Crap.
About a month ago I added new fish to my tank. I'd had 2 old tetras (one shabby, one brilliant-looking) and so added about 8 other tetras to keep them company.
Two weeks ago, I lost the shabby looking tetra--not surprising, he'd been shabby for a while.
One week ago, I noticed 2 more fish were dead. I looked closely and realized that they and all my remaining fish looked like this, in varying degrees. Apparently one of the new fish brought a gift with it--ichthyophthirius, a fairly virulent parasite. Within days, all but two of my fish were dead. I bought a treatment that supposedly will take care of it, but the treatment also kills snails; since I have 2 snails who I like, and about 40 that I hate, I figured this might be a mixed blessing, and evac-ed the chocolate snails to a hospital tank before putting in the treatment. Too late for one of the remaining fish... but the other one seems relatively healthy now, 48 hours after the treatment. So I now have ONE fish. And a tank that may or may not still be infested with free-swimming parasites. And 40 snails who appear to be completely resistant to Mardel Coppersafe. God DAMN it.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
GAAAA THERE IS A HUGE SPIDER IN MY MAILBOX
At the moment, he and I have reached a kind of detente; our agreement involves my gently poking him with a stick, and him angrily waving his pedipalps while ceding the high ground to me long enough for me to grab the mail. However, I'm a little worried. He's awfully big... there's nothing to say he won't start opening my mail and signing for packages while he's in there.
At the moment, he and I have reached a kind of detente; our agreement involves my gently poking him with a stick, and him angrily waving his pedipalps while ceding the high ground to me long enough for me to grab the mail. However, I'm a little worried. He's awfully big... there's nothing to say he won't start opening my mail and signing for packages while he's in there.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Good, the Bad, and the Un-be-freakin-lievable
Robin McKinley's got a new novel out; I've read it, it's lovely, and if you like fantasy/fairy tales/YA fiction and AREN'T reading Robin's books, then what the hell's wrong with ya? Give 'em a try! I've been a fan of her stuff since college--LaraB, didn't we have a copy of The Blue Sword kicking around Ottoman Central at one time? I know it wasn't the pizza book, at least--and she is notable, among other things, for having heroic female characters that Don't Suck. She's got a couple adult novels as well--my favorite is her retelling of the Robin Hood story, and she's also got a good vampire novel. Anyway, Robin's a friend and a talented author to boot, and so I figured a little shameless plugging was not out of place here.
Since into each life some rain must fall, I should also tell you that I finally got around to watching the MST3K version of one of the most godawful B-movies it has ever been my wretched experience to watch: Teenagers from Outer Space (1959.) Sweet mother of god, what a horrible film. Even Joel and the gang could not make watching this movie a pleasurable experience for me--unlike The Creeping Terror, which is still in the top eschelon of worst films ever formally released. I could laugh at Creeping Terror. But this.... oh god. What do you get when you combine actors so wooden you could carve your name in them, an alien teen named "Derek" whose space uniform is obviously a jumpsuit with electrical tape piping, a "disintegrator ray" which is obviously a toy gun purchased for 25 cents from the Woolworth's up the street from the studio, and a monster which only appears in the final 5 minutes of the film and is, I shit you not, created by waving a live lobster in front of a spotlight and filming its shadow menacing the townspeople? You get CRAP, that's what you get. Further proof that the creationists were right and God really IS dead in our secular society.
But for sheer "AUGH MY BRAIN" value this week, I present you with the short to end all shorts: Mr. B Natural. Here's part 1, and here's Part 2. It's like watching the Death of Music Itself. If listening to "Mister" B-Natural chirp on and on doesn't make you want to bludgeon yourself repeatedly with a sousaphone, then you're just not a music lover.
Robin McKinley's got a new novel out; I've read it, it's lovely, and if you like fantasy/fairy tales/YA fiction and AREN'T reading Robin's books, then what the hell's wrong with ya? Give 'em a try! I've been a fan of her stuff since college--LaraB, didn't we have a copy of The Blue Sword kicking around Ottoman Central at one time? I know it wasn't the pizza book, at least--and she is notable, among other things, for having heroic female characters that Don't Suck. She's got a couple adult novels as well--my favorite is her retelling of the Robin Hood story, and she's also got a good vampire novel. Anyway, Robin's a friend and a talented author to boot, and so I figured a little shameless plugging was not out of place here.
Since into each life some rain must fall, I should also tell you that I finally got around to watching the MST3K version of one of the most godawful B-movies it has ever been my wretched experience to watch: Teenagers from Outer Space (1959.) Sweet mother of god, what a horrible film. Even Joel and the gang could not make watching this movie a pleasurable experience for me--unlike The Creeping Terror, which is still in the top eschelon of worst films ever formally released. I could laugh at Creeping Terror. But this.... oh god. What do you get when you combine actors so wooden you could carve your name in them, an alien teen named "Derek" whose space uniform is obviously a jumpsuit with electrical tape piping, a "disintegrator ray" which is obviously a toy gun purchased for 25 cents from the Woolworth's up the street from the studio, and a monster which only appears in the final 5 minutes of the film and is, I shit you not, created by waving a live lobster in front of a spotlight and filming its shadow menacing the townspeople? You get CRAP, that's what you get. Further proof that the creationists were right and God really IS dead in our secular society.
But for sheer "AUGH MY BRAIN" value this week, I present you with the short to end all shorts: Mr. B Natural. Here's part 1, and here's Part 2. It's like watching the Death of Music Itself. If listening to "Mister" B-Natural chirp on and on doesn't make you want to bludgeon yourself repeatedly with a sousaphone, then you're just not a music lover.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
And the Lord said, Let There Be Photos.
And there were photos. And some of them were even good.
Click here to see the Creation Museum Photoset!
And there were photos. And some of them were even good.
