Shaken & Stirred

Yes

It's spring, so I've springified the design a bit. (Oh, to be able to design headers.)

ANYWAY, everything seems to be working properly EXCEPT the Read Read list over to the right -- Karen's novel seems to have broken it. I've sent a message to the Tech Support People, so keep your fingers crossed. At the moment, it's not letting me add the absolutely BRILLIANT new novel by Jincy Willet, The Writing Class. Woe.

p.s. It makes me very nervous when people are following me at Twitter, according to automatically generated e-mail messages. It seems to be happening more and more. I don't even remember my password. I don't recall my last Twitterette, but it's unlikely to be followed by another. Ditto for Goodreads -- I never update these things. I do love getting the e-mail with the Flickr friends updates though. Oh, technology, you are a wiley siren.

Sparkly

I must tell you that I saw these little numbers at Tarjhay the other night, and it was very hard to resist. Lauren, what do you think?

Bravery & Admin

First, the bravery...

Nicola has an excellent article on tasers and the taser party fad up at the Huffington Post:

Apparently, many women who go to these parties live in constant fear of violent sexual assault. And they believe that having a Taser will protect them. Perhaps they imagine a hooded stranger in their apartment or their parking lot. Perhaps they imagine that they will whip out the Taser, zap the bad guy, and a few minutes later watch as the cops march him off. Bloodless and neat. Her Taser is a "safety blanket," says Dana Shafman, the entrepreneur who started the parties; if she leaves the house without one she goes "into panic mode."

But it's not safety blankets that protect you.  You do that.

I wish every girl and woman in the wide world would read the whole piece. And the Aud novels.

(This also reminds me that she has another blog, about the writing of her next novel, which sounds AMAZING. AMAZING. Three times AMAZING.)

And now the admin...

I toggled a few new settings on Typepad. Now there's a Share This thingie under each post, which will let you easily save stuff to your various networking/bookmarky places or e-mail posts. There's also RSS feeds for the comments on individual posts. And some other stuff you shouldn't really see if it works right.

I'm sure this is all very unnecessary, but it makes me feel productive.

Go Away Winter

You know, one of the perks of Southern living is supposed to be an early spring. I'm just saying.

So why does it continue to snow outside and be 12 degrees? Unacceptable.

Cold Defcon

Two-point-five.

At least this means I can stay home on the couch and finish Karen's new book. In addition to using up all the tissues on the planet.

(Sorry, Coll -- couldn't resist.)

p.s. Vegan strawberry hobbit cake from the co-op is pretty much a cure-all. Yum. (Yep, it's an enormous cupcake with hunks of strawberry in it and I'm eating the whole thing. Puck is totally trying to convince me he's a hobbit. I don't think any food smell has ever made him this crazy.)

I'm Such a Girl (updated)

No Operation: Loverboy alleycat race for us today -- not with the appointed hour showing "feels like 9 degrees" and winds 25-35 MPH. Eek.

Drat.

(Updated) Well, not totally, as it turns out. We did fully half the checkpoints. And the feeling has returned to my toes. Almost. Pics to follow. And here they are.

Currently

I seem to have settled into a winter rhythm just in time to have it disrupted by the residency. Get up, go to work, come home, walk the dogs, do yoga, eat something, revise two chapters or so of Monster Nation, maybe watch some TV and have a glass of wine, read, sleep. Repeat.

I'm planning to try and keep the revise two chapters or so a day going during most of the residency. We'll see about that.

When I get back, it will be time to really and truly add critical thesis work into this schedule, along with Tiptree and Cybils jurying. Which is to say that I will be insanely tired and overcommitted and very well read.

But the writing's going pretty well. The rest of it is like unto a swarm of patient gnats when that happens--troublesome, but not fatal.

Champagne Dreams

Well, that was fun. We rang in the New Year in low-key style with the North Carolina contingent--the fabulous Richard Butner and Barb Gilly--and the New Hampshire delegates--dynamic duo Meghan McCarron and Sadie the Dog. Many hours of Game Show Network* were commented on, several games/moralty tests were won and lost, and (at least) six modern houses were seen. Sleep was light. Dogs were rowdy. Etcetera. Pictorial evidence is forthcoming.

My hope is that when the beginning of a year is this nice, the year can't be anything but wonderful. Good luck with your resolutions, if you're resolving, and with things in general, regardless. My own resolutions all involve hard work, which is good because that means they are entirely achievable. One of them is to catch up on e-mail and STAY caught, and that will commence today. The horrified expressions of our houseguests when I confessed to the size of my inbox (both read and unread) said it all.

Regular service here will resume momentarily.

*High point? Probably Monty Hall remarking on what things might be like if "women's lib goes all the way."

