There have been many times in the past few weeks that I wished life came with a set of instructions, or at least a map sketched on the back of a napkin. Signposts would be nice - this way to long-term stability, pitfalls of unending debt that way, no seriously just go this way and you'll be fine. But since I seem to be driving in an unmarked area - or, like in Japan I can't read the street signs anyway - I've been left to flounder around a bit.
Oh, we're thinking of moving. Did I forget to mention that?
It's not a huge move - just one or two towns over, mainly to get a slightly larger house that we can grow into as Liza turns into a teenager with a big personality and long arms and legs. Our current house could be made to work, of course, but none of us are sure we want to invest the time and energy that would take. After years and years of to-do lists that are a mile long, we all just sort of want a house that's DONE, you know?
The last time Jason and I have had to make this decision on our own, it was 1996 and 1997. We had just gotten married, and we wanted to buy our first house. We saved diligently, found a buyers' agent to help us find good house possibilities, and we toured a lot of houses in the shag-carpet-and-waterbed price range. Ah, the good old days of gold-flecked formica vanities and finding "secret" stashes of porn magazines on a closet shelf! We took our time because we were able to renew our apartment lease for a few months at a time, if we needed, and eventually we found a great property. We had to do a lot of work to get it to look the way we wanted, but the bones of the house were pretty sound.
We got to live in it for 11 months before we moved to Japan.
Ever since then, every move we have made has been a corporate relocation. They were, by and large, very simple to pull off - Jason decided to take the job, and almost everything else was handled by the company. They suggested real estate agents, hired appraisers, scheduled moving companies, arranged for mortgages and title searches ... everything. All we had to do was pick a town to live in, and narrow down what we wanted in a house. With a radically compressed time schedule (Let's buy a house during a one-week trip to the States! Let's look at houses during the two weekends I can drive down to Kentucky in between classes!), stakes were both higher and lower. Yes, it was possible that we'd miss the "perfect" house because we couldn't wait that long to buy, but we also were forced to make a decision, rather than letting the process drag on for months and months. No, we probably wouldn't get our perfect house, but we weren't all that picky and there were plenty of decent options in our price range.
We didn't need a map - we just floated along like a chip in the river of Corporate Relocation Services.
But now we don't have that crutch to fall back on, we're doing it all ourselves. What started as a whim - Wouldn't it be fun to live in the same neighborhood as our friends we visit all the time; oh look, there's a house for sale on the next street over from them! - has turned into a time-sucking search for The House. We've got time, we've got (some) money, we've got a list of things we want ... and it's killing me. Over the course of the weekend, we have pretty much firmly decided:
- to wait until a better house becomes available in our desired neighborhood
- to build a new house in the next neighborhood north of our friends'
- to not move at all, just renovate this house
- to keep looking at houses in other areas of our friends' town
- to only look at houses in our desired neighborhood
- to not look at any houses, just plans for new construction
- to build the Barrington model
- to build the Kensington model
- to wait to make a decision until we can walk through the Rothchild model
- to not move at all, we can call the electrician and carpenter on Monday about finishing the basement
- to pay off the remaining balance on the mortgage on this house
- to check and see whether our favorite lots are still available in the new construction neighborhood
- to reserve the last remaining desired lot in the new construction neighborhood
- to get in touch with the friend-of-a-friend who might be selling their house (in our friends' development)
- to see if my mother would be willing to loan us money if our current house doesn't sell before we close on the new house we might be building
- to call mortgage companies to learn about new construction vs. existing stock mortgages
- to write a check and sign paperwork - seriously, go call the realtor now - and reserve the lot we think we want before someone else snatches it up (never mind that we didn't even think about locations in the neighborhood until, um, Friday - that's OUR lot, dammit)
- to stop looking at Zillow and realtor.com because they just get our hopes up and then we find out the perfect house we found is already under contract
- to obsessively check Zillow and realtor.com so if anything new gets posted we can jump on it before it gets snatched out of our grasp again
- to drink, early and often
- to agree that the traffic in that town is worse than where we are now
- to agree that the traffic in that town is fine - we lived with it before, we can do it again
- to not plant anything new this year because we don't know if we'll be here to enjoy it
- to plant stuff early so the outside of the house will have curb appeal
- to put in a footbridge over the mini-stream in our backyard, because footbridges are awesome and I want a damn footbridge and I'm going to paint it bright periwinkle and it will be awesome and make me grin every time I see it
- that we like house A but the lot socks, and we like lot B but the house sucks, so if we could just swap the houses we'd be perfectly happy, but that's not really feasible, right?
- that we want to build the Barrington, with these "optional features," and, Holy Christ, is that really going to add close to $80,000 to the base price of the house, and that doesn't even include any landscaping or a playground for Liza or even freaking CURTAINS?
- to stay in our house
- to go to bed and not worry about it
- to not be able to sleep because we keep worrying that someone is stealing our lot
Meanwhile, Liza doesn't want to move away from her best friend, who lives four doors down from our current house but would be a 20-minute drive away from the new town. She's communicating this fact by being surly, uncooperative, and frankly awful any time we attempt to discuss houses in front of her or have to take her with us to go see one. She touches things she's been told not to touch, won't stay with us, makes inappropriate comments about the awfulness of the house/yard/bathroom/basement/decorating. The only thing she has enjoyed out of the whole process so far was climbing on the big pile of dirt that was in the lot next to the one we took a look at in the new construction development. Talking to her grandmother afterwards, yeah, her bedroom in the new house would be twice as big as her current one, but OMG LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS PILE OF DIRT I GOT TO CLIMB IT WAS THE BEST THING EVER.
I'm sure I have more fun things to say about this process, but I don't have time. After all, I have to call loan officers to talk about possibly getting a mortgage on a house that we might possibly build, assuming we can get the lot that I have to call and reserve and drive out to give them a check. Then we have a week to make all the decisions on EVERY ARCHITECTURAL DETAIL on the new house, including whether we want all of those $80K in bay windows, tray ceilings, and hardwood floors. First World Problems, I have a whole bouquet of them.
Also, do you think I'll be allowed to trap some of the squirrels in my backyard and bring them with me to the new neighborhood? The lot we want has a line of scrubby trees at the back of it - they could totally live there, right? Anyone have a havahart trap I can borrow in October?
Monday, April 29, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
My name is Gretchen, and I am scared spitless
I am a writer.
I write all the time (not that you'd know from this blog over the past year or so). I write Facebook updates, and captions for my photo albums. I write the school newsletter, and I helped write the content for the school website. I'm helping write the expanded content for the website of the store where I work. I journal. I write notes to my daughter, notes to school, notes to myself so I don't forget to write notes to my daughter or to her school.
And even when I'm not writing, I'm thinking of what I'm going to write about when I get the time. I'm brainstorming photo captions even as I press the shutter button. I'm making note of funny conversations to use as fodder for future blog posts. I get up in the middle of the night and write two full pages of ideas for a story, then stuff it in a drawer until I have time to work on it.
"I am not a fiction writer. I write essays on my blog, and while they may stray a bit from the strict truth sometimes, they're still non-fiction. I don't write stories."
That's what I told my mother every time she would encourage me to write a book. I don't have time, I don't have any story ideas, I can't write dialogue to save my life, and I really don't have any desire to get rejected over and over by strangers who hold my future career in their hands.
Then in January I decided to take a writing class. I hoped it would light a fire under me to actually write some blog posts. But it turned out that it wasn't that sort of writing class ... but it was exactly the class I needed. Because somewhere during the first week or so of class, A Story appeared in my brain, and it wouldn't go away.
It was all there - plot, characters, setting, format - and after about an hour of roughly outlining the story and the characters, I knew it was something I wanted to work on. I started writing The Story in addition to the work assigned for the class, and I loved it. I wrote longhand, and by the end of January I had most of the rough draft of The Story finished. I typed it into the computer, made some edits, and set it aside for a while so I could forget it enough to edit it properly.
I did a major edit around Valentine's Day, then shoved it back in a drawer to stew for a bit. Things had changed massively in the format of the story, and some valuable early feedback made me completely rework the opening and closing chapters of The Book (for by now, at almost 50 pages and 14,000 words long, it would indeed be considered A Book in the children's market I'd be selling into).
My class was over, but I tried my best to keep up the schedule I had started as part of it. I read books on writing, I worked through exercises in some of them. I reworked some parts of The Book to meet some of the suggestion I'd found in the writing books, and I was happy with how they had turned out. But there were still big sections that said things like ******INSERT SOME KIND OF ACTION-Y SEQUENCE HERE TO DRAW OUT THE TENSION*******, so it was by no means a "finished" manuscript. I didn't have to do anything with it. Nobody had to read it. It was just a draft, in a drawer.
Today I finished the third round of revisions. I work on paper to make the edits, then type them into the document, page after page, and it sucks big sweaty donkey balls, especially when you realize that out of a 50-page document, you have exactly ONE page with no changes. One. But it's done, and I'm happy with The Manuscript - because it is a manuscript now, it's got all the parts I think it needs to be "done."
But today is the day I have been dreading, because today is the day I admit to the world that The Manuscript is as good as I can make it on my own, and am going to need help to make it the best it can be. I hate asking for help, I hate putting things that aren't what I consider "perfect" out where people can see them. I hate being unsure that what I've written is good, or worthy, or whatever.
I have a cadre of wonderful friends who have volunteered their children to be my test readers, and I need to send my manuscript out into the world. I feel a sense of accomplishment at having "finished" it, and an overwhelming sense of dread at having anyone other than me, Jason, and Liza read the thing. The thought of people I know reading it makes me want to build a blanket fort and hide there until it's all over.
But I can't tell my test readers that. If I come off as too fragile, they won't tell me the whole truth, they'll tell me pretty lies and reserve the truth for when they make fun of me behind my back. And that doesn't do me any good. If I'm going to expose my precious darling to the scrutiny of chest-high strangers, I want to at least get honest feedback when they're done.
So I procrastinate. I write a rambling blog post. I make turkey broth. I hit Facebook like a crack pipe, as Ze would say. I watch Ze's invocation. I do laundry. I wash the freaking basement floor (it really needed it, but still - really?). I watch Ze's invocation again with snot running down my face and a huge ball of horror in the pit of my stomach. I tell myself that I can't send it out until I have a questionnaire to go with it, and then I procrastinate about making that, because really, when that's done, I'm out of excuses. I have to send The Manuscript then.
And that thought scares me spitless.
ETA: I just sent it. Excuse me while I go throw up.
I write all the time (not that you'd know from this blog over the past year or so). I write Facebook updates, and captions for my photo albums. I write the school newsletter, and I helped write the content for the school website. I'm helping write the expanded content for the website of the store where I work. I journal. I write notes to my daughter, notes to school, notes to myself so I don't forget to write notes to my daughter or to her school.
