Both of the sexist commercials are for pizza. What's the deal? Disclaimer: I don't remember the exact wording of the dialogue in the commercials, but believe me when I say it is true to the spirit.
Sexist Commercial #1 is for DiGiorno. A man and his buddies are sitting out on his lawn in chairs watching "the game" on a TV out there. His wife pulls up in a minivan and walks by carrying the groceries. The man sees the pizza sticking out of the top. "Hey, let's order a pizza," he says to his buddies. He pulls out his cell phone and calls his wife in the kitchen.
"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza."
"Bob, is that you?"
"Of course. Put everything on it!" His buddies smile at his aggressive and manly tone.
"But, Bob--"
"And make it snappy!" he barks and hangs up.
The woman gasps in disbelief.
Cut to the men EATING THEIR PIZZA! She brought it to them! I hope she put arsenic on it. She then turns on the sprinklers to get back at them, but they sit there calmly eating their pizza, cuz dang it's so good. She throws up her hands and goes back inside the kitchen (where she belongs, of course).
Perhaps she is going to file for divorce.
Sexist Commercial #2 is for Pizza Hut. A woman wearing pearls sits primly at a nice dining room table.
"My husband loves to eat Pizza Hut Pizza. Of course, I just sit there, eating a small salad." She pauses and looks around furtively. "Well, sometimes I have a piece, but just a small one." She pulls a piece of pizza out from under the table. "See how small it is?" She takes a bite. "It's veggie, I swear."
AHHHH! So now, not only are we supposed to cook pizza and serve it to our man, but we're not even supposed to be eating it?
I suffer.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Packin' Up
Last night I packed all the books I am keeping into one small box. We are hoping that this General Delivery business works out and we can ship all our heavy stuff pretty cheaply to San Francisco.
Joe went through his bookshelf too. It is four times the size of mine, plus a few random pils throughout the house. It took him until 1 a.m., but I'm glad it's done. Now we have YES piles that need to be packed into boxes, MAYBE piles that we will have to go through again, and NO piles. I'm going to take a bag of the most decent looking NO books to try to sell to the Strand. Everything else will be first picked over by our friends and then donated to the library around the corner.
The rental car is reserved and we got the whole insurance business figured out. Plans are in motion.
Joe went through his bookshelf too. It is four times the size of mine, plus a few random pils throughout the house. It took him until 1 a.m., but I'm glad it's done. Now we have YES piles that need to be packed into boxes, MAYBE piles that we will have to go through again, and NO piles. I'm going to take a bag of the most decent looking NO books to try to sell to the Strand. Everything else will be first picked over by our friends and then donated to the library around the corner.
The rental car is reserved and we got the whole insurance business figured out. Plans are in motion.
Friday, June 23, 2006
New Journal
So I've decided to start up a Live Journal. It's basically the same thing as a blog, but the Live Journal Community is much more active. Some of the posts will be the same, some will not. I am going to try to focus more on reading and writing in the Live Journal posts, but it will be about random stuff too. Some day I will probably quit one or the other. Here's the link if you want to check it out: http://jasminesmith.livejournal.com/
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Midgets & Balloons
My brain is gone. Fried. Zip. Running around NYC in 90 degree weather will do that to you.
Saturday we went to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum, which is WAY fun and I can't believe I've never done it before. It's this huge echoing room, swarming with Chinese families. Women push carts of food around and you wave and point to get some. She doesn't usually speak English, so you don't know what you're getting, but it doesn't matter because it's all delicious.
Later we went to a concert in Central Park. It's sort of an odd set-up. You can sit on metal bleachers in back, or park yourself in the sun on the green-rug-covered cement ground in front of the stage. Which is probably perfect if you're going to see the Flaming Lips or something, but for chill concerts like this it's mildly uncomfortable. Still, I loved Ollabelle, the middle band. Bluegrassy, twangy, gospel with strong vocals.
That night we ate at Big Nick's. I exhausted my parents by making them walk there, but it was all worth it because those burgers are the king of all ground meat--huge, messy and delicious. Even my mom was talking about it for days.
The next day we saw a photography exhibit, which was nice if a bit skimpy. But luckily outside was a street fair that filled 6th Avenue from 34th street all the way up to 59th. I bought a giant yellow starlet-on-the-beach hat, which still did not prevent me from almost stroking out. I was not made for warm weather. My mom bought more jewelery and my dad, after all three of us were accosted by a band of Chinese masseuse-ninjas, got a ten-minute massage for Father's Day. We ate food on the street and then headed for Cirque Du Soleil. Some ups and downs, but overall pretty neat. Highlight: a midget in a harness hung from 5 giant ballons. The main character flung her into the audience and she bounced around. Whenever she started to come down, the audience would push her back up and she would float around the ceiling for a minute. Ah, surrealism.
Saturday we went to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum, which is WAY fun and I can't believe I've never done it before. It's this huge echoing room, swarming with Chinese families. Women push carts of food around and you wave and point to get some. She doesn't usually speak English, so you don't know what you're getting, but it doesn't matter because it's all delicious.
Later we went to a concert in Central Park. It's sort of an odd set-up. You can sit on metal bleachers in back, or park yourself in the sun on the green-rug-covered cement ground in front of the stage. Which is probably perfect if you're going to see the Flaming Lips or something, but for chill concerts like this it's mildly uncomfortable. Still, I loved Ollabelle, the middle band. Bluegrassy, twangy, gospel with strong vocals.
That night we ate at Big Nick's. I exhausted my parents by making them walk there, but it was all worth it because those burgers are the king of all ground meat--huge, messy and delicious. Even my mom was talking about it for days.
