kat_feed
Tuesday, February 27
For those who aren't caught up -- largely because we, yanno, never got around to posting about it -- Dan and I are in DC right now on a working vacation, him to do tastings at some of the Whole Foods we're in up here, me to do an internship at the DC arm of Cowgirl Creamery.
This has been high on the vacation and low on the working so far. We drove up Sunday, in the lovely combo of snow and freezing rain that hit Virginia for most of that day. For six hours. The problem was not so much the precipitation -- all the highways were pretty darn clear -- as the lovely salt-mud slurry that passing vehicles constantly threw in your windshield. But we made it and, after a brief but impassioned argument about the directions which I think was some kind of marital obligation, arrived safe and sound at my uncle's house.
Then yesterday -- since Cowgirl isn't open on Mondays -- we did the tourist thing and went down to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. This was a blast. I spent a lot of time in the extinct beasties section and now have some fabulous ideas for alien races. It also gave me time to orient myself. I am now confident I can make it to Cowgirl on the bus system, seeing as Cowgirl was a block up from where we got off the bus and all. Also, our stop at somewhere called Cosi's for lunch, while fun and tasty, convinced me to make a second stop at Safeways on the way home and pick up some sandwich-makings, because if I have to eat out for lunch every day I'm here I'm gonna be soooo broke.
Dinners are not so much a problem, since my uncle (who, judging by the contents of his kitchen, regards home as that place one stops for sleep and snacks) insists on paying for us every night. I argue, but since he is a brain surgeon and I am broke and the restaurants are inevitably a hair or two out of my price range, I don't argue much.
Today, I work. Originally I was supposed to go at ten, when the shop opened, but when I called last night my temporary boss said "oh, I'm not coming in until noon -- why don't you wait until one." Damn, I could get used to this work schedule.
Finally, writing. I am trying hard to keep up with my writing. Unfortunately, this means working on a Windows machine and writing in GoogleDocs. After one day, I already want to bite someone. The Windows machine does not seem to understand my need to use the Dvorak layout and switches out of it whenever I open a new window or, you know, whenever it feels like it, and there doesn't seem to be a way to turn this off. And GoogleDocs! My god, it's almost as annoying as working in Word. What are all these stupid toolbars that I can't turn off? Why is my window so small? Will you please stop flickering the stupid timer icon at me with every letter I type?
Plus, no running wordcount, no easy way to reference my earlier chapters, no sidebar to write notes in. Damn, I miss Ulysses. You never realize how much you use all those features until they're gone.
But I am still writing, still alive, and in DC. And now I've actually told people so.
This has been high on the vacation and low on the working so far. We drove up Sunday, in the lovely combo of snow and freezing rain that hit Virginia for most of that day. For six hours. The problem was not so much the precipitation -- all the highways were pretty darn clear -- as the lovely salt-mud slurry that passing vehicles constantly threw in your windshield. But we made it and, after a brief but impassioned argument about the directions which I think was some kind of marital obligation, arrived safe and sound at my uncle's house.
Then yesterday -- since Cowgirl isn't open on Mondays -- we did the tourist thing and went down to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. This was a blast. I spent a lot of time in the extinct beasties section and now have some fabulous ideas for alien races. It also gave me time to orient myself. I am now confident I can make it to Cowgirl on the bus system, seeing as Cowgirl was a block up from where we got off the bus and all. Also, our stop at somewhere called Cosi's for lunch, while fun and tasty, convinced me to make a second stop at Safeways on the way home and pick up some sandwich-makings, because if I have to eat out for lunch every day I'm here I'm gonna be soooo broke.
Dinners are not so much a problem, since my uncle (who, judging by the contents of his kitchen, regards home as that place one stops for sleep and snacks) insists on paying for us every night. I argue, but since he is a brain surgeon and I am broke and the restaurants are inevitably a hair or two out of my price range, I don't argue much.
Today, I work. Originally I was supposed to go at ten, when the shop opened, but when I called last night my temporary boss said "oh, I'm not coming in until noon -- why don't you wait until one." Damn, I could get used to this work schedule.