Update: When I said catch up on e-mail? It turns out I meant archive a whole bunch of it. I'm going to be answering the more recent stuff, but if you need a reply and don't get it within 24 hours, send the e-mail again and it will be answered. Swearsies.

So Delightful

For those times when you've begun to deal with the code red housework and laundry situation that has arisen from the depths of being away too much and too much busy (the words filth pit have been used, though really it's more of a mess pit with mounds of cat and dog hair in the corners), I highly recommend an Angel marathon with your brand-new early X-mas pressie box set and the kind of food children eat. And wine.

We'll do a lot of driving in the next couple of days, to see people we love, and come home to the place we want most to be. Hard to complain about that (even if Emma does keep escape-attempting under the back fence and the revision fairies keep not showing up). I hope y'all have just as happy holidays and every days.

Catch-up

I have a cold. It comes and goes. For Christopher, it just stays, so I'm not complaining (too loudly). And we haven't even begun to Xmas shop yet. But a post on recent writing stuff, anyway...

Turkey City 2007.
For those of you who don't know, the Turkey City Writer's Workshop is, to quote the home page, "a long-running Texas science fiction institution," held in Austin. It is, of course, the genesis of the infamous Turkey City Lexicon. When Chris Nakashima-Brown graciously invited Christopher and me to attend this year's incarnation as guest workshoppers, we immediately said yes. (Or it would have been immediate, were I better at keeping up with the e-mail.) Plus, any excuse to impose on Maureen's hospitality is thoroughly welcome.

The thing that makes Turkey City a bit different than the usual workshop is that it takes place over one day. The format involves spending the hours up to lunch reading everyone's stories (we had 12, I believe, a few of which came a day or two in advance via e-mail), grabbing lunch, then indulging in the standard Milford-style critique circle until every last story's been given the royal treatment. It's kind of like Survivor: Workshop. Sounds brutal and hellish, I know, and, well, it is brutal, but thankfully not so much with the fiery torture. We didn't see a whole lot of TC's legendary acid and scrappy critique stylings, for which I'm grateful. Instead, we read a bunch of really good stories and had very cogenial discussions about how to make them better. I got some excellent feedback on my novel's opening. Afterward, there's a party, which was fun (if sort of a blur due to the complete and utter exhaustingness of the day). (C-Nak's house, btw, is basically the coolest pad in the world.)

The next day we slept in, then went for a delicious lunch at local staple Las Manitas Avenue Cafe. After that, we paid a visit to the extremely excellent Harry Ransom Center to see the current exhibits; one was about the trend for costumes and staging in Victorian photography (including a whole bunch of Lewis Carroll's stuff that I've loved for ages), the other about Arthur Miller's theater and featuring some amazing letters written during the McCarthy era about his refusal to name names. Christopher and I both had our pictures snapped in the interactive part of the Victorian exhibit and they can be seen at those links--we'd have done something more interesting if we hadn't been so wiped. Then on to Book People, where I overindulged in the stupendously wonderful children's and teen section. (Seriously, best staff recommendations and selection EVER. What a great bookstore.) Airport, ice cream, hellish flying experience that at least involved free booze from the flight attendant, and home home home. Needless to say after this report, Maureen and Chris are the best hosts around.

Revision. & Again.
Yes, we all love Scrivener. I'm finding it's really and truly worth its weight in gold (or more, actually, because it probably doesn't have a weight in gold) as I go into revision mode. Not that it's not wonderful during composition, but it seems there are so many functions I'm only discovering now.

Which is a short way of saying that things will probably continue to be sporadic around these parts until next year. My intention is to turn around the major revision of Monster Nation in the next month or so (I leave for my next MFA residency January 13, and more on the First Year of the MFA soon), which will be lots of work. I'm working on my revision outline the rest of this week and then will dive into it. Luckily, as I said, Scrivener makes rearranging and tweaking your story spine and managing the overall task of stuff so much more intuitive. This is a very good thing. Then, I'll circulate it to some people and see what they think. (And start something else.)

Oh, revision, my favorite favorite part of the writing process. The part when you get to make stuff good.

Just So You Know

If you are a Scrivener user and your dog accidentally (one hopes) deletes the climactic chapter of your much-slaved-over novel while you're revising by hitting her big old nose on the delete button, all is not lost. It's in the Trash folder. Along with everything else you've ever deleted. Do not empty the trash.

Ever.

First Lines

Every year I do this meme, and every year I forget entirely how boring my first sentences of each month turn out to be. (Via Maureen, this year, whose blog is awesome no matter what she says.) To mix things up, I'm also going to add the last sentence of the last entry for each month (except this one, natch).

