| Thursday, May 17th, 2012 |
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Anything else I had to say about the Criminal Minds season finale is subsumed in ZOMG Reid knitted it himself! He makes a pretty good Four. Also, I'm glad they did the Emily thing the way they did the Emily thing; it's good to see Will but he should have known better; I'm pretty sure that UNSUB plan fails on usual the Evil Mastermind overclever subroutine of relying on a coincidence they could not have known about in advance; I bet that's Kevin's cousin; Penelope needs a Stern Talking To of the variety she just gave Morgan a few weeks back; I'm still the only person in this fandom who likes Strauss, but dammit I still like Strauss; and FASTER JJ KILL KILL! Discussion in comments of parallels between JJ in Hit/Run and Hotch in 100 is open for business. |
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mostly quite pleased, really.
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The following contains discussion of fitness, health, and weight issues. If that is triggery for you, please page down now! Ob. Disclaimer: I absolutely support anyone's right to live in their body as they choose, at any size they find comfortable. This is entirely about me, and my efforts to reclaim my health and strength after half a decade of abusing and neglecting my poor body. Well, I'm wearing a pair of jeans that, based on the brand and cut, must date back to 1987 or so. They're Chic, size 14 tall, and in high school they would have been baggy on me. Now, they fit loosely except for the waist, which is a bit snug--but then, that happened when I was sixteen, too, though the jeans were size 11 then. This is because eighties jeans were cut to fit absolutely nobody except a young Brooke Shields. They do, however, still make my ass look fantastic, a characteristic generally not shared by modern lower-rise jeans, which make nobody's ass look good. Not mine, not yours. Possibly Jessica Simpson's. But they do let one bend at the middle without pinching one's ribcage on the waistband, which I suppose is a win. I guess that means I am officially back in my high school clothes, generously speaking. As I also have a black bat-winged sheath dress from Chico's that I loved in high school, and have been hanging on to for sentimental reasons. I might dust it off for an eighties party later this year. If only I had some slouchy elf boots. I suspect I will save the jeans for eighties nights at goth clubs. I think I still have one pair of slouchy socks hoarded away somewhere... ;-) This is all prelude to saying that I'm hovering somewhere around 187, and have been for about a month now with the usual ups and downs--but I'm obviously building muscle, because I seem to be shrinking. At one point a month or so ago I noticed I had obliques, there under the slack middle-aged tummy. This week, I noticed the top set of ab muscles. Also, my thighs are no longer getting in my way during most of yoga--that stopped after ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7){kind=small} scott_lynch and I walked somewhere around 40 miles in three days of NYC. I can do Hero's Pose and Lightning Pose without cheating now, and my body doesn't actually interfere with my ability to do a lunge anymore.It's still getting in the way of twists, and my biceps interfere with Eagle Pose, but that's not new. I'm a solid girl. I can also wear most of my beloved old corp-goth work clothes again, justifying my hoarding tendencies. Two suits are a bit tight, but they were always on the skinny end of the rack. I had to move the buttons back on a green suit I love, that I had expanded a bit when I was gaining weight. It's a size 12. I am facing the surprising possibility of shrinking out of my wardrobe again. In any case, look for a much better-dressed Bear at conventions this summer, since I love these clothes and don't have a dayjob to wear them to anymore. Curiously, I'm about 17 pounds heavier than the last time I fit in these clothes, which tells us about the power of rock-climbing. Muscle is heavy! My current weight goal is somewhere in the neighborhood of 160 pounds. Which should make the same size, roughly, as when I was in high school and weighed 150-ish. I was on track and field then, and at my most muscular before now, but I'm pretty sure my upper body now dwarfs what I had then. (Shoulders! They're awesome!) Also, um. Boobs. Some cup sizes have come to roost since then. Ahem. So I'm less than thirty pounds from my goal, which is very pleasant. My body is behaving as it should; everything physical is so much easier than it was in 2004, when I couldn't walk a half-mile without agonizing pain (now I can run five 12-minute miles back to back); and I'm enjoying the reduction in back and joint pain and the ability to sleep comfortably on my side or back again without feeling like my own belly is crushing me. I seem to be part of a coterie of SFF writers and fans on the "get healthy the old-fashioned way; move more and eat less crap" bandwagon, which pleases me. (personally, I have been following the efforts of Scalzi, Doctorow, Lynch, Sykes, Downum, Silverstein, Connolly, Buckell, and I'm sure a few others whose names are eluding me because it's time for lunch.) It pleases me because I'd like to see a lot of these people around for a damned long time. I'm also noticing changes in appetite, which tell me my body is adapting to its new lower caloric demands. Two whole pieces of fruit is too much to eat with lunch now; I am contented with half of each (plus some protein and vegetables and brown carbs, of course). (I eat a lot of fruit and vegetables, about ten servings most days; I've finally figured out how to reach my RDA minimum of potassium, and it goes like this: a cup of fortified cereal in the morning (Special K protein plus, since I can't find Total Protein around here anymore), half an orange, a small banana, eight ounces of green coconut water, and half a sweet potato. Some strawberries or mango don't hurt either, or some beans.)) For those who are curious about how I did it (my doctor was, and she laughed out loud when I said, "Counting calories, restricting sweets and saturated fat, and getting off my ass!" She then replied, "So doing all the boring shit we tell people to do, huh?"), here's my plan, fondly called The Discipline: It's a refined version of the Hacker Diet, which relies on good old thermodynamics to make things happen. I'm keeping my caloric intake around 1700-1900 calories a day, exercising for about an hour a day on average, drinking lots of water and not too much caffeine, avoiding refined carbs (mostly: I get 100-200 calories of "treat" a day, which could be a glass of wine or a beer, or a brownie, or... PRO TIP: Guinness is lower in calories than most "lite" beers, and tastes a fuckload better. Now you know.), eating roughly twice as many vegetables as the FDA suggests, and trying to keep my protein intake around 20% and my fat intake around 25%--and also trying to keep my protein intake above 100g a day without too much reliance on red meat, or meat at all. (I do use protein supplements--whey and soy, mostly.) I eat a lot of high-protein dairy (skyr!) and I try to limit myself to 100-200 calories a day from refined sugar, which is roughly 20-40 grams. Or, well, half a can of non-diet Coke. Managing sodium intake is a killer. But I'm working on it. Sleeping eight hours a night also pisses me off, but it seems to be necessary. I got six last night, and noticed the difference on my run this morning--I kept having to walk up hills I normally cruise up in second or third gear. I also exercise six days a week--usually two days of climbing (with a little yoga); three days of running; one day of yoga. I also try to get in some vigorous outdoor time when possible--kayaking, hiking, walking the dog. Walking to the store. Picking up my jump rope for five minutes on an otherwise sedentary day. As I said, one of the most successful weeks of the Discipline recently was when Scott and I were on Manhattan, eating every goddamned thing in sight. But we also made a point of walking two-thirds the length of the island at least once (Riverside to Chinatown, with side trips), and we walked as much as time permitted, otherwise. I know it sounds like my fitness routine is crushing, and seven or eight years ago, it would have crushed me. (Hell, I had the pleasant experience recently of putting in a Rodney Yee video that, in 2006, I could do maybe fifteen minutes of, and having the full hour workout be only just pleasantly challenging.) But remember, when I started out, I weighed 285-290 pounds and could not walk a half mile. One good habit builds on another, it turns out--and I find myself drinking more green and herbal tea because black tea doesn't taste good after the first mug, and I find myself not hungry for seconds unless the food is exceptionally good, and even then not always. There's not actually a lot of privation; I just want more of what's healthy for me. It's okay if I have a measured ounce of cheese on my beans and rice, instead of as much as I can fit in the bowl. It still tastes just as good! Better, since it's as easy to afford small quantities of really delicious food as it is large quantities of sort of icky food. And far more satisfying. Who knew? Which is so different from all my old pathological ways of dealing with food and drink that it's a little croggling. Most of this, of course, is just basic health maintenance stuff, and not too hard once you get the hang of it. And it's not like I don't give myself days off: I will in fact have two or three drinks on a night out, for example. I'm fully planning on onion rings after archery tonight when I get dinner with the Thursday Night Shooters. Just... not too damned often. And budget for it. It's not the extremes that set one's level of health; it's the baseline. |
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relaxed.