Finally, writing. I am trying hard to keep up with my writing. Unfortunately, this means working on a Windows machine and writing in GoogleDocs. After one day, I already want to bite someone. The Windows machine does not seem to understand my need to use the Dvorak layout and switches out of it whenever I open a new window or, you know, whenever it feels like it, and there doesn't seem to be a way to turn this off. And GoogleDocs! My god, it's almost as annoying as working in Word. What are all these stupid toolbars that I can't turn off? Why is my window so small? Will you please stop flickering the stupid timer icon at me with every letter I type?
Plus, no running wordcount, no easy way to reference my earlier chapters, no sidebar to write notes in. Damn, I miss Ulysses. You never realize how much you use all those features until they're gone.
But I am still writing, still alive, and in DC. And now I've actually told people so.
Thursday, January 15
The three biggest lessons learned from my latest train journey:
1. There is one hell of a lot of Upstate New York. Obvious, I know, but I don't think the whole thing is really properly expressed on maps. It's only driving or riding across it that you finally realize, my God, there's a lot of this place. And not much in it. It was simply hour after hour after hour of riding across what looked suspiciously like snow-swept tundra, only with more trees in, with the occasional stop in places with names like Rensselaer and Syracuse and Schenectady, the last of which I thought was just a name Harlan Ellison made up. But mostly it was empty. Empty and big.
2. No train ever gets in on time. I took two trains, one from Toronto to New York City and one from NYC to Greensburo, NC, where my parents picked me up, and both were over two hours late. This meant I spent 17 hours on the first train (see? I told you there was a lot of upstate New York) and 14 on the second, for a grand total of 31 hours sitting on my ass wondering nervously if I dared buy something else from the cafe car. I'll say this for BritRail, they might not be any more timely than Amtrak, but at least they didn't actively try to poison me and then overcharge me ridiculously for the priviledge. Many many Walkman batteries gave their lives in preservation of my sanity.
3. New York is just like any other city, only bigger. Admittedly, I did not see much of New York, only those bits that lay between Penn Station and the hostel where I snuck my measily four and a half hours of sleep. And when I say any other city, I don't mean any in Canada or New Zealand, because it wasn't clean enough. And all the potential thieves, muggers, rapists, beggars, drug dealers, and crazies that I was warned to expect might well have been scared off by the sheer amount of luggage they would have had to peel off in order to rape, mug, or beg money from the actual human being underneath (I was carrying Clute's Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, which I will hold up to the old trustworthy Bible for a bullet-stopper any day, assuming you'd want to walk around with the thing strapped to your chest, or that you could without, you know, falling over)... but still. As usual, the hyperbole of danger has failed to manifest itself in reality. Someday I will go back and explore that city further, and hopefully with less luggage.
And, in a final point (oh, come on, you didn't think I was going to stick with that three thing, did you?): People who sing along to songs they are listening to on headphones should be shot. Especially on trains. Thank you.
But I am home, safe, sound, and relatively sane, back to my chore-ridden, central-heat-less, 28.8-modem-connection existance, returning to my house of limited indoor plumbing and, courtesy my brother's departure two weeks ago, no food or toilet paper.
On the bright side, my dog was happy to see me, and I have my Mac back. No offense to all the lovely computers that have lent themselves to me on my journey, of course, but to have a computer with decent graphics which isn't forcing me to use Microsoft Word is bliss, bliss, bliss.
Really it's only the loneliness I mind.
Well, I suppose I shall round off the post with some linkage. First off, Making Light has posted a really nifty review of anti-Bush advertisments online. I'd add my two cents, but, well, 28.8 connection. Bah humbug.
And I feel in an obscure way that I should link to this. We've been friends of the family for 16 years now, and I even knew the father (the artist described in the article) somewhat, although generally he was only ever in the house because it happened to be on the way to his studio, and he died when I was still quite young. Both boys, however, are longtime friends, and the artwork is... strange. Makes you look at the world sideways.
The RSS feed, by the way, would appear to be broken. Sigh. It's on the list, right after unpacking and getting rid of the moldy oranges in the fridge.