January:
(first) Y'all light up my life and I hope 2007 has only the best in store for you (and me).
(last) Raise hell. Now that's a legacy.

Ear(gasm*)

While we were in Jamaica, I thought of the Banana Boat Song not at all, which is odd since it's classic and Jamaican and we indulged in more than a drink of rum. (We were also doing quite a bit of the work all day -- Holly has tallied the group result at two novels, plotting and outlining for two more, a short story written, and several other short stories started -- plus, a proposal thing was finished in addition to all that, I believe.)

But, beginning at the airport, I now can think of no other song. I hum it, and sing a few bars, and I'm pretty sure it's holed up deep in my ear canal, like seawater in some other people's. I guess the only thing to be done is add Beetlejuice to the Netflix queue.

*With apologies to Maureen; I just couldn't help myself.

Home Again

  This Frog Means Business 
  Originally uploaded by gwenda

With all the catch-up that entails -- mountains of e-mail and laundry, the last packet of the semester to finish, etcetera etcetera, all to be dealt with in the next week.

Still, mostly I'm dreaming of: the Pelican Bar, frogs, the ocean, copious writing time, amazing meals that show up regularly through no effort of one's own, rum, lengthy readings of the Worst Book Ever Published, games that reveal secret world domination tendencies, the ocean first thing in the morning, the smell of fresh beach towels, noodles, Christopher with a Red Stripe, the Jake's specials board, revamped TV ideas involving Scott Bakula (sort of), rum, fresh mangoes, crabs covering and uncovering themselves in sand, biscuits, an ant army, crocodiles, the view(s), a bunch of great friends having wonderful conversations, and the hammock. The Green Flash will have to wait until next time (except for the three people who saw it).

But, hey, these are good dreams to have.

Achieved!

And I finished the first full draft of le novel, which was my one and only goal for this week (besides swimming a lot and having fun; plus, Karen was there to applaud, making it even sweeter). Now we're sitting out next to Jake's enjoying the late afternoon sun and tonight we're having a bonfire on the beach. Then home home home to our very sad (and rightfully so) dogs and slightly less sad cat, in hopes of cheering them up. If you get the chance to visit Treasure Beach, Jamaica, I highly recommend it.

All Is Well

  Our Beach 
  Originally uploaded by gwenda

Very, very well.

Hee

I love being the disapproving wife in the paper.

Hibernation as a Sane Option

The capacity for forgetting what the dark seasons of the year actually feel like is remarkable, isn't it? I know what to expect--the time change comes, the world changes, and suddenly it's dark at six o'clock. Can you believe it's six?, you or I say, and, No, can you? No, I can't.

It's not this that's the weird part, of course. The weird part is how the day actually shrinks. How dinner gets earlier, how you feel like it's evening when a month ago it was late afternoon. I can understand the wicked air that comes with a sudden drop in barometric pressure, but not this seasonal dysphoria.

Why is it that I get more done with these short days? Maybe I should move to Alaska, but only for the winters.

I'd never go outside and instead write 800,000 word novels that could crush Grady Tripp without trying. That's what I'd do in Alaska. (Shhh, Colleen, I know.)

Why, yes, I did just finish packeting for this month. I'm going to go sleep now, or possibly hibernate. It's well after dark, after all.

Strange Experiments

So I'm taking a semi-Web hiatus. I'll still be posting here some, but I won't be reading other online things (besides newspapers) for a few weeks, ideally until December. Which means when I do post here, it probably won't be about online things.

I will be reading e-mail, however, and possibly even keeping up with it--maybe even sending out chatty exploratory messages like I used to before everyone was on the cyber all the time and knew what was up with everybody else's business. If you need me, or if something major happens in your livelihood, please do write with the skinny. The e-dress is up and to the right if you need it.

As you were.

Long Week

A long (but good) week and I am now so very tired and wondering if this is a little bit of a cold that's setting up. Time to start the echinacea with goldenseal. And get some decent sleeping in.

Have a good weekend everybody, and dress up in costumes, and I'll maybe drop in with a post or catch up on some e-mail over the weekend. Maybe, but it's just as likely not to happen.

Back soon though, when s-pid book is finished.

As Usual

Behind on everything -- especially email, and my feed reader has 417 new items -- but will try my best to catch up this weekend.

I think I forgot to mention that we finally saw The Jane Austen Book Club last weekend and liked it a great deal, actually. It's not as good as the book, obvs, but was a pleasurable way to spend two hours (even if Hugh Dancy's pronunciation of Ursula, as in Ursula Le Guin, drove us crazy). How often do you see a movie about people who really care about books? It was nice.

Is Giant Produce Unnatural?

Is it wrong for me to suddenly want to grow a giant pumpkin now that we're homeowners?

