Coloring Christmas

After work I stopped at the grocery store, the Giant off Queen Street, because, obviously, I needed some groceries. Bread, peanut butter, milk, that sort of thing. Life’s essentials.

While I was there, I browsed the magazine rack. There, on the bottom shelf, was a row of adult coloring books. Or, more accurately, magazines. I’m not sure why I stopped to look at them, as I’ve never gotten into the adult coloring book craze. I guess seeing one titled “Coloring Christmas Cats” caught my eye. Next to it was one titled “Coloring Christian Christmas”; its cover featured a snowy New England town, with a banner that read “Peace on Earth” hanging from a church.

I picked up “Coloring Christian Christmas,” mildly curious at its contents, and began to leaf through it. It featured page after page of snowmen, Santa Claus, presents, stockings, snowflakes. Occasionally there would be a lyric from a hymn — “Hark the Herald Angels,” “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Sometimes there would be a single word like “Rejoice.”

One page may have been the Three Wise Men. Another page had an angel, though you could argue it was a Christmas tree topper.

Otherwise, it was roughly 80 pages of secular Christmas traditions.

Surely, I thought, there should be a Nativity scene here. Surely, shepherds watching their flock by night. Surely, a Madonna and Child. Surely, something that justified the title “Coloring Christian Christmas.” No, just a few lines from a few hymns, an angel, and the Three Wise Men.

I’m a fucking heathen, and even I was offended by this. I think the “war on Christmas” is silly in the extreme — there’s a Christian religious festival, and there’s a secular seasonal festival, and they’re called the same damn thing — but I would be completely sympathetic to someone who picked up “Coloring Christian Christmas” and was pissed off that the magazine had a lot to do with Christmas but absolutely nothing to do with religion.

I didn’t even look in “Coloring Christmas Cats.” I wonder if it had any cats in it. For all I know, it’s full of dogs.

Pictures of Percy

Wednesday night I went through some picture CDs in search of some particular photos. I found those, and there were also pictures of Percival, a cat I owned a decade ago. What follows, for no particular reason, are almost all of the pictures I have of Percy from 2005 and 2006.

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The calico never had a name. She hated people. She would hang around with her siblings and play with them. She would eat when food was put out. But look at her even a little bit, and she would run away.

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The pale kitten at the right was struck by a car. With Percy in the middle is his brother, Galahad. To the left, with white paws, is the kitten my grandmother would call Ruby. And the calico is lurking behind the framework of a chair.

From a few months later, Percy liked to sleep on my bed. No reason to make the bed; he’d usually get to it in the mornings before I could straighten it out.

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He was a giant ball of fuzz. He looked bigger than he was because his fur was so thick and shaggy. He would do silly things like take off at full speed across the carpet only to lose all his traction and crash into the wall when he hit the hardwood floors.

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And, this is his brother, Galahad. He liked sleeping in things.

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I miss you guys.

On Cat Pictures and Facebook Profiles

I don’t know who said it first, but I think it’s true — the Internet was made for cat photos. :)

Last week, Facebook upgraded my profile to the new profile page design. I’d heard wailing and gnashing of teeth from friends who upgraded their profile pages immediately after they were announced; I was content to wait until Facebook forced the change upon me.

To be honest, there was some reluctance on my part. I didn’t like “new” Twitter at first, but it grew on me, and while I’m not sure that I’ve managed to figure out the pop-up sidebar thing I’ve found the new Twitter useful.

To bring this back to Facebook, I’d read, maybe a month ago, about things people were doing with their new profile pages to trick them out. Facebook now showed, in addition to the profile picture, a filmstrip of five other pictures, and people were making photo montages. I’d filed this knowledge away in the back of my mind. Someday, I would use it. The day I read it, though, it wasn’t useful…

Friday, I knew that I was going to do a photo montage on Facebook. I don’t have many pictures of myself, so the idea of doing a montage of my eyes across the filmstrip didn’t make a lot of sense. I did, however, have pictures of cats. And my EB Games store.

