Furries

My boyfriend's mom is a really talented seamstress- she's designed costumes for the Virginia Stage Company countless times and has worked in lots of Broadway shows like Wicked, Spamalot, and Grease. Needless to say, her kids always have the coolest outfits. A few years ago, she made hats for everyone that looked like their favorite animal. My boyfriend has a fox hood- it's got big fox ears and looks like real fur (it's not, though.) They wear them when they go skiing every winter. As my christmas present, she sewed me this beautiful tiger hood to match my boyfriend's. I know it sounds weird, wearing a hat that looks like an animal head, but they're really exquisitely made and are so warm that I don't mind the funny looks I get. Still, one time I was at shafer with my man, before I'd gotten my tiger. He let me wear the fox hood and as we were getting ready to leave, a guy and his friend approached us and asked if they could ask me a question. He said, "I don't want to offend you, but....
are you a furry?"
I didn't know what a furry was, and told him so, and he thanked me and left, but I of course needed to know what on earth a furry was, so I went straight home and googled it.
Turns out, furries are people who dress in full body animal suits (like mascot suits, with a big removable head and everything.) There's a few sub-groups of furries, but in general, they're people who like the idea of anthropomorphic animals, many of whom create a "fursona," or animal identity. There is also, of course, the furry fetish, where people dress as animals and have sex, or find sexual pleasure in the idea of a human-animal hybrid.
I was kind of terrified to wear my hat after that, but in the warm weather I don't really have to worry about it. Ever since then, however, I've been much more aware of furries- I'm not a furry, nor is my boyfriend, nor do I know any in real life, but I think it's a very different perspective than we usually see, and it's also one that's very interesting and suprisingly deep-rooted.
If you were a furry, what do you think your "fursona" would be? What do you think of the furry culture? Do you know anyone who's a furry, or are you perhaps a furry yourself?

This is a picture of my basset hound, Sherman, wearing the fox hood. What a cutie.

Sucker

Her dark skin sank into the frothing waves like a drop of ink onto paper, the water beading on her smooth shoulders like millions of shards of glass. He reached out to her, but she was already gone. The sweet stench of seaweed rushed to sting his tear-filled eyes as he slowly turned his back to the sea.

Alas. She was gone, but she was all around him. Even the gaping mouth of last night’s dinner staring blankly at him from its newspaper wrapping seemed to shape her name- Rosie. Pictures she’d drawn in the dust on his coffee table; wrappers in his pockets from gum she’d asked him to hold onto; tea cups, unwashed, stained with her lipstick-- all mementos of her, and he, a veritable curator of loneliness. He rubbed the stump of his left hand, as if alleviating his aching arm would heal his broken heart, and carefully reattached the hook, fighting back a sob as he remembered how Rosie taught him how to play banjo, prosthetic limb and all. His eyes, swimming with memories and misery, turned to the ocean, scanning the horizon fruitlessly for her silhouette. How long he had lived here, a hermit in a crabbing town, huddled away in a wind-bleached cottage on the coast, alone-- until Rosie washed in and out of his life with the roaring tide.

Days and nights passed like a silent current under still water. His heart, bobbing on the buoyancy of sweet memories and sinking under the crushing weight of loss, became numb to all things. Every night, like clockwork, he would climb into bed and sleep a dark, dreamless sleep. Every morning he would coax aching, crackling bones out onto the beach to watch troughs and crests for any sign of Rosie. Nothing. Just the nasal trill of sea-gulls circling him like vultures, as if they could scent the deadness inside him. Cool autumn turned into frozen winter; frozen winter into rainy spring, until finally the canary beak of sunlight pierced the grey sky above and summer spread itself over the rocky coast like a thick pat of butter. The beach became peppered with fishing boats, swimmers, sunbathers. Like always, he would scour the horizon for his beloved. Like always, she did not appear… until one day, simply unextraordinary in any other way, she did. The screams of the beach-goers became as a symphony of violins as she wrapped her eight arms around him. He knew they made a funny pair, a fisherman and the kraken, but he did not care- he was happy at last. She pressed him to her heart, her millions of tiny sucker-pads trembling with emotion as stroked her rippling muscular flesh. He breathed in deeply, luxuriating in her scent of brine and Chanel No. 5.

“Oh Rosie… I thought you’d never come back.”

“SQREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”

“I love you too, Rosie.”

http://www.mediadump.com/hosted-id176-actors-in-character-now-that-is-acting.html

I found this page on stumbleupon, the scourge of the internet. Not only do I think these are some quality photos of some very talented actors, I thought it was a really great idea for a shoot. Alot of times, there seems to be some controversy over the talent levels of TV actors. Some, like Hugh Laurie, fall far beyond the reaches of daytime TV criticism, but others (Thomas Haden Church {is he even on TV?}) are perhaps a little more questionable. To be honest, I wasn't totally blown away by the still shots of some of these actor's emotional portrayals, but all in all, I thought it evidenced some real talent on these performer's parts. It's difficult enough to convey action or emotion without words- depriving the actors of movement through still photography increased the challenge even more. I'm especially interested in how some actors used their bodies much more than others- some just used hands and face (Hugh Laurie) and others (Amy Poehler) engaged their whole bodies. It's something I think is disregarded in acting sometimes- we're so used to just seeing close shots of actor's faces while they rattle off a well sculpted line, we often take for granted the immense talent many of them have.

Queen Elizabeth I's Final Address to Her Parliament

The Golden Speech- reproduced in part here as it was transcribed in its day

To be a King, and weare a Crown, is a thing more glorious to them that see it, then it is pleasant to them that beare it: for my selfe, I neuer was so much inticed with the glorious name of a King, or the royall authoritie of a Queene, as delighted that god hath made me His Instrument to maintaine His Truth and Glorie, and to defend this Kingdome from dishonour, dammage, tyrannie, and oppresion; But should I ascribe any of these things vnto my selfe, or my sexly weaknesse, I were not worthy to liue, and of all most vnworthy of the mercies I haue receiued at Gods hands but to God onely and wholly all is giuen and ascribed. 

The cares and trouble of a Crowne I cannnot more fitly resemble then to the Drugges of a learned Physitian, perfumed with some Aromaticall sauour, or to bitter Pils guilded ouer, by which they are made more exceeptable or lesse offensiue, which indeed are bitter and vnpleasant to take; and for my owne part, were it not for Conscience sake to discharge the dutie that God hath layd vpon me, and to maintaine his glorie, and keepe you in safetie; in mine owne disposition I should be willing to resigne the place I hold to any other, and glad to be freed of the Glory with the Labors, for it is not my desire to liue nor to reign longer then my life and reigne shall bee for your good. And though you haue had and may haue many mightier and wiser Princes sitting in this Seat, yet you neuer had nor shall haue any that will loue you better. 

Thus M^r. Speaker, I commend mee to your loyall Loues, and yours to my best care and your further Councels, & I pray you M^r. Controullor, & M^r. Secretary, and you of my councell, that before these Gentlemen depart into their Countreys you bring them all to kisse my Hand.
F I N I S.

This speech first appeared to me in a standardized post-test in high school. We were asked to analyze some small portion of it, and yet I was so taken with the Queen's eloquence that I actually tore the paper out of the test and pocketed it. I often re-read this speech, not just because of it's extraordinary images and beauty, but because, to me, it embodies the qualities of leadership we look for and yet commonly fail to find in our government. Elizabeth's words seem motivated by honesty and true desire to lead her people. She balances humility with immense strength- she even said herself another time, "I am not a lion, but because I am a lion cub, I have a lion's heart." She acknowledges the lack of power many expected from her, but really, she was a kick ass queen. I know it's difficult sometimes to maneuver the bizarreness of Olde English, but if you put the time into it to translate it for yourself, I think you'll be very pleased with the result.

(Hints to figuring out what she's saying- U=V and vice versa

alot of it, once you figure out the V's and U's, is phonetics.)

Voice

“Hey, you've got John!”

“I know very well who you are, you stinking son-of-a-bitch.”

“Ahhaha, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up! You’re a nasty, low down, pathetic excuse for a human!”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m saying! You miserable little prick, you wasted the best years of my life! I can’t stand you! I hate you!”

“Hang on…”

“DON’T YOU TELL ME TO HANG ON, ASSHOLE. I’ve waited enough for you to grow up and be a freaking man, instead of the whiny bitch-boy pansy-ass taint you are! I’m through waiting! I’m through with you!”

