Christmas time in Wisconsin was fun. It usually is, though this year seemed to be especially whirlwindy. I got a fuzzy pink bathrobe, some new clothes and jewelery (including a Black Hills Gold bracelet my parents got on their trip to Rount Mushmore), Pirates of the Carribean 2, and a book called "What Should I Do With My Life?" by Po Bronson, among other things. I tried to flip to the end for the answer, but apparently it doesn't work that way.
From Joe I got a Battlestar Galactica Mug and a t-shirt that says "So Say We All." I'm the coolest nerd around, and I will wear my nerdery proudly.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Paperback Joy
I decided to go to Barnes & Noble during my lunch hour and get hot chocolate and sit in the cafe reading magazines. I deserved it. It was one of those days.
On my way through the store, I noticed one of those book donation centers, where they have a bunch of tags like "Boy, Age 9" or "Girl, Age 11" that you grab and buy a book for. There were quite a lot of tags left, considering there are only 5 days until Christmas. Hmm, (I thought, as I wandered by) I should maybe do that. I like giving kids books. Maybe on my way out. Maybe next year.
My Conscience: STOP. Turn around. Actually do it, instead of thinking you SHOULD maybe do something.
Me: But I'm broke! And I just spent a whole bunch of money on gifts!
MC: If you're broke, why did you spend so much money on gifts for people who already have a lot of stuff?
Me: uhhhhh
MC: You should do something nice for someone who might not have much.
Me: But I don't donate money. It's a policy of mine. I donate time.
MC: But it's the holidays.
Me: So?
MC: And if you skip that overpriced hot chocolate you were about to buy, that'll cover at least half a kids' book, won't it?
Me: ...you win again, conscience.
Which is my long-winded way of saying I bought "Aliens Ate My Homework" by Bruce Coville for an annonymous 9-year-old boy. I do so love spreading the gospel of Coville.
On my way through the store, I noticed one of those book donation centers, where they have a bunch of tags like "Boy, Age 9" or "Girl, Age 11" that you grab and buy a book for. There were quite a lot of tags left, considering there are only 5 days until Christmas. Hmm, (I thought, as I wandered by) I should maybe do that. I like giving kids books. Maybe on my way out. Maybe next year.
My Conscience: STOP. Turn around. Actually do it, instead of thinking you SHOULD maybe do something.
Me: But I'm broke! And I just spent a whole bunch of money on gifts!
MC: If you're broke, why did you spend so much money on gifts for people who already have a lot of stuff?
Me: uhhhhh
MC: You should do something nice for someone who might not have much.
Me: But I don't donate money. It's a policy of mine. I donate time.
MC: But it's the holidays.
Me: So?
MC: And if you skip that overpriced hot chocolate you were about to buy, that'll cover at least half a kids' book, won't it?
Me: ...you win again, conscience.
Which is my long-winded way of saying I bought "Aliens Ate My Homework" by Bruce Coville for an annonymous 9-year-old boy. I do so love spreading the gospel of Coville.
Hack, Cough, Die
The cold has now moved into my lungs. I am not looking foward to flying. However, due to the magic of modern medicine, I plan to be asleep before the plane even takes off.
Merry Christmas to me.
Merry Christmas to me.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Ode to Cold
Do you know what it's like to WANT to be cold? To wish you could stagger around in flurries of snow that fill every nook and cranny of your eskimo outfit?
First you start with boots so big and heavy that they make you walk like a 400 pound man. Inside there are a few extra pairs of socks you stole from your dad. On your legs are long underwear, heavy jeans, and snow pants that make that zipzip sound when you walk. These are what make falling over into the snow feel like tumbling into a cloud in snow motion. On top is your brightly colored ski jacket (because they only wear black in New York and white is just silly, for many reasons). A pair of gloves, then mittens on top of those, a thick hat down around your ears, your hood pulled up tight, and a long scarf wrapped around that, keeping it all in place.
After being outside for a while, your breath will make a sheet of ice form on the inside of your scarf. You rotate the scarf, forming a sheet on the other side as well. Eventually this ice will chafe and chap the entire lower portion of your face.
Your feet will get cold. They always get cold, no matter how many pairs of socks or how expensive your ice-fishing boots are. But you wiggle your toes and feel them rubbing against each other like blocks of wood and know they will be okay for a little while longer.
As you stagger across fields of untouched, unseen, unbroken snow, you have to lift each foot as high as you can to take the next step. If you have layered your clothes properly, no snow will get in your boots. Snow whips across the field, lifting and twisting, looking like white sheets flapping in the wind on a clothesline. And when you find somewhere to hunker down, in a hollow under a pine tree, or between two small hills, you'll feel colder, somehow, but safer than you ever have in your life.
I remember when we were little my brother and I used to crawl under the one tree on the bus stop corner. Trees, no matter how much snow there is, always have that tiny clear space just around their trunks. We would huddle together there to be out of the wind and then emerge in an explosion of snow like awakened bear cubs when the bus pulled up.
When I was a teenager, I would heat my car until I could strip off my jacket inside, and somehow this felt more dangerous than they way we would all expertly slide through stop signs.
It's wishing your lungs would burn until they hurt while sledding, the way your cheeks turn an impossible red, how your hands will never get warm once your gloves are wet, and the fact that the harder it snows and the darker it gets, the harder it gets to resist going outside into it.
That is what it's like to miss the cold.
First you start with boots so big and heavy that they make you walk like a 400 pound man. Inside there are a few extra pairs of socks you stole from your dad. On your legs are long underwear, heavy jeans, and snow pants that make that zipzip sound when you walk. These are what make falling over into the snow feel like tumbling into a cloud in snow motion. On top is your brightly colored ski jacket (because they only wear black in New York and white is just silly, for many reasons). A pair of gloves, then mittens on top of those, a thick hat down around your ears, your hood pulled up tight, and a long scarf wrapped around that, keeping it all in place.
After being outside for a while, your breath will make a sheet of ice form on the inside of your scarf. You rotate the scarf, forming a sheet on the other side as well. Eventually this ice will chafe and chap the entire lower portion of your face.