I decided on cats.

I looked up instructions for sizing the pictures for the photo montage. Went through my discs of photos. And I decided to use a photo of Guinevere, a polydactyl that I owned a decade ago until her sudden death.

It was a photograph that I loved, and it’s currently in a frame on my desk at the office. She was sleeping, in a flower pot, in sunlight, and there’s a lovely interplay between light and shadow.

The instructions described how to crop the photo, and crop the photo I did, creating six different photos, and I uploaded them into Facebook.

It looked good, but I didn’t quite like it. The filmstrip was a mass of light and dark, sunlight shining down on plant leaves, and the profile pic was lovely but it didn’t feel connected to the filmstrip.

I left it up overnight.

In the morning, I settled on a different picture.

I found a different set of instructions; this one explained how to use a mask template in PhotoShop or GIMP to crop the photos.

I think it worked out very well. Oh, the angle’s not perfect; his bushy tail drops below the filmstrip so you can’t see how truly massive that tail was. But, it’s still a pretty piece of work.

The Internet is for cat photos, after all. ;)

I admit, it does break the heart some to see Percy when I log into Facebook, because I still miss him every single day.

Nonetheless.

If you want to trick out your Facebook profile, have at it. It take a little bit of work, some familiarity with photo editing or image manipulation software, and when it works it looks pretty damn snazzy.

Good luck! :h2g2:

On Cats I Have Known

On my desk at work I have three framed photographs.

One, situated next to a plush Cthulhu beanie, blue with a yellow heart and a smile, is a picture of my niece. She would have been, at the time the photo was taken, about three, maybe four months old. She’s wearing a brown dress with peach-colored sleeves, against a white background. This was from one of her first formal picture sessions.

The other two pictures, which stand against the wall of my cubicle, are pictures of cats. Both are in cat-themed picture frames.

One is in a black frame. A cat, sitting inside a flower pot, bathed in sunshine, stares up at the camera through the leaves and stems of the plant. It is, in my opinion, one of the best photographs I have ever taken. The interplay of light and shade convey a mood of vibrancy.

Her name was Guinevere. She was a polydactyl cat — she had seven toes on her front paws, five on her back. Genetics put her together strangely. She was a grey tabby on the top, white underneath. She was short-haired from the tip of her nose to midway down her spine, whereupon her fur changed consistency completely and she had longer, even slightly curly, fur. She was also smelly.

You can see that picture here.

She died, eight years ago, in my arms. There was a colony of feral cats in the barn near my house, and one day in October, many of them took suddenly ill. Guinevere was one of them. And she died.

I don’t know how I got through work that day. My company’s regional vice president came to visit my store that day, and I wasn’t in the mood. I was on autopilot. I went to the hobby store, across the hall in the mall from my store, and I bought a toy I had been looking at for Guinevere — a ball and jacks set, because she could work her extra toes like thumbs. I wanted her buried with it. It came in a bag, and after work when I put her in the shoebox and laid her on t-shirts that I knew I would never wear, I put the bag of toys between her forepaws. I laid more t-shirts atop her, to make sure she was warm, closed the box, and buried her in the backyard, at the edge of a field that had long ago grown fallow.

I don’t remember when I took the photo of Guinevere in the flower pot. I suspect it was sometime around 9-11, as the picture comes from a roll of film that was shot that September. The date on the back of the photo, when Ritz developed it, is December, two months after she died. September seems reasonable.

The other cat photo is of Percy.

It’s a brown, wooden frame, with the word “Cat” etched a half dozen times around the frame, each in a different typeface, along with stylized images of cats playing and pouncing and sleeping, because these are things that cats do.

The photo, on the back, is dated February 22, 2006. The picture would have been taken no more than a week before then; it’s from the same batch of film from my visit to Philippi, West Virginia and my first Farpoint convention.