The next day we saw a photography exhibit, which was nice if a bit skimpy. But luckily outside was a street fair that filled 6th Avenue from 34th street all the way up to 59th. I bought a giant yellow starlet-on-the-beach hat, which still did not prevent me from almost stroking out. I was not made for warm weather. My mom bought more jewelery and my dad, after all three of us were accosted by a band of Chinese masseuse-ninjas, got a ten-minute massage for Father's Day. We ate food on the street and then headed for Cirque Du Soleil. Some ups and downs, but overall pretty neat. Highlight: a midget in a harness hung from 5 giant ballons. The main character flung her into the audience and she bounced around. Whenever she started to come down, the audience would push her back up and she would float around the ceiling for a minute. Ah, surrealism.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Parental Unit Plans
What to do with my parents this weekend? I don't even know what time they get in Thursday night, but some sushi eating or, at the very least, wine-tasting at Vintage will be in order.
Friday: Put them on a Grayline Bus, those red double-decker monsters that cruise NYC. They can do an All-Loops tour, or just Brooklyn, or just Uptown (cuz they've pretty much seen all of Downtown) or one of the specialty tours. I have to work all day, but the earliest bus leaves at 8 am, and there's even a night tour that leaves at 5:45 pm, so they're covered.
On Saturday, there is the Renegade Craft Fair. It could be interesting, but I've never been to it, and it's in sort of an odd part of Brooklyn. Later in Prospect Park, Laurie Anderson and the Tuvan throat singers of CHIRGILCHIN are performing for FREE at 7:30pm. You know you wanna hear the throat singers.
The rest of Saturday is pretty wide open for now.
Sunday, of course, is Cirque du Soleil at 5 pm. We'll probably have brunch at Barney Greengrass (the Sturgeon King) and find some other relaxing afternoon activity.
Monday might be a museum day, including the Cloisters if they didn't get to see it on their bus tour. Other ideas for Monday will pop up over the weekend, I'm sure. Most Broadway shows do not play on Mondays, so if we want to see a show, Saturday would be the day to do it.
That's all for now. More ideas to come.
Friday: Put them on a Grayline Bus, those red double-decker monsters that cruise NYC. They can do an All-Loops tour, or just Brooklyn, or just Uptown (cuz they've pretty much seen all of Downtown) or one of the specialty tours. I have to work all day, but the earliest bus leaves at 8 am, and there's even a night tour that leaves at 5:45 pm, so they're covered.
On Saturday, there is the Renegade Craft Fair. It could be interesting, but I've never been to it, and it's in sort of an odd part of Brooklyn. Later in Prospect Park, Laurie Anderson and the Tuvan throat singers of CHIRGILCHIN are performing for FREE at 7:30pm. You know you wanna hear the throat singers.
The rest of Saturday is pretty wide open for now.
Sunday, of course, is Cirque du Soleil at 5 pm. We'll probably have brunch at Barney Greengrass (the Sturgeon King) and find some other relaxing afternoon activity.
Monday might be a museum day, including the Cloisters if they didn't get to see it on their bus tour. Other ideas for Monday will pop up over the weekend, I'm sure. Most Broadway shows do not play on Mondays, so if we want to see a show, Saturday would be the day to do it.
That's all for now. More ideas to come.
Monday, June 12, 2006
I ate half a pig
The Big Apple BBQ was this weekend, and I can't believe I ate the whole thing. We got there at 11 a.m. and they don't even start serving until noon. That's not the amazing thing. The amazing thing is that we weren't anywhere near first in line. I tried four different sandwiches (I swear I shared them all with my friend, though the boy didn't). My favorite was Ed Mitchell's Whole Hog. We watched them haul entire hogs into the tent, tear them apart, mix the meat with salt, cider vinegar and mysterious spices, all while Ed Mitchell himself had his hands in it up to his elbows (he was wearing wicked black rubber gloves) and mixed like crazy. Later there was a sausage-and-brisket sandwich, ribs, and pulled pork.
It's not up yet, but I'm sure Joe will write a more extensive account of the BBQ soon.
I got exactly zero writing done this weekend. BBQ+cleaning because my parents coming next weekend and the landlord is showing our apartment this week+planning a move to the other side of the country in 6 weeks+a pity dinner with the gang because Iran lost to Mexico in the world cup=zero writing.
It's not up yet, but I'm sure Joe will write a more extensive account of the BBQ soon.
I got exactly zero writing done this weekend. BBQ+cleaning because my parents coming next weekend and the landlord is showing our apartment this week+planning a move to the other side of the country in 6 weeks+a pity dinner with the gang because Iran lost to Mexico in the world cup=zero writing.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Cop Rock
As I was walking home yesterday, I saw a cop standing next to a taxi and screaming at the driver.
Cop: You cut me off!
Driver: But (incomprehensible argument here)
Cop: No! You don't understand! Traffic does not make it okay for you to cut me off!
A crowd was gathering around to watch the spectacle this cop was making of himself. Aren't Police Officers supposed to set an example for the rest of us? What good does getting angry do, especially when you have the upper-hand of power anyways? This cop didn't realize that by arguing, he was undercutting his own authority. By allowing the driver to argue with him, he was suggesting that the driver even had an arguement to make. Here is how it should have gone:
Cop: You cut me off, sir. Here's your ticket. Have a great day.
Driver: (Gives him incomprehensible lip)
Cop: Here's another ticket, sir, for giving me lip. Give me any more, and I'll have to double your fine and/or arrest you. Again, have a great day.
It's the same with kids (so my mom tells me). When you say something is a law--uh, I mean, rule--it just is. Let them argue with you, and you are suggesting that their arguement is valid. Kids only whine when they think they have a shot at winning. I wasn't much of a whiner, for a very good reason. I never won.
