About blogging

Something I didn't anticipate about blogging is that I would start to assume an audience that isn't always there, and then I would find myself expecting external feedback that doesn't always come. Maybe it's because I read other blogs, and they have readers, and generally at least some readers who comment. Some have a few and some have hundreds, and while I don't expect the latter, I seem to be imagining the former.

I'm having to remind myself that I'm writing this for me, not for some putative "you". Certainly, readers are a bonus (yes, you! you're a bonus!), but not the raison d'etre. Recognition for writing is like what John Candy's character said in the movie Cool Runnings,

"A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not good enough without it, then you'll never be good enough with it."

The ironic thing, though? Just as I started thinking about this issue, coming to terms with the commentlessness of my last post? Someone commented, at that very moment. (Hi! Welcome! Thanks for the comment!) Isn't the universe funny?

Besides, I can always imagine an audience that is vast and admiring, but not commenting!

And, to be serious for one moment, not commenting is perfectly fine. I'm not playing for sympathy here. If readers want to comment, have something to say, and choose to say it in a public forum, type on. And if not, so be it. I can live with that.

Meanwhile, here's what I've come up with for a blog version of a business card. (Why? Well, why not?) Seriously, because I thought of it and for the fun of it. Why else do anything? It was fun to play with. It looks better printed on "ivory", or beige, cards, than on the white background here, but the world is an imperfect place.

"Just" is a four-letter word

Main Entry: qual·i·fi·er
Pronunciation: -"fI(-&)r
Function: noun
: one that qualifies : as a : one that satisfies requirements or meets a specified standard b : a word (as an adjective) or word group that limits or modifies the meaning of another word (as a noun) or word group

I've never been much of a one for New Year's Resolutions, so it doesn't particularly bother me that this may sound resolution-y and it's in the middle of February. Actually, we've passed the middle, haven't we? Well, whatever, it certainly isn't January 1, and I'm okay with that. This has been simmering for some time, and I think it's ready to come out now.

I want to live life with fewer qualifiers. I tend to soften what I say, to limit or modify my speech, as the definition says. I think a lot of people do, and while there's room for that (there I go), there's also time to be definite. For example:

I am not "just" making a scarf. I am making a scarf, period. In fact, look at how cool this is, I'm making this incredible thing with sticks and string and my own two hands! How cool is that?

I also want to stop apologizing for my life, or the ways I live it, if it's something I'm happy with, or simply okay with. Such as:

"That's a nice sweater." "Thanks, it's really old." No! "Thanks, I like it, too."
"Would you like to order a drink?" "No, I'll just have water." or "I'll just have a Coke." Those are drinks, I don't have to apologize for them.

I got a good example of this the other day when I was watching Clean Sweep, which I not only enjoy, but find at times to be inspirational to my hold-on-to-it self. The wife was talking to Peter, the organizer, about her Star Trek collectibles, and mentioned needing things for dressing up and going to fan conventions because yes, they were just that nerdy (or words to that effect). Peter said you go to conventions? And the husband said, quite calmly, "Doesn't everyone?" And then, looking at Peter's reaction, he added almost sotto voce, "I guess Peter doesn't." I want to be more like the husband, not apologizing, not assuming that others are judging and finding me wanting. I can't stop living my life the way I want to live it because others don't like the way I do something. I especially can't stop living my life the way I want to live it because others might not like something.

Besides, I need to remember that most of the time, no one is paying as much attention to me as I am. It's harsh, but true. And it makes it especially silly for me to let what someone else might be thinking change what I do.

Let's not limit ourselves more than we have to. Doesn't the world, doesn't society, do that enough already? Let's not handicap ourselves out of the gate.

Douglas Adams found my dimples...

Or, let's talk about Audio Books, shall we?

I love audio books, books on tape as we used to call them before other formats existed (gather round the rocker, boys and girls, while granny tells you a story about the old days). They're great in the car for commuting and for long trips, in the kitchen for cooking or cleaning up, in the bathroom if you're dealing with contact lenses or anything time-consuming (no details, please), I just love them.

The first one I remember listening to, sometime in the early '90s, was The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, by Douglas Adams. The book hadn't been my favorite of his, but when the audio came into the bookstore where I worked, I thought it would be worth a try, Read by the author, after all, and I did get an employee discount.

Well. I was naive in the way of audio books at the time, and didn't know how important a good reader was, but Adams reads (read, sigh) his works so well, they came to life in a way the printed form could never match. From the first line,

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase 'As pretty as an airport'.

I was hooked.

By the time the frustrated thunder god has been glued to the floor by his father Odin's evil minion Toerag, Dirk has dealt with the eagle trapped in his hall by trapping it in his kitchen, and Kate has changed her answering machine message to cover her evening's trip to Valhalla, I was all about audios. And, since I found Adams totally funny, and since my contact lens regimen in those days was rather time-consuming, and I was therefore listening in front of a mirror, I discovered that I have some little dimples.

Having always coveted my mother's dimples, this was quite a surprise to me: how had I not known these were there? How could I have dimples and not know it? (Rather like a character in a play I saw once, a not-too-bright schoolgirl who, when asked if she knew French, said no, unless perhaps one could know French without knowing that one knew it?)

Douglas Adams has been credited with many things, and this may be the smallest, the least meaningful, but it certainly meant a lot to me.

Tune in tomorrow: I have something in mind for my hundredth post...

Another Sunday: Bruins lost, cat must be thwarted, what are you reading?

Although the Bruins lost last night, I'm not that upset with them. The end of a road trip, first of all, and then they won four in a row before that. I mean, it could be the beginning of a bad streak, of course, but it could just be one of those games, and I'm willing to let it go without too much gnashing of teeth. Bergeron was back, which I'm glad of, and they re-signed Marco Sturm. Things could be worse (oh, am I asking for it...).

Today, I need to thwart the kitty's desire to make my new job Being a Lap, and get some filing done. He sure wants me to be a lap at every opportunity. The thing about having a cat with a heart condition (or, probably, any health issue) is that any slight behavioral change ups the worry level. "Can he sense something? Does he actually need my lap, really?" When probably it's just because it's winter, and he wants mama as heat source. I can't help worrying, though. Every time I'm home, he wants to be on my lap, just about every minute, starting as soon as I get up from the last lap-time. He's quite pathetic about it, and I feel bad, and I like to have him on my lap, but I can't sit down all the time! I have to do other things sometimes! Sheesh.

Anyway, a few minutes about books. The other night I was reading the recent Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss, which was enjoyable enough in a secondary-series way. Laurell writes the Anita Blake books, which I really like, and then the Merry Gentry series, which I don't enjoy as much, but they're still good, and that's what this one was. The next Anita is out in June; thank heavens for a prolific author. Don't read these if you don't like sex and violence with your supernatural, but if you're okay with that, then dive right in.

Actually, I started reading the Anitas in Charlotte, and remember discussing with my friend Pat whether Anita would be better off with Richard or Jean-Claude. Werewolf or vampire? Ah, the good old days. It's fun to be able to talk books like that, isn't it? I was in a book club in Charlotte that never got as satisfying for me as those talks with Pat. It's hard to find friends who like to read the same books that I do. I just read a review of a novel about four women in a shoe-sharing club, which made me wonder if that ever happened in real life, women getting together based on shared shoe size. Now that's random.

Updating Stephenie Meyer news (mehitabel, are you still here?), her next book, Eclipse, is due out in the fall, though I don't have a more specific date than that yet. In the interim, however, she has a story in a collection coming out in April, called Prom Nights From Hell. Something to look forward to!

I said I have to thwart the kitty, and guess who is now between me and the keyboard? Three guesses, first two don't count. He's purring...

Winter good, winter not so

We got more snow last night, a fluffy inch or two. I might have appreciated the prettifying effect it had on the trees this morning more were it not for two things:

1. The ten minutes it took me to clean off my car;
2. That half the cars on the road didn't bother doing so themselves, so that driving behind them was much like I imagine driving in a snowglobe recently agitated to be (not recommended).
   

Other than that? Yeah, pretty, whatever. A lot of the mess melted today, the recent mess that is. Last week's cement-like ice and frozen crud is a lot more tenacious, and hazardous. It's supposed to snow again Sunday night.

So listen. All of you with the cute little signs that say "Welcome, winter" and "Let it snow"?

Take them down. They're starting to piss me off. (Starting? Who am I kidding?)

