Well, the hotels are booked, the bags are sitting by the front door, and the Brit-pop playlist is safely on the iPod (pending arrival of the UK voltage converter with my mother). Looks like I'm ready go to.
See you July 1 (or possibly sooner, if those wacky Brits leave their internet access lying around for anyone to use)!
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
For posterity
My first knitting in the round: a test run with Louet fingering-weight merino in Fern Green, knit on US-0 (2 mm) double-pointed needles.
In other words, toothpicks and really soft dental floss.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Mr. Bermuda, I salute you.
Do you know who I'd like to meet? The person that invented the Bermuda short. I'd like to shake that man's hand.
I bought a pair of Bermuda shorts this weekend, my first juniors-department purchase in, what, a decade? There are lots of reasons why I love these shorts, the first and foremost being that I look like I robbed an old man and made off with his golf pants. Wearing old-man pants in public is fun. Also, they are pink and brown and green plaid, which means they go with everything I own, including my favorite "I Heart Jake Ryan" t-shirt. They're long, so I'm not doing the embarrassing two-inch inseam thing, for which I believe I'm officially getting too old, or maybe I'm just not built right for it. They're light and comfortable, and they look nice with flip-flops. They look nice with practically anything, actually. They are wonder shorts.
I also love that somebody decided to make Bermuda shorts trendy. Because, obviously, when girls are wearing the shorts equivalent of the small, small skirt (TM Bend It Like Beckham), the alternative is to convince the youth of America that geriatric shorts are the height of fashion? Is this irony, mainstreamed? Do we think they're getting the joke, or that they'd care? I don't know.
All I know is that I LOVE MY SHORTS.
I bought a pair of Bermuda shorts this weekend, my first juniors-department purchase in, what, a decade? There are lots of reasons why I love these shorts, the first and foremost being that I look like I robbed an old man and made off with his golf pants. Wearing old-man pants in public is fun. Also, they are pink and brown and green plaid, which means they go with everything I own, including my favorite "I Heart Jake Ryan" t-shirt. They're long, so I'm not doing the embarrassing two-inch inseam thing, for which I believe I'm officially getting too old, or maybe I'm just not built right for it. They're light and comfortable, and they look nice with flip-flops. They look nice with practically anything, actually. They are wonder shorts.
I also love that somebody decided to make Bermuda shorts trendy. Because, obviously, when girls are wearing the shorts equivalent of the small, small skirt (TM Bend It Like Beckham), the alternative is to convince the youth of America that geriatric shorts are the height of fashion? Is this irony, mainstreamed? Do we think they're getting the joke, or that they'd care? I don't know.
All I know is that I LOVE MY SHORTS.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
12 of 12: June
Don't you just love random photography projects? Check out Chad Darnell's blog for other people's pictures.
As for me,
7:01 - Gooood MORNING!
7:08 - The food of the gods, you guys. If this were a blog like Mindy Kaling's, I would totally include the Salty Sweet Nutty mix, because it is both a Thing That is Awesome and a Thing I've Bought That I Love.
11:04 - Grabbing a quiet moment on the deck at work. Just me, Thursday Next, and a rice cake with Jif. Oh, and the blindingly bright sun.
Eternity 12:47 - DYING OF BUSY.
5:13 - I went into Bake Sale Betty's looking for an after-work snack and came out with the most amazing piece of apricot pie ever. Ever, ever, EVER. Tangy and sweet, with a sugared crust, slightly chilled (the way pie is supposed to be, in case you were wondering). The corner of 51st and Telegraph is not an idyllic spot, but I sat out in the sun with my pie and it was like...well, it was like a really good piece of pie on a sunny day.
5:25 - Danger, Will Robinson! Sale at the yarn store!
5:31 - I actually went to Article Pract to give back some unused yarn and find something new--they'd recommended way too much Rowan Soft Baby for my shrug, so I returned four skeins and used the store credit to buy sock yarn for my upcoming trip to England. Because there's no way I'm lugging the shrug around with me unless I'm wearing it!
6:27 - Still there. Fonding the goods.
6:42 - A girl and her hammer. It's a fine sight. (Finally assembling an IKEA bookcase I bought a few weeks back.)
7: 57 - Do you know what I don't recommend? Dropping a 200-pound bookcase on your bare foot. (The fact that all 26 bones in my right foot seem to be intact is amazing. I dropped a BOOKSHELF on my FOOT. With no SHOES on. But you can see the nice little blue patch coming up just below the base of the big toe; I took this immediately after I realized nothing was broken and stopped laughing at my own ridiculosity. PSA: Don't construct/move heavy furniture in your bare feet, kids!)
8:26 - Despite my battle wounds, the bookcase is up and functioning, with right angles and everything. Homey knickknacks to be artfully arranged at another time.
8:40 - The cop-out dinner: a veggie burger with nothing but mustard and a sliced peach. I rule!
Next month: July! 12 photos!
As for me,
7:01 - Gooood MORNING!
7:08 - The food of the gods, you guys. If this were a blog like Mindy Kaling's, I would totally include the Salty Sweet Nutty mix, because it is both a Thing That is Awesome and a Thing I've Bought That I Love.
11:04 - Grabbing a quiet moment on the deck at work. Just me, Thursday Next, and a rice cake with Jif. Oh, and the blindingly bright sun.
5:13 - I went into Bake Sale Betty's looking for an after-work snack and came out with the most amazing piece of apricot pie ever. Ever, ever, EVER. Tangy and sweet, with a sugared crust, slightly chilled (the way pie is supposed to be, in case you were wondering). The corner of 51st and Telegraph is not an idyllic spot, but I sat out in the sun with my pie and it was like...well, it was like a really good piece of pie on a sunny day.
5:25 - Danger, Will Robinson! Sale at the yarn store!
5:31 - I actually went to Article Pract to give back some unused yarn and find something new--they'd recommended way too much Rowan Soft Baby for my shrug, so I returned four skeins and used the store credit to buy sock yarn for my upcoming trip to England. Because there's no way I'm lugging the shrug around with me unless I'm wearing it!
6:27 - Still there. Fonding the goods.
6:42 - A girl and her hammer. It's a fine sight. (Finally assembling an IKEA bookcase I bought a few weeks back.)
7: 57 - Do you know what I don't recommend? Dropping a 200-pound bookcase on your bare foot. (The fact that all 26 bones in my right foot seem to be intact is amazing. I dropped a BOOKSHELF on my FOOT. With no SHOES on. But you can see the nice little blue patch coming up just below the base of the big toe; I took this immediately after I realized nothing was broken and stopped laughing at my own ridiculosity. PSA: Don't construct/move heavy furniture in your bare feet, kids!)
8:26 - Despite my battle wounds, the bookcase is up and functioning, with right angles and everything. Homey knickknacks to be artfully arranged at another time.
8:40 - The cop-out dinner: a veggie burger with nothing but mustard and a sliced peach. I rule!
Next month: July! 12 photos!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
I see London
Have you ever said to yourself, "Self, I REALLY want to go on vacation right now"? And have you ever just let yourself be taken in by the power of the internets, and given your bank account a guilty look, and just pressed "Purchase ticket," because you'll never go if you think too hard about it?
Not that I would ever do anything like that. NEVER.
Except that...I'm going to England! I leave in less than three weeks! I'll be gone for eight days! Surprise!
See, it's hard to travel when you have plenty of vacation time but limited funds and tons of friends who don't want to leave their husbands behind. So when a friend--we'll call her Christine, because that's her name--decides to visit London on her way to Berlin, and invites you to share her hotel room, you take her up on the deal. If you're me, you might go home, check the internet until you find a decent ticket price, call your mother for a reality check that's really a pep talk, close your eyes, and click. Then you might spend some time freaking out. But then you calm down and feel pretty good, because you're going to England!
The plan is to meet Christine in London on the 24th, hang out with her there until the 27th, and then take off to parts unknown-to-me--I'm currently thinking the Lake District, or maybe the Peak District? Somewhere wild and moory but accessible by public transit, because cars are expensive and trains are far more romantic, anyway. I'll spend a few days in the country and then cruise back to London for a night and fly home Sunday, July 1.
Mostly, I just can't believe I did it. But I'm getting used to the idea pretty quickly.
Not that I would ever do anything like that. NEVER.
Except that...I'm going to England! I leave in less than three weeks! I'll be gone for eight days! Surprise!
See, it's hard to travel when you have plenty of vacation time but limited funds and tons of friends who don't want to leave their husbands behind. So when a friend--we'll call her Christine, because that's her name--decides to visit London on her way to Berlin, and invites you to share her hotel room, you take her up on the deal. If you're me, you might go home, check the internet until you find a decent ticket price, call your mother for a reality check that's really a pep talk, close your eyes, and click. Then you might spend some time freaking out. But then you calm down and feel pretty good, because you're going to England!
The plan is to meet Christine in London on the 24th, hang out with her there until the 27th, and then take off to parts unknown-to-me--I'm currently thinking the Lake District, or maybe the Peak District? Somewhere wild and moory but accessible by public transit, because cars are expensive and trains are far more romantic, anyway. I'll spend a few days in the country and then cruise back to London for a night and fly home Sunday, July 1.
Mostly, I just can't believe I did it. But I'm getting used to the idea pretty quickly.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Check, check, double-check!
I was a machine this weekend, my friends. No lounging about for me; I Got Things Done, in that gratifying "I am an active and contributing member of society" kind of way. If I'd had a to-do list, I would have crossed a very many things off of it. Very exciting!
What I've been up to:
- Watched the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice and remembered how completely gorgeous it is, despite not being the MOST complete and faithful adaptation and also having a truly appalling "closure" scene tacked on to "satisfy" our 'merican sensibilities.
- Admitted my own lameness and applied nose to grindstone; started writing my spec script. Me: 1; Cold open that has now been moved to after credits: 0. Woot! (Also, dialogue is so much easier than brainstorming. MUCH BETTER.)
- Walked to library, ATM, used bookstore, and farmer's market and came back with a pretty and fairly priced copy of Atonement and a million pounds of peaches, cherries, asparagus, raspberries, and mixed baby organic greens.
- Made raspberry-peach pie from scratch
- Mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors. Since my mother reads this blog, I'd rather not say how long it's been.
- Somehow ended up with some friends cramming into my living room for a Pirates of the Caribbean catch-up party. Have I mentioned lately how much fun those movies are? I'm so pleased with how the trilogy turned out. Anyway, I can't believe they sat through essentially six hours of movie time, but pizza, wine, pie, and pirates makes for a fine gathering, if I may say so. Only just avoided a late-night showing of At World's End to round out the evening. Instead, we made silly videos featuring an origami crane, filmed with a masterful eye on Luke's phone.
- Picked up two new books (The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde, and Take the Cannoli, by Sarah Vowell) to supplement The Complete Stories of Eudora Welty, which I'm reading in dribs and drabs and will probably only finish if I'm buried with it. Three books at once! Oh, the liberation! I am a WILD and UNPREDICTABLE WOMAN.
- Finally accepted the fact that my shower is incredibly lame; bought Water-Pik massaging shower head that promised to fix my water-pressure issues forever, only to install it and make the problem WORSE. Will return Water-Pik if possible and (grudgingly, with much muttering) go back to shivering and shaking my fist at the original, crappy shower head. D'oh.
- Went to IKEA alone in a show of tragic miscalculation; bought shelving unit and then realized I had no way of getting it off of the shelf, onto my cart, into the car, and up the stairs into my apartment. Made use of fine IKEA employees for the first three; called Luke and flattered him into helping me with the fourth. Shelf space! I love shelf space! Now I can arrange my stuff in a casually charming and eye-pleasing manner! Excellent.
- Rearranged bedroom furniture into a configuration that makes far more sense, unless I get a sewing machine for my birthday, in which case I'll have to move it back.
Things I am pondering for the near future:
- What else happens in my spec script? Ack! (Okay, that's an exaggeration. I do know what happens, kind of, but the whole thing feels very slippery right about now. Surprise!)
