Random Post of Randomness: What Some Crap I Just Made Up Says About You

I work, unfortunately, and I get to read these “women’s” magazines in the break room. They drive me nuts.Sure I could stop reading them…well, no I couldn’t. I’m the kind of person who would read a cereal box if it was the only text in front of me. I can’t help myself.

But these mags (you know the type) are especially abhorant to me. All about make-up, clothing, dieting and other things that women supposedly care about. And personality quizzes. Much like Penthouse Letters, and horoscopes I’m pretty sure these “personality quizzes” are pulled fresh out of the steaming cloaca of some overworked staff writer. So I made one myself! Because that’s how my mind works.

The topic today is nail polish!

Here’s What some crap I totally just made up Your Favourite Nail Polish Colour Says About You:

 

Party Girl Red – You’re old. Old enough to remember when Bono’s voice was still changing. And sad enough for that to be the reason you bought this colour.

Silver Sand – You are boring and you are proud of it. Your favourite decorator is Brian Gluckstein. Sorry to tell you but taupe, camel and café au lait are all just beige.

Midnight Black – you like Hallowe’en a little too much. And you still spell it with the apostrophe because you’re cool like that, and also probably a teenage boy.

Petal Pink – You like raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens…and you don’t see anything wrong with that.

Sunny Yellow – You are in style and up to date. You know that yellow is the new pea-soup green. And pea soup green is the new yellow ochre. You are conventional in every way, except that you secretly miss Painting with Bob Ross. A lot.

Crackle Coat – You are a zombie, or at least you wish you were. Then you could indulge in all the luscious, creamy brains you desire.

Merlot – This one is pretty self-explanatory. You’re drunk right now, aren’t you?

 

Apparently I am a teenage boy. :/ But I *do* like Hallowe’en too much. It’s uncanny! How do they know?!

How did you do? Zombie? Lush? Sad old bag? Lemme know…

😉

 

Episode 1 of ‘Neil’s Puppet Dreams’ is the Best Thing Ever!

Oh yeah! Tweeter of hardcore food porn and one half of my vote for Adorable Couple of the Year, Neil Patrick Harris, has just released episode one of his new series of web shorts: Neil’s Puppet Dreams. While some people dream only in black and white, poor Neil dreams only in puppets.The preview is NSFW (unless you work at home with no pants or shoes):

Pay me indeed.

Muppets plus Neil Patrick Harris. There is no way this could go wrong. Watch it. WATCH THE SNOT OUT OF IT! Now! You won’t be disappointed:

It’s clear that, like ‘toons, puppets have no regard for the laws of physics, sense-making, or human life. But damn, they’re funny. The ep starts a bit slow as we’re introducing the concept but it ends with a bang (or whatever sound  bodies make when they hit the ground. Something between a thunk and a splat, I guess). Watch it, and also subscribe, because that’s a real button, that NPH is really holding.

Neil’s Puppet Dreams is the Best. Thing. Ever.

Flash Friday at Neil’s

Andra wiped crumbs from one of the humanoid tables with a wadded up cloth. Nothing ever quite came clean here. She would have liked to run a power washer over the whole place, but getting clearance to use that much water here on the moon would be ruinously expensive and require any number of sexual favours to minor bureaucrats. Behind her Andra could hear the antique neon sign that hung buzzily over the entrance to Neil’s. The Neil A. Armstrong Lunar Outpost sat like a small group of grimy bubbles in the regolith of Shackleton Crater, the domed public areas on top and the living spaces and supplies warehoused deep underground. Once the jewel in the crown of human achievement, it was now a grimy third-rate truck stop and supply depot.

Through the meteor-etched hemisphere of the dome, Andra could vaguely see a dozen or so battered planet-hoppers, an official Earth supply freighter, and several swanky transports belonging to the private mining concerns with bases on the dark side of the moon. The earth was doing its rising majestically over the horizon thing, but Andra had seen it a thousand times.

One thousand four hundred and twenty-two times, she thought and then sighed. She had a good memory for things like that

Mr. Hosk, the proprietor, squelched too loudly for Andra’s liking. She frowned again and ran a hand over her bald head. Hosk was mixing drinks behind the bar. He stretched a tentacle to pluck a bottle from the top shelf, and Andra narrowed her eyes at him. Hosk claimed that the appendage was analogous to an arm, but Andra had been in his office at the back of the restaurant and seen the lewd holoposters he had tacked to his wall. The activities depicted in the posters made her suspect that it was an entirely different sort of appendage. One that broke any number of health regulations.