I think I need to switch places with Monica. Before her computer had its recent fit, she was reporting unhappily that spring is coming to her area, which of course I would love to have happen here. Humans are so perverse, aren't we?

Now, I'm off to watch the Bruins game. Last night was a rare Bruins-less Thursday, but tonight, they play. (Of course last night, since I was free from the hockey obligation, I could have cleaned the kitchen, so instead I read a book. I am rather predictable that way. In fact, I predict a bookish post in the future.) Bergeron is still out with his lower body injury, but we'll hold out hope for the rest of them, shall we?

Pan, the optimist

You can tell the baby is an optimist, can't you?

"If I get in the suitcase, either she can't go anywhere, or she'll have to take me with her."

This morning, he was in one of the moods--"Mo-om!"--so I sat down for a moment of lappiness. He got on my lap, settled down, and went to sleep, in about two seconds. Um, Pan? We're not here for the duration. I still have to go to work today.

Pan?

You don't pay for the cat treats around here. Someone has to go to work.

Hello?

Eventually I had to evict him. It was not a popular move. Harold was in Pan's favorite spot, and my lap was his consolation spot, and what do you mean you're getting up?

Hard life, eh furface? As I pull on my snow boots, my scarf, gloves, coat, and so everlastingly on, I feel your pain. Really. I do.

That sounds harsh. I'd love to sit and be a lap for him, but that's pretty much a full-time job. We live in the real world, and in order to keep a roof over our heads, food in the bowl, etcetera, I had to get up. (Who am I trying to convince here, you or myself?) It's almost the weekend again, anyway.

When I wrote about the possibility of going to NYC to Represent with the Yarn Harlot, one of the comments I got (okay, of two) was this:

Marianne said...

Oh! you are so very close, and by train, GO GO GO GO!!!!!
I'm incredibly envious and so very happy that it's such a possible maybe for you!

21/2/07 5:25 PM

Okay, Marianne, just for you, I'm going to go. ;)

I got the time off from work, so there doesn't seem to be any reason not to. I can't spend the weekend there, as I'd started to consider, since I actually have an appointment Saturday morning (way to check the datebook before now, ccr). I had to wait 2 months to get a Saturday appointment, I'm not putting it off another month. Though I guess I'll check and make sure they haven't had any cancellations in the interim, just in case. But if they haven't, I'll take the train down Thursday morning, and back Friday night. Still fun! And Represent-y!

And I have a month to make all my plans, which is part of the fun too.

Wait til you see my bloggy "business" cards. Too cute. I'm having more fun making them.

Let's all welcome Wimbledon to the 20th century

No, I don't mean 21st. Did you see this?

Wimbledon agrees to equal prize money for women:

After years of holding out against equal prize money, Wimbledon bowed to public pressure Thursday and agreed to pay women players as much as the men at the world's most prestigious tennis tournament.

Nice! I don't follow tennis, I had No Idea they weren't. Isn't it lovely they decided to do this? Finally?

Seethe, seethe.

Hockey and knitting and traffic (oh my, what a lame post title)

It was only this morning that I woke up, metaphorically (well, after I woke up literally, of course), that I realized what they did. They've sucked me back in! "It's fun to watch them play, see how well they're doing, they don't give up when something goes wrong, they keep working, and they win!"

Yeah. You know what's going to happen, don't you? Sooner or later, they're going to go back to playing badly, and I'm going to be let down. It might be tomorrow, it might be a month from now, but it will happen.

I figure either they'll only-just qualify for the playoffs, then get creamed in the first round, or they won't quite manage to qualify at all. Such is the life of a Bruins fan. Well, I'll try to enjoy this while it lasts. What else can you do, right? For all my superstitions, I don't actually believe that my watching or not watching, or yelling at the TV, or whatever, has an effect on how they play. And intellectually, I understand that they don't play badly just to torment me (although that one can be hard to believe). There really isn't anything I can do about how they play. I keep telling myself.

Meanwhile, I had one of those things happen at work today that only seems to happen to people like me (klutzes), although it wasn't really anything I could have prevented by being less clumsy. Some people just have these things happen to them, you know? We were having a pot-luck lunch, and I opened a bottle of soda that turned out to be a little, shall we say, over-excited. This thing didn't just spray, it fountained. I have never, in thirty-eight years, even seen a carbonated beverage open with such vehemence, except perhaps on TV when someone shook it violently first. It soaked my cuff and part of the front of my shirt, and sprayed a coworker who was unfortunate enough to be standing near me. It was so bad it was kind of funny. The cream soda that coated the lunch room! Stand back, I have a drink and I'm not afraid to open it! Look out, she's armed with a one-liter bottle.

I wonder what it's like to be one of those people who these things simply don't happen to? It must be nice. Serene. Tidy.

As to the possible NYC Harlot Represent yarn-jaunt, it's still looking possible, and still unconfirmed (my attendance, I mean; remember, everything here is All About Me!). A couple of signs it may be meant to be:

• I can stay with my cousins, K, Q, and little E--and celebrate fabulous cousin K's birthday with her!
• It's on a payday. How foreordained is that?

Further updates as events warrant and decisions are made.

And what about the traffic? Well, if it wasn't a full moon (and it isn't), how do you explain all the Stupid People On Wheels out there? In addition to all the usual, garden-variety looney tunes, I got these two right in a row:

1. Driver two cars ahead going toward traffic light with choice of right or left turn, in right lane, stops when light turns yellow (although legally what he was supposed to do, this is technically Not Done by anyone in Massachusetts). He sits through entire red light, even when no traffic is coming, although MA is a right-on-red state, meaning that if there is no sign saying NO TURN ON RED (which there wasn't), you can turn on the red light if you can find a hole in oncoming traffic. With nothing coming for minutes at a time, he sat and waited for the green light. I was distracted by wondering if you actually have to go right on red when the opportunity is there, or does it just mean you can? Anyway, he didn't, until it was green. Glad to get past him.
2. Through the next light, and behind more cars, and this time the second-vehicle-ahead Stopped At A Green Light. Full stop. Green light. I waited 5 seconds for him to go, the car between us to honk, something, then I honked. I'm not a big honker usually, but hello? In my country, we go through green lights! And for this to happen immediately after the other guy, who let the inmates out of what asylum? Do these people get licensed by mail order?
   

And don't even get me started on traffic on Route 3 in the mornings. Once the widening project finished, why didn't the speed limit get increased? By leaving it at 55 when it can handle so much more, it means you're driving with people who cover speeds from 55 to about 80, and my friends, that is a recipe for disaster.

Wait, I told you not to get me started!

Well, how about that?

Those sneaky Bruins. I can't fool them, I can't pretend I expect them to lose, while really hoping they'll win, and have them win, but if I honestly think they'll lose just to spoil my mood?

They won last night.

They won tonight.

A girl could get spoiled.

My favorite, Patrice Bergeron, is out with a "lower body injury". Teams only used to get so silly about describing injuries during the playoffs, but now they do it all the time. I think they would say "lower body injury" if the player's leg was clearly broken, and they probably say "upper body injury" when he needs stitches after taking a stick to the face. Anyway, Patrice has missed a few games and the team has missed him, but here's the funny thing: the last few games, they're actually getting contributions from a whole bunch of players. Last night five players scored the six goals. Spreading it around is good.

The only multi-goal scorer was Petr Tenkrat, who also won the shootout for Boston Saturday night. He's on a roll! I like him because his name sounds like rink rat, but scoring is an even better reason to like him, I freely admit it.

Getting ready for the Bruins to spoil my weekend

You've got to love three-day weekends just by their nature, but this has been an especially good one for me (and here at least, it's all about me).

Saturday was Valentine's Day Observed for a small group of my fellow single women. We get together around VD every year for dinner and a movie, and generally chocolate is involved. This year we saw the new Hugh Grant/Drew Barrymore movie, Music & Lyrics, and enjoyed it greatly. We're right in the target age to find the take-off of the 80s pop band spot on, but it's also well written and the music was well done too; it keeps popping back into my head, two days later, and not annoying me, which is a good sign.

Then we got pizza and brought it back to my place, and had ice cream and made sundaes and talked and it was lots of fun. Both cats made appearances, which is rare, though of course Harold found he had to leave the room a few times, coincidentally when we got loud, and Pan would usually follow him to ask what was wrong. Silly cats. After everyone left, I watched the end of the Bruins game, and they won in the shoot-out, so that was something.