- Assembling the shelving unit. I may have gotten the wrong color--black-brown may not go with my stuff as well as I thought--but there's no way I'm taking it back down the stairs, into the car, out of the car, and back to the store, so it's mine now. And anyway, far be it from me to decrease the amount of shelf space in my apartment.
This post brought to you by the couch, wireless, and the letters N, R, and M (for Not Ready for Monday!).
What I've been up to:
- Watched the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice and remembered how completely gorgeous it is, despite not being the MOST complete and faithful adaptation and also having a truly appalling "closure" scene tacked on to "satisfy" our 'merican sensibilities.
- Admitted my own lameness and applied nose to grindstone; started writing my spec script. Me: 1; Cold open that has now been moved to after credits: 0. Woot! (Also, dialogue is so much easier than brainstorming. MUCH BETTER.)
- Walked to library, ATM, used bookstore, and farmer's market and came back with a pretty and fairly priced copy of Atonement and a million pounds of peaches, cherries, asparagus, raspberries, and mixed baby organic greens.
- Made raspberry-peach pie from scratch
- Mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors. Since my mother reads this blog, I'd rather not say how long it's been.
- Somehow ended up with some friends cramming into my living room for a Pirates of the Caribbean catch-up party. Have I mentioned lately how much fun those movies are? I'm so pleased with how the trilogy turned out. Anyway, I can't believe they sat through essentially six hours of movie time, but pizza, wine, pie, and pirates makes for a fine gathering, if I may say so. Only just avoided a late-night showing of At World's End to round out the evening. Instead, we made silly videos featuring an origami crane, filmed with a masterful eye on Luke's phone.
- Picked up two new books (The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde, and Take the Cannoli, by Sarah Vowell) to supplement The Complete Stories of Eudora Welty, which I'm reading in dribs and drabs and will probably only finish if I'm buried with it. Three books at once! Oh, the liberation! I am a WILD and UNPREDICTABLE WOMAN.
- Finally accepted the fact that my shower is incredibly lame; bought Water-Pik massaging shower head that promised to fix my water-pressure issues forever, only to install it and make the problem WORSE. Will return Water-Pik if possible and (grudgingly, with much muttering) go back to shivering and shaking my fist at the original, crappy shower head. D'oh.
- Went to IKEA alone in a show of tragic miscalculation; bought shelving unit and then realized I had no way of getting it off of the shelf, onto my cart, into the car, and up the stairs into my apartment. Made use of fine IKEA employees for the first three; called Luke and flattered him into helping me with the fourth. Shelf space! I love shelf space! Now I can arrange my stuff in a casually charming and eye-pleasing manner! Excellent.
- Rearranged bedroom furniture into a configuration that makes far more sense, unless I get a sewing machine for my birthday, in which case I'll have to move it back.
Things I am pondering for the near future:
- What else happens in my spec script? Ack! (Okay, that's an exaggeration. I do know what happens, kind of, but the whole thing feels very slippery right about now. Surprise!)
- Assembling the shelving unit. I may have gotten the wrong color--black-brown may not go with my stuff as well as I thought--but there's no way I'm taking it back down the stairs, into the car, out of the car, and back to the store, so it's mine now. And anyway, far be it from me to decrease the amount of shelf space in my apartment.
This post brought to you by the couch, wireless, and the letters N, R, and M (for Not Ready for Monday!).
Friday, June 01, 2007
PAAAAAAT
Did you know that S.E. Hinton is a woman?
I didn't.
Also, A.A. Milne was a man.
When I am a famous writer, I'm going to USE MY FULL NAME; mark my words.
I didn't.
Also, A.A. Milne was a man.
When I am a famous writer, I'm going to USE MY FULL NAME; mark my words.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Like a writer on a movie set
So. Writing.
The ABC/Disney folks finally set a deadline for fellowship submissions--July 1--and now I'm not sure how to proceed, or whether to proceed, or whether I should just go get a job at Walgreens and move back in with my parents and forget the whole thing. It's like preparing to drive through an intersection, and having the light turn yellow--sometimes you're obviously supposed to keep going, and sometimes you're obviously supposed to stop, but sometimes you're just far enough away that neither choice seems like the right one.
Here's the thing: I don't want to wait a whole year to apply. I've known about the fellowship since, what, January? I considered my options and picked a show. I did some research. I pondered. I worked. I hung around the Writers' Guild library, hoping to soak up the working-writer vibe. And it's not like this is just a contest, where you get your name in the paper and a $100 savings bond. This is for a job, something I actually want, and I'm afraid that I'll start waiting and never stop.
But then there's reality: I'm not very good at this. And I'm not supposed to be good at this. I'm a good writer and I've done some of my homework, but I don't have any training. I can listen to other writers talk about going from idea to page to screen, but I don't know how it works for me. I don't know any of my own tricks, or how I sound, or how I'm supposed to sound. Even my English degree is all about rhetoric; it never occurred to me that I might want to go into creative writing as a profession. So I'm wandering a little, here. And I feel guilty whenever CH takes up all of my writing time, or when I'd rather write here, or when I'd rather just not write at all. I'm realizing that it's probably going to take me more than four weeks to come up with something, let alone to polish it and write jokes--how do you write a joke, anyway? I have a few choices here. UC Berkeley Extension offers screenwriting and TV-writing classes; they're expensive, but I could do it. I hear Solano College offers online courses in screenwriting, which are appealing mostly because they're cheap and offer the chance to learn in my jammies. I hate the idea of putting off my application for a year, but I'm also realizing that I don't have the tools I need, and it's going to show.
So....I don't know. That's where my writing stands these days: it's there, it's creeping along, but I'm afraid I'm out in the tall grass at the moment, and four weeks isn't much time to find my way out.
The ABC/Disney folks finally set a deadline for fellowship submissions--July 1--and now I'm not sure how to proceed, or whether to proceed, or whether I should just go get a job at Walgreens and move back in with my parents and forget the whole thing. It's like preparing to drive through an intersection, and having the light turn yellow--sometimes you're obviously supposed to keep going, and sometimes you're obviously supposed to stop, but sometimes you're just far enough away that neither choice seems like the right one.
Here's the thing: I don't want to wait a whole year to apply. I've known about the fellowship since, what, January? I considered my options and picked a show. I did some research. I pondered. I worked. I hung around the Writers' Guild library, hoping to soak up the working-writer vibe. And it's not like this is just a contest, where you get your name in the paper and a $100 savings bond. This is for a job, something I actually want, and I'm afraid that I'll start waiting and never stop.
But then there's reality: I'm not very good at this. And I'm not supposed to be good at this. I'm a good writer and I've done some of my homework, but I don't have any training. I can listen to other writers talk about going from idea to page to screen, but I don't know how it works for me. I don't know any of my own tricks, or how I sound, or how I'm supposed to sound. Even my English degree is all about rhetoric; it never occurred to me that I might want to go into creative writing as a profession. So I'm wandering a little, here. And I feel guilty whenever CH takes up all of my writing time, or when I'd rather write here, or when I'd rather just not write at all. I'm realizing that it's probably going to take me more than four weeks to come up with something, let alone to polish it and write jokes--how do you write a joke, anyway? I have a few choices here. UC Berkeley Extension offers screenwriting and TV-writing classes; they're expensive, but I could do it. I hear Solano College offers online courses in screenwriting, which are appealing mostly because they're cheap and offer the chance to learn in my jammies. I hate the idea of putting off my application for a year, but I'm also realizing that I don't have the tools I need, and it's going to show.
So....I don't know. That's where my writing stands these days: it's there, it's creeping along, but I'm afraid I'm out in the tall grass at the moment, and four weeks isn't much time to find my way out.
Monday, May 21, 2007
All is right with the world
I've been having terrible reading ADD lately--my sidebar says I'm working on Beyond Black, but that's a lie. The first 40 pages or so were pretty good, but they made me feel all squirmy and discontented--the image I get is like trying to feed a baby who doesn't want to eat--so I'm doing us both a favor and returning it to the library until I'm ready to try again. Some other time, I guess. I picked up Yann Martel's Life of Pi for the weekend, but I knew it was a false start even as I took it off the shelf. Again, I want to read it. The first three chapters were really good. I just don't want to read it right now.
Apparently, being in a bookstore on a budget does wonders to clarify the readerly vision.
You see, I lost my debit card last week, and I'm living on cash until the new one comes. I had to go to the actual, brick-and-mortar bank yesterday and talk to an actual person to get money. I have money for groceries and gas and bridge toll for the week. I do not have money for books, no matter how pretty they are or how nicely I think they would fit into my collection.
I'm not really a book buyer anyway--I like new books as much as the next girl, of course, but I get overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices, and then I realize how many of the books out there are bad, and I end up buying books I've already read. At least I can trust them, right? But I was in Barnes and Noble last night, and the Fiction and Literature section owned me. I was all over the 20th-century female writers: there's this beautiful new paperback copy of The Portable Dorothy Parker that I've been eyeing, and it pained me to leave it there (reminding myself that I have a less pretty but perfectly serviceable copy of The Collected Poems of Dorothy Parker at home). They had a whole Dawn Powell collection, and I've been meaning to read Powell, but I don't know where to start. There was Simone de Beauvoir, and there was Flannery O'Connor, and now they're coming out with great editions of all of them, and I have no sales resistance when it comes to matte covers and rough-cut pages. It was ugly. I was practically snuggling the books.
In the end, common sense and the prospect of going back to the bank prevailed; I didn't buy anything. I feel so much better, though--I went straight home and curled up with Eudora Welty: The Collected Stories, and it's just right.
Apparently, being in a bookstore on a budget does wonders to clarify the readerly vision.
You see, I lost my debit card last week, and I'm living on cash until the new one comes. I had to go to the actual, brick-and-mortar bank yesterday and talk to an actual person to get money. I have money for groceries and gas and bridge toll for the week. I do not have money for books, no matter how pretty they are or how nicely I think they would fit into my collection.
I'm not really a book buyer anyway--I like new books as much as the next girl, of course, but I get overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices, and then I realize how many of the books out there are bad, and I end up buying books I've already read. At least I can trust them, right? But I was in Barnes and Noble last night, and the Fiction and Literature section owned me. I was all over the 20th-century female writers: there's this beautiful new paperback copy of The Portable Dorothy Parker that I've been eyeing, and it pained me to leave it there (reminding myself that I have a less pretty but perfectly serviceable copy of The Collected Poems of Dorothy Parker at home). They had a whole Dawn Powell collection, and I've been meaning to read Powell, but I don't know where to start. There was Simone de Beauvoir, and there was Flannery O'Connor, and now they're coming out with great editions of all of them, and I have no sales resistance when it comes to matte covers and rough-cut pages. It was ugly. I was practically snuggling the books.
In the end, common sense and the prospect of going back to the bank prevailed; I didn't buy anything. I feel so much better, though--I went straight home and curled up with Eudora Welty: The Collected Stories, and it's just right.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Long Goodbye
Tonight, for the very last time, I will spend my Tuesday night with Gilmore Girls.
I remember the first time I watched Gilmore--it was after college but before Maggie and I moved into the cottage; I went over to her parents' house and we watched the season-three premiere together. The episode is "Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer," and it opens with a dream sequence: Lorelai wakes up surrounded by alarm clocks, and when she goes downstairs, Luke is there--he set all of the alarm clocks, and he's hidden her coffee. He talks to her tummy (Sid & Nancy/Leopold & Loeb), kisses her goodbye, and leaves. She wakes up and calls Rory in a panic. I didn't know who Luke was or why he should or should not be the father of Lorelai's kids, but I knew with the Connie Chung joke and Barbara Boxer's name in the credits that THESE WERE MY PEOPLE.
Is it weird to say that a TV show has changed my life? I'm not saying I want to be a single parent, move to a quirky town in rural Connecticut, feud with my parents, and/or fall in love with a guy who owns a diner. I can also live without going to Yale, sleeping with my married ex-boyfriend, jumping off a tower, stealing a yacht, taking a sulky trip to Europe, and living in my grandparents' poolhouse. But there are books I might not have read, songs I might not have heard, and movies I might not have watched without the Gilmores around. There are friends--real people, good friends--I wouldn't know if I'd never started watching. And wouldn't I be a different person without The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath? Wouldn't I be different without the Shins? Wouldn't I be different without The Philadelphia Story and Grey Gardens? I can't even say what a different place my world would be without my Gilmore friends. They're not even my Gilmore friends anymore; they're just...friends.
