So I got myself some looser-weave embroidery fabric and will try some tambour … eventually. Who knows when. But I’ve got everything I need, I think — and I would like to try to just use a normal steel crochet hook rather than a tambour hook.
With all the embroidery thread I bought recently, I think I should be okay regarding colors, too.
In other news, I think I might have to get a Hotstar membership so I can watch kabaddi games. Nothing like middle-aged hormones …
And I’ve got this bastard’s CDs.
Who knows how many more guys’ lives he and that sick husband of his ruined? And how many brilliant singing careers were ruined along with it? Who knows how much brilliant art we were all robbed of because of this awful human being and his equally awful sidekick?
I am seriously chucking his CDs in the trash tonight. I don’t need to listen to that. Not in a world where there are so many other wonderful musicians to listen to. In fact, I’d rather have a CD made by the people whose careers he and his sidekick tried to ruin. That’d probably be a great CD.
They should record nothing but revenge arias. Al lampo dell’armi, Furibondo, Vivi tiranno, etc. All those showpieces the hero sings right before he troops off to kick all the asses.
I still can’t keep the scoring straight, but it’s like a playground game turned into a mixed martial art.
So I’m still not aware of all of the rules entirely, but this is one of the prettiest dekes I’ve seen in a long time. Sneaky bastard. Gorgeous too, of course. Named Maninder Singh, apparently. And I’m definitely going to have a hard time picking a favorite team because I seem to like any team whose raider I lay eyes on first. This means the Telugu Titans, Tamil Thalaivas, and Bengal Warriors are all teams I like now. In time, I will like 11 out of 11 teams.
This is something that we need to keep in mind, and if I can manage to move up the ladder to managing someone, I’ll need to keep it in mind:
Power Causes Brain Damage: How leaders lose mental capacities—most notably for reading other people—that were essential to their rise
Why did I not even know this sport existed until now?
Large numbers of jaw-droppingly gorgeous dark men with thick heads of magnificent black hair and perfect bodies rolling around on the floor in small clothing? And I only just found out about it? It’s like some cosmic force reached back in time into my college-age hormone-addled brain and created a sport out of whatever it found in there.
Seriously. If this sport were even vaguely known in the United States, every single American woman would be following it obsessively:
I suppose I should pick a team, but I honestly can’t. They’re all making my ovaries explode. I’m just happy to watch a bunch of bare-legged Greek gods with magnificent hair and butts tumbling around like a den of kittens. (Okay, really big kittens. That know judo.) I’ll see if I can pick a team, but I make no promises.
Oh! There’s women’s kabaddi, too! I love their names: Storm Queens, Ice Divas, and Fire Birds. I need to watch that for the actual sport of it and to figure out the rules. (When I watch the men’s game, my processor just overclocks and then bluescreens.) The rules appear to be a sort of bizarre combination of tag, forcefield, and mixed martial arts. They’re all sort of dancing (very decoratively) around one another and suddenly two milliseconds later, sixteen guys are all piling on one attempting to dislocate any available ball-and-socket joints.
But damn, do they look pretty while they’re doing it.
And I’ve just started a spreadsheet on the current season. Why am I doing this?
So many stupid young “intersectional” feminists hating the shit out of Theresa May because she got set up to fail.
Now, they have Boris Johnson.
Good going, girls. You got what you wanted. Now shut up.
You shit in that bed, now lie in it.
The Vicious Fun of America’s Most Famous Literary Circle: The Algonquin Round Table trained a generation of socially conscious writers.
[S]ome, like [Dorothy] Parker, used that exercise and training to take on a more significant social vision — and role. As Parker put it: “There’s a hell of a distance between wisecracking and wit. Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.”
I hope they skipped town for Germany. I truly do. I wish all the girls and women in that orchestra could do the same. These are hate-crime and genocide refugees, or would be if humanity considered women to be part of humanity.