MCCC 2011!

May. 10th, 2011 12:04 am
darthfar: (Default)
So Motor City Comic Con's this coming weekend (13-15 May) -YAY! And Matt Busch and Alex Buechel will be making their annual appearance there - YAY! So that means there's a new tribute picture going out to them - Unfortunately, <sad> nobody else I know will be going to MCCC </sad>, so this is going to them directly, by digital means. Three days too early, because I'll be leaving on vacation tomorrow, and won't be coming home until the MCCC is over.
Artwork under the cut. Run, Matt, run! )

And of course all of this resulted in much hilarity concerning the pronunciation of my second name! Ah, the Chinese and their bizarre words, hideously unpronounceable to all but native speakers. (Although whether I even *qualify* as a native speaker is open to debate, haha).

O Sole Mio

Mar. 29th, 2011 01:54 am
darthfar: (Default)
I am crying with laughter. There are no words for how awesome this is.

darthfar: (Default)

Lately, I've been finding Lawrence in different positions almost every day. The other day he was lying in an odd position with his skull about a foot away. I put him together again. The next day, his head had rolled again, and his mandible had become detached from his cranium. Again, I set him to rights. Then yesterday I noticed that his skull had somehow become rotated 180 degrees, and he had effectively sat down back-to-front.  -- And then today I got home to find his pelvic girdle in an anatomically impossible position - namely, he was sitting on his ilia.

LAWRENCE, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING AROUND THE HOUSE IN MY ABSENCE???

darthfar: (Default)
darthfar: (Default)
For you Aubrey-Maturin fans. You know who you are. ;)


Serenade Before the Storm
by *DarthFar on deviantART
darthfar: (Default)
Anyone want a weeping angel T-shirt? :D Jinx is selling 'em! <3 <3



Click here for the store page: jinx.com/men/shirts/geek/dont_blink.html LOL.
darthfar: (Default)
So [livejournal.com profile] abelarda  posted this Take The Golden Compass Daemon Test thing on her journal... and because I'm a fan of the Dark Materials books, I had to have a go as well:

Your result for The Golden Compass Daemon Test...

Distant Loner Soul

A confident and independent person, you are logical and probably very intelligent. Some people think you are a little cool and unemotional, just because you don't prattle on about your feelings all the time like some people do. Outbursts of either anger or joy are both rare for you: You try to keep yourself under control at all times. You tend to deflect any really personal questions with a joke, an overly-literal reply, or even an out-and-out lie. Your few friends and your family probably wish that they knew you better. You probably wish they would just leave you alone.

The thoughts and opinions of other people don't hold much sway over you. You don't spend time agonizing over other people's feelings, and you don't much care what people think about you. Sometimes your insensitivity can hurt people's feelings, but that's their problem. If someone didn't like you, you wouldn't lose much sleep over it. You march to the beat of your own drum, and if your friends and family think you can be a little odd... well, that's their issue.

You are an introverted person, disliking crowds and strangers. Some people might think that you are shy, but really, you simply find parties and crowds to be unpleasant and tiresome. You get exhausted quickly when you are forced into social situations, and you need some time to yourself to recharge afterwards. You don't like noise and chaos. You like to keep things calm and logical.

Your daemon would represent your cool, unruffled, solitary nature and would probably spend a lot of time comparing you favorably to the people around you, or helping you work out logically complex problems.

Suggested forms:
Octopus, Manta Ray, Shark, Boa Constrictor, Komodo Dragon.

Take The Golden Compass Daemon Test at HelloQuizzy



O..kay? Aside from the quiz pretty much nailing my personality and the weirdness of getting THREE aquatic daemon possibilities (wouldn't that doom me to a life of seafaring, never to tread the ground? What if I was born on land? ROFL ROFL ROFL), can you imagine the hilarity of possessing an octopus for a daemon? I imagine it would be a peaceful coexistence like this...

darthfar: (Default)
Would anyone like a drawing, or would like to suggest something for me to do? I really need to get my painting muscles going again, but my brain's still frozen thanks to all the meds and peppermint drink.

-----------------------------------------

I actually went out for dinner at a Japanese restaurant tonight. California temaki, and a whole plate of salmon sashimi all to myself. [Yes, I'm greedy. Yes, my degree was in microbiology. Yes, I eat raw fish. Deal with it.] It's officially my first real meal for the week: I'd been eating very poorly before, thanks to the cough (which was clearly opposed to my having anything digesting in my stomach), and everything had been pretty repulsive anyway. So yeah. Score one for me this time.