So Saturday was good, and on Sunday I went to Providence RI to have lunch and go to a Providence Bruins game with a friend who lives there (she's not a hockey fan herself, but she humors me on occasion). We had a really good time, although the P-Bruins unfortunately took a leaf from the big club and didn't play too well, which was a pity. Still, I enjoy going to a game once in a while; there's nothing like being there. Plus the pretzel was good.

And thanks to Presidents Day, I didn't have to work today. Although, isn't it a pity not to have Lincoln's Birthday and Washington's Birthday off, the way we did as kids? Just because they were born around the same time, let's lump them together with all the others and call it a day. Anyway, it's a treat to get that extra day off, and I did enjoy it. I lazed, I paid bills, did a little laundry, and also got a whole whack of desk-and-paper-pile organizing done, which was unexpected. I mean, it's only been piling up since I moved, or perhaps before, but I wasn't planning to tackle any today, so I feel a glow of virtue for making a difference. I have a box'o'filing yet to do, so next weekend will not be paper-free, but I got a big head start, and that feels excellent.

If only the Bruins would win tonight, so the weekend would finish on a high note. Is that asking too much? Really?

Aannnnddd ... the Yarn Harlot has laid down a challenge, and I'm thinking of answering it.

The examples she gives of the disrespect she gets, as a bestselling author, disturb me. It's got me thinking (and that can't be good--look out!)

So, it's about showing the muggles (non-knitters) how many of us there are. For the occasion of her fourth book release, she's inviting knitters to show up to the event at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, in numbers. In force.

She had over 800 comments on this post in 3 days, and while obviously not all of them can come, I don't think she's going to have any trouble filling a 750-seat auditorium. I think there will be serious overflow.

I'm not that far from New York, it's only a couple of hours on the train, and I could probably take a few vacation days (have to check). I have cousins in NYC who have invited me to stay with them before, so if their guest room is available (have to check)... they're really cool, fun people, too, it wouldn't be any hardship. Maybe, maybe.

Word of the Day: Palinode

You may or may not know that you can customize Google's basic page--you can!--and one of the things I put on mine is the word of the day. An interesting things I've noticed is that every once in a while, instead of giving me a new word, it gives me the same one word, "palinode". This was a new one to me, which is always a cheap thrill for an English major, or at least it was a thrill the first time. Now, it's just a little puzzling each time. Palinode again? Why no new word today?

If you're wondering, here's the 411:

Function: noun
Etymology: Greek palinOidia, from palin + aeidein to sing -- more at ODE
1 : an ode or song recanting or retracting something in an earlier poem
2 : a formal retraction

More on winter

In the spirit of winter (who is an evil-tempered spirit, the kind who wasn't invited to the christening and has been in a snit about it ever since), here are Some Things That I Will Not Miss when winter finally, eventually gives up and hauls her frigid butt out of dodge:

• my car being filthy dirty all the time
• dry, dry, dry skin that no amount of lotion changes
  
• static electricity so large it's like lightning, so painful I cry out even when I know it's coming, so loud the cats back away from their welcome-home charge
• the cold (duh)
• being freezing cold (exposed skin) and sweaty hot (under layers) at the same time
• wearing layers upon layers
• rearranging layers every time I go to the bathroom
• gloves, scarves, hats: it doesn't matter if I made them (not that I've ever made a glove) and love them, I'm now sick of them
  
• the Bruins losing (because that's mostly what they do of late, so they won't make the playoffs and won't be playing when Spring settles in)
  

If you made it to the end of the grousing, congratulations, and what are you, a glutton for punishment or something? I mean, really. But hey, you are tenacious, I'll give you that.

P.S. I bought a shovel.

!*@#%^! winter

Or, notes to self:

1. buy a shovel
2. add "discuss definition of 'snow removal' as portion of condo fee" to list of questions for condo board meeting

Yesterday wasn't that bad. The weather was bad enough that I felt justified in staying home, especially knowing that, as is often the case here, it was worse 'north and west of the city', i.e., where I work. Also, it was supposed to keep snowing, or sometimes freezing-raining or sleeting, all day. So, with prior approval from work, I took the day off. I did all the laundry that I didn't do last weekend (aka migraine-apalooza), and felt very accomplished once 7 loads were washed, dried, and put away. I also went out in the evening and shoved the several inches of wet, heavy, frozen-crusty snow off my car, so it wouldn't freeze there overnight. Then I made meatloaf, having cleverly found ground beef in the freezer (which I had to trawl since I not-so-cleverly didn't get to the grocery store before the storm). It was a decent day. Even Pan enjoyed all the times he got onto my lap, though he didn't appreciate all the times I had to remove him from my lap to deal with laundry, etc.

This morning I got up as usual, got ready for work, went out and spent 20 minutes in the freezing cold and freezing-er winds, scraping ice off my windows (oh, my aching arms), then got in the car and couldn't get it out of the driveway.

...!

I think it's understandable that at that point I was questioning my decision to live here.

It's all about definitions, isn't it? To me, winter should mean, "A fourth season whose sole purpose is to be just slightly less pleasant than the others, to make them look even better. Not as sunny, not as warm, not as nice to be out in. The infrequent snowstorm is allowed but not encouraged, and preferably over a weekend when I have no other plans made, especially travel. Ice is not allowed, except on ponds and in drinks. Arctic winds belong in the arctic. Let's keep this civilized."

That is not what winter is here.

Winter is why I moved away. I moved back in spite of winter, not because of it.

Anyway, I hauled my butt back inside~~carefully, because speaking of definitions, someone's definition of "snow removal", while including "the plow doing a rough pass over most of the driveway", does not include anything on the sidewalk, the steps, or the landing*~~and called AAA. Well, after their line was busy a few times I called work to say I would be there when I could, then I hit redial to AAA until I got through, to get my name on the come-help-me list. I spent about as many hours waiting for the Nice Man to arrive as it took him minutes to extricate my car, and I was able to get to work with a minimum of further aggravation, for which I am grateful. And, there was chocolate waiting for me, which helped (my department is That Way about holidays, and I'm not complaining). Still, Not Fun.

*It was done when I got home tonight, but not before I left this morning, which was after 11 a.m. , I mean, my expectations were higher, is what I'm saying.

Maybe I should have known to buy a shovel. But this place came without a manual, you know? It's all learn as you go. I hate that.

Plus, there was a shovel in the building yesterday, I swear. I saw it at the top of the cellar stairs when I was doing laundry. But it was gone when I went to look for it. Who took it, and why?

Being a grown-up is exhausting sometimes. I swear there are nights when if I couldn't have Oreos for dinner, I'd cry. The Bruins had better win tonight.

You want to know the cutest thing? They're starting a road trip tonight, and all the Bruins players and coaches are bringing their dads on the trip with them. Isn't that sweet? Or, if they play badly, maybe their dads will talk some sense into them? I mean, if you play badly, does your dad let you know about it?

Maybe I'm babbling. It's hard to know for sure. I think I need more Oreos, and a cat on my lap, and for the Bruins to win. I can arrange 2 out of 3, at least. And early to bed, I can arrange that.

oh, valentine

In honor of the latest of the chocolate holidays, I thought I would quote some apt lyrics from my favorite group, Depeche Mode. I was listening to them recently (what else is new), and it struck me as apt.

There's something beating here inside my body
and it's called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you
will you keep it safe
If I lend it to you
will you treat it tenderly
There's something beating here inside my body
and it's called a heart.

Pan is so disappointed in me. What is the point of my being home if I won't stay on the couch being a lap for the baby? He almost can't bring himself to nag me about it.

Almost.

Happy chocolate!

Back atcha, part 1

A comment here, a comment there, and pretty soon there are a bunch of little things I've been meaning to follow up to y'all with. So let's have a pot luck day, okay?

mehitabel said "Now I want to see some cat photos... since I've read about your books (love the Stephenie Meyer ones!) and seen some of your knitting!"
Another Stephenie Meyer fan! Have you gone to her website? I was fascinated by Midnight Sun, which is the start of her rewriting Twilight from Edward's perspective. It's fascinating! Well, duh, I just said I was fascinated. But, as a writer, it's so interesting to see the reimagining of the book from another character, and as a reader, so great to see what Edward was thinking and feeling about Bella's first day at school. I so hope she finishes it and publishes it: I can't be the only one who would buy it, which I would in a heartbeat (Are you listening, Little, Brown?).
As for the cat pictures, there are some in past posts, but here's some kitty porn for today (not recent photos, but hey, they haven't changed):
Above is Harold, looking very relaxed, below Pan, ditto.
And then two for the price of one:
They sleep together all the time, especially in winter, though they also tussle and chase and play-fight all the time. They aren't from the same litter, but I got them at the same time, almost 9 years ago, and they don't know they're not brothers.

