The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I was watching the documentary, the third of three, about Yellowstone Park.

Towards the end, they did a piece of the sound engineer. It seems he would don wet-suit and swim with the current of the Yellowstone, allowing the current to dictate his path. It seemed he has a fascination with the Cut-Throat Trout, which led to a short story: Not too many years ago, businessmen decided to stock the river with several thousand more fish, for commercial fishing. One of those stocked was the Lake Trout, from The Highlands of Scotland. It ate the Cut-Throat Trout.

So, not only does the Cut-throat Trout now have to contend with Bears and Birds that eat it, it also has to contend with a new threat to it’s continued existence, the Lake Trout. Needless to say, man is now fishing the Lake trout, to remedy the threat he has created. But the question could be asked, ‘Is it too late?’ and ‘Has man intervened in Nature, once too often??’

COMMENTS

-

---

dabbler
19:09 Mar 30 2009

In the name of sport!!!

---

POST COMMENT

Life is good, when you watch the red call pull away from the front of your home and your little Mother is fit enough to go for her Saturday meal, with your Father.

Life is good, when your Father makes pancakes for ‘tea’, reminding you after many years, just how well he could and can, make them.

Life is good, when you’re in the backroom on the PC and hear your Mother’s laughter in from the living-room, through the door, as she watches Harry Hill’s presenting ‘You’ve Been Framed’.

Life is good, when people contact you back, who you had really wanted to hear from.

Aye, Life is good.

COMMENTS

-

---

RedQueen
01:25 Mar 30 2009

I agree one hundred percent. Life is good when you can laugh from deep down inside, and revel in how good it feels to do so.



Life is also good when you have pen pals you can share these things with, and know they "get it"



Cheers love

---

ladyofdragonrose
16:32 Mar 30 2009

Life is good when you have a friend from across the pond that you share a love of something with



*winks....yes my friend Life is good.

---

POST COMMENT

The end, of a beautiful sunny blustery afternoon, found me sitting cross-legged on my bed, watching the first episode of ‘The Mentalist’, recorded yesterday, as soon as I got in from the project, needing to eat. I needed the walk, doing jobs for my Mum, getting up leaves for the lady over the way, picking up leaves and weeds and stuff from beneath a low-growing spindly bush.

And, as I plodded back and forth, I’d considered how I’d felt yesterday: lonely.

‘What, I had to ask myself, ‘was the precipitant yesterday?’

It’d been a good question to ask of myself, particularly in lieu that my emotional stability has been good, of late.

‘Was it a couple of my close friend’s not being as I expected?’ Hardly.

I’ve gotten used to that particular disappointment. ‘Then what?’

‘Could it be that Mina is with child and will stop coming to the project, with John?’

Close, but no cigar.

Grant you, unlike me, they’ve a successful relationship and marriage and have the good fortune to be having a child, within that loving relationship.

Again, close but no cigar.

‘Could it have been Poochie, who rings bells for me, though I’m aware that I’ll not approach?’ No. That doesn’t feel quite right.

‘A seasonal thing, kind of like winter blues, or maybe watching couples walk past me, as I walked down the main drag towards the station?’ Ah, now that rings bells.

Not on the walk, but down on the station: a couple arguing. But, the sort of stupid argument, that will soon be settled and they’ll be back to as they were before it.

That had been the precipitant: the rest had been added onto the list, which went toward pressing the buttons on a very tired, worn out individual. Aye, that feels right.

It had been a touch of the old green-eyed God. Frell, that’s sad, to allow myself to be overwhelmed like that, particularly when I should know better!

And yes, it’s he end of the afternoon, as I finishing typing.

The ‘Mentalist’ ended awhile ago and I’d enjoyed it far more than I thought I would.

The character reminded me of Columbo what with his tenacity, crossed with Kreskin and his dextrous manner and ability to see and understand what others ignore; with a very tortured past, that was relevant to the story-line.

‘And,’ you have to wonder, if you’re showing your age, ‘by talking of Kreskin?’

Just another term of reference lost on those around you…

COMMENTS

-

---

KamarillaKaine
01:43 Mar 28 2009

*sigh*Simon Baker*sigh*

---

Sinora
14:53 Mar 28 2009

*Whispers*...I remember kreskin. I did'nt think much of The Mentalist though, main character seems too sure of himself and irritated me.

---

ladyofdragonrose
16:34 Mar 30 2009

laughs softly i remember kreskin...

---

POST COMMENT

Thursday night, I had one of my worst bouts of depression, in ages.

Thank Frell, for blue-skies and the ability to write.



**



["But that was yesterday!!.. but today Life goes on.. 'coz yesterdays gone..

.. you won't find me in yesterdays world ..now yesterday is gone."]

.. am doin better than yesterday.



[see: press release.]







.. there were blue-skies today. literally as well.



[with moments's, of introspection.]

"What am I like?" she says..



a dirty old man, who needs a shave.

