Urk. Pressure…


So here we have a nice young lady who got this lovely Girl Genius themed sleeve tattooed upon her body for all time. Owch. I’ve always been confused by the science of tattoos, because I take it as gospel that every cell in your body is replaced every seven years (which naturally leads to the realization that the person you’re living with is technically not the person you married, which is one of those concepts that keeps things interesting, at least around here), and yet tattoos last for decades. Is the ink deposited between the cells? Or is it passed down within cellular generations? This would make it the poster-child for the Lamarckian revival that is sort of creeping back into our beautiful Darwinian world view (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamarckism). I find this entertaining, as I find anything entertaining that makes established scientists use the phrase, “That’s odd…”, whenever you hear that in the lab, that’s when you get something interesting. Anyway, it’s peculiar, because it’s been something I’ve wondered about for awhile now, but never enough to actually bother to check and see if someone’s satisfactorily explained it. It’s important to keep some mystery in one’s life.

The aforementioned pressure comes from the knowledge that someone loves our stuff enough that they have made it a permanent part of who and what they are (at least in warm weather), and thus we feel that we have an obligation to keep it from sucking. The last thing we want is a note explaining that after the last couple of pages, she’s taken a potato peeler to her arm and has to support herself doing modeling work for Gray’s Anatomy (sigh, the book, not the TV show). I thank my artistic soul I never got that intimately placed light saber tattoo back in ’78.

Went to see The Hobbit (Part 2; The Hobbiting). The evening got off to a bad start, as we wound up in the second row, and thus I can tell you that Sir Ian is apparently quite meticulous when it comes to trimming his nose hair, and thank goodness for that. So I was grumpy, and a misery to all around me as the movie started. I will say that after the first five minutes, I was enjoying myself so much that I no longer cared. I liked it a lot more than Part 1 (I Am Curious, Hobbit). Possibly because we didn’t see it in 3-D. Possibly because there was absolutely nothing about The Power of Friendship, and probably because I simply Did Not Care.

I didn’t care that it wasn’t a transcription of the book. I didn’t care that the female characters and the implied hot elf/dwarf action was shoe-horned in out of nowhere, I didn’t care that I could spot set-ups for the next move (Part 3; Mr. Oakenshield Builds His Dream House)… I just let this all glide over me and tried to watch it as its own thing, and that thing was good. I have heard that some people were complaining about the quality of some of the CGI. That’s possible, but I couldn’t really tell, from where I was sitting. But then every moment we weren’t staring up someone’s tunic was considered a win. Great dragon, I will say.