It's ridiculous how long this cough has been going on. It even got *worse* at one point, if anyone can believe it, and my mother became desperate enough to try the remedy from her friend, which she insisted would get rid of the cough. This was the remedy: coating the soles of my feet with Vicks VapoRub, and then stuffing said feet into a pair of very thick socks. Obviously, I hate having my feet touched more than the rest of me combined, and I protested vehemently that the day it worked was the day our sun rose from the west and set in the south, but she insisted anyway, so we wound up wagering an iPad. The result? Not only did I keep the neighbours up all night with seemingly never-ending paroxysms of violent coughing, the soles of my feet were so well lubricated that I spent the next day slipping, sliding and skidding around the house like a demented dog on an ice skating rink. At least my coughs are now respectable sporadic bursts, rather than the hacking variety with enough power to forcibly pop out my eyes and eject my brain through my nose.

Still waiting to regain hearing in my left ear, though. Left ear currently feels stuffed with sound-absorbent material; I lost a great chunk of my hearing earlier this week, following the ear infection. On the one hand, it's much easier to tune out and *not* hear things I'm not interested in (eg. market noises, horrible music from the radio); on the other hand, if I'm sleeping with my good ear in the pillow, you could detonate several bombs in our neighbourhood and I'd still sleep right through it. That is, if the coughing didn't keep me awake. Haha.

-----------------------------------------

A good friend of mine - whose taste I never had cause to doubt up to now - recently started reading Twilight and, believe it or not, actually liked parts of it. After getting over my incredulity, I decided I would give the book the benefit of the doubt (I did read Harry Potter, didn't I? even though I had no intention of doing so?) and actually read it for myself before I passed judgment. And now, having finished it, I can really, honestly say:

It's not a bad book. It really isn't.

It's unspeakably horrible.

Yes, I know it's a book for teens. Yes, I know it's romance. But even with the knowledge that all teens are angsty and have percolating hormones, and believe in soppy things like One True Love Forever... it's still horrible. And it's not just the romance because surprise surprise, there *is* actually such thing as - thought it hurts me to say this - tastefully written romance. (Which, incidentally, you won't find anywhere in this book). For one, Bella Swan is about the most spineless, lamest, most vacuous and insipid protagonist I have ever come across in the world of teen fic. Apart from her name, which should already send alarm bells ringing (beautiful swan???), she's a Mary Sue who doesn't even bubble and dazzle like her sisters; she's like a Mary Sue with all the fizz and glamour taken out of her. She's supposedly a disaster magnet, an accident waiting to happen - but apparently that adds to her charm because she manages to attract people (particularly boys) like flies, never mind that she's a new girl in a little town where presumably everybody has known everybody forever. Her range of emotions range from angsty/snivelly to needy to blindly enamoured to more-depressed-than-a-wet-mop. And that's just her.

It gets worse once Edward the sparkly glampire enters the picture. If you have read Les Miserables, and were annoyed by how Victor Hugo kept reminding his readers about how beautiful and statue-like Enjolras was... well, at least Enjolras was still human, and he did die at the insurrection. Not to mention Enjolras would've looked like a drippy wallflower next to Edward Cullen. Seriously, every few pages we are treated to Bella's fawning descriptions of how devastatingly beautiful and gorgeous and perfect Edward was. It was nauseating. And really? If a boy, in real life, kept breaking into your bedroom to watch you sleep at night, and stalked you everywhere, and claimed that he was nothing until he met you, and that his whole life revolved around you, you'd get a restraining order. But apparently it's perfectly all right if the boy is a vampire? Eh?

The tragic part is that there *are* interesting fragments of the story that, perhaps, in the hands of a much better writer, might have become midway readable (especially, say, if it had been written in the 3rd person rather than the 1st). But this isn't it. It's a jagged mountain of painfully clunky narrative, unrestrained blathering and angst and emo and angst and emo. And major characters so two dimensional they could've been printed on floppy typing paper. And at the end of the day, all there is to he book is a perfect, smouldering, angsty sparkling, stalky vampire, and a girl whose only purpose in life is to be around him, and be rescued from danger by him. It's as if someone collected the dreams of every sad, lonely, overweight, deluded teenaged girl who wanted to be loved by a perfect guy, and distilled it into a 500-page novel. *facepalm*

It terrifies me that not only teenaged girls but also middle-aged women all over the place are reading (and loving) this because, really, what does that tell you about their evaluation of love and romance and desire?
darthfar: (Default)
Caterpillars create cocoons by spinning a casing of silk around themselves from head to tail. Humans do this by wrapping themselves in soft silk floss duvets from head to toe. Well, at least, this human did.