Your feet will get cold. They always get cold, no matter how many pairs of socks or how expensive your ice-fishing boots are. But you wiggle your toes and feel them rubbing against each other like blocks of wood and know they will be okay for a little while longer.
As you stagger across fields of untouched, unseen, unbroken snow, you have to lift each foot as high as you can to take the next step. If you have layered your clothes properly, no snow will get in your boots. Snow whips across the field, lifting and twisting, looking like white sheets flapping in the wind on a clothesline. And when you find somewhere to hunker down, in a hollow under a pine tree, or between two small hills, you'll feel colder, somehow, but safer than you ever have in your life.
I remember when we were little my brother and I used to crawl under the one tree on the bus stop corner. Trees, no matter how much snow there is, always have that tiny clear space just around their trunks. We would huddle together there to be out of the wind and then emerge in an explosion of snow like awakened bear cubs when the bus pulled up.
When I was a teenager, I would heat my car until I could strip off my jacket inside, and somehow this felt more dangerous than they way we would all expertly slide through stop signs.
It's wishing your lungs would burn until they hurt while sledding, the way your cheeks turn an impossible red, how your hands will never get warm once your gloves are wet, and the fact that the harder it snows and the darker it gets, the harder it gets to resist going outside into it.
That is what it's like to miss the cold.
Monday, December 18, 2006
The Spirits Did It All in One Night!
Yesterday, despite a very fast-moving cold that has taken residence in my head, I went to the Great Dickens Christmas Fair out at Cow Palace in San Francisco. I didn't expect it to be so involved! Not being dressed up, we were actually in the minority here. It's sort of like a renaissance festival, only for 19th century Victorian London. I was really very impressed and had a lot of fun.
The first thing we did was hit the bar (of course). You could get mead, festival ale, irish coffee, hot toddys and hot cider & rum (my favorite!). Everywhere there was music and noise and corset shops and urchins running around. There was a Christmas parade, a bawdy dance hall revue (not recommended for children!), and drunken chimney sweeps that would bounce off you, barely muttering "sorry." Occasionally you would run into Scrooge being lead around by the Ghost of Christmas Past. There was a man walking around with a live owl on his arm. We ate fish & chips for lunch, then roasted chestnuts afterwards, which are tons of fun to eat. We ended up at Fezziwig's dance hall, where you could learn traditional Victorian dances, and were then treated to a dance troupe's display of Scottish and Irish dances and music. Scrooge even showed up there.
By the time we stumbled out, we all felt a little displaced, dehydrated, and sorely in need of fresh air. Sort of what I imagine what I would feel like if I stumbled into the real London 150 years ago!
The first thing we did was hit the bar (of course). You could get mead, festival ale, irish coffee, hot toddys and hot cider & rum (my favorite!). Everywhere there was music and noise and corset shops and urchins running around. There was a Christmas parade, a bawdy dance hall revue (not recommended for children!), and drunken chimney sweeps that would bounce off you, barely muttering "sorry." Occasionally you would run into Scrooge being lead around by the Ghost of Christmas Past. There was a man walking around with a live owl on his arm. We ate fish & chips for lunch, then roasted chestnuts afterwards, which are tons of fun to eat. We ended up at Fezziwig's dance hall, where you could learn traditional Victorian dances, and were then treated to a dance troupe's display of Scottish and Irish dances and music. Scrooge even showed up there.
By the time we stumbled out, we all felt a little displaced, dehydrated, and sorely in need of fresh air. Sort of what I imagine what I would feel like if I stumbled into the real London 150 years ago!
Friday, December 15, 2006
A Giant Burrito for Breakfast
WisCon is the feminist science-fiction convention that takes place in Madison, WI every May. I went last year and one year during college and I always have a blast.
Last night was my office holiday party. Joe's was the night before. Joe's was much more swank, with fancy appetizers being carried around and hip DJ music. I really like the people Joe works with (I met them the week before at his coworker's housewarming party where we ate Indian food and played poker). However, computer programmers get to show up to work whenever they want, which means that at midnight they were still going strong and I was whining, "I can still get five and a half hours of sleep if we leave NOW."
At my party, which significant others were not invited to, I was rather nervous, not knowing that many people. So, even though I knew better, I had a drink before dinner. It hit me hard. Dinner is hazy, and I hardly remember having my third drink. I don't drink much anymore, so it hardly takes anything these days. I still had the sense, luckily, to give away my fourth drink ticket at that point. I don't even remember who I gave it to. I just shoved it at someone walking by. I actually had a LOT of fun though. I hung out with some new people, met a girl who also went to college at Madison and even danced a little.
However, 48 hours of no sleep and too much alcohol have left me wobbly, braindead and FAMISHED. Drinking always makes you hungry the next day. One of the guys showed up with a giant burrito for breakfast. Normally that would disgust me but this morning I was rather jealous. Mmmm...beans.
Last night was my office holiday party. Joe's was the night before. Joe's was much more swank, with fancy appetizers being carried around and hip DJ music. I really like the people Joe works with (I met them the week before at his coworker's housewarming party where we ate Indian food and played poker). However, computer programmers get to show up to work whenever they want, which means that at midnight they were still going strong and I was whining, "I can still get five and a half hours of sleep if we leave NOW."
At my party, which significant others were not invited to, I was rather nervous, not knowing that many people. So, even though I knew better, I had a drink before dinner. It hit me hard. Dinner is hazy, and I hardly remember having my third drink. I don't drink much anymore, so it hardly takes anything these days. I still had the sense, luckily, to give away my fourth drink ticket at that point. I don't even remember who I gave it to. I just shoved it at someone walking by. I actually had a LOT of fun though. I hung out with some new people, met a girl who also went to college at Madison and even danced a little.
However, 48 hours of no sleep and too much alcohol have left me wobbly, braindead and FAMISHED. Drinking always makes you hungry the next day. One of the guys showed up with a giant burrito for breakfast. Normally that would disgust me but this morning I was rather jealous. Mmmm...beans.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Christmas Present for Me!
I bought myself a Christmas present yesterday. Can you guess what it is? C'mon, guess.