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I am so tired, I spent all night dreaming about being unable to sleep. I got out of bed and found my poems "Blueshift" (for time_shark) and "Natural Phenomena" (about sirens and their listeners) have been accepted by, respectively, Goblin Fruit and Not One of Us. I am meeting rushthatspeaks at Kickass Cupcakes in a couple of hours.I'm okay with being awake. |
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NOW it can be told! NICE WORK, my first novel in the Jacquidon and Chantal Carroll mystery series, has won the Dark Oak mystery contest and will be published by Oak Tree Press!! This morning I got my contract by e-mail and an agreement to sign. I've signed, and the process to publish the book is in motion. This is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream--publishing with a press that is not "tainted" in any way by being associated with self-publishing, fee-paying, or what-have-you. My book will be submitted to the various contests like the Lefty Award and the First Mystery Novel award from MWA and so forth, which could not have happened had I resorted to the CreateSpace answer. I'm glad I hung in there this time! This series is the "Snoop Sisters" humorous and non-gory, non-dark one. It doesn't have the angst of the MARFA LIGHTS/Ari series. What it does have, I hope, is a take on cozy/traditional mystery style that will appeal to fans of the Anne George "Southern Sisters" mysteries (much missed) and witty romps like the old Helen Hayes/Ruth Gordon "Snoop Sisters" television program. I know that it can take up to eighteen months to get a novel into print the traditional way, so I need to be patient. I've already asked about a tentative date and about the cover (because once I get a cover image, I can order promotional postcards and bookmarks and flyers and all that sort of thing for the various places I'll go to promote the book). I'm hoping that everything works out so that I get to attend Malice Domestic and Left Coast Crime the year the book comes out, too. One can dream. And sometimes one's dream can come true! The Book's Own Blog Oak Tree Press Home (They haven't announced the contest win yet, but I am told I can post about it now myself) |
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| Wednesday, May 16th, 2012 |
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1. It's spring and the anthologies are starting to bloom. Here, We Cross—a chapbook of queer and genderfluid poems collected from the first seven issues of Stone Telling—is now available from Stone Bird Press. The table of contents includes work by Michele Bannister, Jack H. Marr, Dominik Parisien, Amal El-Mohtar, Jeannelle Ferreira, Lisa Bradley, Adrienne J. Odasso, and I'm not even naming all the ones that impressed me. Also in that lineup are my poems "Persephone in Hel" and "The Clock House," the former written for rushthatspeaks, the latter for Christopher Morcom and Alan Turing. Yes, you could read them off the website, but you could also have them in beautiful print and support a small press besides. ( Even if the bridge falls down, the memory of that bridge remains. ) 2. I must confess that my first reaction to this article about the creation and debunking of two recent historical hoaxes was: next time, put more research into your marks. (And remember that there is more to the internet than Wikipedia.) I look forward to seeing what happens next year. 3. I didn't realize there was a Canonical List of Weird Band Names. It doesn't seem to have been updated in some time, but it confirms my belief that any time the phrase "That would make a great band name" is uttered, somewhere, someone does. Also, I listen to some of these bands. 4. I will probably not hear any of them on WFNX, because the station has been sold to Clear Channel. That is not good. I have no idea what my brother is going to listen to when we drive anywhere in Boston now. 5. This article reminded me that I have been meaning to rewatch The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964) for years. It is not a great film. I find myself saying that by way of disclaimer whenever I bring it up. It is a three-hour spectacle within which exists about an hour of good movie, mostly to be found in the interactions of the supporting cast—Alec Guinness, James Mason, Christopher Plummer, Sophia Loren; unfortunately, the lead is Stephen Boyd and despite his strong work along similar lines in Ben-Hur (1959), he has here the charisma of a grocery bag and doesn't seem able to act his way out of one. He has so little chemistry with Loren, I don't even feel like making the effort of an amusing simile. Sometimes the script wants to be contemporary political commentary in the guise of costume drama and more often it's just swords and sandals. There is an attack of German tribesmen which I would swear was organized by rounding up whoever was loose on the lot at the time, handing them all blond wigs and different pieces of fur, and telling them to scream and run that way. And yet it furnished me with at least two performances I remember very fondly and I found myself writing once to teenybuffalo that the funeral of Marcus Aurelius is genuinely something from another world. ( Well, in order to answer that question, one must consider three aspects of the situation. ) Just for those scraps of another time, I'd sit through scenes like the one where Sophia Loren is supposed to prefer Stephen Boyd to Omar Sharif.
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 (Lord's day). My wife and I at church, our pew filled with Mrs. Backewell, and six more that she brought with her, which vexed me at her confidence. Dined at home and W. Batelier with us, and I all the afternoon drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York, about my eyes, for leave to spend three or four months out of the Office, drawing it so as to give occasion to a voyage abroad which I did, to my pretty good liking; and then with my wife to Hyde Park, where a good deal of company, and good weather, and so home to supper and to bed. |
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The first volume of Shadow Unit is now available as a proper paper book with a gorgeous Kyle Cassidy cover. It will be available through Amazon within a week, and will slowly filter its way through the rest of the online distribution system.  This volume contains the first half of Season 1. Volume 2 should be available in about a month, with other volumes to follow.And of course, Shadow Unit in its entirety is available for free online, and as a modestly priced ebook through the usual sources. The story began in 2007, and will end in 2013. It's not too late to discover one of the coolest collaborative serials in the genre internets! |
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*ahem* Has anyone out there been waiting for Shadow Unit in physical paper-type form? You have? Oh. Okay, then. That's good. Because the first volume is here. *exits, grinning* (This volume is the first half of Season One. It'll be available on Amazon.com within a week, and elsewhere within two months. Season One, volume two will be available within the month; I'll let you know.) |
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squee!.
