This is what I get for getting whipped into a frenzy by people who were only half-paying attention to Fox News.
Last night, as we were waiting for Mimi to come out of recovery after her spine surgery, the major topic of debate was the new clean energy bill, particularly the new energy efficiency requirements for housing. My mother and aunts absolutely had their panties in a bind because, as they were relating, all homes would have to exceed the 2006 Energy Efficiency Standards by 30% in order to be sold, and if they couldn't meet that requirement, they would have to be remodeled/retrofitted until they could.
Now, if you think about it, that's a terrible idea. Just think of all the 30-50 year old homes in this country that would have to be all but razed before they could comply with that requirement. You could wind up spending thousands of dollars on repairs, or worse, be trapped in a house because you couldn't afford to make the necessary changes. You certainly couldn't sell a fixer-upper. It would be a terrible impingement upon an already soft housing market, and it would righteously suck.
So, wondering how any adult smart enough to be elected to congress would /vote/ for such stupidity, I went and looked at the text of the bill. And you know what? It requires that /new/ construction be 30% more efficient than 2006 standards, up to 50% more efficient by 2033. And it provides funding for a program for direct cash incentives to homeowners to improve the energy efficiency of their homes, but as far as I can tell, it's certainly not *mandatory*. And it would make it illegal for a HOA to prevent you from installing solar panels, which I think is an altogether excellent idea. I'm in favor of most anything that restricts a HOA's power to tell you what you can and can't do with your own fucking property.
I don't particularly like the bill - even the portion of it that I was reading intensively had a bunch of deeply stupid provisions (Under REEP, if you get matching government funds, and use them to improve Section 8 housing, you can't increase the rent after improvements... which is 'tarded). And there's some disturbing things about doing outside contracting from "developers" to actually write up the housing code...which sounds like a plum assignment for someone owed a political favor. And I'm deeply concerned that 30-50% improvement on energy efficiency is an unrealistic goal, and that the building requirements to get to that stage would make buying a new home prohibitively expensive.
On a more fundamental level, I'm not sure that a cap & trade solution is the way to go to get a handle on our greenhouse emissions, and more of a way for the government to stick a hand in every aspect of life, regulating everything from light bulbs to nuclear power plants.
a little art help? My current stitching project is an image of Daikoku riding one of his rats. I started work on his lucky mallet this evening, when I realized that I could not figure out what the heck was going on with his right hand.
About two years ago, I started stitching up the Santa ornaments that a company called Mill Hill produces. Each year since 1999, they have released a set of three Santas with a similar theme. I have completed the ones from 2004, 2006, 2007, and 2008. This morning, I got an email from one of my needle stores that the company had released the 2009 Xmas series (Greenland, Lapland, and Nunavut Santas). This spurred me to action to finally, finally order the 2000-2003 & 2005 series. Now, I know that none of my brick & mortar stores carry these, and some web searching reveals that none of the few reliable stitching e-tailers carry more than a couple of them, so my choice is to buy direct from Mill Hill.
This is possible, though convoluted. Mill Hill doesn't really "do" retail - what happens is that they send any order you make to a brick & mortar store along with one of their wholesale orders. That store then repackages it and ships it to you. Mill Hill doesn't make the initial shipment for 10-20 days, so it may be a month or more before you receive your order. Furthermore, because the thing gets mailed in two separate legs and handled by two separate entities, the S&H fee per order is outrageously high. So if I were to order direct from the manufacturer, I'd pay MSRP + 15% S&H + 8.025% Texas sales tax. And I wouldn't receive my order for a month.
Rather understandably, I was loath to endure all that rigmarole. So I started searching some of the...shadier...etailers. I finally found someone selling through ebay, who had all fifteen of the kits I wanted. She was selling them at 15% off retail, with free priority shipping for more than 5 kits (and no sales tax, since it came from NJ*). So I wound up paying 40% less (total) for the same items, and I should receive them before the weekend.
It got me to thinking about the impact of internet shopping versus traditional stores. If I lived out in Vegas, where the owner of Paradise Stitching knows me on sight, I might have been able to convince them to simply slip my order in with their regular wholesale, and I would have saved S&H. I still would have paid MSRP (if not more) and waited a month for my stuff. Secondary channels on the internet were able to fix my problem more quickly, more cheaply, and with far less aggravation than either of the legitimate retail channels - there was simply no competition. It's just one more example of how small, non-franchised operations suffer a massive threat from the (essentially limitless) inventory available online.
*legally, I'm still supposed to pay it to the State of Texas.
I love wearing my lab coat, even if all I'm doing is sitting at my laptop "reading articles". It just gives such an air of legitimacy to the half-ass things I think and say.
Also, it keeps me comfortable when the A/C makes it 68* in here so that the rest of the lab can be comfortable and has bad ass buttons and questionable stains, just the way a lab coat should.
If this job requires some sort of ridiculous headgear, I could just about die happy.
So I was stumbling around and I encountered an article about interpreting human emotions, with the accompanying graphic:
Now, I interpreted those faces thusly:
1.) Stoned off ass. 2.) Someone has eaten the last fat-free yogurt cup. 3.) Forced required picture smile. 4.) Mildly peevish. The baseline state of teenagerdom. 5.) Forgot today's algebra test. 6.) Oh no they didn't. 7.) Stoned, awestruck by infiniteness of time and space in the garage. 8.) Sarcasm emitter activated! 9.) Stoned, can't find Cheeto's.
Apparently, the answers are sad, disgust, enjoyment, anger, fear, anger, fear, contempt, and worry, and my failure to appreciate that mean I might be a psychopath. But really, I think it just means that they should have hired Eric instead of a bored teenager to model facial expressions.