The Martian Debilitating Cold virus has launched another offensive against the Sprawling Nation of Far on Monday, causing another onset of apocalyptic nuclear winter. However, while initial casualties were high, it would seem that Far's body is slowly fighting off the invaders, as suggested by the fact that the cough is now of the "persistently annoying" variety, rather than the earlier "hacking up pieces of lung" one, although commentators have pointed out that this may simply be due to the fact that there *are* no pieces of lung left to hack up. Of course, this is not necessarily an impediment since, as Far currently feels as holey as a giant slab of Swiss Cheese, oxygen can now pretty much be relied on to get into Far's body on its own. Or maybe it's Far's brain that's Swiss Cheese. Kind of hard to tell, really.

In other news, Far has lost mass. It is unlikely that this is due to dehydration as Far has been drinking enough water to fill up a medium-sized reservoir, so it is probable that disgusting quantities of energy are being used somewhere to mobilise the machineries of molecular war. Far is planning to develop this as a new diet regime called "Catch a Bug, Lose Weight Fast!", which is sure to become a viral marketing hit. Stay tuned for the latest updates.
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I am currently harbouring fugitives. Their names are Martian and Debilitating Cold, and they're currently in hiding, probably somewhere in the vicinity of my lungs.

My first clue that my body had been invaded by rogue microorganisms was when, following lunch on Thursday, I developed an annoying persistent cough. By Friday, said annoying cough had blossomed into a conspiracy to keep my erythrocytes from effectively transporting their little oxygen passengers to the gazillions of cells populating the Sprawling Nation of Far, and thus just as effectively kept me out of the gym. Said pathogens apparently seized control of my communications centre yesterday, which probably wasn't hard to do at all since I practically handed it to them on a plate, having spent two consecutive hours burning a hole in my throat by talking non-stop at Biology class like a Chatty Cathy on stimulants. Meanwhile, my respiratory tract, sensing the inevitability of war, was busy stockpiling mucus and phegm in some remote part of my throat that no amount of throat-clearing or coughing could dislodge. Come evening (and my aunt's party) I was viewing the food served at dinner as unspeakably vile little buggers that would, if given the opportunity, cheerfully invite the contents of my lunch to join them on the serving plates; indeed, vile little buggers with the general appeal of large lumps of celery-flavoured booger. Left in time to get to orchestra practice, where we spent a very merry night playing Various Christmas Songs With A Liberal Sprinkling of Phlegm, and then returned home to play my own Death Rattle Concerto, Opus 44, featuring a very impressive Hacking Cough Solo. To add to the mood, the local temperature dropped to several degrees above absolute zero - and when I say "local" I actually mean, "restricted to the area confined by my skin", since outdoor temperature was registering a nice balmy 27 degrees Celsius - thus necessitating the application of a long-sleeved denim workshirt, socks, one very warm silk floss duvet *and* one comforter the thickness of several loaves of bread. Which, as you may have guessed, did absolutely nothing to bring the perceived local temperature back up to normal, while actually steaming the covered person (ie. me) to palatable tenderness.

However, am very pleased to report that my internal thermostat was fixed by very grudging molecular repairmen early in the morning, and, after spending most of the day comatose, I am reasonably back up to speed (though pieces of my lung are still coming up with each cough...). Except that I was astonished to find, upon waking up today, that I had been transformed into a frog, and thus can only utter the words *croak* and *ribbit* - something that will probably require a kiss from some member of royalty to rectify.
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I always keep my phone handy at Chinese restaurants, because who knows when I might be presented with the opportunity to document hideously mangled English like these gems below:



I wasn't aware that beans had musculature, let alone tendons.



"Why yes, ma'am, we do serve paste. And we have gum and cement as well."


Run for your lives! Mongols have invaded your food! (Or worse: they're *in* your food!)



... I don't think I want to know.



Special Seafood Clap Pot. What you get for free if you order Seafood Blow at a shady restaurant.



Apparently, light fixtures are edible here.

And a sign I noticed outside a grocery store:



I guess the thief ran away.

Oh wait, it says "theft". So you just convict the act of thievery, but not the person committing it? I'm sure it does wonders for the crime rate here.

