Promises Promises

Have I mentioned before that my mother owns a couple of Curves Clubs?*

Mom’s a hands-on owner—the woman paints the walls and does her own maintenance on the machines—so I wasn’t surprised when she started taking instructor training workshops.

But I was completely floored when she told me she was teaching Zumba**—I don’t think I’ve ever seen her dance and rhythm has never really been her thing.***  It does seem to be going well, though, or at least Dad’s reported no injuries or lawsuits.

I’m very proud of her and would pay good money for video footage.^

So when my husband showed me a new webcomic he’d discovered, I knew I had to show Mom:^^

Promises Promises, by the talented and flat out funny Jules R. Faulkner, centers around an upscale women-only gym and spa and the trial and victories of the staff—Fiona, Trish, and Shanta—and their varied clientele, including the Baroness (aka Carmen Miranda up there), who is such an unrepentantly difficult client that she’s almost become one of the family.

It kicks ass, y’all.

While I can be militant against body-shaming, think the BMI is the greatest crock of crap since the Ex-Lax Diet, and fully believe that when it comes to fat and health, correlation does not equal causation,^^^ I’m all for true wellness in all its infinite forms and this comic delivers tips, tricks, encouragement, sympathy, and a lot  of humor without ever venturing near Thinner-Than-Thou territory.

I really appreciate that.

And I adore the Baroness’ style:

You know you’re in that line somewhere, my friends.  Let’s all aim for the fourth or fifth, okay?

If you’re a Facebook friend, you’ve seen me share a few as I went through the archives from the beginning.

It’s Monday, so you’re probably pulling a double shift, Mom, but check these out anyway—it’s work-related!
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*For those of you outside the franchise territories, these are women-only circuit gyms.

**Zumba is dance aerobics to music that makes it impossible not to move. Unless, of course, you’re me and have had years of practice not moving.

***Sorry, Mom. But I’ve seen you play Ping Pong. And I remember what you said about the music I liked to listen to when I was doing my homework.

^Seriously—if you’re on her staff or take her classes, I’ll make it worth your while. My contact info is in the corner up there.

^^Except I had to wait for two weeks because she was still on that cruise to Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay. Yeah, I know.
^^^And someday I’ll share the whole story, but not yet and probably not here.

Random Thursday: Random Surprises

From the “Rendered Sarah Speechless For More Than The Record .025 Seconds” collection:

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What’s in a Name?

This is a Bramble Boot, and I can’t think of a better name for it.

According to the Bata Shoe Museum, which I’m planning on storming if I ever get within fifty miles of Toronto, this beautiful work of art isn’t actually made of wood—Garry Greenwood of Tasmania* wet-formed and laminated and burnished leather—and quite possibly used elf magic as well—to make something that I’m longing to wear just once for five minutes, even though I wouldn’t be able to walk for  two weeks afterward.

Thanks to Cha-Cha for the squee and the new Time Suck.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Trust Me

I’m going to ask you to follow these directions—read them all first, or you won’t be able to see the second one.

1. Without looking too closely at the screen, position your mouse on the play button, close your eyes and click.
2. Listen to one full chorus, then open your eyes.
3. Record your reaction in the comments.

Okay?

Go.

Yeah. Me, too.

This is Mr. David McIntosh, who vocally reminds me a lot of Howard Keel and visually reminds me of both Rick Astley and Puck from the second season of MTV’s Real World, but with better taste in clothes.

And he’s singing for Yale, which makes him a Whiffenpoof,** and means that this young man not only has some pipes on him, but also a brain.  I refuse to Googlestalk him, but I’m sure wherever he is, he’s doing really, really well.

While you’re listening to it again—and you know you will—don’t forget the third instruction!

oooooOOOOOooooo

Nerdgasm

Not only was the talented, versatile, and very not bad-looking Benedict Cumberbatch, whose name is not unknown here,  given two uncredited cameos in two different clips during the Oscars*** Sunday, but in my inbox today was the new Tor.com newsletter, which features photos of him on the set of the new Star Trek movie, in which he plays a yet-unidentified villain.

There was a video, too, but it was removed before I could watch it, much less post it.  C’est la Dangit.