I'm pretty sure God works the same way too, in case you were wondering. You can beg and whine, but all you'll get is what you deserve. He doesn't make deals. He doesn't take your arguement into consideration, no matter how well you defend your side. It would undercut his authority.
Cop: You cut me off!
Driver: But (incomprehensible argument here)
Cop: No! You don't understand! Traffic does not make it okay for you to cut me off!
A crowd was gathering around to watch the spectacle this cop was making of himself. Aren't Police Officers supposed to set an example for the rest of us? What good does getting angry do, especially when you have the upper-hand of power anyways? This cop didn't realize that by arguing, he was undercutting his own authority. By allowing the driver to argue with him, he was suggesting that the driver even had an arguement to make. Here is how it should have gone:
Cop: You cut me off, sir. Here's your ticket. Have a great day.
Driver: (Gives him incomprehensible lip)
Cop: Here's another ticket, sir, for giving me lip. Give me any more, and I'll have to double your fine and/or arrest you. Again, have a great day.
It's the same with kids (so my mom tells me). When you say something is a law--uh, I mean, rule--it just is. Let them argue with you, and you are suggesting that their arguement is valid. Kids only whine when they think they have a shot at winning. I wasn't much of a whiner, for a very good reason. I never won.
I'm pretty sure God works the same way too, in case you were wondering. You can beg and whine, but all you'll get is what you deserve. He doesn't make deals. He doesn't take your arguement into consideration, no matter how well you defend your side. It would undercut his authority.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Six Years of My Life for this Purpose
I've done it! It's done! My novel is finally done! I just finished typing the last chapter. It's all there and it's glorious.
Of course, I haven't quite figured out how they defeat the trolls in the mountains just yet. I just kinda summarized parts of that chapter. And the beginning is too choppy, and there are all kinds of inconsistencies throughout the whole thing. Plus it's WAY too long. Right now it tops out at about 91,800 words. Unless you're J.K. Rowling, editors won't even consider anything over 80,000, preferably 60,000 for YA novels, like mine. But cutting is easier than adding, and heck, it's done!
Well...so I guess I'll go get drunk now.
Of course, I haven't quite figured out how they defeat the trolls in the mountains just yet. I just kinda summarized parts of that chapter. And the beginning is too choppy, and there are all kinds of inconsistencies throughout the whole thing. Plus it's WAY too long. Right now it tops out at about 91,800 words. Unless you're J.K. Rowling, editors won't even consider anything over 80,000, preferably 60,000 for YA novels, like mine. But cutting is easier than adding, and heck, it's done!
Well...so I guess I'll go get drunk now.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Friends and Breastfeeding
Here's a cute pic of me at the Carnivale Fancy dress party at WisCon. My head looks weird because there's a mask on it, though you can't tell. Rebecca and Carla are with me, two friends I actually managed to make this weekend.
On the plane home from WisCon, who just happened to be sitting by me, but Sharyn November, senior editor for Peguin's YA scifi/fantasy line. Watch me twitch with anxiety. She noticed I was reading her latest anthology as we waited to board the plane, and then on it, she was sitting just behind me. As the plane landed and we waited for everyone to get off (we were waaaaay at the back), I got her to sign the book and chatted with her about past and future anthologies. Now, I didn't exactly secure an invitation to submit, but she did mention that she never gets enough science fiction and is looking for it for her next anthology. So in the next 30 days, I must finish the sci fi story I'm writing right now and send it to her. She's one of the top editors around, which means my chances are slim, but what the heck, it's a chance.
So, last time I wrote my dispatches from WisCon, I was just sending them as emails to Jen. In them, I wrote extensively about the heavy-breather girl I recognized from an English class I took and her Jesus-esque boyfriend. They were back this year. The entire weekend, he wore Ali Baba-style pants that allowed us all to see his lovely black brief underwear. And guess what? They've procreated. There was a kid, walking and talking, probably 2 or 3 years old. Which means she could have been pregnant last time I saw her, three years ago. OK.
So I'm sitting in the room where everyone gathers between panels. They have soda and cookies and cheese and tables for everyone to hang out and eat. I'm waiting for my bagel to toast. Heavy-breather English girl is lying on a couch nearby napping, until her child comes and sticks its hands down her shirt. I kind of laugh, because kids do things like that. Heavy-breather then proceeds to haul her shirt up, yank her bra down and pop out a boob. Snack time for junior.
Now. I am all about women breast-feeding in public. Most women are very discreet about it, covering up with a baby-blanket and kind of just tucking the kid under there. It's beautiful and healthy and brings joy to my heart to see it. But don't just flop it all out there, people. And how does the saying go? "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old to have it." This kid stood next to the couch, took a drink, then went back to playing with legos. Ugh ugh ugh.
On the plane home from WisCon, who just happened to be sitting by me, but Sharyn November, senior editor for Peguin's YA scifi/fantasy line. Watch me twitch with anxiety. She noticed I was reading her latest anthology as we waited to board the plane, and then on it, she was sitting just behind me. As the plane landed and we waited for everyone to get off (we were waaaaay at the back), I got her to sign the book and chatted with her about past and future anthologies. Now, I didn't exactly secure an invitation to submit, but she did mention that she never gets enough science fiction and is looking for it for her next anthology. So in the next 30 days, I must finish the sci fi story I'm writing right now and send it to her. She's one of the top editors around, which means my chances are slim, but what the heck, it's a chance.
So, last time I wrote my dispatches from WisCon, I was just sending them as emails to Jen. In them, I wrote extensively about the heavy-breather girl I recognized from an English class I took and her Jesus-esque boyfriend. They were back this year. The entire weekend, he wore Ali Baba-style pants that allowed us all to see his lovely black brief underwear. And guess what? They've procreated. There was a kid, walking and talking, probably 2 or 3 years old. Which means she could have been pregnant last time I saw her, three years ago. OK.
