Archive for the ‘awkward’ Tag

My Brain, and Other Curiosities

Saturday, May 11th, 2013

Hello to all cats, valiantly attempting to find the newly sprouted bean plants and eat them, slippers on floors, and harmonicas in the key of C.

Part of the reason I haven’t been blogging much lately is because I got this video game called Skyrim, became desperately obsessed with it, sucked up all the internet time, and then lay shivering in a corner from Skyrim-withdrawal. It was a dark time. Also, it’s spring, and I’ve been enjoying the springiness. I’m going to start softball on Wednesday, and boy am I nervous– last night I had one of my super-realistic anxiety-ridden dreams about it. I went to some sort of tryout in a large abandoned parking lot in Montreal, where I had to wait in line all day for various skill assessments and never got a turn, and then there was a giant squid that ate everyone except me and the coach, who blamed it on me and killed me with a softball made of fire.
I figure Wednesday won’t be QUITE that bad.
Anyway, spring is nice– it feels more like summer than anything, though. Spring no longer exists in this part of Ontario– it’s been burned away by global warming, is what I figure. It’s nice to be out and about, though, and tomorrow my friends and I are going to Comiccon to be nerdy and stuff. Wil Wheaton from Big Bang Theory (and Star Trek TNG) is going to be there and I’m going to try and get his autograph, possibly on my hat. I’ve got another hat that was signed by Brett Spiner last year. I am so cool, man. I’m going to take pictures, too. I won’t even be embarrassed by the fact that my entourage is three nerdy teenage boys, two with braces, all in shorts and sandals. One possibly in shorts and sandals with socks. I love my friends.

I’ve been feeling good lately. The world seems promising to me. Everything seems funnier, too– I could fill up a whole volume with funny things I’ve noticed, which I guess is sort of what this blog is, but I swear– there’s funny coming out of my nose lately. I can’t keep it in. There’s way too much funny. And most of it isn’t even funny, it just is in my brain, but the minute I say it out loud I realize how non-funny it really is, and then everyone looks at me and politely doesn’t say anything. Up there in my brain, it’s like a never-ending, not entirely well-directed B movie.
In fact, if you took a diagram of my brain, it would probably look a bit like this:
my brain

I forgot stuff like for instance “family” and “friends” and “good-heartedness” but let’s say they take up the other side. This side that you see is the left hemisphere or something.
So I’ll see ya later, Blog-Reader. I’ll probably put some pictures up from Nerdfest tomorrow, and who knows, maybe you’ll even get a post about how Wednesday will go. If there’s giant squids…
… I promise I’ll tell you about it.
Yours truly, the most truest of them all, ~Onceabasementdog


Impersonating Fictional Characters Is Fun!

Thursday, December 13th, 2012

Hello to all feathers, drifting softly through the sunlit air, coconuts on beaches, and airships caught in hurricanes.

If you’re on an airship caught in a hurricane: first, check to make sure you’re not just a reference of Skybreaker. If you’re not, then try flying above the hurricane into clearer sky. If this is not possible, batton down the hatches, or whatever you do on airships, get ready the parachutes or lifeboats, in case you’re flying over the sea. Send out a distress signal for help. And take a picture while you’re at it– I need stuff to blog about, thanks.

So, it’s a moderately cold Tuesday (or… Wednesday?) here in Onceabasementdogville, and obviously I’m VERY up to date, because I really do know what day it is and everything. Lately I’ve been avoiding my blog as much as possible, due to, well, stress mainly, because I’ve got like TWO DOZEN followers holy moly, jeez, where’d you all come from? And that’s a lot of expectations to satisfy. I feel like I have to be funny every time I blog, and sometimes it just doesn’t come to me. I try, but the funny plays a wicked game– sometimes I can write for ages and all of it’s mildly amusing, and sometimes I just stare deeply into the screen trying to desperately come up with a way to make something funny out of the word bookmark. Maybe I shouldn’t have been trying to make something funny out of the word bookmark. It’s just… not a funny word. Book-mark. Book… mark. It marks books, okay? That’s all it does.

Anyway, today I was getting into politics. I could like, talk about that… but no. I have something more interesting to relay to you, dear Blog-Reader.