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There are, however, things that make life easier to endure while one's immune system is fighting the battle of Helm's Deep against the snot-orcs and the congestion cave trolls and the giant sore-throat spiders. (No, Bear, these are not good spiders. They are icky metaphorical spiders, and I am allowed to kill them if I want to.) For two days I've flung zinc tablets and decongestants at the problem. They've helped, but they haven't really made me feel better. At last, today, I have something that makes me feel as if I wouldn't rather die than have this cold. 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice 1 tablespoon honey 8 - 10 ounces of hot, but not boiling, water 1 shot whisky (Jameson's would probably be perfect. I have Highland Park single malt 12yo, which is probably pearls before cold-swine, but I don't care) Combine the above in a mug. Drink. Repeat as necessary. No, you won't be cured. But you won't care. |
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bleagh..
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John “Breathtakingly Brilliant” Scalzi has made another breathtakingly brilliant post. At 800 comments and late at night, he finally said “Enough,” especially because everyone was repeating himself (and anyone who didn’t notice the non-sex-specific “he” in that sentence might have problems with this conversation). Point is, I had something to say about it, and, after reading all 800 comments, no one said it. So I will say it here. First, please read his post. Okay, when I say it is ‘breathtakingly brilliant,” I mean it, because it has beautifully redefined things for me. It was a classic case of, “You’re bothered by this metaphor, so let me give you a new metaphor without the emotional baggage, so that, just maybe, we can discuss the actual issue.” It worked. And, in so doing, it highlighted my problem with the whole, massive bundle. My problem can be stated thus: All of this effort put into either a) How do we make the game more fair, or b) At least making us aware of how unfair the rules are, makes it that much harder to focus on what is, to me, most important: THE FUCKING GAME SUCKS. I don’t want to play it, I don’t want to be forced to play it, I don’t want strangers to have no choice but to play it; I don’t like smug assholes “dropping out” to live in the woods and then claiming they aren’t playing it. The game needs to go. It needs to be replaced by a game that doesn’t have a wealth stat, or an education stat, because those things are just always maxed for everyone. It needs to be replaced by a game in which the stats are different talents, and the only thing to put points in are interests and passions. John calls his game real life, and he’s right, it is. But I passionately, deeply believe it isn’t the only choice for what real life can be. Most people will believe my desire here is unrealistic, and dismiss it; but we must not forget that many of these people believe (or believed) that voting for Obama made a difference, so exactly who is unrealistic is open for debate. In terms of material wealth and capacity for wealth production, there is, at present, enough to create the game I want, or at least get pretty close. In order to concentrate on changing the rules for stat setting, you must believe the game is always going to be there, more or less the same. I will never accept that.
Originally published at Words Words Words. Please leave any comments there. |
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| Tuesday, May 15th, 2012 |
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 Up, and at the Office all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me home, and I did discourse about evening some reckonings with him in the afternoon; but I could not, for my eyes, do it, which troubled me, and vexed him that would not; but yet we were friends, I advancing him more without it, and so to walk all the afternoon together in the garden; and I perceive still he do expect a change in of matters, especially as to religion, and fits himself for it by professing himself for it in his discourse. He gone, I to my business at my Office, and so at night home to supper, and to bed. |
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I went to a movie with a friend today. It was pretty great. There were aliens and gods and a guy in a suit and a big green rage monster and the ass-kickingest woman ever and Sam Jackson with an eyepatch. Everything except a harpy. So it wasn't perfect. |
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Delia (to extremely sulky, broody EK): You are my darling one. EK (sulkily): No, I'm not. I'm not anyone's darling anything. Delia: So what am I, chopped liver? EK: Oh..........OK. Delia: Good; because I don't think there's any statute anywhere about marriage being between chopped liver and a woman. |
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I just had one of those labor-saving strokes of genius that I need to share with the world. Which is to say, the easiest method ever in the history of popovers. Here is my basic popover recipe: 2 tablespoons solid fat (butter or animal fat (duck fat, mmm) or solid shortening) 3 large eggs, at room temperature 1 cup (250 ml) whole milk, at room temperature 1 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar 1 cup (140 g) all purpose or white whole wheat flour 1 tablespoon vital wheat gluten This tactic assumes you own a wand blender and a wide-mouthed quart Mason jar and a microwave. If not, just make the popovers the way you normally would--or if you are missing the wand blender but have a normal blender, you can melt the butter in a different container and use the normal blender. About an hour or two before dinner, take your Mason jar. Put the butter/whatever in it. Put it in the microwave and melt it. (If you are making Yorkshire pud and are waiting for the roast to be finished before you add the fat, skip this step for now, and stir the fat in before you bake the popovers.) Add the milk, eggs, salt, and sugar to the butter in the Mason jar (or blender)(or just put them in the blender if you are adding the fat later). Do not put the eggs directly into the hot butter before diluting it with the milk. Otherwise you will have scrambled eggs, which are nice, but not popovers. Whiz them all up with the wand blender. Add the flour and the wheat gluten. Whiz that too, until you have a nice smooth batter. Let the batter sit on the counter until dinner is nearly ready. If you are roasting something at 400 degrees, you're good; otherwise preheat your oven to 400 (F). (200 C) Liberally grease 9 cups of a 12-cup muffin tin, or if you are making Yorkshire pud, drizzle a little of the fat from the roast into the bottom of the cups. If you have one of the giant-sized six muffin muffin tins, then you will have bigger popovers and they need to bake a little longer. Using silicon cups for this results in popovers without stumps or a lot of loft, as they just levitate themselves out of the super-slick cups entirely. They still taste good! If you are using fat from the roast you're making, add it now and stir it in. Divide the popover batter between the nine greased cups. You can just pour it from the blender or the Mason Jar. Stick in oven. Do not peek! If you open the door before they are set, they won't rise properly. Bake for 35 minutes or until deep mahogany brown. Pull pan from oven. Tilt popovers in cups, or remove them to a rack or basket. Pierce each one with a bamboo skewer. (careful of the steam!) The purpose of these two procedures is to (a) prevent them from getting soggy and (b) prevent them from collapsing. Eat. However you meant to eat them. Do not plan on leftovers. Wash your one. dirty. dish. Oh, and the wand blender, sure. And the muffin tin. But that was inevitable. ETA: Nota Bene For even more loft in your popovers, preheat the muffin tin with the grease in it in the 400-degree oven for a few minutes before pouring the batter in. This is a bit tricky, though, and can be skipped. |
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i'm a fucking genius.