I quite enjoyed Shadow. Even though it is apparently the first of a quartet, it has a solid - if stately - plot. The mystery of the character's methods and motivation was engaging, and even the inevitable conclusion of the "my boyfriend is out of town, I just need some comfort" was adroitly handled. What was missing, though, was the metaplot. As neatly put together as the book was, there were relatively few plot strands that seemed sturdy enough to set up a epic-level story.
#35: Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson
The first time I read Snow Crash, I bitched about Stephenson's extensive infodumping, and I recall largely skimming over the chapters about Sumerian myth, linguistics, and rational theology to get to creamy plot goodness. This time, knowing that the plot is going to suffer from the literary equivalent of premature ejaculation*, I took my time and worked through the infodumping at a more leisurely pace. I found that I actually enjoyed them this time. they made me think, and not on the shallow-ish level required to follow a plot and appreciate satire. That being said, because I was thinking harder, and because I've now reviewed a number of scientific articles, I was somewhat more skeptical of the premise of the vertically-transmitted, centuries-dormant, psycholinguistic virus. Also, I can't believe that any human culture would be possible without conscious innovation and problem solving on the individual level. Those traits are already demonstrated in non-humans.
But I must say, I liked the book all the more for it, even if I did disagree with some of the conclusions. I was just along for an intellectual ride, and taken on those terms, I had really nothing to complain about.
*feels awesome, but still distinctly unsatisfying.
Everyone seems to hail social media as the greatest thing to hit the internet since sliced bread, but I'll tell you - I don't like it.
I realize that's a strange statement coming from someone who regularly updates her own LJ, but also reads and comments all the time, but I'm going to make a special exception for true blogs from the rest of the "social media" umbrella. For one thing, blogs tend to be full expressions of personal thoughts and projects. Furthermore, they are more unidirectional than a lot of the other social media concepts. I blog because it is useful and interesting for me, and I'd do it regardless of whether anyone ever read or commented on it (though I'll admit, it's a lot more fun when you do.).
Anyway. The basic premise of social media is that you find like-minded people, and you share stuff. Either things you have made, things you have found, or just what you think about things.
I don't want to do any of that.
I have always been really terrible at finding and keeping a social circle. I'm a classic introvert*. I don't often seek out others, in life, or on the internet, unless they are really interesting, and make it patently clear that it would not be an intrusion, such as when Ferrett made his big "cool people find each other" post. I'm a born lurker. On top of being bad at making friends in the first place, I'm even worse about keeping them. I am terrible about making the effort to keep someone in my monkeysphere. I'm not really upset about it, because I feel that if I no longer actually /do/ things with people, there's no reason to make herculean efforts to stay in touch. So there's one major leg kicked out from under the wonders of social media. They don't work if you don't have people to interact with.
Now, the sharing part. I don't make things that lots of people are interested in or want to see. I'm not a visual artist, I don't make videos or code games or anything like that. And as far as updates on my personal life, I'm a pretty boring person. And when interesting things do happen to me, I usually want to say more than would fit in a microblog. And when it comes to passing along things that I've found, I don't want to push. I figure that since I don't give a shit about 99% of other people's opinions about anything, that people don't really care about mine, either. I guess I never internalized the value of sharing when I was in kindergarten.
Then there's the last major problem I have with social media, and that's the assumption that every friend is the same. This seems to be primarily a problem with social networking, particularly facebook. I have a facebook account, and I have friended some Cepheids, some coworkers, and some family. Now, if I were to post pictures of me eating Cheetos out of someone's cleavage, that would be just fine to show to the Cepheids. It would certainly not be appropriate to show to my coworkers or to my family. Likewise, it would not be appropriate to share details of my ongoing strife with my sister outside of the family circle. But for a lot of social network apps, there's no way to differentiate among various groups who is able to view various things that you share**. As a geek, an introvert, and a civil libertarian, I very much value my privacy, and my control over the dissemination of information about my life. That's simply inconsistent with the "live out loud" mentality.
*Like many introverts, I just have an exuberant persona around "safe" people, or when I'm the center of attention. ** Another reason I like LJ, the ability to have differentially filter posts.
After going into the hospital, babicka rallied somewhat. While she's still terminal, and her death is both inevitable and imminent, it is unlikely to be immediate. She's very depressed because she can't get comfortable, she can't understand the nurses since she doesn't have her hearing aid, and she told me that she ust wants to die and get it over with.
I am so tired all the time. I'm sleeping 10+ hours a day, and yet I'm still perpetually exhausted and totally unmotivated to work. Is it the heat? I don't know, but it's bloody annoying.
I read #33, Terry Pratchett's Soul Music. I enjoyed i more in this form, than in alpha-corrected OCR pirated ebook form.
An IRC conversation spawned mention of the Kevin Costner shitfest "The Postman".
I replied that I had fond memories of The Postman, because the first time I got to second base was due to it's boring crappiness.
...with a boy who was wearing my dress at nerd summer camp.
It was a tradition there that the second Wednesday of camp was Transvestite Day. Boys borrowed skirts/dresses (and bras, if they were adventurous and persuasive enough), girls wore t-shirts and jeans and no visible cleavage. Ramsey had borrowed my dress. We had a junior-high flirtation thing going on. No kissing, just illicit sweaty hand-holding and overenthusiastic hugging.
Anyway, I was sitting on the couch next to him, and the movie was getting boring, so I decided in my infite wisdom that this would be a good time to tickle the poor boy. So I'm ticking him and we're thrashing around on the couch for a bit, giggling. I finally relented, kind of leaning across his torso. I felt something weird poking me in the ribs. I say to him "What the hell did you put in your pocket?", and reach to examine this odd pokey thing.
I'm not sure who had the more shocked look on their face. Me, when I realized that I was publically groping his wang, or his when I grabbed it. There was a horrified moment of silence, and then I leaped off the couch and ran from the commons. That marked the abrupt end of our "relationship", as thereafter we were both too epically embarassed to look each other in the eye.