[dyed the beard.. it's grey, nearly white..]



they'll mistake me for oneof the homeless, on the project later!



so, I might just shave before I go.

My peaceful time is spent sitting on the wall surrounding Raby Mere. reminds me, there's a fish that recognised me, last time I was down that way.

That same fish that so often came near when I sat in the same spec for nearly six months. Female: it's mate and companion used to drag it away.

[‘tis proven they recall certain shapes]

I like to think she was being sympathetic, to a miserable sod, at the time.

COMMENTS

-

---

Sinora
17:09 Mar 25 2009

Takes one to know one ? lmao

---

POST COMMENT

Continuing my travels on Sunday, I went to call on my slightly younger, better-dressed look-alike, to share with him my favourite book, ‘Kingdom Of Fear’, written by Hunter S. Thompson. [If you haven’t read it, he’s continuing his Fear & Loathing of a country he both loved and hated, in equal measure, the U.S.A.] Needless to say, Sunday travel on the bus got me goodstyle: and, a journey that should have taken about forty minutes took nearly an hour and a half. That delay put me well behind schedule for getting to Karl’s, which had been my second mission for Sunday. Well, it had been my third really, if you include my local radio requests for Mother’s Day, only one of which she heard. But, I did get to Karl’s, writing my new piece of erotica on the way. I mean, travelling time gives me that freeflow thought I need, to write.

I managed to do my next mission to my satisfaction, helping my dyslexic friend with his coursework’s spelling and grammar, before returning home, for the roast chicken meal, with Rosé wine, with the folks. I was home for five, having already been told by my Father I just had to be home for six, it being Mothering Sunday. The meal was good as ever, though the Rosé wine is more my Mother’s choice, not mine, as I prefer red wine. That said, I still slept off the effects of the wine, before seeking my P.C.

I had sent a video of me dyeing my beard to someone of VR, which seemed to amuse her, to which she’d responded in an email: “I’d never have thought of that.”

When I’d responded with “there’s nothing worse than have proper coloured hair and a white beard,” she came back with, “Well there is that dye JustforMen” which there is.

It’d tickled me, goodstyle. But, there were other thing’s to do, one of which was when I checked out the file size of the last episode Battlestar Galactica and wasn’t amused to learn that it won’t fit to disc. Considering that through Karl, I’ve been able obtain several television series I like I’d been delighted to get hold of it, hence my absolute frustration. Then when I went looking for a copy of .avisplitter, to break it into two parts, to put to disc. Needless to say, I have too many small piles of discs lying around in my room: and boy, did that one drive me nutso! Instead of seeking bed, when I’d left VR somewhat bog-eyed, I’d ended up with all my discs on the floor. And, it was when I’d found the file, towards the end of the latest episode of Sarah Connor, that I’d had a brainwave, that might just work, so I can keep the episode intact: convert it,

I don’t know if it will work, but it’s an option.

I woke early, for me, on the Monday: seven thirty. It was bright and very windy outside: and, I must emphasise the bit about the wind.

As I padded through to make my second, after dusting where my little Mum can’t reach, I said to her, “I can’t see why they’re putting the clocks back next week, not when I’m enjoying my light morning’s now.”

Coffee made, I went through to watch early morning gossip television, as I typed.

Sometimes though, the shouting of these disputing couples, lie-detector and paternity results is too much and so, after watching with pleasure a reunion, between a Father and daughter who’d been apart for twenty years. Now, that had been worth seeing.

I have just been watching Ray Quinn and his partner Maria dance The Bolero on Celebrity Dancing On Ice. It was a wow and even Torvill and Dean were so complimentary.

As I bring this epistle to an end, the blue-skies and sun have gone and there’s grey skies and rain: and, I have stamps to go get!!

But, I had to put my jacket on a minute or so ago, to right the bin, after it had fallen due to the heavy wind. I even righted the one in for the older couple over the road.

Then a short while after my cup of tea with the folks, the refuse collectors lorry came along and the collection of the recycling waste: All-in the rain, and a heavy wind.

Talk about “the wind doth blow!”

And, having typed that, blue-skies and sun have followed the grey, as it so often does later in the day. Perfect, just perfect weather, for going to go get my stamps!

The other evening, as I cooked my meal, I was listening to Radio Merseyside, as I do.

It seems a local film-maker is doing a bio-pic at the moment, on the early life of John Lennon called, ‘Nowhere Boy.’

[He’s the same fellow who made the film about Joy Division.]



**



As I type, it’s sunny outside. Dad is seeing to the lawn, which once again looks as though nuclear devastation has taken place. Little Mother has my radio with her, set to Merseyside to hear my requests for her, as she potters round the garden, planting pansy’s. and, she was delighted, when Ian rang to wish her a “Happy Mother’s Day.’

And prior to what proposes to be a busy day, I watched the end of a marvellous film ‘City of Ember’, which Karl has asked me if I’ve watched, several times since he recorded it for me. Now I know why. It’s excellent.