The picture is this one. Percy is on my bed in Raleigh, half-awake.

Observant people will notice that a) I sleep (not past tense) on a pillowcase with the classic E.H. Shepard version of Tigger, b) my bookcase of Star Trek novels stood in the corner (with the Double Helix sextet prominent), and c) I had the Robot City novels on another bookshelf in the room.

Percy was not named, as I was asked a few months ago, after Percy Bysshe Shelley. Rather, it was short for Percival, one of the knights of the Round Table, and one of the knights to achieve the quest of the Holy Grail. Percy had a brother named Galahad, but there was no way to shorten Galahad that didn’t sound stupid. There was not, however, a Bors.

My first thought for their names, as an aside? Fafnir for Percy, Sigurd for Galahad. The dragon and the dragonslayer from the Eddas and the Volsung Saga. No, I cannot pick normal names.

To look at them, you would know they were brothers. They were, in almost every way, identical in their markings — reddish fur, strewn with yellow, marked in circles on their flanks. But Percival was a long-hair, while Galahad was a short-hair. Percival was like Peanuts‘ Pig-Pen, as the photograph above attests; wherever he went, a cloud of loose hair would follow. Touch him, and fur would fly loose. He was scruffy, he was unkempt. He looked massive, but it was all illusory; wet his hair, matte it down, and he was no larger, really, than Galahad. A little heavier, perhaps, but not much more than that.

Some cats are born old. Galahad was such a cat. Where Percy was exuberant, Galahad was sedate. Where Percy would tear through the house and crash into walls when he lost traction on the hardwood floors, Galahad was lithe and nimble. Where Percy would play with anything and anyone, especially loving to wrestle, Galahad could scarcely be bothered.

I came by Percival and Galahad thanks to my neighbors. One of their cats had kittens. They had two cats — one was a solid grey cat named Ribbon, the other was orange with white feet and tummy named Cheddar. And Cheddar had five kittens.

Cheddar and Ribbon both spent a fair bit of time hanging around, outside my house. I always had food out for Woodrow — sometimes, the big lug preferred to eat outside — and the neighbors cats both would avail themselves of whatever I put out. She was a friendly cat, Cheddar, and it never bothered me that I was feeding someone else’s cat. And it was no real surprise that when Cheddar moved her kittens, when they were large enough, she moved them to my carport.

I first saw the kittens on an evening in June. I’d driven home from work, pulled into the driveway, and I saw something run across the carport and duck behind the wheelie bin. It was after dusk, and while I’d turned the engine off I left the headlights on. I walked slowly, quietly, methodically toward the garbage can, and crouched down. My hand darted out, into the gap between the wheelie bin and the wall, and my hand clamped down on something I couldn’t see. I picked it up, withdrew my hand slowly. The kitten was doing the hiss-hiss-spit thing that kittens are wont to do, and when I held it in the light of the Beetle’s headlights, I saw that it was yellow and reddish and scruffy.

This was how I found Percy.

All told, that evening, I found five kittens. One was identical to Percy, but with short hair. One was the color of a pale rose wine, another was like Cheddar in miniature. The last was a tortoise-shell, and she only ever tolerated people. She would play and frolic with her siblings, she would eat cat food if it were provided, but she was never friendly and she would run at the first sight of anyone.

My neighbors didn’t mind that Cheddar and the kittens took up residence on my carport. In truth, they were indifferent to their cats. Their other cat, Ribbon, had had kittens a month before Cheddar and those kittens, save the one they let my sister have, simply disappeared. When my neighbors moved away, they took Cheddar and Ribbon with them, leaving the kittens behind, though, in reality, the kittens had become mine.

When my grandmother came to live with me in Raleigh, the question was this — how would she react to the cats? When I was younger, and my grandparents would visit, my grandmother would be mean to the cats that we had. She would scream at them, she would scream at my parents that she was allergic to cats. In reality, she is not allergic to cats, and I do not understand now, nor did I ever, her need to lie about cats and allergies.

