Monthly Archives: August 2008

Pollyanna Is a Lazy Cheater Weirdo

… with a sorry excuse for a post like this, what else can I call myself? (This is Anna-Liza. I think Lyda would at least try to make it look like she made an effort.) But once again, Marin found a completely irresistable blog quiz, and I don’t have anything else ready to add to the post. So here ’tis:

You Are 70% Weird

You’re so weird, you think you’re *totally* normal. Right?But you wig out even the biggest of circus freaks! 

Okay, I was thinking I’d get the same score Marin got. You’ll have to go to her post to see what it was, but it wasn’t this. I’ve always thought I was just more honest than most folks about my various weirdnesses, but maybe I really am that strange.
So Lyda, when you do it? Please be sure to post. Especially if you turn out to be weirder than I am.

Lyda here, with my results.

You Are 80% Weird

You’re more than quirky, you’re downright strange.

But you’re also strangely compelling, like a cult leader.

Does this surprise anyone at all?
Anyone? Anyone?

Pollyanna and the Jumping of Sharks

Lyda here. Sorry for the absence; my wrist is much better now.

Jumping the shark. Again. And showing my age. Also again.

I watched the original “Jaws” (1975) last night. I hadn’t seen it in a long time. Ya’ll know what? It totally holds up. The suspense is still there, and so are the scares. And my favorite scene – the three men on the boat singing of “Show me the way to go home” – is still awesome.

Of course, by today’s standards, the shark may look a bit… mechanical. But ya’ll know I love hokey special effects, so that’s not a problem for me. On the Pollyanna scary movie scale, I give this 3 out of 5 brains for good scares, and 2 out of 5 brains for gore.

Just in case you’ve forgotten the plot, here’s a 30-second version. With bunnies. Check it out, Angry Alien Productions have all kinds of movies! 30-second bunny version of Die Hard! That’s right:  Still all Bruce Willis, all the time.

Of course, Steven Spielberg was not the first to explode a shark. And I have proof! Ah, Batman. Is there anything you are unprepared for?

For some real shark jumping, check out this. Who knew white white sharks could jump like that? Who knew National Geographic posted on YouTube?

Well, now you do.

You’re welcome.

By the way – Baby warthogs! Now that’s pig-licking good. And that leopard agrees with me.

But I digress…

Over at The Great White Snark (heh), there’s a list of the top 5 geek shows that jumped the huge swimming predator.

And speaking of sharks, there’s this commercial.

And then I saw this:

song chart memes
more graph humor and song chart memes

So of course, I had to go find the original Saturday Night Live skit.

And yes. I saw it when it first aired. I told ya’ll I’m old.

Pollyanna and the Biologically Correct Side of the Knittyverse

Hi, Anna-Liza here.

I found this on this post on William the Coroner’s Forensic Files. William the Coroner found it here, on Crafty Hedgehog’s Etsy shop. She has a big ol’ bunch of really cool patterns for sale, including the logical companion to the lab rat, the dissected frog.

That girl is clever. (There are also a lot of deeply cute, happy, undissected animal patterns on her site. I promise.) Of course, all those innards reminded me of the famous Womb pattern on And Tit BIts, which is actually a breast prosthesis, not a model of a real breast, but it’s all sort of connected in my admittedly haphazard mind.

And then, of course, I couldn’t resist the lure of Google. I found this post on Citizen Skein, which gives a pretty good overview of the knitted naughty bits topic. And \katherine dexter\ had this post up just a few months ago, which brings us back to more biologically correct (and oddly beautiful), less naughty bits. Like BRAINSSSSSS

Pollyanna Flips over the Weirdness of the Olympics

Lyda here. Yes, the obligatory Olympics-weren’t-they-awesome post. Michael Phelps, women’s volleyball, the pomp, the pagentry, the inspiration… all that.  I know, this is last week’s news, but what the hell.

My favorite moment was Anton Fokin doing an awesome routine on the men’s parallel bars and winning the very first medal that Uzbekistan had EVER won in the modern games. And they ended the games with 6 medals, including a gold in wrestling. I bet the party is still going on.  He was so happy! He didn’t care that it was a bronze. And I had this great dream about him that night… Oh, sorry, digressing…

It was a year for breaking records, and breaking age barriers. A 41-year-old woman won swimming medals. A 33-year-old woman won a gymnastics medal.

But – since this is me, after all – let’s talk about the weirdness of the Olympics.

Other than the time zone problem (which means I operated on too little sleep the whole time)  and the boring parts (I didn’t watch the entire women’s marathon, but they showed it all)…

I have one huge problem with the Games:

The men’s outfits.

The original Greek Olympics were played completely in the nude. C’mon, guys. Get in the spirit!

Okay, I understand that nude isn’t realistic in the modern Olympics. And would be painful in equestrian events. 