And that was how I got to second base for the first time. I wouldn't see it again until my sophomore year of college.
I was eagerly looking forward to this book, which cracktastically promised to feature time traveling pirates and assorted swashbuckling. Fun, right?
No. No it wasn't.
I don't care for contemporary romances at all. If I wanted to read about people wit difficult and improbable love lives, I'd just use the "view random entry" feature on LJ. And I don't like paranormals because I think they are just silly. So when I realized that the book was actually focused on the modern heroine going back in time due to voodoo, I was already prejudiced against her. When she practices armchair pop psychology to diagnose why the hero has commitment issues (just like hers!) and runs around claiming that she wants independence while secretly wanting hot pseudo-pirate dominance, I just wanted to smack her.
But, oh, she got worse. About 30% of the way through the novel, the hero and heroine bang for the first time. It is unremarkable trashy romance screwing, save that the hero keeps his shirt on. Approximately 4 days later, the Magical Old Woman pronounces that Heroine is pregnant, with a boy. My, isn't our hero virile. At this point, there's an abrupt sea-change in our putrid heroine - the only thing she is interested in, and the only thing the author is focused on is BABY BABY BABY.
It's no secret that I don't like children. But they are an inevitability of life, so in most real-life cases, I just ignore and/or avoid them. But I really can't stand them in romance novels. As I wrote in my previous post, romance novels are escapist fiction, where the reader tends to project onto one or the other main characters. And for many women, having babies is a dearly held desire. However, a romance novel is also distinctly "adult", and I don't mean in a strictly pornographic sense. Introducing reproduction into a heretofore "steamy" novel just breaks the tone. And it breaks the structure, since once a romance novel character becomes pregnant, she inevitably focuses more on the incipient child than on the adult relationship, which is what I want to read about. So in short, romance writers - stop making your heroines get pregnant halfway through the damn book.
There are good books, where each plot point seems to flow naturally from A to B to C, with each turn making sense. This was not one of them. This was a book where Things Just Happen, for no discernable rhyme or reason. Add a "tell don't show" method of characterization to a "and then..." plot structure, and you've got a choppy, mediocre book. Not even a scene of a 18th century sea captain at Disneyland was all that entertaining.
Apparently, the spiritual sequel, "Knights", is even worse, if the Amazon reviews are to be believed.
Also, two books which I don't want to review, but want to get them listed before I forget:
#31: The Secret Bluestocking by Eileen Jackson
The first trashy romance novel I ever read, and finally tracked down on BookMooch. It hasn't held up particularly well - and isn't particularly trashy, save for one ripped bodice. But as a sentimental part of my reading history, it got moved to my Secret Keeper Shelf.
#32: Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase
Easily the best romance novel I have ever read, and I cannot top the Smart Bitches Guest Reviews here, here and here.
Now I'm all caught up with the last of the trashy romances for awhile - I think I have had quite enough of the damn things to last me several months.
My grandmother (my stepfather's mother) is not expected to last the week. In many ways, it's a blessing, as she is alone in Houston, suffering from both Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. She's rarely lucid any more. We have never been particularly close, as we don't have much in common and I didn't even meet her until I was 15. But nevertheless, she has been present in my life in a way that my own paternal grandparents never have, and I care about her deeply.
It's very draining, waiting on tenterhooks for news. I'm constantly thinking that I'm hearing the phone ring, calling me to action. Since she'll be buried out in Snook, and I'm the closest relative with a home nearby, my house will be the staging area for the funeral and receiving any guests, but I won't need to host a wake or formal meal. Also, I'll probably wind up picking up my parents at the airport and doing a fair amount of chauffeuring. Writing that, it sounds like I'm narcissistically focused on how her death will affect me, but that's nto really right. I am trying to make sure that I am prepared as much as possible so that it is easier for everyone when the time comes and we are all grieving.
I'll probably go down to Houston tomorrow or Wednesday afternoon to see her and say my goodbyes, even if she's not really there.
A lot of words about a mediocre book... #28: Three Weddings and a Kiss by Kathleen Woodiwiss, Catherine Anderson, Loretta Chase, & Lisa Kleypas A collection of four longish short stories/novellas.
The first, by Catherine Anderson, is set in 1870's Colorado. It concerns a gently-bred girl whose plan to revenge herself upon a heartbreaker of a cowboy backfires, and winds up in a shotgun marriage. She is completely untrained in the skills necessary for the life of a frontier wife, especially as she is blind as a bat and unwilling to wear eyeglasses in front of her new family. Not only is she a terrible cook (she can't read the recipes, won't cook meat), can't do laundry, and can't sew. Nevertheless, she falls in love with her shotgun husband and his six younger brothers. After many domestic failures, she runs back home, whereupon Cowboy Husband discovers that he loves her even if she is a blind, inattentive vegetarian. I didn't like the heroine, because I felt that she was just too fucking stupid, what with the refusing to admit her need for glasses. Add that to the ridiculous "revenge" plot, the anachronistic refusal to eat meat, and her general incompetency, I just wanted to smack her. Add to Stupid Stupid Heroine a plot that largely involves being deliriously happy cooking and cleaning for seven men, and I had no interest in the story. A good romance should be escapist fiction - no one wants to be a blind moron who washes loads of underwear.