She hated the cats. They had to go, she insisted. I would not hear of it, and so I ignored her. She shut them out from a room they liked to play in, as the cats had free run of the house. Over time, her attitude softened. She would pet Galahad with her foot, or she would dangle a cat toy on a string for one of the cats to play with. She insisted that she was allergic to cats, but she didn’t mind the cats most of the time.

In truth, if it had ever come down to a choice between my grandmother and the cats, I would have chosen the cats. I needed the cats. Percy, especially, who would sleep with me every night, who would knock open my bedroom door with his head, jump into bed, and make himself comfortable atop my crotch. That was, for some reason, his favorite sleeping spot.

I moved to Baltimore, bringing my grandmother back to her home.

I left Percy behind.

Percy had run away in June. He came back, after about two weeks, a little shellshocked but generally fine. He’d clearly gone somewhere and been treated well, and he fell back into his usual routine. Then, about three weeks before the move, he ran away again.

I waited as long as I could before leaving Raleigh, hoping against hope that he would turn up. I would walk the neighborhood in the evenings calling for him, to no avail. But I could stay in Raleigh no longer, and I had to leave him behind.

I tell myself that Percy is okay. I tell myself that he is alive and happy and content, that he is running around, that he is scruffy and his head is getting scratched and a cloud of fur envelops him wherever he goes.

I tell myself that Percy would not have been happy here in Baltimore. My grandmother, back in a familiar environment, reverted to the dour, somewhat sadistic figure I remember from my youth, and she treated the cats that I did bring hellishly. She would not have let him have free reign of the house, and he would not have tolerated being locked up in the basement. I tell myself that he was better off staying behind in Raleigh, that by staying there he could be free, that by staying there he would be content.

I tell myself this every day. I have to tell myself this every day.

Because I miss him so very much. Because he was my cat and I loved him to bits.

Because I never got to say goodbye.

On Saturday Musings

A telemarketer called.

I don’t know what he wanted. I didn’t hang up on him. I just put the phone down, got up, fixed lunch, hung out laundry, and then came back half an hour later. He wasn’t there any more. I put the phone back on the receiver.

My grandmother seemed determined to sleep the day away.

The best solution to this, rather than waking her myself, was to let the cat wake her. I let the cat in, I went outside, and ten minutes later she was up.

It’s actually a little dangerous to let the cat wake her. No, the cat won’t do anything to her, but she may do something to the cat.

At times, she loves the cat. At other times, she hates the cat. At times, she says she’s had cats all of her life. At other times, she insists she’s deathly allergic to cats.

In North Carolina, she loved the cats. She couldn’t tell them apart, but she loved them. When she came back to Baltimore, the cats that she had loved were strangers to her, and she hated them.

The danger with letting the cat wake her, then, is that she would either be gentle with the cat or she would scream at the cat.

In this case, she was gentle to the cat. She laughed about the cat waking her up.

And then I have a bloody gash on my left leg. I misjudged a wooden stand, and scraped my leg deeply. It was bloody, and now it’s clotted.

Scott Simon talked to Philip Glenister about Life on Mars this morning. It was a fun interview; NPR played some of Bowie’s song.

If only it were windier. Today’s wonderfully autumn.

On An Antidote to Politics

Stolen from David McIntee, and completely apropos for today:

  1. Stop talking about politics for a moment or two.
  2. Post a reasonably-sized picture in your blog, not under a cut tag, of something pleasant, such as an adorable kitten, or a fluffy white cloud, or a bottle of booze. Something that has nothing to do with politics.
  3. Include these instructions, and share the love.

Well, okie-day. ;)

Happy Election Day!

On Cats and Annoyances

Outside my bedroom window is the roof of the house. Just off the edge of the roof is a tree.

My cat Galahad likes to climb the tree, get on the roof, and miaow at the window.

At five o’clock in the morning.

He’s been doing this for about a week now.