Right now, I need to do some shopping - because sooner or later, I'm going to need to eat. And use the bathroom.
1. There is one hell of a lot of Upstate New York. Obvious, I know, but I don't think the whole thing is really properly expressed on maps. It's only driving or riding across it that you finally realize, my God, there's a lot of this place. And not much in it. It was simply hour after hour after hour of riding across what looked suspiciously like snow-swept tundra, only with more trees in, with the occasional stop in places with names like Rensselaer and Syracuse and Schenectady, the last of which I thought was just a name Harlan Ellison made up. But mostly it was empty. Empty and big.
2. No train ever gets in on time. I took two trains, one from Toronto to New York City and one from NYC to Greensburo, NC, where my parents picked me up, and both were over two hours late. This meant I spent 17 hours on the first train (see? I told you there was a lot of upstate New York) and 14 on the second, for a grand total of 31 hours sitting on my ass wondering nervously if I dared buy something else from the cafe car. I'll say this for BritRail, they might not be any more timely than Amtrak, but at least they didn't actively try to poison me and then overcharge me ridiculously for the priviledge. Many many Walkman batteries gave their lives in preservation of my sanity.
3. New York is just like any other city, only bigger. Admittedly, I did not see much of New York, only those bits that lay between Penn Station and the hostel where I snuck my measily four and a half hours of sleep. And when I say any other city, I don't mean any in Canada or New Zealand, because it wasn't clean enough. And all the potential thieves, muggers, rapists, beggars, drug dealers, and crazies that I was warned to expect might well have been scared off by the sheer amount of luggage they would have had to peel off in order to rape, mug, or beg money from the actual human being underneath (I was carrying Clute's Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, which I will hold up to the old trustworthy Bible for a bullet-stopper any day, assuming you'd want to walk around with the thing strapped to your chest, or that you could without, you know, falling over)... but still. As usual, the hyperbole of danger has failed to manifest itself in reality. Someday I will go back and explore that city further, and hopefully with less luggage.
And, in a final point (oh, come on, you didn't think I was going to stick with that three thing, did you?): People who sing along to songs they are listening to on headphones should be shot. Especially on trains. Thank you.
But I am home, safe, sound, and relatively sane, back to my chore-ridden, central-heat-less, 28.8-modem-connection existance, returning to my house of limited indoor plumbing and, courtesy my brother's departure two weeks ago, no food or toilet paper.
On the bright side, my dog was happy to see me, and I have my Mac back. No offense to all the lovely computers that have lent themselves to me on my journey, of course, but to have a computer with decent graphics which isn't forcing me to use Microsoft Word is bliss, bliss, bliss.
Really it's only the loneliness I mind.
Well, I suppose I shall round off the post with some linkage. First off, Making Light has posted a really nifty review of anti-Bush advertisments online. I'd add my two cents, but, well, 28.8 connection. Bah humbug.
And I feel in an obscure way that I should link to this. We've been friends of the family for 16 years now, and I even knew the father (the artist described in the article) somewhat, although generally he was only ever in the house because it happened to be on the way to his studio, and he died when I was still quite young. Both boys, however, are longtime friends, and the artwork is... strange. Makes you look at the world sideways.
The RSS feed, by the way, would appear to be broken. Sigh. It's on the list, right after unpacking and getting rid of the moldy oranges in the fridge.
Right now, I need to do some shopping - because sooner or later, I'm going to need to eat. And use the bathroom.
Wednesday, January 07
Okay, so I'm in Canada, and there's it's FUCKING COLD.
This should probably not come as such an immense shock.
The country snuck up on me, that's what. Okay, so New Year's Eve was a bit chilly, but other than that it's been quite bearable, in the twenties and thirties, and I was thinking, "Hey, this Canada stuff, this isn't half bad." And then on Monday I woke up and there was, like, snow, but when I hiked to U of Waterloo to catch up with Dan it still wasn't half bad. There was a distinct bite to the air, but unbearable it was not. In fact, the walk was rather pleasant. Then we met people....