Click here to see the Creation Museum Photoset!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Remember Remember the 8th of September
Last Monday marked the realization of a long-held dream for me. I went to the Newport Aquarium, which was every bit as fabulous as I’d been led to believe. I petted the sharks; I watched the raysharks sail overhead in their immersive reef tank environment (and holy shit is that cool); I saw otters, frogs, alligators, turtles, jellyfish, and other things that make me marvel at the amazing beauty and diversity of our natural world. And then… Then we went to the Creation Museum.
I consider myself a religious person. I consider myself a pretty open-minded person generally. But I just cannot wrap my head around biblical literalism. So walking into the Creation Museum, I was prepared for a WTF experience of (dare I say) Biblical Proportions. And I was not disappointed!
The Creation Museum, if you've not encountered it before, is a museum-cum-entertainment facility run by and directed at the followers of a ministry called Answers in Genesis, whose basic premise is that the book of Genesis (not to mention the rest of the bible) must be taken literally, word for word--and therefore, the earth must only be about 6000 years old. With that premise, they then go on to explain fossils, dinosaur/dragon conflation, diversity of species, and oh yes, the Fall of Man and the evils of the ACLU. To be fair, let me start by saying that the museum itself is a beautiful facility, some gorgeous design concepts, and that everyone who works there was the soul of niceness--no proselytizing or pushyness, they really did just kind of leave you to it. As a museum professional, I have to say I was a little disappointed at the complete lack of interactivity--there were two interactives, both in the Noah's ark room, and both frankly kind of lame. It was more like a walkthrough theme park ride than a museum in the sense that I usually use the word. But all that aside... HOLY CRAP THAT'S SOME F'D UP SHIT. From the dueling paleontologists (kindly white guy with a godly perspective vs. foolish Asian pagan scientist)
to the hellishly creepy child manniquins leading you toward the light,
to the brachiosaurs entering the Ark, 
to the label explaining why incest used to be OK, 
this museum is a testament to the cracked out fringe of Christian society. I'm not saying I didn't have fun there, mind you.
Any museum that lets me ride a ceratopsian is OK in my book. There will be a full photoset on Flickr shortly, with more amazing Creation Museum goodness.
Last Monday marked the realization of a long-held dream for me. I went to the Newport Aquarium, which was every bit as fabulous as I’d been led to believe. I petted the sharks; I watched the raysharks sail overhead in their immersive reef tank environment (and holy shit is that cool); I saw otters, frogs, alligators, turtles, jellyfish, and other things that make me marvel at the amazing beauty and diversity of our natural world. And then… Then we went to the Creation Museum.
I consider myself a religious person. I consider myself a pretty open-minded person generally. But I just cannot wrap my head around biblical literalism. So walking into the Creation Museum, I was prepared for a WTF experience of (dare I say) Biblical Proportions. And I was not disappointed!
The Creation Museum, if you've not encountered it before, is a museum-cum-entertainment facility run by and directed at the followers of a ministry called Answers in Genesis, whose basic premise is that the book of Genesis (not to mention the rest of the bible) must be taken literally, word for word--and therefore, the earth must only be about 6000 years old. With that premise, they then go on to explain fossils, dinosaur/dragon conflation, diversity of species, and oh yes, the Fall of Man and the evils of the ACLU. To be fair, let me start by saying that the museum itself is a beautiful facility, some gorgeous design concepts, and that everyone who works there was the soul of niceness--no proselytizing or pushyness, they really did just kind of leave you to it. As a museum professional, I have to say I was a little disappointed at the complete lack of interactivity--there were two interactives, both in the Noah's ark room, and both frankly kind of lame. It was more like a walkthrough theme park ride than a museum in the sense that I usually use the word. But all that aside... HOLY CRAP THAT'S SOME F'D UP SHIT. From the dueling paleontologists (kindly white guy with a godly perspective vs. foolish Asian pagan scientist)
to the hellishly creepy child manniquins leading you toward the light,
to the brachiosaurs entering the Ark, 
to the label explaining why incest used to be OK, 
this museum is a testament to the cracked out fringe of Christian society. I'm not saying I didn't have fun there, mind you.
Any museum that lets me ride a ceratopsian is OK in my book. There will be a full photoset on Flickr shortly, with more amazing Creation Museum goodness.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Summer Colds are TEH ALSOME.
Whose dumbass idea was it to have cold viruses available year round, anyway? I've got a streaming head cold, have gone through a box and a half of kleenex since I got up this morning, and it's effing September for god's sake! I'm supposed to feel like this in FEBRUARY! Not when it's fall, and especially not when I've got 2 days training at work; as this is cross-departmental training, I have potentially infected people from HR, Security and Safety, Programs and Interpretation, School Services, and Purchasing, all at one fell sneeze. It's wretched.
Even more wretched is the unfulfilled promise of rain here. It seems odd to be wishing so hard for rain while Gustav is all in the news--but we've hardly had a drop since the end of July and it's getting a little grim here. So this evening we had wind, we had thunder, presumably somewhere in the general vicinity got a shower. But here, nada. Sigh. I love the sound of rain on the roof, particularly when I'm sick... it'd be a nice thing to go to bed early with rain outside. I'll cross my fingers, and go check the radar.
Whose dumbass idea was it to have cold viruses available year round, anyway? I've got a streaming head cold, have gone through a box and a half of kleenex since I got up this morning, and it's effing September for god's sake! I'm supposed to feel like this in FEBRUARY! Not when it's fall, and especially not when I've got 2 days training at work; as this is cross-departmental training, I have potentially infected people from HR, Security and Safety, Programs and Interpretation, School Services, and Purchasing, all at one fell sneeze. It's wretched.
