the lives of our dearly departed more comfortable. Think, people, think. What do we always want more of while we’re alive?

Money. Because there’s shops and stuff in the netherworld where you can buy those cut-off tongues you’ve always wanted, if only you had some money. Goes to show how much critical thinking it took to be an Imperial scholar.

To be fair, we might have started off by burning real money. I’d have a lot more respect for the practice then. Torn between respecting their elders and having food to eat, we came up with the perfect Chinese compromise. Burn fake money.

If you’ve seen a modern day, presumably netherworld-sanctioned piece of joss paper, it actually looks like a bank note. Bank of Hell, it says. Yes, on the English side, for the ones who can’t read the Chinese on the flip side. And they come in retardedly large denominations like 50,000,000 per note. We burn maybe a thousand notes at a time. Inflation in hell must be shit. Oh, and with the advent of technology, we now have little paper cars, mobile phones, houses and credit cards to burn. It’s called joss. You can’t make this shit up, you know.

We burn these on regular, specific days we know to be the right ones. The fifteenth of each lunar month, death anniversaries and perhaps when the mildew in the bathroom turns a certain shade of green. Once again, the dates may vary between dialect groups. Presumably, that’s when the Hell Bank tellers are open for business. Otherwise, even if everything else were true, all you’d be doing is raining a shitload of banknotes, cars and fucking houses out of the netherworld sky. Which wouldn’t make sense now, would it?

But even the Chinese can decide on things together. Once again presumably, after some sort of discussion among the tribe leaders, it was decided that the seventh lunar month would be when the gates of hell would open and metric shit-tons of ancestors would be allowed to come out and lark about a bit. Cue EPIC burning of shit and getais, which are stage performances held ostensibly for the dead to enjoy. Ancestors in other places must prefer to stay home, because getais only seem to happen here in Singapore.

It seems implicit as well that our ancestors are completely deaf, because these concerts are played loud. Really loud. Elephant orgasms have nothing on the volume of these getais. The extra joss burning makes no logical sense.If the dead are out partying because it’s the seventh month, wouldn’t that mean there’s no one on the other end to receive the $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,00,000 we’re wiring over?

Anyway, I actually quite like the smell of burning joss. Most don’t. It doesn’t matter. One household’s worth of joss burning can smoke up a whole block of flats. During the seventh month, you multiply the smoke by fifty, all around the same block. And even though old oil drums are provided for the burning, most of the joss burners either don’t care, or think the hell-money won’t reach their ancestors if it doesn’t destroy common property. There go the green green fields. And the fucking tarmac on the roads. Seriously, roads also no mercy. There’s a pool of melted tarmac near my place (it’s hardened now of course) from ONE fuckhead’s burning some three years ago.

So your house reeks of dead people’s money and you, along with five hundred other people in the blocks surrounding the getai, cannot have sex. Unless you can get it going to the sound of JING TIAN BU HUI JIA played at trans-elephant orgasm levels. In the morning, it’s time to play spot the permanent burn damage. But you must put up with all this and not say a word. Because it’s Chinese tradition, even though all we can say when you ask us about it is, ‘My mother say one.’ And because we outnumber you.

The reverse is true. Even though none of the other cultures have customs as inconveniencing as the Chinese, we will take every chance we can to lodge a complaint against that which we do not understand. And things will be done about it.

There was the case of a Chinese woman who saw her Indian neighbour drawing rangoli. That’s when you use coloured powder to form intricate and beautiful patterns. But because it takes more skill than burning paper, the Chinese woman thought she was being voodooed. So she CALL PORICE.

She really did. Well, either the police or the Town Council, I confess my memory’s hazy on this. At the very least, she called an uncle or something. Her neighbour’s…well, in neighbourly distance. But rather than talk to her neighbour, she CALL PORICE.

I learned about this some time ago, from a letter to the Straits Times by the Indian woman. She wrote the letter because she was visited by some official or other in response to the retarded complaint. In the letter, she gave us a brief explanation of rangoli, and said that she would have been happy to explain it to her neighbour, had she but been asked. I think she mentioned she’d already gone over to the neighbour after the official’s visit, and instead of killing her with INDIAN VOODOO, had a good friendly talk with her.

You’re never going to read this, Indian madam whose name I do not remember, but you’re really something else. If I wore a hat, I would take it off to you. As things stand, here is a salute from someone you made an impression on.

And here is an apology, from a Chinese person, on behalf of Chinese fuckheads in Singapore. I’m sorry you have to sit through all this, and that you have to be the bigger person whether you like it or not, or if you’re actually a midget. We can’t help it. We’re Chinese. We’re not quite sure what we believe in, but we’ll defend it to the death because YOU SAY MY MUDDER. Not all of us are fuckheads, and those of us who are are quite harmless, really. Too spineless. And some of our girls are quite pretty. And very young. Take them as recompense. Oh wait, you have.

I was going to be entirely anti-retard-tradition. When my unjustifiable healthy father died, I was just going to wrap him in newspaper and put him outside for the banglas. That would be the end of it.

But in writing this, a change has come over me. Who knows. With the power of belief, anything could be true. We don’t know the afterlife, after all. The stuff we burn might really get to our ancestors, and they could be whoring it up, drinking mad booze and generally having a good time.

I’ve decided. Maybe I’ll give the little fucker a proper cremation, to make sure he gets to the netherworld. And then every anniversary, every fifteenth of the lunar month and especially during the seventh month…

I’ll burn a huge bag of dog poo.