(I should add, at this point, that I am fairly antisocial in my quiet way and that, moreover, I live in the middle of nowhere. Dan appears to know every other human being in Waterloo. I'm starting to go into meeting-people overload, where the days and the faces and most of all the names meld into one big overstimulated blur. Not that I'm complaining. However, I'm not even going to try to list all of these people on this blog, nifty as they are, because I think that would make my brain implode....)
... so there were people. They were good people. There were couches. There was some yowling when we went back outside at five pm or whatever, because DEAR GOD had it gotten cold, and I started feeling put upon.
And then there was yesterday, when even Dan agreed that maybe it was time to travel via cab, it being -3F, not counting the windchill.
YOW.
Anyway, aside from that it was a good day, with entertainment for all, but with particular entertainment for those around me, considering that I used chopsticks for the first time and got somewhat drunk, although fortunately this happened at separate meals. I should add, at this point, that getting me drunk is not much of an accomplishment. In spite of my valiant attempts to develop an alcohol tolerance I still get tipsy if I have any more than one drink. This generally involves me talking a lot (though the last time I explained this to a friend he tried to take my wineglass away) and going into fits of giggling for no real reason. And talking a lot. Most of the night is quietly and pleasantly fuzzy, although I do remember Dan ordering the all-you-can-eat schnitzel and then eating a second helping - which pleased the waitress - and then a third helping - which made the waitress gape a bit - and then a fourth helping - by which point he'd apparently broken the record, and was causing the wait staff and the cook to giggle a lot, particularly when he dropped in on the kitchen to thank the cook. He was also trying to convince the waitress she needed to wear an anti-circumcision ribbon. I am not entirely sure why he did this. It wasn't like he was carrying anti-circumcision ribbons around or anything, he just seemed to think it was a nifty idea.
Left very large tip for waitress.
Today is slightly less toe-curlingly cold than yesterday, but I am still wondering what the hell I'm doing up here in the frozen north visiting a mad Russian with a bottomless stomach and way, way too many friends. On the other hand, he keeps buying me chocolate and ice cream. Maybe the weather's not so bad.
This should probably not come as such an immense shock.
The country snuck up on me, that's what. Okay, so New Year's Eve was a bit chilly, but other than that it's been quite bearable, in the twenties and thirties, and I was thinking, "Hey, this Canada stuff, this isn't half bad." And then on Monday I woke up and there was, like, snow, but when I hiked to U of Waterloo to catch up with Dan it still wasn't half bad. There was a distinct bite to the air, but unbearable it was not. In fact, the walk was rather pleasant. Then we met people....
(I should add, at this point, that I am fairly antisocial in my quiet way and that, moreover, I live in the middle of nowhere. Dan appears to know every other human being in Waterloo. I'm starting to go into meeting-people overload, where the days and the faces and most of all the names meld into one big overstimulated blur. Not that I'm complaining. However, I'm not even going to try to list all of these people on this blog, nifty as they are, because I think that would make my brain implode....)
... so there were people. They were good people. There were couches. There was some yowling when we went back outside at five pm or whatever, because DEAR GOD had it gotten cold, and I started feeling put upon.
And then there was yesterday, when even Dan agreed that maybe it was time to travel via cab, it being -3F, not counting the windchill.
YOW.
Anyway, aside from that it was a good day, with entertainment for all, but with particular entertainment for those around me, considering that I used chopsticks for the first time and got somewhat drunk, although fortunately this happened at separate meals. I should add, at this point, that getting me drunk is not much of an accomplishment. In spite of my valiant attempts to develop an alcohol tolerance I still get tipsy if I have any more than one drink. This generally involves me talking a lot (though the last time I explained this to a friend he tried to take my wineglass away) and going into fits of giggling for no real reason. And talking a lot. Most of the night is quietly and pleasantly fuzzy, although I do remember Dan ordering the all-you-can-eat schnitzel and then eating a second helping - which pleased the waitress - and then a third helping - which made the waitress gape a bit - and then a fourth helping - by which point he'd apparently broken the record, and was causing the wait staff and the cook to giggle a lot, particularly when he dropped in on the kitchen to thank the cook. He was also trying to convince the waitress she needed to wear an anti-circumcision ribbon. I am not entirely sure why he did this. It wasn't like he was carrying anti-circumcision ribbons around or anything, he just seemed to think it was a nifty idea.