There's a technical side of this show that's been important to me. I've spent a lot of time with the Gilmores over the years, and I think I've learned things about story and structure, about character and arc and relationship--Amy Sherman-Palladino (not to disrespect David S. Rosenthal for the brave and interesting things he's done this season; they are legion) showed me about making the big things little and the little things big, and how giving viewers what they want can also mean breaking their hearts, and how that's not always even a bad thing. I haven't agreed 100% with every writing decision she ever made, but I've usually been able to see her reasons, and I can respect that. Most of what I'll miss about the Gilmores, though, isn't about what I've learned from it. What I'll miss are Tuesday nights on the couch. I'll miss Birthday Week and the Firelight Festival, town meetings and Friday Night Dinner. I'll miss painting songs, fuzzy Certs that taste like keys, and "Luke? Can WALTZ," which sounds more like "I'm surprised I still have my clothes on." I'll miss watching The Donna Reed Show on mute and using a Bop-It to dissolve social tension. I'll miss the Troubadour. I'll miss Paris the person, "What's up, quippy? Why so silent?," and packing your chastity belt because you're going to Harvard. I'll miss non-crazy Sookie. I'll miss Madeleine Albright cuddling with Rory in her red power suit. I'll miss Mrs. Kim and "this Bible belongs to God but is being used by Dave Rygalski." I'll miss Zach and Lane and Steve and Kwan, and whichever of them is all over growing in the torso. I'll miss Blake Edwards night at the Dragonfly, Cletus in the dining room, and Michel counting blueberries. I'll miss stealing an answering-machine tape, selling the old boat and buying a new one, and apologizing in a hay-bale maze. I'll miss Kirk's pedi-cab. I'll miss Richard humming classical music to drown out the Czech teenagers, letting Lorelai climb out the window, and telling her to relax for a moment and enjoy Rory's graduation. I'll miss the two-steps-forward-three-steps-back of Lorelai and Emily. I'll miss the Crap Shack. I'll miss that whole corner of the world, because seven years is a long time to exist, even fictionally.
So tonight is the end, and I'm okay with it, sort of. I knew the actors' contracts were up after this season, and I'm always a fan of TV shows quitting while they're more or less ahead. I'm excited to sit down with some knowledgeable friends, some frozen pizza, some Mallomars, and some pudding (not in crystal bowls) to watch it all wrap up. It'll be fun, seeing the Girls finally find true love, or march off to become Christiane Amanpour, or whatever it is that happens in the forty-two minutes we've got left.
I'm ready. And anyway, there's always DVD.
I remember the first time I watched Gilmore--it was after college but before Maggie and I moved into the cottage; I went over to her parents' house and we watched the season-three premiere together. The episode is "Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer," and it opens with a dream sequence: Lorelai wakes up surrounded by alarm clocks, and when she goes downstairs, Luke is there--he set all of the alarm clocks, and he's hidden her coffee. He talks to her tummy (Sid & Nancy/Leopold & Loeb), kisses her goodbye, and leaves. She wakes up and calls Rory in a panic. I didn't know who Luke was or why he should or should not be the father of Lorelai's kids, but I knew with the Connie Chung joke and Barbara Boxer's name in the credits that THESE WERE MY PEOPLE.
Is it weird to say that a TV show has changed my life? I'm not saying I want to be a single parent, move to a quirky town in rural Connecticut, feud with my parents, and/or fall in love with a guy who owns a diner. I can also live without going to Yale, sleeping with my married ex-boyfriend, jumping off a tower, stealing a yacht, taking a sulky trip to Europe, and living in my grandparents' poolhouse. But there are books I might not have read, songs I might not have heard, and movies I might not have watched without the Gilmores around. There are friends--real people, good friends--I wouldn't know if I'd never started watching. And wouldn't I be a different person without The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath? Wouldn't I be different without the Shins? Wouldn't I be different without The Philadelphia Story and Grey Gardens? I can't even say what a different place my world would be without my Gilmore friends. They're not even my Gilmore friends anymore; they're just...friends.
There's a technical side of this show that's been important to me. I've spent a lot of time with the Gilmores over the years, and I think I've learned things about story and structure, about character and arc and relationship--Amy Sherman-Palladino (not to disrespect David S. Rosenthal for the brave and interesting things he's done this season; they are legion) showed me about making the big things little and the little things big, and how giving viewers what they want can also mean breaking their hearts, and how that's not always even a bad thing. I haven't agreed 100% with every writing decision she ever made, but I've usually been able to see her reasons, and I can respect that. Most of what I'll miss about the Gilmores, though, isn't about what I've learned from it. What I'll miss are Tuesday nights on the couch. I'll miss Birthday Week and the Firelight Festival, town meetings and Friday Night Dinner. I'll miss painting songs, fuzzy Certs that taste like keys, and "Luke? Can WALTZ," which sounds more like "I'm surprised I still have my clothes on." I'll miss watching The Donna Reed Show on mute and using a Bop-It to dissolve social tension. I'll miss the Troubadour. I'll miss Paris the person, "What's up, quippy? Why so silent?," and packing your chastity belt because you're going to Harvard. I'll miss non-crazy Sookie. I'll miss Madeleine Albright cuddling with Rory in her red power suit. I'll miss Mrs. Kim and "this Bible belongs to God but is being used by Dave Rygalski." I'll miss Zach and Lane and Steve and Kwan, and whichever of them is all over growing in the torso. I'll miss Blake Edwards night at the Dragonfly, Cletus in the dining room, and Michel counting blueberries. I'll miss stealing an answering-machine tape, selling the old boat and buying a new one, and apologizing in a hay-bale maze. I'll miss Kirk's pedi-cab. I'll miss Richard humming classical music to drown out the Czech teenagers, letting Lorelai climb out the window, and telling her to relax for a moment and enjoy Rory's graduation. I'll miss the two-steps-forward-three-steps-back of Lorelai and Emily. I'll miss the Crap Shack. I'll miss that whole corner of the world, because seven years is a long time to exist, even fictionally.
So tonight is the end, and I'm okay with it, sort of. I knew the actors' contracts were up after this season, and I'm always a fan of TV shows quitting while they're more or less ahead. I'm excited to sit down with some knowledgeable friends, some frozen pizza, some Mallomars, and some pudding (not in crystal bowls) to watch it all wrap up. It'll be fun, seeing the Girls finally find true love, or march off to become Christiane Amanpour, or whatever it is that happens in the forty-two minutes we've got left.
I'm ready. And anyway, there's always DVD.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
12 of 12: May
Sooper-speshul Saturday 12 of 12! Very exciting in theory; not really all that exciting in practice. But:
8: 15 - The obligatory waking-up picture. We've moved on to cotton sheets and tank tops this month, which is a step up, I'd say.
9:30 - My new, semi-bad weekend habit: lazing around in bed with my computer. Wireless and a functioning laptop battery have ruined me for anything productive before 11 a.m.
12: 15 - Post-haircut. The temptation to somehow Photoshop in some lipstick here was absolutely absurd. Note to self: in future, do not look like well-styled zombie in photos.
12: 27 - Wandering the streets of Alameda after the haircut. Alameda's like Stars Hollow--every time I get my hair cut there, they always seem to be having a festival of some kind. It's kind of bizarre.
12:34 - Thrift-shopping for a bit.
12:42 - Nanette Lepore? In Alameda?
1:12 - Testing out a new taqueria with a vegetarian burrito. All taquerias must win me over with an acceptable veggie burrito--only after they've shown their trustworthiness with beans and rice can we move on to meat (chicken, then carnitas if they're really good). My burrito was huge, but not super-authentic. Real burritos shouldn't have cheddar cheese in them.
3:32 - A trip to the Target in San Leandro. I like it better than the fancy two-story one in Albany (though Albany's escalator for carts makes it a close contest). This one has a more diverse clientele, and has yet to fail me in the area of DVDs under $10. Thumbs up, San Leandro!
4: 25 - On the way home from Target. A sunny day in the Bay Area.
7:40 - Lasagna for dinner with my friends Helen and Bill, and then...
10:23 - ....off to the Starry Plough for some music! This is the Shelley Doty X-tet. They were good.
11:47 - Plum Crazy, who were talented, funk-wise, but also a little jam-bandish for my taste.
Good weekend, all!
8: 15 - The obligatory waking-up picture. We've moved on to cotton sheets and tank tops this month, which is a step up, I'd say.
9:30 - My new, semi-bad weekend habit: lazing around in bed with my computer. Wireless and a functioning laptop battery have ruined me for anything productive before 11 a.m.
12: 15 - Post-haircut. The temptation to somehow Photoshop in some lipstick here was absolutely absurd. Note to self: in future, do not look like well-styled zombie in photos.
12: 27 - Wandering the streets of Alameda after the haircut. Alameda's like Stars Hollow--every time I get my hair cut there, they always seem to be having a festival of some kind. It's kind of bizarre.
12:34 - Thrift-shopping for a bit.
12:42 - Nanette Lepore? In Alameda?
1:12 - Testing out a new taqueria with a vegetarian burrito. All taquerias must win me over with an acceptable veggie burrito--only after they've shown their trustworthiness with beans and rice can we move on to meat (chicken, then carnitas if they're really good). My burrito was huge, but not super-authentic. Real burritos shouldn't have cheddar cheese in them.
3:32 - A trip to the Target in San Leandro. I like it better than the fancy two-story one in Albany (though Albany's escalator for carts makes it a close contest). This one has a more diverse clientele, and has yet to fail me in the area of DVDs under $10. Thumbs up, San Leandro!
4: 25 - On the way home from Target. A sunny day in the Bay Area.
7:40 - Lasagna for dinner with my friends Helen and Bill, and then...
10:23 - ....off to the Starry Plough for some music! This is the Shelley Doty X-tet. They were good.
11:47 - Plum Crazy, who were talented, funk-wise, but also a little jam-bandish for my taste.
Good weekend, all!
Friday, May 04, 2007
Oh, oh, we're halfway there
It all started with one cabley little swatch, and now...half a shrug! A quadrant of a sweater!
Here we have the whole half-enchilada, laid out--that's the left sleeve, shoulder, and the front and back segments of the little bodice. The puckery part in the lower-right corner is the back section, which still has live stitches on a stitch holder. When I finish the right half, I'll graft the back sections of both sides together, and you (theoretically) won't be able to tell. Magic!
Here it is folded to look like it will once I've sewed the sleeve seam--basically a sweater without a body. Made for chilly evenings and wearing inappropriate tops to church. So, perfect. (Kidding. Sort of.)
Cabling allll the way up that arm.
I have the vague suspicion that the (sizeless) pattern is going to be a bit too small, even though my gauge was perfect. If it's too narrow, that's fine--I'll just add more rows to both back sections before I graft them. If it's too short--i.e. The Shelf becomes a problem--I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Or I'll just wear it anyway, because I MADE IT WITH MY BARE HANDS, and that is an excuse to wear just about anything.
Now for His Girl Friday and casting on for the other half. (Oh, the fabulous life I do lead!)
Here we have the whole half-enchilada, laid out--that's the left sleeve, shoulder, and the front and back segments of the little bodice. The puckery part in the lower-right corner is the back section, which still has live stitches on a stitch holder. When I finish the right half, I'll graft the back sections of both sides together, and you (theoretically) won't be able to tell. Magic!
Here it is folded to look like it will once I've sewed the sleeve seam--basically a sweater without a body. Made for chilly evenings and wearing inappropriate tops to church. So, perfect. (Kidding. Sort of.)
Cabling allll the way up that arm.