Even more wretched is the unfulfilled promise of rain here. It seems odd to be wishing so hard for rain while Gustav is all in the news--but we've hardly had a drop since the end of July and it's getting a little grim here. So this evening we had wind, we had thunder, presumably somewhere in the general vicinity got a shower. But here, nada. Sigh. I love the sound of rain on the roof, particularly when I'm sick... it'd be a nice thing to go to bed early with rain outside. I'll cross my fingers, and go check the radar.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Stay On Target
Duties as usher:
1. Pick up tuxedo.
2. Show up on time.
3. Apply tuxedo to self right side up, in correct order. No accidents involving suspenders and cufflinks.
4. Guide people to correct seating.
5. Guide the mother of the groom to her seat.
4 1/2. Remember what the groom's mother looks like.
6. Cue the DJ for processional.
7. Roll out floor runner thingy in front of flower girl, without getting tangled up with other usher who might actually also be a Level 12 Klutz (specialist class.)
8. Sit down and get out of the way.
Don'tscrewup don'tscrewup don'tscrewup don'tscrewup.....
Duties as usher:
1. Pick up tuxedo.
2. Show up on time.
3. Apply tuxedo to self right side up, in correct order. No accidents involving suspenders and cufflinks.
4. Guide people to correct seating.
5. Guide the mother of the groom to her seat.
4 1/2. Remember what the groom's mother looks like.
6. Cue the DJ for processional.
7. Roll out floor runner thingy in front of flower girl, without getting tangled up with other usher who might actually also be a Level 12 Klutz (specialist class.)
8. Sit down and get out of the way.
Don'tscrewup don'tscrewup don'tscrewup don'tscrewup.....
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
GRAHHHRGGHHHH
Gencon kicked my ass, as usual. Which is to say, I had a good time, I lost a lot of sleep, I was painfully upbeat and cheerful with thousands of strangers while working at the booth, and I am hardly fit for human company even now, 3 days after the fact. I thought I was more or less OK yesterday; then my body betrayed me, and today was more or less a lost cause. I hope this doesn't last, I've got a wedding to be coherant for on Friday. At least I remembered to pick up the tuxedo on time....
Gencon kicked my ass, as usual. Which is to say, I had a good time, I lost a lot of sleep, I was painfully upbeat and cheerful with thousands of strangers while working at the booth, and I am hardly fit for human company even now, 3 days after the fact. I thought I was more or less OK yesterday; then my body betrayed me, and today was more or less a lost cause. I hope this doesn't last, I've got a wedding to be coherant for on Friday. At least I remembered to pick up the tuxedo on time....
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Rumbly Stumbly
I'd written a post all about fiction, and why I seldom read it, and how I think I got broken in this way, and the fact that I'm not the ONLY one like this at least... And then I re-read it, and it was boring. So I've stifled the post. It may emerge later, reformed, like a lovely butterfly from the cocoon of draft status... Or it may never advance beyond the larval stage. But at any rate, it being Gencon week, I'm going to be good for utterly nothing for the next 5 days. I have about 30 minutes to clean the kitchen and feed the cats, and then I'm off to meet Alex and get this train a rollin'. For those of you going--I'll be at the Croc Booth for most of the weekend during dealer room hours. Come find me. Entertain me. Admire my mad sales skillz. Try the veal.
I'd written a post all about fiction, and why I seldom read it, and how I think I got broken in this way, and the fact that I'm not the ONLY one like this at least... And then I re-read it, and it was boring. So I've stifled the post. It may emerge later, reformed, like a lovely butterfly from the cocoon of draft status... Or it may never advance beyond the larval stage. But at any rate, it being Gencon week, I'm going to be good for utterly nothing for the next 5 days. I have about 30 minutes to clean the kitchen and feed the cats, and then I'm off to meet Alex and get this train a rollin'. For those of you going--I'll be at the Croc Booth for most of the weekend during dealer room hours. Come find me. Entertain me. Admire my mad sales skillz. Try the veal.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Fantasy Fun
Oh, for god's sake--not THAT kind of fantasy. But if you like fantasy genre, friend Robin has just put the first chapter of her new novel up on her blog. Go have a looksee, it comes out in about a month. And while we're at it, Former-Roommate Sarah, aka Princess Anastasia, has her first e-book out, and you can read about it on the Drollerie Press website, purchase it from their store, or find it on Amazon for your Kindle, if you have such a thing.
While I've been "off fiction" for about a decade now, give or take, I'm trying to get back in. The bookpile disaster inspired me a bit. Gibson's got a new novel out in PB now, I got a new (to me) John Varley novel a month or two ago, though I've not gotten through it yet, and apparently Jonathan Carroll's got something in September as well, which is exciting. And I'm just finishing Matt Ruff's Set This House In Order, which is pretty damn impressive. (the book, not me finishing it. well, I guess that's damn impressive too, considering my recent track record...)
Oh, for god's sake--not THAT kind of fantasy. But if you like fantasy genre, friend Robin has just put the first chapter of her new novel up on her blog. Go have a looksee, it comes out in about a month. And while we're at it, Former-Roommate Sarah, aka Princess Anastasia, has her first e-book out, and you can read about it on the Drollerie Press website, purchase it from their store, or find it on Amazon for your Kindle, if you have such a thing.
While I've been "off fiction" for about a decade now, give or take, I'm trying to get back in. The bookpile disaster inspired me a bit. Gibson's got a new novel out in PB now, I got a new (to me) John Varley novel a month or two ago, though I've not gotten through it yet, and apparently Jonathan Carroll's got something in September as well, which is exciting. And I'm just finishing Matt Ruff's Set This House In Order, which is pretty damn impressive. (the book, not me finishing it. well, I guess that's damn impressive too, considering my recent track record...)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Birthday Bowling Bash
Made it through another one! None of the pictures of us bowling came out all that well, other than a hilarious one of Professor E. which I can't post because I think she might murder me. So you'll have to settle for this.
The shirt, which was a gift from Rat Girl and Designing Woman, says "Hello, my name is NINJA." Just in case you couldn't tell...
Made it through another one! None of the pictures of us bowling came out all that well, other than a hilarious one of Professor E. which I can't post because I think she might murder me. So you'll have to settle for this.