He’ll miaow. He’ll whine. He’ll even rattle the screen.

There are things in the world I do not like to see. Five o’clock in the morning is one of those things.

I try to ignore him. I don’t get out of bed. He keeps at the screen, though. For an hour, even.

*sigh*

Cats.

On When Kitties Rule the Earth

I’ve realized. The problem with the President is that he’s a dog person. If he had cats, he’d be a very different person.

That’s neither here nor there, of course. When cats take over the world, what will my role in the new world order be?


Your Score: Head Box Cleaner


Chances of becoming someone’s kittylitter: 37%




Sweet! You did great, and your cats probably think you’re pretty okay for a human. They’ll probably even like you enough to put in a good word with the Grand Mouse Pouncer. You’ll have a good job cleaning out the litter boxes of some of the most revered cats in Kitty Kingdom. Such an honor!

(If you like learning stuff, check out A Brief History of House Cats at smithsonianmagazine.com!)


Link: The When the Cats Take Over Test written by rrr99 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

On Recent Search Phrases

Stat time once more!

Here’s a random factoid. In the past two weeks, which is what the server report I pulled this morning covers, twice as many people accessed The World According to Allyn with Windows 3.1 machines as by Amiga machines. I’m just amazed there are people out there, doing the Internet-thing, with Windows 3.1.

I do like that the “alternate” browsers–Opera and Firefox–are used more than Microsoft’s browser offering. Once upon a time I thought IE was fantastic and Netscape was anything but. Today, IE is anything but fantastic (even in its latest release) and its competitors rock socks.

Which reminds me, people–there’s a new version of Opera available today–9.21. Opera rules. :banana:

Let’s run it from the top. The two twenty search phrases are…

20. “miryam d’abo.” She played Bond girl Kara Milovy in The Living Daylights.

19. “doctor who font.” I describe myself as a “font whore.” No, really, I do. I’m a font whore, and I have a number of Doctor Who fonts on my computer. Your best site to get Doctor Who fonts? Try here. ;)

18. “federation starships.” What about them?

17. “why did monica potter leave boston legal.” I get some variation of this question a lot–the main variation being “Why did Rhona Mitra leave Boston Legal“–and I have no idea, frankly. Boston Legal is a David E. Kelley show, which means it’s basically a revolving door cast-wise.

16. “things that happened in 1979.” My sister was born. I started first grade.

15. “describing myself.” Okay, here’s the thing that gets me. Someone had to type that phrase into Google. Why? Google isn’t going to tell you jack about who you are unless you tell it who you are. Google isn’t a mind-reader, people. Have some perspective. And clicking into my website to find out who you are? Yeah, like that‘s going to happen. :p

14. “needy cat.” I have cats. They can be needy.

13. “illuminati.” Move along, there’s nothing to see.

12. “stephen fry doctor who.” He’s not writing a Doctor Who script, no. Sorry to break the old news.

11. “abducted by the daleks.” Please, don’t ask me any more. Please.

10. “burying a pet.” My advice? Pick a good spot, one that gets some sun, one that gets some shade.

9. “things that happened in 1947.” My mom was born. And probably lots of other really interesting things.

8. “new blackadder.” They’ve been talking about a new Blackadder series for a few years now. Atkinson was interested, Fry wasn’t, they talked about a movie. Who really knows?

7. “anakin skywalker’s father.” I keep you, people. It’s Qui-Gon Jinn. It makes perfect sense. It’s Qui-Gon Jinn. All that midichlorian stuff? That’s crazy talk.

6. “allyn gibson.” This is surprising. People want to know about me? :???:

5. “what happened on my birthday.” Maybe you had a party. Maybe you got a little drunk. Maybe you ate some cake. Maybe you got a card or four. I don’t really know. It’s your birthday, not mine.