I have the vague suspicion that the (sizeless) pattern is going to be a bit too small, even though my gauge was perfect. If it's too narrow, that's fine--I'll just add more rows to both back sections before I graft them. If it's too short--i.e. The Shelf becomes a problem--I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Or I'll just wear it anyway, because I MADE IT WITH MY BARE HANDS, and that is an excuse to wear just about anything.
Now for His Girl Friday and casting on for the other half. (Oh, the fabulous life I do lead!)
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
"I forgot to feel the President's glands."
Ugh, I hate being a blog slacker. Busy, busy, etc.
Except not, because I took a sick day on Monday, and slept all morning and then spent the afternoon crashed out on the couch with the first season of Bones (Hey, don't mock; at what point does cheesy and obvious outweigh pretty and charming? We shall see). I felt fantastic all day yesterday, but woke up this morning with my throat scratching and my lungs wheezing in a not-very-amusing way. Not cool, body. Not cool.
So maybe it's less "busy, busy," and more like "boring, boring." Which isn't really any better.
I did give up on a book recently, which is pretty unusual--the first hundred pages of Broken For You were fine, but I was reading on my break one day last week, and I reached the end of a sentence and said to myself, "I can't go on." It was all very swoony and dramatic, but I'm much happier now, having picked up The Best American Non-Required Reading 2006, an anthology of essays, short stories, graphic short stories, excerpts from scripts, and all kinds of non-categorizable writing excellence from, well, 2006. The most thought-provoking piece I've read so far is the Iraqi Constitution, which I admit that I a) didn't actually expect to finish, and b) am finding so dense that I'm reading it in five-page spurts. I'm finding it both hopeful and kind of depressing--hopeful because it lays out what sounds like a pretty good proposal, where everybody is treated well and the government functions for the good of the people, but depressing because I know that's not what's happening. It also brings up issues about the United States Constitution, and about Constitutions in general--where and when did we as people decide that a single document meant authority, and what is it that makes us (mostly) recognize that authority today? Why do the U.S. and Iraqi Constitutions cover so much that sounds so basic to human civilization? (I think I know the answer to that one--implication and natural decency just aren't enough for us.) It's a really interesting piece of writing, if you're into that kind of thing.
Except not, because I took a sick day on Monday, and slept all morning and then spent the afternoon crashed out on the couch with the first season of Bones (Hey, don't mock; at what point does cheesy and obvious outweigh pretty and charming? We shall see). I felt fantastic all day yesterday, but woke up this morning with my throat scratching and my lungs wheezing in a not-very-amusing way. Not cool, body. Not cool.
So maybe it's less "busy, busy," and more like "boring, boring." Which isn't really any better.
I did give up on a book recently, which is pretty unusual--the first hundred pages of Broken For You were fine, but I was reading on my break one day last week, and I reached the end of a sentence and said to myself, "I can't go on." It was all very swoony and dramatic, but I'm much happier now, having picked up The Best American Non-Required Reading 2006, an anthology of essays, short stories, graphic short stories, excerpts from scripts, and all kinds of non-categorizable writing excellence from, well, 2006. The most thought-provoking piece I've read so far is the Iraqi Constitution, which I admit that I a) didn't actually expect to finish, and b) am finding so dense that I'm reading it in five-page spurts. I'm finding it both hopeful and kind of depressing--hopeful because it lays out what sounds like a pretty good proposal, where everybody is treated well and the government functions for the good of the people, but depressing because I know that's not what's happening. It also brings up issues about the United States Constitution, and about Constitutions in general--where and when did we as people decide that a single document meant authority, and what is it that makes us (mostly) recognize that authority today? Why do the U.S. and Iraqi Constitutions cover so much that sounds so basic to human civilization? (I think I know the answer to that one--implication and natural decency just aren't enough for us.) It's a really interesting piece of writing, if you're into that kind of thing.
Monday, April 23, 2007
More, please.
Oh, Monday. Why are you so persistent? It's like every seven days, or something. What is that about? You're there and you will not be ignored. It's not even like my Monday was a bad one. We had sunshine and a reasonable workload and reduced-fat banana dulce de leche coffee cake at Starbucks. All good things, right? It's just that I had such a good weekend. Monday is not the weekend. It's a bit disorienting.
On Saturday, the (super-fantastic!) Internet friend Glenna came to visit all the way from Canada (via a conference in San Francisco), and we whisked ourselves off to Napa for a rainy afternoon of wine-tasting and yarn-ogling, which in my opinion is a fairly excellent way to spend a spring day. We stopped through V. Sattui, which is one of my favorite wineries, but I'm now realizing that I mostly love them for their hardcore deli and their pretty picnic grounds. Maybe it's because they skipped out on the Chardonnay/Sauvignon Blanc region of the wine spectrum? I was less impressed than usual by their crowded tasting room and their "herbal" Semillon. After, we headed to Rombauer, which is a ways off the beaten path and makes my friend Erin's favorite Chardonnay. It was a completely different crowd, a testament to what happens when you move off Highway 29 and raise the price per bottle by $30--far fewer Reeboks, we'll say. And some darn tasty Chardonnay, truth be told.
We spent our evening in a vortex of homebody fangirl bliss, surrounded by pasta, Hershey kisses, something to drink, knitting, and a mini-marathon of Bones, which is not a bastion of excellent twenty-first-century television, but it's sort of engaging anyway. We were productive. We watched and knitted and discussed, and then promptly passed out in our beds after a day well spent.
And I can barely even talk about Sunday. My mother will think I had some kind of temporary illness, really. After Glenna left, I did the dishes. Doing the dishes turned into cleaning out my ridiculously full shirt drawer. Cleaning out the shirt drawer turned into weeding through the bedroom closet. Weeding through the bedroom closet became a full-fledged assault on the coat closet, which--I kid you not--was mostly taken up by a box I hadn't unpacked after moving into my apartment nearly two years ago. I filled three garbage bags and an ancient suitcase with my (former) stuff, packed them all into my car, and drove them to the Goodwill on International Blvd. I'm telling you, it's a miracle. I can see the floors of both of my closets. There are shelves I didn't know I had, people! Book space! Brilliant, this cleaning-out thing. Who knew?
Anyway. Tomorrow is Tuesday, which will probably be less of a shock than Monday. Right? Right.
On Saturday, the (super-fantastic!) Internet friend Glenna came to visit all the way from Canada (via a conference in San Francisco), and we whisked ourselves off to Napa for a rainy afternoon of wine-tasting and yarn-ogling, which in my opinion is a fairly excellent way to spend a spring day. We stopped through V. Sattui, which is one of my favorite wineries, but I'm now realizing that I mostly love them for their hardcore deli and their pretty picnic grounds. Maybe it's because they skipped out on the Chardonnay/Sauvignon Blanc region of the wine spectrum? I was less impressed than usual by their crowded tasting room and their "herbal" Semillon. After, we headed to Rombauer, which is a ways off the beaten path and makes my friend Erin's favorite Chardonnay. It was a completely different crowd, a testament to what happens when you move off Highway 29 and raise the price per bottle by $30--far fewer Reeboks, we'll say. And some darn tasty Chardonnay, truth be told.
We spent our evening in a vortex of homebody fangirl bliss, surrounded by pasta, Hershey kisses, something to drink, knitting, and a mini-marathon of Bones, which is not a bastion of excellent twenty-first-century television, but it's sort of engaging anyway. We were productive. We watched and knitted and discussed, and then promptly passed out in our beds after a day well spent.
And I can barely even talk about Sunday. My mother will think I had some kind of temporary illness, really. After Glenna left, I did the dishes. Doing the dishes turned into cleaning out my ridiculously full shirt drawer. Cleaning out the shirt drawer turned into weeding through the bedroom closet. Weeding through the bedroom closet became a full-fledged assault on the coat closet, which--I kid you not--was mostly taken up by a box I hadn't unpacked after moving into my apartment nearly two years ago. I filled three garbage bags and an ancient suitcase with my (former) stuff, packed them all into my car, and drove them to the Goodwill on International Blvd. I'm telling you, it's a miracle. I can see the floors of both of my closets. There are shelves I didn't know I had, people! Book space! Brilliant, this cleaning-out thing. Who knew?
Anyway. Tomorrow is Tuesday, which will probably be less of a shock than Monday. Right? Right.
Photo op!
Those playing the home game may have noticed (ha, right?) that April 12 came and went without a single photo or link to Chad Darnell or his 12 of 12 project. I was so good, too: I put my camera on the nightstand before bed on the 11th, carried out my photography duties until approximately noon, when things got crazy and I just plain stopped. But in the interest of continuing my twelve-month photo series of myself in the early morning, I can't ignore this photo's pleading. It must be posted. It cannot be stopped.
So here:
Charming, no? I'm still in flannel sheets, too.
So here:
Charming, no? I'm still in flannel sheets, too.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
"You've got to listen to this one song. It'll change your life!"
I got to do something last night that I think everyone should do at least once: I saw my favorite band live. I'm not sure I know exactly how the Shins became the band for me--their song "Know Your Onion!" is on the old Gilmore Girls soundtrack, I guess, and then "Caring is Creepy" and "New Slang" showed up in Garden State, and I went home and downloaded the whole album. It was the first thing I ever bought on iTunes, and it took all afternoon because I had dial-up.
It was so worth it--Oh, Inverted World is still the single most-listened-to album I own. I've listened to it so many times that I don't even hear it anymore, except that at the same time, I sometimes rewind songs to hear them again--mostly the last two, "Pressed in a Book" and "The Past and Pending," which I swear makes my heart rate and blood pressure drop every time I hear it. I like to listen to "New Slang" when I'm far away from home, because it's the most comforting song in the world, but it's also good for driving with the windows down at night in the summer. Or for walking in the afternoon in the fall, come to think of it. I don't know how their songs can be airy and murky and springy, all at the same time, but they are. The whole album just seems like a series of perfect musical moments to me, like I keep thinking, "there is nothing else in the world that would go better in that spot in that song. It's just right the way it is." And so I keep listening to it, and it becomes even more ingrained.
The Shins have put out two albums since then, Chutes Too Narrow and the brand-new Wincing the Night Away, which I think is poised to someday knock Oh, Inverted World off its throne, once it's all worn in and comfortable. It's a wonderful album--sort of atmospheric, but also perfectly, head-boppingly bouncy at the same time, and every single song is good. We'll see where that album and I go together, and maybe I'll write about it more specifically someday.
So, the Shins. Live and in the flesh! What to say about the show itself? I went to see them because I wanted to see them, and not because I thought they'd be an especially great live show. And that's about right--they were a fine show, a good show, but it's not like they're super exhibitionists, or anything. They mostly just come up, play, bounce around a little, and call it a night. It's just that the music is so good, you know? James Mercer must weigh about 130 pounds soaking wet, and he mumbles less live than on the albums. His falsetto is a little scary in real life. There's also have a sort of adorable bass player/second vocalist, and a guitarist who obviously plays Guitar Hero waaay too much, and the requisite all-instrument guy that looks like Richie from The Royal Tenenbaums. They started with "Sleeping Lessons" and ended with "So Says I," and hit most of the high points along the way--just about exactly what you'd expect. It was just a show, not that different from any other show I've been to, but I'm so happy that I got to go and listen.
It was so worth it--Oh, Inverted World is still the single most-listened-to album I own. I've listened to it so many times that I don't even hear it anymore, except that at the same time, I sometimes rewind songs to hear them again--mostly the last two, "Pressed in a Book" and "The Past and Pending," which I swear makes my heart rate and blood pressure drop every time I hear it. I like to listen to "New Slang" when I'm far away from home, because it's the most comforting song in the world, but it's also good for driving with the windows down at night in the summer. Or for walking in the afternoon in the fall, come to think of it. I don't know how their songs can be airy and murky and springy, all at the same time, but they are. The whole album just seems like a series of perfect musical moments to me, like I keep thinking, "there is nothing else in the world that would go better in that spot in that song. It's just right the way it is." And so I keep listening to it, and it becomes even more ingrained.