So I'm sitting in the room where everyone gathers between panels. They have soda and cookies and cheese and tables for everyone to hang out and eat. I'm waiting for my bagel to toast. Heavy-breather English girl is lying on a couch nearby napping, until her child comes and sticks its hands down her shirt. I kind of laugh, because kids do things like that. Heavy-breather then proceeds to haul her shirt up, yank her bra down and pop out a boob. Snack time for junior.
Now. I am all about women breast-feeding in public. Most women are very discreet about it, covering up with a baby-blanket and kind of just tucking the kid under there. It's beautiful and healthy and brings joy to my heart to see it. But don't just flop it all out there, people. And how does the saying go? "If they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old to have it." This kid stood next to the couch, took a drink, then went back to playing with legos. Ugh ugh ugh.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Final Report
I just finished accosting Holly Black in the book signing room. She wasn't sitting at a table with a name sign like everyone else, probably because her books weren't being sold at the convention, but I had brought "Tithe" with me. So I screwed up my courage and walked up to her and asked her to sign it. Here is what she wrote: "To Jasmine--what belongs to you, but others use it more than you do? Holly Black"
My name.
She was really nice and I got to talk to her a little while about her award and about the sequel to "Tithe." Then I made a rather ungraceful exit because I was afraid I would bug her. I like her a lot. I attempted to get Kelly Link's signature, but have failed so far. She's not at a table either, and accosting her has been more difficult.
I have mixed feelings about this weekend. It made me more frustrated that I haven't been published yet, but it didn't make me doubt my own writing abilities. Which, I guess, is a good thing. It made me want to grow up to be Jane Yolen, and it made me want to take more classes and read more books. I made enough friends to be able to sit around talking to them until 1 a.m. last night. But will the friends get me anywhere? I understand that that is not the point of friends, but that is part of the point of coming here. To make contacts that can help me out. But you never know who the next Holly Black will be. I hope I can come back; I hope I will be published by next year. I hope the panels will get better, or I will get better at choosing them and at understanding what they are telling me.
I cried at the Guest of Honor speeches last night. Jane Yolen spoke about her husband who just died, Kate Wilhelm told us how she would never compromise what her books were about, even if it meant they wouldn't get published. Easy to say when you're Kate Wilhelm.
One last thing. I have decided I need to go to Clarion. Maybe not next year, or the year after, but soon. It is six weeks long, but it's something I have to do (if they'll take me. But why wouldn't they?).
There is such a great community, and such great personalities here. Even when I can't stand the level of nerdiness (I heard a guy say today: "I'm biligual--I speak English and Computer. I put that at the top of my resume...") it's still an incredibly open and creative atmosphere.
My name.
She was really nice and I got to talk to her a little while about her award and about the sequel to "Tithe." Then I made a rather ungraceful exit because I was afraid I would bug her. I like her a lot. I attempted to get Kelly Link's signature, but have failed so far. She's not at a table either, and accosting her has been more difficult.
I have mixed feelings about this weekend. It made me more frustrated that I haven't been published yet, but it didn't make me doubt my own writing abilities. Which, I guess, is a good thing. It made me want to grow up to be Jane Yolen, and it made me want to take more classes and read more books. I made enough friends to be able to sit around talking to them until 1 a.m. last night. But will the friends get me anywhere? I understand that that is not the point of friends, but that is part of the point of coming here. To make contacts that can help me out. But you never know who the next Holly Black will be. I hope I can come back; I hope I will be published by next year. I hope the panels will get better, or I will get better at choosing them and at understanding what they are telling me.
I cried at the Guest of Honor speeches last night. Jane Yolen spoke about her husband who just died, Kate Wilhelm told us how she would never compromise what her books were about, even if it meant they wouldn't get published. Easy to say when you're Kate Wilhelm.
One last thing. I have decided I need to go to Clarion. Maybe not next year, or the year after, but soon. It is six weeks long, but it's something I have to do (if they'll take me. But why wouldn't they?).
There is such a great community, and such great personalities here. Even when I can't stand the level of nerdiness (I heard a guy say today: "I'm biligual--I speak English and Computer. I put that at the top of my resume...") it's still an incredibly open and creative atmosphere.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Report of Exhaustion
I'm tired. I'm tired of talking about science fiction. Scratch that. I'm tired of listening to mostly uninteresting people talk about science fiction. There are very few panels today that I had any interest in.
Last night was the Tiptree Auction, which is the highlight, not to mention the heart and soul, of WisCon. It is hilarious, and they auction off some really cool stuff--like a fan letter from James Tiptree (aka Alice Sheldon) to Carol Emshwiller. It went for $700. Also yesterday I attended an excellent panel titled "Never the Hero: Girls in Genre Literature." Sharyn November, a YA editor, moderated it. She's fun to listen to and so incredibly knowledgable.
I got to speak very briefly with Carol Emshwiller last night too. She is so amazing, and older than my grandma. She writes books and stories that I, even if I could manage to think up this stuff, would be too afraid to write.
Tonight the Guests of Honor will give their speeches. I love listening to Jane Yolen. She is the reason I came this year, and I have enjoyed all of her panels. She is so interesting and wise and truly intelligent. I can't wait to hear her speech.
Last night was the Tiptree Auction, which is the highlight, not to mention the heart and soul, of WisCon. It is hilarious, and they auction off some really cool stuff--like a fan letter from James Tiptree (aka Alice Sheldon) to Carol Emshwiller. It went for $700. Also yesterday I attended an excellent panel titled "Never the Hero: Girls in Genre Literature." Sharyn November, a YA editor, moderated it. She's fun to listen to and so incredibly knowledgable.