MonicaPDX said "how the hell are you supposed to slow down your reading, anyway?...The only thing worse than having to wait a year or so for the next book is to find a wonderful older series, then discover the author never finished it! ::making aversion signs against any possibility of this happening with this author::"
I don't know, Monica, I never decided to be a fast reader. I just is one.
One of my friends will only start a series if the author has finished it, for that very reason. She got burned, though, with a 6-book series that it turned out the author couldn't wrap up in 6, and spread into a 7th book. You can imagine how mad she was, as she finished reading book 6! I'm a little more patient than that ... but not much. Fortunately in this case, from her website it sounds like this author is busily working away editing book 3 and writing book 4, so I'm not too worried (famous last words).
On the other hand, I love the book City of Diamond by Jane Emerson, which was the planned first book of a trilogy that never got finished, and I would love for the author to finish it, only she's off writing for TV now, and although I enjoyed the episodes of House that I know she's written, It Is Not The Same Thing, Thank You.
As for other writers, I was delighted to read on your blog that you're a Georgette Heyer fan. Me too! People who dismiss her as a mere romance writer have no idea of the depth of research that went into her work, but sending any naysayers or pooh-poohers to look at The Private World of Georgette Heyer by Jane Aiken Hodge should clear a few things up. It's a remarkable biography of a remarkable woman.
And, thank you tremendously for linking me to The Things I Will Not Do When I Direct A Shakespeare Production, on Stage or Film. I laughed and snorted and sniggered my way down the list, stopping along the way to say, "Someone did that?" (But someone must have. It's like warning labels. The warning label for the diabetes monitor does not say "Do Not Autoclave" unless someone, somewhere, sometime threw the little sucker into an autoclave. No, really. Even though it takes batteries and has an LCD screen, and, you know, doesn't survive such submersion.) I haven't had time to go all the way through the list; I think it will be a post to itself.

By the way, I may have answered part of my own recent question, when I wondered why on Earth I was whistling Hail to the Chief the other day. Tonight the Bruins were honoring John Bucyk, aka the Chief. I must have seen some reference to it without noticing. That makes more sense than that I was suddenly thinking of the presidency, since I try not to.

Tomorrow may be a snow day, or at least an "I'm not driving in this" day, so this may continue tomorrow. Or, you know, not. I try not to make promises. Sometime, though, for sure! In the meantime, the Bruins won! Didn't have to go to overtime or a shootout, even! Amazing. I think I'll sleep on that, and on a remarkably headacheless day.

Even if I didn't want to go to bed, Pan wants me to. And I'm so sacrificing for the fur-baby...

Weekend reflections

I spent a lot of the weekend sleeping. (And I am remarkably unrefreshed for all of that.) I mean, I went to bed last night at about 5:30. I woke up a couple of times, I had a granola bar at around 2 a.m., and I woke up 5 minutes before the alarm went off. That's roughly 12 hours sleep, though, and in fact I got about the same Friday night, and I took a nap Saturday afternoon, too. Apparently fighting migraines is rather like fighting dragons in the energy department.

It's also a bear on to-do lists. I accomplished very little this weekend. Humph. I wanted that feeling of accomplishment, dammit.

On the other hand, the cats approved of my lethargy. Pan in particular had one of those weekends when he simply Had To Have a lap. Kind of annoying at times, but it's hard to stay mad at someone who is made perfectly happy by being close to you. (Note I didn't say it's hard to get mad at him ... it's easy to get mad at him, as he meows and meows [damnit, you're not listening], but it's hard to stay mad at him.) He wasn't actually thrilled when I went to work today. Join the club, furball. Not that I would have minded going to work--I like my job--if only I felt well. Not feeling well, for the fourth day running, damps my enthusiasm considerably. Right now I'm winning the head battle, but not by much. Earlier, the head was winning, but it cheats: it brought in the stomach for reinforcement. Is that fair? It's really hard to burp discretely at work.

Other random thoughts:

Target has gone downhill in recent years, hasn't it? I still like it, but there's no denying that it's more like WalMart than Tarzhay. The shelves are messy, things are out of stock ... it's not like it once was. Such a shame.

I've now reached the stage of cell-phone-ownership where if I go out without it, I feel nekkid. I don't use it much, and it doesn't ring much, but "I might need it" is now ingrained.

My insatiable curiosity is getting a workout on this one, and the fact that it's none of my business doesn't stop me. Since I moved in the fall, and someone I work with was moving this winter, I gave her some boxes and packing material last month. On Friday, I asked her if she wanted any more, since I've unpacked a little more. She said no, she still had the boxes I gave her before in her car since she didn't have anywhere to put them, and she still didn't know when her closing date was going to be, maybe not until next Saturday, so she didn't know when she'd be moving.

Um? Does that sound to you like she is going to be moving soon and hasn't packed yet? Anything? It's sort of what it sounded like to me. And it is None Of My Business, so I didn't ask any more, but I just can't help wondering. Plus I sort of wonder about where she's living now, if she doesn't have enough room for the few boxes I gave her. I mean, they fit in her car; it's not that much. Killed the cat, ccr, killed the cat...

Has anyone figured out the mechanics of songs stuck in the head yet? I don't just mean songs one might have heard on the radio recently, but how to explain my finding myself whistling Hail to the Chief last week, or humming the Smokey and the Bandit theme today. Why, for the love of fur? Why?

Finally, muse on this: why is "over the counter" not the opposite of "under the counter"?

I'm being stalked

I can feel it. It's just around my head, waiting to pounce. Toying with me, it seems.

I think that people who don't get headaches may not realize that headaches can be animate, sentient things. That I say I spent the weekend "fighting" a headache because it's a battle: now I'm winning, now I'm losing.

It was bad enough last night that this morning, I realized that I completely forgot about the Bruins game. Forgot there was such a thing. It's been a long time since that happened. I've chosen not to watch them, sure, but forgotten they were playing? No.

They won in a shootout. They also traded two players who were going to be free agents at the end of the season. Stuart and Primeau. Got two guys I've never heard of. Which doesn't mean they're bad, but, you know, doesn't bode all that well. On the other hand, at least they're not big names on the decline, which the Bruins have had a habit of picking up in recent years. Having recently let Jurcina go for a draft pick (a fourth round pick, which Dupont in today's Globe had some pithy words for the wisdom of), it shows that they're trying to make changes, I guess, but I'm not really impressed. It seems to me they're taking the middle road: not doing enough to make anything of this year, not doing enough to make anything of the future. Just the same little tweaks. This is a team that needs more than little tweaks. I thought they made some big changes last off-season, but it's the same old so-what this year. Sigh.

So, the head. It's not bad right now, and if it would stay like this, I could maybe get a few things done. Yesterday's big accomplishment was what? Probably trimming my fingernails, which I'd put off all week. When I start to have trouble taking my contact lenses out, that's the sign I've left it too long, literally. So I did finally do that.

And I tried to fix the TV set-up thing, only to find that the new thing the Radio Shack guy sold me is not the panacea I needed, quelle suprise. This morning I managed to get the set-up back the way it had been, at least, and with only minor cursing. Take a TV that's about 15-20 years old, add a DVD recorder, a VCR, and a cable box, and I needed help just getting them all to play nicely together when I got the DVD recorder last year. Fortunately a friend volunteered her charming and patient boyfriend to do the job. Unfortunately, when I moved last fall, my RF modulator bit the dust, and I couldn't find the same kind, and the set-up I've managed now doesn't allow me to watch one thing while taping another. Mr. Radio Shack gave me something that he thought would work, but not that I could figure. Why does it have to be so complicated? It's ridiculous, and it doesn't help that I start to feel like the most spoiled brat on the planet that this is what I'm complaining about. But it is annoying.

Perhaps lunch will help the equilibrium of the head, and there's the dishwasher to empty and other little things before I decide if I can tackle something big, like say a trip to Target. Ooh!

A new pleasure

To the non-Douglas Adams fans among you, this will sound nonsensical, but right now I feel like one of the creatures at the Perpetual Floating Party that Arthur, Ford, and Slartibartfast go to in the Hitchhiker's books, who grab Arthur's cherished bottle of retsina and run off chanting, "A new pleasure, a new pleasure!"