Of course, my favourite Mangled English Menu/Sign of all time is still:



Pig Spare Parts. Order them in bulk! Available only from Chinese restaurants.
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Dear Mr. Camille Saint-Saëns,

I appreciate the lengths to which you go in reinforcing the "Death calls at Halloween" theme for your Danse Macabre tone poem, but do you not think that deliberately depriving your First Horn of breath for sixteen bars is perhaps a little extreme? After all, your horn player is also human, and requires oxygen for important bodily functions, such as staying conscious for long enough to play your composition to completion. Or perhaps it is your goal to have said horn keel over dead as a result of anoxia? I suppose it might be terribly apt - although you should bear in mind that, contrary to the French superstition you based your piece upon, your horn player will not be rising from the dead to dance to the tune of your violins.

Sincerely,
1st Horn (deceased)

PS: I might have survived the ordeal too, had it not been for the fact that I was playing host to a large Halloween party of bacteria that was having far too good a time in my respiratory tract to even consider the possibility of leaving.
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So I was going through some of my old backup CDs tonight, checking to see what was in them, when I found a number of truly horrible things that served to remind me that some things should *never* be unearthed again.

On the other hand, perhaps this will serve as a lesson for everybody else who reads this post.

Now, as anybody who's known me from the old KotOR Fan Media Forum days, I was first inspired to learn to draw properly in December 2005 after seeing all the incredible fan art by the likes of Aimo and Eji. But what people didn't know, and what I apparently blocked out for the past five years, was that, two months before *that*, I attempted to do a digitally coloured picture:



[the reference for the woman's face was Kate Beckinsale. Yes, that's how bad I mangled it]

And there's this, drawn in the same month, which I didn't even remember drawing until I found it in my old folder (another case of suppressed traumatic memories? haha):



Don't ask. Just don't.

I also found a couple of equally horrible pictures dating back to my early days of portraiture and digital painting, both time-stamped February 2006:



I'm assuming it's so bad you can't even tell who that is; it's Uma Thurman from The Producers...



[Also known as, "The time when the women Far drew didn't even look female", according to Natalie. Or, for that matter, human...]

And of course there's this truly hideous portrait that everyone from KFM knows, which dates back to the same period (and which was actually referenced from a photo and a couple of pictures, believe it or not):



[it kills me that this picture channels "Jimmy Smits" more than "Carth Onasi". ROFL!]

Mind you, it's not as if I even paint particularly well these days, but back then, if you'd told me that, in four years, I would be painting things like


Invictus by =DarthFar on deviantART

or


Sun, Surf and Espionage by =DarthFar on deviantART or deviantART

or


[my latest, not-yet-finished project for a friend]

I'd have said you were bloody fucking insane.

Which goes to show that *anybody* can learn to draw and paint reasonably enough, given enough time. Because if someone like me, who was never regarded as having *any* talent or ability in art when I was in school, can go from "sucks like a black hole" to "adequately mediocre" and learn to draw humans who actually *look* human, there is no reason why *anybody* else can't either. [And claiming, "But I have no talent!" is just a fucking lazy excuse for not working harder at it.]

Oh, and one last, ghastly picture I accidentally unearthed:



Seriously, what the hell was it with that horrible hair?! I can only thank the Force that no larger copies of this photograph exists *anywhere*. [facepalm]
darthfar: (Default)
So I'll come clean and confess it: I'm a fan of Noel Coward's songs. Have been since I caught Mad Dogs and Englishmen at the end of Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians (which, incidentally, was the only part of the film that I found interesting at all); anyone visiting me during study hour in college would've heard my Legends of the 20th Century 01: Noel Coward CD playing over and over and over ad nauseam. (Unless of course it was the Pet Shop Boys -- which gives you a pretty good idea of the sort of stuff I listen to). It's almost impossible to get sick of Coward's wit - it's almost like PG Wodehouse set to music - and the songs still make me snicker in spite of the fact that I've just about worn a hole in the CD.

A few years ago I caught a rerun of the 1999 BBC Proms featuring Jeremy Irons - singing Noel Coward songs. I've just found them again, and thought I'd share the videos because Jeremy Irons, while obviously not camp, has a coarser, more nasal timbre to his voice, and has trouble with the high notes, nevertheless manages to more than do Coward justice in his own rough(er) way:



The arrangement for Mad Dogs and Englishmen is hilarious, and sent me into an apoplectic fit of laughter at one point. You'll know it when you hear it.