Based on a book by Jeanne Dupreau and produced by amongst others by Tom Hanks and now I know why he wanted me to see it.

There are films like ‘Stiletto’, all style and violence, made for its intended audience.

Then there are film with substance and plot and lot’s of heart.

Well, ‘City Of Ember’ fits in that category. It’s not a kid’s movie, as I first thought: it’s a good film, with a plot: which seems a novelty nowadays.

Years ago now, I ruined a print I’d been given, when I tried to clean it. So my Father came to the rescue, [as he so often has] and, turned the frame and board, into something really special.

So, come Saturday morning, as it was bright outside, I listened to the radio, having a smoke, looking at the poster of Jessica Alba, as Nancy from ‘Sin City’ on the wall in front of me; with all it’s creases carefully painted out, by my Dad.

And as I started to properly open my eyes, I heard a voce that wasn’t my folks, coming from the living-room. It was a curio indeed, on a Saturday morning.

So I padded through, barefoot in terry-towel robe, with bed-head, to make my coffee.

It seems ‘little’ brother [in inverted comma’s coz he’s anything but little] had beaten me in the present for Mother on Mother’s Day: well beaten me.

He’d sent a card, with a picture of the singer Daniel O’Donnell on front. And, as you open the card, you get his [actual, not authorised] voice, wishing you a greeting.

“Spot-On Ian, she loved it!” Well, I just hope she enjoys hearing a request on the radio, on every programme I could contact. And, before she went out for their Saturday meal, I got my instructions for the day; the back lawn needs to be edged.

So requested, so will be done.

But my little of joy had taken place as I dyed my beard, to amuse myself, as little Mother had said that she didn’t like the grey.

She called through the door, saying I have a message for you.

I’d opened the bedroom door a little, to be given my message and hide my secret.

“The son of the lady over the road called over, to thank you for leaving a message, when she locked herself out.”

‘Thanks Mum,’ I said, and then went to finish getting dressed, very slowly; as I thought back to yesterday and the cute little dog.

Uh-huh, it was cute, terminally so.

And the cute little dog, a pup, with a long-hair coat and terrier face, sat at the end of the drive-way of the retired vet’s ‘big-house’ at the end of our road, looking out at the road. And, I do dislike the interfering busy bodies of Life, but I became one.

I walked down the drive-way, knocked on the wooden door after there was no response from the bell; and a lady came out in her sixties, or so; quite tall, with grey hair and a smile.

I’d told her of the little dog and she’d thanked me. It seems I’d done the right thing, as the little pup had escaped through a gap in the hedge.

And yeah, the latest story was written of a busy body meeting his end because of his end. I’m still chuffed, ‘coz I got a ‘thank you’, for doing as I do.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the bandage taut on my knee, as the folks do the housework I typed at a story, having already prepped the backroom for my Dad, to as he does, every Monday and Thursday. The typing is good for the old gnarly digits: and I like it when little Mother leaves me alone awhile to type away.

I’ve had a look through the local freebie and unless I wanted to be a medical secretary, or a driving instructor, or perhaps get into telesales [“shoot me!”] there’s very few vacancies to actually look at, never mind apply for.

Unemployment in Britain has officially reached two million and though I’m just part of a statistic, it’s my Life. And, I need to rely on others, like my folks, for all I’ve got.

That’s frustrating in itself: and sometimes the self-confidence classes lessons get forgotten, as you sit and dwell, on all that’s around me. But, it’s sunny outside and little Mothers on a washing spree. Thankfully, it’s a Thursday and later, I’ll be toddling off to Liverpool to be useful. I’ll be picking up my Dad’s book on the way, [the one that Tweety-Pie ordered for me.] And, I’m glad it’s Thursday, ‘coz just for a change, it won’t be me taking, but doing: even if I end up as stressed as I know I will, it’ll have been worth it, to me.

[‘I wish’, in hindsight I’d thought more like that last night.] I hate [right word] being selfish, or being perceived as so: and last nights thoughtlessness suggests, to me at least, that I was selfish and like those I dislike so.

Yet that said, I have taken that particular lesson onboard.

And “yes”, I’m dwelling again, which suggests that I have too much time on my hands, or…? Hmmm, no answer springs to mind.

I need fresh air, a spring in my step and purpose [and, an Adalat tablet, for the tingles in my fingers, it seems] so that I can be more of the person I want to be.

COMMENTS

-

---

Aracon
20:25 Mar 19 2009

How much more can you be hon? You're perfect just the way you are, NEVER change that. *smiles.

---

moonkissed
02:28 Mar 20 2009

oh we are singing a duet aren't we? i feel like i need to give more too and i am always falling short. every two weeks i begin again the rearranging dance trying to make the money stretch until it snaps and gives away under us. *sigh

it has to get better...right?

---

POST COMMENT

Ever felt like an absolute ass? I do. as I write, I'm declaring my ass-status.