I've found another great blog to add to my favorites!

It's such a great feeling. This is one of Monica's favorites (thanks, Monica!), and I liked her recent posts enough to go back and start reading from the beginning. She started the blog back in August (hey, that's when I started blogging, too), and I'm enjoying it immensely. I've had to stop myself from commenting on about half the posts, a little late to the party but so many of them have had me laughing out loud! The idea that for the outside cats, mice might not be filling, so you're hungry again an hour later (like Chinese food) ... answering the question of what her hat size is with "about the same size as my head" ... the whole Things I Wonder About entry from September 22 ... she's such a good writer, and so funny.

We have so much in common that I'd sound like a stalker to list it all (actually, just that sounds a little stalker-ish, doesn't it?), but let's just say that if she needs another knitting, cat-loving, non-drinking writer to talk about CSI with, add me to the list.

Beyond that? Well, her house has dust gorillas, while mine has dust rhinos.

She started nursing school and was delighted to find an LYS nearby, while I moved last fall and then discovered I'd bought a condo within walking distance of an LYS without even knowing it.

If for nothing else, I would admire her for saying, "It is quite possible to have a headache larger than one's actual head." Because it is! Thanks, Ms. K, for providing another bright light in my day. Long may you reign!

Depressing Bruins fact

Courtesy of today's Globe:

Every Bruin is on the wrong side of the plus-minus rating, making Boston the only team in the league without at least one player with a plus next to his name.

Ouch! Let's work on that, shall we, gentlemen? Cause that's just sad.

Even sadder is tonight's game after 2 periods, and I thank (read: blame) Lenny Clarke. He was on the intermission show between the first and second periods, when the Bruins were up 1-0 and had been playing well, and he said that Carolina, the Stanley Cup champions, were "going down". Carolina is up 4-1 after 2 periods; Ray Whitney got 3 goals in 1:40, and an assist just at the end of the period. The Bruins looked like a different team there at the end than they had in the first, which is not a good thing.

And not to be too black cat/broken mirror/number 13 or anything, but did Lenny Clarke have to curse them? I mean, creepers!

When the big plus to my night is getting some laundry done and put away, well go me, but come on, Bruins. Give me something to cheer for, would you? Being a less pathetic local sports team than the Celtics is not a lofty goal these days; can we aim higher, please?

Fortunately, unfortunately

I still have a picture book from when I was a kid, called Fortunately, Unfortunately. Our young hero goes along through a series of alternating good and bad things happening to him, along the lines of: unfortunately, he steps on a land mine; fortunately, it isn't active; unfortunately, he disturbs a nest of fire ants nearby; fortunately....

So, unfortunately it's been so cold lately* that walking outside is a punishment, something to be minimized and endured. Fortunately, we can walk inside during breaks, in a large room upstairs. Unfortunately, it's not as much fun to walk in circles inside. But fortunately, on a level surface, I can walk and knit at the same time!

It's a little bit Pollyanna, but oh well. Between that and a stich'n'bitch Tuesday night, I finished the scarf! (And started another, thank you.) I feel very knitty. Especially wearing my handcrafties when I'm chilly. Now I have my wristwarmer and scarf set for work. See me smiling?

*This morning the alarm clock radio went off during the weather report, so what I heard was "...with the wind chill, it feels like 14 below." Try getting out of bed after that.

The right answer, and some Wrong Answers

The Right Answer is, Because I'm Hungry.

Some of the Wrong Answers are:

Because it is there.

Because it looks good.

Because it smells good.

Because it tastes good.

Because it is good.

Because it is really good.

Because I really like it.

Because someone made it (went to the trouble/took the time/spent the money).

Because it only comes once a year (eggnog, Cadbury Mini Eggs, Girl Scout Cookies).

Because I'm bored.

Because I'm stressed.

Because I don't want to do (something).

Because I don't want to think about (something).

Because it's mealtime.

Because I should be hungry.

Because I will be hungry later.

Thinking before eating is one of the hardest things for me. Because eating is a great pleasure. But I'm not trying to deny myself everything, or always. Just trying to think, before I eat, this one time. And then this one time. And then this one time.

There once was a lass

I heard that there's this poetry celebration in blogland today, and I started thinking about what poem to post. (Disclaimer: I can't prove it, online-ness being what it is, but all snippets herein are typed from memory. Therefore, all errors, misspellings, and grammar or punctuation goofs are also from mine own faulty memory. Live with it; I have to. Actually, I think I'll only minimally punctuate. Moving on.)

I always liked Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" (the woods are lovely, dark and deep), and Robert Graves' "The Naked and The Nude" (for me the naked and the nude, by lexicographers construed as synonyms that should express the same deficiencies of dress or shelter stand as wide apart as love from lies or truth from art), and who doesn't enjoy the start of the general prologue to the Canterbury Tales? Good old Chaucer: Whan that Aprile withe its shoures soute the droughte of Marche hathe perced to the roote, and bathed every veine in swiche licour, of whiche vertu engendred is the floure ... I know I spelled most of that wrong, but oh well. (You should see what spellcheck thought of it!) I had to learn it in 1986-87, I haven't seen it in print in many years. Ask me nicely, and I can speak it forsoothely. It isn't meant to be written.

But the more I think about it, I'm just not so much into poetry, these examples to the contrary notwithstanding. Even my pal Shakespeare, and I love his work (whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them), much as I love Hamlet, say (and it's so atypical of Ms Happy-Ending but that is my favorite of Shakespeare's plays), I also adore Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which is not what you'd call poetic, except perhaps poetic justice.

Am I getting too English-major? The bottom line is, I'm not so much into the poetry, ironically enough for someone with a poem published in a semi-real book herself. (One of only two poems I ever wrote, it was in college is my only excuse, and the book was published by B&N, of works by its employees, it's as close to self-published as you can get without self-publishing ... though it is a book I can hold in my hand, it's something.) I can enjoy a poem, appreciate a poem, I just don't seek them out, don't read many ... don't know why that is, it just is.

Most of the poems I do like have rhythm and regular rhymes, and that's what I like about them, their adherence to the structure. Let's not get into what that says about me, okay? That's a can of worms to open another day! I'll just leave you with this, a ccr original that took me seconds to craft (you can tell, can't you?).

Words like toys to me
Yet somehow in a poem
I only see rhyme

Side effects may include

I suppose that medication side effects are nothing to make light of, but (you knew there was a "but" coming, right?), if I have to get one, couldn't I have gotten "weight loss", since I'm trying to lose weight anyway? I know, be careful what you wish for, but still. Losing a little weight would have been a charming side effect to the migraine medication the neurologist's trying me on, so of course, I didn't get it.

Noooooo.

Nor "loss of appetite", which might lead the same way.

I got "tingling in arms and legs", thank you. It's kind of creepy, really. The doctor says it will go away, and quite kindly asked, is it worse than the headaches? And of course it isn't, not by a long shot. But it still weirds me out.

Another possible side effect? "Fatigue". Maybe I'm not imagining that I've been more tired than usual lately, maybe it isn't the winter blahs. Lovely. I sure hope this stuff does diminish my migraines. It's still too early to tell.

Now, here's something funny about WebWorld, where you can wander around searching all sorts of information, some of which may even be true, while all of it is presented as if it is The One and Only Truth.

It can actually be helpful, sometimes.

I am not advocating believing all you read, or substituting what you read for actual medical advice in case of a problem, but sometimes it can guide you to ask the medical professional a question you didn't think of on your own.

Because I never would have thought to ask the doctor, could the headache medicine be causing Coke to taste funny to me? Flat and metallic and blech? Why would that even cross my mind? Until I read others online who said the same thing happened to them.

This is a weird medicine.

If it minimizes my headaches, it's worth it, of course. But thank whoever's listening that's it's left my chocolate receptors alone. That would be a tough choice to make.

Done.

Well, that was good.

Now I have to wait for the next one.

I don't think she's finished writing it.

Crap.

Limitations: knowing them, and then abiding by them

I am a bookaholic.

I know this.

If a book is out that I want to read, I want to read it now.

If it is in the house, I want to start it now.

Once I start it, I find it Really, Really hard to put it down before I'm at the end.

I've learned this, the hard way, and so sometimes I'm able to head myself off at the pass (temptation, get thee behind me), as I did last night.

The story actually starts on Sunday, when I picked up Twilight to reread it so that I could then read New Moon.

