Wahmbulance!

Best Christmas Party Evar UPDATE!!!

Oh, I totally forgot to include one thing about the Best Christmas Party EVAR!

After my inspired turn with the Vibraslap (mind.  out of gutter.  NOW.), my hand was bruised... ALL THE WAY THROUGH. 

Puffy and purpley-black on the palmar aspect, as one might expect, this monumental bruise extended back into the meat of my hand, and turned the dorsal aspect between the first metacarpals a lovely green shade apropos for any holiday occasion.

It was wicked awesome!

porta-potties!!!
mlle_x

PS: I love anatomy, as you may have noticed, Dear Reader.  It makes me sound smart when decribing my various idiot danger-mouse injuries over the years, like the time I changed a lightbulb in a very high-ceilinged room by standing on a chair on top of a vintage dinette table that was designed to have a leaf, and, as it turns out, breaks in half quite readily.

Wish I had a picture of THAT bruise. 

Just inside the anterior superiour iliac spine, this bruise might have been a puncture wound, had I fallen just a tisch harder - at any rate, it took about seven weeks - SEVEN! - to heal.  I couldn't lean on the bar at work at all.  Yet another time I managed to barely not kill myself.  Yay!

I was an unusual child.

I know that this may come as a shock, Dear Reader, but I was a somewhat precocious little one.

Case in point, Christmas style:  In the eighth grade, our local classic-rock-type station sponsored a "Kinky Christmas Card" contest.  I immediately had an idea, and after much xeroxing, pasting, re-xeroxing, and hand coloring in Christmassy colors (how did we do these things before Photoshop?  Very tediously, as I remember), I sent in my masterpiece.

Before you get carried away and call the ASPCA, or whomever, on my parents, my card consisted of pictures of Ray and Dave Davies (the Kinks, for you uninitiated young-uns) in red and green stripes wishing you holiday cheer and peace on Earth and whatnot, comme ça:

I actually used this very picture... I think I cut it out and had him putting an ornament of a tree.  Anyway, you get the idea.  I did it on a lark because I thought it was funny (my sense of humor still essentially the same, but for a few examples), and actually followed through on my impulse, which, considering my predilection for not finishing projects, stretching back into the mists of time, is pretty damn remarkable.

I listened to the radio as they read and described the cards on air, cringing at all the stoooooopid versions of "Santa's going to spank you because he knows you've been naughty" uninspired, nearly identical cards - not because I was shocked - SHOCKED! - at the content (precocious, remember?) but out of embarrassment for the contestants for entering such predictable crapola.  Why did they even bother?  The mind reels.

So imagine my delight when I actually won the contest!

They read my card on the air, and commented on how clever it was, describing the pictures and how I had colored them in.  Clever!  Me!  This must have been over Christmas vacation, because I definitely remember hearing it while sitting in our family room, and it was light out, and since school started at 7:00 AM (that's right... AM) there's no way I was listening to it before school, since I would have been standing at the bus stop in the dark at that time of year. DARK!

That was thrilling enough, hearing my name on air (the first of many times, it turns out... in a continuing fit of precociosity, I was frequently featured on the local college station while my peers were still listing to Led Zep, man! Let's follow the Dead this summer!  Fuckin' retards.), but when I actually got a call from the station telling me I'd won, well, I was pretty psyched, this being the only time I'd ever won anything up to that point.  Victory was sweet!

Especially when I realized they had no idea that I was about twelve years old.  Awesome.

Anyway, this woman called from the station, got over her shock that I was clearly underage and entering Kinky Christmas Card contests, and informed me of my prize:  A choice between

1) The entire discography of Bob Seger,
2) The entire discography of Foreigner.

Since my mom was a huge Bob Seger fan, we already had all his records, so I chose Foreigner.

OH YEAH!  I said Foreigner!  It's urgent, urgent, EMERGENCY! So urgent!!!!

Cue saucy sax solo... here.

My sister, mlle_y, apparently has been earning her supper over the years with this story as well, but she had me taking the Bob Seger records, so I want to set the record straight, in case you've heard this one.  Foreigner.  Foreigner!!! Though I must tell you how gratifying it is that my Kinky Card story has made the rounds in Cambodia, NYU, and the open heart surgery department in some town in Arizona, to name a few.

I can't remember if my mom knew I was entering this contest - I tend to think so, since she must have seen all the detritus stemming from my mad xerox skillz - but she did take me around to the radio station to collect my winnings.  Since I was twelve and all.

Foreigner!

After the initial shock of the receptionist and all other grown-ups to see that a little kid (though I was only an inch shy of my current height at the time) had won the Kinky Christmas Card contest, I was presented with my "for promotional use only (thanks clogan!)" Foreigner  - FOREIGNER! - collection.  The kind where thy saw a notch in the cover to show it was a freebie and shouldn't be resold.  Hooray!

Did they give me my card back?  I don't remember, but even if they had, my dad probably tossed it while I was at college, as he is wont to do for some insane reason that defies logic, as most of his activities do.  Poooot.  I'd love to see it again.

It was all snowy and salty out that day, so it always reminds me of Christmas.  My Christmas of VICTORY!

hot blooded!  check it and see!
mlle_x

And just WHO do you think would show up in the number two spot if one were to look for "satanic priest kills nun" on Australian MSN search?