And even when I'm not writing, I'm thinking of what I'm going to write about when I get the time. I'm brainstorming photo captions even as I press the shutter button. I'm making note of funny conversations to use as fodder for future blog posts. I get up in the middle of the night and write two full pages of ideas for a story, then stuff it in a drawer until I have time to work on it.
"I am not a fiction writer. I write essays on my blog, and while they may stray a bit from the strict truth sometimes, they're still non-fiction. I don't write stories."
That's what I told my mother every time she would encourage me to write a book. I don't have time, I don't have any story ideas, I can't write dialogue to save my life, and I really don't have any desire to get rejected over and over by strangers who hold my future career in their hands.
Then in January I decided to take a writing class. I hoped it would light a fire under me to actually write some blog posts. But it turned out that it wasn't that sort of writing class ... but it was exactly the class I needed. Because somewhere during the first week or so of class, A Story appeared in my brain, and it wouldn't go away.
It was all there - plot, characters, setting, format - and after about an hour of roughly outlining the story and the characters, I knew it was something I wanted to work on. I started writing The Story in addition to the work assigned for the class, and I loved it. I wrote longhand, and by the end of January I had most of the rough draft of The Story finished. I typed it into the computer, made some edits, and set it aside for a while so I could forget it enough to edit it properly.
I did a major edit around Valentine's Day, then shoved it back in a drawer to stew for a bit. Things had changed massively in the format of the story, and some valuable early feedback made me completely rework the opening and closing chapters of The Book (for by now, at almost 50 pages and 14,000 words long, it would indeed be considered A Book in the children's market I'd be selling into).
My class was over, but I tried my best to keep up the schedule I had started as part of it. I read books on writing, I worked through exercises in some of them. I reworked some parts of The Book to meet some of the suggestion I'd found in the writing books, and I was happy with how they had turned out. But there were still big sections that said things like ******INSERT SOME KIND OF ACTION-Y SEQUENCE HERE TO DRAW OUT THE TENSION*******, so it was by no means a "finished" manuscript. I didn't have to do anything with it. Nobody had to read it. It was just a draft, in a drawer.
Today I finished the third round of revisions. I work on paper to make the edits, then type them into the document, page after page, and it sucks big sweaty donkey balls, especially when you realize that out of a 50-page document, you have exactly ONE page with no changes. One. But it's done, and I'm happy with The Manuscript - because it is a manuscript now, it's got all the parts I think it needs to be "done."
But today is the day I have been dreading, because today is the day I admit to the world that The Manuscript is as good as I can make it on my own, and am going to need help to make it the best it can be. I hate asking for help, I hate putting things that aren't what I consider "perfect" out where people can see them. I hate being unsure that what I've written is good, or worthy, or whatever.
I have a cadre of wonderful friends who have volunteered their children to be my test readers, and I need to send my manuscript out into the world. I feel a sense of accomplishment at having "finished" it, and an overwhelming sense of dread at having anyone other than me, Jason, and Liza read the thing. The thought of people I know reading it makes me want to build a blanket fort and hide there until it's all over.
But I can't tell my test readers that. If I come off as too fragile, they won't tell me the whole truth, they'll tell me pretty lies and reserve the truth for when they make fun of me behind my back. And that doesn't do me any good. If I'm going to expose my precious darling to the scrutiny of chest-high strangers, I want to at least get honest feedback when they're done.
So I procrastinate. I write a rambling blog post. I make turkey broth. I hit Facebook like a crack pipe, as Ze would say. I watch Ze's invocation. I do laundry. I wash the freaking basement floor (it really needed it, but still - really?). I watch Ze's invocation again with snot running down my face and a huge ball of horror in the pit of my stomach. I tell myself that I can't send it out until I have a questionnaire to go with it, and then I procrastinate about making that, because really, when that's done, I'm out of excuses. I have to send The Manuscript then.
And that thought scares me spitless.
ETA: I just sent it. Excuse me while I go throw up.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Today was the bee's knees
That is, it was slow, clumsy, and covered in fluffy yellow crocus pollen :)
Friday, March 08, 2013
Six-word book reviews
Liza's been working on her Mensa For Kids reading list, and early this year I decided I would start reading the books on the high school list. After all, most of them were books I hadn't read since high school (or junior high, or EVER, in a lot of cases), and they would add a bit of depth to my reading. Because, you know, "vampire porn" is a pretty shallow pool - more of a puddle, really - and it's wicked difficult to discuss at the dinner table.
So I decided I would read at least one of the Mensa list books a month this year. So far, I'm kicking butt and taking names, and I've found that I'm actually enjoying the books more than I expected. Of course, the fact that I don't have a deadline or anyone telling me which book I have to read next helps a lot. When, for example, I started listening to The Odyssey on audiobook, and in the first 5 minutes there were 45 different random characters listed and I couldn't keep ANY of them straight ... well, that sucker just went back to the library, and I moved on to something else. Since many of the books on the list are "classics" which have also sort of run out of copyright protection, I've got plenty of them on-demand from the e-book section of the library. Awesome! You never know when you're going to want to start reading War and Peace at midnight on a Sunday, after all.
And now I've decided that just READING the books isn't enough. I'm going to write a book review for each one as a way to keep track of what I've read (and brag about it online, of course). But since I have, like, no time for or interest in writing substantive literary criticism, I'm going to do them all in the Six Word Story format. Yep, Six Word Reviews, here I come!
Jane Eyre: Never realized this was a comedy... Thumbs up!
The Moonstone: Multiple narrators, achieved in style. Bravo! Thumbs up!
Walden: Treehugger waxes lyrical about being poor. Thumbs up!
The Turn of the Screw: What the hell was that about? Confused thumbs down!
Watch this space for more reviews soon - I think I'm on a roll! And feel free to chime in with your own reviews of these or any other books. I can't wait to see what you come up with!
ps: link to the book lists: http://www.mensaforkids.org/content/school_readeraward.cfm
So I decided I would read at least one of the Mensa list books a month this year. So far, I'm kicking butt and taking names, and I've found that I'm actually enjoying the books more than I expected. Of course, the fact that I don't have a deadline or anyone telling me which book I have to read next helps a lot. When, for example, I started listening to The Odyssey on audiobook, and in the first 5 minutes there were 45 different random characters listed and I couldn't keep ANY of them straight ... well, that sucker just went back to the library, and I moved on to something else. Since many of the books on the list are "classics" which have also sort of run out of copyright protection, I've got plenty of them on-demand from the e-book section of the library. Awesome! You never know when you're going to want to start reading War and Peace at midnight on a Sunday, after all.
And now I've decided that just READING the books isn't enough. I'm going to write a book review for each one as a way to keep track of what I've read (and brag about it online, of course). But since I have, like, no time for or interest in writing substantive literary criticism, I'm going to do them all in the Six Word Story format. Yep, Six Word Reviews, here I come!
Jane Eyre: Never realized this was a comedy... Thumbs up!
The Moonstone: Multiple narrators, achieved in style. Bravo! Thumbs up!
Walden: Treehugger waxes lyrical about being poor. Thumbs up!
The Turn of the Screw: What the hell was that about? Confused thumbs down!
Watch this space for more reviews soon - I think I'm on a roll! And feel free to chime in with your own reviews of these or any other books. I can't wait to see what you come up with!
ps: link to the book lists: http://www.mensaforkids.org/content/school_readeraward.cfm
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
I win at spring (again)
Our house faces south, and the layout of the entryway means that the ground near our front porch is always the first to warm up in the spring. The previous owners either knew that or got really lucky, because they planted approximately 1.5 trillion crocus in that flower bed.
Hyacinths, daffodils, allium, chives, rosemary, anemones ... all are either hanging on from last season, or have sprouts visible already. The only thing we're missing for it to officially be spring-like is the appearance of the hosta buds, and the first sprouts on the peony out front. Every time the snow melts I go move the leaves aside to see if they're up yet, then carefully replace them to help insulate the plant. Plan on me throwing a big party with the peonies finally sprout - they're not only my favorite, but a pretty reliable predictor that spring is finally sprung.
Unlike the crocus, which have been rather boneheaded this year and have been blooming on and off since January, despite the chilling cold and snow and sleet and freezing rain.
Because I am needlessly competitive about stupid stuff, every year when they first bloom I go for a walk in our neighborhood to make sure we won the Crocus Arms Race again. We won again this year, but not by much. The guy down the street with the yellow crocuses had about half as many blooming as we did ... guess that means I'm going to have to plant more bulbs this fall.
While I was out with the camera anyway, I checked to see how some of my other early risers are doing. Hellebores? Check.
Witch hazel? Slightly out of focus, but checked anyway.
Blueberries? Extremely happy in their new home ... which reminds me, I need to get out there and add some acid to their soil before the ground warms up too much.
Hyacinths, daffodils, allium, chives, rosemary, anemones ... all are either hanging on from last season, or have sprouts visible already. The only thing we're missing for it to officially be spring-like is the appearance of the hosta buds, and the first sprouts on the peony out front. Every time the snow melts I go move the leaves aside to see if they're up yet, then carefully replace them to help insulate the plant. Plan on me throwing a big party with the peonies finally sprout - they're not only my favorite, but a pretty reliable predictor that spring is finally sprung.
Unlike the crocus, which have been rather boneheaded this year and have been blooming on and off since January, despite the chilling cold and snow and sleet and freezing rain.
But now it's warm enough that I can stop thinking "Dumbasses" at them every time I leave the house and see them shivering in the 15F cold. Sure, it's at least two weeks before we normally see the first blooms, but you have my permission to go for it, guys - as long as you do it faster than the yellow crocuses down the street.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Tips on flying with children
Inspired by an excellent post from an IRL friend (yes, I have one of those - her blog is here: http://www.only-mama.com/2013/02/how-to-fly-with-children.html), I decided it would be a good idea to throw my two cents in, as well.
1. Buy a bag to put your car seat in. Not only does it protect the seat from getting soaked if it's raining or snowing when they load luggage, but here's a secret: the airlines never check that a car seat is the ONLY thing in the bag. Don't pack the Crown Jewels in there, of course, but DO throw in an entire pack of diapers and some wipes, plus extra empty disposable sippy cups. They don't weigh much but take up a lot of room, and you'll be glad to have them.
2. No matter how many diapers you have in your carry-on, go pack more. There's no such thing as having too many diapers.
3. Sippy cups make take-offs and landings easier for toddlers and babies. However, be mindful of the fact that all that juice they're sucking down has to go somewhere ... see #2 for how to handle that problem. Also, pack more than one extra outfit for both you and the kid(s) in your carry on bag. You haven't lived until you've spent half a trans-continental flight with your lap covered in warm pee.