The Shins have put out two albums since then, Chutes Too Narrow and the brand-new Wincing the Night Away, which I think is poised to someday knock Oh, Inverted World off its throne, once it's all worn in and comfortable. It's a wonderful album--sort of atmospheric, but also perfectly, head-boppingly bouncy at the same time, and every single song is good. We'll see where that album and I go together, and maybe I'll write about it more specifically someday.
So, the Shins. Live and in the flesh! What to say about the show itself? I went to see them because I wanted to see them, and not because I thought they'd be an especially great live show. And that's about right--they were a fine show, a good show, but it's not like they're super exhibitionists, or anything. They mostly just come up, play, bounce around a little, and call it a night. It's just that the music is so good, you know? James Mercer must weigh about 130 pounds soaking wet, and he mumbles less live than on the albums. His falsetto is a little scary in real life. There's also have a sort of adorable bass player/second vocalist, and a guitarist who obviously plays Guitar Hero waaay too much, and the requisite all-instrument guy that looks like Richie from The Royal Tenenbaums. They started with "Sleeping Lessons" and ended with "So Says I," and hit most of the high points along the way--just about exactly what you'd expect. It was just a show, not that different from any other show I've been to, but I'm so happy that I got to go and listen.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
A mini-break means true love
I'm back! (To let you know: I can really shake 'em down.)
But you didn't even know I was gone. I took last Friday and Monday off and drove to L.A. for a quick vacation--just a few days to investigate my friend Kendra's new house and housemates, check some things off my "to do in L.A." list, and just generally get out of town. I have a love/hate relationship with L.A.; I always think that it would be so beautiful if it weren't...itself. Kendra lives in Calabasas, north of L.A. and east of Malibu--out in the sticks, really--and it's pretty there, but I think I'd have to live in L.A. proper. I'd need to be near the beach. And take lots of vacations to places that are not L.A.
Vacation highlight reel:
- The trips down and back were surprisingly painless. I have memories of my last solo drive down "the 5," of listening to Roald Dahl's The Witches on tape and pretty much expecting to die of boredom and muscular atrophy somewhere between Kettleman "City" and Patterson. This time, I packed up with the Creative Screenwriting podcast and a basket of organic strawberries, and probably could have driven forever. Just me and blue sky, hills, tumbleweeds stuck in the fences on the side of the road, a group of actual cowboys on actual horses herding actual cattle, and the inexplicable Indian restaurant in Buttonwillow. The Pull of the Road, and all that. It was nice.
- My new favorite thing: House of Blues Gospel Brunch! Picture miles of soul food buffet and a quartet of church ladies in their church-lady hats and church-lady suits rocking out on stage. I never caught the name of the group, but the woman assured me many times that they were, indeed, legendary. Pretty much the best thing ever. I want to go every week, just for cheese grits and "Holy, Holy, Holy."
- I gave in to temptation and took myself on the Warner Bros. studio tour--I was hoping to see the main theater set for Studio 60, which by all accounts is pretty incredible, and is also unlikely to be around much longer. The bad news is that the set was unavailable; the good news is that it was unavailable because they were filming! The tour guide assured me it would be back on the air around June, which is really all I ask. To make it up to me, the tour guide took us on the "all Gilmore, all the time" tour--we walked around the exteriors of all the Stars Hollow sets and then through the interiors of Lorelai's house and the Dragonfly, which are beautiful and so detailed. Livin' the dream on the front steps of the Crap Shack:
Anyway, it's a fun tour if you like TV and film history and seeing celebrities' parking spaces, which I....do, apparently.
- I took a field trip to the Writers' Guild library in search of a 30 Rock script to look over (and remember with my crystal-clear photoraphic memory? I don't know). They didn't have what I was looking for, but I did have a fine time reading some Newsradio and The Office scripts. I'm now even more convinced that tracking down an actual 30 Rock script would be wise, but I'm not sure how that works--I wonder if NBC would send me one, since it's for educational purposes? Anyway, I also met a very polite old man in a suit and bow tie in the elevator, and I'm convinced he was Milton Berle (dead or alive?), or someone. It was all very writerly, and I had a good time. Is it sad that the writers' union library is like a tourist attraction for me? I can't decide.
So now I'm home and theoretically back in the swing of things, even though my brain is still somewhere on I-5. It'll catch up eventually, I guess.
But you didn't even know I was gone. I took last Friday and Monday off and drove to L.A. for a quick vacation--just a few days to investigate my friend Kendra's new house and housemates, check some things off my "to do in L.A." list, and just generally get out of town. I have a love/hate relationship with L.A.; I always think that it would be so beautiful if it weren't...itself. Kendra lives in Calabasas, north of L.A. and east of Malibu--out in the sticks, really--and it's pretty there, but I think I'd have to live in L.A. proper. I'd need to be near the beach. And take lots of vacations to places that are not L.A.
Vacation highlight reel:
- The trips down and back were surprisingly painless. I have memories of my last solo drive down "the 5," of listening to Roald Dahl's The Witches on tape and pretty much expecting to die of boredom and muscular atrophy somewhere between Kettleman "City" and Patterson. This time, I packed up with the Creative Screenwriting podcast and a basket of organic strawberries, and probably could have driven forever. Just me and blue sky, hills, tumbleweeds stuck in the fences on the side of the road, a group of actual cowboys on actual horses herding actual cattle, and the inexplicable Indian restaurant in Buttonwillow. The Pull of the Road, and all that. It was nice.
- My new favorite thing: House of Blues Gospel Brunch! Picture miles of soul food buffet and a quartet of church ladies in their church-lady hats and church-lady suits rocking out on stage. I never caught the name of the group, but the woman assured me many times that they were, indeed, legendary. Pretty much the best thing ever. I want to go every week, just for cheese grits and "Holy, Holy, Holy."
- I gave in to temptation and took myself on the Warner Bros. studio tour--I was hoping to see the main theater set for Studio 60, which by all accounts is pretty incredible, and is also unlikely to be around much longer. The bad news is that the set was unavailable; the good news is that it was unavailable because they were filming! The tour guide assured me it would be back on the air around June, which is really all I ask. To make it up to me, the tour guide took us on the "all Gilmore, all the time" tour--we walked around the exteriors of all the Stars Hollow sets and then through the interiors of Lorelai's house and the Dragonfly, which are beautiful and so detailed. Livin' the dream on the front steps of the Crap Shack:
Anyway, it's a fun tour if you like TV and film history and seeing celebrities' parking spaces, which I....do, apparently.
- I took a field trip to the Writers' Guild library in search of a 30 Rock script to look over (and remember with my crystal-clear photoraphic memory? I don't know). They didn't have what I was looking for, but I did have a fine time reading some Newsradio and The Office scripts. I'm now even more convinced that tracking down an actual 30 Rock script would be wise, but I'm not sure how that works--I wonder if NBC would send me one, since it's for educational purposes? Anyway, I also met a very polite old man in a suit and bow tie in the elevator, and I'm convinced he was Milton Berle (dead or alive?), or someone. It was all very writerly, and I had a good time. Is it sad that the writers' union library is like a tourist attraction for me? I can't decide.
So now I'm home and theoretically back in the swing of things, even though my brain is still somewhere on I-5. It'll catch up eventually, I guess.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Odds; ends
- I finished Pants 4 yesterday, and couldn't help giving it a little hug as I put it back on the shelf with its buddies. I'm naming it my second-favorite Pants book: not quite as true and honest and heartbreaking as #2, maybe, but still willing to do some heavy lifting character-wise. I loved Tibby and, surprisingly, Bridget--I think the Vreeland family (or what's left of it) is the final frontier for Bee, and I liked the way she finally had to deal with the people she'd left at home all this time. I would have felt good about the outcome of Lena's story either way, I think; I was ready for her to be content by herself, and I liked the ways in which she grew in this book. But I also feel like I can be gracious to Lena and let her have her happy ending, so it's okay. The ending as it currently stands works for me. In short, I'm really impressed with Ann Brashares and what she's done with herself as a writer since the early days of the original Pants book--this final book in the series is so much more complex and mature than I would have expected from her in the beginning. Well played.
- I've now picked up Broken For You, by Stephanie Kallos, which Katie gave me for Christmas with a note that she thought I "really needed to read this book." So far it's pretty readable but also a little heavy-handed and self-consciously quirky in the way that first novels often are. *shrug* I'll reserve judgement.
- The urge to work on my spec script has flagged this week. I think it's related to the lack of TV--not a single one of my shows is on, so my TV is pretty much sitting there silent, taking up space and failing to inspire me with displays of brilliance by people who are writing. So I'm taking this as a break in the belief that my voice will come back soon. In fact, both The Office and 30 Rock come back tonight, so I'm thinking "soon" might actually mean "today." Bonus: 30 Rock has been renewed for a second season, which means it's technically fair game for spec-scripting. Wooot!
- I am not in the mood to write, but I am in the mood to knit, and knit prolifically. I made it through most of the length of Sleeve 1 (10 reps of a six-row cable pattern; increase at row five, twist the cable at row three!) and am getting up to the shoulder shaping. Very exciting! I'm also about to hit the part of the pattern that's full of things I haven't learned about yet, so I'm trying not to read too far ahead, or I get overwhelmed. One new skill at a time, I say, and soon I will have a sweater! Or, actually half of a sweater. I'm having fun with it, but I hope it goes quickly, because I'm dying to wear it.
- Which brings me to my new favorite thing: podcasts! The point of the podcast escaped me for a long time--if a blog is self-indulgence, written and published for all the world to see, do we really need to add the human voice to that?--but now I'm hooked. It's like having a talk-radio station that only talks about what you want them to talk about! My taste in podcasts is typical and typically nerdy: so far, writing and knitting. I like listening to the Creative Screenwriting magazine podcast, in which a vaguely obnoxious host interviews working screenwriters, at work--something about it has that tantalizing "yes, I'm a waitress, but what I really want to do is direct" quality to it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is nothing more inspiring than writers talking about writing, and this principle has gotten me through many a long afternoon of edit entry lately. When I've had it with the self-centeredness of writers, I switch on one of two knitting podcasts: Stash and Burn or Cast On. S&B features two San Francisco knitters talking about...well, knitting. Knitting projects, knitting yarn, knitting stories, knitting road trips, knitting books, knitting jokes. Cast On is a little different in that it's a podcast meant to be heard while knitting, and I've tried to reserve it for that purpose. There's indie music to knit to, a weekly essay on knitting (deeper than you'd think), knitting news (more than you'd think), and a segment in which the podcaster shares the backstory on a sweater she's made. It's a little NPR-ish in its soothingness and its vague more-liberal-than-thou quality, but I find it strangely addicting. Now all I need is a good literature podcast, and I'll be good to go! KLIZ, now broadcasting on a laptop near you!
- That is all, except that today is Maundy Thursday. I've never been to a Maundy Thursday service, and I won't be going this year, either. I am very much looking forward to the Good Friday service at my church tomorrow night, though. Good Friday is such a strange day--something to be *commemorated* but not necessarily *celebrated,* which is a tricky thing, I think. Anyway, I loved the service last year, and this year my choir is performing--we get to hang out in the balcony, behind everyone, and sing a Renaissance-era monks' chant. A capella. In Latin. Not that we're the point of the service, or anything, but we sound GOOD.
- That really is all.
- I've now picked up Broken For You, by Stephanie Kallos, which Katie gave me for Christmas with a note that she thought I "really needed to read this book." So far it's pretty readable but also a little heavy-handed and self-consciously quirky in the way that first novels often are. *shrug* I'll reserve judgement.
- The urge to work on my spec script has flagged this week. I think it's related to the lack of TV--not a single one of my shows is on, so my TV is pretty much sitting there silent, taking up space and failing to inspire me with displays of brilliance by people who are writing. So I'm taking this as a break in the belief that my voice will come back soon. In fact, both The Office and 30 Rock come back tonight, so I'm thinking "soon" might actually mean "today." Bonus: 30 Rock has been renewed for a second season, which means it's technically fair game for spec-scripting. Wooot!