You're right! It's a membership to Wiscon 2007, including a dessert salon ticket!
I've never actually signed up early enough to get dessert tickets before, so I'm especially excited. Of course, I don't actually have plane tickets yet. And I don't know what job I will have, where I will be living, where I'm going to sleep at Wiscon, or what my financial situation will be then, but dang it! I have dessert tickets!
I think I will make myself a goal now: Get something published (or accepted for publication) by the time Wiscon rolls around. It's a daunting task, but it will push me to send more stuff out. If it happens, I will be one of the beautiful people.
You're right! It's a membership to Wiscon 2007, including a dessert salon ticket!
I've never actually signed up early enough to get dessert tickets before, so I'm especially excited. Of course, I don't actually have plane tickets yet. And I don't know what job I will have, where I will be living, where I'm going to sleep at Wiscon, or what my financial situation will be then, but dang it! I have dessert tickets!
I think I will make myself a goal now: Get something published (or accepted for publication) by the time Wiscon rolls around. It's a daunting task, but it will push me to send more stuff out. If it happens, I will be one of the beautiful people.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Ooch, ouch, aahh
Sometimes a job I dislike motivates me to write. I think a part up my brain jumps up and reminds me that if I am successful in my writing career, I can get out of this rat race. At least partly.
But this particular job leaves me too mentally and physically exhausted to want to do much of anything. Mentally because all day long I focus on ridiculous little details until it drives out all creative thought. Physically because I SIT ALL DAY LONG.
You think that's not physically exhausting? Have you tried it before? Yes, I'm a writer. And I've had desk jobs. But they usually involve jumping up and down fairly often for meetings, filing, dubbing, whatever. But I don't move here. I drink water constantly just for the chance to get up and get it, and then the chance to get up and pee 20 minutes later. I spend my lunch hour walking around to work out the kinks in my body. By the time I get home my shoulders ache from un-ergonomic typing, my eyes are tired of staring at screens 12 inches away from my face, and my back is a painful rod of steel.
Thus the lack of desire to sit at another desk and type.
I think if I am really determined (which I usually am) I will figure out how to write during my lunch hour.
But this particular job leaves me too mentally and physically exhausted to want to do much of anything. Mentally because all day long I focus on ridiculous little details until it drives out all creative thought. Physically because I SIT ALL DAY LONG.
You think that's not physically exhausting? Have you tried it before? Yes, I'm a writer. And I've had desk jobs. But they usually involve jumping up and down fairly often for meetings, filing, dubbing, whatever. But I don't move here. I drink water constantly just for the chance to get up and get it, and then the chance to get up and pee 20 minutes later. I spend my lunch hour walking around to work out the kinks in my body. By the time I get home my shoulders ache from un-ergonomic typing, my eyes are tired of staring at screens 12 inches away from my face, and my back is a painful rod of steel.
Thus the lack of desire to sit at another desk and type.
I think if I am really determined (which I usually am) I will figure out how to write during my lunch hour.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Wisconsinites Are Scrappy
You gotta give 'em that. No one calls US second-rate cheeseheads!
Wisconsin Clings to Cheese Title
Wisconsin Clings to Cheese Title
Friday, December 08, 2006
The Saddest News
I think the saddest news I've ever heard is the story about the San Francisco programmer and his family who went up to Oregon. I don't know how much coverage it's getting outside of the west coast, but it's everywhere here. I've had to turn off the TV because it makes me cry and feel a little sick.
I think what makes me feel the most horrible about this is that I could see myself being there, doing all the same things. Usually news seems very distant to me and I feel bad for people, but it doesn't actually affect me. For example, there was a big story just before we left NYC about a young girl who went out to a night club and was raped and killed that night. It didn't scare me because she did so many things wrong that night. She had to call an ambulance for her friend, then left her because she was afraid of getting in trouble for drinking (never leave a man behind!). She got in a car with a bouncer she'd met that night because he said he would help her. I'm not trying to say she deserved it (obviously not) I'm saying that particular scenario would never happen to me because I would never do those things.
But the Kim family was going to stay at a lodge on the Oregon. Something I would love to do. They made a wrong turn. Something anyone could do. Their cell phones, which we all rely on so much, wouldn't work out there. The police say they did everything right. And still James Kim died, trying to save his family.
I think what makes me feel the most horrible about this is that I could see myself being there, doing all the same things. Usually news seems very distant to me and I feel bad for people, but it doesn't actually affect me. For example, there was a big story just before we left NYC about a young girl who went out to a night club and was raped and killed that night. It didn't scare me because she did so many things wrong that night. She had to call an ambulance for her friend, then left her because she was afraid of getting in trouble for drinking (never leave a man behind!). She got in a car with a bouncer she'd met that night because he said he would help her. I'm not trying to say she deserved it (obviously not) I'm saying that particular scenario would never happen to me because I would never do those things.
But the Kim family was going to stay at a lodge on the Oregon. Something I would love to do. They made a wrong turn. Something anyone could do. Their cell phones, which we all rely on so much, wouldn't work out there. The police say they did everything right. And still James Kim died, trying to save his family.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
That Warm Holiday Spirit
Yesterday my boss sent around an email saying that everyone has to work overtime either over the Thanksgiving weekend OR Christmas weekend. But on Monday, the day I started, I had sent him an email telling him, sorry, I already bought tickets for both holidays and will be gone for many extra days each time.
I'm getting away with this AGAIN! Mmwha haha!
So maybe I'm kind of screwing everyone else over, but then again not everyone has the manic need that Joe and I do about going home for certain holidays. Anyways, they get paid overtime.
I'm getting away with this AGAIN! Mmwha haha!
So maybe I'm kind of screwing everyone else over, but then again not everyone has the manic need that Joe and I do about going home for certain holidays. Anyways, they get paid overtime.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Happy and Unhappy Rejections of All Kinds
For DAYS now I have not been able to log into Blogger. Sorry all. I don't know if it is a fluke in Blogger or my computer--which, I must say, is looking worse for the wear. In addition to funky grinding noises, it turns out my keyboard files are corrupted so I can no longer disconnect the external keyboard and use the laptop keyboard, which sort of defeats the purpose of having a laptop.