4. Road Rules! At our house, that means, "If you've got a decent restroom, you will try to use it, whether or not you think you need to go." Instill respect for Road Rules in the kid early, and you don't have to bargain with them in airports. You just stop in front of the bathroom, say, "I'm invoking Road Rules," the kid groans, and then goes in and pees for 30 seconds straight.
5. You will never regret leaving toy balls at home. You will continually regret bringing them, especially as you wedge yourself under the airport seats AGAIN to try to retrieve them (or have to apologize to the person whose coffee one just landed in). Ditto anything that makes noise. Might be fun at home, but after 10 minutes of sitting near it on a plane, your fellow passengers will be willing to ram it down your throat.
6. "If you can't carry it yourself, don't pack it." And remember, you WILL end up carrying all of your kid's backpacks and loveys and coats and books and whatever other crap they've brought along, despite your intentions to make them carry all their own gear. It's not going to happen without a fight, and this is all about damage control, so just give in and carry them.
7. You can entertain most kids for at least 15 minutes by riding the moving walkways back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Some kids will do it for close to an hour. Ask me how I know.
8. Travel journals! Make one out of copy paper, folded in half and stapled. Whenever the kid starts whining, hand them a pencil and the journal and tell them to draw a picture of what they see, or something they saw or did. Some of our best scrapbook entries are journal drawings Liza did while on vacation.
9. Don't plan on having ANY time to yourself on the plane or in the airport. If you're not wrangling the kid, said kid will be asleep on your arm, pinning you down beyond your ability to reach that book in the back pocket of the seat in front of you, and by god, nobody wakes a kid sleeping on a plane if they're sane. And even if the kid is watching a movie, you'll be interrupted every 15 seconds for a snack, or a toy, or a kleenex, or to turn the volume up, or turn the volume down, or to clean up a spill, or because they need the bathroom, or because Why Is The Sky Blue, Mommy? Just give it up and go with it. It's four hours of your time - your brain will not explode if you're bored, and you won't be nearly as bored with the interruptions as you would be if you were trying to read.
10. This is supposed to be fun! Try to budget enough time that you can stop to admire the planes and wave to the pilots through the jetway windows. Window shop in the airport stores. Bring a few bucks for crappy souvenirs or overpriced candy. This is a huge adventure for your child, and they should enjoy it. And so should you!
So those are some of my tips for handling the trip. And believe me, since we've been flying back and forth to various places with Liza since before she was one (http://mind-flush.blogspot.com/2006/04/waiting-for-our-flight-in-louisville.html), we've got enough miles under our belts to be relatively good at this. I've lost track of how many flights she's been on - at this point, she doesn't even view it as a treat anymore, it's just a necessary part of getting to the fun vacation or the family visit. In some ways, I wish it was more special for her. And in some ways, I'm just glad she knows the drill at the security line so I don't have to micromanage her every moment. Here's hoping you get there someday, too!
1. Buy a bag to put your car seat in. Not only does it protect the seat from getting soaked if it's raining or snowing when they load luggage, but here's a secret: the airlines never check that a car seat is the ONLY thing in the bag. Don't pack the Crown Jewels in there, of course, but DO throw in an entire pack of diapers and some wipes, plus extra empty disposable sippy cups. They don't weigh much but take up a lot of room, and you'll be glad to have them.
2. No matter how many diapers you have in your carry-on, go pack more. There's no such thing as having too many diapers.
3. Sippy cups make take-offs and landings easier for toddlers and babies. However, be mindful of the fact that all that juice they're sucking down has to go somewhere ... see #2 for how to handle that problem. Also, pack more than one extra outfit for both you and the kid(s) in your carry on bag. You haven't lived until you've spent half a trans-continental flight with your lap covered in warm pee.
4. Road Rules! At our house, that means, "If you've got a decent restroom, you will try to use it, whether or not you think you need to go." Instill respect for Road Rules in the kid early, and you don't have to bargain with them in airports. You just stop in front of the bathroom, say, "I'm invoking Road Rules," the kid groans, and then goes in and pees for 30 seconds straight.
5. You will never regret leaving toy balls at home. You will continually regret bringing them, especially as you wedge yourself under the airport seats AGAIN to try to retrieve them (or have to apologize to the person whose coffee one just landed in). Ditto anything that makes noise. Might be fun at home, but after 10 minutes of sitting near it on a plane, your fellow passengers will be willing to ram it down your throat.
6. "If you can't carry it yourself, don't pack it." And remember, you WILL end up carrying all of your kid's backpacks and loveys and coats and books and whatever other crap they've brought along, despite your intentions to make them carry all their own gear. It's not going to happen without a fight, and this is all about damage control, so just give in and carry them.
7. You can entertain most kids for at least 15 minutes by riding the moving walkways back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Some kids will do it for close to an hour. Ask me how I know.
8. Travel journals! Make one out of copy paper, folded in half and stapled. Whenever the kid starts whining, hand them a pencil and the journal and tell them to draw a picture of what they see, or something they saw or did. Some of our best scrapbook entries are journal drawings Liza did while on vacation.
9. Don't plan on having ANY time to yourself on the plane or in the airport. If you're not wrangling the kid, said kid will be asleep on your arm, pinning you down beyond your ability to reach that book in the back pocket of the seat in front of you, and by god, nobody wakes a kid sleeping on a plane if they're sane. And even if the kid is watching a movie, you'll be interrupted every 15 seconds for a snack, or a toy, or a kleenex, or to turn the volume up, or turn the volume down, or to clean up a spill, or because they need the bathroom, or because Why Is The Sky Blue, Mommy? Just give it up and go with it. It's four hours of your time - your brain will not explode if you're bored, and you won't be nearly as bored with the interruptions as you would be if you were trying to read.
10. This is supposed to be fun! Try to budget enough time that you can stop to admire the planes and wave to the pilots through the jetway windows. Window shop in the airport stores. Bring a few bucks for crappy souvenirs or overpriced candy. This is a huge adventure for your child, and they should enjoy it. And so should you!
So those are some of my tips for handling the trip. And believe me, since we've been flying back and forth to various places with Liza since before she was one (http://mind-flush.blogspot.com/2006/04/waiting-for-our-flight-in-louisville.html), we've got enough miles under our belts to be relatively good at this. I've lost track of how many flights she's been on - at this point, she doesn't even view it as a treat anymore, it's just a necessary part of getting to the fun vacation or the family visit. In some ways, I wish it was more special for her. And in some ways, I'm just glad she knows the drill at the security line so I don't have to micromanage her every moment. Here's hoping you get there someday, too!
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
30 minutes with the prompt: Continue the story suggested by the following sentence:
Day after day, when I still worked at the Forty-second street branch of the public library, I saw the same young man, bearded, intense, cleaning his fingernails on the corners of the pages of a book.And that, right there, is why I love e-books so much. Just think of all the places that library book in your hands has been - how many toilets it sat next to, how many meals have been eaten above it, how many noses were blown and hands not washed before they touched its pages. That "Sizzler" has been flying off the library shelves ... and into houses filled with stomach flu, snot, and spittle. Sure, cold and flu germs generally only live for a few hours or days on dry surfaces ... but norovirus can live happily for weeks, and there are plenty of infectious agents that can give you cooties for months after their donor left their residue behind on that book. If nothing else, in this age of MRSA and flesh-eating bacteria and all sorts of other resistant strains of things, e-books are a step in the right direction for containing these outbreaks.
There are plenty of other reasons to love e-books, of course. For one thing, it is possible to mark interesting passages in them without it actually disfiguring the book. No more dog-eared pages, no more inane comments scribbled in the margins, and no more highlighters bleeding through page after page. A few taps of the finger, and my personal page markers are on there, and no one else has to see them when I return the e-book to circulation. This is a godsend for someone like me who collects interesting phrases and passages, but feels guilty every time they mark up a physical book. Now I don't have to keep my journal with me whenever I read - I can bookmark the pages on my e-reader and come back to them when I'm ready to record things for posterity.
And speaking of keeping things with me, that may be the greatest benefit to e-readers: the fact that you can take your books with you everywhere, without adding another thing to carry. My house has somehow ended up with four devices capable of acting as e-readers, five if you count my laptop, and six if we could find my daughter's iPod (which has been missing since November, so fat chance of it showing up now). When I'm home, I tend to use the larger screen of the iPad, mainly because I'm lazy and I don't have to flip pages as frequently with the larger screen. But I always have at least one book going on my iPhone, too, both for me and the kid. That way, if we get stuck waiting for a table in a restaurant, or we go on a car trip, or I have to kill time while the kid plays at the shopping mall playground, whichever of us is bored has something to read. This is way more convenient that schlepping around physical copies of Walden and The Wind in the Willows for months. After all, my phone is pretty much always handy. Sure, the screen is a little small, and if I read for too long on it I get a crick in my neck - but it's a great stop-gap measure.
Another benefit of these e-reader devices is their ability to play audio books, as well. True, not every device can handle this, but three of our four main devices do (four or five if you count the laptop and the lost iPod), and it's been great to have this as an option. No more fumbling to switch CDs during my husband's commute - he can just plug his Kindle into his car stereo and play the books directly through the car speakers with no interruptions to switch discs. No more being tied to a CD player that skips if you move it - I can haul my iPad with me throughout the house as I do my chores, listening to Vampire Porn** all the while (and then put in earbuds and keep listening when Liza gets home from school). And Liza is a lot more willing to listen to some classics of literature than she is to sit down and read them ... especially if she's stuck in the car while I drive her the 20 minutes to school in the morning. Hah! You don't want to listen to Heidi, kid, get yourself out the door in time to make the bus. Otherwise, shut your yap.
E-readers also offer instant gratification, in many circumstances. Sure, I can go online and order a physical book through the library, and it might show up at the local branch the next day. But I still have to make time to go pick it up, and at some point I have to go back to return it. E-books, on the other hand, are frequently available immediately - as in, I just checked it out two minutes ago, and now I'm reading it, and I am still in my pajamas in bed. Even the ones which have a wait - and there are many of those, don't get me wrong - generally arrive sooner than wait-listed physical books, plus I don't have to go anywhere to check them out. E-mail tells me my book is available, I click the link, sign in, and download the book. And when I'm done, I can return it without getting in my car - easy peasy!
I'm never going to convert fully to e-books. I love the feel of a real book in my hands, I love the smell of bookstores, I even love the sound of turning pages. There are some books that will ALWAYS be better in print, just because that's how they were "meant" to be read. I'll give up my signed copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy over my dead body ... when I mentioned something from it yesterday and wanted to read a certain passage to Liza, that was the copy I immediately reached for. And yet, when she was intrigued and wanted me to go on, I downloaded the audiobook of it so we could both listen. And I couldn't help pointing out the irony of listening to that book - on my iPhone.