4. “blade runner ultimate collection.” We’d better get this in the US, that’s all I have to say. Except we won’t get the really cool Voight-Kampf briefcase like Australia will. American DVD packaging sucks. You know why? Stores don’t like carrying anything out of the ordinary.

3. “things that happened in 1957.” Sputnik. Wasn’t Sputnik launched in 1957?

2. “frank gasperik.” A long-time member of the Larryniven-L mailing list. He passed away in early May.

And, with a whopping sixty-one searches in the past fourteen days, because I am clearly not the most important thing going on here (see number six)…

1. “house season finale.” It’s next week, people. Sheesh. Based on the number of people looking you’d think I had spoilers or something…

Other random notes. Monday is the busiest day. Thursday is the least busy day. And nobody, but nobody reads this website at 3 am, GMT.

One final thought. I enjoy these posts. Why? Because they’re easy to write. You, dear readers, are telling me what you want to know. It’s a dialogue, you see. I like dialogues. Not that Socratic kind, though–I don’t like those. :lol:

On Search Phrases

I’d occasionally do this about once a month–pull a search log report off the server and see why people are dropping by. Honestly, it was a good way just to make a post; I didn’t have to think to have content, because you good readers gave me the content and a platform to rant, or not. ;)

Since I’d looked at this earlier in the week–hence the rant about the “Bill Leisner fan club” (a search term that, actually, didn’t even break the top thirty-five)–I thought I’d run another report and look at what people wanted to know the last few weeks. The limitation? The report I can generate only goes back to April 7th. I used to be able to get all sorts of fun stats. Not anymore. Bugger. Though I can tell you that more people use the so-called “alternative” browsers–Opera and Firefox–to access this website than use Internet Explorer. I do like that.

I should, of course, point out that famous saying of Mark Twain’s–“There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.” As stats these are meaningless–they don’t actually tell me anything. I don’t know what the person’s looking for or, rather, I don’t know why the person is looking for what they’re looking for. I don’t where the person is coming from. The results are fun, though, to see what people think I know.

We’re going to do a countdown of the top twenty, and I’ll offer some insight or snark on each, case depending.

20. “dylan hears a who zip.” Dylan Hears a Who. That’s what you want. Oddly, I was just listening to that album yesterday… :)

19. “lego commander cody.” He’s a character in LEGO Star Wars in the mission where Obi-Wan goes to fight General Grievous. I liked Commander Cody. He was a good guy.

18. “things that happened in 1957.” A lot of stuff. Sputnik, for one.

17. “needy cat.” I’ve had needy cats, yes.

16. “virginia tech.” Some bad things happened there a week ago. I hope that the tragedy there touched no one that I know, but if it did you have my deepest condolences.

16. “when was bill gates born month/day/year.” According to Wikipedia, that would be on Blotmath 5, 1955 CE.

14. “federation starships.” Yes, the Federation has starships. What’s your question?

13. “miserable failure.” Google’s taken away the Googlebomb on this. The miserable failure? George W. Bush.

12. “burying a pet.” That was a damned difficult day. Doesn’t get any easier.

11. “abducted by the daleks.” That would be the Dalek porn, yes. I have a copy. No, I’m not going to tell you where to get one. Yes, it is absolutely awful.

10. “rhona mitra boston legal.” Rhona Mitra played Tara on The Practice and Boston Legal. She left at the beginning of the second season. She can come back. :)

9. “incestuous symbiosis.” I don’t even want to know what you nine people were looking for…

8. “describing myself.” I can’t help you in describing you, unfortunately, but since you came to this website I’m going to assume you want some help in describing me. :) This might be a good place to start…

7. “tolkien desktop wallpaper.” It’s out there on the ‘net. There’s a lot of it out there, and I’m sure sixty-five percent of it–at least!–features Orlando Bloom. I might try John Howe‘s website. He’s got some really nice Tolkien images there. I particularly like a piece of concept art he did of Frodo fighting a Nazgul astride a Fell Beast at Amon Hen, a scene Peter Jackson had planned as the climax of the first film when Lord of the Rings was going to be a two films instead of three. I put that image on my desktop at Elder Health for about a day, then switched to a really cool image of LEGO Cybermen. :)