Luckily, I live with a computer programmer. Soon I'll get him to fix it.
Anyways, what I've been itching to put up is an email I received last week:
Jasmine,
My name is John O'Neill, editor of Black Gate magazine. Last month Black Gate's managing editor, Howard Andrew Jones, forwarded a copy of your story "Her Own Accord" to me, part of a very small handful passed along for serious consideration for publication.
First I'd like to thank you for your exceptional patience with us. Please accept my apologies for holding your story so long as we clear away our substantial submissions backlog. It really is inexcusable.
I was very impressed with your story, which I found very well written. But it's too bleak for Black Gate, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll have to return it, with genuine regrets.
We've worked hard this fall to improve our response times, and I hope you'll try us again.
Warm regards,
- John
Now, before you ask what's so great about being rejected by a respected, well-paying magazine, let me refer you to the first line of the email. He's the EDITOR. Only 1 or 2% of all stories (I made that number up) ever make it through the slushpile to the editor, and it sounds like I just barely missed it. It is a rather depressing story, so I can hardly blame them. So I thanked him and fired off a less bleak story back at them, then found a "dark" magazine to send this one to again.
My Big Interview I had last week I thought went really well. I loved the company, and I wasn't nervous at all. I bought a brand-new suit jacket to wear and even had it tailored.
Two days later they called me up and said, nope, I didn't get it. In fact, they were so kind as to inform me that I came in sixth out of six applicants. What was the point of that? Kicking me while I'm down. Apparently the guy (it's always a guy!) they did hire was a DP (i.e. camera guy) with "years" of experience in the Bay Area. How can I compete with that? I don't have years of experience in anything.
So that afternoon I called Multivision and I start there Monday. It will be nice to have a paycheck again. It was time to suck it up, and it will be interesting to explore Oakland, anyways, though I'm not excited to spend $5.50 a day on public transportation.
We finally bought our Christmas Plane Tickets to Green Bay! (Mom, I tried to email the itinerary to you, but your inbox is FULL. What's up with that?) Joe and I looked for hours Wednesday night and couldn't find anything under $650. That's right. So I said we'd have to just wait and see if they added more flights or figure out something else. I had nightmares about it that night! The next day an affordable flight popped up and I bought it on the spot. Luke, Joe and I will be in Wisconsin for almost a week.
Luckily, I live with a computer programmer. Soon I'll get him to fix it.
Anyways, what I've been itching to put up is an email I received last week:
Jasmine,
My name is John O'Neill, editor of Black Gate magazine. Last month Black Gate's managing editor, Howard Andrew Jones, forwarded a copy of your story "Her Own Accord" to me, part of a very small handful passed along for serious consideration for publication.
First I'd like to thank you for your exceptional patience with us. Please accept my apologies for holding your story so long as we clear away our substantial submissions backlog. It really is inexcusable.
I was very impressed with your story, which I found very well written. But it's too bleak for Black Gate, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll have to return it, with genuine regrets.
We've worked hard this fall to improve our response times, and I hope you'll try us again.
Warm regards,
- John
Now, before you ask what's so great about being rejected by a respected, well-paying magazine, let me refer you to the first line of the email. He's the EDITOR. Only 1 or 2% of all stories (I made that number up) ever make it through the slushpile to the editor, and it sounds like I just barely missed it. It is a rather depressing story, so I can hardly blame them. So I thanked him and fired off a less bleak story back at them, then found a "dark" magazine to send this one to again.
My Big Interview I had last week I thought went really well. I loved the company, and I wasn't nervous at all. I bought a brand-new suit jacket to wear and even had it tailored.
Two days later they called me up and said, nope, I didn't get it. In fact, they were so kind as to inform me that I came in sixth out of six applicants. What was the point of that? Kicking me while I'm down. Apparently the guy (it's always a guy!) they did hire was a DP (i.e. camera guy) with "years" of experience in the Bay Area. How can I compete with that? I don't have years of experience in anything.
So that afternoon I called Multivision and I start there Monday. It will be nice to have a paycheck again. It was time to suck it up, and it will be interesting to explore Oakland, anyways, though I'm not excited to spend $5.50 a day on public transportation.
We finally bought our Christmas Plane Tickets to Green Bay! (Mom, I tried to email the itinerary to you, but your inbox is FULL. What's up with that?) Joe and I looked for hours Wednesday night and couldn't find anything under $650. That's right. So I said we'd have to just wait and see if they added more flights or figure out something else. I had nightmares about it that night! The next day an affordable flight popped up and I bought it on the spot. Luke, Joe and I will be in Wisconsin for almost a week.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Le Sigh
I've been emailing this HR guy about a job the past few days, and I really really want it now. It seems perfect, both corporate and production work. I'm pulling out all the stops when I email him, trying to make myself look like the best candidate without actually lying. This job seems like it might be a little bit over my head, but that's GOOD. I would like a job that I can grow INTO for once, instead of OUT of within a few months. Is it any wonder I keep job-hopping?
Plus, I can't keep doing this. It's not just the running out of money, it's the fact that applying for jobs constantly (and being roundly rejected and ignored by them) is draining on your brain. I can't focus. I make mistakes. I apply for dog-grooming jobs (better than people-grooming, I guess. Ick.). I LIKE working. I want to be doing something. Even semi-boring jobs usually have something to teach me.
Please let this be the one!
Plus, I can't keep doing this. It's not just the running out of money, it's the fact that applying for jobs constantly (and being roundly rejected and ignored by them) is draining on your brain. I can't focus. I make mistakes. I apply for dog-grooming jobs (better than people-grooming, I guess. Ick.). I LIKE working. I want to be doing something. Even semi-boring jobs usually have something to teach me.
Please let this be the one!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Big Libraries Make Me Giddy
I am absolultely TEARING through books. I normally read fast, and often read three books at a time, but this is unprecedented. I would say that I haven't read this much since I was a teenager, except when I was a teenager I didn't have access to such a large public library.
Maybe that summer I spent in Duluth. I only worked part-time, had exactly one friend, and their public library was ENORMOUS, and only a bike ride away. Here it is only a few blocks away.