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This weekend. Right. I really liked most of it! Honestly, I was not intending to see all three performances of the Spring Sci-Fi Spectacular, but I had already promised taiganwolf that I would hear him in the matinée and then I had my stuff stashed in the balcony of Urban Promise and then I was invited for dinner between shows with derspatchel and some of the Spetacosians ("a race of acid-spitting backbiters . . . known far and wide for hating that which they love," although off-mike they also do a nice line in WWII dick jokes) and therefore with one thing and another, there was a lot of radio theater on Saturday. What I didn't realize this would give me was the chance to watch the show evolve in performance as the actors tried out different line-readings or bits of business on their varying audiences, culminating in the case of Havoc Over Holowood! in Rob taking a rather nice pratfall for a bit of blocking that had previously been indicated only by some toppling tin-can noises on the foley. (Dr. Alberts is standing in for the robot sidekick of Jetpack Jones, the hero of the wildly popular holo-serial whose latest episode the regular cast are feverishly working to reframe and retcon in a sort of Be Kind Rewind attempt to satisfy a agoodshinkickin, the aforementioned last-seen at darthrami and strange_selkie's baby shower. This is just getting silly.There was an enthusiastic afterparty. I almost did not go to it, for reasons that were partly Tiny Wittgenstein and partly finding out there are places in my head that have not yet healed as much as I hoped they had; I walked to Orchard Street out of a teeth-gritted fuck-you-brain and a deep conviction that I would have nothing to do except stand around reading the spines of my host's library and then I got to the driveway and the actor who had played Professor Barnhardt in The Day the Earth Stood Still (who does a hell of a German accent, although what we traced in conversation Friday night at Saloon were our respective origins in the Pale) spotted me, sang out my name, and tried to give me his margarita. So I went in. I sat on the stairs with ladymondegreen and talked about souls and significant others and music we needed to exchange. I discovered further interconnections between various spheres of my life. I seem to have wound up with invitations to two different people's houses. I am hoping my brain takes the point.And then on Sunday I woke up with something that was either a transient bug or a touch of norovirus or food poisoning—I would really prefer it not to be the latter, because the only culprit would be the conch burger from Boston Burger and it had mango salsa and jerk mayonnaise, but either way I did not meet my family for a matinée of The Avengers (2012), which my mother has been wanting to see ever since Thor (2011); I spent most of the daylight hours curled up in bed trying to convince myself that even drinking water was a good idea. Dinner was a bowl of macaroni and a lot of tea. I counted it a success. And eventually I felt well enough to return home and watch "The Hounds of Baskerville" on Mystery! with my mother for Mother's Day (I seem to be averaging about two episodes per season of Sherlock, but I've enjoyed all the ones I've seen), but it was not exactly how I'd planned to wind up the weekend. (The title of this post comes from one of the things Rob showed me to distract me in the meantime: Noel Harrison and the Smothers Brothers, "The One on the Left Is the One on the Right." It did its job. Also, it's catchy.) Yesterday made up for it. Rob and I went to see Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986) at the Coolidge Corner Theatre. My parents were also in the audience, which caused some drama around picking up the tickets, but also made my mother feel a lot better about missing The Avengers. Despite silliness with rain and buses, we made it in time for the introductory lecture by an extremely entertaining marine biologist who showed both footage of data-tagging whales with suction cups and really neat models of the data obtained thereby. The crowd was probably some combination of Trekkies and hipsters—the applause was always appreciative, but I think it was sometimes appreciating different things—and the print quality was awful, which was rather distressing on a film-preservation level, but it remains a delightful movie and I was strangely pleased I was not the only person who very nearly lip-synched, "Well, double dumbass on you!" And then there was dinner, which kind of turned into the Anabasis. In a sensible universe, we would probably have just walked into the likeliest-looking restaurant in Coolidge Corner, since one of us hadn't eaten all day and the other had cautiously essayed some rice cakes around eleven in the morning. Instead, Rob knew a barbecue place in Brookline, so we walked up to the Village Smokehouse only to discover it had closed just as we got there. Catching the D line from Brookline Village became an instantly less appealing prospect as soon as we realized that it was a Fenway night: a game had just gotten out and the subways were going to be chaos. We kept walking. And in one of those disorienting clicks where the streets look like déjà vu until you get them from the right angle, we came up past a garage and I realized I knew exactly where we were, just facing the other direction. It was the route I take with lesser_celery whenever we walk back from lunch to his car, sometimes from the Back Bay. And so we walked up Huntington, keeping an eye out for plausible restaurants, avoiding Penguin Pizza because it was full of students, and just at the point where our blood sugar was about to desert us entirely, we reached The Squealing Pig (which is not to be confused with The Salty Pig, even though I ate for the first time at both places with lesser_celery) and not only were they still open and serving food, they weren't even very crowded. Rob had the fish and chips and curry fries; I had the lobster toastie and the Tuscan fries. He ordered a lot of imaginatively named beers, one of which I would have totally mooched from him if it hadn't contained coffee. For dessert, we decided we didn't need our arteries and got the toasted sandwich made out of Belgian waffles, bananas, and Irish Mars Bar. The stereo played Division of Laura Lee's "Dirty Love," which is one of the songs I wrote "Little Fix of Friction" to. We may have closed them out and I still caught the last bus from Somerville, which I consider another victory of timing over planning.And today I have no plans at all except a lot of work and recharge. TCM claims to be showing something called Remember the Night (1940) later this evening, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray and written by Preston Sturges, which I suspect I will collapse in front of. That is fine. |
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This is a reminder to everyone who might be interested that Fourth Street Fantasy Convention is approaching. For those who don’t know, this is a small convention (100+ people) heavily oriented toward writing and writers–I sort of made it up back in, I think, the late 80′s so I could hear smart people argue about problems I was having. The theory is that anything that is about writing is also about reading; “How to Read Better” has always been an unstated discussion topic. What distinguishes Fourth Street from most conventions are two things: 1. A very high percentage of professionals (writers, editors); and B. Strict single-track programming with lunch breaks, so everyone can be at every panel (and, of course, continue the arguments from one to the other). It used to be that did the programming; lately it’s mostly Alec Austin with help from Tom Whitmore and me, and I’ve been delighted by how things have gone. I have learned stuff. I think it has helped me write better; I know it has helped me get more out of my reading. Check out who will be there (John Scalzi, Elizabeth Bear, Will Shetterly, Emma Bull, &c &c) It’ll be in Minneapolis, June 22-24, and for actual, useful details, go here. I’d love to see all of you there.