6. “things that happened on my birthday.” A lot of things, and a few things more. Your answers may vary, though. ;)

5. “stephen fry doctor who.” Stephen Fry, the man with a “brain the size of Kent” (because, sod it all, I love that phrase!), was going to write an episode of Doctor Who‘s second season. Then it became the third season. Then he finally said, “I don’t have three minutes to string two sentences together,” so he won’t be writing a Doctor Who script. No one knows what Fry was going to write; I’ve heard credible reports that it was going to be a King Arthur story (which would have kicked ass), a Viking story (which would have kicked ass), or a World War I story (would would have, you guessed it, kicked ass). Fry also appeared in the radio play “Death Comes to Time” as the Minister of Chance, a Time Lord ally of the Doctor, and Dan Freedman, producer of “DCtT,” had planned a Doctor Who spin-off about the Minister (which would have, yes, kicked ass). I love Stephen Fry’s writing, even if he did ruin Harry Potter for me. The man could read a telephone directory and I’d be rivetted. The man’s bloody brilliant as an actor–I adore his Duke of Wellington in Blackadder the Third. I was not particularly taken with him in V For Vendetta, though, because he was basically playing himself. And if David Tennant ever leaves, I’d gladly take Fry as the eleventh Doctor!

4. “new blackadder.” Yeah, I’d love to see it. Atkinson was up for it at one time. If you want something similar, watch Johnny English instead. :)

3. “anakin skywalker’s father.” I think it was Qui-Gon Jinn. That’s a definite minority view, though. ;)

2. “things that happened in 1947.” Jeez, people! That’s why they created Wikipedia! Fine. Here you go. Don’t say I didn’t do anything for you.

And, the top search phrase of the past two weeks…

1. “n gage parody humor.” To you thirty-seven people, I ask–“What are you looking for? Because I have no fucking clue!”

A couple of other notes from the next thirty most frequent search phrases. (The report cut off at fifty. So if you came here by search, and I’ve not mentioned you, it’s just because I don’t know your search. I’m sorry.)

“The” is the most used search word, at 247 times. The problem? Search engines don’t actually use “the.” People! You’re wasting a word in your search terms! If you take anything away from this, let it be this: “Don’t use ‘the’ or ‘and’ in a Google search, because Google doesn’t count ‘the’ or ‘and.'” :)

No, I haven’t written erotic fanfic about Captain Janeway. Yes, I do happen to think she was sexually frustrated for seven years (except for that brief, shining moment when Tom Paris turned her into a giant newt), but that doesn’t mean I have any interest in her mating habits…

Also, I have no idea if Hugh Laurie is an atheist, though it wouldn’t particularly surprise me–the English tend to be more secular than us colonials. “Illuminati” spelled backwards is “itanimulli,” though if you’re going to conjure with that please make sure you have a Defence of the Dark Arts teacher nearby. I’m just saying. And lastly, David Tennant was cute in “Gridlock” with the kittens. C’mon, who didn’t think the Doctor would pocket one of Brannigan’s kittens and take it with him? :)

This was fun, though I doubt I’ll pull another of these reports for a long time. Not as easy as it used to be a few years ago. :/

ETA (10 April 2008): This post used to have a link to the “Dylan Hears a Who” website, where you could download this fantastic album.

Unfortunately, the Theodore Geisel estate frowned on Dylan Hears a Who, so the website was taken down.

Which means that generations of children won’t have their minds blown by the sound of a Bob Dylan soundalike doing The Cat In The Hat.

Which is really quite remarkable, and should be heard.

You know what sucks?

This album is truer in spirit to the works of Dr. Seuss than virtually any other Seussian adaptation.

Maybe you can find it on a torrent. Maybe.

It’s worth searching out. :)