I had been over-joyed to read the previous post, hence wanting to share; neglecting to think, that perhaps the one person I contacted, my have other things on her mind: thing's far more important than my benighted sense of sel-importance. Yep, I neglected to think.

Grrr, I loathe me, sometimes.

[Damn, is that even grammatically right??]

Don't care, "I'm an absolute ass."

COMMENTS

-

---

mtsoul77
23:58 Mar 18 2009

You're not an ass Neil. Everyone gets caught up in themselves and the things going on in their own world sometimes.

---

cherryblossom
02:43 Mar 19 2009

wasn't it you that told me that it is good to see the things you do as wonderful? (you worded it a little differently, but same concept)

---

Sinora
07:44 Mar 19 2009

Oh stop, your not THAT bad lol

---

Vampiress25
13:33 Mar 19 2009

Neil... you're ridiculous for calling yourself an ass... feel better now? :P lol *huggles*

---

Joli
01:58 Mar 20 2009

Yes, you're being an ass by calling yourself an ass. AND...you worry too much! I like when you share your joys...it just might take me a bit to celebrate with you, but you keep right on sharing :)

---

moonkissed
02:30 Mar 20 2009

hee haw hee haw

we all need a little ass in our lives sometimes :)

---

POST COMMENT

I just opened up and read the message below. Aw wot , melt me and, turn me into a dead soft, Pink Marshmallow now!



* *







From:



**********



22:13:21

Mar 18 2009



Reply



Block User



Delete





Delete

To Saved





Email to Self

Neil I just have to say one thing about your drawings... they are simple, yet so expressive... I love them! :) thank you for sharing your gift with the world :)*hugs*

COMMENTS

-

---

Joli
01:55 Mar 20 2009

They are absolutely correct. I love your drawings, too.

---

POST COMMENT

A perfect sunny day, so I took the left knee for a walk down to Raby Mere.

A pleasant walk led to new photo's up, that illustrate well how nice it was.

I had sat on the wall cross-legged awhile and even in full-lotus; though after the knee began to ache a little, I sat on the bench awhile, just to watch, the world pass by. Perfect.

COMMENTS

-

---

moonkissed
02:31 Mar 20 2009

it is such a lovely place :)

---

POST COMMENT

I limped to the dole Tuesday afternoon. It was three to four miles there and then back. It wore on my right hip, so needless to say, me being me: I did anything but rest when I got in: though I did watch and enjoy Csi and Grissom’s departure: which was thrilling and tender in equal amounts.

Then later, after disseminating a report for someone, I watched Smallville: just to see the introduction of The Legion Of Super Heroes – who only an old git like me, would remember, from 1967, or thereabouts.

And yes, there was Saturn Girl and Lightening Lad and a character called Rock, who I hadn’t recalled from the origin tales, at all.

COMMENTS

-

---

Sinora
15:53 Mar 18 2009

Don't you have bus's where you live ? lol

---

POST COMMENT

Seeking Enlightenment is all very well. But if that very thing is that which bring's us down, then wisdom alone is for naught: it has to be tempered with compassion and strength, of will and purpose.



~ * ~

I walk to sign on tomorrow. Thankfully the left knee has recovered enough, [after helping someone, I learnt arthritis means I can't lift as I have done] so I can enjoy the walk. Ideally, the weather will be as it's been for the last two days, quite pleasant. Either way [says he, sitting full lotus] I will enjoy the walk.

.. just logged on, after reading my email's, to see a journal entry by Aracon.

Between tears, of embarrasment and pleasure I'd thought to myself, "how kind."

..

Isn't it cool when appreciate you and show it!

COMMENTS

-

---

Sinora
15:43 Mar 16 2009

Yes it is *hugs*.

---

Angelus
15:49 Mar 16 2009

the pic was made by mtsoull77 [superb at graffix]

and I was stoked to see that she had commented on it, before I knew of it.

---

mtsoul77
18:36 Mar 16 2009

Sheesh...it's your time to shine. Don't try to pass the limelight to me. :P



Every word that Aracon wrote was true. You are a wonderful friend.

---

Aracon
21:20 Mar 16 2009

---

xxEmaeraldxx
22:40 Mar 16 2009

I see you have met the passive side of Aracon. I never knew it existed.

---

POST COMMENT

I had forgot till Sunday why I stopped liking ‘Desperate Housewives’, now I get it.

It’s embarrassing.

Grant you, it is momentarily funny, but “Geez” don’t you wanna strangle that bunch of vacuous airheads???

Okay, that’s out of my system.

I’d started the day slowly, as hopping doesn’t allow one to do things as fast as you’d like. But, little Mothers being the supervisors they are, you end up gardening, on a blue-sky sunny day; then taking advantage of being up, to go travelling.

Well, I had to take the cap back sometime, the one I got for the fancy-dress, so I did so, having taken my camera with me, to see what it might see.

It was on my return from said delivery that I noticed the girl going to a corner shop n her shoes, jacket and pyjama’s.