Originally published at Words Words Words. Please leave any comments there. |
| Monday, May 14th, 2012 |
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When I left Boston and moved to NYC, I really grieved to leave behind my beloved folk-music public radio station, WUMB. Fortunately, grief turned to joy when I realized I could listen to them online (and on my kitchen Logitech web-radio)! Indeed, they have something like 5 online channels that each plays a particular style, including Traditional, Contemporary, Celtic.... WUMB is doing an online Auction fundraiser right now. Because - and this may shock you - huge numbers of wealthy people in high-paying professions do not have their ears glued to a dial that offers roots-based music that is not over-produced and often has complicated words in it. Just guessin' here, of course. But I know this station needs funds to thrive. And I want to help! So I've donated a signed Collectors' Deluxe Edition of The Witches of Lublin (the audio drama I co-wrote). Here's the link to bid on that. While you're there, check out all the other items up for Auction. Some are Boston-specific, and some are not. All are good for nerds like us! |
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 Up, and to St. James's to the Duke of York, and thence to White Hall, where we met about office business, and then at noon with Mr. Wren to Lambeth, to dinner with the Archbishop of Canterbury; the first time I was ever there and I have long longed for it; where a noble house, and well furnished with good pictures and furniture, and noble attendance in good order, and great deal of company, though an ordinary day; and exceeding great cheer, no where better, or so much, that ever I think I saw, for an ordinary table: and the Bishop mighty kind to me, particularly desiring my company another time, when less company there. Most of the company gone, and I going, I heard by a gentleman of a sermon that was to be there; and so I staid to hear it, thinking it serious, till by and by the gentleman told me it was a mockery, by one Cornet Bolton, a very gentleman-like man, that behind a chair did pray and preach like a Presbyter Scot that ever I heard in my life, with all the possible imitation in grimaces and voice. And his text about the hanging up their harps upon the willows: and a serious good sermon too, exclaiming against Bishops, and crying up of my good Lord Eglinton, a till it made us all burst; but I did wonder to have the Bishop at this time to make himself sport with things of this kind, but I perceive it was shewn him as a rarity; and he took care to have the room-door shut, but there were about twenty gentlemen there, and myself, infinitely pleased with the novelty. So over to White Hall, to a little Committee of Tangier; and thence walking in the Gallery, I met Sir Thomas Osborne, who, to my great content, did of his own accord fall into discourse with me, with so much professions of value and respect, placing the whole virtue of the Office of the Navy upon me, and that for the Comptroller's place, no man in England was fit for it but me, when Sir J. Minnes, as he says it is necessary, is removed: but then he knows not what to do for a man in my place; and in discourse, though I have no mind to the other, I did bring in Tom Hater to be the fittest man in the world for it, which he took good notice of. But in the whole I was mightily pleased, reckoning myself now fifty per cent. securer in my place than I did before think myself to be. Thence to Unthanke's, and there find my wife, but not dressed, which vexed me, because going to the Park, it being a most pleasant day after yesterday's rain, which lays all the dust, and most people going out thither, which vexed me. So home, sullen; but then my wife and I by water, with my brother, as high as Fulham, talking and singing, and playing the rogue with the Western barge-men, about the women of Woolwich, which mads them, an so back home to supper and to bed. |
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This is not the post about my weekend, because my weekend contained enough things that I should write them up properly. (Upshot: I saw a lot of sci-fi radio theater. It was good. Sunday could have stood some improvement, but it turned out all right.) This is the post about The Moment of Change: An Anthology of Feminist Speculative Poetry, edited by Rose Lemberg, which is now available from Aqueduct Press. Contributors include Ursula K. Le Guin, Shweta Narayan, Theodora Goss, Amal El-Mohtar, J.C. Runolfson, Lawrence Schimel, Cassandra Phillips-Sears, Catherynne M. Valente, Rachel Manija Brown, JoSelle Vanderhooft, Athena Andreadis, Adrienne J. Odasso, Phyllis Gotlieb, Greer Gilman, Jo Walton, Samantha Henderson, Jeannelle Ferreira, Yoon Ha Lee, Sofia Samatar, April Grant, Nisi Shawl, and a great many other poets speaking in all their own (and sometimes multiple) voices. Two of my poems are among them, "Matlacihuatl's Gift" and "Madonna of the Cave." I won't be at Wiscon for the reading, but I am honored to have been part of this project and very pleased it is out in the world. Go and see; read and change.  |
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 Some of you may remember that earlier this year, giving way to the many, many demands to find Noelle a vamp to call her own, I did, in fact, break down and write a novella for her. That novella, Shades of Gray (no relation to the risque novel of a similar name), will be out at the end of September, and since I can now share the cover for the anthology that includes Noelle's novella, I thought I'd do just that. I'll put up a tiny little excerpt for the novella soon, but until then, you can read a bit more about Noelle and her vamp on my website. |
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invaderxan offers a beautiful artist's impression of sunset on Venus. With bonus rising evening star--Earth and its Moon, in this case.
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curious.
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I really have to quit eating the Medifast Fruit Bar things before bed. Just woke up from a crazy dream involving a duckling who was inside our stove (!) and who un-froze (I never bought frozen duck(s), ever, and neither has anyone in the family) as I passed by; he jumped out of the stove quacking, having lost only a few feathers . . . I put him on a string and started walking him around as a pet and feeding him peanuts (!!), and then people asked if he might be slightly backward because of having been flash-frozen before I got him, and I began worrying because I wouldn't be able to teach him to fly (!!!). He started eating the decorative "sticks" that we had standing in jars around the house (I have never had those, but Mama used to have them). I'm glad something woke me up, even if it was probably the dog coughing or thunder rolling overhead. Did you know thunder is the angels bowling? ANYWAY. 1. I may have good news tomorrow or the next day. I hope what I have been told turns out to be the real deal, and that I didn't misconstrue or misunderstand! 2. Hubby's job is still a puzzler, but he has now been told that they want him to stay on and work from home!! They said they already have a software guy who works out of his home in Oklahoma (all right, no Oklahoma jokes--my cousin has already covered them all ) and that they'd be happy to arrange for hubby to bring home the computer(s) and stuff that he needs from the facility where his office is now (they're closing down operations in Plano). They would have him travel "infrequently" to Denver and possibly Chicago to present results and reports. This overrides what the Human Resources lady originally said, but it comes from a vice president dude, so it's probably good. They're working on the paperwork right now. He still does go to the office, although he is the only one in the building. He's doing research and working on various smaller project pieces until they give him the go-ahead to come home with this. Until I actually see the paperwork, I am skeptical. The facility closes down on June 12th, and he's the one who'll be closing it up by turning off the servers and watching the crew that they send in to pack it all up. On June 13th, we'll know the real skinny. Still, he believes. So we'll see. This would probably be the best of all worlds. Even though I'll have to completely clear out our sunroom so he can use it as an office. It's got an external entrance/exit and its own climate control, so it's perfect. Only problem is that we have several things of Mama's stored out there and a BUNCH of my books that have to be sorted through and taken out so that he might deduct the office space. I'm dubious about that last bit because it can get you audited in a New York nanosecond, but we'll see. Thinking about that, and about buying him a new desk and chair for out there, makes me tired already. 3. Hubby has a rash on his right shoulder and arm. I don't know what could have caused it. I changed the sheets and re-washed his T-shirts tonight so that we could eliminate the detergent as a cause of it (I had to change detergents AGAIN because as soon as I find one that I like, they change it. Used Fresh Start for YEARS, but when that went away I started using a Cheer Free and Gentle that they have now apparently had to stop making because they found out I was using it, and so I'm using a Tide Free and Clear that may not be entirely allergen-free. Hmph.) Now my feet are starting to itch. . . . 4. I may have lost some flab. The f%$%^& scale lies and says different numbers all the time. But the skirt I tried to wear today fell off several times (in the house, not at the mall), and my pants are much looser, and I got rid of several tees that were just too baggy. I think that scale is evil. 5. Mama's second pair of glasses has FINALLY come in at the EyeMasters. But she now says she can't see through this pair, and that the new pair will be the same, and she doesn't want them. She told the store manager that she wanted frames that are bigger so her bifocal thingie is in the proper place. It's true that the clerk told her when we bought these that she'd make it right if Mama could not use these or if there was any problem like this (the frames are too little, like every frame made today--where do you get old cat's eye glasses?? We need them.) I don't know how this is going to shake out. If only I could find this pair. Zenni Optical used to sell it, says the lady who posted this pic on another group, but they don't seem to have it any more. These would be perfect!  6. I want a flying car. 