Left very large tip for waitress.
Today is slightly less toe-curlingly cold than yesterday, but I am still wondering what the hell I'm doing up here in the frozen north visiting a mad Russian with a bottomless stomach and way, way too many friends. On the other hand, he keeps buying me chocolate and ice cream. Maybe the weather's not so bad.
Saturday, January 03
It feels that I should have news, but I don't, really. I'm on vacation. I've gone a few places and met some really cool people, but in general I'm just laying around, reading, laying around some more... hey, what can I say? It's nice to be lazy for a little while, and the company is excellent.
Oh, and an interesting little tidbit: the FBI's latest burst of paranoia has been drawing satiric commentary from all over the web; now, as A Violently Executed Blog points out, people have started leaving satiric comments on the
Farmer's Almanac's Amazon.com page. And they are very, very funny, with headers like "Don't forget to make suspicious markings in this book," and "6/2, plant lettuce; 6/3, bomb municipal courthouse." God, it's reassuring to see other people making fun of the government....
I've also been writing a bit, and have finally finished day two... the novel, in its current please-God-let-this-work incarnation, covers about eleven days. So I am something like a fifth of the way through now. That's nice. The second part of my article on artificial intelligence is up at Vision, which is pretty nice too. It's the first thing I've ever written that I recieved payment for. A grand total of eight dollars, admittedly, but I'm still obscurely proud of myself.
All and all it's an unusually promising start to the New Year. Cheers, all. I hope your New Years were equally promising.
Oh, and an interesting little tidbit: the FBI's latest burst of paranoia has been drawing satiric commentary from all over the web; now, as A Violently Executed Blog points out, people have started leaving satiric comments on the
Farmer's Almanac's Amazon.com page. And they are very, very funny, with headers like "Don't forget to make suspicious markings in this book," and "6/2, plant lettuce; 6/3, bomb municipal courthouse." God, it's reassuring to see other people making fun of the government....
I've also been writing a bit, and have finally finished day two... the novel, in its current please-God-let-this-work incarnation, covers about eleven days. So I am something like a fifth of the way through now. That's nice. The second part of my article on artificial intelligence is up at Vision, which is pretty nice too. It's the first thing I've ever written that I recieved payment for. A grand total of eight dollars, admittedly, but I'm still obscurely proud of myself.
All and all it's an unusually promising start to the New Year. Cheers, all. I hope your New Years were equally promising.
Sunday, December 28
Well, I'm on my way - off to Toronto for two weeks. I remembered what I forgot, too; it was my email database. If any of you have sent me mail and are wondering why I haven't answered, send me another message so I have your address. I will then fail to answer *two* messages, not because I don't have your address, but because I'm a dork, and you will be able to feel morally superior and stuff.
At the moment I'm in DC visiting my uncle and his girlfriend, who took me to a hockey game. They seemed to think this would give me a vital survival skill for Canada. The game was probably pretty cool, if you're a sports sort of person, which I'm not, but the interruptions were a right bitch. The penalties were bad enough - they played this godawful music at you, either snatches of songs or the "Washington Caps theme song", which was sort of a cross between "Take me Out to the Ball Game" and Queen's "We Will Rock You" (Yes. I know. I wanted to take whoever thought of this by the shoulders and shake them, too.) But they actually stopped the live game for the commercial breaks being played on the televised version. Excuse me, what? Gah!
And there were people and stuff. Crowds are not something I'm good at.
Today we shopped used bookstores, which was a lot more fun. Tomorrow I get up at around 2 am to catch a cab and catch my train at 3 am, and then I'll be travelling pretty much straight through until 10:30 pm. Good job I mostly got books for Christmas, eh?
