Being in my 40’s means that while I’m sure everyone else on tumblr is looking at Chris Evans, I’m sighing over dreamy Stanley Tucci.

But yeah, also Chris Evans.  I mean, come on.  I’m not dead.




One last thing before I go to bed.

I have a wonderful family member on my Metis side who is an incredibly talented weaver. She taught me how to finger weave (on a loom my dad made her!) and is a patient and gentle teacher. Like many artists, she almost -never- gets paid when she teaches her art, but rather volunteers her time, teaching and often providing material for free.

She started a fundraiser to replenish her waning weaving material stock, and for just a $15 contribution, you get a  miniature sash bookmark or choker.

You can visit her Facebook page here:

Signal boosts are appreciated!

So happy. ♥ On her page, it only had a few shares as she only recently had access to a computer at home and is just beginning her social media presence (i.e. her page Weave Your Story). I was really happy to see that my attempt to help signal boost her need for supplies has NOTES!  Thank you so much to everyone who has been signal boosting, and who have donated so far. Please keep reblogging, and consider supporting this wonderful artist who has given so much to our Metis community here in SK, and now in BC (I miss her!).

This is awesome! I teach my kids basic finger weaving with yarn. I will donate for sure. Please signal boost, traditional artists need to be supported so they can continue to teach our communities.


Wow, OK, I had kind of conceptualized that Joss Whedon post along the lines of “here are some random thoughts that I’m gonna store behind a cut in case a few people are interested,” not expecting so many people to reblog it. But since there was so much interest, I ended up…

Phil Hartman, I still miss you.

What’s the story here with the upper right and lower left ads?

Same section of the same page of a 1926 Better Homes and Gardens.

Same clip art.  Same Minnesota town.  Same ad layout.

But one advertises 64 breeds and 33 years of experience, one advertises 68 breeds and 44 years of experience.

These two had to know each other.  Maybe there had been a falling out and there was some bad blood there.  I am dying to know the backstory behind this cutthroat Minnesota chicken rivalry.

I Am Not a Myth

Matthew Hittinger

Marlene Dietrich remembers the night of the Marilyn Monroe
Productions press conference, New York City, January 1955

I wanted to be that trace of scarlet lipstick
when you arrived, tipsy, a bit chartreuse
a subdued platinum angel, a white mink

stole. I am at heart—Come up for a drink
a gentleman. You, a question here to seduce,
a pink thought traced by scarlet lipstick

a deer drawn to a salt lick. I am the brick-
back, brick-thrown widow of a caboose.
I lift my black veil. I drop my black mink.

To the bird, flown—we toast with a clink.
You created ‘the girl.’ “Their golden goose
is now a scarlet smudge.” Your lips stick

to the wine glass and all I can do is wink
out a song, the tricks of an aging chanteuse.
You call a cab and grab your white mink

while I play my saw, and all I can think
is I am not a myth a recluse who will recuse
you to remain a trace of scarlet lipstick
caught on the collar of a white mink.


About This Poem

“According to Barbara Leaming’s biography of Marilyn, Dietrich invited Monroe up for a drink at her Park Avenue apartment that night and found the sight of a lipstick trace on the collar of Marilyn’s white fur ‘maddeningly erotic.’ Dietrich’s voice lent itself well to the villanelle, perhaps the most ‘maddeningly erotic’ of the poetic forms.”

—Matthew Hittinger


Random thought: I want there to be an app sort of like Grindr but for fandom friendships. “Here are all the geeks in your area who will talk with you about Buffy for six hours straight.”

Failing to see the problem.

Failing to see the problem.

I’d forgotten how good Ghostbusters was.  Also, how hot Harold Ramis, my teenage nerd crush, was.  Big brains and glasses get me every time.