Tuesday, September 28
It rained for most of today - I mean really rained. We're getting the tail end of whichever hurricane is currently making everyone's life miserable. On the radio this morning the governor of North Carolina was warning people that they needed to keep taking precautions and staying safe, even if this whole "hurricane" thing is becoming as routine as the weekly garbage pickup. "Now I know we're all a little storm-weary...." North Carolina has been hit with seven tropical storms in the past month, four of them hurricanes. Storm-weary indeed.
In related news: those environmentalists who kept babbling about global climate change? They're liars. No, really. This is completely natural....
I was thinking about that recently... the problem with environmentalism is that a) it's science, so you'll never be able to prove you're right (only unscrupulous scientists "prove" anything. The rest form testable hypotheses) and b) generally the environmental movement has made enough noise to stop things short of disaster, which, paradoxically, completely screws their street cred. That's why movie heroes always save the day at the last minute. If they'd been doing their job properly they'd have stopped the terrorist/mad scientist/murderer/ect before he ever got started... but then, who'd know? Who'd even believe them? "No, really, that guy I just shot would have killed you all in scene three!" Uh-huh. Sure, mister. Now why don't we go visit Mr. Straightjacket for a little while?
Real heroes - the ones who stop things before they get out of hand - have a rough job. No glory, no thanks, not even any certainty, in their heart of hearts, that they're right... it's no wonder there's so few of them. War heroes get all the glamour, even when the war is a creation of their own ineptitude.
No, I'm not a big fan of rainy days, why do you ask?
In related news: those environmentalists who kept babbling about global climate change? They're liars. No, really. This is completely natural....
I was thinking about that recently... the problem with environmentalism is that a) it's science, so you'll never be able to prove you're right (only unscrupulous scientists "prove" anything. The rest form testable hypotheses) and b) generally the environmental movement has made enough noise to stop things short of disaster, which, paradoxically, completely screws their street cred. That's why movie heroes always save the day at the last minute. If they'd been doing their job properly they'd have stopped the terrorist/mad scientist/murderer/ect before he ever got started... but then, who'd know? Who'd even believe them? "No, really, that guy I just shot would have killed you all in scene three!" Uh-huh. Sure, mister. Now why don't we go visit Mr. Straightjacket for a little while?
Real heroes - the ones who stop things before they get out of hand - have a rough job. No glory, no thanks, not even any certainty, in their heart of hearts, that they're right... it's no wonder there's so few of them. War heroes get all the glamour, even when the war is a creation of their own ineptitude.
No, I'm not a big fan of rainy days, why do you ask?
Friday, September 24
Well, I'm home.
Nothing much has changed, except for the presence of plumbing, the new computer, the repainted and revamped house, the way my bedroom has been turned into a television-and-game center, the huge honkin' construction project right outside the door....
Dammit, you can't leave these people alone for a couple of months, can you?
At any rate, I am home. Sometimes it feels like I've never left and other times it feels like I'm not really here. I keep locking my car (silly child. This is Galax.) I am hitting the milk like a backsliding AA member. I am being reminded what it feels like to get 28.8 on the dialup connection, if I'm lucky.
Definitely home.
The parents are being kind, and I have been allowed the whole day to recover and, y'know, get all that stuff out of my car, and figure out where I'm living and so on. Tomorrow it's back to work for me. There's been a lot of mention of the money I borrowed from them to get by whilst in Canada; the term "indentured servant" has been used. Repeatedly. It's all legal when it's your flesh and blood.....
Nothing much has changed, except for the presence of plumbing, the new computer, the repainted and revamped house, the way my bedroom has been turned into a television-and-game center, the huge honkin' construction project right outside the door....
Dammit, you can't leave these people alone for a couple of months, can you?
At any rate, I am home. Sometimes it feels like I've never left and other times it feels like I'm not really here. I keep locking my car (silly child. This is Galax.) I am hitting the milk like a backsliding AA member. I am being reminded what it feels like to get 28.8 on the dialup connection, if I'm lucky.
Definitely home.
The parents are being kind, and I have been allowed the whole day to recover and, y'know, get all that stuff out of my car, and figure out where I'm living and so on. Tomorrow it's back to work for me. There's been a lot of mention of the money I borrowed from them to get by whilst in Canada; the term "indentured servant" has been used. Repeatedly. It's all legal when it's your flesh and blood.....