** that's how Jason once referred to the supernatural romance stories I read, and the name stuck
Monday, February 11, 2013
(slightly more than) 30 minutes with the prompt: Write about a party that goes horribly wrong.
"Do I really have to go through this again? I've already told the other officers my story, like, 10 times now."
"Yes. Now, I believe this all started with a party?"
"Yeah. My job as an investigator has me mostly working with the big three communities, you know - Fae, Furry, and Fanged. But I do a lot of work with the lesser Supes, too, and I make a point of trying to stay neutral and treat everyone the same. So when it came time to invite past and potential clients to my holiday party, I didn't think twice about inviting them all.
"Before you start, yes, I know - usually the fairies, vampires, and wereanimals don't get along so well. And when you throw in a bunch of brownies, trolls, mythological animals, and even the last dragon on the East Coast, you're brewing up a cauldron of unrest. Except at Solstice, it's not like that.
"Solstice is the one time when all of the clans have something to celebrate. The weres are happy about the full moon. The vamps celebrate the longest night of the year. Brownies, pixies, elves - all of them are sorely in need of some time off from the toy factory. Witches celebrate the return of the sun, and even plain vanilla humans celebrate the birth of their god around that time. And we all know the Fae will use any excuse to throw a party, so they're easy to please.
"It used to be easier to throw the party when my client list was smaller. Back then I could rent a ballroom, bring in a blood fountain and a pen of some rabbits, rent a band, hire a caterer, and I was set. But now it's gotten so big and complicated ... it's really getting to be more trouble than it's worth, especially after this year.
"As I mentioned, I've done some work for Slorth, and you don't NOT invite the dragon to your party, not if you expect to live long enough to actually attend said party. But he's so big, and insurance companies aren't exactly thrilled with the whole fire-breathing thing, so my choices for venue are really limited. When I heard that The Hollow was unexpectedly available on Solstice, I knew it would be just right. I could rent some tents for the warm-bloods, put up a big dance floor around the bonfire, and there would be plenty of room for Slorth. Perfect!
"Nobody at the rental company mentioned WHY The Hollow had become available. If I had known about the spell the previous renters had left lingering around the place, there's no way I would have chanced it, at least not without hosing the entire site down with a strong anti-magickal salt solution. But the rental company conveniently left that little detail out ... and I booked the party.
"Everything started off well. My guests know to be on their best behavior, at least for this one night, because I won't work for them again if they cause trouble at my party. For Solstice night, my party is the one true neutral ground in the area - and I won't lie to you, I'm quite proud of that fact. I've been able to get rather a lot of goodwill work done at Solstice parties, getting warring factions together around the bonfire to work out their differences in a place where no one can fault them for 'talking to the enemy.' How do you think I got the dwarves to stop undermining the troll caverns in Malvern? Solstice party, and the liberal application to both parties of some seriously spiked punch.
"Like I was saying, everything started great. The humans and witches were having a great time on the dance floor, there was a constant buzz and hum around the food table, and even the trolls were swaying pounding along with the music. About an hour into the party, it was time for Slorth to light the bonfire. As he did, I noticed a little shiver in the air near the entrance. The Fae were just arriving, and there was an audible gasp that spread through the crowd as people turned to see them.
"The Fae are so beautiful and graceful, they always make a grand entrance. I didn't see anything that unusual about them - they were wearing almost no clothing, just a few spangles here and there to make sure they were public-legal, but that was nothing new. I realize now that the salt-scrub I had used to polish my skin before the event probably protected me from the effects of the spell lingering in The Hollows, but the rest of my guests were not so lucky.
"I've had a chance to talk to some of the survivors while I've been waiting here in the lock-up. Good call dousing everyone in salt-water at the site, by the way - that probably saved a few lives. Anyway, it turns out that the Fae had decided to pull out all the stops this year and really glam it up. And by 'glam,' I mean the actual Fae 'glamour,' the magic they can work to change their appearance at will. It's not easy magic, and they hardly bother to pull it out anymore, except for special occasions. So I guess I should feel honored that they gave it a try for my party ... I just wish it hadn't backfired on them.
"You see, the fairies who are still able to talk told me that their glamour for tonight was supposed to make them more attractive to the other attendees. Pretty standard stuff, right? Except this wasn't specific - a fairy would look different to each person, because each partygoer had a different idea of what makes someone attractive. So a human would see a really handsome man, while a troll would see someone of a more rocky persuasion. It was ingenious, really, and should have been the hit of the party.
"Unfortunately, there was that stray spell lingering in the area, and it latched onto the Fae magic and gave it a nasty twist. Instead of just looking attractive, the Fae appeared to be what each person most wanted, most desired, most craved in the world. Didn't matter what that was - could be a mate, or food, or a protector, or even wealth or fame - that was how the Fae appeared to that person. This was a problem - a big problem.
"Despite the usual detente that reigns at my parties, things got out of control, fast. Imagine being confronted with the thing you most desire - say, your soulmate. Great! So you go over to your soulmate and begin talking with her. But at the same time, another being sees the same person, and sees them as food. The other person attacks the Fae, trying to gnaw off an arm, while you are trying to, ahem, get to know them. Meanwhile, another party guest sees the Fae as a protector, and is trying to hide under her arm. You can imagine the bedlam that erupted just minutes after the Fae arrived and their spell was corrupted.
"We might have been able to get things back under control without too many casualties, if Slorth hadn't been there. Slorth, as I mentioned, is the only dragon left on the East Coast. Slorth is, apparently, a lonely, lonely dragon. Every Fae he saw - and from his height, he could see pretty much all of them at once - seemed to him to be a potential mate, and he decided immediately that they would all be his. He started rounding up the Fae, fighting viciously with anyone who got in his way. Nobody wins against a dragon, not unless you've got some asbestos underwear and a very, very good plan. Nobody had either of those tonight, and Slorth laid waste to a huge number of my best clients.
"And that's how it happened. Slorth ended up setting the woods surrounding The Hollows on fire, which attracted the attention of the fire department, and then the police. Your department was quick enough to come up with a way to break the hold of the charm, and once we were all sopping wet and salty, the Fae just looked like fairies to everyone, and all of the fighting petered out. Not knowing who to charge for the incident, you locked us all up until you could get it sorted out.
"So, who do you blame? Me, for bringing everyone together? The rental company, for not telling me of the rogue spell at the site? The Fae, for attempting to deceive everyone, no matter how benignly? Each party attendee, for trying their best to get what they so desperately wanted? Or Slorth, for the swath of destruction he created as he tried to satisfy his most basic need?"
"Yes. Now, I believe this all started with a party?"
"Yeah. My job as an investigator has me mostly working with the big three communities, you know - Fae, Furry, and Fanged. But I do a lot of work with the lesser Supes, too, and I make a point of trying to stay neutral and treat everyone the same. So when it came time to invite past and potential clients to my holiday party, I didn't think twice about inviting them all.
"Before you start, yes, I know - usually the fairies, vampires, and wereanimals don't get along so well. And when you throw in a bunch of brownies, trolls, mythological animals, and even the last dragon on the East Coast, you're brewing up a cauldron of unrest. Except at Solstice, it's not like that.
"Solstice is the one time when all of the clans have something to celebrate. The weres are happy about the full moon. The vamps celebrate the longest night of the year. Brownies, pixies, elves - all of them are sorely in need of some time off from the toy factory. Witches celebrate the return of the sun, and even plain vanilla humans celebrate the birth of their god around that time. And we all know the Fae will use any excuse to throw a party, so they're easy to please.
"It used to be easier to throw the party when my client list was smaller. Back then I could rent a ballroom, bring in a blood fountain and a pen of some rabbits, rent a band, hire a caterer, and I was set. But now it's gotten so big and complicated ... it's really getting to be more trouble than it's worth, especially after this year.
"As I mentioned, I've done some work for Slorth, and you don't NOT invite the dragon to your party, not if you expect to live long enough to actually attend said party. But he's so big, and insurance companies aren't exactly thrilled with the whole fire-breathing thing, so my choices for venue are really limited. When I heard that The Hollow was unexpectedly available on Solstice, I knew it would be just right. I could rent some tents for the warm-bloods, put up a big dance floor around the bonfire, and there would be plenty of room for Slorth. Perfect!
"Nobody at the rental company mentioned WHY The Hollow had become available. If I had known about the spell the previous renters had left lingering around the place, there's no way I would have chanced it, at least not without hosing the entire site down with a strong anti-magickal salt solution. But the rental company conveniently left that little detail out ... and I booked the party.
"Everything started off well. My guests know to be on their best behavior, at least for this one night, because I won't work for them again if they cause trouble at my party. For Solstice night, my party is the one true neutral ground in the area - and I won't lie to you, I'm quite proud of that fact. I've been able to get rather a lot of goodwill work done at Solstice parties, getting warring factions together around the bonfire to work out their differences in a place where no one can fault them for 'talking to the enemy.' How do you think I got the dwarves to stop undermining the troll caverns in Malvern? Solstice party, and the liberal application to both parties of some seriously spiked punch.
"Like I was saying, everything started great. The humans and witches were having a great time on the dance floor, there was a constant buzz and hum around the food table, and even the trolls were swaying pounding along with the music. About an hour into the party, it was time for Slorth to light the bonfire. As he did, I noticed a little shiver in the air near the entrance. The Fae were just arriving, and there was an audible gasp that spread through the crowd as people turned to see them.
"The Fae are so beautiful and graceful, they always make a grand entrance. I didn't see anything that unusual about them - they were wearing almost no clothing, just a few spangles here and there to make sure they were public-legal, but that was nothing new. I realize now that the salt-scrub I had used to polish my skin before the event probably protected me from the effects of the spell lingering in The Hollows, but the rest of my guests were not so lucky.
"I've had a chance to talk to some of the survivors while I've been waiting here in the lock-up. Good call dousing everyone in salt-water at the site, by the way - that probably saved a few lives. Anyway, it turns out that the Fae had decided to pull out all the stops this year and really glam it up. And by 'glam,' I mean the actual Fae 'glamour,' the magic they can work to change their appearance at will. It's not easy magic, and they hardly bother to pull it out anymore, except for special occasions. So I guess I should feel honored that they gave it a try for my party ... I just wish it hadn't backfired on them.
"You see, the fairies who are still able to talk told me that their glamour for tonight was supposed to make them more attractive to the other attendees. Pretty standard stuff, right? Except this wasn't specific - a fairy would look different to each person, because each partygoer had a different idea of what makes someone attractive. So a human would see a really handsome man, while a troll would see someone of a more rocky persuasion. It was ingenious, really, and should have been the hit of the party.
