Krasota, who tracks these things for me (so I don’t have to) has passed word that there’s a Blood Moon tonight.
The Hunter’s Moon, a lunar eclipse.
The moon will actually be red tonight. Here’s why.
I’ll be taking a walk tonight around 10pm and just watch the moon. My camera’s usually not good at night shots, but I’ll bring the tripod abouts and just try to capture it with a really long exposure.
Ah, UNO. There’s nothing like throwing down your second to last card and yelling, “UNO, BITCH!!” You can give that kind of fun to a sick child this year.
You’ll notice the link to Child’s Play, the Charity that provides toys, games, books, and monetary aid to children’s hospitals in San Diego, Washington DC, Seattle, Oakland, and Houston.
I don’t know why I even linked it up. Generally, I’m not a very charity oriented person. The guys that run this charity wanted to show the media a different side of people that enjoy video games. They’re relatively normal people.
Relatively.
The lists are produced by the hospitals themselves, and it’s really easy to give something. You don’t even have to get up. Just follow that link, then select a hospital you want to give a gift to. You’ll be directed to an amazon wish list for that hospital. Just make sure that you change the shipping address to the hospital. That’s the important part.
Otherwise, your friends may ask why you have a copy of “El Gato En El Sombrero” on your coffee table.
Please keep in mind that the hospitals would like to receive everything by December 20th. That’s about it.
Go to the trailers portion of Apple’s Japanese website.
Now, pick a trailer, any one. Try to avoid U.S. releases ported over to Japan.
Try this one.
Now try to guess what the story is, for instance:
They are the best of the best. Only 1% of applicants are accepted. They are. . . Japan’s Coast Guard. I imagine it’s like “Top Gun” but since Japan doesn’t go around invading other countries (well, not lately, anyway) it’s the Coast Guard. There’s a love interest, the obligatory training sequences, off duty camaraderie / hijinks, a love ballad from the 80s, the tragic death of a colleague, the inevitable crisis, and the triumph of belief in one’s self over seemingly insurmountable odds.
I think I’ve seen this movie before–but. . . Journey?!
Then there are the movies that need absolutely no story whatsoever.
Here’s a quick translation: Now, a new action hero! No CG! Absolutely no wires! No stuntmen! The fastest action star around! The first action star that uses authentic Muay Thai kickboxing! Etc.
I still find it amazing that at one point in the trailer, he’s kicking a guy in the neck. And his legs are on fire. ON FIRE. At that point, who cares what the story is?
I seem a little crazy and melodramatic in those bits of writing. I guess it’s overwhelming when you think about mortgages and contracts and chunks of your estimated lifespan. But now, when I’m moving things in 3 boxes at a time under the cover of darkness, the whole “ownership” concern fades away.
Taking its place are thoughts about moving, redoing my closets, getting a desk, remodeling the kitchen, remodeling the bathroom, painting (maybe taupe), muslin curtains, and bookshelves, bookshelves, bookshelves. It makes sense that now that the macro view is done, I have to start thinking about what happens “next week.”
Next week, I have to live there.
The thought of “living in my own house” conjures images of browsing used furniture stores, trips to houseware stores, and emergency runs to hardware stores. Of picking out flatware, selecting place settings for four, and finding the right carpet for the family room. Of fixing plumbing, grounding outlets, and replacing cabinets.
At first, I felt as if I was falling behind somehow, as if the place is supposed to be this fully furnished, magazine cover “contemporary living” space as soon as I put my key in the lock. But that’s a pipe dream, in the literal opium smoking sense of the word.
If I believed that, it would be no better than believing in airbrushed standards of beauty.
For now, it will be a place for me to sleep and sort out my boxes and boxes and boxes–of bricabrac.
So forgive me while I don’t have seating for you when you come over to watch “The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra” or all three volumes of “Invader Zim.” Your company is what’s going to make this place homey and comfortable while we sit on folding chairs and eat pizza off of paper plates.
And I think that’s just fine.
This is what I was thinking the night before my closing:
This is it. One of the last nights I’ll be in this house. This night ends an era, and begins a new one. The end of college roommates and non contractual, gentleman’s agreement leases, of Real World situations that eerily mirror reality television. The end of roommate drama and tension and responsibilities. From this point on, all the drama, tension, and responsibility is solely mine.
But, I’ll miss some of those things.
I’m hardly packed, but the move shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve got a month, and a lot of time to do it in. It’s the beginning of mortgage payments. The beginning of homeownership. The beginning of living by myself–which I believe is going to be the most challenging aspect.
It’s sad, but at the same time, exciting. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know how I’ll get internet service. I’ll be roughing it for a while. (Editor’s Note: Notice this sentence immediately follows the one regarding broadband.) Things are going to get crazy before they get back to that altered state of consciousness that I consider “normal.”
I don’t have a place to eat, a place to sit, or even a bedframe in there. It’s all very free form and not under control in the least.
And I guess I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m going to have to be.
The morning of October 4th:
I just put the cashier’s check into an envelope, and the envelope into Stephen King’s On Writing. I guess that’s an appeal for some sort of blessing on his part. Or just a coincidence, since that’s the only book I have in my backpack at the moment. It’s cool, but getting warmer, and I’m waiting for the shuttle to the metro. I’ve had a chick fil a sandwich and a bit of a smoothie from jamba juice. My stomach, for the most part, is settled.
I’m not scared, but a strange calm, a resignation, an acceptance of what I am about to do has come over me. Some think of that as a bad thing. I do not. I think it’s a way for me to believe that it’s not out of control, that all that money I’m spending each month really is going to come back to me. I don’t know for certain. It’s a gamble, like any investment. Unlike every gamble, it’s my home.
Where I live and where I put all of my stuff.
For at least the next five years.
It’s quite a committment. No more packing up and moving at the whims of my once chaotic lifestyle.
*sigh*
Right.