“Weird,” says I to myself.

Then I’d reminded myself, that I was the weird one, hobbling along on a blue-sky sunny day in my heavy black leather, with flat black leather cap & John Lennon style glasses, that turn brown in the sun.

Uh – huh.

I’d continued the journey: got to Karl’s and reviewed an essay, then collected some excellent Scifi, only to learn there’s only one more Battlestar Galactica to go.

“OMG!”

I had hoped to talk Saturday morning, but no-one answering the phone, so thankfully, I have my writing. I’d been awake much of the night, in pain with the knee.

It is badly swollen, it passed through my head to wonder who was more seriously hurt.

[I think she was.] In the end I had placed a pillow beneath it, which allowed me to rest.

Then at 10:00 a.m. there was my Dad at the door, “Shouldn’t you be up?”

Well, following the premise that if you can rise, you can work, I washed the windows and weeded the path: When I noticed the lady over the road looking distressed, I went out to see if I could help. As it was, I couldn’t, as a phone-call to her daughter proved fruitless. I then followed my work with a bath, all on a sunny blue-sky day.

COMMENTS

-

---

Sinora
20:17 Mar 14 2009

Only you !

---

POST COMMENT

Mid-point Friday evening I sit cross-legged on the floor the little Dell before me.

Much as I like my kips, I’d had to rest as the left knee was in real pain, ever since I’d tried to help the young lady who’d fallen off her bike. I know it’s damaged, I did that when I lifted that fellow, same time I did the lower back and the left wrist. I had hoped though, to postpone the inevitable ‘next operation” as long as possible. But man, when I got home from that particular walk, I do wish I’d not gone out for a lemon, for my Mother. Well to be precise here, I didn’t go out for the lemon, I went out for a walk and to drop off some speakers. The lemon had been something my little Mother told me “I’ve been meaning to get for days.”

Anyway, on my homeward journey, I’d been approaching the station, when across the road, I saw a young woman aim to take a sharp turn onto the pelican crossing and hit a patch of wet leaves. She’d landed hard and to judge by the yells, was in pain.

As I crossed to assist, I think the lights were against me, I must be more careful of things like that in future. But, I hadn’t thought of it when I’d crossed towards her, to be joined by two others, as intent on helping as myself.

As it was, all she’d wanted to do was ensure her bike was okay; and get to where she’d been going. And, as ‘where she was going’ was on my way home, I decided that whether she wanted help or not, she was getting it: the smell on her of a strong lager was neither here nor there. The one thing that irked me, I quickly learnt I’m not as strong as I think I am, or was, but still managed to get her to the wall outside the house where she wanted to get to, after crossing the road: now, that’d been fun, indeed. As it was, on the way there and after getting her through the gate, she kept saying either “he can’t see you,” or “they can’t see you.”

Well, call it discretion being the better part of valour, or something like that, I helped her through the gate, ensured she could stumble safely round the path, then left her to it and wandered home. It was only when I started to slow down a bit that I noticed just how badly my left knee ached. Needless to say, I rested awhile, then wrote of it.

COMMENTS

-

---

Aracon
00:17 Mar 14 2009

Hey hon,



May I suggest that you stay INDOORS for the rest of the day/evening and DON"T DO ANYTHING.



Don't want you hurt even more - but sending healing your way, hope its ok?



Aracon.

---

POST COMMENT

Up till now, I've been cleaning walls and sizing photograph's.

hey, it's sunny. I have voluntary work soon: and, thanks to a phone-call, a dissitation to proof-read, for my dyslexic friend..



Yayyy, busy Neil.

The fellow who phoned doing reference apertaining to his wife's family tree, prompted my Mother to dig out some old photographs.

Amongst the three were one of her Father and another of the ward where here Father had stayed, during the First World War.



As a child I recall being told, he died face down in a shallow pond, like a duck-pond, after thinking he’d heard ‘the bombs;’ after, going through three mustard bomb attacks during the First World War.



On the front of the card, it read: Military Hospital [Ed: in France]



As I noted later, on a photograph of him as a small child, were the details of his birth. He had been born Aaron Lancaster in 1899 Bebington on the Wirral and died in 1955



On the back, it had written: First World War. My Father. In hospital in France, Had been a prisoner of War. Later he married my Mother, Ethel Lancaster.

[Between them they had a daughter Joan, my Mother.]



The Grandfather’s name was Peter Lancaster, as shown on a group photograph of men, resplendent in their small shirts, white apron and flat cap. The only man not wearing a flat cap wore hit slicked down hair with a centre-part and sported a tight handle-bar moustache, liked his fellows. Unlike them, he wore an office jacket. Beneath his apron: and, a tie. [Ed: perhaps three workers and their supervisor]

It looked like one of the mean had the office ledger with him. Supposition.





Yet another photograph, again in the postcard format, albeit upright illustrated to me who Peter Lancaster was, which showed me who he was in the group photograph. He had been one of those in a flat-cap and an apron, beneath a white jacket.