- I am not in the mood to write, but I am in the mood to knit, and knit prolifically. I made it through most of the length of Sleeve 1 (10 reps of a six-row cable pattern; increase at row five, twist the cable at row three!) and am getting up to the shoulder shaping. Very exciting! I'm also about to hit the part of the pattern that's full of things I haven't learned about yet, so I'm trying not to read too far ahead, or I get overwhelmed. One new skill at a time, I say, and soon I will have a sweater! Or, actually half of a sweater. I'm having fun with it, but I hope it goes quickly, because I'm dying to wear it.
- Which brings me to my new favorite thing: podcasts! The point of the podcast escaped me for a long time--if a blog is self-indulgence, written and published for all the world to see, do we really need to add the human voice to that?--but now I'm hooked. It's like having a talk-radio station that only talks about what you want them to talk about! My taste in podcasts is typical and typically nerdy: so far, writing and knitting. I like listening to the Creative Screenwriting magazine podcast, in which a vaguely obnoxious host interviews working screenwriters, at work--something about it has that tantalizing "yes, I'm a waitress, but what I really want to do is direct" quality to it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is nothing more inspiring than writers talking about writing, and this principle has gotten me through many a long afternoon of edit entry lately. When I've had it with the self-centeredness of writers, I switch on one of two knitting podcasts: Stash and Burn or Cast On. S&B features two San Francisco knitters talking about...well, knitting. Knitting projects, knitting yarn, knitting stories, knitting road trips, knitting books, knitting jokes. Cast On is a little different in that it's a podcast meant to be heard while knitting, and I've tried to reserve it for that purpose. There's indie music to knit to, a weekly essay on knitting (deeper than you'd think), knitting news (more than you'd think), and a segment in which the podcaster shares the backstory on a sweater she's made. It's a little NPR-ish in its soothingness and its vague more-liberal-than-thou quality, but I find it strangely addicting. Now all I need is a good literature podcast, and I'll be good to go! KLIZ, now broadcasting on a laptop near you!
- That is all, except that today is Maundy Thursday. I've never been to a Maundy Thursday service, and I won't be going this year, either. I am very much looking forward to the Good Friday service at my church tomorrow night, though. Good Friday is such a strange day--something to be *commemorated* but not necessarily *celebrated,* which is a tricky thing, I think. Anyway, I loved the service last year, and this year my choir is performing--we get to hang out in the balcony, behind everyone, and sing a Renaissance-era monks' chant. A capella. In Latin. Not that we're the point of the service, or anything, but we sound GOOD.
- That really is all.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Attack of the giant papillaries!
So, after one totally unsatisfying visit to the GP (Him: "You have a cyst inside your eyelid. There's nothing you can do. Hope you like your glasses!" Me: "Wrong answer!") and a much more satisfying visit to the optometrist, it seems that I won't need to knit myself a set of decorative eye patches after all. I have giant papillary conjunctivitis--basically a rash on the insides of my eyelids caused by over-wearing of my contacts and possibly an allergic reaction to Target-brand contact solution. I'm banned from wearing contacts for a month, and after that I'll be using better solution and wearing glasses two days a week. That's it.
I'm feeling a little vain and disappointed about the glasses situation, but I am pleased to not have cancer or anything else where they remove my eye, and so I am being grateful and polishing my "I rock the glasses hard" vibe instead. Glasses! Yay!
(And for my mom: Tina Fey, role model to glasses-wearing writer-girls the world over.)
I'm feeling a little vain and disappointed about the glasses situation, but I am pleased to not have cancer or anything else where they remove my eye, and so I am being grateful and polishing my "I rock the glasses hard" vibe instead. Glasses! Yay!
(And for my mom: Tina Fey, role model to glasses-wearing writer-girls the world over.)
Saturday, March 31, 2007
My eyes! My eyes!
I spent an hour at Kaiser this afternoon, only to...not see the doctor. It appears that I have a mysterious bump on my left eyeball. Or maybe it's my eyelid; I can't tell. Neither could the advice nurse (but still, how cool is Kaiser for having advice nurses?). Either way, there's a bump.
The advice nurse told me to come in RIGHT AWAY! DON'T WAIT! I told her my eye didn't hurt, wasn't swollen, and hadn't given off any alarmist propaganda other than having a bump on it. She said 4:20! DOCTOR FONG! CAN YOU GO RIGHT NOW? I could. I did.
The receptionist--who I must say was approximately 14--looked at me like I was crazy, but said, "Um, okay. Why don't you sit here in the reception area, and....I'm sure Dr. Fong will be in any minute?" I sat. I read Forever in Blue (which is turning out to be really good, by the way) until 4:45, until I asked again. "Um, I don't know," she said. "We're about to lock up here? And I kind of don't think Dr. Fong is even here on weekends? So I guess you should go to Emergency and ask them?" On the way to Emergency, I found the place where I was originally intended to go (thanks for clearing that up, Reception! Good on you!), but they had closed out their computers at ten minutes to five, and I was out of luck. Monday morning it is, then.
I'm okay--still no pain, swelling, or propaganda from the eye. I just have to stay away from my contacts until I know what's up. It's a good thing I like my glasses. I believe I will do my best Tina Fey impression tomorrow, and then see how things go from there.
The advice nurse told me to come in RIGHT AWAY! DON'T WAIT! I told her my eye didn't hurt, wasn't swollen, and hadn't given off any alarmist propaganda other than having a bump on it. She said 4:20! DOCTOR FONG! CAN YOU GO RIGHT NOW? I could. I did.
The receptionist--who I must say was approximately 14--looked at me like I was crazy, but said, "Um, okay. Why don't you sit here in the reception area, and....I'm sure Dr. Fong will be in any minute?" I sat. I read Forever in Blue (which is turning out to be really good, by the way) until 4:45, until I asked again. "Um, I don't know," she said. "We're about to lock up here? And I kind of don't think Dr. Fong is even here on weekends? So I guess you should go to Emergency and ask them?" On the way to Emergency, I found the place where I was originally intended to go (thanks for clearing that up, Reception! Good on you!), but they had closed out their computers at ten minutes to five, and I was out of luck. Monday morning it is, then.
I'm okay--still no pain, swelling, or propaganda from the eye. I just have to stay away from my contacts until I know what's up. It's a good thing I like my glasses. I believe I will do my best Tina Fey impression tomorrow, and then see how things go from there.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The plot thickens, right on time
I made some progress on my spec script last night. I sat down and figured out my A-, B-, and C-plots, and actually wrote them down so they wouldn't slip away into the night (which tends to happen). I don't have the endings planned yet, but I'm still immensely relieved. This is the part of the writing process that I'm worst at--I believe they call it "plot." I'm a voice and character girl. I'm good with interpretation. I can mimic other writers. I do finishing touches. It's this making something out of nothing that kills me. It's perpetually like standing on the edge of something very steep and very dark, looking down into a voidy void of voidiness, and thinking I can't turn around, so I have to step out into the nothing. The silence and blankness that overtakes my brain in these moments--anytime I ask myself, "what happens?"--is kind of impressive.
The weird part is that ideas do come, and I believe that I'll never be able to explain how. My mind is completely blank--I picture it as a white room, like in The Matrix, when Neo meets Laurence Fishburne--and then, suddenly, it isn't. I don't know, and then....I know. And I haven't done anything differently, and nothing's changed except that I have an idea. It's always surprising, and always a moment of great relief.
Now that I have ideas worked out, it's time to start outlining. I'm writing 30 Rock--against the common wisdom, since most people don't spec shows in their first season--and I've been making info sheets about the episodes I have saved on my Tivo. I'm looking at act structure, scene structure, timing, act breaks, number of plots per episode, number of scenes per plot, who's in which episodes and how many scenes they appear in, guest characters, overlapping plots...everything I can think of to make my spec as technically similar to the produced show as I can. Now I can start putting that collected knowledge to work in a practical outline. I still need to figure out what happens, exactly, but I think the two sort of go together. I have until April 30 for a WGA-sponsored contest I'm entering (not for a job, but for a cash prize and exposure to agents). It's a little nerve-wracking, but it's amazing how it all comes when I need it, so I'm trying not to worry.
The weird part is that ideas do come, and I believe that I'll never be able to explain how. My mind is completely blank--I picture it as a white room, like in The Matrix, when Neo meets Laurence Fishburne--and then, suddenly, it isn't. I don't know, and then....I know. And I haven't done anything differently, and nothing's changed except that I have an idea. It's always surprising, and always a moment of great relief.
Now that I have ideas worked out, it's time to start outlining. I'm writing 30 Rock--against the common wisdom, since most people don't spec shows in their first season--and I've been making info sheets about the episodes I have saved on my Tivo. I'm looking at act structure, scene structure, timing, act breaks, number of plots per episode, number of scenes per plot, who's in which episodes and how many scenes they appear in, guest characters, overlapping plots...everything I can think of to make my spec as technically similar to the produced show as I can. Now I can start putting that collected knowledge to work in a practical outline. I still need to figure out what happens, exactly, but I think the two sort of go together. I have until April 30 for a WGA-sponsored contest I'm entering (not for a job, but for a cash prize and exposure to agents). It's a little nerve-wracking, but it's amazing how it all comes when I need it, so I'm trying not to worry.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Baby's first cable
I am off and knitting on my first piece of clothing--a cabled shrug (i.e. a cardigan without all that cardigan to worry about) for which I bought yarn last weekend. I have swatched, gone down a needle size, and swatched again. And look!
I decided that getting hopelessly, irreparably tangled up in a swatch was better than having to rip out part of a sweater, so I pulled out my new cable needle, followed the directions in the pattern, and voila! A perfectly good cable, right down the middle. It's amazing how that works. New skill: check!
I decided that getting hopelessly, irreparably tangled up in a swatch was better than having to rip out part of a sweater, so I pulled out my new cable needle, followed the directions in the pattern, and voila! A perfectly good cable, right down the middle. It's amazing how that works. New skill: check!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
I love a man with a sense of humor
I thought my coach was joking when he told us to row for an hour without stopping.
Sixty minutes and 2,880 strokes later, I know: He wasn't.
Sixty minutes and 2,880 strokes later, I know: He wasn't.
Things of which I am a fan
1. My computer, obviously. I still haven't gotten it together to close out the old PC and transfer my files (mostly music and photos, with some writing thrown in for fun), but I did install Word and Excel, which actually feels like a bit of a betrayal to the Mac mindset. Until we're all using InCopy, though, a girl's got to have something on which to process words, no? Anyway, the nameless laptop is light and quiet and seems determined to not be a hassle in any way. It is the Charlie Young of the computer world, if you will. This pleases me. We are friends, my computer and I.
2. The Second Summer of the Sisterhood: I'm re-reading Traveling Pants books two and three in preparation for a first read-through of four, Forever in Blue, which I got for Christmas. For whatever reason, #2 (I hate the title, so I always call it Pants Two) is my favorite by far--the last time I read it, it resonated with me on a level that probably was not strictly normal. This time, I think the moment had passed, but I still love it more than all the rest. It's the darkest of the books, not in a juvenile melodramatic way, but in a "these characters are badly behaved in ways that are totally recognizable" manner. It's the girls generally at their worst, which is always interesting, I think. Also: Carmen dating Porter, the penguin. Hee.
3. Yarn stores: I "stopped by" (read: spent an hour in) the yarn store on the way home from church yesterday, checking out my options for the cabled shrug I want to make. Article Pract is not my favorite yarn shop--it's expensive, carries too many earth tones, and has occasionally obnoxious hipster employees--but it's conveniently located and I had some store credit there, so I spent a good chunk of time wandering around, squeezing yarn and checking gauge and price. Mostly, I think I like doing just that: I don't always buy anything, but petting the yarn and soaking up the knitterly gossip is nice. I ended up getting some yarn-substitution help from the store's owner (this is the key, I think; she was very nice and very helpful), and came away with nine skeins of Rowan's Soft Baby in Cloud. I also found a good yarn candidate for the log-cabin blanket I'm pondering, which I left in the store for the sake of my debit card, but I'm glad to know it's there. Anyway, this means I can start swatching for the shrug, which I think will break my brain, but maybe in a good way.