The third story, by Kleypas, is a short regency about a woman who fell in love with a rake, who left her to "travel the Continent" for a year. She catches the eye of a newly-minted viscount, who courts her even though she is inordinately prickly. The rake comes back, abducts her as part of a scheme to blackmail the viscount, there is some premarital banging, and everyone winds up happily married, except for the rake, who winds up in debtor's prison. Again, I didn't like the heroine. She is repeatedly described as being "logical" or "practical", but she isn't. Her family is on the verge of financial ruin, and yet she is refusing to consider marriage to someone else. And when courted by a rich and powerful (not to mention hunky) guy, she refuses to even consider him until the rake all but spits in her face. The hero, though, was much more likable. He didn't want a gold-digger, and he wanted an intelligent companion rather than an arm ornament. Kleypas almost always writes excellent heroes, often (in this case) so good that the mediocre heroines don't seem to deserve them.
The fourth, by Woodiwiss, is something of a sequel to Rape, Rape, Revolution, which I read last year. Jeff, the younger brother of Rapey, is in Charleston buying pretty clothes for his sister in law, who he Totally Doesn't Have Inappropriate Feelings About. He encounters a 16 year-old girl (20 years younger than he!), who is running from her uncle, who is trying to sell her into sexual slavery to a Creole for $500. Jeff decides that Jailbait is wicked hot, and pays her uncle $2500, cash. On the carriage ride back to his plantation, Jeff discovers that his new property is not only hot, but educated and well-spoken. He decides that since he owns her anyway, he might as well marry her and finally put to bed the rumours that he's a confirmed bachelor because he's hung up over his sister-in-law. He asks her, she says, yes, they kiss, the end. That's right. In the same day that she gets off the boat from England, the trashily-named Rayelin is sold, bought, and married. To me, that is as far from a romantic setup as possible. Add in the baggage from earlier reading, and there was almost no way I was going to like this story. I was doing well not to fling it across the room.
None of the previous three stories was really all that strong, but it was more than made up for it by Chase's story. The Earl of Dartmouth, son of a woman who died in an insane asylum, has received the diagnosis that he has less than a year to live before he, too, will go insane. To keep the peerage from dying out, he agrees to wed the spinster sister of one of his boyhood friends and attempt to produce an heir. The sister, Gwendolyn, is one of the most fantastic TRN heroines I've ever found. She wants to be a doctor, and has studied medicine as much as she could, but has had to fight tooth and claw for it. She's levelheaded and pragmatic, and refuses to be drawn into the stereotypical and silly misunderstandings that plague romance novels because the protagonists refuse to communicate like adults. Furthermore, for her modern traits, she is firmly rooted in her society - she is willing to enter into a loveless marriage of convenience with a putative madman and attempt to bear him an heir before he dies. In exchange, she will have the money and social position she would need to build a hospital and indulge her Hippocratic urges. That's not a commonly encountered situation.
Furthermore, the chemistry between the earl and Gwen is /fantastic/. He falls for her mind as much - if not more - than her body. They match witticisms, cooperate and work together to fight his illness. She heals his insecurities about being unlovable, he makes her *forgive God for making her a woman*. Even given the bounds of a short story, they have really earned their happily ever after. That's a really essential trait in a TRN. Yes, it's escapist fiction, and you want to be able to root for the hero/heroine, but if they get together easily, there's no real emotional gratification. They've got to overcome some obstacle (usually, that they are both acting like retarded children) in order to merit a happily ever after.
#25: Demon Lord of Karanda by David Eddings #26: Sorceress of Darshivaby David Eddings #27: Seeress of Kell by David Eddings
So I promised that I'd do a Mallorean wrap-up review instead of doing each book individually. Eddings got a lot of shit for basically rewriting The Belgariad. I've never read the Belgariad, so I can't address those issues directly. However, there is a quite long synopsis of the tale, serving as an introduction to the first book in the series, which at least gets the new reader up to speed on the basic backstory, and the cast of hundreds.
The overarching plot of both the Belgariad and the Mallorean is pretty typical of the sword 'n sorcery genre. In order for the Ultimate Final Showdown Between Good and Evil And We Mean It This Time, our trope of motley, plucky protagonists chases the antagonist through five books with the help of a powerful magic object before Good defeats Evil, the world is saved, and everyone who isn't dead goes home happy. And it's obvious that Eddings has set this up to be intentionally true. The characters notice how very much the Mallorean quest is like the Belgariad quest, right down to meeting the same/similar characters at different point in the story. It's pointed out very early on that in this world, with immortal sorcerers and the direct involvement of deities, that cyclical patterns are more important than actual time spans. I can imagine that a setup of this nature would be extremely irritating to someone who had read the first series, I was happy to accept it as a foundation for the second.
I did like the dialogue, which was far more lively than I'd expected. And I was highly amused that Eddings apparently has a hard-on for marriage, because with the exception of the eunuch character, every live protagonist character with more than five lines of dialogue wound up married and/or breeding by the end. That's just not something you see all the time - not with the standard fantasy archetypes of the Brooding Warrior and the Ancient Loner Mystic, certainly. Of course, with all these weddings, it also meant that there were quite a few female characters as primary protagonists, also a welcome change. All too often, there's the Token Chick, who is either useless or waiting back home. This time, the women were important to the function of the party and to the plot - Polgara is a powerful sorceress and organizer, Liselle is a spy & assassin, and Cyradis is the titular Seeress of Kell, around whom much of the plot pivots. But for all that the women are actually *there* and doign *stuff*, they still aren't very believable characters - very two dimensional. Or in the case of Ce'Nedra, one dimensional. Seriously, she could have been replaced with a post-it note reading "I am CRAZY for BABIES!". I did not like Ce'Nedra.
So yes, I liked it. It had its flaws - there seemed to be an inordinate amount of MacGuffin chasing, and the outcome was utterly, utterly predictable, and many of the "puzzles" were far too obvious to the reader. But for light quest fantasy, it really hit the spot.
This was a Dimensions kit I picked up when my local Jo-Ann's was clearing out their inventory. The outside of the box it came in had the most hilariously awful ad copy on it about how "you're a modern woman" who yearns for the simple things and deserves a break, etc. The pattern called for one strand of floss on 14ct aida, but that was totally inadequate coverage, so I went with 2.