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| Sunday, May 13th, 2012 |
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| So I'm finally catching up on the last three episodes of Criminal Minds. And damn, I really like "The Company." | ||||||||
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 Up, and to the office, where all the morning, it being a rainy foul day. But at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, and Sidney, and Sir Charles Harbord, and Roger Pepys, and dined with me; and had a good dinner, and very merry with; us all the afternoon, it being a farewell to Sidney; and so in the evening they away, and I to my business at the Office and so to supper, and talk with my brother, and so to bed. |
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| ( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. ) | ||||||
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Hi ladies! I hope you like this one, I did it for you, an alternative to the original with the same music. I listened to all the critique as I promised, including, wore a pretty Madame Abla bedlah, put lipstick on. Sorry about the glasses though. cheers, critique away :-) I don't like it nearly as much as my original. sigh. |
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| Saturday, May 12th, 2012 |
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First: Someone got me DW paid time! I do not know who you are, but whoever you are you are GREAT and I love you. Thank you. ♥ Second: Pretty much all my shows were renewed, which I did not expect but is really great. I'm up to date with Survivor (obviously; I'm going to a viewing party for the finale tomorrow night and then I think crashing the afterparty? UGH MY LIFE) and Community and Parks & Rec and Fringe and Cougar Town and Celeb Apprentice (ALL OF WHICH I AM HAPPY TO DISCUSS), and am two episodes behind on Revenge (sorry twitter harassers, ilu?), and will catch up on Good Wife and Vampire Diaries and Apartment 23 during the off-season before Big Brother restarts, and guys, did you know Korra started? I HAVE TO FIND TIME TO WATCH THAT. (In between watching all of the Marvelverse movies. ![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small} ghost_lingering and I have figured out how to hook my laptop up to the TV, which... well, I think it will end well, but by well I pretty much mean terribly. When I was home sick we watched Thor! :D? :D?)And of course because of all of this, I am more fannishly engaged than I have been in ages, and am even contemplating creative contributions to fandom, which is STRANGE AND NEW AND EXCITING except for the part where I did it for years before essentially quitting cold-turkey six years ago. I am having a hard time making choices, but since this is the closest I've been involved in ages, here is a list of fics I am contemplating writing and/or have started writing, all of which are crossovers, because that is how I roll. ( I am pretty sure every single one of these has either Madeleine L'Engle characters or someone from the Avengers, which is ALSO how I roll. ) UGH BEING FANNISH AGAIN IS SO WEIRD. You have IDEAS and THOUGHTS and FEELINGS and, yeah. Weird. It's even weirder to realize that this is what I used to do ALL THE TIME. I am making Mother's Day cards right now (using my 1/16-inch holepunch, which seemed like a much beter idea before I started, and scalloped scissors designed for children, which are child-safe and thus designed for children who presumably don't care how bad their work looks) and listening to Muppet soundtracks, because that's how I roll, but periodically I look up and peck at my keyboard for a few minutes (before deleting everything I wrote because lol OCD, but whatever). I still feel like critical engagement is more my thing than creative at this juncture- see above, re: deleting- but it's still pretty awesome to be involved at all. FANDOM I HAVE MISSED YOU. And on that note, I have entered myself in the "You are Beautiful" meme on LJ and the love meme on DW, and more of you should do that too because right now I am full of love and you should all be recipients of that. ETA: Read the comments, you guys. seriously, read the comments. If you care at all about Muppets and Avengers, READ THE COMMENTS. Cross-posted at http://fox1013.dreamwidth.org/91247.html. Comment wherever you feel more comfortable. |
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okay.
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 Up, and to Westminster Hall, where the term is, and this the first day of my being there, and here by chance met Roger Pepys, come to town the last night: I was glad to see him. After some talk with him and others, and among others Sir Charles Harbord and Sidney Montagu, the latter of whom is to set out to-morrow towards Flanders and Italy, I invited them to dine with me to-morrow, and so to Mrs. Martin's lodging, who come to town last night, and there je did hazer her, she having been a month, I think, at Portsmouth with her husband, newly come home from the Streights. But, Lord! how silly the woman talks of her great entertainment there, and how all the gentry come to visit her, and that she believes her husband is worth 6 or 700l., which nevertheless I am glad of, but I doubt they will spend it a fast. Thence home, and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, in the side balcony, over against the musick, did hear, but not see, a new play, the first day acted, "The Roman Virgin," an old play, and but ordinary, I thought; but the trouble of my eyes with the light of the candles did almost kill me. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, and there had a promise from Sidney to come and dine with me to-morrow; and so my wife and I home in our coach, and there find my brother John, as I looked for, come to town from Ellington, where, among other things, he tell me the first news that my [sister Jackson] is with child, and fat gone, which I know not whether it did more trouble or please me, having no great care for my friends to have children; though I love other people's. So, glad to see him, we to supper, and so to bed. |
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| Friday, May 11th, 2012 |
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 My wife again up by four o'clock, to go to gather May-dew; and so back home by seven, to bed, and by and by I up and to the office, where all the morning, and dined at noon at home with my people, and so all the afternoon. In the evening my wife and I all alone, with the boy, by water, up as high as Putney almost, with the tide, and back again, neither staying going nor coming; but talking, and singing, and reading a foolish copy of verses upon my Lord Mayor's entertaining of all the bachelors, designed in praise to my Lord Mayor, and so home and to the office a little, and then home to bed, my eyes being bad. Some trouble at Court for fear of the Queen's miscarrying; she being, as they all conclude, far gone with child. |
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This from Twitter over the last few days. We’ve decided that it should be an HBO or Showtime series, written, produced, and directed by Joss Whedon and his Usual Suspects, staring: Vlad: Alan Tudyk Loiosh: Robin Williams (I know he’s not a Whedonite. But) Cawti: Summer Glau Sethra: Gina Torres Sticks: Nathan Fillion (the part would have to get much bigger) Daymar: Ron Glass (edited) Kragar: Sean Mehar Morrolan: James Marsters Aliera: Felicia Day Norathar: Eliza Dushku Zerika: Sarah Michelle Geller Lady Teldra: Morena Baccarin Melestav: Adam Baldwin ETA Noish-pa: Anthony Hopkins The Demon: Mark Sheppard Sethra the Younger: Jewel Staite Mario: Chiwetel Ejiofor Now, of course, if they manage to get Firefly back, all bets are off. I’d rather see that happen.