This weekend I was also a fan of babies, What Not to Wear, corned beef and cabbage, westerns, sleep, black currants, dinner parties, Trader Joe's, running errands with my mom, and mint-chocolate frozen yogurt. Good times, good times.
2. The Second Summer of the Sisterhood: I'm re-reading Traveling Pants books two and three in preparation for a first read-through of four, Forever in Blue, which I got for Christmas. For whatever reason, #2 (I hate the title, so I always call it Pants Two) is my favorite by far--the last time I read it, it resonated with me on a level that probably was not strictly normal. This time, I think the moment had passed, but I still love it more than all the rest. It's the darkest of the books, not in a juvenile melodramatic way, but in a "these characters are badly behaved in ways that are totally recognizable" manner. It's the girls generally at their worst, which is always interesting, I think. Also: Carmen dating Porter, the penguin. Hee.
3. Yarn stores: I "stopped by" (read: spent an hour in) the yarn store on the way home from church yesterday, checking out my options for the cabled shrug I want to make. Article Pract is not my favorite yarn shop--it's expensive, carries too many earth tones, and has occasionally obnoxious hipster employees--but it's conveniently located and I had some store credit there, so I spent a good chunk of time wandering around, squeezing yarn and checking gauge and price. Mostly, I think I like doing just that: I don't always buy anything, but petting the yarn and soaking up the knitterly gossip is nice. I ended up getting some yarn-substitution help from the store's owner (this is the key, I think; she was very nice and very helpful), and came away with nine skeins of Rowan's Soft Baby in Cloud. I also found a good yarn candidate for the log-cabin blanket I'm pondering, which I left in the store for the sake of my debit card, but I'm glad to know it's there. Anyway, this means I can start swatching for the shrug, which I think will break my brain, but maybe in a good way.
This weekend I was also a fan of babies, What Not to Wear, corned beef and cabbage, westerns, sleep, black currants, dinner parties, Trader Joe's, running errands with my mom, and mint-chocolate frozen yogurt. Good times, good times.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
It's a laptop!
It came! It came!
My new laptop arrived a day early!
So far, I've had a chance to take it out of the box(es), look at it admiringly, pet it, talk quietly to it, and read the "Everything Mac" pamphlet that came in the box. Plugging it in, turning it on, and conforming it to my every whim will have to come later. Like tonight.
(And for those playing the home game, I went with the 13-inch. It was on sale. And it has a camera!)
My new laptop arrived a day early!
So far, I've had a chance to take it out of the box(es), look at it admiringly, pet it, talk quietly to it, and read the "Everything Mac" pamphlet that came in the box. Plugging it in, turning it on, and conforming it to my every whim will have to come later. Like tonight.
(And for those playing the home game, I went with the 13-inch. It was on sale. And it has a camera!)
Monday, March 12, 2007
12 of 12: March
Welcome to la 12 of 12, a place where lives are shared and bad pictures are taken (by me, anyway; I can't speak for others).
12:49 p.m. - So, I was already at work when I realized it was the 12th, and I hated to interrupt my yearlong series of photos of myself waking up. So this is my bed, mysteriously devoid of...me. Anyway, though, it was DARK when I got up this morning, so that's another excuse.
12:55 p.m. - The benefits of coming home for lunch: turkey chili and a quick rendezvous with What Not to Wear. Fabulous!
1:07 p.m. - Awww, mail! It's a postcard from my brother, who took a business trip to Gaziantep in southern Turkey (not as exotic as it sounds; he lives in Turkey).
1:11 p.m. - Back to work!
2:36 p.m. - My editor's super-sekrit stash of Holland mints, from which she graciously lets me graze (in exchange for unlimited copying, mailing, and edit entry)
2:36 p.m. - Don't mind if I do!
3:08 p.m. - Shared iTunes is our friend. (That's The Arcade Fire, there. I'm going to see them in June. Woot!)
5:01 p.m. - The interminable light at San Pablo and the freeway gives me plenty of time to bond with NPR ("I'm Melissa Block, and I'm Mechelle Norris, and this is All Things Considered." And doesn't the theme music sound like the goofy song at the end of the animated Grinch movie?).
8:23 p.m. - Sadly, no rowing pictures this month--the sunset was amazing--but almost as good: the post-crew pile on the bathroom floor!
8:44 p.m. - My new thing: pasta with peas. Add a little bit of Parmesan and some salt and pepper, and it's delicious.
9:27 p.m. - This is an actual documentary about the Australian cane toad, lent to me by a coworker for Cinema Hype-ing puposes. That is one scary-looking little girl. The toads themselves are kind of cute.
9:29 p.m. - What to do during an 80s documentary on amphibians than do a little knitting? Almost...done...
Hasta! Next month: Same bat time, same bat channel. I'll try to remember before noon.
12:49 p.m. - So, I was already at work when I realized it was the 12th, and I hated to interrupt my yearlong series of photos of myself waking up. So this is my bed, mysteriously devoid of...me. Anyway, though, it was DARK when I got up this morning, so that's another excuse.
12:55 p.m. - The benefits of coming home for lunch: turkey chili and a quick rendezvous with What Not to Wear. Fabulous!
1:07 p.m. - Awww, mail! It's a postcard from my brother, who took a business trip to Gaziantep in southern Turkey (not as exotic as it sounds; he lives in Turkey).
1:11 p.m. - Back to work!
2:36 p.m. - My editor's super-sekrit stash of Holland mints, from which she graciously lets me graze (in exchange for unlimited copying, mailing, and edit entry)
2:36 p.m. - Don't mind if I do!
3:08 p.m. - Shared iTunes is our friend. (That's The Arcade Fire, there. I'm going to see them in June. Woot!)
5:01 p.m. - The interminable light at San Pablo and the freeway gives me plenty of time to bond with NPR ("I'm Melissa Block, and I'm Mechelle Norris, and this is All Things Considered." And doesn't the theme music sound like the goofy song at the end of the animated Grinch movie?).
8:23 p.m. - Sadly, no rowing pictures this month--the sunset was amazing--but almost as good: the post-crew pile on the bathroom floor!
8:44 p.m. - My new thing: pasta with peas. Add a little bit of Parmesan and some salt and pepper, and it's delicious.
9:27 p.m. - This is an actual documentary about the Australian cane toad, lent to me by a coworker for Cinema Hype-ing puposes. That is one scary-looking little girl. The toads themselves are kind of cute.
9:29 p.m. - What to do during an 80s documentary on amphibians than do a little knitting? Almost...done...
Hasta! Next month: Same bat time, same bat channel. I'll try to remember before noon.
You're going DOWN, Gateway
All right. That's it! My computer has died in the middle of a Cinema Hype post for THE LAST TIME. I need to get a new laptop NOW.
The big question: New 13-inch or refurbished 15-inch? Same price; 4-oz difference in weight; 13-inch comes with built-in camera but, obviously, without those extra two inches of screen space. Hmmm.
In other news, I completely forgot 12 of 12 today, but hope to do a latter-half display anyway. D'oh!
And also, I will be pleased to row in daylight tonight, but this whole plunged-into-darkness thing does not make me want to get out of bed in the morning. Ugh.
The big question: New 13-inch or refurbished 15-inch? Same price; 4-oz difference in weight; 13-inch comes with built-in camera but, obviously, without those extra two inches of screen space. Hmmm.
In other news, I completely forgot 12 of 12 today, but hope to do a latter-half display anyway. D'oh!
And also, I will be pleased to row in daylight tonight, but this whole plunged-into-darkness thing does not make me want to get out of bed in the morning. Ugh.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Welcome to the age of Technicolor
I finished reading Rebecca last night, and in doing so, put an end to my winter Gothic reading binge. No more mansions burning to the ground! No more storms on the moors, or tortured, aloof millionaires! (No more crazy ex-wives? Somehow, that seems to be an enduring theme in literature in general.) I thought of adding Tess of the d'Urbervilles to the roster at the last minute, but I'm told it's not exactly Gothic, and anyway, a girl's got limits.
Rebecca is a wonderful book, but I'll admit that it's better the first time around. I remember being captivated essentially from the first word; this time I found that the first 250 pages or so are kind of...not plotless, exactly, but...subtle, maybe? Extremely psychological? A friend pointed out that this is a novel that could only have been written by a woman, about a woman--the (nameless) heroine spends so much time in her own head, fretting and analyzing and making conclusions and reflecting on herself, that it's both totally recognizable and kind of obnoxious. Anyway, the ending was still suspenseful and satisfying, and Du Maurier does know her way around a red herring. Isn't it about time for a new Rebecca movie? I feel like there's a whole generation that needs to be exposed to this story, and it would all film so beautifully. With Eva Green or maybe Rachel Weisz as Rebecca? Awesome.
Now that I've finished the Gothic list, I'm craving contemporary writing. I've acquired quite a stack of newish books since October, when I started Dracula: there's the newest Traveling Pants book (which must be preceded by a re-read of the previous two, obviously), The Dive From Clausen's Pier, The Double, Life of Pi, Middlesex, The Eyre Affair (does it count as non-Gothic if it's meta-Gothic?),The Best Non-Required Reading 2006 Ed, and probably a few others I'm forgetting. Truthfully, I probably won't make it through that list without at least a dip or two into the classics. Something about recent literary fiction--its sameness, its subtlety, its emphasis on "moment" instead of plot, maybe--makes me a little bit tired; I can't always tell what's good and what's not, and it all kind of seems the same anyway. In the case of Contemporary Fiction Overload, I just bought a beautiful hardcover copy of The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty to keep me sharp, and I have unread George Eliot and Cormac McCarthy waiting for me as well. Basically, I have so many things to read, I may never set foot in the library again.*
For the present, I finally decided on The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger, which I picked because I've heard good things about it and also because I love the name Audrey Niffenegger. It feels so light! I settled into bed with it last night and zipped through the first 40 pages. Forty pages in one sitting! That alone makes me love it (though it's also rather pleasant reading so far).
*Yeah, and the Giants may win the World Series this year.
Rebecca is a wonderful book, but I'll admit that it's better the first time around. I remember being captivated essentially from the first word; this time I found that the first 250 pages or so are kind of...not plotless, exactly, but...subtle, maybe? Extremely psychological? A friend pointed out that this is a novel that could only have been written by a woman, about a woman--the (nameless) heroine spends so much time in her own head, fretting and analyzing and making conclusions and reflecting on herself, that it's both totally recognizable and kind of obnoxious. Anyway, the ending was still suspenseful and satisfying, and Du Maurier does know her way around a red herring. Isn't it about time for a new Rebecca movie? I feel like there's a whole generation that needs to be exposed to this story, and it would all film so beautifully. With Eva Green or maybe Rachel Weisz as Rebecca? Awesome.
Now that I've finished the Gothic list, I'm craving contemporary writing. I've acquired quite a stack of newish books since October, when I started Dracula: there's the newest Traveling Pants book (which must be preceded by a re-read of the previous two, obviously), The Dive From Clausen's Pier, The Double, Life of Pi, Middlesex, The Eyre Affair (does it count as non-Gothic if it's meta-Gothic?),The Best Non-Required Reading 2006 Ed, and probably a few others I'm forgetting. Truthfully, I probably won't make it through that list without at least a dip or two into the classics. Something about recent literary fiction--its sameness, its subtlety, its emphasis on "moment" instead of plot, maybe--makes me a little bit tired; I can't always tell what's good and what's not, and it all kind of seems the same anyway. In the case of Contemporary Fiction Overload, I just bought a beautiful hardcover copy of The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty to keep me sharp, and I have unread George Eliot and Cormac McCarthy waiting for me as well. Basically, I have so many things to read, I may never set foot in the library again.*
For the present, I finally decided on The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger, which I picked because I've heard good things about it and also because I love the name Audrey Niffenegger. It feels so light! I settled into bed with it last night and zipped through the first 40 pages. Forty pages in one sitting! That alone makes me love it (though it's also rather pleasant reading so far).
*Yeah, and the Giants may win the World Series this year.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
How to become friends with your friends
I got a long e-mail from my friend Sue the other day.