It’s no secret two thirds of my waking life is taken up with staring at walls and scribbling sketches of dreamy fantasy heroes and then throwing them out because I feel like no one should ever look at them. (I’m probably right. Even MY eyes hurt when I look at them, and I created them.) So often, in the midst of this extreme wall-staring boredom, I do crazy things. Sometimes I interview the ladies who work at the local bookstore with my camera and pretend I’m doing a ‘documentary about bookstores’ so it isn’t so weird. Sometimes I dance in frightful, spasmatic circles in my room while I listen to Arcade Fire songs. Often, I take up residence on the chair in my room and gaze at the walls. Today, though, I held an interview– with myself.

Except, it wasn’t technically with myself. I mean, it was. But I was pretending to be this character from a Kenneth Oppel book. It was fun. I must be losing my mind, but it really was fun– I think I’ve got some strange, best-kept-secret talent for impersonating random characters from fantasy books, or sometimes from TV shows. I do a mean Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Anyway, it was the middle of the day and the house was empty, and my sister Little Girl of Horrors was out with my dad, and I had a sudden itch to interview myself with my old analog camera. I’ve done that in the past– conjured up imaginary characters and interviewed them. You don’t even want to know how weird it’s gotten. So I pulled on a black coat and assumed the persona of a fantasy character. I owned it, seriously. I hear they’re making a movie.


Yes, yes, I was assuming the character of Victor Frankenstein. Maybe that’s the absolute height of weirdness, but who cares? It was fun and as long as nobody ever sees that video, I won’t mind that it exists.

There’s probably something else of interest to talk about. Dunno. If you like books, then you’ll be glad to know I like books, too, and I’m reading this one called ‘The Scorpio Races’ by the lady who wrote that series that tried to imitate Twilight, except it was about werewolves. I never picked up that series, but The Scorpio Races is pretty good, so far. There’s something to it, anyway. I don’t like that the heroine is kind of lame, but she has her moments of coolness, so that sort of makes up for that. The hero is the usual teen fiction romantic interest stereotype. Calm, collected, powerful– can command man-eating horses. And by the way he would ‘be almost handsome if his features weren’t quite so sharp.’ Well, that’s that. I’m glad I know.

So, that book I’m trying to get published is still floating around not being published yet, and I’m still waiting for the possible rejection letter. The heroine in it is NOT lame at all, and I wish more heroines would be that way. They say girls are being better represented in books these days, but I still don’t quite believe it.

Anyway. I feel all sleepy and bored. I was going to write a poem about bookmarks, but all I can come up with is this meager offering:

Once I owned me a bookmark;

Twas eaten along with me book

By an angry book-eating shark.

There you are. ~Onceabasementdog

The Terrible Teen Section

Friday, November 23rd, 2012

Hello to all USB sticks sitting in places where I’ll definitely forget about them, dogs on airplanes, and solar-powered monkeys.

Ah! It’s almost winter again! Don’t you just love winter? What with the holidays and the snow and the ice and the darkness and the NEVER-ENDING FRIGIDITY–

Never mind. I hate Onceabasementdogville. I want to live in a volcano or something. I bet it would be nice and warm THERE.

So, I like libraries. I do. I think I like them because they’re quiet, and familiar, and they always smell like books. (Well, that’s a surprise.) There’s a library pretty close to my house, and I bike there sometimes to peruse the various sections that I find an interest in. Usually I end up gazing blankly at the teen section, trying to decide which book I should take out, My Love Is A Beautiful Vampire, or The Day Everyone Turned Into Robots, solely on the basis of which one looks less horrible. Because, see, the teen section at my public library is an actual hell of paper and ink. I’ve only taken out maybe three good books from that wall of blatant torture, and they weren’t even fantastic or anything. I don’t know why the teen section has to be so horrible, it just is. I still have suspicions about the librarian hiding all the good books from me when I drop by.

Anyway, a while back I took these pictures of some books from the Terrible Teen Section. Assuming they don’t burn out your eyes the minute you look at them, I think you’ll be able to examine them and understand why exactly my faith in literature and human kind in general is plummeting:

Oh, but this is just a taste of the many horrors of the Terrible Teen Section, my dear Blog-Reader!