In this was he was posed, his hand resting on one another, on his right knee, which was crossed over the left. He wore a causal jacket with wide lapels, beneath which were what appeared like several different waistcoats and a bowler, worn at a jaunty angle. He sat on a leather chair with a low back, the rolled end in view, from which hung a tassel. His thick was hair slicked back, from the half visible and the ‘tache looked smart. On the back, it gave his name and occupation, painter & decorator.



At the bottom it read:



W. Marshall [Ed. Underlined] 218 Old Chester Rd Tranmere.





As it happens, after awhile, I noted the cross, someone had scrawled on to the left hand pockets, on Peter’s jacket. And, that was only after doing my i.d. work.

COMMENTS

-

---

Joli
02:48 Mar 12 2009

"I grew up in Europe, where the history comes from." - Eddie Izzard





This was interesting...history, right there in your house in a box of photographs.

---

POST COMMENT

“How long has he been here?” a young patrolman asks, about the body found.

“It could be weeks, or months,” Grissom says and then adds, “Tell the coroner he has soup to go.”

It’s a full-moon as I type and the folks are watching Liverpool winning against 3-0 Real Madrid and the ache in my mouth requires me to take my soluble painkillers.

I mean, I can take almost any pain, except pain in my face.

And, the penultimate Grissom-orientated episode of CSI is on, which I’ve wanted to see all day: powerful stuff, the departure of a legend. For ten years William Peterson has played this well-loved character and it had seemed appropriate that it was shown on a full-moon, I’d thought.

And that brings me to the phone-call I took, as I sat there staring at the meal I made earlier, from someone researching their family-tree: with a connection to my Mother.

It’d been interesting, but as the meal had taken awhile to cook, I was left feeling a tad impatient by the calls end: that and, in pain. I’d been talking too much.

Aye, pain: that’d down to the loss of a tooth.

I had walked to the dentists, mid-afternoon, on a blue-sky day, with a little chill in the air, though not much, at all. I had walked with the sounds of bells in my head, the death knell, for a gold-full capped tooth, which I knew I was soon to lose.

The fellow pretty well apologised for his joking, that he didn’t want to see me for another six month’s [after re-building the tooth, with gold.]

I recall explaining why I hated extractions, ever since the snip of a girl at Liverpool Dental Hospital made such a hash out of it, after cracking the tooth, with her knee in my belly, as she hardly had the strength to do it properly: and how she’d needed assistance from several other people.

“Well, we’ll have to do better than that,” he’d said.

So I’d lain back, the bib went on, then a waggle and a jag later; my gold-capped was held before my eyes.

“Do you want it,” he’d asked, “it’s gold.”

To be succinct, that was irrelevant. It was out of me, I had a padded hole and I had to walk home. But I had accepted it and said “Thank you, that was wasn’t too bad.”

As it transpires, Liverpool won 4-0 against Real Madrid and the story of Grissom’s departure is to be concluded next week: a bit like the loss of my tooth really, it’s inevitable, but something you don’t want to face.

COMMENTS

-

---

Aracon
00:09 Mar 11 2009

Nicely portrayed. Thanks for sharing and hope all goes well with the toothy-pegs.

---

POST COMMENT

I'm feeling a tad sorry for myself.. the tooth comes out tomorrow. Grant you, know more infection: so no more pain.

But... it does mean, the extraction itself.

And, after having had quite a few removed, I'm seriously not looking forward to Tuesday afternoon, at 3:15

..

Sheesh, I'm going to look more gaunt than I have done.

COMMENTS

-

---

Sinora
08:18 Mar 10 2009

Ohhh you are brave *hugs*

---

Aracon
22:57 Mar 10 2009

My thoughts are with you dear friend. Take care ok?

---

POST COMMENT

There are two types of big film, just two. There is the film that you watch with and without your brain engaged. For example, up until Friday last I’d not seen the film ‘Transformers’. I chose not to watch it for the same reason I chose not to watch the first Christopher Reeve ‘Superman’ film, because ‘everyone’ told me I would like it.

I like to make up my mind.

And, although it was all it was meant to be, with long lyrical shots, music in the right places and through a series of set-pieces, enough violence and explosions to keep the infantile general movie-goer enthralled, it left me annoyed at the plot-holes and contrivances. That said, the moment I chose to ignore them, I enjoyed the film.

I even stopped wondering where I’d seen the two teen leads before.

Now… ‘Watchmen’: there’s a whole different movie indeed.

Primarily it was a film I knew of and wanted to see for ages, knowing the films pedigree. And, I hadn’t been disappointed, for all-in-all, it had been the film I’d expected. Just how often can you say that of a new movie?? There was a minor annoyance though. Prior to leaving the cinema, I checked the title out and a name caught my attention, Annie Liebowitz.

She was one of many characters in the back-story to the film: and, a thought struck me, “How many terms of reference, relevant to the movie, would mean nothing to today’s movie-going generation?”