Sue and I have known each other since the toddler Sunday school class at First Baptist Vallejo and since then have sometimes been best friends, sometimes best enemies, and sometimes both at the same time. We went together to church, to school, to kids' choir, to adult choir, to play practice, to youth group, to summer camp, to winter camp, to Carson City, to Nebraska, to Disneyland, to anywhere and everywhere. Our families were friends, and we were friends, mostly.
Looking back, I can see that we were two tremendously different people trying to occupy the same space--she's an extrovert and I'm an introvert; she's naturally affectionate and I'm reserved; she wanted to go out and be social (!), and I was happy with a couple of friends and a book. We competed for a lot of things. We were like sisters in the same family--we got along some of the time, but just as often, we didn't. We got into a huge, screaming fight at the Iowa State Fair, right by the butter sculptures, if that says anything.
Thankfully, adulthood has been kind to our friendship. I look at us and see that we're both in the middle of the lives we were meant to have. She lives in Southern California and says it's home to her now. She's on the road to a career she's wanted for a long time, something at which she will, incidentally, be excellent. She's dating a great guy. I'm here in Oakland, fulfilling my destiny as a bookworm extraordinaire, doing my own thing. I love looking at us as junior highers and looking at us now, and seeing that we are just ourselves, only magnified--and somehow, that makes us better friends. Being happy and secure in what we're doing, I think, has made us able to enjoy each other. Turns out that Sue is fun and welcoming and a really great encourager, and she always was those things, but I had a hard time letting her be that way, because it wasn't my way. And I'm so happy that we've gotten over that and can see each other clearly, like we probably always should have.
Sue and I have known each other since the toddler Sunday school class at First Baptist Vallejo and since then have sometimes been best friends, sometimes best enemies, and sometimes both at the same time. We went together to church, to school, to kids' choir, to adult choir, to play practice, to youth group, to summer camp, to winter camp, to Carson City, to Nebraska, to Disneyland, to anywhere and everywhere. Our families were friends, and we were friends, mostly.
Looking back, I can see that we were two tremendously different people trying to occupy the same space--she's an extrovert and I'm an introvert; she's naturally affectionate and I'm reserved; she wanted to go out and be social (!), and I was happy with a couple of friends and a book. We competed for a lot of things. We were like sisters in the same family--we got along some of the time, but just as often, we didn't. We got into a huge, screaming fight at the Iowa State Fair, right by the butter sculptures, if that says anything.
Thankfully, adulthood has been kind to our friendship. I look at us and see that we're both in the middle of the lives we were meant to have. She lives in Southern California and says it's home to her now. She's on the road to a career she's wanted for a long time, something at which she will, incidentally, be excellent. She's dating a great guy. I'm here in Oakland, fulfilling my destiny as a bookworm extraordinaire, doing my own thing. I love looking at us as junior highers and looking at us now, and seeing that we are just ourselves, only magnified--and somehow, that makes us better friends. Being happy and secure in what we're doing, I think, has made us able to enjoy each other. Turns out that Sue is fun and welcoming and a really great encourager, and she always was those things, but I had a hard time letting her be that way, because it wasn't my way. And I'm so happy that we've gotten over that and can see each other clearly, like we probably always should have.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Passion of the Sorkin
I think I'm going to write more about writing here from now on. This blog started as a way for me to share what's really going on with me, and these days, pen and paper (or keyboard and screen) have been heavy on my mind. I'm looking at my future, trying to decide where to go and what to do, whether it's best to concentrate on writing my own material or on refining other people's, and why the options seem so limited right now. I'm doing Cinema Hype and preparing to apply for the ABC/Disney Talent Development Fellowship, among other things, trying to stay sharp and make opportunities for myself. There are a lot of words in me, and I think I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the best way to get them out. Anyway. Writing about writing.
My old friends Kendra and Amy came to visit me this weekend; Amy's getting married in June, and we got together to do dress fittings and shoe shopping and stay up late chatting (check; check; double check). It was wonderful to see them both; the three of us spent three summers working and living together, and at the end of the summer it was always like losing a pair of limbs. Kendra stayed with me an extra night, and we spent the time as two unashamed TV fiends do: we curled up on the couch with blankets and mainlined a half-season of Studio 60.
When I watch Aaron Sorkin's shows, I always learn things. He teaches me about voice and timing, about the interplay of comedy and drama, about the importance and appeal of communities in storytelling. But mostly what he teaches me is about passion. Sorkin cares deeply about platonic male friendship; that's why we get Casey and Dan, Danny and Matt, Josh and Sam, and Leo and President Bartlet. We know he cares because the result is always surgically precise and delivered like it's the Gospel itself, and also because he essentially tells the same story over and over, mulling and refining and tinkering with the same basic structure. He never gets tired of talking about it, which is why he always has relevant things to say on the subject. Sorkin is also passionate about baseball, Gilbert and Sullivan, liberal politics, and television, which is why he continually works any combination of those things into his work. He's like a kid showing his parents around at open house(or, more accurately, like Tom Jeter at Studio 60?), always wanting to show off the things that are interesting to him. It shows, the passion. It makes a difference. It's why, at the end of the Studio 60 pilot, I hear "Pressure" and see Matt and Danny walk through the semi-lit theater, and I get butterflies in my stomach. It's why I have to smile when he slips little bits of TV history in around the edges--he can't not. He so wants us to know and care, and so I do. It's inspiring.
My old friends Kendra and Amy came to visit me this weekend; Amy's getting married in June, and we got together to do dress fittings and shoe shopping and stay up late chatting (check; check; double check). It was wonderful to see them both; the three of us spent three summers working and living together, and at the end of the summer it was always like losing a pair of limbs. Kendra stayed with me an extra night, and we spent the time as two unashamed TV fiends do: we curled up on the couch with blankets and mainlined a half-season of Studio 60.
When I watch Aaron Sorkin's shows, I always learn things. He teaches me about voice and timing, about the interplay of comedy and drama, about the importance and appeal of communities in storytelling. But mostly what he teaches me is about passion. Sorkin cares deeply about platonic male friendship; that's why we get Casey and Dan, Danny and Matt, Josh and Sam, and Leo and President Bartlet. We know he cares because the result is always surgically precise and delivered like it's the Gospel itself, and also because he essentially tells the same story over and over, mulling and refining and tinkering with the same basic structure. He never gets tired of talking about it, which is why he always has relevant things to say on the subject. Sorkin is also passionate about baseball, Gilbert and Sullivan, liberal politics, and television, which is why he continually works any combination of those things into his work. He's like a kid showing his parents around at open house(or, more accurately, like Tom Jeter at Studio 60?), always wanting to show off the things that are interesting to him. It shows, the passion. It makes a difference. It's why, at the end of the Studio 60 pilot, I hear "Pressure" and see Matt and Danny walk through the semi-lit theater, and I get butterflies in my stomach. It's why I have to smile when he slips little bits of TV history in around the edges--he can't not. He so wants us to know and care, and so I do. It's inspiring.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Hello, winter. How've you been?
Guess what? I'm back on speaking terms with snow. I broke up with snow sports two winters ago after an ill-advised snowboarding trip. With the exception of a fairly tame snowshoeing expedition last year, I've not had good experiences with cold-weather athletics. It's the gravity element: I've realized that going downhill on snow isn't fun for me. It's scary. That kind of speed without control doesn't appeal to me--with great power comes great responsibility, you know? I fall down, and then the snow-bunny six-year-olds speed past and laugh. I get frustrated, and then I cry and walk the rest of the way down the hill. It's not a good thing.
But I went cross-country skiing yesterday, and had a great time. It's a happy medium: cooler than snowshoeing, but not terrifying, like all the other board sports. There are little hills, just enough to feel vaguely Olympian without the fear of breaking bones; the scenery is beautiful and appropriately Alpine; and everybody's cheerful and stopping occasionally for trail mix and sunscreen. Physically, it's like rollerblading while doing the wedding-aisle walk: stride-together-stride-together, which is kind of entertaining (I'm easy). I fell down a lot, mostly to do with my lack of snowplowing skills, but by the end of the day I had the basics. I'd like to go back.
The great thing about cross-country is the tracks: the trails are groomed with grooves for those of us who can't keep their skis parallel. Downhill? Can't steer? No problem: just bend your knees, pick up your poles, and let the curve of the track carry you (until you look up, lose your balance, and inevitably end up on the ground, but that's not the trail's fault). It's great fun. I think we should have more tracked sports. Athletics for the uncoordinated! Excellent!
But I went cross-country skiing yesterday, and had a great time. It's a happy medium: cooler than snowshoeing, but not terrifying, like all the other board sports. There are little hills, just enough to feel vaguely Olympian without the fear of breaking bones; the scenery is beautiful and appropriately Alpine; and everybody's cheerful and stopping occasionally for trail mix and sunscreen. Physically, it's like rollerblading while doing the wedding-aisle walk: stride-together-stride-together, which is kind of entertaining (I'm easy). I fell down a lot, mostly to do with my lack of snowplowing skills, but by the end of the day I had the basics. I'd like to go back.
The great thing about cross-country is the tracks: the trails are groomed with grooves for those of us who can't keep their skis parallel. Downhill? Can't steer? No problem: just bend your knees, pick up your poles, and let the curve of the track carry you (until you look up, lose your balance, and inevitably end up on the ground, but that's not the trail's fault). It's great fun. I think we should have more tracked sports. Athletics for the uncoordinated! Excellent!
Monday, February 12, 2007
12 of 12: February
February 12! Chad Darnell; 12 photos; fun for all!
7:00 - Aaaaand I'm up. Kind of. Don't mock the Sneetch.
7:09 - Maple-brown-sugar shredded wheat; skim milk; four points!
7:42 - Finishing touches. Better than not, I guess.
8: 45 - Returning a screener DVD to a friend. It was, indeed, "something."
9:51 - Walking down to the Evil Empire of Coffee; note the sun in this picture.
11:00 - Break on the lunch room couch with Rebecca and a rice cake with peanut butter. Yum.
4:40 - Note the pouring rain in this picture; compare and contrast with earlier Starbucks photo. Who has two thumbs and left her jacket at home? This girl!
5:55 - Perfect, flat rainy-day water at the lake; sadly, crew practice was cancelled anyway. However: almost not totally dark at 6:00! It's practically summer!
6:12 - Calling my mommy
7:22 - Rocking the antioxidants: tomato and red pepper soup and a chopped mango for dinner
7:36 - Watching the current Project 501 movie, All Quiet on the Western Front (1930). Bummer, man.
8:52 - Writing my Western Front review and looking forward to see what's next
10:14 - Winding down with some polish and Studio 60. Is this photo repellent? I don't have foot issues, but I've got to say that my February feet aren't so appealing.
Next month, same bat time, same bat channel.
7:00 - Aaaaand I'm up. Kind of. Don't mock the Sneetch.
7:09 - Maple-brown-sugar shredded wheat; skim milk; four points!
7:42 - Finishing touches. Better than not, I guess.
8: 45 - Returning a screener DVD to a friend. It was, indeed, "something."
9:51 - Walking down to the Evil Empire of Coffee; note the sun in this picture.
11:00 - Break on the lunch room couch with Rebecca and a rice cake with peanut butter. Yum.
4:40 - Note the pouring rain in this picture; compare and contrast with earlier Starbucks photo. Who has two thumbs and left her jacket at home? This girl!
5:55 - Perfect, flat rainy-day water at the lake; sadly, crew practice was cancelled anyway. However: almost not totally dark at 6:00! It's practically summer!
6:12 - Calling my mommy
7:22 - Rocking the antioxidants: tomato and red pepper soup and a chopped mango for dinner
7:36 - Watching the current Project 501 movie, All Quiet on the Western Front (1930). Bummer, man.
8:52 - Writing my Western Front review and looking forward to see what's next
10:14 - Winding down with some polish and Studio 60. Is this photo repellent? I don't have foot issues, but I've got to say that my February feet aren't so appealing.
Next month, same bat time, same bat channel.
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