There are two only passingly amusing stories about this thing. The first is that I swear Eb picked it out when I drug him to Ginger's in Austin. He swears he's never seen it before. The second is that when I started it out at Flipside, I seriously considered re-working the mottos to "Cannabis" instead of "Oregano" and "indicus and sativa" instead of "modestly and virtue". However, I was stayed by the fact that 1.) I don't smoke weed and 2.) marijuana plants look nothing like that. I'm honestly curious, though, if a pot sachet would sell on etsy.
I have a conflicted history with snowmen. As a concept, they're pretty innocuous. But I once saw a stuffed snowman at quilt festival that had /teeth/. No, not chunks of coal to indicate a mouth, but white bead teeth in a black gaping mouth. It was terrifying. Ever since, I've found something slightly unsettling about snowmen. But this one is OK. I guess it is the incongruity between the idea of 4th of July, and a snowman in revolutionary garb that makes him cute instead of creepy. (I am a little not right.)
I'm so very, very bad. We went to the Fantastik Flea Market, and I wound up buying a set of 2ct tanzanite/1 ct diamond earrings and a matching pendant.
They are very pretty. And this time, no tequila was involved.
As an abstract concept, this seems like a hilariously awesome idea. And then I actually *read* the thing and I found myself saying - "Y'know, that was actually pretty good." And the sheer cognitive dissonance necessary to hold the idea that Snape/Jesus = good burnt out something important in the Big Grey Wrinkly Thing.
Please, internet - I need something wholesome to rub on myself until I feel clean again.
#22: Guardians of the West by David Eddings #24:King of the Murgos by David Eddings
I will do an overall review of the Mallorean when I'm finished with all five books.
#23: A Scandal in Spring by Lisa Kleypas
Trashiometer Sex Scenes: 4, one more implied. Bodice Ripping: 0. In fact, all the clothing is Very Carefully Removed. "Powerful shoulders": Lots. Heaving breasts: 0. No heavers, especially as Daisy is described as petite and small-breasted. Unreciprocated cunnilingus: 2. Bad Euphemisms: None, really. A few amusing references to "aching loins" and trouser chafing, though. Cover Art: Bland pink outer cover of a cottage, overblown inner cover of swooning woman with sever scoliosis and inaccurately-colored Alpha Male.
I have read and reviewed the other three Wallflowers novels, though I did not do Trashiometers for them. They have had the same flaws that a lot of trashy romance does - namely, characters who fight constantly until they bang each other's brains out, then fall instantly in love. They have been damn good about avoiding a lot of the truly heinous pitfalls, such as Stupid Stupid Syndrome. I hate Phantom Spaceman Stupid Stupid Syndrome.
To me, this seemed the weakest of the four novels. We're set up with the heroine, who's been the flighty Child O' Nature for the past three books, who irrationally hates the hero...because he used to be a skinny nerd*. But now he demonstrates his strength and sensitivity by saving an angry goose. The two of them play lawn bowling with all the viciousness and intensity of MMA fighters! And apparently, he has been carrying around a lock of her hair in his pocket for upwards of ten years (eww), but refuses to marry her. She makes him jealous by flirting with a dude with a botany fetish**. He is not swayed by this tactic, so she ups the ante and locks him in a bedroom until he bangs her like a screen door. He decides that maybe marriage would be OK! At some point, an earl's newborn daughter is named after a horse***!
Then money makes the legal problem go away and hero and heroine get married and live in a house with white furniture. The end. The overall problem I had with "Scandal" is that the hero was boring. He was sweet, yes. Competent, yes. Intelligent, yes. But he didn't seem to have any style or uniqueness that I as an overly picky reader have come to expect from my crack-literature.
*Fuck you bitch, send me the nerd boys! ** A Scot from the Hebrides improbably named Llewellyn. ** Upon fact-checking, she was actually named after a horse *doctor*, but with a name like "Merit", you can see how there could be some confusion.
This was yet another of the free ebooks that Tor gave away last year, so it was probably not something I would have picked out on my own. If anything, I would have been warded off by the cover art (which depicts a giant eagle flying with a knight-ish looking dude) as being too Pern-esque. But as it was a free book, I had nothing to lose.
Spirit Gate is set in that vaguely medieval-ish Generic Fantasy World. For a very long time, the social rules that govern this world have worked, but in the current generation, the system is beginning to break down. The ultimate arbiters of justice, the Guardians, have disappeared. The reeves, who function as more localized and pragmatic magistrates, are overworked and unable to cope with the increased violence and unrest that seems to be gripping the country, to that the formerly sacrosanct reeves and their giant eagle steeds are being murdered and mutilated. Investigations of the roots of the unrest finds only hints and shadows of a powerful but secretive organization eager to embrace mayhem and anarchy. When the anarchists declare war and march on the larger cities, a band of (Fantasy Chinese) mercenaries, (Fantasy Arabic) traders and (Fantasy Jewish) merchants must ally to defend themselves.
The novel focused heavily on worldbuilding and establishing a mood of hopelessness and frustration in the various main characters. I can't quite call them protagonists, since the book was split between the perspective of about eight people. It wasn't an ensemble cast, like LotR, as the various perspective characters weren't functioning as a unit, but their various paths intersected at different points of the novel. As I said, most of the book was devoted to worldbuilding, often in excruciating detail. Each of the main characters spent 80+% of the book traveling around, so large portions of it read like the more boring parts of Two Towers. The climax of the book, the defense of a city, is not significant enough to support the epic amount of backstory and all the swirling personal and political machinations going on amongst the various characters.