I should say that it runs in my family. My paternal grandfather once grew a squash so big he got to be pictured next to it in the newspaper. It was almost immediately stolen. But, there's a happy ending--he put a chastising ad in the classifieds about how much work the thing had taken to cultivate and how only an extremely low form of life would steal it and the squash reappeared on the back porch.

Terrible Lies & Good Month Ahead

Let us all bid September a not-so-fond adieu. October feels better already. A word of caution to home improvement DIYers -- while this is pretty, it is an utter, complete, total fabrication that it is in any way "easy" to install. Not easy. Particularly not in a hundred-year-old house, in which the original rooms are not actually "square" and have complicated woodwork around the doors. You may wonder why we chose said product? Because it was supposed to be easy, and we could do it ourselves, saving on installation. This according to the manufacturer and the LIARSPEOPLE OF THE INTERNET.

I hate to use the transitional adverb LUCKILY here, because LUCKY doesn't even begin to cover it, but when it turns out that you have been lied to by a flooring product and everyone online, the only possible way to salvage the outcome is to be, LUCKILY, rescued by a ridiculously generous neighbor who used to do this stuff professionally and is willing to spend all weekend bailing you out. It looks lovely though, it does, and is done except for transitions and stuff. So, in this way, I am counting our first big house project a success. And those of you who come visit will be amazed at how different the kitchen feels.

(We still have a couple of rooms we want to replace the flooring on, but it's seeming far less urgent, and way more likely we will hire it done.)

And that was the weekend... On a more bookish topic, the other day OGIC mentioned that she'd discovered The Hobbit for the first time and asked:

What children's classics did you first discover as an adult (Harry Potter doesn't count), and how did it make you feel--old? young again?

I'll say Dodie Smith's I Capture the Castle and Michael de Larrabeiti's Borribles trilogy. Both of these made me feel incredibly sad that I hadn't discovered them when I was a kid, and completely enchanted. But then, I feel closest to my childhood self when I'm reading anything that completely connects. There is a kind of joy there that is maybe more rare as I get older, but no less powerful when it comes.

Busy Week, Glowing Screen

Yeah, yeah, I know it's been quiet around here, and I'm sorry about that. I've actually been writing this week and, well, as long as that's working I'm inclined to pop in and out of ye olde blogging when there is time. Rest assured, though, that this has not interfered with my experience of the true debut week of the new TeeVee season. Never that.

So far, new shows I'm liking are Gossip Girl (the frothy pleasure of guilt), Reaper (except for the Jack Black impersonator and the fact the only defined female character is the love interest), and Chuck (less focused than Reaper, but charming). We haven't made it through Journeyman yet, and the Bionic Woman is on the DVR. I have to say that none of the premieres of anything--tried and true or new--have caused an utter wow response yet, but none of them have sucked. (I kind of wish they weren't selling the "House must have a teammmmm" thing as hard as they are; Heroes seems to do interstitial episodes better than first and last ones; and I love the girl with Asperger's on ANTM, which ensures she won't win.) But I fully expect The Office to bring the wow tonight. Jim & Pam. Pam & Jim. Wii Tennis beforehand. You can't beat it.

And next weekend we hit Chicago running for the first ever Kidlitosphere Conference; if you're there and won't be at that thing, drop me an e-mail so we can go to the Lush store or something. There will be a visit to the Lush store. Oh yes.

This weekend? Painting and flooring in the kitchen. Probably also the requisite screaming and crying that goes along with that. And Veuve for when it's finished.

Welcome to the Manse

Our house is not a manse, not close (though it does have that formal parlour), but we decided it needed a name. We decided this while at an art show -- controversial though that may have been to red-shirt lady and dorky kid -- featuring exquisite letterpress work from locally-based Press 817. (To see some work from another exceedingly awesome local letterpress outfit go to Cricket Press -- I suggest buying some prints and posters and etc. See also: their Etsy store.) Anyway, henceforth when you're coming to visit and someone asks where you're going, tell them:

I think you'll agree it's perfect.

Now we just have to get a copy of the print that came from. Some background here for those unfamiliar with the moniker's origin.

Okay, now back to novelizing for me.

Homeowned

And after affixing 3 sets of initials and 31 signatures to 18 documents consisting of 35 individual sheets of paper (thanks to Christopher for the tally), we are officially homeowners. The best part is: We've been living in the house for three years so we don't have to move and know exactly what we want to "improve."

Come visit!

Oh and

Despite the whole having gotten a Wii thing (play with us!), I should be back now, making with the posting and things. Much has been going on, but let's not dwell. As of Thursday morning--fingers crossed and all that--we will own our 107-year-old house, which we adore. I want new outdoor furniture to go with the new big screen inside. Oh, and new flooring for the kitchen, and for the bathroom, and, and, and this is what happens when you own a home, isn't it? You just want to redo things and add things and, PAINT, and, yeah, it's going to be fun.

