Archive for the ‘Random silliness’ Category


What’s the connection between horror and baked goods, you might ask? I don’t know – all I know is that, even when you leave out Halloween celebrations, there are a lot of creative cooks out there crafting elaborate (and presumably delicious) edible horror artifacts. I did learn one interesting new piece of trivia in the course of my online research; iconic horror actor Vincent Price was born into wealth courtesy of his paternal grandfather, who invented the first cream of tartar baking powder. So there’s that.

Here for your delectation is a selection of articles and posts to whet your appetite. First up, the one that inspired this blog post: Christine McConnell. A.k.a. the woman I would want to be if I couldn’t be me.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/domestic-goddess-makes-sinister-sweets

A little history on the origins of the sugar skull, where I learned that sugar can be a good sculpting material for poor, pious and artistically talented.

http://www.mexicansugarskull.com/support/dodhistory.html

Shut up and take my money!

http://drfudgenstein.com/

I love sugar, but I can barely stand to look at these, let alone try to eat them if I was left alone with one.

http://mentalfloss.com/article/29116/10-bloody-gory-and-delectably-evil-horror-themed-cakes

Just a simple fangirl, combining two of her favourite things (much like what I’m doing, except without getting my kitchen dirty).

http://hauntedmeg.wordpress.com/2014/06/23/true-blood-inspired-cookies/

Apparently, zombie-themed wedding cakes are a Thing. Do we have AMC’s The Walking Dead to thank for this?

http://www.whokilledbambi.co.uk/2012/01/zombie-themed-wedding-cakes/

 


Every now and again, I’m reminded that my mind does not work in quite the same way as most other people’s. One such moment occurred when I went for an eye test recently.

By Photographic Collection from Australia (Eye Tests  Uploaded by Oxyman) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

If all eye exams were still conducted like this, my whole post would be moot.

Oh, it all started innocently enough. Medicare in Australia covers the cost of a standard eye exam every two years, and that time had rolled around for me, so I would be foolish not to avail myself of it, especially considering I started wearing reading glasses about four years ago. I made the appointment and trotted down to the local optometrist.

So, I’m sitting there with my chin pressed against one hard surface and my forehead pressed against another, and the technician is operating the machine that is taking images of my eyes. At least, I think she is… The machine whirs. It moves a little to the left. It whirs and adjusts its position upwards slightly. Somewhere in its depths, an iris opens and shuts, and it whirs and moves some more.

The machine appears to be focusing on my left eye, leaving me just enough clearance to look at the technician through my right. And she’s not even looking at the machine. She’s talking to one of her colleagues. The machine is moving and adjusting itself, automatically; presumably it is on a quest to find my eyes on my face and zero in on them. At one point, the technician gets up and walks away, leaving the machine to whir and shift and quest unsupervised.

I go home and tell my husband about it. “…and this thing was moving about on its own, and I got to thinking, what if it malfunctioned and lunged at my face and took my eyes clean out? Or…or…what if it did it ON PURPOSE? What if Skynet suddenly came online at that moment, and that was its first act of aggression? Thousands of optometrists’ machines across the world, all simultaneously going on murderous rampages…”

My husband gives me That Look. It is a look I have seen many times – the look that says, “I married a crazy lady.”

“What? What?” I say. “Wouldn’t you think the same thing? No? You wouldn’t? Well, OK then…”

And I sigh. I sigh, not because my husband doesn’t understand me, but because Skynet has already been rather famously made up, so I can’t write that story.

But hang on – according to this article,  it’s only a matter of time before the above scenario becomes likely. So maybe I’m not so weird after all. It’s comforting to know that there will be like-minded individuals out there to keep me company for the brief period I remain alive, blinded and in agony, when the Great Robot Uprising begins.

And we’ll all be saying, “I told you so.”


Recently we’ve been watching “The Almighty Johnsons”, a New Zealand television series about four brothers who are the human embodiments of Norse gods.  The story goes that the gods fled Norway in the 1800’s to escape Christian persecution and ended up in Hawkes Bay in New Zealand.  Upon turning 21, each of the human brothers took on the aspect of a god and as such has limited godlike powers. But in order to attain their full glory, youngest brother Axl, who is the human vessel for the god Odin, has to find and reunite with the human incarnation of his beloved goddess Frigg.

And much intrigue and shenanigans ensue.

Watching this show, my husband and I can’t help but speculate on which god power we’d prefer to have, given the choice.  Opinion is decided between being Ullr, who is the god of games and who cannot lose at Paper Rock Scissors (or more importantly, at Blackjack and playing the stock market), or being Bragi, who has the gift of persuasion and can talk anyone into doing anything.

We don’t get to choose our body shape in this game either, damn it.

The characters in the show don’t get a choice, of course.  Frankly, some of their god powers suck.  Poor Stacey is the goddess Fulla, whose sole purpose in life is to be Frigg’s handmaiden.  With Frigg not around, though, she’s genetically compelled to handmaiden for any god or goddess who asks her too, which means she spends most of the series running errands and cleaning things.  One of the brothers, Ty, is the god Höðr, in charge of all things dark and cold.  This makes relationships with women rather difficult, as prolonged skin-to-skin contact with a mortal will induce hypothermia and ultimately death.

So let’s play the game of “Which Goddess Am I?”  Not the goddess I’d want to be, but the goddess that my temperament and talents indicate most likely.  Recent events point towards my being the Goddess of Finding Things.  Like the deities in “The Almighty Johnsons”, my powers wax and wane, but when I’m on, I am freakishly on. Yesterday I told a friend where to find his misplaced copy of “Ghosts Can Bleed” – and lo, it was where I said it would be.  Not so freakish, you’re thinking? Except that I’ve never been in the home of the friend in question. We don’t even live in the same country. Perhaps it was due to the psychic connection between me and the book (or perhaps it’s because I remember him telling me where he’d put it…).

I’m particularly good at reclaiming objects that have passed into the mystical state of Not Anywhere. As in, “I’ve looked all over for my shoes, but they’re Not Anywhere.”  Sometimes I only have to enter a room, and the missing object will magically reappear.

It’s a double-edged sword, though, this power of mine; without it, I wouldn’t be faced with the burden of having to perform at 6.45am on a Monday morning, with my eyes still gummed shut from sleep and my son demanding  that I find his school pants.