Originally published at Words Words Words. Please leave any comments there. |
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Briefly, because it has been the kind of day mostly occupied by errands and work— 1. My poems "Aristeia" and "Godfather Drosselmeyer" have been accepted by Fantastique Unfettered. The first is the poem I wrote with a migraine in December; the second was written for Shaun O'Brien of the New York City Ballet. They are a new market for me. I am rather pleased. 2. I had dinner in Providence last night. My brother informs me that he once drove to Portland for a lobster roll, so apparently I still have some ways to go in the food-related road trip stakes, but it was a very pleasant way to wind up a day that had involved rather more waiting for buses in sudden tropical showers than I had expected from waking up in New England: I piled into a small red car named Ohtori with rushthatspeaks, gaudior, and a visiting rax and we all drove to Julian's. Rush and I last ate there one eventful weekend in 2010; we count it as our first date. They had astonishing food and the most entertaining bathroom either of us had ever seen. Neither disappointed on return. They had just changed their menu that night, so I think we got some experimenter's attentiveness from our waitstaff, but the people around me were ordering things like corned seitan and saffron-olive bulgur and buckwheat pancakes with duck confit and piñon ice cream and all indications were favorable. I had a chimichurri steak pizza with queso fresco on naan, which should not have worked at all. It did not surprise me that the jalapeño goat cheese grits were delicious, but I was still really glad to have ordered them. Gaudior can vouch for their lemongrass basil sorbet; Rush ordered something that was indeed not a Boston cream pie, but it was glazed with Nutella, so I really didn't care. It is now a definite thing that I like Becherovka. We had to drive back to Boston immediately afterward, because Rax had a poker date and Gaudior has a job, but they dropped me in Davis Square and I met derspatchel and a table of Post-Meridianers at The Painted Burro, which is how I found out that someone whom I last saw at the baby shower for my god-daughter (who at that time was going by the name of Figment and now two and a half years old and tall) is playing the female lead in The Day the Earth Stood Still. The interconnectedness of my world is just getting silly.3. The Day the Earth Stood Still is the second half of the Post-Meridian Radio Players' Spring Sci-Fi Spectacular, which I am going to hear tonight. Come if you're in the area (on the right planet, in the correct dimension)! The first half is an episode of derspatchel's Red Shift: Interplanetary Do-Gooder, in which he also performs as Dr. Albert Alberts. teenybuffalo, I know I still owe you a mad scientist poem. It's going to be sap, I'm just warning you.My brother got a full-time job and was so happy about it, he talked to me for half an hour before going back to the garage to finish the knife he was making. I return to my much less interesting work. |
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| Thursday, May 10th, 2012 |
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http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1669/0 Troubled, about three in the morning, with my wife's calling her maid up, and rising herself, to go with her coach abroad, to gather May- dew, which she did, and I troubled for it, for fear of any hurt, going abroad so betimes, happening to her; but I to sleep again, and she come home about six, and to bed again all well, and I up and with Mr. Gibson by coach to St. James's, and thence to White Hall, where the Duke of York met the Office, and there discoursed of several things, particularly the Instructions of Commanders of ships. But here happened by chance a discourse of the Council of Trade, against which the Duke of York is mightily displeased, and particularly Mr. Child, against whom he speaking hardly, Captain Cox did second the Duke of York, by saying that he was talked of for an unfayre dealer with masters of ships, about freight: to which Sir T. Littleton very hotly and foolishly replied presently, that he never heard any honest man speak ill of Child; to which the Duke of York did make a smart reply, and was angry; so as I was sorry to hear it come so far, and that I, by seeming to assent to Cox, might be observed too much by Littleton, though I said nothing aloud, for this must breed great heart-burnings. After this meeting done, the Duke of York took the Treasurers into his closet to chide them, as Mr. Wren tells me; for that my Lord Keeper did last night at the Council say, when nobody was ready to say any thing against the constitution of the Navy, that he did believe the Treasurers of the Navy had something to say, which was very foul on their part, to be parties against us. They being gone, Mr. Wren [and I] took boat, thinking to dine with my Lord of Canterbury; but, when we come to Lambeth, the gate was shut, which is strictly done at twelve o'clock, and nobody comes in afterwards: so we lost our labour, and therefore back to White Hall, and thence walked my boy Jacke with me, to my Lord Crew, whom I have not seen since he was sick, which is eight months ago, I think and there dined with him: he is mightily broke. A stranger a country gentleman, was with him: and he pleased with my discourse accidentally about the decay of gentlemen's families in the country, telling us that the old rule was, that a family might remain fifty miles from London one hundred years, one hundred miles from London two hundred years, and so farther, or nearer London more or less years. He also told us that he hath heard his father say, that in his time it was so rare for a country gentleman to come to London, that, when he did come, he used to make his will before he set out. Thence: to St. James's, and there met the Duke of York, who told me, with great content, that he did now think he should master our adversaries, for that the King did tell him that he was; satisfied in the constitution of the Navy, but that it was well to give these people leave to object against it, which they having not done, he did give order to give warrant to the Duke of York to direct Sir Jeremy Smith to be a Commissioner of the Navy in the room of Pen; which, though he be an impertinent fellow, yet I am glad of it, it showing that the other side is not so strong as it was: and so, in plain terms, the Duke of York did tell me, that they were every day losing ground; and particularly that he would take care to keep out Child: at all which I am glad, though yet I dare not think myself secure, as the King may yet be wrought upon by these people to bring changes in our Office, and remove us, ere it be long. Thence I to White Hall, and there took boat to Westminster, and to Mrs. Martin's, who is not come to town from her husband at Portsmouth. So drank only at Cragg's with Doll, and so to the Swan, and there baiser a new maid that is there, and so to White Hall again, to a Committee of Tangier, where I see all things going to rack in the business of the Corporation, and consequently in the place, by Middleton's going. Thence walked a little with Creed, who tells me he hears how fine my horses and coach are, and advises me to avoid being noted for it, which I was vexed to hear taken notice of, it being what I feared and Povy told me of my gold-lace sleeves in the Park yesterday, which vexed me also, so as to resolve never to appear in Court with them, but presently to have them taken off, as it is fit I should, and so to my wife at Unthanke's, and coach, and so called at my tailor's to that purpose, and so home, and after a little walk in the garden, home to supper and to bed. |