Now, just as there are read-once-ers and rereaders (or, as a friend put it at the party last weekend when he looked at all my books, "Now, why do you keep them all?"), there are those who savor and those who gobble.

I gobble. I have been known to finish a book and not know the mechanics of how the good guys saved the victims from the bad guys, I was reading so fast. I usually reread less quickly, but sometimes the second reading grabs me just as much as the first, and that's what happened here. My, I'd forgotten just how ... mmm, Edward is. It doesn't surprise me that the author was greeted at a stop on her book tour by dozens of people chanting, "Edward, Edward!" (I also understand her feeling somewhat taken aback by that. As she pointed out, she didn't actually have Edward with her.)

I mean, yes, okay, Edward is a vampire. But he's gorgeous, charismatic, has a sense of humor, and is wildly in love with Bella. He saves her life, literally (and then tries to convince her that sure, he was standing right next to her before the truck almost ran her over). Of course, he could kill her very easily, but he has self-control. He may be able to pass for a high school student, but he died in 1918, he's had years to learn to control his strength.

Maybe you need to read the book to understand. Anyway, I raced through it, and was fully ready Monday night to read New Moon, but I didn't have it. Hmmm. That's a snag. Of course, that meant I did get sleep Monday night!

So, since I am counting my pennies right now, having just paid the quarterly condo tax bill (ouch), yesterday I checked the library website and found it was in at one of the branches and I could pick it up last night, oh joy! I did so, and got in the car kind of hugging it, then paused. And got out of the car and put it in the trunk.

This enabled me to get the things I needed to get done last night, done, one of them being get more sleep, because if I brought in it the house, I'd open it, and if I started reading it, All Would Be Lost (kind of like the Bruins lately). By leaving it in the car, I was able to pretend I didn't have it.

Tonight, though? Dude, I've spent too much time here already. (Man, that book is cold!)

How did you get here

When I started blogging, my mother asked me how people would know about my blog. I told her that generally, there were two ways:

1. I tell someone it's there, and where to find it. Friends or family, people I know, and that's most of you. Hi!

2. I comment on someone else's blog, perhaps mentioning my blog, and put a link to it. Generally Crazy Aunt Purl or the Yarn Harlot, sometimes others. Then, anyone can click on the link, come over and look at my blog. I've done this to other bloggers, checked out their blogs from their comments when I've had some time to kill, and found a few I really like this way, so I know it's possible.

I have now learned that there is a number three, and it is interesting, to me anyway (now, there's a name for a blog: Interesting, To Me Anyway. That would be truth in advertising right there).

Web-searches. Actually, I did know about this, since that's how I found Laurie's blog in the first place: I was looking for a simple knit hat pattern. And thank heavens I was! I found that and so much more. But I digress.

I got a cheap thrill the first time I found I could Google-search "ccr in MA" and my little blog came up. I could see, though, that no one other than me (and possibly my mother) would ever search that, so it didn't seem like a generally big deal. As I learn more, though, about site stats, I have learned that my blog has been found by people searching for other things:

• sirius cybernetics corporation complaint
• gary larson stop now my brain is full
• too lazy to exercise
• yarn harlot godless heathen union
• legwarmer patterns
• "genuine people personality" + "Sirius Cybernetics Corporation"
• purring toy cat marblehead
• "blue moon fiber"
• "Ty Burr"
• sock knitting clubs
  
• boston bruins hockey quilts
  

It's an interesting mishmash, isn't it? Knitting people, Douglas Adams fans, all sorts of random searches going on. (I'd love to know what the "purring toy cat marblehead" searcher had in mind, actually. If you turned into a regular reader here, by any chance, would you let me know?) And mostly none of them are going to find what they're looking for here ... but I can hold out hope that someone might find something they didn't know they were looking for.

And it gives me something to think about, and write about, other than the Bruins. Because let's not go there.

Whew

The party was fun, but overwhelming, too. Introvert! Introvert! To me, twenty people is like having a marching band parading around my home.

Umm. But in a good way. Really.

It actually went really well, it's just that it took it out of me. Whatever "it" is, I had none left. I plan to entertain again, but I think smaller groups is a good idea. I felt very split-personality, trying to deal with people coming-people going-showing people around-getting people drinks-is there enough food-how are the cats-is everything okay. But it all was okay, and everyone loved the condo, which was so nice to hear.

A couple of my friends brought flowers, which was lovely of them. And isn't it funny that the word flowers covers this:


and this:


The "vase" is mine, it was all I could find. I actually kind of like it. Rustic charm, right? Pickle jar. I love both the flower arrangements, just find it funny that they're the same thing, if you see what I mean.

Here is the calm before the storm, by the way. It's a good thing they'll never know the chaos was my idea.



Harold went under the bed as soon as the masses descended (about a dozen people arrived within 5 minutes of each other) and didn't come out until everyone was gone. Pan came out once or twice to assuage his mad curiosity, thereby allowing a few people to see that I really do have at least one cat, and once allowed himself to be called out from under the bed to sniff someone who wanted to meet him, but otherwise stayed Safe.

And here's the spread, before anyone arrived:

I didn't take any pictures During. It was a whirlwind. But a fun one!

Finally, if you are a knitter/crafty person (or if not, maybe you know one?), and have a little $ to shop right now, there's a good cause for it to go toward. Get thee to Laurie's post today to read about it (I refuse to rewrite a well-written post, for heaven's sake). Get yarn, do good.

I'm a-walkin' (I'm in pain)

Part of what worked for me in the "being healthier and losing weight" way was walking. When I first started this, a year and a half ago, my last job had just finished, and I had plenty of time for long walks. When I started working here at the Marketing Department of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, I was pleased to learn that several people in my department routinely spent morning and afternoon breaks walking. Skeptics to the contrary notwithstanding, I think that 15 to 20 minutes of exercise twice a day is better than nothing. And so it seemed to prove.

Recently, of course, I haven't been on the bandwagon. I was sick, then I was cold-weather lazy, I guess is the only excuse. This week, I've walked more than half the breaks, and suddenly wow, my back is gently achy all over, and my legs a bit too. Just that small amount of walking was keeping me in slightly better shape than without it, apparently. I'm going to try to get back into the swing of it and keep it up, both for my health and so that once I'm used to it again, I don't have to get used to it again.

(I have been sleeping well this week. On the flip side, though, I've been so tired!)

Having said this, no walking today. But why, you ask? Well, this was when I got into the car this morning:


See that temperature? Need a close-up?


Without wind chill, that is. When I left work, it was 8. I only went outside today when absolutely necessary: to get to work, to fuel the car (which I love how I put off until I was riding E on the coldest day of the year, now that's good planning), to mail bills, to get home. Period.

And yes, I can walk inside, and sometimes do. The thing is, today I dressed for the weather, in extra layers, which means that if I start seriously walking, I overheat in no time, and am all sweaty and feel icky. Not to be too girly, but no thanks. I knew I'd be getting enough exercise tonight, doing my night-before-the-party headless chicken impression. Now, to bed!

Enough

I have a bit of a Pollyanna streak myself, but I am now, as of 8:49 A.M. (okay, yesterday), officially tired of hearing that the weather "could be worse!"

I know it could be worse, people. I understand that it is January, I live in New England, we've hardly had any snow so far, we've hardly had to shovel, we've been so lucky, this is nothing, on and on.

I am ready for it to be better.

Although, there's this, one of my quotes of the day:

Don't knock the weather. If it didn't change once in a while, nine out of ten people couldn't start a conversation.
- Kin Hubbard

Finally, in knitting, I frogged the scarf and have started it over. It's going well. Here is Before:

I don't know why Blogger has started rotating my photos at its whim, but right now I don't care. Have a kitty.


In fact, have two.


If that's not an end photo, what is?

movies, and particularly movie reviewers

You can only imagine how old it makes me feel to write this, not to mention how it must make my mother feel that her child is writing it, but I know that in today's society, I am rather old-fashioned for subscribing to and reading a daily newspaper, the paper kind, and using it as my main news source. I mean, people do, of course, I'm not the only one, but fewer and fewer people get their news that way. I love The Daily Show, heaven knows, but the idea that it is a primary news source for "today's young people" (I aged ten years writing that phrase) is deeply disturbing.

No matter. Planting myself firmly in the dark ages, I plan to discuss movie reviews, and reviews in the newspaper specifically, as though I was unaware that I could access reviews any other way. As though that was how I would learn about movies, The Way I would hear about movies before they were out. Because I have a quibble.