“Wh... Okay, yeah, yeah…”

“Yeah, yeah, you bastard!  I’m not gonna let you get away with this shit. You greasy pustule-crawling worm, you think you can cheat on me like that and be just fiiiine, huh! Well, I’ve got news for you, asshole! Tonight you can go screw your filthy little skank girlfriend- I’m gonna be halfway to Los Angeles tonight, and I’m taking all 'OUR' money with me, you mother fucking leech! Have fun bonking your slut when you can’t even afford condoms!”

“Wait, what?”

“You can just eat shit as far as I care, I don’t ever want to hear from you again! Go fuck yourself and die, you choad-faced dog!”

“Haha, gotcha! I'm not here right now, leave a message at the beep!”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep

“Hey baby… gotta love that voice mail, soooo funny, haha. Hey, I’m not gonna be able to make it to dinner tonight, my boss asked me to work late. I’ll text you though, okay? Love youuuuuuuu.”

Inkd

I’ve always been fascinated with tattoos- when I was a little kid I was constantly drawing on myself. Whenever any of my siblings would come home with a stick-on tattoo, I would throw a fit until I got one, too. As I grew older, my love of ink stayed strong. Far too many a time have I been yelled at by my parents for writing all over my arm. Nearly all of my friends have sported sharpie-ink drawn onto skin by my hand. I was obsessed with the history of tattoos and the symbolism behind them- from ancient tribes to sailor stories, corporal illustration was something I couldn’t get enough of. I could never decide if I’d rather be a tattoo artist or just get some tattoos, but I was certain that body-modi would be a part of my life. However, now that I have the resources to make this long time dream a reality, I find myself balking at the chance to permanently alter my appearance. I don’t know if it’s the fact that everyone and their mother (literally, their mother) has a tattoo or that I don’t feel like any of my stories merit a living symbol on my flesh, but suddenly, the idea of getting inked up has less appeal. I still love tattoos, though, but maybe not on me. What do you think? Are tattoos worth the pain and money required to get them? If you were to get a tattoo, what would you get, or if you have one, what is it and why?

In the same vein.

This weekend I rode the train up to DC with my mom to visit my sister. We did the routine "OMG HOW DO WE NAVIGATE THE METRO" and "OMG WHITEHOUSE" and  "OMG LEGLESS VETERAN TRUMPET PLAYING BUSKER" before we settled down for a pizza and some Ben & Jerry's delivery. Yeah, that's right, they deliver Ben & Jerry's in DC. No big.
Anywho, the three of us hunkered down in my sister's basement apartment with her English bulldog and chatted the night away, planning our adventures for Saturday and deciding whether or not we would avoid our other family members in the city.
It's kind of strange- everyone in our family is well adjusted, interesting, and fun to be around. Nobody's too goofy or awkward (although my grandpa is a mouth-kisser, making for mega weird greetings and goodbyes) and yet, for whatever reason, there's always a sense of hesitancy whenever we go to visit anyone. It's not just relatives- if friends ask us to come over for dinner or meet at the beach, we always go, but not before a hearty twenty minutes or so of everyone bracing themselves for all the uncomfortablenesses that may or may not (usually not) happen. It's become a sort of backwards ritual, backwards because of how social myself and my siblings are by nature. Put us in a room full of strangers, we'll make twenty friends in twenty minutes, but ask us to answer a phone at home or invite someone over, you'd think we were hermits. I don't know what it is, this sort of bi=polar socialization, but everyone in my family seems to have it, except my dad.
He just doesn't like anyone at all.
Regardless, my mom, sister, and myself, finally decided to have dinner the following night with my brothers family and my aunt and uncle. Primed for social disaster, we rolled up to the house about thirty minutes late, fifteen of which had been spent debating whether or not we should even go. Needless to say, the time between walking in the door and walking out simply flew by with hardly a silent moment, and after heartfelt goodbyes and promises to hang out again soon, we found ourselves driving back to my sister's, marinated in equal parts good company and guilt.
"That was great" said my mom.
"I had fun" quipped my sister.
"We're awful people."
They couldn't agree more. We resolved to be better next time, not be so cynical- try getting more enthusiastic about hanging out with family, be more social, have more fun.
"We really should, guys," urged my mother. "They're so charitable- we should be more positive! We should be more hospitable." Agreed, agreed.
"Maybe next time I'll give them a big ol' mouth-kiss." Right back to square one.