The Zoo over Ambuscade Street

Bad Santa! No cookies!

I had two goals for the weekend. One was to clean the house, while the other was to make gingerbread. Why? Because I'm really, really in the mood for gingerbread, in any of it's myriad forms. Bread, cookies, scones - I'm not feeling too picky at the moment.

I managed to sterilize the bathroom, and buy molasses. Not bad, all things considered.

It also amuses me greatly that I can get the bathroom cleaner in less time than Erik can, with only a bucket, a rag or six, and some bleach. He insists that without fancy cleaners, nothing can ever be cleaned. I insist that just spraying fancy cleaners on bathroom fixtures without scrubbing doesn't get them clean. He insists that Scrubbing Bubbles does the scrubbing for him.

We have so much fun arguing. Also picking on the dog - it's not like she can't get any more neurotic than she already is.

This is quite possibly the most warped short story I've read this month.

An excerpt: "God," he says, "please don't take me. I want to come to you. But gently. I don't want to be flung."

It's a good way to kill fifteen minutes or so.

But you're an odd sort of group, so one of you many have the answer.

When a woman's feet are bound, do their toes (what's left of them, anyway) point inward or outward?

I ask because Erik was attempting to demonstrate a Ba Gua kick for me called the Woman's Kick that was supposedly taught to women with bound feet. It's designed to knock kneecaps off, but I suspect he's holding his foot wrong. (He's only seen it demonstrated one time, so it's a distinct possibility).

I also vaguely suspect that the whole "Woman's Kick" thing is made up, because foot binding really didn't do much for the balance, and I suspect a woman with bound feet wouldn't be able to stand on just one foot for long enough to kick anything. But it's still a neat kick.

In other news, I finally got Last Exile 7. With postcards. I'm trying not to drool on them too much.

Damnit...

I want to like the SciFi channel, I really do. But over the years my gleeful joy has turned into outraged disgust as I see the tripe they churn out time after time. I had hopes for this one, too. I don't know why, all things considered, but I did have hopes. Ah well, I didn't need those anyway.