When I was between the ages of about 7-17, my parents and teachers had difficulty keeping up with me. I had already toasted the school library (the "Public Library" consisted of a few shelves within the school library) and we didn't have a ton of money to keep buying books.
Still, remember those book clubs in grade school? The teacher would hand out a little two page catalog, and you'd come back the next week and put in your order, then the next month the books would arrive at school and the teacher would hand it out. My class would always get two small boxes: one for me, and one for the rest of the kids. Seriously. I have a very distinct memory of a teacher passing out books to everyone else, then looking at the second box and just putting it on my desk without opening it because I was the only one left who hadn't gotten her books. I'm sure there was some eye-rolling among the other kids. I'm also pretty sure my mom always bought at least a few of the back page clearance books, no matter how tight money was, just to put words in my hands. I've always been grateful for that.
I'll always be grateful, too, to my maternal grandmother for handing me "Carrie" when I was just nine years old. She helped alleviate this dearth of books, plus helped to develop my twisted imagination early on.
Maybe that summer I spent in Duluth. I only worked part-time, had exactly one friend, and their public library was ENORMOUS, and only a bike ride away. Here it is only a few blocks away.
When I was between the ages of about 7-17, my parents and teachers had difficulty keeping up with me. I had already toasted the school library (the "Public Library" consisted of a few shelves within the school library) and we didn't have a ton of money to keep buying books.
Still, remember those book clubs in grade school? The teacher would hand out a little two page catalog, and you'd come back the next week and put in your order, then the next month the books would arrive at school and the teacher would hand it out. My class would always get two small boxes: one for me, and one for the rest of the kids. Seriously. I have a very distinct memory of a teacher passing out books to everyone else, then looking at the second box and just putting it on my desk without opening it because I was the only one left who hadn't gotten her books. I'm sure there was some eye-rolling among the other kids. I'm also pretty sure my mom always bought at least a few of the back page clearance books, no matter how tight money was, just to put words in my hands. I've always been grateful for that.
I'll always be grateful, too, to my maternal grandmother for handing me "Carrie" when I was just nine years old. She helped alleviate this dearth of books, plus helped to develop my twisted imagination early on.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Weekend Alone
Weekends alone can be nice, though I usually appreciate them more when I don't spend all my DAYS alone as well. Still, I did lots of cool things, most notably attending the LitQuake LitCrawl Saturday night. They set it up like a pub crawl, by making a whole bunch of readings take place within a few blocks of each other in the Mission over the course of a night.
Next year I hope they add more readings and more time slots, since every reading was WAY crowded. I magically got a good seat at every one, though.
The best was Pat Murphy's essay she read at the Borderlands scifi reading. It was all about becoming the Marketing Director for The Crucible. The best part was that I had been looking over the fall class schedule for The Crucible, mooning over a jewelery making class in December that I can't afford to take. If I don't get a job soon, maybe I'll just ask someone to buy me an early Christmas present! (such as people who go to Las Vegas to lose money...)
Joe is in Vegas, and last time I spoke with him, he was desparately trying to drag Alex away from the tables to go eat sushi. He said they can't afford to lose any more money! (As though they can afford to lose any? As long as they're having fun...)
Friday night Megan (who just moved here from Wisconsin!) and I saw the "live billboard performance" in the Mission. Basically interpretive dancers strung from ropes and harnesses, dancing on a billboard thirty feet in the air, expressing how horribly women are still portrayed in the media.
Then Sunday I went to the Japanese Tea Garden with Christy and her friends from out of town. It's just what I expected, tea near a waterfall and gardens. Ahh...
Next year I hope they add more readings and more time slots, since every reading was WAY crowded. I magically got a good seat at every one, though.
The best was Pat Murphy's essay she read at the Borderlands scifi reading. It was all about becoming the Marketing Director for The Crucible. The best part was that I had been looking over the fall class schedule for The Crucible, mooning over a jewelery making class in December that I can't afford to take. If I don't get a job soon, maybe I'll just ask someone to buy me an early Christmas present! (such as people who go to Las Vegas to lose money...)
Joe is in Vegas, and last time I spoke with him, he was desparately trying to drag Alex away from the tables to go eat sushi. He said they can't afford to lose any more money! (As though they can afford to lose any? As long as they're having fun...)
Friday night Megan (who just moved here from Wisconsin!) and I saw the "live billboard performance" in the Mission. Basically interpretive dancers strung from ropes and harnesses, dancing on a billboard thirty feet in the air, expressing how horribly women are still portrayed in the media.
Then Sunday I went to the Japanese Tea Garden with Christy and her friends from out of town. It's just what I expected, tea near a waterfall and gardens. Ahh...
Friday, October 13, 2006
Happy Anniversary Part 2
After packing up our new coffeetable, we headed to our next vineyard, called "Ridge". It is literally at the top of a mountain. We made our way slowly up the winding road, feeling a bit hungry (I actually felt a bit whoopsy from the sharp corners) but excited by the views. In places, the road was only wide enough for one car.
The Ridge tasting room was more formal than the other one, but they had a couple of good wines. In fact, Joe and I bought our very first "age-able" wine there. It is a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It will be "ripe" for drinking in 2011. It would taste good now, but will taste amazing then. Since we don't have anything resembling a wine cellar, this is somewhat of an experiment. We're hoping that San Francisco weather is cool and humid enough on its own to keep the wine from going bad. Guess we'll see in 5 years!
Ridge is a great place to have a picnic, except for the hornets swarming everywhere. I'm not usually afraid of bugs, but there is something about big hornets that make me jump up and run for the hills.
We headed back down the mountain to our hotel in Los Gatos. Los Gatos is an adorable little town, and our hotel room was really nice, with our own little balcony (facing the parking lot, but still). We had some snacks in the bar, then went out to explore the area a little bit. It is full of cute shops and restaurants. The window of an art gallery caught our eye as well. They had a display of Markus Pierson originals, and I swear if I had an extra $5000, I would buy this one.