At the moment I'm in DC visiting my uncle and his girlfriend, who took me to a hockey game. They seemed to think this would give me a vital survival skill for Canada. The game was probably pretty cool, if you're a sports sort of person, which I'm not, but the interruptions were a right bitch. The penalties were bad enough - they played this godawful music at you, either snatches of songs or the "Washington Caps theme song", which was sort of a cross between "Take me Out to the Ball Game" and Queen's "We Will Rock You" (Yes. I know. I wanted to take whoever thought of this by the shoulders and shake them, too.) But they actually stopped the live game for the commercial breaks being played on the televised version. Excuse me, what? Gah!
And there were people and stuff. Crowds are not something I'm good at.
Today we shopped used bookstores, which was a lot more fun. Tomorrow I get up at around 2 am to catch a cab and catch my train at 3 am, and then I'll be travelling pretty much straight through until 10:30 pm. Good job I mostly got books for Christmas, eh?
Monday, September 01
Well, my wallet is well and truly gone - something I discovered shortly after making the last post - and this has, in a pecular way, given me faith in humanity. Yes, somebody has presumably made off with my wallet and all the money in it. But everyone I dealt with about it - the lost and found, security, the dealers upstairs, random fans - has gone out of their way to be helpful and kind to me. I was fed for two days on someone else's kindness (and you *are* getting paid back for that, dammit, whether you want it or not). It pretty much backs up my feeling that people are, deep down, generally nice. As another example, just before the wallet was lost, I was trying to buy a Pratchett book from the signing and came up about $5 short.
"I'll just run to the ATM," I said, but he was already shaking his head vigorously.
"No no no, you want to get in the line before it gets any worse. Tell you what. You take this, go ahead and get it signed, and *then* you go on to the ATM, and you can come back and give me the rest later."
See?
In other news, airports are unspeakable pits of hell which shower you with strange slips of paper and then do their absolute best to make sure you loose them. I was run through a gauntlet of forms and scanners and security people and those silly rope mazes, finally made it to the gate, tried to call my mother only to discover that a simple call of one minute to the States would cost me $4.15. After a bit of rooting I got this together, but - and this was the catch - only if I counted my $2 coins. The machine did not take $2 coins. I was debating going around and testing my Human Kindness Theory again when I was paged by the airline people. Apparently the plane I was supposed to catch from Newark had been eaten or something - at any rate I was not going to be able to make my connection - and instead they wanted to hustle me onto a direct flight that left in 10 minutes. There was a great deal of panic and trouble but in the end I made it, and on the bright side I actually made it back to Charlotte 3 hours earlier than I would have. Incidentally, the flight I took *to* Toronto was supposed to be a direct flight, but for some reason I ended up changing planes in Newark. This flight was supposed to have had one change but ended up being a direct. Airport Logic, Airport Justice.
More begging and a promisory note required to get my car out of hock at the remote parking lot, since I could not pay the parking fee (see "I lost my wallet", above.) I also discovered, rather belatedly, that when the cat had jumped through the window my brother left down the night before I left and coated my car seat with cat hair, she had also deposited a dead rabbit on the floor behind the driver's seat. At least, I assume that's what happened. I cannot for the life of me imagine how else a dead rabbit got in the back of my car. After 5 days in a baking hot parking lot it was rather ripe, not to mention crawling with maggots and other little miracles of nature. I managed to scrape the worst of it out but was still obliged to make the 2 1/2 hour drive home with all the windows rolled down and my head out the window. Tomorrow I get to figure out whether eu de maggot-ridden rabbit can be gotten out of car carpet. Lovely.
Hmm. Looking back over the roller coaster of the past few days, I can only conclude that I have been unlucky enough to draw the attention of a God. A really bored God. One with the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old ("Here, let's poke it with a stick and see what happens.")
"I'll just run to the ATM," I said, but he was already shaking his head vigorously.
"No no no, you want to get in the line before it gets any worse. Tell you what. You take this, go ahead and get it signed, and *then* you go on to the ATM, and you can come back and give me the rest later."
See?