I almost have no words for this one. But I’ll try. So, you’ve got this invisible boyfriend. And you know, it causes all sorts of complications, I assume. I mean, all the other girls can SEE their boyfriends! But she can’t! Oh my God it’s so awkward!

Next one. It’s almost worse… somehow.

But what does that even MEAN? Is she more real than your average Joe? Or what? I can tell you one thing, though, with absolute honesty:

This is the best title I’ve ever seen.

Now, here’s the last one. Brace yourself…

Audrey, wait!
What? Why? What’s HAPPENING to her?

So, there you have it. If that doesn’t convince you modern teen books are spiralling (apparently literally) into absurdity, I don’t know what will.

Yours semi-truly, only when I’m not making fun of things, (and that’s never), ~Onceabasementdog

Further Adventures of the Biking Girl

Wednesday, September 19th, 2012

Hello to all tuskless walruses, pianos lingering over people’s heads, granola bars, flamingo-people and parrots on the shoulders of pirates.

I like going on bike rides. It’s no lie. There’s endless bike paths to follow around Onceabasementdogville, and the stores are so accessible, not like I have any money to access them for. I spent at least half an hour digging around the nuclear wasteland of my room for coins to buy a bottle of pop with, and came up with a loonie, ten cents and an American quarter. I also found a spiderweb where a spiderweb shouldn’t be and a weird bug that I’ll pretend I never saw.

So I donned my hat and pulled on my sweater and went out the door, Arcade Fire blaring in my earphones. The plan? Coffee. To waken my zombified, sleeping-in, school-missing brains, that is. So I went down to the Tim Hortons, squinting at the display board to try and figure out if my measly dollar-and-ten cents and American quarter would get me a coffee. I think I have bad eyesight, because it took me forever to figure out if the dollar and thirty-something cents was thirty-something or eighty-something. I still don’t know, I just dropped all my coins in the cashier’s hand and hoped it was good. I stared at him and hoped he’d overlook the American quarter, because honestly, I don’t know if they even take American money here where I am, not in America.

Anyway, I got my coffee, and went out and sat on the curb. I took out my notebook and started writing a little story. By the way, coffee tastes just like it smells: disgusting. The story I’m writing is about a girl living in the early nineteen hundreds. I don’t know what to call it, but I think it’s about stars or something. I took off again, having forced down two thirds of the coffee, which was all I could take. You know, I think caffeine doesn’t affect me that much, because after I drank it I went really really really really really fast on my bike and raced a squirrel but he was faster than me and ran up a tree which wasn’t fair and there was this BUZZING in my head and I can’t figure out what it was but anyway the big hill before the bridge was no problem, I went up it like, in five seconds flat, I assume my legs are getting stronger.

On the way home I went down the little path that went in front of all the big houses. There was this old lady walking by and she stepped aside and get this, I KNEW she would say something, and she did. She said in the haughty tones of a person from the rich end of town, “This is NOT a bike path.” Oh, okay. And I’m NOT going to make fun of you on my blog or anything.

For some reason my thoughts are going way faster than I can type and trying to write ‘me’ always come out ‘my.’ I don’t know why this is happening.

At one part on my bike ride these girls on a scooter passed me and they oinked at me, all right, whatever. I’m not a pig. At least I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure.

Jeez I think my head’s about to blow off. No more coffee ever for me, that was a bad idea.

I’m sure there’s more to say but running in circles for a long time is what I plan to do now. Okay, see you later, yours truly and stuff, ~Onceabasementdog.



I Really Can’t Think Of A Title For This One

Wednesday, August 29th, 2012

Hello to all… cows on farms… and… … leprechauns… and…

It’s been too long. I can’t do the quirky opening anymore.