The shirt, which was a gift from Rat Girl and Designing Woman, says "Hello, my name is NINJA." Just in case you couldn't tell...
Monday, July 28, 2008
A Short Quiz
Q: Why did it rain last night?
A. Because I left my car window down.
B. Because I left the lawnmower out.
C. Because I just watered the garden.
D. All of the above.
Write your answer on a white 3 x 5 index card in black or blue-black ink, and deposit it in the nearest storm drain for your chance to win a fabulous no-prize. Thanks for playing.
Q: Why did it rain last night?
A. Because I left my car window down.
B. Because I left the lawnmower out.
C. Because I just watered the garden.
D. All of the above.
Write your answer on a white 3 x 5 index card in black or blue-black ink, and deposit it in the nearest storm drain for your chance to win a fabulous no-prize. Thanks for playing.
Friday, July 25, 2008
No, I Don't--So Stop Fucking Asking
The song "Do You Know the Way to San Jose" has been stuck in my brain on infinite loop for 3 days now. It becomes particularly noticeable when I am trying to figure out, for the 18th time, why Google Maps has given me completely different directions to the San Jose Ramada Limited than it did the last time I asked it. I've been doing a lot of driving in the Super PT-mobile--from Sausalito to SJ, from SJ to San Fran and back, from SJ to Monterey and Back, from SJ to Berkeley and back. Each time I have asked Google for clarification, the directions on how to get from the 101 to the Ramada differ. As a result, I have gotten turned around and lost EVERY DAMN TIME I come back to the hotel. Screw google. I'm on my own with the Avis map from here on out.
The reason I've been hoofing it all over the Bay is partly the fault of work, and partly the fault of She Who Bakes. I haven't seen her in over 3 years, so we've had a lot to catch up on. On Wednesday, she had me meet her at a very chic diner-turned-chef's-paradise called Canteen. They have assigned seating times--everyone gets seated at 7:30, orders from a choice of 4 starters, 4 entrees, and 4 desserts, and then they serve everyone simultaneously. Very elegant--and it's in a converted diner with a rusty old clock on the wall, chrome-edged counter, and vinyl booths. Things were off to a chaotic start, as due to the aforementioned fact that Palo Alto was on fire my allowing 1.5 hours to get into the city from SJ went from generous to holy crap I'm not going to make it. I got to the door of the place at EXACTLY 7:30, panting and red-faced. But soon calmed down, and we had a fantastic dinner. (Tomato/basil soup, pork schnitzel with paprika sauce, celery, and a poached egg, and glazed peaches with fresh ginger.) Last night I drove out to She Who Bakes' place in Berkeley, where we had a great pizza and she presented me with cookies from her own hands. I'm putting miles on the car, but it's all in the service of great food.
PSA Addendum: Karen was kind enough to link us to the Is California On Fire? website, which will answer that question for you on an up-to-the-minute basis. Apparently that service is provided by the same folks who bring you the answer to the burning question, Is Barack Obama a Muslim?
The song "Do You Know the Way to San Jose" has been stuck in my brain on infinite loop for 3 days now. It becomes particularly noticeable when I am trying to figure out, for the 18th time, why Google Maps has given me completely different directions to the San Jose Ramada Limited than it did the last time I asked it. I've been doing a lot of driving in the Super PT-mobile--from Sausalito to SJ, from SJ to San Fran and back, from SJ to Monterey and Back, from SJ to Berkeley and back. Each time I have asked Google for clarification, the directions on how to get from the 101 to the Ramada differ. As a result, I have gotten turned around and lost EVERY DAMN TIME I come back to the hotel. Screw google. I'm on my own with the Avis map from here on out.
The reason I've been hoofing it all over the Bay is partly the fault of work, and partly the fault of She Who Bakes. I haven't seen her in over 3 years, so we've had a lot to catch up on. On Wednesday, she had me meet her at a very chic diner-turned-chef's-paradise called Canteen. They have assigned seating times--everyone gets seated at 7:30, orders from a choice of 4 starters, 4 entrees, and 4 desserts, and then they serve everyone simultaneously. Very elegant--and it's in a converted diner with a rusty old clock on the wall, chrome-edged counter, and vinyl booths. Things were off to a chaotic start, as due to the aforementioned fact that Palo Alto was on fire my allowing 1.5 hours to get into the city from SJ went from generous to holy crap I'm not going to make it. I got to the door of the place at EXACTLY 7:30, panting and red-faced. But soon calmed down, and we had a fantastic dinner. (Tomato/basil soup, pork schnitzel with paprika sauce, celery, and a poached egg, and glazed peaches with fresh ginger.) Last night I drove out to She Who Bakes' place in Berkeley, where we had a great pizza and she presented me with cookies from her own hands. I'm putting miles on the car, but it's all in the service of great food.
PSA Addendum: Karen was kind enough to link us to the Is California On Fire? website, which will answer that question for you on an up-to-the-minute basis. Apparently that service is provided by the same folks who bring you the answer to the burning question, Is Barack Obama a Muslim?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Cruisin' the Bay
Having a great time in CA; how could it not be great with a neon blue PT Cruiser at my command? Thank you, Avis!
However, I have noticed a distinct downside to California, namely that it is apparently ALWAYS ON FIRE. Driving from San Jose into SF last night I was trapped in a traffic snarl resulting from not one, but TWO brush fires rolling clouds of smoke across the 101. For someone from the midwest, where roadside fires are primarily caused by exploding cars, this is unprecedented. I'm off to Monterey today, and no doubt it will be on fire too. Fortunately they have crack squads of sea lion first responders to take care of these things...
Having a great time in CA; how could it not be great with a neon blue PT Cruiser at my command? Thank you, Avis!