"Unfortunately, there was that stray spell lingering in the area, and it latched onto the Fae magic and gave it a nasty twist. Instead of just looking attractive, the Fae appeared to be what each person most wanted, most desired, most craved in the world. Didn't matter what that was - could be a mate, or food, or a protector, or even wealth or fame - that was how the Fae appeared to that person. This was a problem - a big problem.
"Despite the usual detente that reigns at my parties, things got out of control, fast. Imagine being confronted with the thing you most desire - say, your soulmate. Great! So you go over to your soulmate and begin talking with her. But at the same time, another being sees the same person, and sees them as food. The other person attacks the Fae, trying to gnaw off an arm, while you are trying to, ahem, get to know them. Meanwhile, another party guest sees the Fae as a protector, and is trying to hide under her arm. You can imagine the bedlam that erupted just minutes after the Fae arrived and their spell was corrupted.
"We might have been able to get things back under control without too many casualties, if Slorth hadn't been there. Slorth, as I mentioned, is the only dragon left on the East Coast. Slorth is, apparently, a lonely, lonely dragon. Every Fae he saw - and from his height, he could see pretty much all of them at once - seemed to him to be a potential mate, and he decided immediately that they would all be his. He started rounding up the Fae, fighting viciously with anyone who got in his way. Nobody wins against a dragon, not unless you've got some asbestos underwear and a very, very good plan. Nobody had either of those tonight, and Slorth laid waste to a huge number of my best clients.
"And that's how it happened. Slorth ended up setting the woods surrounding The Hollows on fire, which attracted the attention of the fire department, and then the police. Your department was quick enough to come up with a way to break the hold of the charm, and once we were all sopping wet and salty, the Fae just looked like fairies to everyone, and all of the fighting petered out. Not knowing who to charge for the incident, you locked us all up until you could get it sorted out.
"So, who do you blame? Me, for bringing everyone together? The rental company, for not telling me of the rogue spell at the site? The Fae, for attempting to deceive everyone, no matter how benignly? Each party attendee, for trying their best to get what they so desperately wanted? Or Slorth, for the swath of destruction he created as he tried to satisfy his most basic need?"
Monday, January 21, 2013
A small thought
In days gone past, the volume of one's writing or correspondence was important. People loved getting personal letters that ran for pages, and poems ran for line after line after line.
Now we pride ourselves on fitting communications into 140 characters, or even less if you know the right abbreviations. When was the last time you looked at an e-mail and was glad it was 5 pages long? When you research something on the Internet, don't you skip over the articles that have 10 pages of material in favor of something that is summarized in one or two screens? When did haiku become the "cool" form of poetry?
Somewhere along the way we lost the ability to appreciate longer communications. No one writes letters anymore - heck, most of us barely skim the Christmas letters we receive each winter, so why would anyone bother to write more? We read the first few sentences of facebook status updates, rarely clicking the link to see the whole message unless those first few lines are either shocking or funny. Heck, even audiobooks now have a feature that lets you listen to them at twice or three times their normal speed. For shame, Audible, for shame.
I don't really have a point or a manifesto or anything based on this. I'm not going to run out and write 7-page letters to all of my facebook friends (hell, I don't know half of their addresses, anyway). But it is something worth thinking about next time you dash off a one-line tweet, or try to condense a message to fit in a text. Is this really the way this message deserves to be shared? Or is your zippy approach to it going to just lead to a string of clarifications and explanations going forward? Is this something you might need to devote a little more time, space, and attention to doing right?
Now we pride ourselves on fitting communications into 140 characters, or even less if you know the right abbreviations. When was the last time you looked at an e-mail and was glad it was 5 pages long? When you research something on the Internet, don't you skip over the articles that have 10 pages of material in favor of something that is summarized in one or two screens? When did haiku become the "cool" form of poetry?
Somewhere along the way we lost the ability to appreciate longer communications. No one writes letters anymore - heck, most of us barely skim the Christmas letters we receive each winter, so why would anyone bother to write more? We read the first few sentences of facebook status updates, rarely clicking the link to see the whole message unless those first few lines are either shocking or funny. Heck, even audiobooks now have a feature that lets you listen to them at twice or three times their normal speed. For shame, Audible, for shame.
I don't really have a point or a manifesto or anything based on this. I'm not going to run out and write 7-page letters to all of my facebook friends (hell, I don't know half of their addresses, anyway). But it is something worth thinking about next time you dash off a one-line tweet, or try to condense a message to fit in a text. Is this really the way this message deserves to be shared? Or is your zippy approach to it going to just lead to a string of clarifications and explanations going forward? Is this something you might need to devote a little more time, space, and attention to doing right?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Blast from the past
I'm taking an online writing course this month, and today's discussion made me remember a journal I used to keep back in the dark ages when I traveled a lot and didn't have a kid (or a blog). I took it with me to write down all those random ideas and overheard remarks that you promise yourself you'll remember, but never do. I found it a few months ago, and it was pretty cool to see how my mind worked back then. Below are some of my favorites, collected over about three years (and a billion miles):
" ... but that involved a much higher annoyance factor than she was willing to cope with just then."
" The only part of a museum I enjoy is the sight of it in my rear view mirror as I drive away."
"Sorry, buddy, I couldn't hear you over the accordion music."
"comprehensively sick"
"I hate it when hotels close the bathroom door when they're done cleaning - I always expect to open the door and find a dead body in the bathtub."
"She was a cleaner of inconsistent standards, one who would lecture about the evils of uncooked chicken juices while standing in a kitchen remarkable for its grease-filmed cabinets and food-splattered floor."
"Other women fall for their bartenders; I fell for my waiter. I even know what it was that put me over the edge. After several nights of struggling to provide English translations of the daily specials, one night he approached my table, laid my napkin in my lap, and spouted out the specials list in obviously rehearsed, perfect English. Neither of us could understand a word the other said, but from then on, it was love."
"I think there must be one line on the job application at the DMV that asks, "Are you a bitch?" and the answer choices are, "Yes," "Hell, yes," and "What do you think, asshole?"
"Talk to your mother fast, because we have to eat dinner soon so she can go draw pictures of naked people."
"I've got a whole fuckload of fruit salad I've got to power through before it goes bad."
"'How was the meeting?' 'The speaker was boring, the food was awful, and afterwards I was surrounded by a pack of people looking for new jobs.'"
"She had skin so fair she could sunburn in a thunderstorm."
" ... but that involved a much higher annoyance factor than she was willing to cope with just then."
" The only part of a museum I enjoy is the sight of it in my rear view mirror as I drive away."
"Sorry, buddy, I couldn't hear you over the accordion music."
"comprehensively sick"
"I hate it when hotels close the bathroom door when they're done cleaning - I always expect to open the door and find a dead body in the bathtub."
"She was a cleaner of inconsistent standards, one who would lecture about the evils of uncooked chicken juices while standing in a kitchen remarkable for its grease-filmed cabinets and food-splattered floor."
"Other women fall for their bartenders; I fell for my waiter. I even know what it was that put me over the edge. After several nights of struggling to provide English translations of the daily specials, one night he approached my table, laid my napkin in my lap, and spouted out the specials list in obviously rehearsed, perfect English. Neither of us could understand a word the other said, but from then on, it was love."
"I think there must be one line on the job application at the DMV that asks, "Are you a bitch?" and the answer choices are, "Yes," "Hell, yes," and "What do you think, asshole?"
"Talk to your mother fast, because we have to eat dinner soon so she can go draw pictures of naked people."
"I've got a whole fuckload of fruit salad I've got to power through before it goes bad."
"'How was the meeting?' 'The speaker was boring, the food was awful, and afterwards I was surrounded by a pack of people looking for new jobs.'"
"She had skin so fair she could sunburn in a thunderstorm."
Monday, January 14, 2013
Shameful admission
I'll be the first one to admit it - I'm not a great housekeeper. I'm not the worst ever, and despite what my husband thinks, we're never going to end up on Hoarders. But the daily grind of picking up the same stuff over and over again, cleaning the same filth only to have it reappear a day later, trying to keep up with two other people who aren't motivated to pick up, either? I'm bad at it.
Now, overlooking stuff? That I'm good at. I can ignore cobwebs and grimy baseboards with the best of people. A slightly scummy toilet bowl doesn't bother me unless we have guests coming over - and even then, it's probably cleaner than the ones used by all their boy-children at home, anyway. And that pink mildew in the shower is probably not going to melt the skin off my feet, so it can wait for a few days until I have the energy to deal with it.
Jason, on the other hand, isn't so skilled at overlooking these sorts of small issues. After living in the house for more than five years, he may not know where the pizza pans get stored, but he can spot a cobweb from a mile away. Doesn't do anything about them other than complain, most of the time, but he sure sees them. Which means that he gets grumpy because the person who doesn't work or volunteer two days a week (me) isn't all caught up on cleaning things, while the person who works five days a week (him) gets stuck doing the laundry and unloading the dishwasher. Some day he'll notice that he hasn't paid a bill, stayed home for a repair person, vacuumed, cleaned a cat box, mowed the grass, shoveled the driveway, taken a kid to the doctor or the hospital, or taken his own stuff to the post office more than a handful of times in the past few years and yet it all seems to miraculously get done, but until then, cleaning is occasionally a contentious issue around here.
Our dishes get clean, our clothes are (mostly) clean. You're not going to get typhus from sitting on our couch. On some days the house is even relatively de-cluttered. But it's not clean.
So that's why when we got a generous gift from my uncle for Christmas this year, Jason and I decided to put it toward hiring a cleaning service. It won't cover a whole year, but even six months of getting the house clean - CLEAN - every two weeks will be worth it for the sake of our sanity and marriage.
The initial cleaning was today. It took three people and an occasional supervisor more than two hours to do the job, which included detailing the kitchen and bathrooms, plus a "normal" clean everywhere else. My kitchen is so clean I plan to never cook in it again. My toilet shines like the top of the Chrysler building. My baseboards are clean. Like, seriously clean. And the few cobwebs we had lingering in the corners are gone.
Best money I've spent in a LONG time.
Now, overlooking stuff? That I'm good at. I can ignore cobwebs and grimy baseboards with the best of people. A slightly scummy toilet bowl doesn't bother me unless we have guests coming over - and even then, it's probably cleaner than the ones used by all their boy-children at home, anyway. And that pink mildew in the shower is probably not going to melt the skin off my feet, so it can wait for a few days until I have the energy to deal with it.