I'm going to start with what will sound like a non sequitur, but bear with me. Years ago, when I lived in Charlotte, Bruce Springsteen came to town. As part of their coverage (and, granted, only part), the Observer (not a bad paper, on the whole) sent a reporter who had never seen him in concert before, didn't know his music, and wrote about the experience like Jane Goodall watching the gorillas, only with less respect for the concert-goers ("Look at all these ... people. They're all wearing Springsteen shirts. They're playing his music in the parking lot before the show, all over the place. They're singing along to the songs, every word!"). Why? Why send her? What purpose did that serve?

Now, movie reviewing isn't exactly parallel to concerts, but there are similarities. From my perspective as the consumer, the purpose of the reviewer is to give me an idea of what the movie is about, what it's trying to do, and how well it does it, without giving too much away. I don't mind opinions, by all means, but the opinion really shouldn't boil down to a contemptuous, "well, it's all right if you like that sort of thing."

Actually, it's the contempt that I take issue with, not the 'if you like that sort of thing'. (I can't feel that having contempt for your audience will serve you well, no matter your field.) There are types of movies, as well as books, foods, etc, that I do like, so if you tell me that something is well done for that type of thing, excellent news for me. The implication that if I like that sort of thing, something is wrong with me ... hmmm.

With Miss Potter, my friends and I saw the preview and knew we'd like it, so I knew I'd be seeing it*. When that happens, I often don't read the review ahead of time, or maybe I'll only skim it, in case the reviewer spoils any surprises or otherwise gives anything away. When I saw this one, I knew his feelings as soon as I saw he used the word "twee" (ugh), so I stopped reading and only went back and read the whole review after seeing the movie this weekend. We liked it, by the way, all four of us, and given that no one in the theatre even stood up to leave until the credits were done--done--I don't think we were the only ones. He sure didn't like it, wow. Must suck to have a job where you have to see movies you know you won't like, and then write about them afterward.

I don't argue that Ty Burr is wrong for not liking Miss Potter, just because I liked it. It's a great world that makes movies different people can enjoy. For that matter, the same person can like different types of movies. Plural society, people. Nothing wrong with that. But as a writer, does he actually think that not one of his readers, not one, will like this movie? Because unless that's what he's thinking, he's insulting part of his audience from the opening line. "Suitable for children and for women who really know their potpourri," indeed.

I'm not saying I'll quit getting the Globe. I like the Globe, and usually respect it. But in this day and age, you can certainly understand why, given other options, people sometimes take them, can't you? Overall, I think the Globe's movie reviewers do a good job. But every once in a while, they betray themselves. Respect your audience, is what I'm saying.

I would like to conclude with a real non sequitur. I am announcing here that I am back on the stop-eating-everything eating management plan. It isn't a diet, just that I am trying to actually think about what I eat before I eat it. I had success with this before, roughly from August 04 to February 05, when I lost weight, and then I was in a sort of maintenance phase of the same thing, but the whole condo/packing/moving/unpacking/Christmas/being sick thing gave me the excuse to let go a bit, and I have gained back some of what I lost, and I am choosing not to accept that. I like food, but I can eat less of it and still have a damn good life, thank you. You heard it here first. If I don't fit into last summer's shorts next summer, it will be because they are too big. Thus say I.

*P.S. If, like me, you go to see Miss Potter, make sure you can reach a tissue. It has one of those moments. I won't say more. I really liked this movie! (Virtual raspberry Globe-ward...)

Party planning: cleaning, knitting, hockey, and plaster dust ... just an average day

So, I'm having a party, as some of you (local-people-who-know-me-outside-the-blog) know already. It's a show-off-the-condo party, more politely called an open house or housewarming (condowarming?). I was going to say I don't know how long it's been since I entertained like this, but then I actually thought about it (there's something, thinking before writing), and nope, I've never entertained like this. It's a first! And it may be a last, but I don't want to be negative.

Not too soon, anyway. Plenty of time for that.

The thing is, I've invited a lot of people. Most everyone I know who lives around here. Not that that's a lot of people, really, I am an introvert after all, but still, it's a lot of people for me. It's just that I love this place, and it seems to be made for entertaining in a way that my previous abodes were not. I want to have people over, not all the time, but not never, either. I may be over-ambitious with this party, probably am, but time will tell. I'm only normal-nervous so far.

Today, though, P-7, was supposed to be a day to get the place cleaner, not so furry, and at coming on 9PM it's less clean than it was this morning. Not according to plan. What happened was, I found out this week that the building was going to get hard-wired smoke detectors and, in the kitchen, a heat detector (neat, huh? apparently it doesn't go off every time one burns toast), and they were put in today. (This is follow-up to the fire in the building before I moved in, before I closed on my condo, last fall.) I did have smoke detectors, of course, but battery-op, not hard-wired.

Which means that some holes were cut in the ceiling, and although the workers did a decent job of clearing up after themselves, the dust does drift around, and of course their presence also impeded my cleaning progress even if they hadn't been contributing to the anti-clean movement. I got laundry done, but that's it.

Of course, that is an accomplishment. Having been away last weekend, I was very behind. But still. What's less impressive to guests, some clothes in the hamper or dust bunnies verging on dust rhinos?

I mean, I tell myself that my friends are not going to drop my acquaintance for a little dust. But I still want them to see the place at its best, particularly since most of them haven't seen any of my previous abodes: I told you, I didn't entertain! Hardly ever at all. This is a really big leaf I'm turning over. At least I'm doing it in style. If a thing is worth doing...

I foresee a week of increasingly harassedness, a party-day that I may well totally blank on afterward, and the following day spent in bed. Melodramatic, to be sure, but hey, I'm a Bruins fan, don't talk to me about moodiness! We're winning! We're losing! We're winning! We're losing! Slit your wrists! Hire a band! You need a bit of Sybil in you to follow this team, or at least a strong masochistic streak.

As for the knitting, there's a little frogging in my future. When I finished the knitted wristwarmers that have brought so many here from the Harlot's site (comment early on Stephanie's post, mention a photo on your blog, and watch your blog stats ... wow, I tell you, it's an education), I had enough yarn left to contemplate doing 'something' else. Another pair of wristwarmers? Yes, but then again no, quick frog the start. Maybe a hat ... didn't even start. I thought that a small scarf, almost more a neck wrap, would go well with the idea of the wrist warmers: a neck warmer. I tell you, the breezes literally blow in my cube at work sometimes, and if I'm not wearing a turtleneck, the back of my neck gets chilly. I started a simple k1p1, 42 stitches (of course), and about 6 inches into it I though maybe I wanted it wider, so I switched to all knit, which of course widens it out from the rib. Then after a good stretch of plain knit I went back to the k1p1, but as I approach the end of the yarn, I faced a dilemma.

It is going to be Just Barely long enough to go around my neck. It is also wider than it needs to be, even the ribbed part, and of course the knit part is wider still, and it isn't what I want. I think I shall have to frog it and do again at maybe 30 or 32 stitches, which should be wide enough, and then it will be longer, and I'll do it k1p1 all the way, and I think I'll like that better. I would insert the photo here, but apparently my camera is just Not in the Mood, and I'm starting to share the feeling. We'll try again tomorrow. I have captured the scarf on camera, it is the camera-to-computer step that is apparently too much to ask. Have you noticed how technology can tell when you're tired or frazzled or whatever, and knows when to act up? I will now back away from the computer.

And we're back!

That's the royal 'we', meaning I'm back, and isn't it nice to be home, yes-indeedy. I had a really good trip, but I'm happy to be back in place and facing no new trips for a while.

Still, it was fun. I was visiting a friend from North Carolina days, with her pleasant husband and their lovely daughters: charming, intelligent, and beautiful, I wish I could post their pictures, but even if they were mine (the girls, I mean; the photos are mine), I would hesitate. You can innocently put a photo Out There and Anyone can do Anything with it. There was a deeply disturbing CSI on the subject, where it turned out that the woman was mentally ill, and although she claimed that these people had kidnapped her son, and her house was full of photos of him at different ages, and toys, and had Cheerios on the floor and everything, the boy really was theirs, not hers, and she had taken the photos off their family reunion website. Creepy. So, I'll post kitty photos, since I don't see how that can come back to bite me in the butt (can it?), and of my knitting and so on, but not this.