I feel so very adult somehow.

A link to tide you over until I can muster up a hangovers post: The Tiny Girl at BoingBoing. The photo is Freaking Me Out.

Happy Weekend

I was going to do the library meme-fication, but I think I'll save that for next week when people are around. Our third wedding anniversary is Monday, and, just out of curiosity, I thought I'd see what the gift industry has decided an appropriate gift would be.

Turns out that the traditional gift is leather (minds out of the gutter, please) and the "modern" one is crystal (as in The Dark?). Anyway, Sheri and Bob Stritof, who clearly know what they're talking about (ahem), issue some ideas on how to celebrate over at About. My comments in bold:

• Since leather is the traditional gift for this anniversary, consider plan a western themed evening together and listen to country love songs. (Um, while hilarious, NO.)
• Plan a movie night and watch your wedding video. (Don't have one, so NO.)
• Get tickets for a movie, sports event, concert, theatre, etc. to attend together. (Why, how original! NO.)

But that's not all they've got. Oh no:

Put together a gift basket that has a variety of Fuchsia plants, along with a pair of leather garden gloves, and a coupon on jade green paper stating your willingness to help get the small plants in the soil.

Okay, well, actually it's my fault I originally misread the first part as a variety of Fuchsia PANTS (it follows from leather), but ... NO, we won't be doing any of this. And I'm a little worried about anyone who does. (Yes, Bob and Sheri, that means you.)

Have a great weekend, everybody -- and if you're expecting a response from me on something, I'm happy to report that The Incredibly Cranky E-Mail Fairy has office hours scheduled this weekend to tackle The Inbox That Ate My Life.

Pray for Us Sinners

And now we take les dogs to their first obedience class. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

(Actually, Emma knows a lot of it already from a class she did when she was at the shelter, but Puck not so much.)

Updated: And of course Puck did beautifully and Emma was her first-obedience-class, don't-tell-me-what-to-do stubborn self. (Although she did pretty good too.) But fun!

TechnoGeekOut

We were finally eligible for the free cell phone upgrade with a two more years of indentured service plan and they came today. That's right, people who call us, no more dropped calls (hopefully). Seriously, I dropped Carolyn three times (at least) the other night when we were trying to do Nicola's podcast.

It had to stop.

Let there be rejoicing.

Also, walking the dogs this week has officially eliminated the Betsy's Pancake Pounderizing. I think that means artichoke and spinach pizza -- with whole wheat crust, natch -- for dinner tonight. Oh yes.

Home!

And almost R&Red back into a Person with Firing Neurons, courtesy of our lovely, leisurely time in Northampton.

Done and Done

And Thai food and a good night's sleep and I feel almost like my brain is working again. Almost.

We played with Holly and Theo's wii last night (despite the fact they are last-minutely out of town) and I want one! I want one! I want to make miis, many many miis!

Now I'm going to finish reading the new A.L. Kennedy story "Wasps" and have some leisurely. Then, writing?

(I do plan to attempt to finally get caught up on e-mail, but I make no promises.)

Approaching the Finish Line

I don't know that those of you who've never been through the exhausting, entirely overscheduled whir of a residency can understand how discombobulated you are by the end. Or at least, how discombobulated I am.

But the final day will be here soon, and Christopher will get here late this evening (yayayayayay!) and -- despite a whole bunch of stuff today and tomorrow's 8 a.m. lecture on the art of being a flaneur followed by a two-hour final workshop and scads of paperwork to complete -- things are winding down, and then we'll head out to Kelly and Gavin's for the rest of the week.

I imagine I'll pop in at some point, but probably not too often, since I'd like to get some writing done and decompress and reset and that sort of thing. Some of you have to still be busy reading HP, anyway, right? (Though it seems almost all of you have finished!)

Next week I'll be back home and posting again. I've been reading the Scott Pilgrims -- they are wonderful. Now I better shake it if I want to get Betsy pancakes for breakfast. And I do. The pancakes are the best pancakes I've ever had and it would be tragical not to eat them.

ETA: Damn, it's a french toast day. (Delicious, but not my favorite!)

That Was Nice (updated)

Well, if 31 is anything like yesterday, it'll be a lovely, low-key kind of year. I got wonderful stuff -- Buffy comics and Season Four on DVD (hush, now, it's the first season I watched, so I love it), a GORGEOUS framed print of one of MAS' killer digital media pieces, a massage gift certificate and a bottle of Veuve and a fabulous C-made dinner -- and hung out with people I adore and ate delicious, homemade, gluten-free cupcakes. It just don't get much better than that. And the hangover gods have seen fit to (mostly) give me a pass this morning.