Tuesday, September 21
I've never actually thrown a party for myself before. It went well. Admittedly, I cooked enough food for a small army, and Dan and I are left staring dubiously into the depths of the fridge wondering how in the hell we're going to eat all this before we go, but there was much fun and conversation and jello and everyone seemed happy to be there and sorry to leave. There's little more that I could have asked.
I got taken out for dinner last night - I suppose it was a date, or at least, it had all the actual hallmarks of a date, which is I believe a first for Dan and I. It's typical of me that I live with a guy for three months and then we get around to the first date. It was a lovely date, though, with candles and chocolate, and afterwards I took him to an empty parking lot and tried to teach him to drive a stick shift, and we are both still alive and speaking to each other. Such are the hallmarks of a stable relationship.
And it's all rather bittersweet, considering that I'm leaving tomorrow.
And now I'm packing. Even under the best of circumstances I hate packing, although, consdiering the amount I've moved around in the last three years, I've gotten pretty darn good at it. The computer is about to go; most of the clothes and books are already gone; it's now down the the slow shark-circling around the house and stuffing miscellanious bits into the corners stage. Tomorrow we'll pack it all into my much-suffering car and go.
To everyone I met whilst I was up here: thank you. It's been a wonderful summer for me.
I will be back.
(And, yes, the car is also alive and speaking to us. Actually he did rather well dispite my passenger-side anxiety and door-grabbing, imaginary-brake-slamming behaviors. If he's very, very good I'll let him drive on the highway tomorrow.)
I got taken out for dinner last night - I suppose it was a date, or at least, it had all the actual hallmarks of a date, which is I believe a first for Dan and I. It's typical of me that I live with a guy for three months and then we get around to the first date. It was a lovely date, though, with candles and chocolate, and afterwards I took him to an empty parking lot and tried to teach him to drive a stick shift, and we are both still alive and speaking to each other. Such are the hallmarks of a stable relationship.
And it's all rather bittersweet, considering that I'm leaving tomorrow.
And now I'm packing. Even under the best of circumstances I hate packing, although, consdiering the amount I've moved around in the last three years, I've gotten pretty darn good at it. The computer is about to go; most of the clothes and books are already gone; it's now down the the slow shark-circling around the house and stuffing miscellanious bits into the corners stage. Tomorrow we'll pack it all into my much-suffering car and go.
To everyone I met whilst I was up here: thank you. It's been a wonderful summer for me.
I will be back.
(And, yes, the car is also alive and speaking to us. Actually he did rather well dispite my passenger-side anxiety and door-grabbing, imaginary-brake-slamming behaviors. If he's very, very good I'll let him drive on the highway tomorrow.)
Thursday, September 16
Nicked from A Violently Executed Blog:
You're Captain Jack Sparrow: smart, savvy, a demon with the eyeliner and the best damn pirate we've ever seen. And only a litte crazy. Savvy?
Nifty. Hey, didn't somebody promise to watch this movie with me again?
In other news, I'm madly preparing for a going-away party and, following, the actual going away. Yes, it's back to the States for me come next Wednesday, for the winter at least. Such is life.
You're Captain Jack Sparrow: smart, savvy, a demon with the eyeliner and the best damn pirate we've ever seen. And only a litte crazy. Savvy?
Which POTC character are you?
this quiz was made by alanna
Nifty. Hey, didn't somebody promise to watch this movie with me again?
In other news, I'm madly preparing for a going-away party and, following, the actual going away. Yes, it's back to the States for me come next Wednesday, for the winter at least. Such is life.
Friday, September 10
Thursday, September 09
Things wot I brought back from Worldcon:
1) Some books.
2) Lots of bits of paper.
3) Good memories.
4) A FUCKING COLD.
Going to go sulk in bed and sneeze now.
1) Some books.
2) Lots of bits of paper.
3) Good memories.
4) A FUCKING COLD.
Going to go sulk in bed and sneeze now.
Wednesday, September 08
Lack of posts until today can be blamed upon my replacement, for most of the last week, by ZOMBIE KAT. How do you get a ZOMBIE KAT? Simple: take Kat, and send her to WorldCon.
The majority of WorldCon, from my point of view, is a blur of panels, readings, meeting people, parties, meeting people, kaffeklatches, seemingly logical statements like "It's okay, we can sleep on the bus", and meeting people, in a continuing loop, briefly interrupted by things like meals and sleep in barely adequate quantities.
Good fun, in other words.
