Definitions

From Dictionary.com:
an⋅tique
   /ænˈtik/ [an-teek] adjective, noun, verb, -tiqued, -ti⋅quing.
–adjective
1. of or belonging to the past; not modern.
2. dating from a period long ago: antique furniture.
3. noting or pertaining to automobiles approximately 25 years old or more.
4. in the tradition, fashion, or style of an earlier period; old-fashioned; antiquated.
5. of or belonging to the ancient Greeks and Romans.
6. (of paper) neither calendered nor coated and having a rough surface.
7. ancient.

dai⋅ly
   /ˈdeɪli/ [dey-lee] adjective, noun, plural -lies, adverb
–adjective
1. of, done, occurring, or issued each day or each weekday: daily attendance; a daily newspaper.
2. computed or measured by the day: daily quota; a daily wage.
–noun
3. a newspaper appearing each day or each weekday.
4. dailies, Movies . a series of hastily printed shots from the previous day's shooting, selected by the director to be viewed for possible inclusion in the final version of the film; rushes.
5. British .
a. a nonresident servant who comes to work every day; a permanently employed servant who sleeps out.
b. a person employed to do cleaning or other household work by the day.
–adverb
6. every day; day by day: She phoned the hospital daily.

in⋅con⋅ceiv⋅a⋅ble
   /ˌɪnkənˈsivəbəl/ [in-kuhn-see-vuh-buhl]
–adjective
1. does not mean what you think it means.

Totally Tarantula Tuesday: Extra Special "I Think My Pet Thinks I'm Food" Edition

This morning, as I stumbled blearily past my roommate's terrarium and cricket death chamber, she/he/it/bird/spider licked her lips at me. I shit you not. I stopped and looked back at her, and he/she/it/bird/spider stopped moving for a brief moment and then continued running her pedipalps over her fangs. WHILE LOOKING RIGHT AT ME. I guess she/he/it/bird/spider hasn't learned yet to avoid biting the hand that feeds. I took another step toward the kitchen and the inevitable cup of coffee and Helob turned to the left to watch me while continuing to rub his/her/it/bird/spider's fangs. Disconcerting does not begin to describe the feelings engendered by my roommate's actions, especially considering how she/he/it/bird/spider is nearly blind.

Helob has been getting damn testy of late, refusing to get out of the way when I need to refill the water dish. He/she/it/bird/spider has reacted violently to my attempts to clean the terrarium of cricket corpses, striking out at the fork I use to scrap the dirt clean. I am a little worried that Helob might be meeting a rough crowd and experimenting with drugs and piercings. She/he/it/bird/spider has certainly attempted to pierce my water bottle and fork.

I should also mention the strange incident that happened last night. I heard a strange noise as I was falling asleep and thought that something had fallen over or perhaps a new roommate/tarantula food source was moving in. I turned on the lights and looked around for the source of the scuffling. I heard the strange scratching sound again, and it was definitely coming from the terrarium. I peered into Helob's dirty domain of cricket doom and saw her/him/it/bird/spider standing on the cricket's food dish. His/her/it/bird/spider's front pair of legs were on the ground and she/he/it/bird/spider was using his/her/it/bird/spider's pedipalps to lift the dish, which would then make the scratching-scuffling sound when the pedipalps lost their grip. Helob could only lift the dish about a centimeter before her/his/it/spider's weight caused Helob to drop the dish. I think the devious and deadly spider was trying to frighten the cricket that shelter underneath the food dish, but the meals of wheels weren't obliging him/her/it/bird/spider. Wanting some peace and quiet, and also to appease the great beast, I opened the terrarium and shooed the large-fanged and furry creature off the food dish. I carefully lifted the dish, not to avoid harming the crickets cowering underneath, but to avoid being attacked by a rabid tarantula. The crickets scattered for all corners of the terrarium, yet not a chirp was uttered. They had nowhere to run and no stage on which to sing and be free of the tyranny of venom enforced by Helob. I had a quiet night, but the next morning Helob's attitude toward me was decidedly un-passive and un-roommatey. Figures. I buy all the food and clean the place constantly and somehow, I'm the shithead.

Working Projects

I'm working on a number of writing projects, and I'm finding myself disappointed with my writing ability. Part of the disappointment comes from the repetition that I think I am injecting into the piece and part of it seems to be coming from the act of writing itself. Or maybe I just feel sort of empty afterward. I am not sure. It's certainly a new feeling.

I wrote something today, and I almost felt a bit of sympathy with George Lucas. As soon as I hit publish, I immediately had to revise some of it. And then some more. And then, the next thing I know my protagonists are annoying children and racists aliens. Maybe not quite that bad, but close. I've already got a few paragraphs I want to add to the thing, so I guess it's a good thing I haven't really told anyone about my other blog, er, um.

SHIT.

Where I Write These Days

Sitting on the rocks by the babbling sewage and road runoff rivulet behind my apartment. Canal Road and the Canal are below me and the sun is warm. The burble babble of the poisoned water drowns out most of the traffic noise, and the smell is tolerable most days. The sunlight glitters and gleams on the fouled falling water, uncaring of our damage or danger. That orb will bear silent witness far longer than our life, our love, and our crime.

Two Recent Pictures From Dulles

A friend of mine sent me two pictures of the great sea of humanity in which she swam at Dulles airport. The first one is rather poetic:

I like the expression on the child's face, utter despair. The resignation is writ large on the adults behind her, yet she is still so full of life, happiness, hope, and innocence and thus she alone can feel the crushing emptiness of this hideous ordeal.

The second picture is completely rage-worthy and sadly unpoetic:

That is indeed a Twilight: the movie tote bag in the hands of one clearly beyond the intended age-range. One could say at least she's reading, but to my ears that insults me and displays a startling lack of faith or hope in America. One could also say that there is no accounting for taste, but to my tongue that says this pathetic creature has no sense of taste left. One could say that she is a sad and lonely person whose life has been rendered empty and cold like the wind-swept barrens of Wyoming, and she reaches toward the story as a plant reaches toward the meager light of the winter sun. To my ears, this is rank and melodramatic hogwash. One might believe such things if only she didn't posses the tote. One might be willing to grant the largest benefit of the sum of all doubt, if not for that tote. I wonder if she has a lifetime subscription to the Harlequin Novel of the Week Club. And I don't mean that the club merely sends out one novel a week, I mean also that they write a novel a week. Find and Replace features heavily in this writing, as does the word turgid. Fye on thee, Satan.

New Netflix Arrivals

Man, I should really check out my Netflix queue. I returned three movies last week and received Insomnia, On The Waterfront, and A Streetcar Named Desire. The last three movies I have watched were: Serenity, Logan's Run, and The Living Daylights. Yes, the first Dalton Bond movie. There does seem to be a slight disconnect between my recent habits and my queue, but I can always blame that on my recent illness and cabin fever.

I am remembering now that I was on a bit of a Brando kick while last tinkering with my queue, and I might have several or several dozen more Marlon Brando movies to get through before I hit a rich vein of anime, or a big basaltic block of britcoms. I suspect that I will have to drill through a hardened layer of surf documentaries before hitting the Hitchcock Aquifer that is rumored to exist near a sediment of 70s softcore and science fiction.

Google's April Fools Joke Not as Funny as Nature's

Google has added a new feature to gmail. Hardy-har-har. On Sunday, nature left me a lovely flu that is currently the bane of my existence. I am not sure which of these pranks is funnier.