Thanks to all y'all who sent birthday wishes via e-cards, e-mail and the comments section. Much appreciated.

Today I'm playing catch-up and prepare-for-departure, so I'll be answering e-mail and hopefully managing a post about a couple of recent books I read that I want you to. Back later today with all that.

Updated: Um, did I say today? Today has been the day of No E-mail catch-up, but I will get to it all before the residency kicks in on Sunday. Promise.

Good Things

cket.From the last week and to come this week, mostly inspired by Jules and Eisha's weekly kicks over at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast.

1. Hosting Ms. and Mr. Tingle Alley for a night of pizza, beer and rootball stories last week. And Emma only ate a little bit of Mr. Tingle's hat.

2. First tomatoes from the garden. Need I say more? YUM.

3. A hike yesterday afternoon through the Tom Dorman Nature Preserve to see the cliffs of the Palisades. Aside from the long uphill climb and the murderous daggery plants near the river, pretty much perfect. The dogs would agree.

4. Putting in my pre-VC MFA residency Godiva shampoo order at Amazon and having it only cost 23 cents (gift certificate!).

5. Two excellent days of work on revising le novel that got me entirely back on track. I should be all caught up on revision by the end of this week and on to new stuff just in time to get in a groove before the residency--where I actually hope to get some writing done this time. (Perhaps overly ambitious, and I may just succumb to the summer charms of wine and iniquity, but we'll see.)

6. A day off on Wednesday.

7. Three excellent mornings of ninja trainingyoga in a row.

8. Simmone Howell's Notes from the Teenage Underground. I LOVE this book.

9. Oh, and sometime last week, I hit 1,000 posts at this particular incarnation of ye olde Shaken & Stirred, but forgot to say anything to mark the occasion. So, happy 1,012th post. Y'all rock.

Perversity in Stride

On my lunchtime walk today, I found myself wishing for fall to be here, cool and the other kind of dead and brown. And it's only the first fogged with humidity day we've had, really.

I could blame Cat Power's cover of "Wild is the Wind" and Dave Van Ronk's "Hang Me, Oh Hang Me" -- both fall standards of mine, both came up on shuffle. Surely that's it.

Search Party

Because it's fun, my favorite recent random search strings that brought people here:

• boil an egg for 24 hours and alien appears
• Aztec Goodness of the Moon
• mean women
• how to write porn (interestingly enough, I'm the second hit on this -- it goes to the write porn index, which makes me laugh and laugh)
• dangers of yoga + full Moon (I'm the first hit on this one; yay!)
• yoga and hangovers (same person?)
• fake name + ysabeau wilce

The Fearsome & The Ridiculous

I have now officially proven myself capable of self-sufficiency once more, as we have just had what fellow dog owners will recognize immediately from the following descriptive title: A Great Dead Bird Incident.

For whatever reason, for one time only, Emma's Golden Retriever side kicked in and here she trotted to the back door with a tiny beak hanging out one side of her mouth and little claw feet out the other. I ran through my options: wait until Christopher and Barzak arrive home and hope she hasn't eaten it; go over to the neighbors' and get them to deal with it; or do something.

I'm unwilling to dip too far beneath the surface of Lake Helpless Female it turns out, so I got a trash bag and a bag of newly-purchased Greenies. She'd deposited the bird on the mat at the door. I could have kissed her, were it not for the dead bird breath and her being a dog. I distributed Greenies to all three dogs (ours and the neighbors' puppy Pickles), scooped up the bird in the trash bag and put it in the dumpster.

And the orchestra swelled...

Christopher can deal with disposing of it properly when he gets home.

Now I work on final revisions of a loooong-overdue short story.

Out of Practice, Pt. 3

Three things that happened today to illustrate the difficulties I now have keeping the household, er, myself together solo:

1. Stopped to get gas this morning and pulled up the wrong side of the car to the pump. Twice. Then drove away in shame as the man at the pump between the two I'd flirted with laughed and laughed.

2. Was given a pity supper by someone at the office concerned about what I was eating with Christopher away -- literally, I am like a hapless widower that the community decides to bring casseroles to.

3. Got two-thirds through dog walk -- which was taking place during our city's crowded gallery hop -- before realizing that my T-shirt was on inside out.

Not to mention, I only managed two yoga mornings. Luckily, Mr. Rowe returns tomorrow.

Out of Practice Pt. 2

Tonight was the night for the other kind of phenomenon you only have to notice in passing when accompanied: the scary weirdo hanging out on your street.