I got to speak very briefly with Carol Emshwiller last night too. She is so amazing, and older than my grandma. She writes books and stories that I, even if I could manage to think up this stuff, would be too afraid to write.
Tonight the Guests of Honor will give their speeches. I love listening to Jane Yolen. She is the reason I came this year, and I have enjoyed all of her panels. She is so interesting and wise and truly intelligent. I can't wait to hear her speech.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Report #SI565
I tire of social ineptitude.
I went to a panel on "Dark Fantasy" yesterday that I was looking forward to very much. It was so painful I wanted to leave but I was trapped in a corner by several barge-sized women with bad hair. The moderator was one of those girls who always acts like she's putting on a show. She's one of those people who will talk at top volume while waiting in line in case someone around her thinks she's funny. I made a mental note never to buy her books. Most of rest of the panelists were barely published women who giggle about vampire erotica and ghost stories the rest of the time.
Why are three-quarters of the people here overweight? Why do I have to be part of their cliche?
I did go out to dinner with a group of first-timers and managed to make a few friends--including one girl who writes Fan Fic, something I have no interest in. It was still fun to hear about.
At last, I went to a really good panel. Probably because it was sort of a wise old woman panel, with Jane Yolen and Suzy Charnas, among others. This morning was an even better one, again with Jane Yolen and also Sharyn November, an editor I really respect, and who is incredibly funny.
I caught my first whiff of Weirdo B.O. yesterday, which is unusual. Most people must have showered for the Opening Ceremony, and are only now becoming rank. I dread tomorrow, where it's supposed to get up to 88 degrees.
After a near social anxiety attack at the parties, where even Spotted Cow on tap wasn't enough to coax me to approach random important editors, I went home and got in bed.
Ten minutes later, my cousin showed up with a bachelor's party. Give me strength. Luckily they didn't stay long, but he then proceeded to play music for the next hour. The walls in that apartment are nonexistent. I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep by halfway through it, but I still thought it might be rude to barge in there and turn it off. Oh well, beggers and choosers and all.
I went to a panel on "Dark Fantasy" yesterday that I was looking forward to very much. It was so painful I wanted to leave but I was trapped in a corner by several barge-sized women with bad hair. The moderator was one of those girls who always acts like she's putting on a show. She's one of those people who will talk at top volume while waiting in line in case someone around her thinks she's funny. I made a mental note never to buy her books. Most of rest of the panelists were barely published women who giggle about vampire erotica and ghost stories the rest of the time.
Why are three-quarters of the people here overweight? Why do I have to be part of their cliche?
I did go out to dinner with a group of first-timers and managed to make a few friends--including one girl who writes Fan Fic, something I have no interest in. It was still fun to hear about.
At last, I went to a really good panel. Probably because it was sort of a wise old woman panel, with Jane Yolen and Suzy Charnas, among others. This morning was an even better one, again with Jane Yolen and also Sharyn November, an editor I really respect, and who is incredibly funny.
I caught my first whiff of Weirdo B.O. yesterday, which is unusual. Most people must have showered for the Opening Ceremony, and are only now becoming rank. I dread tomorrow, where it's supposed to get up to 88 degrees.
After a near social anxiety attack at the parties, where even Spotted Cow on tap wasn't enough to coax me to approach random important editors, I went home and got in bed.
Ten minutes later, my cousin showed up with a bachelor's party. Give me strength. Luckily they didn't stay long, but he then proceeded to play music for the next hour. The walls in that apartment are nonexistent. I was pretty sure he had fallen asleep by halfway through it, but I still thought it might be rude to barge in there and turn it off. Oh well, beggers and choosers and all.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Dispatches from a SciFi Convention--Report #JH975J
My arrival was flawless, though filled with anxiety. I stood around in the hallway waiting for the lunch room to open. People immediately grouped into laughing circles, while a few of us stood against the wall. Eventually, I managed to introduce myself to another wallflower, a soft spoken woman who stuck close to me all during lunch. Only two weirdos spied at lunch: one woman with the fiercest mullet I've seen this side of the Mississippi and another guy who came with business cards with a short story printed on the back.
My writing workshop went well--great, actually. No weirdos there. I got some new ideas and new friends. Dinner was leftover meatloaf at my cousin's, which is conveniently located a block and a half from the con. He is conveniently gone most of the time too.
I volunteered to stuff packets, which was fun and chocolate-filled, but overwhelming. No matter how much I WANT to make new friends, after a certain point I can't talk anymore. Luckily someone told me I should go to the reading down the street rightnow and cash in on the cheese plate. I saw Kelly Link. Froze up when I thought about talking to her. I heard Jane Yolen read and liked her even better. Now I'm waiting to go to an evening party.
I have a few things going for me here: one, my age. There is definitely a younger crowd here, but I have mostly talked to older people. I think it makes me unintimidating to them. Two: my tattoo. Great conversation starter, especially in this audience. Three: my Strand sweatshirt. Covers the tattoo, but anyone who knows the Strand digs it.
My writing workshop went well--great, actually. No weirdos there. I got some new ideas and new friends. Dinner was leftover meatloaf at my cousin's, which is conveniently located a block and a half from the con. He is conveniently gone most of the time too.
I volunteered to stuff packets, which was fun and chocolate-filled, but overwhelming. No matter how much I WANT to make new friends, after a certain point I can't talk anymore. Luckily someone told me I should go to the reading down the street rightnow and cash in on the cheese plate. I saw Kelly Link. Froze up when I thought about talking to her. I heard Jane Yolen read and liked her even better. Now I'm waiting to go to an evening party.