Um, anyway. There’s been a long gap between this blog entry and the last one, and for that I apologize. The simple explanation is I’ve been so out of the writey-bloggey mood lately. A less simple explanation might be, I was attacked by mutant frogs, drugged and stuffed into the cargo hold of an airplane bound for the Himalayas, and woke up on a truck driving along a mountain road, just when it went over the edge and plummeted off into the air– miraculously, I survived, spent several weeks in a small village, stole a llama and rode to England, where I took a boat to New York, hopped a train and traded tales with a hobo on the way back home, and am now secure back in my basement and ready for more blogging. Except that explanation isn’t true.

I don’t feel all full of substance and meaning tonight.  If it’s theories on the origin of the universe you want, look elsewhere. But if it’s comical conversations on Youtube you want, look here! (Note that this conversation has been edited by the blogeress.)

sometimesbutrarely: Can you see the dislike bar? No, I can’t either.

Fetusgi (in reply to sometimesbutrarely): I can.

chuntusmac (in reply to Fetusgi): shut the *polite bleeping noise* up you *politer bleeping noise*

Fetusgi (in reply to chuntusmac): That’s just rude. He asked a question and I answered it. As it was a metaphor for him liking the song, you could say my answer was a metaphor for not really fancying it.

chuntusmac (in reply to Fetusgi): im sorry, ill take you out for a burrito sometime

Fetusgi (in reply to chuntusmac): Thanks. I look forward to it.

What a nice guy! Offering to take Mr. Fetusgi out for a burrito.

Anyway, I’m almost finished reading a pretty funny book. It’s called ‘The Prince of Neither Here Nor There’ by Sean Cullen. I was surprised by how witty the author is. It’s not often you find such excellent content on the shelves of the public library. I have a dark suspicion that either all the good books are conspiring to hide from me or there just aren’t any good books at all. In the last month the books I’ve taken out include: a story about a video game that kills people, a story about a vampire boy (oooh, how original) and the ‘lost years’ of Morgana La Fey, and I still don’t know what that one was supposed to be about. In the last two years I’ve read exactly two books that I thoroughly enjoyed from the library: a Kenneth Oppel one and a weird, fairly disturbing horror story about things that live in people’s bodies and make them do frightening stuff. But counting Sean Cullen’s book, I’ve now enjoyed three novels from the terrible teen section. Not to say my faith in the library has been restored; it’s still full of ridiculously awful little novels, among which are about three billion copies of Twilight, something called ‘I Will Walk A Thousand Hills For You’ or whatever it is, endless realistic fiction about a girl and her RELATIONSHIPS, OOOOOO, THAT SOUNDS FUN, and not to mention all the generic fantasy and spy thrillers and what have you.

I also took out ‘The Mob’, something about crows, and a Philip Pullman book. I hope neither of them are as awful as the story about the video game that kills people.


So, what else? I feel dangerously rambly today. I could go on forever about just about anything in my current frame of mind– I think it’s one of those nights where the only thing to do is run up and down the stairs a bunch of times to get the craziness out.

To wrap it all up for the day… I have no faith in public libraries, and I must go run up and down the stairs now. Also, it’s the Karate Master’s birthday tomorrow. I wanted to organize a parade to go by his house… but perhaps that’s too ambitious… and a touch insane. My new plan is to call him tomorrow and see if I can go over and play chess with him. The Karate Master is quite good at chess– I’ve only beaten him twice, and we’ve probably played five or six times. Also he has an awesome Super Mario Brothers chess set and I like it.

Yours as ever, mysteriously untruly only at the best of times, (figure that one out, why don’t you?) ~Onceabasementdog.

I Am On the Hunchback’s Team

Wednesday, August 15th, 2012

Hello to all bottles of vitamin water, empty bowls of ginger chicken, microphones on floors, and hydrangeas.

I have something to admit. It’s horrible. It really is. Take your children from the room. Don’t led them read it.


There I said it.

It’s true. I am ashamed. Cassandra Clare is a popular teen writer, and her books are pretty good, (by teen fantasy standards, anyway). The first book in the series holds a coveted position beside my pillow, and sometimes when I really can’t sleep I read my favorite parts out loud in the darkness and it’s funny, but that calms me right down. I love that first book and the second one isn’t bad, too. Now, the third book is coming out in April, (tell me how I survive until then, Blog-Reader, tell me), and I must admit I’m looking forward to it. I want that book. I want to take off the book jacket, smell those freshly-printed pages, smell them, smell them, smell them, and dive into the first chapter as I would dive into a sea of Jell-o. Now what’s sad about this whole picture isn’t that I’m comparing reading a book to diving into a sea of Jell-o, or even that next to actually reading it, smelling it is my favorite part– no, the sad thing is that I love those two characters so much. Those two, agreeably tortured, pretty,  pretty characters. They must be real, or how else would I continue living?