However, I have noticed a distinct downside to California, namely that it is apparently ALWAYS ON FIRE. Driving from San Jose into SF last night I was trapped in a traffic snarl resulting from not one, but TWO brush fires rolling clouds of smoke across the 101. For someone from the midwest, where roadside fires are primarily caused by exploding cars, this is unprecedented. I'm off to Monterey today, and no doubt it will be on fire too. Fortunately they have crack squads of sea lion first responders to take care of these things...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I'm Still Preoccupied...With 1985...
So last night I had a co-worker over to watch Ladyhawke, which is still hands-down my favorite sword and sorcery movie ever. There is nothing I do not like about this movie. And that includes the now-very-80's-sounding synthesizer-driven soundtrack. I love it. I love that kind of music in a fantasy movie--it's a fantasy, dammit! If I wanted to hear a fake medieval soundtrack, I'd go watch Excalibur again. (No, the Carmina Burana isn't real medieval music. Not that I don't like the Carmina, mind you--but real medieval music isn't nearly that stirring. I might have to watch Excalibur again anyway... I love that bit where you can totally see the film crew guy running across the background while Lancelot and Guenevere are doing it. Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah.)
So yes, I love heavily electrified music in my fantasy movies. The guitar solos totally make that movie. I don't think it sounds dated or goofy at all. And I'm firmly convinced my own life would be vastly improved with the addition of a looped soundtrack from the Alan Parsons Project. (Or Blue Oyster Cult. One or the other.)
So last night I had a co-worker over to watch Ladyhawke, which is still hands-down my favorite sword and sorcery movie ever. There is nothing I do not like about this movie. And that includes the now-very-80's-sounding synthesizer-driven soundtrack. I love it. I love that kind of music in a fantasy movie--it's a fantasy, dammit! If I wanted to hear a fake medieval soundtrack, I'd go watch Excalibur again. (No, the Carmina Burana isn't real medieval music. Not that I don't like the Carmina, mind you--but real medieval music isn't nearly that stirring. I might have to watch Excalibur again anyway... I love that bit where you can totally see the film crew guy running across the background while Lancelot and Guenevere are doing it. Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah.)
So yes, I love heavily electrified music in my fantasy movies. The guitar solos totally make that movie. I don't think it sounds dated or goofy at all. And I'm firmly convinced my own life would be vastly improved with the addition of a looped soundtrack from the Alan Parsons Project. (Or Blue Oyster Cult. One or the other.)
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The Great Bookpile Disaster of '08
Many of you who've visited my happy home know that I have a pretty massive bookshelf in the living room. (OK, whoever just said, "Where? I couldn't see it for all the piles of crap lying around!" can just shut the hell up.) It's floor to ceiling, and crammed full with books on the topics of history, more history, art, religion, science, travel... and history. It's where non-fiction books go. Some of you might also know that I have a bookshelf next to the fish tank in the office. It's where I keep huge-ass hardback books--my Complete Shakespeare is here, and my Lewis Carroll anthology--as well as graphic novels and antiquarian books. What 99.9% of you have never encountered is the Fiction Pile in the Back Closet.
While I don't read a whole lot of fiction these days, I do own a hell of a lot of it that's accumulated over the years. This store of mostly mass-market sized paperbacks can be divided into two categories: Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Everything Else. When I lived in Chicago, I had a little wood bookshelf that I'd built myself which was where the SF/F lived, and Other Fiction was at my parents' in storage. The little bookshelf got full, so I got another very little bookshelf to handle the overage, and that was fine. Then I moved, and moved again, and eventually my parents, unreasonable beasts that they are, asked if I might consider taking some of my books back into my own custody. So I had two little bookshelves of SF/F, and a cardboard box of Other. The cardboard box sat on the floor of the passthrough between my bedroom and bathroom for several years, until I tried to move it and it broke, sending a cascade of fiction onto the floor. A normal person would have seen this as a sign from god to build another damn bookshelf and get on with it. I saw it as a sign that god didn't want me to use the pass-through anymore, stacked the books loosely around on the floor, quietly shut both doors and began venturing to the bathroom the long way around.
Meanwhile, somewhere in here, the SF/F collection was growing--through no fault of my own, people keep giving me books!--and then one of the cats jumped up on the small bookshelf and then launched themselves to a windowsill, knocking the shelf over and sending books flying in all directions. Hm, I thought, this is a good opportunity to reorganize that shelf and fit in some of the additional books I've had sitting around... I'll just put them in the passthrough with the other fiction until I have time to do that.
I don't think I really need to spell this out for you here. This little closet-space was knee-deep in slightly musty, randomly-sorted paperbacks for over a year, and I was cheerfully and successfully ignoring the whole mess. THEN. Then, as is my wont, I suddenly decided I needed to find a particular book. (Peter S. Beagle's The Rhinoceros Who Quoted Nietzsche. But that's beside the point.) I opened the closet door, avalanches of books slid everywhere, and I was keenly reminded that I am a horrible, unforgivably lazy slob as I kicked my way through the seething mass of paper, dust, cat hair, and guilt. (I didn't even find that damn Beagle book. But that's beside the point.)
I took a vow that I would not rest until I had at least restored the sci-fi to its original home in the two small bookshelves, neatly alphabetized and dusted. I culled through the heap, removing books I'd never really wanted to read in the first place, duplicate copies of things I'd acquired who knows how, and finally had it winnowed down to the point where I could fit it perfectly on the two little shelves, just like the days of yore, and began to impose order.
AdamsAlexanderAnthonyBeagleBradburyBrinBurroughsBullCardCarroll(Jonathan not Lewis) ChestertonClarkeCrispinDickEddingsGibson (and more Gibson, and more Gibson) HandHeinleinHowardHughartKressLeGuinLewisLovecraft (where on earth did I get all these Lovecraft paperbacks with the ugly-ass covers?) McCaffreyMcCrumbMcKinleyMillerMoonMoorcockMorrowPratchettPullmanRobinsonRowling (British "adult"covers only, I happily chucked my ugly American copy of "Sorceror's Stone" into the bag to go to halfprice) StephensonTepperTolkienVarleyWangerinWellsWilliamsWillis and....and... DAMN YOU TO HELL ROGER ZELAZNY, I ONLY OWN ONE OF YOUR FREAKIN' BOOKS AND THE SHELF IS #@%$£¢ FULL!!!!