A couple of lurid pink Skrlj hissed and grunted at one of the non-humanoid tables. The Skrlj were lizard-like and sported a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. An image of a Skrlj paying its bill popped into Andra’s head. She scooped up the bill pad and headed over to their table.  She nodded at both Skrlj and made to walk away again. An image of an assortment of alien species came into her head. Then the image of a small birdlike creature, which indicated a question.

“Do we get a many aliens around here?” Andra repeated (just to make sure). “Not really, we don’t get many non-humans this close in, mostly miner forty-niners and the odd alien who dreams of retiring to the exotic paradise he’s seen in all the Earth tourism ads.”

It was always odd to have the Skrlj project images into her head, but at least this way she didn’t have to worry about mangling their language and starting an interstellar war. The Earth Federalists had put a diplomatic mission in a nearby dome, just in case. Andra wasn’t really worried though; a seasoned smuggled had said that the most volatile and easily offended species rarely made it into space at all. They generally put themselves out of the galaxy’s misery in predictable planet wide blood baths.

A stylised image of a blue-sanded beach covered with Skrlj basking in the sun popped into Andra’s head. She smiled widely.

“A nice day to you too,” She answered.

I Have Your Heart is the Best Thing Ever

This song (a song about organ donation, of all things) has been going through my head all day. And if by chance you’ve been hiding under a rock, and haven’t seen it elsewhere, then here it is:

You can read on boingboing how the characters and sets were drawn and cut out by hand (!) to create this surprisingly sweet little film,paid for BTW by Kickstarter. I’m in awe, as I have a very low boredom and frustration tolerance. Go to the I Have Your Heart site (go on, do it) for production information, more pics, info about the creators, and merch! You know you want merch. I had a look and no one has uploaded I Have Your Heart tattoo pics yet but I can foresee them flooding the interwebs very soon. If you get one, let me know…

This little gem is definitely the best thing ever!

Flash Friday: Until Niagara Falls (Take 2)

I had several ideas for what to do with this story. Last week was one iteration, which I’d already like to change, and today is a second iteration. I hope it makes sense because I’m hopped up on cold meds. 😉

 

Something dark moved through Rover’s peripheral vision. He put his hand up to his face and squinted through his fingers at the empty gorge below. The sun was just coming out from behind a grey wall of cloud, and it shone blood red through Rover’s fingers and his spiky orange hair. Rover’s face was heavily mottled with freckles that matched his hair. Nearly everyone at the Falls looked like that, so it was not out of the ordinary. If Rover had ever seen a Giraffe he would have said that his face was giraffe-spotted, but he hadn’t seen one, and so he didn’t.

Nothing.

The sun shone whitely on the rocky tumble-fall of the Niagara Gorge. It had once been full of pounding water, Rover knew, before the weather patterns changed and the rain stopped. Rover had one clear memory looking up through mist and rainbows at a high thin waterfall, but he had never seen a proper waterfall, except in browning photographs in every rotten building around the Falls, and in the old tourist guidebooks that were so plentiful that Rover could have built a small house out of them. If he had dared stay out in the open for that long.

The limestone escarpment where Rover was perched was unstable and littered along the bottom with loose rock in chunky angular piles. Rover never felt safe at the bottom; he’d flinch as little pieces of limestone came skittering down the cliff face. But up here in the Lookout, Rover was as safe as he was likely to get. At the moment things were all quiet.

Behind him, under the jumbled limestone was the village of Under Falls where Rover had lived his entire life. When things had gotten serious and fallen apart, the people who were left had dug in and repurposed the tunnels and industrial spaces under the Falls: it seemed like a good place to hide from the roaming bands of looters who took over the countryside. With the thin veneer of civilisation gone an urban house became a liability: over-large, hard to keep warm, and fragile as an eggshell.

At the moment things were all quiet. Rover reached over and patted his dog, Angus.

“Who’s a good puppy boy?” he asked quietly.