I have a few things going for me here: one, my age. There is definitely a younger crowd here, but I have mostly talked to older people. I think it makes me unintimidating to them. Two: my tattoo. Great conversation starter, especially in this audience. Three: my Strand sweatshirt. Covers the tattoo, but anyone who knows the Strand digs it.
Friday, May 19, 2006
You know you're a loser when your Great-Aunt parties harder than you
It sounds weird, but I actually had a really good time going home for my grandpa's funeral. I was homesick. I got to spend Mother's Day with my mom and to see all kinds of relatives I haven't seen in years. One of my mom's cousins has four kids--two of which I've never even heard of, much less seen. My Uncle Marty flew in from Germany. Even though he drives us up the wall, it was nice to see him.
Sunday night, after the wake, we had a few family memebers over for pizza. We plowed into the pizza and beer, then sat around the kitchen talking. It was getting late, nearly 10:30, and I was thinking about going to put on my pajamas, when my great-aunt Sandy (my grandpa's little sister--she is, by general family consensus, our favorite relative) came over and put her hand on my head.
"How late is the casino open?"
So we called the casino, found out we had a few hours left, and I, my parents, my two great-aunts, their husbands, and a cousin or two piled into cars and drove over. I played nickel slots most of the night and came out two dollars ahead. My mom won thirty bucks at one point. Then for the last hour we were there, I sat next to my dad and played the poker machines. We both had a lot of fun and we're thinking of making this a family tradition.
The funeral the next morning was perfect. We thought hymns for my grandpa would be silly, so there wasn't going to be any music but a guy volunteered to sing and play guitar and it was beautiful. I read my blog entry and actually made people laugh (at a funeral!). Then I handed out lollies afterwards and I got a few requests for copies of what I read. I'm glad people liked it so much. The graveside service was short and then we all went to T-Bob's for fried chicken and beer. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to my Grandpa Hammer.
Sunday night, after the wake, we had a few family memebers over for pizza. We plowed into the pizza and beer, then sat around the kitchen talking. It was getting late, nearly 10:30, and I was thinking about going to put on my pajamas, when my great-aunt Sandy (my grandpa's little sister--she is, by general family consensus, our favorite relative) came over and put her hand on my head.
"How late is the casino open?"
So we called the casino, found out we had a few hours left, and I, my parents, my two great-aunts, their husbands, and a cousin or two piled into cars and drove over. I played nickel slots most of the night and came out two dollars ahead. My mom won thirty bucks at one point. Then for the last hour we were there, I sat next to my dad and played the poker machines. We both had a lot of fun and we're thinking of making this a family tradition.
The funeral the next morning was perfect. We thought hymns for my grandpa would be silly, so there wasn't going to be any music but a guy volunteered to sing and play guitar and it was beautiful. I read my blog entry and actually made people laugh (at a funeral!). Then I handed out lollies afterwards and I got a few requests for copies of what I read. I'm glad people liked it so much. The graveside service was short and then we all went to T-Bob's for fried chicken and beer. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to my Grandpa Hammer.
Monday, May 08, 2006
George Hammer, the Devil, and Pete Kevilus.
My Grandpa Hammer passed away this weekend. He had lung cancer, and was doing very badly for a while, so this was not unexpected. He smoked two packs of Camels a day for most of his life, so the lung cancer itself wasn't even unexpected. For the first few minutes after my mom told me the news I felt...nothing. Then I shed some tears and felt sad. Now I am left with a feeling that I never would have expected: confusion. I have no idea how to mourn my grandfather's death.
It's not like when my great-grandma died. It was just a few years ago, but I had only met her a half-dozen times in my life. "That's so sad." I spoke my sadness rather than felt any and continued on with my life.
Nor is this like when my maternal grandmother died. I was just thirteen. I cried hysterically, comforted my brother who was crying even more hysterically, and looking at my mom's and grandpa's faces, I thought "Nothing will ever be the same." Nothing ever was.
But with my grandpa's death, I have to think about what will be different. No one will show up to family functions an hour late, carrying either cheap alcohol or greasy food. I will get $20 less every Christmas. There will only be one grandpa sleeping in front of the TV instead of two. When people hear he has died, they ask me if we were close, and I don't know how to answer that. Close, as in confidantes, as in a wise grandfather who taught me valuable life lessons? No. But growing up he lived just two miles away from us. I saw him at least once a week. I guess I knew him pretty well and it turns out I actually really liked him.
But what about my mom? Was she "close" to him? I'd say yes, even if she seems to have had the same relationship with him as I did. For the last few months of his life, he lived with my parents. My mom shuttled him back and forth to doctor's appointments. She got him in and out of bed when he needed help. Before all this, she still spoke to him once or twice a week, still gossiped with my aunt about his antics. She remembered his birthday, asked him out to go shopping or to the movies, even when he drove her nuts.
I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the funeral. It's a lot of time, a lot of money, time off work, hassle. All for a grandpa I can't even decide whether or not I was "close" to. Then I saw that my mom might spend Mother's Day at her dad's funeral--with neither of her children there and I decided that I had to go. Because, after all, funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. They are so that those left behind can be comforted by how many people they still have around them. I want to be one of those people. I want to hug my mom and my dad and my uncle and my cousins and cry over that gruff old tavern-owner who gave me lollies and always let me turn up his jukebox when Roxette came on. I am going to miss him.
It's not like when my great-grandma died. It was just a few years ago, but I had only met her a half-dozen times in my life. "That's so sad." I spoke my sadness rather than felt any and continued on with my life.