I swear, if Lord of Light hadn't been a gift from an ex-boyfriend I'd have chucked it right out the window then and there. I'm crabby when I'm optimizing.
Many of you who've visited my happy home know that I have a pretty massive bookshelf in the living room. (OK, whoever just said, "Where? I couldn't see it for all the piles of crap lying around!" can just shut the hell up.) It's floor to ceiling, and crammed full with books on the topics of history, more history, art, religion, science, travel... and history. It's where non-fiction books go. Some of you might also know that I have a bookshelf next to the fish tank in the office. It's where I keep huge-ass hardback books--my Complete Shakespeare is here, and my Lewis Carroll anthology--as well as graphic novels and antiquarian books. What 99.9% of you have never encountered is the Fiction Pile in the Back Closet.
While I don't read a whole lot of fiction these days, I do own a hell of a lot of it that's accumulated over the years. This store of mostly mass-market sized paperbacks can be divided into two categories: Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Everything Else. When I lived in Chicago, I had a little wood bookshelf that I'd built myself which was where the SF/F lived, and Other Fiction was at my parents' in storage. The little bookshelf got full, so I got another very little bookshelf to handle the overage, and that was fine. Then I moved, and moved again, and eventually my parents, unreasonable beasts that they are, asked if I might consider taking some of my books back into my own custody. So I had two little bookshelves of SF/F, and a cardboard box of Other. The cardboard box sat on the floor of the passthrough between my bedroom and bathroom for several years, until I tried to move it and it broke, sending a cascade of fiction onto the floor. A normal person would have seen this as a sign from god to build another damn bookshelf and get on with it. I saw it as a sign that god didn't want me to use the pass-through anymore, stacked the books loosely around on the floor, quietly shut both doors and began venturing to the bathroom the long way around.
Meanwhile, somewhere in here, the SF/F collection was growing--through no fault of my own, people keep giving me books!--and then one of the cats jumped up on the small bookshelf and then launched themselves to a windowsill, knocking the shelf over and sending books flying in all directions. Hm, I thought, this is a good opportunity to reorganize that shelf and fit in some of the additional books I've had sitting around... I'll just put them in the passthrough with the other fiction until I have time to do that.
I don't think I really need to spell this out for you here. This little closet-space was knee-deep in slightly musty, randomly-sorted paperbacks for over a year, and I was cheerfully and successfully ignoring the whole mess. THEN. Then, as is my wont, I suddenly decided I needed to find a particular book. (Peter S. Beagle's The Rhinoceros Who Quoted Nietzsche. But that's beside the point.) I opened the closet door, avalanches of books slid everywhere, and I was keenly reminded that I am a horrible, unforgivably lazy slob as I kicked my way through the seething mass of paper, dust, cat hair, and guilt. (I didn't even find that damn Beagle book. But that's beside the point.)
I took a vow that I would not rest until I had at least restored the sci-fi to its original home in the two small bookshelves, neatly alphabetized and dusted. I culled through the heap, removing books I'd never really wanted to read in the first place, duplicate copies of things I'd acquired who knows how, and finally had it winnowed down to the point where I could fit it perfectly on the two little shelves, just like the days of yore, and began to impose order.
AdamsAlexanderAnthonyBeagleBradburyBrinBurroughsBullCardCarroll(Jonathan not Lewis) ChestertonClarkeCrispinDickEddingsGibson (and more Gibson, and more Gibson) HandHeinleinHowardHughartKressLeGuinLewisLovecraft (where on earth did I get all these Lovecraft paperbacks with the ugly-ass covers?) McCaffreyMcCrumbMcKinleyMillerMoonMoorcockMorrowPratchettPullmanRobinsonRowling (British "adult"covers only, I happily chucked my ugly American copy of "Sorceror's Stone" into the bag to go to halfprice) StephensonTepperTolkienVarleyWangerinWellsWilliamsWillis and....and... DAMN YOU TO HELL ROGER ZELAZNY, I ONLY OWN ONE OF YOUR FREAKIN' BOOKS AND THE SHELF IS #@%$£¢ FULL!!!!
I swear, if Lord of Light hadn't been a gift from an ex-boyfriend I'd have chucked it right out the window then and there. I'm crabby when I'm optimizing.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Up, Down, and All Around
So yes, I'm back from my vacation over the pond and have had several days to recover. My stress levels peaked about 24 hours before departure (which is pretty typical for me, really) and by the time I left I was in full-on "oh well fuck it, if I forgot something then the hell with it" mode. So naturally, I forgot my toothbrush. The one thing you really, REALLY want to have on the plane after 12 hours in transit. Pleh.
As to where I went, Charles, it's almost a question of where didn't I went? I got into London early morning on Sunday and fumbled my way from Gatwick to Charleton; I was visiting my friend L., who needed to be at work in North Wales Monday-Tuesday. So Sunday we went to Leeds and then returned to watch Dr. Who with her husband, J. Then up to Wales for 2 days, during which she worked like a stevedore and I pottered around looking at castles (Beaumaris and Caernarfon) and the scenery around Snowdon. Then Wednesday it was down to the south of England--L. is originally from Sussex, so we meandered down there to visit her mom, went to Arundel Castle Thursday, back up to London Friday for some sightseeing and beer drinkin'. Then away back home again. L. was an utter trooper the entire week and figured out the morass of travelling by rail in Britain. It used to be so easy! When I was there 10 years ago, on my stopover en route to Kenya, I bopped around on cheap day returns out of London without external assistance for nearly a week; it was so easy an American could do it. But now the system's privatized, the different rail systems don't all play well with one another, and "cheap" is no longer an operative word. A particularly egregious moment--to get from Worthing to London/Charleton via London Bridge, I got a ticket for £19.50. Over at the next window, L. requested a ticket from Worthing to London Bridge, since she had a commuter travel card that would allow her to go London Bridge to Charleton. Her ticket was £22. Luckily she overheard my transaction before the sale was completed: "Wait, I'm going 4 stops fewer than she is, and her ticket is £2.50 less???" The cashier squinted at his screen for a few minutes, tapped at some keys, and then said, sheepishly, "Yes." "Right, one ticket for Charleton, please."