We went back to the hotel to read on the balcony and then get ready for dinner. Joe had tried to get reservations at Manressa, the fanciest, only-two-Michelin-starred restaurant in town, but it proved to be difficult. Instead we went to Cafe Marcella, supposedly the best Italian food in Los Gatos.
It turned out to be some of the tastiest food I've ever had. Honestly, at least for the price. I got crab risotto and Joe had asparagus soup for an appetizer. Then, when our entrees were taking a long time to come out of the very busy kitchen, the waiter felt bad and turned our "glasses of wine" into "bottomless glasses of wine." Even at the end of our meal, after dessert, he came by and filled them up. Our entrees were delicious, fish in an amazing tomato-basil-butter sauce and duck confit. For dessert I got a raspberry tart and Joe got warm bread pudding, both of which were really above and beyond. Our waiter, though he got sweatier and more crazed as the night went on, was really cool.
The next morning we had a tasty but small and simple breakfast at the popular local breakfast joint. At 9 am on a Sunday, Los Gatos is FILLED with people. It's insane. Everyone gets up to go jogging, and then goes to breakfast or to the farmer's market, all of which we did. Well, except the jogging, of course.
Then we had some tough decisions to make. Go to more vineyards, or head back into San Fran to see the Blue Angels air show? We decided on the show, and boy was it worth it. We sat on a hillside in Fort Mason, facing the water right about where the Blue Angels do their death-defying, 100-mile-an-hour near-misses of each other. It was very cool and they're so LOUD! Very exciting.
To finish off our weekend, we HAULED BUTT down to Golden Gate Park to catch the very last performance of the Bluegrass Festival (which we originally didn't know about, or we might have stayed in town for it. Oh well, next year...) which was EmmyLou Harris. We were way at the back, but the whole place was so relaxed and happy, and we both love her music. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful weekend, for a wonderful two years.
The Ridge tasting room was more formal than the other one, but they had a couple of good wines. In fact, Joe and I bought our very first "age-able" wine there. It is a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It will be "ripe" for drinking in 2011. It would taste good now, but will taste amazing then. Since we don't have anything resembling a wine cellar, this is somewhat of an experiment. We're hoping that San Francisco weather is cool and humid enough on its own to keep the wine from going bad. Guess we'll see in 5 years!
Ridge is a great place to have a picnic, except for the hornets swarming everywhere. I'm not usually afraid of bugs, but there is something about big hornets that make me jump up and run for the hills.
We headed back down the mountain to our hotel in Los Gatos. Los Gatos is an adorable little town, and our hotel room was really nice, with our own little balcony (facing the parking lot, but still). We had some snacks in the bar, then went out to explore the area a little bit. It is full of cute shops and restaurants. The window of an art gallery caught our eye as well. They had a display of Markus Pierson originals, and I swear if I had an extra $5000, I would buy this one.
We went back to the hotel to read on the balcony and then get ready for dinner. Joe had tried to get reservations at Manressa, the fanciest, only-two-Michelin-starred restaurant in town, but it proved to be difficult. Instead we went to Cafe Marcella, supposedly the best Italian food in Los Gatos.
It turned out to be some of the tastiest food I've ever had. Honestly, at least for the price. I got crab risotto and Joe had asparagus soup for an appetizer. Then, when our entrees were taking a long time to come out of the very busy kitchen, the waiter felt bad and turned our "glasses of wine" into "bottomless glasses of wine." Even at the end of our meal, after dessert, he came by and filled them up. Our entrees were delicious, fish in an amazing tomato-basil-butter sauce and duck confit. For dessert I got a raspberry tart and Joe got warm bread pudding, both of which were really above and beyond. Our waiter, though he got sweatier and more crazed as the night went on, was really cool.
The next morning we had a tasty but small and simple breakfast at the popular local breakfast joint. At 9 am on a Sunday, Los Gatos is FILLED with people. It's insane. Everyone gets up to go jogging, and then goes to breakfast or to the farmer's market, all of which we did. Well, except the jogging, of course.
Then we had some tough decisions to make. Go to more vineyards, or head back into San Fran to see the Blue Angels air show? We decided on the show, and boy was it worth it. We sat on a hillside in Fort Mason, facing the water right about where the Blue Angels do their death-defying, 100-mile-an-hour near-misses of each other. It was very cool and they're so LOUD! Very exciting.
To finish off our weekend, we HAULED BUTT down to Golden Gate Park to catch the very last performance of the Bluegrass Festival (which we originally didn't know about, or we might have stayed in town for it. Oh well, next year...) which was EmmyLou Harris. We were way at the back, but the whole place was so relaxed and happy, and we both love her music. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful weekend, for a wonderful two years.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Happy Anniversary to Us
Last week was my and Joe's 2nd Anniversary and we celebrated by getting the heck out of the city! Joe planned it all, only revealing hints about what we were going to do. I suspected we would leave SF, and I also suspected we would go to wine country, but that's all.
Friday night we stayed in SF. We went to dinner at Ana Mandara's, a beautiful Vietnemese restaurant right on the water near Fisherman's Wharf. The inside looks like a lush movie set, and the food was delicious. Joe gave me my present, which was the first season of Battlestar Galactica (score!) on DVD.
We tasted some wine at a little shop in Ghiradelli Square to kill some time, then sat on the stone steps leading out to the water, waiting for Fleet Week fireworks. It was a beautiful night out, and Joe gave me a second present, which was a box of chocolate truffles. My favorite, I wonder how he knew?
Unfortunately the fireworks were on the east bay, not the north where we were, and because of the cloud cover we couldn't see them at all. We started to walk towards them, but on the way found a cool bar where an Irish band was playing, so we decided to abandon fireworks for that.
The next morning we got up bright and early, packed overnight bags, and went to breakfast at Sears Fine Foods in Union Square. They're famous for their 18 tiny Swedish pancakes dish, which I got, along with lots of coffee.
The next suprise was...our Avis rental car! We picked it up, Joe handed me directions, and off we went! Turns out we were headed for the Santa Cruz Mountain wine region (Napa being swamped at this time of year). It's about 45 minutes away, not counting the time we spent lost among the steep and twisting back country roads.