Nor is this like when my maternal grandmother died. I was just thirteen. I cried hysterically, comforted my brother who was crying even more hysterically, and looking at my mom's and grandpa's faces, I thought "Nothing will ever be the same." Nothing ever was.
But with my grandpa's death, I have to think about what will be different. No one will show up to family functions an hour late, carrying either cheap alcohol or greasy food. I will get $20 less every Christmas. There will only be one grandpa sleeping in front of the TV instead of two. When people hear he has died, they ask me if we were close, and I don't know how to answer that. Close, as in confidantes, as in a wise grandfather who taught me valuable life lessons? No. But growing up he lived just two miles away from us. I saw him at least once a week. I guess I knew him pretty well and it turns out I actually really liked him.
But what about my mom? Was she "close" to him? I'd say yes, even if she seems to have had the same relationship with him as I did. For the last few months of his life, he lived with my parents. My mom shuttled him back and forth to doctor's appointments. She got him in and out of bed when he needed help. Before all this, she still spoke to him once or twice a week, still gossiped with my aunt about his antics. She remembered his birthday, asked him out to go shopping or to the movies, even when he drove her nuts.
I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the funeral. It's a lot of time, a lot of money, time off work, hassle. All for a grandpa I can't even decide whether or not I was "close" to. Then I saw that my mom might spend Mother's Day at her dad's funeral--with neither of her children there and I decided that I had to go. Because, after all, funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. They are so that those left behind can be comforted by how many people they still have around them. I want to be one of those people. I want to hug my mom and my dad and my uncle and my cousins and cry over that gruff old tavern-owner who gave me lollies and always let me turn up his jukebox when Roxette came on. I am going to miss him.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Sally Field is Crankier than you'd think at 6 a.m.
But she knit between interviews which was cute. So it's OK.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Back that thang up
So yesterday morning, I was on my way out the door to work. I leaned over to grab my keys from the table, and BAM! my back went out. People think your back going out is like a snap, like something is dislocating. In the movies, there is always a big cracking sound when someone's back goes out. But for me, I have a back spasm. Usually just one. Every single muscle in your back squeezes soooo tight, like a fist clenching, and then just let's go, completely. It's like when they let go, they have given up working. "Yep, we're tired of carrying you around all day, so we're gonna take some time off. Here are some incredibly painful nerve endings to replace us." At that point all I can do is grab my cell phone and my bottle of pills and slump to the floor.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.
This time I started crying, nearly hysterically. I could tell it was going to be bad. Last week I'd had a tiny spasm, which scared me, but didn't actually hurt me. That should have been my first clue.
So I lay on the floor, while Joe did what he could to help me. I got a few more spasms, which is very bad, and cried more, but mostly because I did NOT want to call out of work. The head of my department was not going to be there in the morning, I had gone home sick (very sick) just the week before, and I knew this was not a good day to call out.
However, due to my inability to even stand up, I had to. I then proceeded to take muscle relaxers until I passed out for a few hours. Sometimes when my back goes out, I lose entire days without meaning to.
Back at work today, I can't sit for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. My brain is foggy because I have to take more drugs to keep my back from spasming even more. And, what's worse, the one guy who actually was here yesterday morning didn't notice there was a satellite feed to do. My boss, who should step in at times like these, didn't notice either. Technically, it's his fault, but try telling him that. Now we're going to have to have another "meeting." Ugh.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Bloodthirsty Mousekiller STRIKES AGAIN!
So our landlord discovered we were illegally subletting our apartment and wanted to see Joe. Why do stressful things always seem to happen at night? He kept me up half the night worrying about it, insisting I start to look for a new apartment for us to move into, wondering if we should just leave for San Francisco. It turns out, the guy just wanted us to sign a subletting agreement and to raise our rent 10 percent. Phew! Not that I want to pay more, but it's better than moving.
A week or two later, of course, Joe discovers mouse poop in the kitchen. This apartment will be the death of me. Joe had his standard meltdown, I had mine, and then I managed to get him out of the house to give me time to kill it. Heh heh. In Brooklyn, I couldn't set snap-traps because of the dog, I couldn't put out poison, because of the dog. Well half the reason we had mice was because of that stupid dog. Bowls of dog food are like a China Buffet for mice. This time, I bought a bunch of snap-traps at the hardware store, baited them with stinky cheese, and left for work.
I got home from work 8 hours later (Joe was out for the night, thankfully). I went to the freezer, took out turkey burgers for dinner, and nearly plopped them right on top of a very, very dead mouse on our counter. Its head was collapsed by the trap. I jumped so hard I nearly dropped my burger. I'd forgotten I set the traps. Goodbye Fievel.
Tonight I will start blocking up any potential mouse-holes and will set out half a dozen traps over the weekend while we are at Joe's sister's house. When I am given free reign, no mouse can stand before me.
I should have been a War Queen. Why didn't that pop up on those aptitude tests I took in high school?
A week or two later, of course, Joe discovers mouse poop in the kitchen. This apartment will be the death of me. Joe had his standard meltdown, I had mine, and then I managed to get him out of the house to give me time to kill it. Heh heh. In Brooklyn, I couldn't set snap-traps because of the dog, I couldn't put out poison, because of the dog. Well half the reason we had mice was because of that stupid dog. Bowls of dog food are like a China Buffet for mice. This time, I bought a bunch of snap-traps at the hardware store, baited them with stinky cheese, and left for work.
I got home from work 8 hours later (Joe was out for the night, thankfully). I went to the freezer, took out turkey burgers for dinner, and nearly plopped them right on top of a very, very dead mouse on our counter. Its head was collapsed by the trap. I jumped so hard I nearly dropped my burger. I'd forgotten I set the traps. Goodbye Fievel.