Click for Tor’s discussion of who Mr. Cumberbatch might be playing, if you care.  I do.

I was also sent a link (thanks, Kev!) to the new, extended trailer for the first part of The Hobbit, starring the talented, versatile, and slightly more huggable Martin Freeman and—speaking of lovely voices–a couple of pin-up dwarves:

It doesn’t get much geekier than this, my friends.  And even though these jobs are keeping Mr. Cumberbatch and Mr. Freeman from working on the third season of Sherlock—which is an almost unpardonable offense, even though Stephen Moffat isn’t quite done with the script for the first ep, yet—I’m so there for these two flicks that I’d like to camp out in front of the theaters right now.

‘Sides, I could catch the Avengers movie while I’m waiting . . .

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*Who has the perfect name for someone who creates footwear for Tatania.

**Not—I repeat, not—a Spizzwink. Good mercy.

***Brownie points will be awarded if you can tell me which movies and double for which awards the clips were shown.

Two New Time Sucks

Time Suck #1

At the library staff get-together last night, our new children’s librarian told us about this great new educational game she found on the UK Science Museum’s website.  She raved about it and warned that it was way too difficult to stop playing.

So naturally, I went home and tried it . . .  for three hours.  Good thing I’d had one or two too many diet sodas at dinner!

 Thingdom is a unbelievably cute, sneaky, and entirely too addictive way to introduce the concept of genetics to your kids.  Supposing you stop playing long enough for them to try it out.

You adopt a squishy  little Thing who comes equipped with its own genetic profile, raise it until it’s ready to pass on its genetic material, chose a potential mate with the right genetic traits for whatever the game wants the offspring to have, and complete a task to impress that mate so it will agree to combine DNA.*

You then choose one of the resulting four babies to continue your breeding program, or start over.

I managed to reach level four before all the babies, who were supposed to be green and indeed had been green since the first level, turned blue.  Darned recessive combinations!

Janie, however, reached the final level before breakfast and gives it a double thumbs up.   She’s playing it right now and promises to give me some pointers, once I’ve posted this.

Science . . . it is adorable!

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Time Suck #2
aka, Resistance is Futile

Today, I broke down and signed up for Twitter, mostly so I could follow people.

I may not be posting much at first, since I work in a no-phone-zone** and the moment I try to think of something interesting to tweet, my brain dries up.

But if I do and you’re interested—or if you’re wondering who that clueless idiot is who just tried to tweet at you and didn’t quite make it work—I’m, uh, Sarah W (@EarfulOfCider).

 Is that how you write that?

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*Which is done in a tasteful and non-gratuitous manner, for those of you who were worried.  You can also skip that bit once you understand the concept.

** Not that my phone is capable of doing anything but making a phone call or two before needing a recharge anyway.

Random Thursday: Libraries, cellos, and a very big bang

Tuesday was the twelfth anniversary of my hire date at my present library, which means I’ve been a professional librarian for fourteen years and a month.

That’s a third of my life.

No regrets yet, though if I’d been given the option of independent wealth, I might have been tempted.

 oooooOOOOOooooo

As a child, my number one best friend was the librarian in my grade school. I actually believed all those books belonged to her.*

—Erma Bombeck

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 It all started with an innocent (probably) question:

“Hey, honey?” asked my husband.  “Have you ever visited Fontspace.com?”

 

 

 

 

 Well, I have now, thanks . . . 

oooooOOOOOooooo

 Libraries are absolutely at the center of my life. Since I couldn’t afford to go to college, I attended the library three or four days a week from the age of eighteen on, and graduated from the library when I was twenty-eight.

—Ray Bradbury

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Why didn’t anyone tell me The Big Bang Theory  was so funny?

Was it the time suck?  Because giving me a heads up right after the pilot would have meant losing 30 minutes a week, instead of the hours and hours I’m going to lose catching up on four and a half seasons.

oooooOOOOOooooo

 

The first time I walked into a library, I got so excited I almost wet my pants.**

—Roy Blount Jr.

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Janie has decided she wants to learn how to play the cello for her school’s Lower School string ensemble.