Puck and I -- spylike -- took a back entrance so they wouldn't know where we lived. And that wasn't even the guy with the umbrella under his arm at the odd angle who kept pirouetting at the corner and told me "purty dog." Definite serial killer vibe.

To beat all, guess what my husband is getting ready to do on the mountain with the other smarty-pants writer types? That's right. Play Dungeons and Dragons. I blame Holly -- my sixth sense tells me she's the ring leader aka dungeon master! (I shoulda totally asked her D&D questions in her interview. Except I don't really know any.)

Now I'm going to go read more of Austin Grossman's Soon I Will Be Invincible, which turns out to be perfect fun post-semester reading (even if I am pretty sure I've figured out a big twist already).

Out of Practice

These days I'm hardly ever walking one of the dogs alone, because usually C's there with the other one. So, when Mr. Charming slows down his car and yells "Put me on a leash!" to the amusement of his friends, the best I can manage is a reflexive, loud, "Ewwww."

Effective, sure, but I used to have much snappier retorts.

Forlorn

The dogs and kitty say, oh woe, woe, where is Christopher? And after they got a little less than 24 hours of Chris Barzak love, too. They are not happy, and are following me everywhere. But they can not get here, where everyone else is, fabulous and freshly-printed (ahem) story drafts clutched in hands.

Me? I've been to the post office, which was full of fun things, and have now purchased Deja Vu from the pay-per-view, which will almost certainly not be full of fun things. Yes, yes, I have lots of work to do -- that dread packet -- but I actually work best in the late evening (shhh, don't tell anyone), so that's my plan. Plus, we stayed up a bit late, drinking vino and back-yarding and chitter-chattering (Barzak and I have lived disturbingly parallel lives). I find myself in need of achieving a vegetable state for awhile as a result.

An adolescent girl is singing her fool heart out about Jesus in the street right this second, despite the 90 degree heat. Impressive.

Revenge of Scratchy Throat & Tiny Men Inside My Temples Crud

What is the deal with this neverending Wis-Cold? I feel better, then it comes back. Yo-yo. I shouldn't have stopped doing the zinc swabbies. And the weirdest thing of all is that I don't feel all that bad, just like I have Tiny Men Inside My Temples Swimming in Snot Soup.*

*Possible picture book idea?

Whoops

I didn't realize I'd be even more exhausto-mundoed tonight, but I am. Christopher just caught me the first firefly of the year though, so that's always a good omen. The overnight construction has begun for the evening, and somehow I don't think it will bother my sleep one bit.

Real posting later. However, we can all share the relief that apparently there will be no creepy "anonymous" Wiscon report this year. (Sharyn's my hero.)

Home!

We are back and the dogs and cat are all intact and happy-fied. I know, though, that what you really want is a garden status report, right? Especially since it didn't rain at all while we were away. I'm happy to report that both tomato plants have THREE new tomatoes on them and Christopher's corn is growing in an insane space-vegetable fashion.

In other words: life at Bond-Rowe HQ is intact. If suffering through overnight street construction outside the fortress.

The good thing about flying the Tuesday after Memorial Day? Less businessmen! I suppose they're all "in-boxing" and "multi-tasking" in their cubicles.

Tomorrow, perhaps a rap-up post and some email answering? Now, a late dinner and some TV.

Miss you guys like mad already. Come visit.

Yeah, So

Not so much with the posting from Wiscon, actually. If you're looking for notes on panels and such, I suggest trolling here and here. Regular service to resume Wednesdayish.

The con has been fabulous as always, though I find I'm in that nice lazy Monday afternoon state of being exhausted on all fronts. I'm hiding away for a couple of hours to nap and work on the novel, and then there will be the usual decompression hang-out with those that are left tonight. Tomorrow home to dogs and cat, happily.

In the meantime, pop over and answer Scott Esposito's questions about SF and whether (as Michael Dirda says) some literary lions have been writing it of late. I'm guessing you already know my answer.

And yay yay yay to Carolyn "Pinky" Kellogg on her debut review in the LA Times over the weekend. And congratulations to Betsy Bird, who runs one of my most favorite blogs in the universe and who's been embraced by School Library Journal and will soon migrate her inimitable style to their cyber-shores.

Also see Melissa Moorer (whose write-orial debut with two excellent short stories -- in Say... what's the combination? and Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet -- took place this weekend) on Nicola Griffith's Always. My biggest purchase of the weekend was this absolutely GORGEOUS limited edition of Nicola's memoir And Now We Are Going to Have a Party, which comes complete with scratch-n-sniff cards and assorted goodies.