In other news, airports are unspeakable pits of hell which shower you with strange slips of paper and then do their absolute best to make sure you loose them. I was run through a gauntlet of forms and scanners and security people and those silly rope mazes, finally made it to the gate, tried to call my mother only to discover that a simple call of one minute to the States would cost me $4.15. After a bit of rooting I got this together, but - and this was the catch - only if I counted my $2 coins. The machine did not take $2 coins. I was debating going around and testing my Human Kindness Theory again when I was paged by the airline people. Apparently the plane I was supposed to catch from Newark had been eaten or something - at any rate I was not going to be able to make my connection - and instead they wanted to hustle me onto a direct flight that left in 10 minutes. There was a great deal of panic and trouble but in the end I made it, and on the bright side I actually made it back to Charlotte 3 hours earlier than I would have. Incidentally, the flight I took *to* Toronto was supposed to be a direct flight, but for some reason I ended up changing planes in Newark. This flight was supposed to have had one change but ended up being a direct. Airport Logic, Airport Justice.
More begging and a promisory note required to get my car out of hock at the remote parking lot, since I could not pay the parking fee (see "I lost my wallet", above.) I also discovered, rather belatedly, that when the cat had jumped through the window my brother left down the night before I left and coated my car seat with cat hair, she had also deposited a dead rabbit on the floor behind the driver's seat. At least, I assume that's what happened. I cannot for the life of me imagine how else a dead rabbit got in the back of my car. After 5 days in a baking hot parking lot it was rather ripe, not to mention crawling with maggots and other little miracles of nature. I managed to scrape the worst of it out but was still obliged to make the 2 1/2 hour drive home with all the windows rolled down and my head out the window. Tomorrow I get to figure out whether eu de maggot-ridden rabbit can be gotten out of car carpet. Lovely.
Hmm. Looking back over the roller coaster of the past few days, I can only conclude that I have been unlucky enough to draw the attention of a God. A really bored God. One with the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old ("Here, let's poke it with a stick and see what happens.")
Saturday, August 30
The two most-heard comments at WorldCon:
a) "Cool tattoo."
b) "Is that your real name?"
It's good to have both a tat and a nametag that give people an easy way to start a conversation with me, since in general I'm too shy to start one with them.
WorldCon is in general great - everyone is insanely friendly, several people have kind of adopted me and taken it on themselves to show me around, most notably my roomate, and everyone talks about sf all the time. This is great. The panels are fab (even if only half the people show up for the ones they're supposed to be talking at about half the time) the people are great, the parties are great, it's generally an amazing amount of fun.
But I'm hungry all the time. I wonder what I'm forgetting to do?
Got two books signed by Terry Pratchett, which I probably would not have done, since the line was absoultely insane, except that I wanted a gift for a friend. When I got to the head of the line I said, "could you sign that to Dixie?" He started to glance at my nametag so I said, "No, not me, it's for a friend. Actually, DIxie's a man."
He signed it and then gave me this long, thoughtful look, and said, "That man can either fight well or run well."
I laughed and babbled something (I don't do well with meeting famous people) and handed him the next book.
"For Dixie as well?"
"No, this one's for me," he looked at the nametag again, "Kat."
"Ah. Kat Feete." He gave me another one of those thoughtful looks and said, "You must have a very interesting hometown."
I laughed again and babbled some more and gathered up my books while he talked to me a bit more. And this after a full hour of signing books. I would like to say, for the record, that Terry Pratchett is an *inhumanly* nice person.
a) "Cool tattoo."
b) "Is that your real name?"
It's good to have both a tat and a nametag that give people an easy way to start a conversation with me, since in general I'm too shy to start one with them.
WorldCon is in general great - everyone is insanely friendly, several people have kind of adopted me and taken it on themselves to show me around, most notably my roomate, and everyone talks about sf all the time. This is great. The panels are fab (even if only half the people show up for the ones they're supposed to be talking at about half the time) the people are great, the parties are great, it's generally an amazing amount of fun.
But I'm hungry all the time. I wonder what I'm forgetting to do?
Got two books signed by Terry Pratchett, which I probably would not have done, since the line was absoultely insane, except that I wanted a gift for a friend. When I got to the head of the line I said, "could you sign that to Dixie?" He started to glance at my nametag so I said, "No, not me, it's for a friend. Actually, DIxie's a man."