Jason, on the other hand, isn't so skilled at overlooking these sorts of small issues. After living in the house for more than five years, he may not know where the pizza pans get stored, but he can spot a cobweb from a mile away. Doesn't do anything about them other than complain, most of the time, but he sure sees them. Which means that he gets grumpy because the person who doesn't work or volunteer two days a week (me) isn't all caught up on cleaning things, while the person who works five days a week (him) gets stuck doing the laundry and unloading the dishwasher. Some day he'll notice that he hasn't paid a bill, stayed home for a repair person, vacuumed, cleaned a cat box, mowed the grass, shoveled the driveway, taken a kid to the doctor or the hospital, or taken his own stuff to the post office more than a handful of times in the past few years and yet it all seems to miraculously get done, but until then, cleaning is occasionally a contentious issue around here.
Our dishes get clean, our clothes are (mostly) clean. You're not going to get typhus from sitting on our couch. On some days the house is even relatively de-cluttered. But it's not clean.
So that's why when we got a generous gift from my uncle for Christmas this year, Jason and I decided to put it toward hiring a cleaning service. It won't cover a whole year, but even six months of getting the house clean - CLEAN - every two weeks will be worth it for the sake of our sanity and marriage.
The initial cleaning was today. It took three people and an occasional supervisor more than two hours to do the job, which included detailing the kitchen and bathrooms, plus a "normal" clean everywhere else. My kitchen is so clean I plan to never cook in it again. My toilet shines like the top of the Chrysler building. My baseboards are clean. Like, seriously clean. And the few cobwebs we had lingering in the corners are gone.
Best money I've spent in a LONG time.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Actual conversation tonight
G: If you want comforting bedtime reading, don't look up Norovirus on Google.
J: What's neurovirus?
G: Norovirus - you know, the stomach flu I've had since Monday night? Turns out I'll be contagious for at least 3 days after my symptoms are gone ... Or as long as two weeks. So don't piss me off or I'll sneak into the guest room and lick your face while you sleep.
J: (shuts bedroom door in my face and bolts it behind him)
Guess it's gonna be up to me to Clorox the living shit out of the house in a few days ... And here I had just changed the sheets on Sunday, too.
J: What's neurovirus?
G: Norovirus - you know, the stomach flu I've had since Monday night? Turns out I'll be contagious for at least 3 days after my symptoms are gone ... Or as long as two weeks. So don't piss me off or I'll sneak into the guest room and lick your face while you sleep.
J: (shuts bedroom door in my face and bolts it behind him)
Guess it's gonna be up to me to Clorox the living shit out of the house in a few days ... And here I had just changed the sheets on Sunday, too.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Blargh. Stomach flu - so much cheaper and more effective than a juice cleanse!
I'm not dead yet, but I kinda wish I was. I'm going to be annoyingly positive so I don't bring everyone else down:
Things I'm looking forward to today:
- shower - DONE
- fresh clothes -DONE
- brush teeth - DONE
- sleeping for more than 10 minutes straight, and not having to worry about waking up soiled -DONE
- getting rid of the sleep deprivation and dehydration symptoms - this headache can go fuck itself - DONE
- my next sip of water, because omg water is the best thing ever and I want more more more but can only drink a few drops every few minutes -DONE
- moaning in an empty house so I don't disturb anyone else with my torment
- cleaning out the stinky puke bucket
- maybe by lunchtime : applesauce!
ETA: dang, I've got most of my list done and it's not even 10am. Time for some celebratory applesauce!
Things I'm looking forward to today:
- shower - DONE
- fresh clothes -DONE
- brush teeth - DONE
- sleeping for more than 10 minutes straight, and not having to worry about waking up soiled -DONE
- getting rid of the sleep deprivation and dehydration symptoms - this headache can go fuck itself - DONE
- my next sip of water, because omg water is the best thing ever and I want more more more but can only drink a few drops every few minutes -DONE
- moaning in an empty house so I don't disturb anyone else with my torment
- cleaning out the stinky puke bucket
- maybe by lunchtime : applesauce!
ETA: dang, I've got most of my list done and it's not even 10am. Time for some celebratory applesauce!
Monday, January 07, 2013
Now I've gone and done it
Turned off the notifications on my phone and iPad for e-mail messages, that is. I'm trying to pursue a more single-minded, less multi-tasking approach to life, and being interrupted every 10 minutes with a request to rate someone on Angie's List isn't helping my flow. I'm going to try to check (and respond) to e-mail and (shudder) Facebook twice a day ... okay, maybe three times, but that's IT.
One of my goals for this year is to live more mindfully. So much of the time we go through life trying to do so much at one time that large swaths of time just evaporate from our memories. It's like when you listen to an audiobook on a long drive - you may be doing a perfectly competent job of driving, and a fine job of listening, but I can almost guarantee that when you arrive at your destination you don't remember 3/4 of the trip. On 12-hour road trips, this is a blessing. But when it happens while you're trying to fix dinner, help with homework, have a conversation, and compose a blog post in your head ... well, you miss out on more important stuff than just the billboards along the Turnpike.
So at least for now I'm going solo - one task, one focus, one goal at a time. If I'm cleaning, that's what I'm focused on doing. If I'm talking to Liza, I'm actually going to give her my full attention. And I'm hoping that I'll be more able to notice the little moments of peace, and calm, and joy, and silliness that I know are in each day but have been passing by unnoticed.
So far today I have:
- Finally remembered to look at Liza's all-snow-man (good thing, too, as it has since melted)
- Looked up in Target and realized I was alone. There was absolutely no one within sight, or within earshot; no one was on the walkie-talkies, no babies were crying on the other side of the store. It was just me and the grocery shelves. Kind of odd, actually.
- Smiled indulgently at the three birds flitting hopefully around my (empty) feeder this morning. I hope they come back now that I have birdseed in it ...
- Found three checks that had become temporarily misplaced in the avalanche of mail and greeting cards on my desk. People who wanted to clear off their 2012 books - Celebrate! Yea verily they have been deposited, and there was much rejoicing!
- Realized that for the first time in 15 years, I could dump an armload of grocery bags on the floor inside the front door and go back for more without worrying about Zach savaging any of the food inside. And then I sniffled a bit for the same reason.
- Written an entire blog post without once checking my e-mail, Facebook, or my blog reader, much less stopping to pay bills or unload the dishwasher. Go, me!
So we'll see how this goes. Tell me, what do you do to make sure the little moments in life don't skip past your notice each day?
One of my goals for this year is to live more mindfully. So much of the time we go through life trying to do so much at one time that large swaths of time just evaporate from our memories. It's like when you listen to an audiobook on a long drive - you may be doing a perfectly competent job of driving, and a fine job of listening, but I can almost guarantee that when you arrive at your destination you don't remember 3/4 of the trip. On 12-hour road trips, this is a blessing. But when it happens while you're trying to fix dinner, help with homework, have a conversation, and compose a blog post in your head ... well, you miss out on more important stuff than just the billboards along the Turnpike.
So at least for now I'm going solo - one task, one focus, one goal at a time. If I'm cleaning, that's what I'm focused on doing. If I'm talking to Liza, I'm actually going to give her my full attention. And I'm hoping that I'll be more able to notice the little moments of peace, and calm, and joy, and silliness that I know are in each day but have been passing by unnoticed.
So far today I have:
- Finally remembered to look at Liza's all-snow-man (good thing, too, as it has since melted)
- Looked up in Target and realized I was alone. There was absolutely no one within sight, or within earshot; no one was on the walkie-talkies, no babies were crying on the other side of the store. It was just me and the grocery shelves. Kind of odd, actually.
- Smiled indulgently at the three birds flitting hopefully around my (empty) feeder this morning. I hope they come back now that I have birdseed in it ...
- Found three checks that had become temporarily misplaced in the avalanche of mail and greeting cards on my desk. People who wanted to clear off their 2012 books - Celebrate! Yea verily they have been deposited, and there was much rejoicing!
- Realized that for the first time in 15 years, I could dump an armload of grocery bags on the floor inside the front door and go back for more without worrying about Zach savaging any of the food inside. And then I sniffled a bit for the same reason.
- Written an entire blog post without once checking my e-mail, Facebook, or my blog reader, much less stopping to pay bills or unload the dishwasher. Go, me!
So we'll see how this goes. Tell me, what do you do to make sure the little moments in life don't skip past your notice each day?
Friday, January 04, 2013
Ugh. Today's a telephone day.
You'd think that with all my communication skills (look, I post all the time on Facebook and my blog, and I have the expensive piece of paper to prove that I'm allowed to be a journalist if I want to!), I'd be more fond of the telephone. And yet every month I save up all of my non-critical phone calls - scheduling appointments, checking on things, etc. - until it gets ridiculous and I finally handle them all at once. And 10 minutes later, I wonder why I put it off for so long, because it wasn't so bad ... a fact I conveniently forget next time I need to see if something is in stock at Home Depot.
Why do I do this to myself? It's not like I'm ALWAYS an uncommunicative hermit. There are some days when I talk nonstop to anyone and everyone. But other days I'm perfectly happy to sit there and grunt agreeably to whatever you say, as long as you don't make me hold up one end of the conversation. It's like I just can't handle - or be bothered to try - maintaining all the social niceties AND get my point across AND assimilate information AND make decisions. Rather than screw it up or offend someone, I prefer to be an audience for everyone else. My brain is wrapped in wool roving, and I just can't get it untangled enough to enjoy a conversation. I'll do it if I have to, but there are a lot of really unpleasant household chores I'd rather do instead.
Besides, it's so easy to get side-tracked, or to find (sometimes valid) excuses for why I can't make that phone call now. For example, I can't call about scheduling an appointment unless I've got something to write the date on and have access to my calendar, which is on my phone (hassle to check while using the phone) and my iPad (which I don't usually carry with me, since it weighs as much as a small cat). I won't bother calling to find out about replacing our snowblower until I know I've got someone home to help me hoist the broken one up into a truck to get it back to the store - because what's the point in knowing I COULD take it back today, but CAN'T because the thing weighs as much as a Yugo and I'm here by myself? And once I get started on other projects, before you know it, it will be after 5pm so I can't call the dentist, or after 9pm so I can't call Home Depot. See? Perfectly valid excuses ... at least the first few times I make them.
But Liza's cavity isn't going to get fixed unless I schedule her filling, and my crowns aren't going to magically appear in my mouth, either. The Snowblower Fairy isn't going to repair my machine for me, and several things need to get done on the Super Secret Birthday Event I'm planning for Jason later this month. The carpets need to cleaned of the final round of bodily fluids from the cat, and we had talked about hiring an electrician to install the lights I bought to finish off the front porch renovation. I've also got a couple of notes - real, handwritten notes - I need to write, which I've also been putting off so I might as well take care of them today, too.