Overall it was a fantastic time. The weather was great, I took hundreds of photos of castles and ruins and L.'s garden; although a day did not go by where I did not spend at least an hour on a train of some description, even that was a blast and I couldn't have asked for better.
So yes, I'm back from my vacation over the pond and have had several days to recover. My stress levels peaked about 24 hours before departure (which is pretty typical for me, really) and by the time I left I was in full-on "oh well fuck it, if I forgot something then the hell with it" mode. So naturally, I forgot my toothbrush. The one thing you really, REALLY want to have on the plane after 12 hours in transit. Pleh.
As to where I went, Charles, it's almost a question of where didn't I went? I got into London early morning on Sunday and fumbled my way from Gatwick to Charleton; I was visiting my friend L., who needed to be at work in North Wales Monday-Tuesday. So Sunday we went to Leeds and then returned to watch Dr. Who with her husband, J. Then up to Wales for 2 days, during which she worked like a stevedore and I pottered around looking at castles (Beaumaris and Caernarfon) and the scenery around Snowdon. Then Wednesday it was down to the south of England--L. is originally from Sussex, so we meandered down there to visit her mom, went to Arundel Castle Thursday, back up to London Friday for some sightseeing and beer drinkin'. Then away back home again. L. was an utter trooper the entire week and figured out the morass of travelling by rail in Britain. It used to be so easy! When I was there 10 years ago, on my stopover en route to Kenya, I bopped around on cheap day returns out of London without external assistance for nearly a week; it was so easy an American could do it. But now the system's privatized, the different rail systems don't all play well with one another, and "cheap" is no longer an operative word. A particularly egregious moment--to get from Worthing to London/Charleton via London Bridge, I got a ticket for £19.50. Over at the next window, L. requested a ticket from Worthing to London Bridge, since she had a commuter travel card that would allow her to go London Bridge to Charleton. Her ticket was £22. Luckily she overheard my transaction before the sale was completed: "Wait, I'm going 4 stops fewer than she is, and her ticket is £2.50 less???" The cashier squinted at his screen for a few minutes, tapped at some keys, and then said, sheepishly, "Yes." "Right, one ticket for Charleton, please."
Overall it was a fantastic time. The weather was great, I took hundreds of photos of castles and ruins and L.'s garden; although a day did not go by where I did not spend at least an hour on a train of some description, even that was a blast and I couldn't have asked for better.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
You Know You're Back in America When...
...you have a moment like this. The flight to Cleveland was long, and included persistent kicking from the 8 year old in the seat behind, and an annoying conversation from two rather bitchy women sitting next to me. I was airsick, angry, and tired when we finally pulled up to the gate; and then we sat there for 10 minutes waiting for them to connect up the gangway and let us out. By the time I'd stood through the ABSOLUTE SLOWEST of the 5 passport control lines, and the entire crew of the aircraft had cut in line ahead of me, and the passport guy'd asked me some totally dumb questions, and then I had to get my bag and go through intensive X-Ray security AGAIN including taking off my damn shoes and belt and showing all my 3.5 oz liquid containers (which I still feel is a direct violation of my protection against unreasonable search and seizure) and I was struggling to put my shoes back on while leaning against a wall and hanging desperately onto my 400 lb shoulder bag, I was close to white-hot fury. Then I rounded a corner to the escalator, and what was playing full blast on the overhead speakers in the Cleveland airport? The Pina Colada song. One of the dumbest, most hilariously cheesy songs in the American pop music canon. I almost fell over laughing. Home, home, home.
More trip blogging shortly--unlike The Noz I didn't manage to find internet cafes on every corner so wasn't able to do the remote blogging thing...
...you have a moment like this. The flight to Cleveland was long, and included persistent kicking from the 8 year old in the seat behind, and an annoying conversation from two rather bitchy women sitting next to me. I was airsick, angry, and tired when we finally pulled up to the gate; and then we sat there for 10 minutes waiting for them to connect up the gangway and let us out. By the time I'd stood through the ABSOLUTE SLOWEST of the 5 passport control lines, and the entire crew of the aircraft had cut in line ahead of me, and the passport guy'd asked me some totally dumb questions, and then I had to get my bag and go through intensive X-Ray security AGAIN including taking off my damn shoes and belt and showing all my 3.5 oz liquid containers (which I still feel is a direct violation of my protection against unreasonable search and seizure) and I was struggling to put my shoes back on while leaning against a wall and hanging desperately onto my 400 lb shoulder bag, I was close to white-hot fury. Then I rounded a corner to the escalator, and what was playing full blast on the overhead speakers in the Cleveland airport? The Pina Colada song. One of the dumbest, most hilariously cheesy songs in the American pop music canon. I almost fell over laughing. Home, home, home.
More trip blogging shortly--unlike The Noz I didn't manage to find internet cafes on every corner so wasn't able to do the remote blogging thing...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tux
First Thing's First.
I regret to say that due to the dappled sunlight effect, I don't think the Rick's hair question has been answered by this photo one way or the other. But you can form your own opinions.