While the songs Irons picked are among my top Coward favourites, I can't help but wish that 20th Century Blues could've been replaced by The Stately Homes of England... but that would've made it one comic song too many. I would've killed to hear Jeremy Irons sing it, though.



The build-up of frustration and hostility! That last verse!!! It wasn't in my CD; god, I wish it was. (Damn the public sensibilities of the time). The song was awesome enough with Noel Coward singing it, but Jeremy Iron's inflections and body language are *gold*.
darthfar: (Default)
Every time I go out for drinks with friends.... I come home stone cold sober. Without even any change in colour. Without any behavioural changes, or even an increased tendency to talk. (Still about as chatty as bedrock). I wonder if that spells some kind of Social Fail. Haha.

I guess I definitely score fail points tonight for spending the better part of three-quarters of an hour playing math games on my phone. Not the most social of behaviours either, although, when one has nothing to add to the conversation subject and is not included in it anyway, one finds more interesting ways to engage oneself.
darthfar: (Default)
Bug Bait: hey, i noticed cataclysm is watching you.  cool
Mincemeat: i KNOW, right?
Bug Bait: :D
Mincemeat: i almost flipped, lol
Bug Bait: you deserve to be with the big guns and not us schmucks, lol
Mincemeat: i HAVE a big gun
Mincemeat: so i AM with it ;)
Bug Bait: oi
Mincemeat: his name is etienne, and he sleeps on my bed ;)
Bug Bait: he sleeps on your bed?
Bug Bait: wait
Bug Bait: which gun are we talking about?
Mincemeat: my cavalry carbine you idiot
Bug Bait: he sleeps on your bed?
Mincemeat: yes....
Bug Bait: .......
Mincemeat: shut up
Bug Bait: ..........
Mincemeat: SHUT UP
Bug Bait: ...............................
Mincemeat: [smack]
Bug Bait: .........        .......... ..     ......
Mincemeat: [throws bucket of baby spiders at tory]
Bug Bait: .
Mincemeat: [snarl]
Bug Bait: why do you sleep with your gun?
Bug Bait: do you cuddle it?
Mincemeat: because i sometimes like waking up in the morning and firing it at imaginary enemies.
Mincemeat: shut up
Bug Bait: omg, i'm drawing this
Mincemeat: go to hell, you jerk!
Bug Bait: you cuddle the gun don't you
Mincemeat: SEE ABOVE
Bug Bait: that still gives no reason to sleep with it
Mincemeat: i sleep with my books as well!
Bug Bait: the only reason to sleep with it is for cuddling purposes
Bug Bait: omg, the imagery
Mincemeat: i don't cuddle it! it just sleeps on a couple of extra pillows!
Bug Bait: OMG
Bug Bait: ROFLMAO
Mincemeat: oh god. i've only made it worse, haven't i
Bug Bait: [dying with laughter]
Mincemeat: SHUT THE HELL UP
Bug Bait: [uncontrollable laughter]
Mincemeat: [empties fresh bucket of spiders over tory's head]
Bug Bait: [spiders join in laughter]
Mincemeat: !!!!!!!!!!!
Mincemeat: [grabs loosh and goes into a sulk]
Bug Bait: would you like me to hand you your gun to cuddle?
Mincemeat: i'll smack you over the head with the barrel!

[...]

Mincemeat: i gotta go though
Mincemeat: i'm barely awake
Bug Bait: okay
Bug Bait: lol
Bug Bait: oh it IS late
Mincemeat: yah
Bug Bait: go cuddle your rifle...
Mincemeat: [snarl]
Bug Bait: lol
Bug Bait: [fluffs rifle's pillows]...
Mincemeat: [splutters]
Bug Bait: aww, poor sprite wanted to sleep on those pillows
Bug Bait: but now he has to be on teh floor while the rifle gets the silk. [sigh]


 
 
*facepalm*
darthfar: (Default)
Does anyone here play Portal? Because seriously, this crossover is made of win:


Re: Portal meets Les Mis by ~Meketaten on deviantART

Valjean as a test subject! Javert as GLaDOS! EPIC WIN.

[dies laughing]

The original Jonathan Coulton song from the game, for those not in the know:

darthfar: (Default)
Here's an enlightening little conversation I just had with my mother:

[mum watches me remove a microwaved leftover pizza slice from the oven]
Mum: Didn't you cover that? You and your dad are exactly alike. Why didn't you cover the pizza?
Me: Because it's dry, and there's nothing to splatter all over the inside of the microwave?
Mum: But you should cover it! My friend told me all about MICROWAVE RAYS. What if those MICROWAVE RAYS get into the food?
Me: Mum, they're called waves. What do you think cooks the food?