So today I'll grit my teeth, pick up the phone, and make the calls.
Right after I finish my yoga ... and scrub the bathtub ... and do some laundry ...
Why do I do this to myself? It's not like I'm ALWAYS an uncommunicative hermit. There are some days when I talk nonstop to anyone and everyone. But other days I'm perfectly happy to sit there and grunt agreeably to whatever you say, as long as you don't make me hold up one end of the conversation. It's like I just can't handle - or be bothered to try - maintaining all the social niceties AND get my point across AND assimilate information AND make decisions. Rather than screw it up or offend someone, I prefer to be an audience for everyone else. My brain is wrapped in wool roving, and I just can't get it untangled enough to enjoy a conversation. I'll do it if I have to, but there are a lot of really unpleasant household chores I'd rather do instead.
Besides, it's so easy to get side-tracked, or to find (sometimes valid) excuses for why I can't make that phone call now. For example, I can't call about scheduling an appointment unless I've got something to write the date on and have access to my calendar, which is on my phone (hassle to check while using the phone) and my iPad (which I don't usually carry with me, since it weighs as much as a small cat). I won't bother calling to find out about replacing our snowblower until I know I've got someone home to help me hoist the broken one up into a truck to get it back to the store - because what's the point in knowing I COULD take it back today, but CAN'T because the thing weighs as much as a Yugo and I'm here by myself? And once I get started on other projects, before you know it, it will be after 5pm so I can't call the dentist, or after 9pm so I can't call Home Depot. See? Perfectly valid excuses ... at least the first few times I make them.
But Liza's cavity isn't going to get fixed unless I schedule her filling, and my crowns aren't going to magically appear in my mouth, either. The Snowblower Fairy isn't going to repair my machine for me, and several things need to get done on the Super Secret Birthday Event I'm planning for Jason later this month. The carpets need to cleaned of the final round of bodily fluids from the cat, and we had talked about hiring an electrician to install the lights I bought to finish off the front porch renovation. I've also got a couple of notes - real, handwritten notes - I need to write, which I've also been putting off so I might as well take care of them today, too.
So today I'll grit my teeth, pick up the phone, and make the calls.
Right after I finish my yoga ... and scrub the bathtub ... and do some laundry ...
Thursday, January 03, 2013
From the couch, wrapped in an afghan
I've started reading Simple Abundance (again!), and I was struck by today's entry - it listed the six graces of Gratitude, Simplicity, Order, Harmony, Beauty, and Joy. As often as I've read the book, I get something new out of it each time. I think this is the first time I've actually started the book on January 1st - usually I pick it up mid-year and rush through the early parts to get to the entries for whichever calendar month I'm in - and I'm trying to make a practice of actually sitting down and thinking about the entry each day.
Got up early this morning to get the kid to school. We go back a day ahead of the local school district, so it seems like we are the only people on the planet up and moving this morning. Solstice has come and gone, and the days are gradually starting earlier again. Here in the frozen north, that's a good thing - another month or so and we won't have to stand in the dark while waiting for the bus.
No bus today, though - stayed in bed for a few last-minute snuggles before I sent her on her way. So nice to not start the day in a rush - I didn't even have to nag at her to get her out the door on time! It's like some sort of miracle for the new year.
The sun was just rising above the trees and houses in our neighborhood when I got Liza headed for the car - syrupy light just touching the fronts and tops of the snow drifts in our front yard. Our mornings can be a trial, but the chance to see the sun rise, or a rainbow form in the morning mist, or dew or frost on the lawn - it almost makes it worth it. Almost.
Even now, an hour later, the light is picking and choosing what it wants to illuminate. It's much more particular about its job than the all-encompassing light of July. I think I'll take a lesson from that today - I'll just dwell on the things I want to highlight, instead of trying to control everything all at once. Sometimes a little selective attention makes all the difference ...
Got up early this morning to get the kid to school. We go back a day ahead of the local school district, so it seems like we are the only people on the planet up and moving this morning. Solstice has come and gone, and the days are gradually starting earlier again. Here in the frozen north, that's a good thing - another month or so and we won't have to stand in the dark while waiting for the bus.
No bus today, though - stayed in bed for a few last-minute snuggles before I sent her on her way. So nice to not start the day in a rush - I didn't even have to nag at her to get her out the door on time! It's like some sort of miracle for the new year.
The sun was just rising above the trees and houses in our neighborhood when I got Liza headed for the car - syrupy light just touching the fronts and tops of the snow drifts in our front yard. Our mornings can be a trial, but the chance to see the sun rise, or a rainbow form in the morning mist, or dew or frost on the lawn - it almost makes it worth it. Almost.
Even now, an hour later, the light is picking and choosing what it wants to illuminate. It's much more particular about its job than the all-encompassing light of July. I think I'll take a lesson from that today - I'll just dwell on the things I want to highlight, instead of trying to control everything all at once. Sometimes a little selective attention makes all the difference ...
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Happy New Year! Now, let's talk about The Hobbit
1. Ten minutes of quaint Shire stuff just to link it to the previous trilogy? Why couldn't it just stand on its own, and people who saw the trilogy could find their own links, rather than being hit over the head with them multiple times throughout the movie? "Look, here's Frodo! (whonk) Look, the Grey Wizard is being an asshole, maybe he's already turning evil! (whonk)"
2. Never in all three trilogy movies did I ever think "God, those are awful prosthetic Hobbit feet." I stopped counting this time after four or five scenes with awful feet. Seriously, those were some hairy, hairy rubber feet, and Martin Freeman is not a hairy individual. There was a visible line where you went from smooth Martin Freeman legs to hairy gross Bilbo feet. And they didn't seem to flex as much as previous ones, so all the Hobbits had this weird gait, especially when running. Sort of looked like they were wearing snowshoes or something. Hairy, hairy snowshoes.
3. Hobbit household tip #1 - put a fucking lock on your door, and a peephole would be a good idea, too.
4. Hobbit personal growth tip #1 - learn how to say "Get the fuck out" and mean it.
5. Who gets up late for a journey, hurriedly dresses and packs, and chooses a three-piece suit as the perfect questing gear? With an ascot?
6. Oh, look. They're stuck on a ledge in the mountains getting rained or snowed on. What, does Peter Jackson have some sort of Questing Checklist? Stuck in dire situation in miserable weather? Check. Walking across a ridge silhouetted against the sky? Check. Running across a plain while filmed from a helicopter? Check. (sigh)
7. "Hi, my name is Radegast the Brown. I'm mentioned in one sentence in the book, but Peter Jackson needed extra stuff to pad out the movie, so I get to be in The Hobbit for 10 minutes with a not-terribly-realistic CGI hedgehog. I allow birds to poop down my face, and think my rickety wooden sled pulled by fucking rabbits will outrun a bunch of bloodlust-crazed giant wolf things on uneven ground. I am batshit insane. Or maybe that should be birdshit insane."
8. Oh, look. They popped out of a crack in the rock into a ... really obviously fake backdrop of Rivendell. I mean, I've seen canvas stage sets that looked more realistic than this.
9. Someone explain to me why the only women in the movie are either standing around in the Shire, or playing the harp or pouring wine in Rivendell. Oh, or you can stand around being all ethereally beautiful and obscure and not terribly useful, if that's your thing (ahem, Galadriel).
10. Rivendell does have that nice little rotunda/gazebo thing with the stream flowing around it, though. I'll take one of those for my backyard.
11. Is it just me, or did all these ancient Middle Earth people find the most obscure, difficult to reach locations to put their major cities? Has no one ever heard of putting a city somewhere convenient, like, I don't know, on a harbor, or at the confluence of navigable rivers? No, let's put the city on the side of a mountain that goes straight up a million miles into the air. Drop a coin from the top of the towers and you could kill someone lower down. And everyone there must have Buns of Steel ... and Calves of Copper, and Lungs of Mithril. Sure, put a nice fortress up in the mountains, but geez, EVERYONE appears to live in these inaccessible mountain strongholds, and then the fertile plains all around are completely empty.
12. I love the Goblin King. He's all wobbledy-dobbledy and funny and has actual expressions (unlike some orcs I could name). The Goblins crack me up in general. And that's a problem, because I'm supposed to be all terrified of them rending me into pieces and cracking my bones for their bread and stuff. Instead I keep thinking, "Oh, look, they're like slimy orangutans! Awwwww!"
13. There's a 20-minute chase through Goblinville (or at least it felt like that long - I actually started twiddling my thumbs by the end, and you know how long it takes for that to happen), and they don't accidentally lose even ONE dwarf or wizard? What are the odds of that happening? If Joss Whedon was directing, you'd have lost at least one or two of the funny ones in some sort of poignant and/or self-sacrificing way. Of course, the dwarves are so interchangeable that you couldn't tell if any were missing without pulling a rollcall, anyway, could you, Gandalf?
14. Speaking of dwarves, way to not link up names with faces, Peter. I spent the whole movie mentally referring to them as "wacky hat guy," "bald dude," "the hot one with the arrows," and "all those other ones." Oh, and there was also That Ungrateful Asshole Thorin.
15. Okay, time to talk about the fight scenes. The never-ending fight scenes, with obligatory unnecessary close-up gore and logical inconsistencies galore. Geez, I need to go into subheadings for this one ....
A) Was it really necessary for every fight scene to be 15 minutes long?
B) I really had the feeling they were so long because Peter Jackson had a punch list of fight scene tropes he needed to hit to match what he had done in the previous trilogy ... and he decided he had to hit each item in each fight. Come on, how many times do we need to see multiple people speared through with the same lance/sword/arrow? Or a closeup of a head shot? Body parts falling off after a suspenseful pause? All good in moderation, but laughable when used multiple times in the same movie.
C) "I'm Radegast the Brown! I will distract the evil mounted orcs by drawing them off in the opposite direction ... and then leading them back around to cut you guys off from your goal multiple times. That's okay, right? You don't mind turning a simple chase scene into 10 minutes of run-run-run-hide-turn-around-and-run-back-the-other-way, right? Guys? Guys?"
D) You know what I find funny? The fact that Thorin makes a point at the beginning of the movie of how the company doesn't include that many warriors, just tinkers and cobblers and stuff. And then they get to Goblinville, and suddenly every dwarf is all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Smaug all over the place. I'm sorry, but you put a tinker or a cobbler in that situation, and there will be a lot less "wielding of long poles to sweep large numbers of enemies off the catwalks" and a lot more "bonking people on the head with small weapons, and possibly dwarves wetting themselves."
E) Please tell me that the orcs were smart enough to know that the lovely little inferno Gandalf started on the edge of the cliff was going to burn itself out as soon as they ran out of pine cones. Dude, sit down, have a smoke, cuff a few minions upside the head, and wait them out.