Why not the flute?  Or the violin?  We’ve got a couple of those shoved in the back of the closet.  Her hands are too small for the bassoon under the bed, but so are mine and we got along all right.

But she’s been experimenting in music class and she loves it.  I blame all that Apocalyptica I’ve been playing on our commutes.

We’ve compromised on one semester—she has to practice at least fifteen minutes on piano and cello, and if she can’t keep up with her homework, too,  then she’ll have to wait a bit.

My husband isn’t sure—and my MIL really isn’t sure—but the rental fees for the kid-sized instrument aren’t that much, we received a school fee rebate that will more than cover the cost of the lessons, and an ensemble might teach Jane more about working as a team.

Plus, when I asked her why she wanted to add an instrument, she said, “Because I like music.  I’m just like you.”

Sniff.  Good one, kiddo.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important, it finds homes for us everywhere.

—Hazel Rochman

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*They did.  All library books belong to their librarians, in loco parentis, heavy on the loco.  We choose them, we care for them, we tape up their boo-boos, and we preside tearfully over their passing (and exact revenge, when necessary).

**Cool.  So did Sunny.

Random Thursday: Pink vs. Zombies and a bad case of Floo

Reason #1 to not let your four-year-old choose your nail polish color, even if she sticks that lip of hers out and reminds you that you promised because you let her older sister chose the last time.

She chose pink.  And not just any pink, but Bubblicious / Pepto Bismol/Dunkin’ Donuts pink.

It  matches nothing that I wear and nothing that I particularly aspire to be—harsh, but true.

And I’m going to be wearing it for a week.

Because she loves it so, so much and I did promise.

Blast it.

oooooOOOOOooooo

I managed to duck (no pun intended) the whole Angry Birds time suck, only to fall into the freshly dug Time Grave that is Plants vs. Zombies.

The premise is simple:  keep zombies from getting into your house by collecting enough sun points to sow deadly plants on your front lawn.

Included in your arsenal—at least up to level 8, which is as far as I’ve managed—are the pea shooter (and its deadlier offshoot,* the frozen pea shooter), the Wall-nut, cherry bombs, several kinds of magic mushroom, an adorable little potato mine, the Squash (which performs as you might expect),  a purple Venus Flytrap, and sunflowers (which generate enough power to keep tyou planting).

This game contains Bugs Bunny vs. Yosemite Sam type violence, and the zombies are actually sort of cute, at least according to Janie—one even sports a vaulting pole to get over your obstacles.

You can play a free version here, with numerous advertisements, or WildGames has it, too.

oooooOOOOOooooo

 

This morning, at breakfast:

My husband:  This brand of coffee isn’t very good.

Me:  All coffee tastes like feet to me, anyway.

My husband:  You have very strange feet.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Yes, I’m going to see the final half of the final Harry Potter movie tonight, if my friend Grace and I can figure out how to meet up in time.  I might even see it anyway.

I’ve loved the books since I found the first one, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, in a small bookshop in Canada.  By the time my family figured out where I was, I’d finished the first three chapters and didn’t leave the shop without the first two books.  I later bribed a friend of mine to bring the third one back from his business trip to England.  Lucky for me, they became readily available—by which I mean, difficult to avoid—after that.

But I haven’t been following the movies.  I saw the first one and loved it, but life—and two babies—interfered with seeing the next one and so on.  But the last one of something is always special, so a few weeks ago, when I had the house to myself, I plugged the first half of the last one into my laptop.

I have one question:  Where did Rupert Grint get those shoulders?

I don’t live under a rock, or not a large one, so I am aware that Daniel Radcliffe did Equus and has five o’ clock shadow and a nice jawline, and Emma Watson—while exactly the same size as she was in the first movie—has changed her hair and has become a fashionista.  But somehow, I expected Mr. Grint to remain the same carroty little kid he was the first time I saw him.

Clearly, he’s not. **  And clearly, I’m older than I thought.

But I’m still going to enjoy the movie—In 2D, thank you.

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*Sorry.  Couldn’t help it.

** And Matthew Lewis (Neville) appears to have grown up to be good-looking, too, which, to steal a line from Genevieve Valentine, was probably a wise choice.

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Floo Image courtesy of  Hacked IRL