However, when taken in context as the first of a planned septet, it makes sense. The mythology of the world is well-described, and the characters are diverse (including the unfortunately-named Peddo, a gay reeve). Setting up the complex backstory for a war between chaos and order is important, and you can't really rush it if you want the audience to believe it.
Overall, I enjoyed the book, but the glacial pace and stock settings counted heavily against it. I'd be interested to read some more of this series, but since only the first two books have come out this far, I can let it wait.
I feel as though I owe something of an explanation for my abrupt departure from Flipside early Sunday morning, since it meant that I did not get to say good bye to almost anyone.
Flipside was not for me. There were ultimately a lot of reasons, including the heat, the damp, the non-stop dueling techno beats, the constantly occupied, porta can, and the fact that I could not get hold of a map.
But the overriding reason was a basic philosophical difference between the denizens of Flipside and myself. I am happiest in a very regimented, organized, and rule-oriented situation with clear goals and objectives. Flipside was all about having as little structure and as few rules as possible. Also, there were the people. I could not get away from people, except by sleeping (which I did a lot of ). As an introvert, it takes a monumental effort of will to simply go up to unfamiliar people and start talking to them, so I usually just don't do it. Since part of the whole point of forming a temporary community is to meet new and interesting people, I failed spectacularly on this end.
All that being said, I did try. I did my level best to get into the spirit of the thing. I embraced chaos. I introduced myself to random people and I tried new things. But I just never felt like it really fit. I could not figure out what I was supposed to be doing, and ultimately came to the realization that I would have to be substantially chemically altered in order to enjoy the rest of the weekend - and if I had to be fucked up to have a good time, I might as well go home and do something productive in the vicinity of the internet and flush toilets.
So between all the above, I got more and more frustrated and angry. By Sunday morning, it was taking all my (limited) self control to give ebony14 the cold shoulder instead of just ripping into him for such annoying actions as "trying to help me pack up", "looking at me funny", and "continuing to breathe". I was absolutely spoiling for a fight with somebody. I knew that I was irrationally angry, but I also knew that the only way to defuse my temper was to get out of that situation post haste. So I left before many of my friends were even awake.
This shit is *tasty* It needs a name. I'm thinking Tropical Breeze, since it started as a Hawaiian Breeze (pineapple, cranberry, & vodka). Then I added stuff, and some more stuff, and before I knew it, I'd consumed like four shots of vodka.
2 part cranberry juice 2 part pineapple juice 2 part vodka 3 parts ginger ale 1 part spiced rum leetle bit of cinnamon.
This was a deceptively simple book. On the surface, it's a pointless story about some guys, various illustrations of such diverse objects as an asshole and infinity, and the most simplistic writing style possible.
But I don't really want to talk about BoC per se. But in reading it, I was often reminded of a line from Cat's Cradle: Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.
This is a philosophy that I've been trying to accept more. I often whine and complain that nothing interesting ever happens to me. And for the most part, this is largely true, and largely my own fault. I never leave my house, I never go out in the world. And I've been known to say no to various experiences out of pre-formed notions of how I'll enjoy them.
So I've been doing my level best to try new things. After a discussion with Dwayne where I demurred ever trying an RPG, when Eb brought it up, I said that yes, I would try it - though I haven't actually, yet. When the chance came for me to go to Flipside, I decided that I would, even though I had previously thought I'd hate it.
They're only little steps, but they show me that I've been something of a hypocrite. I've long said that I'd try anything twice, but obviously, I wasn't backing up that claim.
Also, if Vonnegut wasn't having some form of manic0depressive episode when he wrote the book, he does the finest impression of it I can imagine.
It drives me fruit when organizations insist on sending shit as an attachment rather than in the body of an email. It sends me stratospherically pissed off when they put multiple layers of pain in the ass between you and the data they want to receive.
For example: once a month, I get a message from student business services with the title "YOUR STUDENT ACCOUNT ACTIVITY". The message body is blank, but there is an attachment to open (which activates the virus scanner). The attachment is a generic bulk mail, with the instructions to follow the included link. If I click it, I then have to log in through the central authorization system, and then at least two more links to discover that I don't actually HAVE any fucking student account activity. If instead of five actions that I have to take, why not just send a plain text email that says "You're student account balance, due $DUE DATE, has a balance of $BALANCE. You may pay your bill at $URL.", I might actually pay attention to them, instead of routinely ignoring them until I discover I've been dropped from classes for nonpayment.
Similarly, my e-pay notices are of the "You have a new bill. Please log on to xxx.com to review it". No information on who it's from, how much it is, or when it's due. If it's low-content or a hassle to use, it gets initially passed over,then rapidly forgotten in the morass of most people's inbox.
The most fantastic thing, to my mind, is that with 5-10 minutes and a seam ripper, my lab coat will be restored to functionality. I didn't cut anything. I think all it needs is a quick iron, and I can call the project done!
Well, Operation Fuschia Pith Helmet was pretty much a fail. The dye didn't adhere to the straw at all - it's very vaguely pink, certainly not the bright color I'd hoped for. But the butt-flies turned out adorably.
After seeing all longshot14's fun putting together a steampunk costume, I decided to try my hand at it. I've got Dr. Georgianna Adair about 80% complete. No pictures, because all that I've really modded is my lab coat, and at the moment that only amounts swapping out the buttons.
Edit: Also, the Firefly Jar is operational!
I might take a sharpie to the white wires so they aren't as obvious when the lights blink.
Holy shit, let me be the meat in a Karl Urban/John Cho sandwich. They can keep the pointy sideburns.
Oh, oh yes. Extreme Nerd Eye Candy. I am suffering from Intermittent Squee.