The first vineyard/winery we went to was Cooper-Garrod Vineyards in Saratoga. The owner himself gave us an hour long tour that was very good. He taught us things about the area, and the history of that particular vineyard. We got a free tasting of their wines, though I didn't love most of them. We did buy an interesting 2000 Claret, though. They also run a horse stable and we watched some of the students practice doing tricks on horseback, which was pretty neat (though scary, since most of them appeared to be eight-year-old girls on the brink of falling off and being crushed).
On the way to the next vineyard, we passed an estate sale. Since we actually had a car and we saw some furniture for sale, we decided to stop. It was more of a rummage sale coop, really, but we found a neat old coal bucket and a coffee table. The coffee table is extra long, and a little beat up, but it was only $15 and we managed to fit it in the car by laying the seats down. The wood inlay along the sides is beautiful. The center of it is what I at first took to be plastic. I thought it was like those plastic countertops that are made to look like marble. Nope. It's marble. Unless they make fake marble so heavy even Joe can't lift it on his own. Luckily the center piece comes out so we could carry it together.
To be continued...
Friday night we stayed in SF. We went to dinner at Ana Mandara's, a beautiful Vietnemese restaurant right on the water near Fisherman's Wharf. The inside looks like a lush movie set, and the food was delicious. Joe gave me my present, which was the first season of Battlestar Galactica (score!) on DVD.
We tasted some wine at a little shop in Ghiradelli Square to kill some time, then sat on the stone steps leading out to the water, waiting for Fleet Week fireworks. It was a beautiful night out, and Joe gave me a second present, which was a box of chocolate truffles. My favorite, I wonder how he knew?
Unfortunately the fireworks were on the east bay, not the north where we were, and because of the cloud cover we couldn't see them at all. We started to walk towards them, but on the way found a cool bar where an Irish band was playing, so we decided to abandon fireworks for that.
The next morning we got up bright and early, packed overnight bags, and went to breakfast at Sears Fine Foods in Union Square. They're famous for their 18 tiny Swedish pancakes dish, which I got, along with lots of coffee.
The next suprise was...our Avis rental car! We picked it up, Joe handed me directions, and off we went! Turns out we were headed for the Santa Cruz Mountain wine region (Napa being swamped at this time of year). It's about 45 minutes away, not counting the time we spent lost among the steep and twisting back country roads.
The first vineyard/winery we went to was Cooper-Garrod Vineyards in Saratoga. The owner himself gave us an hour long tour that was very good. He taught us things about the area, and the history of that particular vineyard. We got a free tasting of their wines, though I didn't love most of them. We did buy an interesting 2000 Claret, though. They also run a horse stable and we watched some of the students practice doing tricks on horseback, which was pretty neat (though scary, since most of them appeared to be eight-year-old girls on the brink of falling off and being crushed).
On the way to the next vineyard, we passed an estate sale. Since we actually had a car and we saw some furniture for sale, we decided to stop. It was more of a rummage sale coop, really, but we found a neat old coal bucket and a coffee table. The coffee table is extra long, and a little beat up, but it was only $15 and we managed to fit it in the car by laying the seats down. The wood inlay along the sides is beautiful. The center of it is what I at first took to be plastic. I thought it was like those plastic countertops that are made to look like marble. Nope. It's marble. Unless they make fake marble so heavy even Joe can't lift it on his own. Luckily the center piece comes out so we could carry it together.
To be continued...
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Fleet Week is Here!
Fighter Jets have started roaring over our house constantly, so low that sometimes I can read the lettering on their sides from my bedroom window.
Fisherman's Wharf is in chaos. It will take my brother two hours to get to work in that mess, but he'll probably make buckets of money because of it!
Fisherman's Wharf is in chaos. It will take my brother two hours to get to work in that mess, but he'll probably make buckets of money because of it!
An Evening with Mr. Gaiman
Last night I hopped the BART on up to Berkley to see Neil Gaiman read. He was absolutely delightful, not to mention hilarious.
As I stood in line outside the theater, I tried to remember why I like Neil Gaiman so much. Partly, yes, it's because everyone else likes him. He's become a sci-fi cultural icon. He got famous for Sandman, which I haven't read enough of to be able to call myself a fan, and then solidified it with American Gods, which I honestly didn't even like all that much. Of course, his writing for TV is brilliant. But what I remember the most is when I finished Wolves in the Walls. I was gasping. I've never read a children's book (at least, not as an adult) that delighted me so much. I loved Coraline too.
The reading was held in a theater, and you had to buy a ticket to get in, though it got you 20% off an already-signed book. Neil explained later that last time he read in Berkley, he was still there at 2 a.m., signing, so they decided to try it this way.
His stories were amazing, and his voice rolls through them in such a way that you have to pay attention. Afterwards, I heard groups of people standing around gushing about his voice. The owner of Comic Relief, who held an after party, said that every time he reads a Gaiman story, he hears Neil's voice inside his head. I think it's also because his stories lend themselves to being read outloud. They are bedtime stories, even the scary ones.
The funniest part of the night, though, was the Q & A. Audience members wrote questions on index cards ahead of time, and then he had intended to go through and pick out the ones he wanted to answer. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do this, so he just chose from the top and read outloud, answering each question seriously.
My favorite:
"Dear Mr. Gaiman, Number one, you are swell." Neil looks up, smiles and says, "Gee thanks. Number two, if you could chose how you die, what would it be?"
I believe his answer was, "the heat of the universe." Don't quote me on that though. The accent throws me off sometimes.
I went to Comic Relief afterwards for wine and cheese and of course ended up buying a comic book (as though I have money to burn.) But there is a dog, a cat and a bunny on the cover. IN SPACESUITS!!!
As I stood in line outside the theater, I tried to remember why I like Neil Gaiman so much. Partly, yes, it's because everyone else likes him. He's become a sci-fi cultural icon. He got famous for Sandman, which I haven't read enough of to be able to call myself a fan, and then solidified it with American Gods, which I honestly didn't even like all that much. Of course, his writing for TV is brilliant. But what I remember the most is when I finished Wolves in the Walls. I was gasping. I've never read a children's book (at least, not as an adult) that delighted me so much. I loved Coraline too.