I was nosing around on the series’s Facebook page, and my eye caught a disturbing comment someone had posted. Apparently, they were ‘on team Jem.’ This is something you never, ever want to see. Because what does it mean? It means hordes of silly teenage girls fighting over which character is more desirable, has more power to make people build shrines in their closets and market embarrassing t-shirts. I scrolled down the page, and discovered it just went on and on. Everybody had an opinion. Who is better, Will or Jem? The general census, to my surprise, was that Jem is better. But he is not. Jem has a terrible sickness that will claim his life if a cure isn’t found, and therefore he is pitiable and vulnerable– but Will is strong-minded and suffering on a whole other, emotional level. Not to say I don’t like Jem, too. Just not as much.

Wait, it’s not like I’m picking a team! I refuse to even consider the idea. I refuse to join in on the whole subject of having teamsWhy do male antagonists need teams? They don’t! And when you think about it, do female protagonists have teams? They do not. Do hunchbacks have teams? Of course not! They’re not handsome and desirable!

Ah. Now there’s a good t-shirt. Team Hunchback. I’m on that team.

I guess there’s nothing wrong with people making ‘teams’ of the characters in books. It just seems unbearably corny and embarrassing. Why can’t you just read the book without making note of which character is the best? And even if you do, why profess your love for him all over the internet? Please, don’t profess your love at all– keep it in the shrine.

I’m not one to talk, really. While looking over those comments I was thinking, Oh, you idiots, Will’s the best. You’re all wrong. I still love those characters, I just don’t really want a t-shirt proclaiming the fact that I do.

Yours sincerely, (next time I’ll talk about politics. I swear), ~Onceabasementdog.


The Best Dream Ever and Mr. Rochester’s Mustache

Sunday, August 5th, 2012

Hello to all people on unicycles crashing into fences, pears in baskets, railings, and curtain designers.

This morning I had the best. Dream. Ever.

I was substituting for the lead singer of Arcade Fire. We were playing in front of this enormous crowd– and the first song was Month of May, and I was totally killing it. It was the epic-est dream I’ve ever had– usually my dreams are just downright depressing, like for instance, that one I had a few years ago where a giant squid-woman was scooping people up and eating them, or maybe the one where I rescued a colony of mice living in a jail and then they ran out and fell off a cliff. The Arcade Fire dream was absolutely fantastic, in any case, and it would’ve went on longer if the Mother hadn’t walked in… just then… as I was having the most incredible dream of my existence… and woke me up.

(Here I twitch a few times.)

In other news, yesterday I watched the 1980-something version of Jane Eyre. It wasn’t good, nor was it especially bad– and I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed it more if MR. ROCHESTER HADN’T HAD A MUSTACHE.

The actor was annoying enough to begin with– he didn’t capture his character at all, at least in my opinion– but he would’ve been fine, bearable even, if he just didn’t have that fr-icking mustache. I realize it was the eighties, and everyone had a mustache and bad hair, but in Mr. Rochester’s case it just made him look like a loser! A mustache-bearing loooooooser! I tried to picture him without it, or to just ignore it, but it was impossible. Every time there was a shot of his face ALL I SAW WAS THE MUSTACHE. I mean, the lady playing Jane was absolutely perfect– but the mustache just ruined everything. Everything.

Now my view of Jane Eyre is colored by the mustache. If I ever read the book again every time Mr. Rochester says something all I’m going to think about is that thing on his face, that horrible thing on his face. I have to see the newest version, and cleanse my mind of the mustache– hopefully that Mr. Rochester doesn’t have one. If he does I might have to take matters into my own hands and make a version of Jane Eyre myself, where Mr. Rochester is clean shaven, God help me.

