Archive for July, 2012

The Quietness of Saturday and Worms

Saturday, July 28th, 2012

Hello to all apples with little stickers on them, avocados with smiley faces, cats on footstools, excellent pictures on Instagram, lame chick-lit books on tables, well-chosen curtains hanging from curtain-rods, staircases, doorknobs, silly movies from 1979, Olympic athletes, smudges on the floor, fridge magnets, captains of Star Fleet ships, dogs in mud puddles, Coke bottles in the recycling, left shoes, stars on the back of notebooks, never-used gift cards, and wind chimes on your neighbor’s front porch.

My wrist is feeling better.

Maybe I shouldn’t be typing with it– maybe I shouldn’t be playing the E minor chord on guitar (it’s the easiest– doesn’t hurt!), and maybe I shouldn’t be concocting devious plans to take off my cast for a couple of minutes and run around feeling pleased with myself… but I am.

I don’t think a bone got fractured. If it did I wouldn’t be typing. I mean, it does hurt while I’m typing, but it doesn’t hurt hurt. Besides, the cast doesn’t control me, man. I’m a free spirit. Free like a wild horse. Uh-huh. Anyways, it’s a calm, quiet, blue and warm and pretty Saturday, and I’ve spent the last half an hour taking pictures of stuff. Mostly my cat. He’s sooo photogenic. In one of my attempts to market myself I’m going to tell you I’ve got an Instagram account and I go by the name of parrotqueen. By the way I have zero followers. Why don’t you go fix that? Hmmmmm?

There’s not much to do around here. I feel sorry for myself. My gross, sticky, yellow knee is kind of hurting– when I fell off my bike I broke the fall with my skin. Bad idea. I don’t know why there wasn’t a mattress waiting helpfully for me to fall on– aren’t there people who do that sort of thing? Place mattresses on the ground at tricky spots where one might fall off one’s bike? If I was the prime minister, I’d look into that. In any case, I don’t like my gross sticky knee and I don’t like that it hurts. In the Hunger Games I’d do so badly. I’d stub a toe and sit down and yell, ‘Oh, just kill me! Go ahead, kill me!’

I’ve been thinking about things lately. Among the thoughts is a theory on the creation of the universe, and the other is my great dislike of worms. Let’s talk about my dislike of worms. The gross little creatures squiggle around underfoot just asking to be stepped on and squished– like ‘Here are my guts! Make them explode!’ The other day I saw one, a really, really disgusting white one that was kind of bluish (yecckkk, yecckkk), and it was squiggling itself across the pavement, and I thought, Who’s the genius who came up with worms? ‘Here’s a good idea! Let’s put these slimy little animals in the ground and make them come out when it rains! And let’s not give them heads!’

Why don’t worms have heads? Do they have two, one for each end, or no head at all? Is there a tail? Is there not? This line of thinking is too disgusting to continue. I wish caterpillars would replace all worms. Caterpillars are furry sometimes, and furriness is much more acceptable than sliminess. My friend once caught a red caterpillar and named him Dave or something. Dave died. But I liked Dave– he wasn’t gross like a worm.

If I didn’t hate worm guts more than worms themselves I’d go around stepping on all of them. Because, as much as I’m for animal rights, a worm is a worm, and that explains all.

I should stop typing now. But the pain is minimal, and I firmly believe it’s only a sprain and not a fracture. Maybe I’m wrong and I’ll suffer long for it, but it’s hard to give up guitar, in any case.

Remember. Go and search parrotqueen on Instagram. Then follow her. If you do the next sandwich you eat will grant you three wishes.

Did that sound convincing enough? Yes, yes, it’s true. Yours as ever sort of sincerely, but without the sincere form of sincerity, ~Onceabasementdog/parrotqueeen/you know I’m on Twitter, too?

 

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Indie Girl’s Indie Favorites

Thursday, July 26th, 2012

Hello to all my wrist is still in a cast so too bad no lengthy quirky opening for you.