In other words, Trek was flippin' sweet, except for the main plot, which I did not really care about. I wanted the camera to stick with Our Heroes Being Awesome. Really, that's what the movie felt like: a necessary, vaguely boring backbone upon which Kirk et al unleashed a tidal wave of pure Awesome. Especially the aforementioned Karl Urban who nailed McCoy so spot on it was /eerie/. And just provided more fuel to my weird Star Trek doctor thing.
#18: The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Heinlein
This was a reread from 2008, and I actually finished it two weeks ago.
The first time I read Moon, I liked it primarily as a straightforward story, embellished with some of Heinlein's trademark social commentary. But in the reread, I was struck by something significant -
The whole plot of the story is the political manipulation of an entire society by three people and a sentient computer. True, Lunar society is established as being restive and anti-authoritarian in general, but under the conditions at the beginning of the book, they are by no means in the grip of revolutionary spirit. Furthermore, it is only because they have access to a sentient control computer that they are able to sabotage and undermine the lunar authorities, and to propagandize and manipulate the general populace. That was what really pushed it over the edge - it's not even /people/ responsible for staging revolution, it's a /machine/.
If you look at it that way, it's deeply disturbing the way a small group of people can control the lives and destinies of so many. Of course, in this case, the cabal is made up of the protagonists, the "good guys". We as the reader would want them to win. But if you look at it from another point of view - say, protagonists seeking to identify and stop a mysterious conspiracy bent on overturning the established order, you can see how a few people puppet-mastering many is a disturbing concept.
I don't think that's subtext that Heinlein intended. The protagonists do not act out of whim, but out of a desire to prevent inevitable misery and social destruction. And they give up their power willingly, even with relief, which is not an attribute of those that would change society to fit their view of "ideal". Nevertheless, it was something that definitely struck me after I finished Moon.
Never, ever eat 3/4 lb of sulfured apricots in one sitting.
It's even worse than eating a whole container of dates, though the effects are superficially similar. But trust me, the apricots are far, far more malignant.
It was suggested that the world would benefit from being exposed to my short illustrated work
"What Happens To You After You Die"
One day, you may be casually mocking John Travolta in "Saturday Night Fever" after a few too many Jagerbombs.
All of the sudden, you have an acute myocardial infarction. It is the unpleasant penalty for repeated overindulgence on $.25 Corndog Night
....and you die. Death takes a toll of your pocket change. Since you only have what you found in the men's urinal in your pocket, Death leaves disgustedly with three smelly pennies and a Canadian nickel.
The bacteria that cover every inch of your FILTHY INFESTED BODY and especially in your Big Food Tube begin to multiply. Your corpse begins to smell ever so slightly like bacteria farts.
A lady blow fly, which loves the smell of bacterial flatulence, happens upon you. She sends out a message to all her fly friends that there's a party in your pants, and they're all invited.
All her married blow fly friends show up early. In an effort to simultaneously one up each other, they simultaneously lay huge wads of eggs in your eyes, nostrils, mouth, and any other orifice they can access. (See what I mean about the party in your pants?)
The bacteria, now really into the groove of fucking, have produced so much gas that you inflate like that toy sheep you bought your roommate in Tijuana. Little baby maggots begin to eat you, and all the single fly ladies show up fashionably late hoping to score a free meal and a roll in the hay with a fly bachelor.
The flies all leave except for the bitter old maids who are too picky to settle. Maggots consume your flesh. When they reach teenagerhood, they leave home, go to college pupa, and eventually emerge as adult flies, filled with an urge to vomit, eat, and mate.
All that is left are your bones, awaiting someone to find them and recite Hamlet, Act 5, scene 1.
Sometimes, the human brain is a broken, broken thing. There used to be a little sandwich place on the first floor of the Bio/Bio building. Nothing really gourmet, just a place to get a cheap meal between classes. I would always get the same thing: ham and provolone, with lettuce, tomato, cucumber & sprouts on a hard roll. And I fucking loved them. Unfortunately, the sandwich stand has been replaced by a Which wich?, a chain venture with terrible hot sandwiches. I *hate* hot sandwiches.
This is all just background.
Last Thursday, I was feeling the urge for a sandwich, so I went to Blue Baker, where I noticed the magic "hard roll" on their custom sandwich menu, and it just flipped some sort of Manchurian Candidate-style cerebral switch, because all of the sudden, the only meal on earth that would really satisfy was a ham and prove with cucumber & sprouts on a hard roll. That's it. Unfortunately, I drew as my sandwich maker the one dude who does not seem to really understand English, so I rather disappointedly got a roast beef 'wich and got on with life.
But I could not get the idea of the damn hard roll sandwich out of my head. Every time I got hungry, it was there. Circling. Demanding to be indulged. I could not stop thinking about it. By Sunday, it had achieved an almost talismanic quality. Monday night I dreamed about this glorious sandwich. I was actually beginning to get a bit concerned that I had gone round the bend over this sandwich that I had not eaten in better than four years.
So I decided that the only way to exorcise this demon would be to indulge it. I bought all the fixings at HEB. I actually woke up half an hour early this morning with the though of "sandwich" pounding through my head. So I got up and started work on this damn sandwich. Sliced the cucumber and tomato as thin as possible, and put them in a separate container so they wouldn't make things soggy. Decided to add avocado to the pile of delicious. Carefully wrapped it up and put it in my lunch basket.
By the time I'd dealt with the sandwich-making, I was running late, which meant that I had to take the motorcycle. It started to rain on the way to campus. I was soaked, cold, and still wound up late for class. But all the precautions I'd taken with the wrapping meant my precious sandwich was safe and dry.
I ate it for lunch. It was the most fucking delicious sandwich. I tried to savor it, but I couldn't. I sucked it down like a ravenous beast.
“You know, one of those things you just don't tell your boss is "You know I wanna go to Montana and be a cowboy. A gay cowboy. With pudding!" ... 'cause they just don't get it.”