As it was, to satisfy my damned curiosity, I looked up ‘Transformers’ on Imdb

Shia LaBeouf played Sam Witwicky, the young protagonist in the film and played Louis in the kids show ‘Even Stevens’, which I used to find so funny.

Megan Fox, is more your MTV Rom-Com queen, it seems from the database, except that she will be in Jonah Hex, proposed for 2010

Aw wot! Johah Hex!! Now there’s a western anti-hero, for this generation: he makes Clint Eastwood in Gran Turino look like a fluffy little pussycat & was based on him.

[Cha, better shut-up, ‘coz that’ll be another term of reference that’s lost to people!!!]

Awhile back it was said, “Everytime you go ou, it’s like fancy dress to you.”

Maybe that’s true, but prior to going out to Vicky’s Party, I spent ages trying on one outfit after another.

I swear down, that reputation that women stereotypically have, about taking ages to get ready, belongs to me. I own that stereotype.

Vicky nicked my cheese sandwich when I was sitting down to eat in the canteen of the art college we both went to in ’92 and we became friends and have been since.

The fancy dress was her party and I had been dead chuffed to see Vicky and Mandy, who taught me to hug, again.

I also saw a few others, I hadn’t seen for awhile, some real nice people.

Did I enjoy myself??

Well, Mandy allowed me to take a picture of the tatt on her thigh.. of Jonny Depp etc.

So, of course I did.

COMMENTS

-

---

Aracon
20:15 Mar 07 2009

Well done.... BUT.... did you have a few drinks for me too? lol.



*smiles

---

POST COMMENT

I am going to a fancy dress shortly.

I am having problems with 'what to wear'.

It’s my friend Vicky’s fortieth.

… food, booze and company??

COMMENTS

-

---

ladySnowStrixx
17:45 Mar 06 2009

try either a nice suit or dress pants ,shirt and jacket just no jeans and tee or sweats .very tacky.

---

Aracon
11:41 Mar 07 2009

Ok. Since you get to par-tay, and I don't would you have a few for me too please? Thanks. ;)



Oh! And have a ball, you dance well *grins.

---

POST COMMENT

It was my Dad’s birthday on the 5th March and I was on a runaround day, interrupted at the very start by a phone-call from a fried, ‘My computer’s died.’

A brief check, it wasn’t dead, but certainly not healthy, as I ascertained over the phone. So that had to be seen to, as well as helping a friend make an acquisition.

All my initial targets met, I finally managed to get out out and about though.

I decided to go to get him the present he might actually want, ‘The Enemy Within’ by Seaumus Milne, the story of how Margaret Thatcher broke the unions and nearly turned Britain into a Police state, in the Eighties. It’s even said now, that she had the Secret Services stalking, haunt and try to kill Arthur Scargill.

Well, knowing how much my Father would like the book it’d been my idea to obtain it, on my way to Liverpool. I called into Waterstones in Birkenhead, on the way, they knew the book, but it wasn’t in, so I went onto W.H.Smiths. An attractive brunette assistant actually did the unheard of; she ignored the phone to see to my enquiry.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have the book either. Smiths would have taken up to fourteen days to get it for me, while Waterstones would take ten days and was two pound cheaper. Knowing that, I went back to Waterstones, checking the time on the way, as I’d arranged to meet Anne in Liverpool, for a coffee, before the project.

But, back to Waterstones: the helpful young man I spoke with earlier had seemingly disappeared, so that left me with one option, Tweety Pie.

Aye that’s right, Tweety Pie.

The assistant behind the main desk as you enter was dressed as the cartoon character, with the head worn back, almost as a cowl.

The book had been ordered and we had talked.

There was I talking to Tweet pie, with blonde hair, blue eyes and curves: and vpl.

As we had chatted, it had transpired she was not only Vicky’s boss, the Manager of the shop, but she was also going to Vicky’s fortieth on Friday night.

On my way out, I asked ‘how do I check out on my order?’

“Well, we’ll send or you a letter, or you can in and check on us,” she replied with a smile.

In turn, I’d looked at her and smiled, then said: “I might have done that anyway.”

It was only when I’d been on the train to Liverpool did I think to myself, ‘I flirted with Tweety Pie.’ And, that thought genuinely tickled me.

..

Then at The FACT Centre, I sat watching the beautiful people; do as they do, as I’d waited for Anne to get the coffee.

The young woman who I think is stunning, heightwise and curvewise had talked and been taken by two of the most overtly camp, irritating twerps I’ve noticed inna while and Now, she turned me off her, goodstyle.

What I saw, just seemed to infer that the vacuous like the vacuous. Grrr.

..

Come the project, Nadia had brought a new face to the night, a lady called Poochie, who seemed quite helpful. That said, I did see in her, the potential for trouble.