Because I’m incapable of: playing guitar, typing for long periods of time, riding my bike, enjoying life or scaling cliffs, I’ve fallen back to music. For the last day or so I’ve been in a flurry of music-listening. Because I can’t PLAY music, I had to find some other way to satisfy my musical needs, and therefore, today I have a list for you. This list is a top ten of the best bands in the entire circumference of the universe as I see it. It goes by pure awesomneness, and therefore at the top of the list is…

1. Arcade Fire

who are the most talented group of musical weirdoes you will ever, ever see.

2. MewithoutYou

who, contrary to first listen, are fantastic. Be not swayed by the screaming.

3. Of Monsters and Men

who are a band of Icelandic freaks.

4 . Fleet Foxes

who may look like they belong in the seventies but are all the more awesome for it.

5. The Shins

who are so good it’s scary. Seriously, look at the music video for The Rifle’s Spiral. Scary.

6. The Black Keys

who rock.

7. Florence and the Machine

who isn’t a band, but is so good she had to be on my list.

8. Death Cab For Cutie

who have the awesomest name ever.

9. The Head and the Heart

whose lead singer has a fedora that looks exactly like mine.

10. The Sepia Trees

who you may not have heard of. I certainly have no connection with this band.

Who didn’t quite make the list# They are: Modest Mouse, Mumford & Sons, Tokyo Police Club, and Hey Rosetta!.

There you have it. Now, because I’m so bored and hobbled by my injuries, and would otherwise have nothing to do,  I’ll add my top five favorite albums of all time:

1. Funeral — Arcade Fire

2. Ten Stories — MewithoutYou

3. Ceremonials — Florence and the Machine

4. My Head Is An Animal — Of Monsters and Men

5. The Head and the Heart

There you have it. Now your existence is complete.

If you’re interested in checking out any of these bands, I recommend Wake Up by Arcade Fire, or Neighbourhood #2– The Cave by Mumford & Sons, Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men, Rivers and Roads by The Head and the Heart, and The Fox, the Crow, and the Cookie by MewithoutYou. I urge you to offer your opinions or agreements or disagreements in a comment, because I’m so, so bored today with my crippled arm and leg, and you don’t want me to sit around feeling sorry for myself, do you##

Yours ever so insincerely, ~Onceacrippledbasementdog

Woe and Misery and So Forth

Tuesday, July 24th, 2012

Hello to all WHATEVER.

Today I flew off my bike, writhed in pain for a few minutes, biked to my friend’s house (what would I have done without you, Karate Master!), and have ended up typing a blog entry one-handed and by the way it’s really, really hard to do a right bracket with one hand, you’ve got to stretch your whole hand across the keyboard, and I don’t even want to TRY a question mark because I fear that would end in a dislocation of the thumb so for your information this # is now a question mark. In any case, I fear the rest of the summer will be spent in misery and woe. Know why# Because I can’t play guitar with my left wrist in a cast, nor can I type with any sort of ease, nor can I bike or play catch or LIVE. I CANT EVEN LIVE. Is life even WORTH IT anymore# IS IT# IS IT###

This entry has to be kept short I’m afraid, because it’s a royal pain to type with one hand. Do you have robot-arms at your disposal# If you do, please give me one. I don’t have anything to pay you with, except gauze. Do you want some gauze# Oh, and include a flamethrower or a thing that shoots sleeping darts in my robot arm. No, both.

Hope you’re having a pleasant day, Blog-Reader (plesanter than mine, anyway), and don’t expect any lengthy blog posts in the next two or three weeks, because I simply do not have the patience and besides I have been turned into a helpless invalid. AN INVALID.

Yours truly, ~Onceabasementdog

What Is Boredom?

Wednesday, July 18th, 2012

Hello to all never-played mandolins, lamp shades, and cats disappearing from trees.

What is boredom? What is it really? The dictionary defines it as, The state of being bored; tedium, ennui. Well, I don’t know what exactly ‘ennui’ is, but I agree that it’s tedious. For the last, oh, say, six months I’ve been in a state of boredom, which is so boring as to be lingering at the edges of ennui. There’s so little to do around here when you’re more or less afraid of the Outside World and your activity is confined to bike rides and playing guitar and blogging. I could see my friends, but I’ve already tried biking past George Harrison’s house, and last time I went by the car wasn’t there and all the curtains were drawn, so either they’re away somewhere or vampires have invaded. I should’ve went to see the Karate Master on Tuesday but it was so hot and I was so bored that I couldn’t bring myself to.