Angus cocked his head to one side. He had long black fur and serious brown eyes. Angus could be a little squirrelly sometimes, but he understood that keeping watch was a serious business. When it was Rover’s watch Angus would climb and slink with him through the rubble to the lookout. It was good to have company.

Angus turned and stared intently down into the Gorge. Rover leaned out to look. There was something moving in the Gorge. No, two somethings, darting from rock to rock. Angus sprang up, barking and dancing around excitedly. Rover sounded the alarm.

Sci-fi Themed Barbie Makeovers are the Best Thing Ever

This Weeping Angel Barbie has been making the rounds:

It’s creation involved hacking off Barbie’s arms and reattaching them, making a little gauze dress, craft foam wings, and a liberal application of textured spray paint. The result is pretty freakin’ cool. I modified my share of Barbie dolls as a kid but mostly it involved scissors and permanent markers. But this is master-level stuff. You can read the whole tutorial here.

I took a look around at what other industrious makers had done with good old Barbie. This is what I found. Via Geekologie, Mass Effect Barbie:

mass-effect-barbie-1.jpg

Awesome huh?

Not an actual mod but just as impressive, these Amidala costumes were handmade by lanternwaste33:

Padmecollage_large

You can see the full set here.

Star Trek custom mods. Bajoran, Cardassian, and Orion Slave Girl Barbie (via MiskatonicNick’s photostream):

I wish my barbies had looked like this. Don’t you? (yes. The answer here is yes)

Lilybet95 over at craftster.org made this suh-weet Delenn Barbie:

Not too shabby huh? Makes me want to break out those old B5 DVDs. It must be time for a re-watch, right?

Anyway, 3 cheers for people who are more talented than I am, because sci-fi mod Barbies are the best thing ever!

Flash Friday (Now With 100% More Saturday): Until Niagara Falls

There’s something here, but I just can’t make it make fooking sense without a lot more research. I’m thinking also diagrams and maps. There are all kinds of tunnels and industrial spaces underneath Niagara Falls. People could live there, if they had to. Not well I think, but that would attest to the desperateness (is that a word?) of the situation. I have a scenario in mind but I need to hash it out fully, there are just too many parts that don’t make sense to me yet. Also, has every combination of sounds been used up for naming ‘alien’ invaders? Because the naming gave me trouble, and I don’t usually have problems naming things. :/ Maybe I’m just a bit writer’s-blocky? I’m not sure, but here it is…

Something dark moved through Rover’s peripheral vision. He put his hand up to his face and squinted through his fingers at the sky. The sun was just coming out from behind a grey wall of cloud, and it shone red through his fingers and his spiky orange hair.

Nothing.

Rover’s face was heavily mottled with freckles that matched his hair. If he had ever seen a Giraffe he would have said that his face was giraffe spotted, but he hadn’t seen one, and so he didn’t. Nearly everyone at the Falls looked like that, so his appearance.

The limestone cliff under the Falls was unstable and littered with loose rock in chunky angular piles. Rover never felt safe at the bottom; he would flinch when a little piece of limestone came skittering down the cliff face. He knew that one false step on the slick rocks would land him in the swirling water. Rover would be carried away, down the river and out into the wasteland beyond. If the river didn’t kill him, the Skreel were waiting out there somewhere and Rover did not want to meet them in person: he had seen what their ships could do, seen the burned out ruins of the nearby city, seen the empty pitted streets and that was enough.

But up here in the lookout by the Surge Tank, Rover was as safe as he was likely to get. He wasn’t small for his age but he wasn’t big either. He was still small enough to be able to worm his way down through the rubble of the collapsed tunnels down to the old Toronto Power Station building beside the river, and fast enough to get from there up to the Surge Tank on the Old Niagara Parkway without being seen.

At the moment things were all quiet. He reached over and patted the dog, Angus.

“Who’s a good puppy boy?” he asked quietly.

Angus cocked his head to one side. He had long black fur and serious brown eyes. Angus could be a little squirrelly sometimes, but he understood that keeping watch was a serious business. When it was Rover’s watch Angus would climb and slink through the rubble to the lookout. It was good to have company, and Angus could always hear the Skreel ships long before Rover could. Named for the high pitched shriek they made as they flew, Skreel ships could always be heard before seen.

But today Angus was calm. Rover and Angus shared a sandwich and quietly waited out their turn at the Tank.