We also landed a wonderful Terri Windling piece at the auction (and were gifted with one of the Endicott anniversary prints from the lovely and sweet Terri herself) -- which reminds me to point to the 20th anniversary issue of The Journal of Mythic Arts, which just went live and features a bunch of amazing fiction and poetry and miscellaneous stuff, including Karen Joy Fowler's story "King Rat" that kills me, absolutely kills me, every time I read it.

Anything else? Nah, I think that's it for now.

Getting There

I somehow managed to bang out very much a first draft of 18 pages of the next book, Cass & Bach, and get it mailed off priority for my next residency's workshop submission (due in the office there on Friday). Whew.

And we dropped off the lovely and excellent new issue of Say... (Say... what's the combination?) at the print shop this morning too, and will get it back tomorrow night. The cover is, once again, by the miraculous MAS, who did the last one, but the production values are a return to our old-school roots -- it looks great, but I just want you to be prepared for saddle-stitching and cream card-stock cover with black print. (Our cheapie perfect binding, color cover printer went belly up last year.) Anyway, it is definitely the best issue ever, so yay! I'll post a TOC directly and subscriber/contributor copies will go out when we get back from Madison. Tonight I'll work up the mix CDs for the contributors, who were oh so patient with our many delays on this one.

Alas, Carmen's is no longer Carmen's and I don't think there's time to get the teeny rose sewn on the neckline of the pink tulle number, so I'm deciding on a plan B. Or I might bring it and a sewing kit along and try to find someone to do it -- my grandmother's done the exact repair so I don't think it's hard.

Not for the first time, I need a fairy godmother.

Dangers of Yoga

Or perhaps of zen. I have one and two-thirds papers to write and a 40-50 page section of fiction to pick out and polish before tomorrow night. Oh and an annotated bibliography to prepare. And I feel fine.

Shocking.

Updated: Done done, done-ity done done.

Like You Care (Updated)

Any weekend in which I finally manage to teach Puck the down command is one of major accomplishment. Also, he and Emma both did fabulously well during their visit to Dogtown, and so that's where they'll be staying while we're at Wiscon. This should lead to far less of the whining you guys all had to listen to last year about my great, enormous guilt. They'll have their own room with couches and stuff instead of kennels at night, and be in doggy daycare all day. The place is run by a very nice straight-edge couple who started it basically because they hated the options they had for putting up their own dogs when they travel.

And now I experiment with iMovie -- instead of Gavin's requested how to walk a dog, you'll be getting the dogs being bathed and a miscellaneous happy birthday wish to Hank Green (dogs were woefully underrepresented in that video!).

Updated: Hmmm... the video might be taking a little longer than I expected (damn you, iMovie!), so in the meantime, here's the happy birthday portion, because you all know how seriously I take birthdaygras:

Nope, haven't figured out the whole video "quality" thing yet.

Crazy Hairdressers & Evolutionary Theory

I hope you understand the seriousness of the situation when I say that my hair stylist for the last few years -- the wonderful Holly at J. Allen -- is moving away next month. I adore Holly. She's the only hairdresser I've had as an adult that: a)doesn't do something weird with my hair that makes me want to wash it immediately upon leaving and b)isn't completely batshit crazy.

For awhile there, every stylist I saw turned out to be a little too crazy for comfort. There was Joseph, a sweet small-town gay guy who was fabulous at first but then had back surgery and found religion. To be honest, he was always kind of crazy. The first time I saw him, he told me in a whisper that he was "a little bit psychic." His religious conversion came after he was able to pray away his back pain (or could it have been that the surgery was successful?). He could talk of nothing else and was a bore on the topic of my immortal soul. I stopped going there.

The next stylist had probably better remain anonymous, since his salon bears his name. Anyway, things were so far, so good -- until the topic somehow came around to evolution. He was one of those "I cannot understand how people believe that we came from apes, isn't that stupid?" types. How this is polite conversation to make with a client I still don't understand. I believe my response was a horrified: "Oh, I don't know. I could show you some pictures of politicians that would convince you." I stopped going there.

Anyway, the NYT has a fascinating article today on the latest insights into just how humanlike chimpanzees really are:

Chimps display a remarkable range of behavior and talent. They make and use simple tools, hunt in groups and engage in aggressive, violent acts. They are social creatures that appear to be capable of empathy, altruism, self-awareness, cooperation in problem solving and learning through example and experience. Chimps even outperform humans in some memory tasks.

I plan to bring up this article for discussion early on in the appointment with my new stylist, just in case she's hiding some sort of anti-science proclivity. Which pretty much guarantees she'll think of me as the crazy client who talks about chimps and evolutionary theory. Oh well.

The price of a good haircut is ever steeper.

p.s. Christopher -- in this instance serving the role of guinea pig -- reports that evolution was not mentioned during his haircut.