Anyway. I’m such a pro when it comes to boredom that I could write a book about it. I could write a whole novel in prose.

What am I, but bored?

These tedious feelings, in summer days stored.

I wish I had hobbies,

So… er… I could visit some lobbies…

And in this state of ennui,

I must climb a tree,

Otherwise lose all my sanity,

Which I would like to keep, out of vanity.

Right now I’m having trouble writing stuff. I mean, ‘trouble’ writing stuff for me is like, Oh no, I can’t sit down and spew out thirty pages! but it’s still annoying. I want to get back into a book and stuff, and the fact that I can’t only adds to the enormous tedium that’s going around here in Onceabasementdogville.

Want to hear a joke? Okay. The girl was SO bored that she started writing sentences JUST to write sentences.

Ha ha ha.

Last night I had a three-part dream that I was on a hockey team, then a baseball team, then playing a character in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m pretty sure I was the fairy queen. Not like I go around wishing I was a fairy queen– I don’t know where that came from.

In other news, at least tomorrow is Thursday, (though unfortunately today it remains Wednesday), and I’ll be packing my bags for the Mother’s house, and there I’ve got my Hunger Games rip-off book to keep writing. I hope the writing dry spell goes away by then. By the way, the last entry had like, a KABILLION likes. Seriously, a kabillion. And I have no idea how! But it’s awesome! Thank you!

Here’s another joke for you: the blogger was SO bored that she was tempted to keep this blog entry going even LONGER, by inserting more prose from the Book of Boredom, but then she decided nobody would want to hear that, so, yours as always very untruly, ~Onceabasementdog

That’s not a joke. What the heck am I saying?

THE BOOK OF BOREDOM

What is fun?

The idea I shun!

I am employed in the art of tedium,

Which begs some sort of bearable medium

Should I  start up a hobby?

That involves visiting lobbies?

Or should I dwell in the art

That has no end and no start,

We crossed the ford-um

And on the other side, found more boredom.

‘O, Dear Computer’ and Other Poetry

Monday, July 16th, 2012

Hello to all fish swimming around in the weedy depths of the river, loons on dollars, mice in mousetraps and gross, sweaty old people riding their bikes with no shirt on.

Today I went for a bike ride. Bad idea, considering it’s practically the temperature of the inside of a well-cooked ham out there? Maybe. But anyway, bike I did besides that. As I was pedaling up by the side of the canal, a lyric for a song popped into my head: Up the hill by the stream is the nicest house I’ve ever seen. I wonder who lives there, and if they even care. I’m going to put that into my next song. I’ve been feeling in a poetic mood lately. Maybe that has something to do with the enormous hunk of English literature sitting next to the computer, which I pick up to flip through as I wait for the internet to load. It’s one of those university edition thingies that have every boring poem in the universe stuffed inside. Anyway it’s a very, very slow computer. Maybe I should install Adobe Flash Player and maybe I should listen to those Please Update windows that keep popping up, but I’m not convinced. I think my dear old computer is getting fed up with me– before the Adobe Flash Player upgrade was just a little box in the corner of the screen with an exclamation mark, and when I turned the computer on today it was a HUGE box that took up the entire screen, telling me this was Urgent! Update your Flash Player! (You piece of crap!)

I haven’t yet. Besides, I refuse to listen to my computer.  My computer can’t tell me what to do.

To expand on my poetic mood: I’ve realized, flipping through that hunk of boring English, that not only are all great writers insane (in most of the bios about different writers it explains how so-and-so spent three years in a lunatic asylum, so-and-so cut his ear off,  so-and-so wrote an entire ballad about his cat and God), and now I’m starting to worry that I’ll end up being insane, too. I mean, I’m not going to say I’m a great writer. (Yes, I am. Who said that?) I just don’t know if I really want to be that person sitting in a small room with a bed without sheets or a pillow so I can’t strangle or suffocate myself, writing poems about cats and God and stuff.