I am not even going to try and list all the people I met over the five days of con: suffice to say that when you have a boyfriend who appears to know half of fandom, and are surrounded by people who are naturally friendly anyway, and have a really cool tattoo (amusing moment of the con: being identified for audience questions as "You with the tattoos" by Simon R. Green), it doesn't matter much if you aren't naturally outgoing: you're going to be introduced to a lot of people, most of whom you will then be unable to remember important details about, like names and where the hell you know them from. Nor will I attempt to list the panels, because damn, there were a lot of them. I got to do kaffeklatch (organized small groups of people) with a surprising number of cool author types, like John Clute, Connie Willis, Sarah Zettel, Karl Schroeder, Cory Doctorow, and Josepha Sherman. Definition of a good boyfriend: one who, having stood patiently in line for the Connie Willis klatch for half an hour, and who then finds that there is only one slot left, signs you up instead of him. Damn, I love this boy.
I won't regale you all with the thousands of stories that the con produced, like the Saga of Dan's Misappropriated Sandals (aka Why Youth Hostels, While Mostly Good, Can Be Bad) or the Tale of the Lost Email, or, Half An Hour's Serious Panic Before Finding a Bed (many, many, many thanks to the friends who doubled up in a bed so that we wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench somewhere, we love you very very much). Neil Gaiman was very good as the Hugo toastmaster, and the lack of black leather jacket (apparently he was forbidden) made him look adorably geeky, especially when he smiled; and as for Terry Pratchett as Guest of Honor, well. The man can make his own open-heart surgery sound funny. Although, after seeing him at the end of Monday's signing, I have officially sworn off of autograph lines. The pretty writing doesn't mean that much to me.
I had a sip of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, but declined more: they'd used Scotch in. Bad Scotch, too.
But I'm home now, after a sixteen-hour bus ride which more or less finished off the last of my energy. I slept like the dead last night, and will probably spend the next two days picking up the scraps of my life, health, and immune system and patching them together until I'm a solid enough monster to lurch off to my scuba dive on Friday. I feel like crap, there's insane amounts of stuff to do, half of my life is still in bags strewn around the bedroom floor, and the milk went off while we were away.
But damn, was it worth it.
The majority of WorldCon, from my point of view, is a blur of panels, readings, meeting people, parties, meeting people, kaffeklatches, seemingly logical statements like "It's okay, we can sleep on the bus", and meeting people, in a continuing loop, briefly interrupted by things like meals and sleep in barely adequate quantities.
Good fun, in other words.
I am not even going to try and list all the people I met over the five days of con: suffice to say that when you have a boyfriend who appears to know half of fandom, and are surrounded by people who are naturally friendly anyway, and have a really cool tattoo (amusing moment of the con: being identified for audience questions as "You with the tattoos" by Simon R. Green), it doesn't matter much if you aren't naturally outgoing: you're going to be introduced to a lot of people, most of whom you will then be unable to remember important details about, like names and where the hell you know them from. Nor will I attempt to list the panels, because damn, there were a lot of them. I got to do kaffeklatch (organized small groups of people) with a surprising number of cool author types, like John Clute, Connie Willis, Sarah Zettel, Karl Schroeder, Cory Doctorow, and Josepha Sherman. Definition of a good boyfriend: one who, having stood patiently in line for the Connie Willis klatch for half an hour, and who then finds that there is only one slot left, signs you up instead of him. Damn, I love this boy.
I won't regale you all with the thousands of stories that the con produced, like the Saga of Dan's Misappropriated Sandals (aka Why Youth Hostels, While Mostly Good, Can Be Bad) or the Tale of the Lost Email, or, Half An Hour's Serious Panic Before Finding a Bed (many, many, many thanks to the friends who doubled up in a bed so that we wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench somewhere, we love you very very much). Neil Gaiman was very good as the Hugo toastmaster, and the lack of black leather jacket (apparently he was forbidden) made him look adorably geeky, especially when he smiled; and as for Terry Pratchett as Guest of Honor, well. The man can make his own open-heart surgery sound funny. Although, after seeing him at the end of Monday's signing, I have officially sworn off of autograph lines. The pretty writing doesn't mean that much to me.
I had a sip of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, but declined more: they'd used Scotch in. Bad Scotch, too.
But I'm home now, after a sixteen-hour bus ride which more or less finished off the last of my energy. I slept like the dead last night, and will probably spend the next two days picking up the scraps of my life, health, and immune system and patching them together until I'm a solid enough monster to lurch off to my scuba dive on Friday. I feel like crap, there's insane amounts of stuff to do, half of my life is still in bags strewn around the bedroom floor, and the milk went off while we were away.
But damn, was it worth it.
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