MEE-HEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEEE, thaaaaaat's whooooooo! (sing song)

me heee heee heeeeeee heee heee heeeeeeee!!!!!
mlle_x

It's my aniversary and I'll limp if I want to!

That's right, Dear Reader, today is the fourth anniversary of mlle_injury-prone breaking her left 5th metatarsal (that's "foot" for you who don't have Grey's Anatomy sitting around like I do - actually, I bought it when my foot was broken!).

You can read all about my gimp trip to SIGGRAPH that year right here.  I suppose it's more or less accurate...

The year before that?  Summer of Head Injuries.

And before that?  Years of withering, soul killing college and grad school.

In that spirit, I will heretofore refer to this spring as The Season of Discombobulatory Disability.

Or something better is anyone wants to think something up.

not doing this on company time AT ALL,
mlle_x

Birthday_X

Yes, Dear Reader, today is my birthday. 

Shockingly, I'm 21 yet again!

And, as my job is about to make my head explode, I shall sign off.

Can't wait for those 21 shots and then sweet, sweet, sleep,
mlle_x

My GOD! You're an ARCHITECT?

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I get that question a lot, actually.  And 98% of the time it is followed with, "Yeah... I really wanted to be an architect when I was a kid." 

Well, for one thing, I've wanted to do Visual Effects since I was about eight years old.  Good enough reason for me.  But in case that isn't enough for you, the idea of 30 years of all-nighters for $10 an hour with no overtime just doesn't appeal to me.

Wait, WHAT?  I know that's what you are thinking, dear reader.  I know it goes against everything you believe in and hold dear, but it's true.  Architecture don't pay.

Real Estate Moguls make money, and sometimes they are architects. That's where you got confused.

In case you still don't believe me, here is an excerpt from an article from CNN.com today:

Big jobs that pay badly
Some careers cost time and money to take up. But don't expect a big paycheck.

Architects

For every Philip Johnson or Frank Lloyd Wright in a generation of architects, there are countless more who work without fanfare on the everyday buildings where we work, live and shop.

Architects may spend up to seven years completing undergraduate and master's-degree studies, or up to three-and-a-half years in a master's program if they majored in another area during college. To be eligible to take the licensing exam, they also must log three years as interns working for licensed architects.

Architects with a master's might enter the work force with between $50,000 and $80,000 in student loan debt. But as first-year interns, they might earn only $34,000, the national median according to the 2005 compensation survey by the American Institute of Architects. Meanwhile, several steps up the ladder, senior architects earn a median of $68,900.

For the record, I don't think I know anyone who finished in seven years.

And there you have it.  If only my parents had known... perhaps I might have had a decent childhood.

Yeah right! Who am I kidding?

Until I can stop being unpleasant at the dinner table, I am, as always,

mlle x

SIGGRAPH: RELOADED. no... DAY TWO. um. JUDGEMENT DAY?

must...  remember...  for tomorrow!

hdr photos in PS CS 2 anxious to tell bcb all about it
ken was there
paul debevek uses a mac
xwing
tom proctor?
non photorealistic rendering
books
stoked for sketches - tell hans'n'franz about film festival
star wars thing
REAR PROJECTED ASSETS

must sleep
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

SIGGRAPH SIGGRAPH SIGGRAPH!

Man.

Even I didn't think I was this nerdy, dear reader.  I mean, I love SIGGRAPH, I worked for them for years, big, big fan, but seriously - this is scary.

I attended the Madagascar course yesterday.  It was labeled as a basic course, but I thought it might be interesting - not as great as something from Pixar, but one never knows where she might pick up a tip or trick.  I fully expected to sleep through half of it, in grand SIGGRAPH tradition.

Twenty minutes later, people were staring at me because I was audibly gasping at the character rigs they had built.  The Chris Rock zebra?  You could pose his head, shoulders, hips, and limbs independently of each other, and NO GIMBAL LOCK on his head, wheather he was a biped or quadruped!  I know!  You have no idea what I'm talking about!  IT WAS SO AWESOME!  My jaw was on the ground, y'all, which was also a feature of this rig.  All I could think of was "DAMN!  I'd paint three murals for a piece of that rig."  The matchmoving I could do with that rig!  I'm feeling dizzy!  Dizzy... with RIG ENVY!

Then I had to start thinking about shoes and makeup to calm down.

I guess  rcjohnso was right when he opined, "Monkey, that shirt was never meant to have boobs under it."  Sad but true, my dear little indie movie mogul, sad but true.

I must accept myself as I am, dear reader, it's the only thing one can do.

And I'm at the conference all day tomorrow!

mlle_x

NEXT TIME:  Euler flips and YOU.

WOW! I never met a girl who could...

Ah, how I love hearing that phrase, dear reader.  It reminds me how very far under the radar I run, how very subversive, how delightful and entertaining I can be when the mood strikes!

I often wonder why the world views me as Eva Gabor in The Aristocats, rather than the dorky sci-fi punker math nerd I really am.  Is it the tits?  Oh well, no matter.

I am reminded of this phrase because I just purchased a little gem of a CD, The Replacements' When the Shit Hits the Fans (WTSHTF from now on).  It's a real blast from the past, a favorite from high school.  Real ATM (Angry Teenage Music).  It's just as horrible as it ever was, and I love it. 

It also was the reason for the first time I ever heard The Phrase.

Ummmm, interesting.....

So, I was checking my mail at work, in the little cubbies we have for mail, and I found I had a catalogue from Neiman's.  Shoes!