Saturday, April 11, 2009

A Marshmallow World

Because everybody in the US of A knows what an Easter Peep is (side note to my international amigos: do you know what a Peep is?), I bring you tidings of Easter cheer the only way I know how: with the unexplainable and time-wasting creative use of said marshmallow abominations, combined with utter geekery to the ubiquitous modern nerdaholics' anthem movie of choice, the Lord of the Rings, as told by Peeps. (Yes. Yes that was a run-on. I worked very hard on it. Thank you for noticing.)

People of the Earth, I bring you: The Lord of the Peeps: The Fellowship of the Peep. (<-- Go to that site if you wanna see the entire storyline of the first episode of LOTR done with Peeps.)

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"A Marshmallow World" by Dean Martin. Yeah, I know it's an Xmas song, so what, you wanna fight about it?

Thursday, April 9, 2009

When The Ship Hits The Sand

Continuing on with my adventure in vacation land, one unexpected and seriously interesting stop was to the U.S.S. North Carolina Battleship, a place you'd probably assume was as boring as watching a bowl of dead Sea Monkeys, but in fact was pretty emotionally moving. The ship is massive and you look literally like an ant, dwarfed by the sheer height of this thing. I remember standing on the deck, looking around in amazement, letting it sink in that this was once an actual working ship with thousands of crewmen aboard during WW11, cruising the Pacific and shooting down buttloads of Japanese planes made me misty. And I don't cry. I would rust. The conditions the men have to live and work in, these small, claustrophobic spaces and boiling hot engine rooms is nothing short of heroic. Visiting the battleship was the farthest thing from boring, in fact, we only had an hour to sprint through all the levels of this behemoth (or else we'd miss our plane home) and really, I could have spent hours more exploring it and wondering what ever happened to the guys who once called that ship "home".

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Apparently the battleship is haunted, but I didn't capture a single ghost in my pictures, nor did I hear a voice from beyond the grave calling "Kiiiimmm... Avast, ye wench! Batten down the hatches and ahoy, matey! Oooooo....". (Apparently Navy men of the 40's speak like pirates. It's a little known fact.) I was bummed for the lack of ghostery. I was also annoyed that neither Charo nor Tony Orlando showed up on the lido deck to do their song-and-dance disco numbers and that Isaac never did bring me that Mai Tai I ordered.

One kicky little detail of the USS North Carolina was the black and white pictures of men aboard the ship during it's heyday, set up throughout different sections of the ship, like the various parts of the kitchen and control room. Standing in front of a picture of a guy standing in the same spot you're standing in, only 60 earlier was phenomenal. My sister and I referred to the guys in the pictures as "The Hotties". They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

Onward to pictures! Some are not the best quality and stupid Blogger makes you shrink your pictures small, so you'll just have to deal with it.

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I was standing where the guys made bread. Guys! Making bread! On a ship! Hot guys! I can't take it.

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Guys stirring soup. Soup! (Ok, Ok, I'll stop.)

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This is a bulk potato peeler, chafes the skin off them and shoots them out. Word was that sometimes the guys would slack and not watch the potatoes (you know how distracting a Betty Grable poster is), and the taters came out the size of marbles and then they'd get in trouble. Oh those wacky sailors.

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Something technical that did stuff.

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This was the Master at Arms' room and it was behind locked glass, for reasons I don't know. I guess he didn't like people touching his stuff.

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One of the medical rooms, which are always creepy, so I hightailed it outta there.

We ended up in the bowels of the ship, way down below. I'm sure there's some sort of actual boat-y name for it, of which I don't know. It gets a little panicky when you know you're that far from the surface of the ship and you have to climb 4 billion stairs to back up. I don't know how the hell those guys did it everyday, let alone when under attack. That's too much like exercise for my taste, thankyouverymuch.

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This is where Captain Stubing drove the boat. I love the aqua and deep red color combo, though I'm sure the guys then didn't appreciate it. Men!

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The view from the portholes in the captains' driving room, looking out over the shooter dealies. Yeah, I don't know what those things are called either. But I do know that Cher sat on some like it in her "If I Could Turn Back Time" video.

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A cute, little old man told me that the ship's bell is important, but I didn't have the chance to find out why. So here's the bell. It's important.


"When The Ship Hits The Sand" by Little Jimmie Dickens

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Way-Out Wednesday: Cover Me

(I know I've not been around much, but it's craptastic trying to get back into your old groove when you've been away from it! Yeah, that's it. More like I've been prone to woe-is-me-ing. At any rate, I'm back! Bad news for you.)

So. You know, don't you love it when your no-plans weekend turns into a real plans weekend? I know I don't. This Easter Sunday was supposed to be easy peasy lemon squeezy, but now I have peeps coming over and I have to be, like, a gracious host or something and give them vittles and whatever. Not that I'm a bible-thumpin' betty by any means. In fact, I'm pretty sure at this point my picture is hanging up in most Catholic churches that says "Do not serve or accept checks from this person". But Easter is just "one of things" you do, just because you do. Plus there's ham. So with that, foodstuffs must be bought and the house made to look less tornado-in-a-trailer-park looking. The weird cold weather stunted the growth on my Easter flowers outside, so a quick Martha Stewart-y fix is throwing down a vintage tablecloth and calling it a day. I have no appropriate Easter tablecloths. I've got half a dozen 50's tablecloths with roses on them, but that's boring. So this year, I'm celebratin' jebus with a cowboy print, since I'm pretty sure he was known as "Jebus of the Amarillo Texas Hold 'Em Covenant, of the Bon Jovi Wanted Dead or Alive Sect". (I'm so getting smited. Sorry jebus, but you know how I roll.) This is mine, not for sale, just for fun:

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Saloon girl garter belt? Check. Spurs? Check. Fire water? Check. This is gonna be the best jebus-approved Easter yet.

So for Way-Out Wednesday, of course I found more vintage tablecloths apropos for spring, but would make Martha Stewart angrier than a jackrabbit on a greased-up griddle. (I don't know what that means really.) All but the last one I believe are are vintage 50's, the last one is just...well you'll see.

(Each one below is for sale, the pics are clickable to take you to each listing.)



Wha...? Soulless basket weave Italian restaurant wine decanter farm animals? If you say so.



Rooster lived a happy life on Campbell's Chicken Noodle Farm, and is doing his happy dance because it's raining and he loves the smell of soup on rainy days. Rooster does not know that he is the soup.



In the world of fowl, it is customary to bring 2 of your children on an oval platter to housewarming parties as a gift.



Little chick does not like where this is going. Bunny does.


"Cover Me" by Bjork. Or Bruce Springsteen. Or the other 4 jillion bands that share the same generic song name.