So I'm trying to come up with three theoretical experiments to use as part of my final class project. (It's OK, I'm not cheating by asking for help.)
My topic is to evaluate the importance of biodiversity to the efficiency of carrion decomposition.
What you need to know about decomp:
Shortly after death, a variety of fly species show up. They lay eggs on a corpse, which hatch into maggots, which eat the corpse, preferring viscera and skeletal muscle to skin, hair, and everything else. They are responsible for removing most of the carrion mass. One of the locally dominant species of fly is introduced, and is also sometimes predatory on other maggots besides eating corpse flesh.
After the flies show up come clown and silphid beetles, which we think primarily eat carrion, and staphylinids which prey on the maggots. When everything is dried up, carpet beetles show up and nibble on dried up hair and hide until there's nothing left on the body but a very little connective tissue and bones.
I need to come up with 3-4 related experiments that test the broad ideas of the importance of biodiversity. I've come up with some nominal ideas, but nothing solid:
1.) Importance of species richness and evenness with 4-5 species of flies. Does one particular species dominate, or does it make a difference how many different species, or how you vary the ratios of those species.
2.) Importance of an intraguild predator - how much difference does that introduced fly make on carrion consumption?
3.) Importance of beetles in overall efficiency - if you exclude beetles, but allow all flies, how much difference does it make?
4.) Seeing if a species-rich group is more resilient against disturbance. (Put a dead thing in a box with some maggots & beetles. Halfway through the experiment, remove half the dead thing and see what happens to the rest.)
5.) Making different combinations of flies, flesh-eating beetles, and dermestids, and seeing how species combinations affect individual species performance.
It doesn't seem like these experiments are logically connected - they don't flow one from the other in a way that really makes sense to me.
Accomplishments! So I finally managed to finish the Massive Landscaping Project, which included refilling and mulching my raised beds, replacing dead shrubs, putting in a drip/microsprinkler irrigation system, and making it look nice. It's taken over a month to complete.
I didn't realize when I picked this up during Jo-Ann's cross-stitch clearance that the floral border was part of the stitching - I thought it was a fancy mat. Imagine my dismay when I found out that no, it wasn't a mat, it was a fuck-ton of detailed backstitching. I HATE backstitching. But that wasn't all there was to dislike in stitching this project: a ton of blended colors, cording, metallic threads, and the use of satin stich on aida (which should be a smackable offense)
But at least it's done now, and I think it looks downright pretty.
I swore that I was reading something other than trashy romance novels, and I wasn't lying. I have been reading less this year compared to the previous two, but I have also increased my output of needlework. There are only so many hours in a day!. And it doesn't help that I have run out of ebooks. I got a whole lot more reading done when I could grab a few minutes here or there with my omnipresent Palm.
Anyway.
I love Uncle Bob. And I love religious satire. And there was lots to love about the book - an exciting plot, fun characters, and an engaging mystery. And up until the last chapter, I was really grooving on Job. But in the last couple of chapters, when the philosophy was getting hip deep amidst a very literal deus ex machina, I found myself getting lost. Instead of plot, it became kind of a preachy soapbox.
Though I did find one quote that had me laughing out loud -
"Is this Texas? Or is it Hell?" "Matter of opinion," Jerry said. "Is there a difference?" asked Sybil.
That's right. Satan keeps a pad in Dallas. Ostensibly so he can keep an eye on and laugh at Baptimus Prime.
Tonight I get to play in the dirt and plant things! Things that grow and become tasty! Or pretty!
The massive "make the yard look less like ass" project has made another stride forward.
Thus far, I've installed a drip irrigation system in the front bed, mulched, and planted a bunch of plants. This was a massive effort because there was almost nothing surviving in those beds.
Tonight, I managed to mow and weed-whack the back yard, easement, and driveway strip. That hasn't been done since October. It occurs to me that mowing & edging is to the South what snow shoveling is to the North. Bother are tiresome, unpleasant chores that no one really wants to do. The main difference is that if you don't shovel your snow, you might not be able to leave your house. Even in the case of the most scraggy, overgrown lawns, the worst that will happen is a citation from the city.
I also trimmed back some of the limbs of the Arizona Ash that whack my neighbors cars when they go to pull into their driveway. I think this went a long way towards improving their goodwill toward me and my heretofore lackadaisical attitude towards lawn care.
And last but not least, I dug the trench in the back yard that let me lay the tubing for the microsprinklers in the back flower and vegetable beds. It was harder than I anticipated because of the damn fire ants. They just about ate me alive.
The end is in sight! All that's left is some weeding and mulching, and then I can get to the fun part of actually planting pretty and tasty things in my garden.
Pattern by Sweetheart Tree Cotton floss, glass and silver beads on 25 ct. linen.
All too often, when I finish the embroidery portion of a project, I declare it "done" and move it to the special sack in the cedar chest with the other completed-but-not-finished projects. I have been making an effort of late not to do that, and to take that last step.
I finished the stitching on this piece back in early February. The example photo showed a small pillow with a hangar, and I thought it looked nice enough that I'd try my hand at replicating it. In many ways, this was an exercise in frustration. The corners were supposed to be mitered, not squared, but no matter how I measured and cut, I could not get the red fabric to lie smooth. Then I discovered that with all my fiddling, I was running out of fabrice. The border was supposed to be a little wider, to be in proportion with the fringe, but I had to make it narrower in order to make it fit. The red strips aren't square to the pattern; I have no idea how that happened. I cut the fringe the wrong length, and had to put in an extra little patch. The stuffing is a little more uneven than I'd like.
But, I did finish it. It can be used as a decorative pillow, or hung from a satin ribbon. And even if it's les than perfect, it's out of the storage chest, for which I should be somewhat proud.
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artistic