Anyway. It’s another stupidly hot day in Onceabasementdogville, and I do fear I shall melt into a puddle of gloop. It’s really just ridiculous out there. Things will start spontaneously bursting into flame soon.

In other words, there is no possibility of taking a walk today. Yours as untruly as never, (did I use that one already?), ~Onceabasementdog.

‘On Seeing Mr. Rochester’s Mustache’

‘Twas a day in the middle of a hot, lonely summer,

And all things considered, my life was a bummer.

We rented Jane Eyre, assuming it would be fair,

But all was then ruined by the thing on his face

That was hair.

The girl playing Jane was fine, I exclaim!

But the mustache was torturing me with intense mental pain.

I must needs discover who casted this man,

And then went on to suggest a mustache was an excellent plan.

Charlotte Bronte frowns down on the mustache,

And… I send my regards to my dear friend… Eustache.

(Well? You go ahead and tell me what rhymes with mustache.)


Adventures of the Walking Girl

Thursday, August 2nd, 2012

Hello to all quarters on tables, headphones that don’t work anymore possibly because I wore them out in the rain, cats meowing at doors, and flowers in jars.

So, what do you do when you can’t bike? You walk! The same distances that you biked. Which is not necessarily a good idea, because biking is much faster than walking, and much easier, too… and that’s why I was an hour away from home sitting on a bench eating trail mix thinking, I’m going to die before I get back. 

While on my walk, the one I managed not to die on, I took lots and lots of pictures. Later I realized they could be put into a blog entry as a sort of humorous progression following my adventures. My adventures which aren’t nearly as adventurous as you’re hoping. Anyway, it was a mindlessly hot Tuesday, and I went limping out the door…

ImageAnd I took a picture of this thing.

And then I went in the general direction of the river, where I came upon my favorite house in the south end, this lovely building here:

ImageIf I was evil, I’d ring their doorbell and say, “I’m very sorry to tell you this sir but there’s an eons-old monster living in your basement…”

(And then the house would be mine.)

ImageI really like these chairs. I want these chairs.

ImageThis is a really cool car.


This is a really cool car, too.

ImageThe original purpose of my walk was to go down to the river– ahem, right there, actually– and eat the trail mix, Pepsi, and crab apple I’d prepared for lunch. But when I got to the place under the bridge I was going to sit at, there were these PEOPLE there. Fishing. It’s not a very good picture of them (I had to take it quickly while examining the river as if I wasn’t taking a picture of them) but anyway, there they are. Fishing in my lunch spot.

ImageWhile on the search for a new place to eat, I saw this boat. See what it says? How mysterious.


So instead of my under-the-bridge lunch area I found a place under a tree, instead. There were many dog walkers and joggers going by and twice a dog came down to sniff at me and my lunch, thereby scaring the crap out of me twice. Do you know what it’s like, sitting listening to your iPod examining the view and then there’s this FURRY THING next to you? Well, it’s kind of scary. I let them lick my hand anyway. And that’s my lunch, by the way: trail mix, Pepsi, crab apple. I had twenty dollars to buy anything I wanted… and this is what I was eating, for SOME reason…

ImageThis is the book I was reading as I sat there. Never trust a thirteen-year-old-vampire-boy-deals-with-the-troubles-of-adolescence book. Just, really. Don’t. You’ll regret it.


And then I had to leave because the ants were moving in. See the little devil? Grr.


On my way to my picnic table destination, (which was occupied by two ladies, and I wanted to take a picture of them, too, but I didn’t know how it was possible to do so discreetly unless I hid in the bushes or something) a stick threw itself at my shin. I was just walking, and then there’s this stick jabbing into my leg. Note the bandage above it. Why don’t I just throw myself into an airplane propeller and call it a day?

I was going to put in the last picture but it seems impossible. It’s been ‘uploading’ for far too Imagewhat impeccable timing, there it is. I swear I didn’t plan that. Anyway, this is a picture  my iPod took of itself as I was walking. That nicely rounds out my adventures on Tuesday, so I think I’ll sign off now.

Yours truly, (hey! There’s a weird mermaid up there), ~Onceabasementdog.

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?


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