The reading was held in a theater, and you had to buy a ticket to get in, though it got you 20% off an already-signed book. Neil explained later that last time he read in Berkley, he was still there at 2 a.m., signing, so they decided to try it this way.
His stories were amazing, and his voice rolls through them in such a way that you have to pay attention. Afterwards, I heard groups of people standing around gushing about his voice. The owner of Comic Relief, who held an after party, said that every time he reads a Gaiman story, he hears Neil's voice inside his head. I think it's also because his stories lend themselves to being read outloud. They are bedtime stories, even the scary ones.
The funniest part of the night, though, was the Q & A. Audience members wrote questions on index cards ahead of time, and then he had intended to go through and pick out the ones he wanted to answer. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do this, so he just chose from the top and read outloud, answering each question seriously.
My favorite:
"Dear Mr. Gaiman, Number one, you are swell." Neil looks up, smiles and says, "Gee thanks. Number two, if you could chose how you die, what would it be?"
I believe his answer was, "the heat of the universe." Don't quote me on that though. The accent throws me off sometimes.
I went to Comic Relief afterwards for wine and cheese and of course ended up buying a comic book (as though I have money to burn.) But there is a dog, a cat and a bunny on the cover. IN SPACESUITS!!!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
BSG 3
I like TV. I like most things on TV, just because they're on TV.
I like Science Fiction and Fantasy. I will read/watch almost anthing involving SF & F just because I'll always like it.
Almost everyone has "their shows." Shows they will not answer the phone during and shows that you always eat dinner in front of if the two coincide. Shows that you call up your best friend to tape if you're out of town. I've had quite a few of those. The X-Files, Gilmore Girls, Seaquest (back in the day) and I'm sure plenty more.
I've never really understood people who get obsessed with certain shows though. I mean, they're just TV, folks, and not usually that great of TV either. "Trekkies" are the classic example. Even with my love of sci fi, I didn't get it. Why would you want to dress up like these people, collect postage stamps with the characters faces on it, or fly across the country to attend a convention with other people who also obviously have too little of a life and too much money? They write academic papers about Star Trek, or Xena, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. People write fanfic, which seems silly to me because that's time I could spend writing my "real" fiction. And to me, it always seemed like people just decided they wanted to associate themselves with something for comfort, or to feel unique or accepted, or to have something to put on a knick-knack shelf in your house.
Until, that is, I found Battlestar Galactica.
I wake up in the morning and want to breathe and eat Battlestar Galactica (or BSG, as it's known) all day long. I've never actually thought about a TV show between episode before, but I can't get it out of my head. When we were watching Seasons 1 and 2, Joe and I would watch 2 or 3 episodes a night, staying up until 2 a.m. sometimes. I dream I'm on the Galactica. I lie awake in bed, seething over Admiral Cain's injustices. I make up for myself what happens between episodes, or with minor characters. I'm considering writing fanfic.
The second season was split up into two parts: Season 2 and season 2.5. Joe and I weren't caught up enough to watch 2.5 on TV, so we waited breathlessly for the September 19th release of the DVD. We've finished them all already.
And at the end of the final episode of 2.5, I actually jumped up and screamed "YES! STARBUCK IS BACK!" I knew she was gonna say that!!!
Which is nothing compared to the ending of the cliffhanger between season 2 and 2.5. I think I cried, or just curled into a ball, whimpering "nonononono." Someone had to die in that one. Maybe that's why this latest cliffhanger is easier to take. I can't even imagine what's going to happen or why the Cylons are back. Or maybe it's because I know I'll have my answer when Season 3 starts on Oct. 6th. Yeah baby! We're caught up!
I wonder if I can rig myself a Colonial Fleet uniform in time for Halloween?
I like Science Fiction and Fantasy. I will read/watch almost anthing involving SF & F just because I'll always like it.
Almost everyone has "their shows." Shows they will not answer the phone during and shows that you always eat dinner in front of if the two coincide. Shows that you call up your best friend to tape if you're out of town. I've had quite a few of those. The X-Files, Gilmore Girls, Seaquest (back in the day) and I'm sure plenty more.
I've never really understood people who get obsessed with certain shows though. I mean, they're just TV, folks, and not usually that great of TV either. "Trekkies" are the classic example. Even with my love of sci fi, I didn't get it. Why would you want to dress up like these people, collect postage stamps with the characters faces on it, or fly across the country to attend a convention with other people who also obviously have too little of a life and too much money? They write academic papers about Star Trek, or Xena, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. People write fanfic, which seems silly to me because that's time I could spend writing my "real" fiction. And to me, it always seemed like people just decided they wanted to associate themselves with something for comfort, or to feel unique or accepted, or to have something to put on a knick-knack shelf in your house.
Until, that is, I found Battlestar Galactica.
I wake up in the morning and want to breathe and eat Battlestar Galactica (or BSG, as it's known) all day long. I've never actually thought about a TV show between episode before, but I can't get it out of my head. When we were watching Seasons 1 and 2, Joe and I would watch 2 or 3 episodes a night, staying up until 2 a.m. sometimes. I dream I'm on the Galactica. I lie awake in bed, seething over Admiral Cain's injustices. I make up for myself what happens between episodes, or with minor characters. I'm considering writing fanfic.
The second season was split up into two parts: Season 2 and season 2.5. Joe and I weren't caught up enough to watch 2.5 on TV, so we waited breathlessly for the September 19th release of the DVD. We've finished them all already.
And at the end of the final episode of 2.5, I actually jumped up and screamed "YES! STARBUCK IS BACK!" I knew she was gonna say that!!!
Which is nothing compared to the ending of the cliffhanger between season 2 and 2.5. I think I cried, or just curled into a ball, whimpering "nonononono." Someone had to die in that one. Maybe that's why this latest cliffhanger is easier to take. I can't even imagine what's going to happen or why the Cylons are back. Or maybe it's because I know I'll have my answer when Season 3 starts on Oct. 6th. Yeah baby! We're caught up!
I wonder if I can rig myself a Colonial Fleet uniform in time for Halloween?
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