Just imagine a lovely 8-year-old and a lovely 5-year-old, and make them just what you imagine as lovely, and it can be a fun exercise for you. See how generous I am? And how I'm trying to sound less rampantly paranoid than I am? And how I'm trying to divert your attention from the fact that my life-lesson-example comes from CSI?

It was a nice weekend (I'm not paranoid: oh, look, a chicken!). The traveling part wasn't more annoying than it could have been, though sometimes it did those weird travel things I don't understand, like when a flight leaves late and arrives early. (How does that happen? I mean, I understand "gaining" a couple of minutes in the air, but half an hour?) And the delusions of the airlines, claiming a flight will be leaving on schedule when it is 7 minutes to departure time and the previous, arriving flight is still deplaning. I think we'll be leaving late, myself! (And I was right.) Still, could have been worse. The weather was mild, even pleasant, especially compared to today and ohjeez tomorrow. The girls and I wandered through woods and streams out back of the property (boy, did they get wet). We watched a bunch of movies (have you seen Howl's Moving Castle? It was wonderful!). And we talked and talked.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled reality.

Parse this: sock knitting club

Where does the insuperable problem lie?

Imagine that you are a bank in Oregon. One of your clients, Blue Moon Fiber Arts, is a company that sells yarn. They sell quite a lot of yarn, and other knitting-related things. You process a lot of credit card payments for them.

Good so far, right? Stay with me.

You notice a surge in payments, and ask them to explain, to make sure nothing hinky is going on. They tell you that they are taking subscriptions for their annual sock knitting club, which is why there are suddenly more payments coming in.

Do you (remember, you're the bank):

A) Say, 'Well, yes, it is the end/beginning of the year, an annual club would account for that, thank you for explaining,' and go on to the next account;

B) Say, 'Really, that many people are signing up for a sock knitting club, are they? I'll just call a few to verify that the charges are legitimate';

C) Say, 'That can't possibly be right, there can't possibly be that many people spending that much money on a sock yarn club, it must be a scam and we will have no part of it, we will be refunding all monies and taking no further part (although the rest of your business is fine with us).'

Three guesses which happened.

You can read more at the Yarn Harlot's site, where the post has gotten more comments than what I imagine was the previous record, after she and Joe ended their godless heathen union (got married). She posted this story yesterday, and this morning the comments were on the way to 500. Commenters are discussing boycotts of the as-yet-unnamed bank, and sit-ins, and knit-ins, and sending them socks*, and sending the new bank socks because why grace the bad old bank with them, and lawsuits, and publicity, and it's a little crazy in there.

* Not, in my opinion, that this is the best way to convince them that knitters are a sane, responsible group, having hundreds of unsolicited hand-knit socks show up out of the blue at a bank, but hey, we're also a group with some things in common and many diverging ideas. I wouldn't presume to speak for all knitters, just because I knit.

[I do wish, though, that we could stop with the men-bashing in this thread. Maybe most knitters are women, but not all. Maybe most clueless non-knitters are men, but not all. Just ask Franklin, who knits excellently, or the woman who asked him if he learned "in prison". I'm not saying that there wasn't discrimination in this case, I just agree with one of the Harlot's many commenters, who said that cluelessness crosses gender lines. Anyway, there are plenty of non-knitters who would never have made the mistake of underestimating knitters this severely. Most of them probably live with a knitter, or have one in their lives, but I think that's the way to covert them: one on one. End rant.]

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out which word set off the alarm bells at the bank.

Sock.

Knitting.

Club.

Sock. BMFA sells sock yarn separately, so that can't be it.

Knitting. Everything they sell has something to do with knitting.

Club?

I just don't get it.

They actually call it the Rockin' Sock Club. Is "Rockin'" a dangerous word now?

My head is full. And not in a good way.

This cold ... ahh, this cold. It hangs on, doesn't it? Congestion and lethargy.

The good news is, I have enough energy to work. This is good news for several reasons, one of which is that after last week, I'm into negative numbers on sick time.

The bad news is, working takes most of my energy. When I got back from my trip, I triaged the pile of mail into Important and Not. The Important pile only got dealt with last weekend (a week later), but the Not pile is still a pile, and it's getting bigger, not smaller. Things aren't getting cleaner, either.

And I'm going away this weekend, which seemed like a good idea when I made the plans, but exhausts me to think of now. I sure hope I regain some energy before then.

So, in the spirit of ignoring problems until they go away (shut up, it works!), here's the photo montage of Some of My 2006 Knitting, as Promised.

I swear this photo wasn't sideways when I uploaded it. Oh, well. Curse you, blogger, you win! A light blanket for those chilly Florida nights; merry Christmas, Daddy! (It was actually crocheted. Sshhh!)


And a soft pillow for Mum!


Wristwarmers for me, I'm wearing them at work and they really help.


A triangle shawl for my aunt. Boy, when you knit point-up, those last few rows are long, aren't they? :)


And I can never resist the call of the wild.
"She's got the camera out again."
"Ignore her. She'll go away eventually."

old year's resolutions

Well, between getting over this effing cold, and headaches, life has been a bundle of joy lately, hasn't it? It could certainly be worse, I know: I am mostly over the cold, just still sooo congested; and the headaches that bothered me Saturday-Sunday-Monday weren't bad today. And hey, global warming or whatever, this is my idea of January weather. But still.

Anyway, I got to thinking. I very much enjoy reading some people's new-year's inspired lists, like Laurie's, but somehow it doesn't inspire me to do anything similar. And then, light bulb over head! I realized that if I had tried in any way to predict my own 2006, I would have missed my major milestones completely. So I am going to look back on what I did last year, which since it was goodness knows one hell of a year ought to inspire me sufficiently for 2007. The first three are the biggies, but the small victories are victories as well.

1. Bought a condo. Not that the idea itself was totally unforseen. I first thought of Buying in 2004, just before my last job announced the site closing and changed my plans. But still, somehow this felt like a whirlwind surprise. And I'm so happy with it!

2. Bought a car. Actually, I knew I was going to do this. My previous car was more than 11 years old, and I had car trouble coming back from Grandma's last Christmas, so yes, I could have predicted that I would have a new car by December 31. Still, I'm happy with it!

3. Went to Hawaii. This was totally out of the blue, and great fun. Amazing, really. Just for example: in 2 and a half weeks, I took something like 700 photos. Can you say digital-camera-excess-itis? Whew!

4. Started blogging. I had no plans to do this, and am actually kind of enjoying expressing my thoughts and sending them into the void. And it's such good writing practice!

5. Expanded my knitting horizons. Having the basics of hats mastered, this year I made shawls and socks and gained confidence in my ability to experiment and visualize. I reaffirmed my committment to using yarn I like, even if it's a) expensive, or b) of a fiber scorned by others. If I like it, and I can afford it, why not? If I want to make it, why not? Maybe I'll post a montage soon.

That's what springs to mind. Now, Pan is meowing for my lap, the Bruins are getting ready for the third period, and I'm still dragging with the effects of this cold, so that'll have to do it, oh my legion of adoring fans. Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow...

Cough, cough

The idea was that I would have a wonderful week with the family (check), then have two days at home in which to transition through end-of-holiday and traveling modes into work and normality, via laundry, groceries, etc, with long stops at reassure-the-cats.

Instead, I came home with a sore throat, and have been sick for four days now. The computer hasn't been turned on in 3. I had 51 e-mails waiting for me. I have been out of the house once in four days: I made a must-have-lotion-Kleenex run to CVS yesterday. Friends brought me a few emergency groceries before that, since I didn't even have milk in the house, but it's still pretty pathetic here chez lethargy. Let's not discuss how long it's taking me to type this, or how many mistakes I'm making.

The funny thing is, I never call in sick to work when I'm not sick, I'm kind of superstitious that way, but when I am sick, I feel like they ("They") don't believe me. It isn't just this job, I've always felt this way. And yet as a quasi-reasonable adult, I know that there's no point in going in and spreading around germs, and no point going in too soon and setting myself back. And I know that you can't set a time limit on how long you'll be sick and then declare it to be over: that's it, I've been sick long enough. But I keep thinking, I should go in tomorrow.

And part of me says yes, if you feel better.

But part of me thinks I should try anyway, even if I don't feel better. Though I know that's stupid.

Especially since my arms are getting tired just from leaning on the desk to type this. I think that may be a sign of someone who should not be driving a car, don't you?

I have to go lie down now. If one short and only semi-rational blog entry is wearing me out like this, I doubt I'll be at work tomorrow. Let's hope for a new year miracle, shall we?