It's both hilarious and appalling how many people don't know how their modern gadgets work.


In other news: MAFIA II WILL BE OUT IN TWO DAYS' TIME!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously, I have waited for this game for six years. And god, how I loved the original. I really, really want this new one to be good.

You're never seeing me again.
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MOULDY BREAD - A mysterious black dust cloud has settled around the neighbourhood of Spooky Hill, baffling both residents and officials alike.

"It's most peculiar," says Affected Neighbour #1. "I was in the kitchen yesterday, getting the salad ready, when all of a sudden the sky went pitch-black. At first I thought we'd been hit by a storm, but there was no thunder or lightning. It turned out to be a massive cloud of dust."

"We've never seen anything like it before," admits a Department of Environment officer who declined to be named. "It's not like your regular haze, that disperses over wide areas. This black dust cloud seemed to just - hover in one area, like an insect swarm."

Experts have pinpointed Ground Zero as a red-gabled house in the neighbourhood. Several people living in the are have confirmed seeing the mysterious black dust blow out of a northern upper window at approximately 6pm, shortly before the area was plunged into darkness.

"The question is not so much how the dust got out, but where it even came from in the first place," says environmental expert A. Cyd Raynes. "And quite frankly, we have no idea. I propose aliens."

Affected Neighbour #2 has his suspicions."If you ask me, I'd say that the reclusive little geek who lives there has something to do with it," he says, pointing out that Occupant #3 of Red Gables has already been responsible for numerous bizarre happenings in the neighbourhood, ranging from a mysterious rain of pebbles upon the roof of the house next door several years back, to the frequent emission of Massively Burnt Toast Aroma on slow mornings, and occasional ear-splitting shrieks of what sounds like buffaloes being murdered by motorcycles. (According to sources, Occupant #3 is also an aspiring musician).

And the neighbours are mad - with good reason. The black dust, it seems, is attracted to surfaces, particularly light-coloured ones. Green plants have turned black, laundry has turned sooty, and carp have turned to crap. "Not to mention our lungs are probably also coated with a nice layer of black dust," Affected Neighbour #3 mutters darkly. "Sure, I got insurance, but what kinda insurance protects against Strange Black Dust Caused By Rude Neighbour? eh?"

----------------------------------------------------

I KID YOU NOT.

Okay, maybe just a little.

My computer fan has been making tortured little animal noises lately, so I decided to open up the tower and give the fan a good clean. I turned the back of the tower towards me so I could get at the screws - and noticed a thick layer of dust gathered around the vent. Oh, that's not good, I thought, as I removed the side panel. After unscrewing the fan, I pulled it out and HOLY SHIT IT'S BURIED IN FINE BLACK DUST. Think of the meteor that hit the earth about 65 million years ago, the one that supposedly sent up a massive dust cloud that Plunged The World Into Darkness. Now multiply the cloud by three. That's about how much crap I cleaned out of the fan. Some of it even looked like it had evolved sentience.

It took me a good half-hour to get things nice and sparkly clean again, by which time I (and everything around me) was nicely coated in said black dust. Even so, I'm feeling a tad nervous. Because who's to say that, as I lie sleeping tonight, the Enraged Sentient Brothers of the Black Dust won't come to seek retribution, creeping over me and into my gaping nostri
darthfar: (Default)
At biology class...

Far: Okay, you do this one. Subject A's heart beats 50 times in 38 seconds. How many times does it beat in one minute?
Student: [works it out laboriously on paper because she's not allowed a calculator] Uh... 2,180...?
 
I couldn't help laughing. Although I shouldn't, because it really isn't funny at all. All I kept thinking was, What the hell are they teaching kids these days? I tutor biology, but sometimes I find myself teaching math as well because... apparently, whatever else they might be doing, school teachers aren't teaching their students manual arithmetic.

Semi-rantage follows )

Art Digression

Force, I am so good at starting twenty new art projects simultaneously (without finishing half of them), I don't know what to do with myself. Here's a work-in-progress for a portrait that I started for absolutely no reason, and now have absolutely no idea what to do with:



(Robson Green, because he rocks).

*facepalm*

In the meantime, my *actual* ongoing projects are being put on hold... for no reason. Like, oh, the latest installment in the Stephen Garrity saga, or the webcomic my Tank-phobic friend and I are working on. Gah.

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