And would certainly affect the swimming times. (Heh. Twelve.)

But imagine the ratings!

But I digress…

Back to the men’s outfits.

Now, the male swimmers are fine. In more ways than one.  The track and field guys – their outfits work for me too.

I’m sure that’s their main concern when designing them:
Yes, they’re aerodynamic. But will they work for Lyda?” 
“Hmm. I see what you mean. Back to the drawing board.” 

But what’s up with the rest of the men’s outfits?

The women’s beach volleyball players wears sensible, but revealing, outfits.

And the men’s beach volleyball players wear really ugly baggy shirts and baggy pants. Just like the basketball players.

It’s just wrong, people!

I’m not saying they should play in Speedos…

But really, guys.

Lose the shirts.

I’m paying for this.

Or, well… I’m watching the ads for this. Sort of. I usually mute them and wander off but… hey, that’s not the point! The point is…

Uh. What was the point?

Oh yeah.


What? Ya’ll know I’m obsessed with cake.

Pollyanna and the Hot Guys (and One Gal) of Longmont

Hi, Anna-Liza here. This post is taking me all kinds of time to put together. I keep clicking the wrong thing and deleting half my post, or getting weird formatting, and stuff. But here goes again. After all, I do owe you, our faithful readers, as much hotness as possible, n’est-ce pas?

So, how’s this for a hot guy?

The Hottest Guy in Longmont

The Hottest Guy in Longmont

Blurry, but definitely hot. But I did say “guys” plural, didn’t I? Alrighty then, there was Chase,

  (he’s the mystery hottie in the previous post).

And there was Casey, a break dancer with fire-feet:

And Stephiniti, the lone female in this show–that’s Darlin’ K lighting her fire there …

Zombie Son was there, too, but none of the pictures of him turned out at all. And seeing the caliber of photo I am willing to post here, you know that has to be bad.

The Longmont Festival on Main is basically a giant block party for the whole city. The official estimate of the crowd this year was 17,000 people! Main Street (aka State Highway 287) is blocked off from 3rd Avenue to 9th and all the booths and bouncy castles

and bubble towers (it spouts bubbles from the top, scads of them!)

and etc.


are set up where traffic usually flows. I like the fact that there are things for really little kids, like a gentle train ride and the big space with lots of sidewalk chalk and jumpropes, as well as more thrilling fare.

You know, I thought that sort of thing was forbidden under the Geneva convention, but the queue to be flung screaming into the air, repeatedly, was the longest one I saw. Oh, and all this stuff is free–no tickets, no tokens, no nuthin’. The city pays for all of it. Well, you have to pay for tschotchkes and food, like cotton candy


or these delicacies

 (I didn’t get close enough to see what they had, but the idea sort of fascinates me.)

There are buskers, too.

            Look, a pirate!

There’s also music. Some years there have been some fairly big names, but they usually go local. Hazel Miller was here a couple of years ago. This year saw Mojomama as the opening act and The Nacho Men were the headliners. It’s unlikely we’ll ever see, oh, Devotchka, but the music is generally very well done blues-R&B-rock danceable stuff. Not that I generally get to hang out and listen and dance much–I’m chasing kids or standing in line with them mostly, when I’m not at the fire show. This year, my in-laws came for the show and watched the kids so I could safety spot. (That means crouching as unobtrusively as possible with a very wet towel in my hands, watching for someone to catch on fire and not be able to put it out quickly on their own).

Saturday morning we had our neighborhood yard sale. I was putting stuff out in the yard when one of my neighbors rode by on her bike and shouted, “So you’re living with a celebrity now!” I intellegently replied “What?” and she told me that Darlin’ K was on the front page of the paper! And when I got my hands on a copy, sho’nuff, there he was! I think it’s pretty likely that he’ll get asked to do the fire show again next year. And next year, I expect to see you there!

Pollyanna Reassures Her Adoring Fans

Hi, Anna-Liza here. And I’m here to reassure Lyda’s adoring fans who may have noticed she has been less prolific in her blogging than is her wont. She’s fine, she just managed to strain her wrist when she was cleaning out her garage so she’s trying not to overdo the keyboarding for a bit.

She won’t be gone long, and she’s cooking up more Random Wierdness in her head even as I type. I’ll be around, of course, but we all know who the big draw is, don’t we?

So Lyda, take it easy, don’t keep pushing yourself so damn hard, and wait ’til your wrist is all better before trying to lift anything again, ‘k? Besides, what’s a big, strong, teenage Resident Sith Master for if it isn’t to help his mom with stuff like that?

Love, A.

P.S. Since I haven’t finished my post about firespinning and the Longmont Festival on Main, here’s a wee giftie:

Who's That Hottie?

Who's That Hottie?