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Cast your mind back about twenty-five or so years. Way back then, I was a student at the University of Washington studying--of all things--physics and astronomy. And one of the things I badly wanted to learn was the Russian language. Why? I have no idea. I'm not sure I even knew then, and I certainly don't know now. I simply remember that I wanted to learn Russian. For two happy undergraduate years, I frolicked with the Russian language. I was Katya, and I was quite happy to tell all those pesky Young Republicans who hung out on campus soliciting voters to join their flanks that I was studying Russian *and* astrophysics, and then watched with great pleasure when, sputtering something about patriotism, they cautioned me against ever visiting the (then still Soviet Union) while in possession of Valuable American Scientific Knowledge.  MY FIRST YEAR RUSSIAN TEXTBOOK Fast forward a couple of decades. The sum total of the Russian I could remember were pithy phrases like "Today, I have no mind" and "My name is Katya. I am an American student. Would you like to buy my valuable physics secrets?" Now, I've always been fascinated with learning another language. And I have a small, very, very small smattering of many languages, usually just a few phrases because as we all know, I have the memory of maple syrup. And while I enjoy the process of learning languages (hence my desire to learn Greek last year, which failed when it became clear that Rosetta Stone's method of teaching was not working well with my brain), previous attempts of learning on my own have forced me to face the fact that I'm one of those people who really need an actual class with an actual instructor, and more importantly, actual interaction to learn languages.  ACTUAL PAGE WITH NOTES FROM RUSSIAN TEXTBOOK SHOWING THAT AT SOME POINT IN MY LIFE, I UNDERSTOOD THIS STUFF. And since I'm busy writing books, and live in the boonies, and am a shy little hermit who refuses to go to metropolitan areas like downtown Seattle in order to attend such classes, I've had to simply wander the house with my arms flailing about vaguely while muttering things like, "Man, I wish I could speak French. Or Greek. Or Russian. Hey, I used to speak Russian!" A few days ago, I decided to give the ole language-learning part of my brain another shot at showing its quality. But this time, I was going to attend an actual class. And rather than going for a language that was new to me, I'd go back to my old love, and try to resurrect the Russian that must surely still be stashed away somewhere in my brain. Starting May 21s, I'll be attending an (online, true, but with streaming video hookups) ACTUAL LIVE RUSSIAN CLASS. My brain may never be the same. Oh, and if you'd like some valuable undergraduate astrophysics secrets from 25+ years ago, let me know. I've still got the paper I wrote about the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. |
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For a thousand years, he's chosen to change rather than to die. Now, at last, he faces a different future.... *or Ad Aeternum, if you prefer. In retrospect, the lowercase/bad-Mediaeval-Latin thing doesn't work as well as I'd hoped. Oh well. I'll just leave this here as an apology for anybody who is irritated. Makes it easier to google.... |
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For centuries, the wampyr has drifted from one place to another. From one life to another. It's 1962, and he's returned to New Amsterdam for the first time since he fled it on pain of death some sixty years before. On the eve of social revolution, on the cusp of a new way of life, he's nevertheless surrounded by inescapable reminders of who he used to be.
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3000 words today to finally put this damned overdue novelette to bed. Tomorrow, I give "Terrestrial Radio" a final revision pass and start my heavy research reading on "The Deeps of the Sky," which is a narrative in search of a conflict currently. There's a lot of ground to cover before I head out to WisCon. State of the Honeydew: 2012: Weird West story: June 1, 2012 OWW EC Review: May 15, 2012 "The Deeps of the Sky" (Hard SF adventure story): June 1, 2012 OWW EC Review: June 15, 2012 OWW EC Review: July 15, 2012 First draft EII story: July 15, 2012 "The Wreck of the Charles Dexter Ward" (Collaborative short with truepenny): July 31, 2012Fireside story: August 15, 2012 Final draft EII story: September 1, 2012 "Underworld": September 15, 2012 An Apprentice to Elves: 2012 with truepennytravel: WisCon: May 25-28, Madison WI 4th Street Fantasy Conversation: June 21-24, Minneapolis MN ConVergence: July 5-8, Minneapolis MN Readercon: July 12-15, Burlington MA Armadillocon: July 26-29, Austin TX Pi-Con: August 17-19, Enfield CT ChiCon: August 30-Sept 3, Chicago IL Viable Paradise: October 5-14, Oak Bluffs MA World Fantasy Convention: November 1-4, 2012, Toronto ON Canada 2013: Sword and sorcery story: January 2013 Modern fantasy story: January 2013 Steles of the Sky: January 2013 "Dark Leader": March 2013 "Something's Gotta Eat T. rexes": September 2013 travel: World Fantasy Convention: October 31-November 3, 2013, Brighton England UK No fixed deadline: Karen Memory Smile (unless its name is actually Salt Water) Unsuitable Metal Gotham Jazz Untitled Gangland Urban Fantasy That Keeps Bugging Me "Form & Void" "Untitled Space Opera Thingy" aka "Periastron" "Posthumous Jonson" "Steel" "On Safari in R'lyeh and Carcosa with Gun and Camera" "This Chance Planet" "Flush"
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tired.| Wednesday, May 9th, 2012 |
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This is a gym update, and not much more. I'm back to working 5.10s, which makes me feel like a real grownup climber, and if I can continue without re-straining my shoulder or fucking up a pulley tendon, I may persist in being a real grownup climber. I never really expect to get much beyond 5.10s -- I started too late in life, and I only climb two or three days a week -- but I feel more secure on the wall than I ever have, and I'm even eyeing a 5.8 on the huge, terrifying, massively overhung wall on the back of the gym. I got up one thing on it a couple of years ago, but that was before they re-engineered it to take out the rest point in the middle. Maybe in another ten, twenty pounds or so. I did get two holds higher on the 5.10a that I have declared my current project (there's another one I tried yesterday and will come back to, but it's very overhung) and I got up all but the last ten feet of a brutal 5.9 that would be a ten anywhere else on the planet except at the madly underating gym where I do most of my climbing. A combination of two slopers and a long reach to the third hold, with largely absent feet, defeated me. But I fought it until my hands quit. Which is something. I am learning about slopers. What I have learned is that slopers suck. This means I'm back to climbing as well as I was last August, although I think I'm not yet quite as strong. The stamina is good, though--running helps, it turns out. And now back to trying to write the last damned scene of this story. |
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sleepy.