Second--a brief return to the question of films. Specifically, Indiana Jones and the Big Disappointment. Look, I'm not saying it wasn't fun to watch, and I'm certainly not saying people shouldn't go see it on the big screen. But here's the thing--last weekend, I went to see Iron Man. I was not a fan of the Iron Man comic book as a kid--I never read the Avengers, and I'm purely an X-Men girl. I'm not a fan of Robert Downey Jr. either. But MAN--what a FUCKIN' AWESOME movie!! I liked it start to finish, overlooked its goofier plot elements and slightly strange timeline, and you know why? Because the script was awesome. There's a big difference between story and script, and that I think is the problem with Indiana Jones IV. Here's an example:
STORY: Ok, so they're looking down in the pit, and it's full of snakes, and Indy's scared of snakes.
SCRIPT:
Indy (rolling over and staring blankly off into space): Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?
Sallah (peering down into the hole): Ooh. Asps. Very dangerous! (pause.) You go first.
You see what I'm getting at here? The story of each Indiana Jones film has been standard pulp fare, more or less. The story of Temple of Doom is pretty outlandish, and that's what hurts it even more than the loss of Karen Allen and the addition of Short Round. But Crystal Skull has a perfectly OK story, and one godawful script. As Miss Alex pointed out--"Knowledge was their treasure...their treasure was knowledge." Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Lines like that run throughout the damn film. Then you add on top of that the poor use of CGI (the ants weren't scary. The monkeys...were. and don't even talk to me about that damn snake.) AND the fact that they made Cate Blanchett completely unattractive, which is a feat I would never have thought possible. AND the near complete lack of chemistry/banter between Indy and Marian... I'm not going to nitpick all the little stuff, but the big things that were bad were just. Bad. In comparison, Iron Man took a character I had no pre-viewing love for, built him up to be completely likeable yet a total asshole, and then spun a kick-ass story that left me waiting on the edge of my seat for the upcoming Avengers film. All because the script was good. The story wasn't that much better or more believable than Indy IV; it's all about the script.
I also saw an Israeli film called "Cafe Tales" this week--hilarious, borderline surreal film about 5 totally insane guys and a coffeeshop. Totally recommend it.
I regret to say that due to the dappled sunlight effect, I don't think the Rick's hair question has been answered by this photo one way or the other. But you can form your own opinions.
Second--a brief return to the question of films. Specifically, Indiana Jones and the Big Disappointment. Look, I'm not saying it wasn't fun to watch, and I'm certainly not saying people shouldn't go see it on the big screen. But here's the thing--last weekend, I went to see Iron Man. I was not a fan of the Iron Man comic book as a kid--I never read the Avengers, and I'm purely an X-Men girl. I'm not a fan of Robert Downey Jr. either. But MAN--what a FUCKIN' AWESOME movie!! I liked it start to finish, overlooked its goofier plot elements and slightly strange timeline, and you know why? Because the script was awesome. There's a big difference between story and script, and that I think is the problem with Indiana Jones IV. Here's an example:
STORY: Ok, so they're looking down in the pit, and it's full of snakes, and Indy's scared of snakes.
SCRIPT:
Indy (rolling over and staring blankly off into space): Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?
Sallah (peering down into the hole): Ooh. Asps. Very dangerous! (pause.) You go first.
You see what I'm getting at here? The story of each Indiana Jones film has been standard pulp fare, more or less. The story of Temple of Doom is pretty outlandish, and that's what hurts it even more than the loss of Karen Allen and the addition of Short Round. But Crystal Skull has a perfectly OK story, and one godawful script. As Miss Alex pointed out--"Knowledge was their treasure...their treasure was knowledge." Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Lines like that run throughout the damn film. Then you add on top of that the poor use of CGI (the ants weren't scary. The monkeys...were. and don't even talk to me about that damn snake.) AND the fact that they made Cate Blanchett completely unattractive, which is a feat I would never have thought possible. AND the near complete lack of chemistry/banter between Indy and Marian... I'm not going to nitpick all the little stuff, but the big things that were bad were just. Bad. In comparison, Iron Man took a character I had no pre-viewing love for, built him up to be completely likeable yet a total asshole, and then spun a kick-ass story that left me waiting on the edge of my seat for the upcoming Avengers film. All because the script was good. The story wasn't that much better or more believable than Indy IV; it's all about the script.
I also saw an Israeli film called "Cafe Tales" this week--hilarious, borderline surreal film about 5 totally insane guys and a coffeeshop. Totally recommend it.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Well, That's....Hmmmm.
So I was an usher at a friend's wedding last weekend. What with the norovirus and the power outage and all, I didn't have time for a haircut beforehand. Not wanting to reinforce my general reputation as a slob, I broke out the styling gel and hairdryer, and did my damnedest to make myself look more or less intentionally tidy. It was an uphill battle, and the results were not completely clear to me even after I got the tux on and ran a brush through it one final time. So I asked Andy how my hair looked, and he said, "You look kind of like Rick Springfield."
It only occurred to me later that I should have asked if he meant Young Rick, or Current Rick. I sure hope it was the former. As my mom said the other day, Current Rick is lookin' a little like he was rode hard and put away wet. Gone are the days when my best friend and I stood on tiptoe in the horse barn at the State Fairgrounds to get a glimpse of Rick and his perfectly feathered coiffure arriving for a concert. Ah well--at least the tuxedo fit.
So I was an usher at a friend's wedding last weekend. What with the norovirus and the power outage and all, I didn't have time for a haircut beforehand. Not wanting to reinforce my general reputation as a slob, I broke out the styling gel and hairdryer, and did my damnedest to make myself look more or less intentionally tidy. It was an uphill battle, and the results were not completely clear to me even after I got the tux on and ran a brush through it one final time. So I asked Andy how my hair looked, and he said, "You look kind of like Rick Springfield."
It only occurred to me later that I should have asked if he meant Young Rick, or Current Rick. I sure hope it was the former. As my mom said the other day, Current Rick is lookin' a little like he was rode hard and put away wet. Gone are the days when my best friend and I stood on tiptoe in the horse barn at the State Fairgrounds to get a glimpse of Rick and his perfectly feathered coiffure arriving for a concert. Ah well--at least the tuxedo fit.
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