Tonight I will start blocking up any potential mouse-holes and will set out half a dozen traps over the weekend while we are at Joe's sister's house. When I am given free reign, no mouse can stand before me.
I should have been a War Queen. Why didn't that pop up on those aptitude tests I took in high school?
Thursday, March 30, 2006
My Job is getting in the way of My Career
What's the best thing about having an office job? Access to a printer and copy machine. I say, if I have to be at work at 7 a.m., then I'm allowed to print a copy of my 112 page manuscript if I want to. I don't get paid overtime, after all. I just sent the first five chapters of my book out for the writing workshop I will be participating in at the SciFi Convention in May. I'm actually getting sick of having those beginning chapters critiqued. They are what they are. Someone needs to read the whole thing. I suppose I need to write it first.
This past weekend, Joe and I went to New Jersey to visit his mom and to go to his friend Jess's baby's baptism. Her baby Conner, is the CUTEST. CHILD. EVER. He's so happy all the time! Except, of course, the one time Joe held him. Then he cried. Hehe. He slept through the whole ceremony, while the other 4 babies being baptized screamed. When the water was dumped on his head he woke up, made a cranky face and fell asleep again.
We spent the rest of the weekend digging through Joe's old boxes in the attic. His mom is moving to Delaware this summer, so most of his stuff has to go. He has a fabulous collection of Star Wars figurines, Wolverine comic books, a box of cassette tapes, and 6 boxes of books. One of the tapes, though, was a recording of Joe at six years old talking to his dad, and it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. At one point his dad mentions the holocaust and Joe goes, "Who is Hitler anyways?"
"You'll learn about him in school," his dad answers.
"What if I can't find the right book?" A precocious child he was.
This past weekend, Joe and I went to New Jersey to visit his mom and to go to his friend Jess's baby's baptism. Her baby Conner, is the CUTEST. CHILD. EVER. He's so happy all the time! Except, of course, the one time Joe held him. Then he cried. Hehe. He slept through the whole ceremony, while the other 4 babies being baptized screamed. When the water was dumped on his head he woke up, made a cranky face and fell asleep again.
We spent the rest of the weekend digging through Joe's old boxes in the attic. His mom is moving to Delaware this summer, so most of his stuff has to go. He has a fabulous collection of Star Wars figurines, Wolverine comic books, a box of cassette tapes, and 6 boxes of books. One of the tapes, though, was a recording of Joe at six years old talking to his dad, and it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. At one point his dad mentions the holocaust and Joe goes, "Who is Hitler anyways?"
"You'll learn about him in school," his dad answers.
"What if I can't find the right book?" A precocious child he was.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I saw Fabio yesterday, but only in profile
Every Tuesday I tutor a Chinese girl named Jojo. She has a show on the Chinese language channel and was semi-famous in China. Here's her website. I admit I am a somewhat sloppy tutor, which I make up for with my incredible intelligence. I'll tell you how. I can count on Jojo to provide material to keep us busy for at least half of the hour-long lesson. Last week we went over her resume. This week, we sat down and the first thing she said was:
"Have you ever seen a movie called Good Luck Good Night? I don't understand it."
"Good Night and Good Luck? Which parts don't you understand?"
"All of them."
So we watched the first half hour together, with closed captioning on. The problem with closed captioning is that it's not the same as English subtitles. When we see English subtitles of a foreign movie, they are not usually literal. For example: He has a beef with us. It means nothing in the literal sense. How would you say the same in a Chinese phrase? Maybe: His puppies are out of control.
So the first thing I did was try to explain the McCarthy Era to her. "So, there was the Cold War, right? Which I think was with the Soviet Union. And then everyone started to think that everyone else was a communist. And there was this Senator McCarthy. He was from Wisconsin. You couldn't win he accused you, and you couldn't question his methods, or that made you a commie. It was a witch hunt."
"Witch Hunt?"
And on and on. My biggest problem was that I don't understand history very well myself. I never learned it in high school. Every year, we would begin at the beginning of that grade's history book. It usually started with Columbus, and we would work our way through history from there. But we never got to the Twentieth Century. I kid you not. I think once, when I was a sophomore, we made it to World War I by May, but that's it. So where did I learn the meager facts above? Film school. Hollywood is still angry about that blacklist, so every generation must learn and remember.
After the movie, we read outloud a bit, I corrected her grammar, and I went home, twenty dollars happier. Not a bad gig.
"Have you ever seen a movie called Good Luck Good Night? I don't understand it."
"Good Night and Good Luck? Which parts don't you understand?"
"All of them."
So we watched the first half hour together, with closed captioning on. The problem with closed captioning is that it's not the same as English subtitles. When we see English subtitles of a foreign movie, they are not usually literal. For example: He has a beef with us. It means nothing in the literal sense. How would you say the same in a Chinese phrase? Maybe: His puppies are out of control.
So the first thing I did was try to explain the McCarthy Era to her. "So, there was the Cold War, right? Which I think was with the Soviet Union. And then everyone started to think that everyone else was a communist. And there was this Senator McCarthy. He was from Wisconsin. You couldn't win he accused you, and you couldn't question his methods, or that made you a commie. It was a witch hunt."
"Witch Hunt?"
And on and on. My biggest problem was that I don't understand history very well myself. I never learned it in high school. Every year, we would begin at the beginning of that grade's history book. It usually started with Columbus, and we would work our way through history from there. But we never got to the Twentieth Century. I kid you not. I think once, when I was a sophomore, we made it to World War I by May, but that's it. So where did I learn the meager facts above? Film school. Hollywood is still angry about that blacklist, so every generation must learn and remember.
After the movie, we read outloud a bit, I corrected her grammar, and I went home, twenty dollars happier. Not a bad gig.
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