In any case. I’ve just typed up a storm during the weekend, a twenty five page Hunger Games rip-off that I plan to upload to a fan fiction site. I’ve been thinking up song lyrics like nobody’s business. The other day somebody told me I looked like an artist. ‘Do you play music?’ ‘Why, yes,’ I said. ‘Do you play guitar?’ ‘Uh, yes, I do.’ Apparently all the artistic stuff is starting to boil over in me. Soon I’ll be writing poems about dust bunnies and making friends with inanimate objects. Not like that’s a bad thing, I mean, the computer speaker’s got a great sense of humor.

Nah, don’t worry. I’m still sane.

And here’s my poem about the computer:

O, Dear Computer

Mine old friend, of plastic and wire;

Tis a short time, I fear, before he bursts into fire

For ten long years he has stood as a guide,

To my senseless poor poetry,

In him, I confide.

But soon the days will catch up with him,

And the promising glow of life will seem dim

And therefore, I shall be obliged to divide

The files within him to one, and one side

Before all is lost, and I pay the cost

O, dear computer, I fain imagine my loss.

~~~

Farewell sincerely, my dear Blog-Reader, ~Onceabasementdog

Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

Tuesday, July 10th, 2012

Hello to all enormous Norton anthologies of English literature, crows cawing from trees, and hamsters in hamster wheels.

To me, the ‘OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR’ message that you see on most or every car mirror has always seemed needlessly cryptic. I have to sit down with a clear mind if I even want to understand what it means. So okay, let me get this straight… these objects, these things I see in this mirror, they are closer than they appear. So that means when they’re not in the mirror, they’re farther than they appear? No, no… wait a second…

I believe it means that things you see in the mirror are closer than they actually are. But who has time to figure that out when it’s worded that way? Like, okay, you’re driving down a dark highway out in the country somewhere, and an enormous eighteen wheeler is zooming up behind you. You check the mirror, thinking, ‘Doesn’t it say something important on the mirror?’ and in the oncoming light of the truck’s headlights you read the message, and while you’re trying to work out what it means… CRASH-BOOOOM!

Turns out the object in the mirror was much closer than it appeared.

Why can’t they just say, ‘THINGS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY LOOK.’ Why does it have to be poetic and complicated? Did they get John Milton to write that? Hey, Milton, can you write us a message for the car mirrors? And Milton says, ‘Sure thing!’ And then it turns into a poem that goes on for dozens of pages. They couldn’t fit the whole poem on the mirror so they just took the important part, which was ‘Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear.’

I don’t know if the car companies realizes this rhymes and is strangely difficult to understand.

In other news. Sorry for the long blog-strike. Except it wasn’t really a strike. Well, you can picture it like a strike if you want to, that’s more fun, with all the keys on my keyboard walking around with little signs and demanding to be treated more fairly. Because honestly, I work them pretty hard, with all the stories and blogging and so on. But don’t any of you get any ideas. Yes, I’m looking at you, comma key.

In other news, I’ve been biking and playing guitar and fooling around on a website where people upload stories. (I have an account; if you’re at all interested I’m called SweeperOfChimneys and I’m on FictionPress.) I like sneering at all the junk people put up there and thinking, ‘He he, I write better than you.’

I’ve been reading a lot lately, too– I just got through Blood Red Road by Moira Young, which is a Hunger Games rehash with an evil king and a girl with a pet crow and stuff. It was all right. I also finished A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which I highly recommend. Shakespeare is unbearable in school but on your own it’s pretty neat. And hm, what else have I been up to? It’s so hard to dredge out anything exciting to write about. I went to Harvey’s the other day. Had a veggie burger and some onion wrings. It was good.

I can’t wait for Cassandra Clare’s new book to come out. I’ve lost faith in the modern-day series, which is chock-full of gushiness, but the other one is really cool. I want the Advance Reader’s copy and I may just have to bribe the ladies at the local bookstore to read it when they get it. Last time I asked to read the early copy of a book I wanted and they said someone else was reading it… but maybe a couple bucks’ll change that this time.

I wish I had more to say. I never do. My friends will groan when they know that I can open up the three respective Kane Chronicles books at the Anubis scenes like, without having to search through it any. And this gushy scene is here… and THIS gushy scene is here…

Have a good week, my friend Blog-Reader! May the force be with you, but not too with you, because then you might turn mad with power and use it for evil. ~Onceabasementdog