F) Once again, Gandalf calls on the Giant Eagle Taxi Service to get him out of a jam ... and then completely fails to realize that he could just have the eagles drop them all off AT THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN THEY'RE GOING TO SPEND THE NEXT TWO MOVIES TRUDGING TOWARD. You're two for two, dimwit.
16. The CGI on the giant eagles was nicely done, especially the overhead shots when they were flying the dwarves away from the battle. I'm pretty sure that real bird feathers don't ruffle that much when soaring, though - flight feathers are stiff for a reason, and downy feathers aren't up on the flight areas of the bird.
17. Nice of the eagles to put the mortally-wounded dwarf down someplace with ready access to medical attention ... or water ... or anything other than a dangerous hundred-foot drop on all sides. Oh, wait.
18. Someone explain to me how every single man has long, flowing hair that pushes back from his hairline and never falls down into his face (except the two strands that artfully slide into Thorin's face so you can tell he's REALLY emoting). These are guys that have never seen shampoo, who think baths are a once-a-year trial to be endured, and who are fighting major bloody battles over and over again. And their bangs never fall in their face. Yeah, right.
19. "Hi, I'm the wizard who's going to go all evil and shit in the next movie. In the meantime, I'm going to deny that anything is wrong at all, while rocking my improbably flat-ironed hairdo. I find it super-convenient to have the hair hanging down and falling in my way all the time, because ponytails are for pussies. Nothing to see here. Nope, I'm not plotting with an evil dude - promise!"
20. I'm not sure how I feel about Smaug. I kind of liked that we didn't really get to see him yet, just a tail here or a wall of flame there. The eye opening was expertly animated. I do have to wonder where all the light was coming from to make his pupil shrink, since he'd been holed up in that cavern asleep for the last - what was it? - sixty years, and it's not like he had a retinue of servants going around lighting lanterns all that time just in case he woke up and wanted to blink at someone. And it's not like he would have hauled all of the treasure out of the storehouse and up into the throne room with all of the windows, because what dragon is that motivated (or stupid enough to put all the treasure in the hardest room to guard)? So he's down in the bowels of the mountain, sleeping all cozy in his pile of treasure, and somehow there's still enough light. Unless you get some glow-worms into the story STAT, I call foul.
2. Never in all three trilogy movies did I ever think "God, those are awful prosthetic Hobbit feet." I stopped counting this time after four or five scenes with awful feet. Seriously, those were some hairy, hairy rubber feet, and Martin Freeman is not a hairy individual. There was a visible line where you went from smooth Martin Freeman legs to hairy gross Bilbo feet. And they didn't seem to flex as much as previous ones, so all the Hobbits had this weird gait, especially when running. Sort of looked like they were wearing snowshoes or something. Hairy, hairy snowshoes.
3. Hobbit household tip #1 - put a fucking lock on your door, and a peephole would be a good idea, too.
4. Hobbit personal growth tip #1 - learn how to say "Get the fuck out" and mean it.
5. Who gets up late for a journey, hurriedly dresses and packs, and chooses a three-piece suit as the perfect questing gear? With an ascot?
6. Oh, look. They're stuck on a ledge in the mountains getting rained or snowed on. What, does Peter Jackson have some sort of Questing Checklist? Stuck in dire situation in miserable weather? Check. Walking across a ridge silhouetted against the sky? Check. Running across a plain while filmed from a helicopter? Check. (sigh)
7. "Hi, my name is Radegast the Brown. I'm mentioned in one sentence in the book, but Peter Jackson needed extra stuff to pad out the movie, so I get to be in The Hobbit for 10 minutes with a not-terribly-realistic CGI hedgehog. I allow birds to poop down my face, and think my rickety wooden sled pulled by fucking rabbits will outrun a bunch of bloodlust-crazed giant wolf things on uneven ground. I am batshit insane. Or maybe that should be birdshit insane."
8. Oh, look. They popped out of a crack in the rock into a ... really obviously fake backdrop of Rivendell. I mean, I've seen canvas stage sets that looked more realistic than this.
9. Someone explain to me why the only women in the movie are either standing around in the Shire, or playing the harp or pouring wine in Rivendell. Oh, or you can stand around being all ethereally beautiful and obscure and not terribly useful, if that's your thing (ahem, Galadriel).
10. Rivendell does have that nice little rotunda/gazebo thing with the stream flowing around it, though. I'll take one of those for my backyard.
11. Is it just me, or did all these ancient Middle Earth people find the most obscure, difficult to reach locations to put their major cities? Has no one ever heard of putting a city somewhere convenient, like, I don't know, on a harbor, or at the confluence of navigable rivers? No, let's put the city on the side of a mountain that goes straight up a million miles into the air. Drop a coin from the top of the towers and you could kill someone lower down. And everyone there must have Buns of Steel ... and Calves of Copper, and Lungs of Mithril. Sure, put a nice fortress up in the mountains, but geez, EVERYONE appears to live in these inaccessible mountain strongholds, and then the fertile plains all around are completely empty.
12. I love the Goblin King. He's all wobbledy-dobbledy and funny and has actual expressions (unlike some orcs I could name). The Goblins crack me up in general. And that's a problem, because I'm supposed to be all terrified of them rending me into pieces and cracking my bones for their bread and stuff. Instead I keep thinking, "Oh, look, they're like slimy orangutans! Awwwww!"
13. There's a 20-minute chase through Goblinville (or at least it felt like that long - I actually started twiddling my thumbs by the end, and you know how long it takes for that to happen), and they don't accidentally lose even ONE dwarf or wizard? What are the odds of that happening? If Joss Whedon was directing, you'd have lost at least one or two of the funny ones in some sort of poignant and/or self-sacrificing way. Of course, the dwarves are so interchangeable that you couldn't tell if any were missing without pulling a rollcall, anyway, could you, Gandalf?
14. Speaking of dwarves, way to not link up names with faces, Peter. I spent the whole movie mentally referring to them as "wacky hat guy," "bald dude," "the hot one with the arrows," and "all those other ones." Oh, and there was also That Ungrateful Asshole Thorin.
15. Okay, time to talk about the fight scenes. The never-ending fight scenes, with obligatory unnecessary close-up gore and logical inconsistencies galore. Geez, I need to go into subheadings for this one ....
A) Was it really necessary for every fight scene to be 15 minutes long?
B) I really had the feeling they were so long because Peter Jackson had a punch list of fight scene tropes he needed to hit to match what he had done in the previous trilogy ... and he decided he had to hit each item in each fight. Come on, how many times do we need to see multiple people speared through with the same lance/sword/arrow? Or a closeup of a head shot? Body parts falling off after a suspenseful pause? All good in moderation, but laughable when used multiple times in the same movie.
C) "I'm Radegast the Brown! I will distract the evil mounted orcs by drawing them off in the opposite direction ... and then leading them back around to cut you guys off from your goal multiple times. That's okay, right? You don't mind turning a simple chase scene into 10 minutes of run-run-run-hide-turn-around-and-run-back-the-other-way, right? Guys? Guys?"
D) You know what I find funny? The fact that Thorin makes a point at the beginning of the movie of how the company doesn't include that many warriors, just tinkers and cobblers and stuff. And then they get to Goblinville, and suddenly every dwarf is all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Smaug all over the place. I'm sorry, but you put a tinker or a cobbler in that situation, and there will be a lot less "wielding of long poles to sweep large numbers of enemies off the catwalks" and a lot more "bonking people on the head with small weapons, and possibly dwarves wetting themselves."
E) Please tell me that the orcs were smart enough to know that the lovely little inferno Gandalf started on the edge of the cliff was going to burn itself out as soon as they ran out of pine cones. Dude, sit down, have a smoke, cuff a few minions upside the head, and wait them out.
F) Once again, Gandalf calls on the Giant Eagle Taxi Service to get him out of a jam ... and then completely fails to realize that he could just have the eagles drop them all off AT THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN THEY'RE GOING TO SPEND THE NEXT TWO MOVIES TRUDGING TOWARD. You're two for two, dimwit.
16. The CGI on the giant eagles was nicely done, especially the overhead shots when they were flying the dwarves away from the battle. I'm pretty sure that real bird feathers don't ruffle that much when soaring, though - flight feathers are stiff for a reason, and downy feathers aren't up on the flight areas of the bird.
17. Nice of the eagles to put the mortally-wounded dwarf down someplace with ready access to medical attention ... or water ... or anything other than a dangerous hundred-foot drop on all sides. Oh, wait.
18. Someone explain to me how every single man has long, flowing hair that pushes back from his hairline and never falls down into his face (except the two strands that artfully slide into Thorin's face so you can tell he's REALLY emoting). These are guys that have never seen shampoo, who think baths are a once-a-year trial to be endured, and who are fighting major bloody battles over and over again. And their bangs never fall in their face. Yeah, right.
19. "Hi, I'm the wizard who's going to go all evil and shit in the next movie. In the meantime, I'm going to deny that anything is wrong at all, while rocking my improbably flat-ironed hairdo. I find it super-convenient to have the hair hanging down and falling in my way all the time, because ponytails are for pussies. Nothing to see here. Nope, I'm not plotting with an evil dude - promise!"
20. I'm not sure how I feel about Smaug. I kind of liked that we didn't really get to see him yet, just a tail here or a wall of flame there. The eye opening was expertly animated. I do have to wonder where all the light was coming from to make his pupil shrink, since he'd been holed up in that cavern asleep for the last - what was it? - sixty years, and it's not like he had a retinue of servants going around lighting lanterns all that time just in case he woke up and wanted to blink at someone. And it's not like he would have hauled all of the treasure out of the storehouse and up into the throne room with all of the windows, because what dragon is that motivated (or stupid enough to put all the treasure in the hardest room to guard)? So he's down in the bowels of the mountain, sleeping all cozy in his pile of treasure, and somehow there's still enough light. Unless you get some glow-worms into the story STAT, I call foul.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Guess who got a wireless keyboard for Christmas?
ME!!!!!!!!!!!
So now I can post to Blogger without it giving my finger a cramp. Guess who's going to be posting more frequently?
ME!!!!!!!!!!
So now I can post to Blogger without it giving my finger a cramp. Guess who's going to be posting more frequently?
ME!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, December 01, 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
I like my art tiny
Courtesy of Janet Mettee, a talented artist and all-around delightful conversationalist who is exhibiting this weekend at the Terra Vista Studio holiday sale (http://www.terravistastudios.com/Holiday_Sale_2012_Info_4.html).
Go check out her work before all of the adorable little canvases are gone!
Go check out her work before all of the adorable little canvases are gone!
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