IF she comes to the project a second time [and, prospective volunteers so rarely come back a second time] she comes back, I’ll be watching her, for fashions crimes as, she was in a black seventies style trouser suit: and, she reminds me, of the bossy lady who nearly destroyed the project by trying to take it over. Although, I could very well be extremely wrong. I just know I’m getting very wary of people’s motivations Now.

Mtsoul77 took a couple of the pictures from my portfolio, combined them and played around with them a little bit and boy, what I’ve seen, I like.

I don't know what else she’s done with me, but I do like that one.

Later, I'm sending it to MysticWinds and when I've finished playtime with Tarantino, will use it on the profile.

COMMENTS

-

---

mtsoul77
16:01 Mar 04 2009

Your photos are inspiring. Now go take some more!! LOL

---

ladyofdragonrose
18:53 Mar 04 2009

*princess pouts... wont send it to me? sniff sniff....:)

---

POST COMMENT

“Who Am I?” The Who scream in the Intro to C.S.I. And much of the afternoon I found myself asking similar questions; whist being reminded that there aren’t always’ questions to the answers.

..

I had gone to sign-on and found it somewhat disconcerting to learn that the new clerk behind the desk at the dole had been a graphic designer, who had owned his own firm. Then, I’d called on Rosie, to borrow a suitable cap, for Friday and Vicky’s birthday-do. And the thing is, she has answers and awareness; and we have connections, as does her partner Kenny and myself. It had all been very strange, somewhat surreal and very pleasant. She went on the net, to show me the MySpace of someone she feels similarly about, who sings beautifully and has longer than long blonde hair. I took the opportunity to go on VR awhile, just to show my version of MySpace, which she so liked. Then when Kenny came home, the conversation carried on, equally well. He’s a very nice fellow: and ‘yes’ in some photograph’s he does look somewhat like me. Well I stayed till I had to be gone, as they both had plans for the evening. Boy, my good fortune carried on: ‘coz shortly after I got to the main road and the bus-stop. There was my bus, the one that takes me almost all the way home.

..

“You can only wake once from a dream,” says Janet Leigh’s character to Grissom.

..

NB: and so far, aside from Janet Leigh, I’ve spotted Ralph Waite, ie: Pa Walton; and Robert Guilliane, ie: Benson.

COMMENTS

-

---

ladyofdragonrose
18:55 Mar 04 2009

love csi and yes i do remember the walton's and benson loved them all. sounds like you have a wonderful evening~:)

---

POST COMMENT

What a day Sunday was. It was a good blue-sky day with little pain in my face, which began with a minor irritant: my Father out in his light brown corduroy cap, green wax jacket and Wellington boots, edging the front lawn, which I consider to ‘my job.’

A coffee had been sought and acquired, before I’d contemplated my next move of the day, which as it transpired, had been encouraged by little Mother.

“Your Dad’s…” … ‘Uh-huh.. we know, we know..’ So, I’d got dressed.

My first move of the morning once dressed, needless to say, had been to finish the front lawn off, to my satisfaction, before a tea-break, then washing of the windows and sills. That’d given me a modicum of satisfaction before I went to Karl’s.

We chatted, of this and that: mostly TV and films, as a break from his Uni work.

I got my Sarah Connor 2:16 and BSG 4:17 but Goldarn it, if I hadn’t forgotten to pester Karl to put Forbidden Science 1:03 onto the portable hard-drive, I now carry to his. That shows excellent. Grant you, some may find the sex scenes unnecessary, but whilst I acknowledge they’re superfluous, the stories are ever-so good and quite thought-provoking, about questions of morality and ethics, all in a scifi show.

That said, I did proof-read several pages of an exam piece, so that balances that.

Once home, it was a good red and roast chicken.. Mmmm.

The night though, it ended with a film, that just gets to me, on so many levels, ‘Cyborg’, with Jean Claude Van Damme.

That climactic scene in the post-holocaust Atlanta, in the rain, where he finally beats the bad guy, after losing the girl again, gets to me, everytime.

It’d been one of the first films I drew well from, made in ’89 an ex-associated period, with some scenes in it, which helped turn me onto the visual.

COMMENTS

-

---

ladyofdragonrose
14:58 Mar 02 2009

nothing like a good movie is there? spend most of my sundays doing the same. the old movies seem to be the best for me

---

POST COMMENT

Soon, I will have gay, or hetro, or she-male moving-wallpaper. [for inspriration, for a story]

The Profile here has pics that are part of an ongoing project, in the additional pics.. and, there's some newish drawings up, as part of another project.

I used to be bothered with Bronchitis: in fact the antibiotics I'm on, are doing my sinus well. In fact, this Saturday, I've been feeling quite chirpy.

I watched 'Death Proof' again.

Kurt Russell is excellent in it.

Rosario Dawson, my latin obsession and boy, when he gets it, at the end, I gelt like cheering.

COMMENTS

-

---

dabbler
00:25 Mar 01 2009

I will watch anything with KR, I have a touch of the Brocitus as well, complicated by a mold that has permeated my location, I have beat the sporous beast though..

---

POST COMMENT