He signed it and then gave me this long, thoughtful look, and said, "That man can either fight well or run well."
I laughed and babbled something (I don't do well with meeting famous people) and handed him the next book.
"For Dixie as well?"
"No, this one's for me," he looked at the nametag again, "Kat."
"Ah. Kat Feete." He gave me another one of those thoughtful looks and said, "You must have a very interesting hometown."
I laughed again and babbled some more and gathered up my books while he talked to me a bit more. And this after a full hour of signing books. I would like to say, for the record, that Terry Pratchett is an *inhumanly* nice person.
Sunday, July 07
I encountered a little bit of America yesterday when I went shopping. My cold (I brought the damn cold home from Britain- now Mom thinks she's getting it) had deteriorated to a nasty, racking cough, and I was looking for something that would help without bringing tears to my eyes or tasting of medicine. Mom had found some cough syrup in the back of the cabinet- cherry flavoured. You remember cherry flavoured? The stuff that tastes nothing like cherries? I hadn't forgotten how it tasted, as it turned out, and Mom *still* says 'Oh, what a face!'
Anyway, I hit on the idea of eating peppermint candies, and picked up a bag of Lifesavers because I vaguely remembed that they were neither too strong nor too sweet. And they worked pretty well. The true horror only came when I opened the bag.
Each Lifesaver was *individually wrapped.*
I don't get it. I mean, I really, *really* don't understand what marketing gimmick, packaging craze, or simple dose of common sense could have come up with the idea that I wanted to work my way through a layer of cellophane (which is not easy to open, by the way) to get to every. Single. Bloody. Lifesaver. Not to mention the sheer *waste* involved- all this plastic. It's an appalling amount of packaging in a country that's in serious landfill trouble, and for what? So I can wrestle with tiny packages around my Lifesavers? For this we're ruining the environment?
Individually wrapped Lifesavers. I must be home.
I'm still going through a pretty weird stage. Last time wasn't so bad, because we were very busy then, and so I kinda got chucked into the deep end with a shovel and had to work my way out. (I am, I would have you recall, a farmer. When I visualize a 'deep end' I'm *not* thinking of the local swimming pool). I didn't have time to think, and by the time I did, I was re-adjusted anyway. There's a lot to be said for this state of affairs.
Now, however, we're not near so busy, and I *do* have time to think, and it's all kind of... depressing is the wrong word. Overwhelming, perhaps. I seem to have grown up when I wasn't looking. I don't like fireworks or zoos or fairs half so much as I used to. I have my own car, my own credit card; I have had my own job; my long-delayed final semester of school is coming up; I'm seriously thinking about what kind of job I'm going to end up in, not because I have to, but because I'm actually looking forward to the idea of settling down a bit. A solid income would be pretty cool, too. It's, I don't know, *weird*.
I wish I had more work and could stop thinking about this sort of thing.
Anyway, I hit on the idea of eating peppermint candies, and picked up a bag of Lifesavers because I vaguely remembed that they were neither too strong nor too sweet. And they worked pretty well. The true horror only came when I opened the bag.
Each Lifesaver was *individually wrapped.*
I don't get it. I mean, I really, *really* don't understand what marketing gimmick, packaging craze, or simple dose of common sense could have come up with the idea that I wanted to work my way through a layer of cellophane (which is not easy to open, by the way) to get to every. Single. Bloody. Lifesaver. Not to mention the sheer *waste* involved- all this plastic. It's an appalling amount of packaging in a country that's in serious landfill trouble, and for what? So I can wrestle with tiny packages around my Lifesavers? For this we're ruining the environment?
Individually wrapped Lifesavers. I must be home.
I'm still going through a pretty weird stage. Last time wasn't so bad, because we were very busy then, and so I kinda got chucked into the deep end with a shovel and had to work my way out. (I am, I would have you recall, a farmer. When I visualize a 'deep end' I'm *not* thinking of the local swimming pool). I didn't have time to think, and by the time I did, I was re-adjusted anyway. There's a lot to be said for this state of affairs.
Now, however, we're not near so busy, and I *do* have time to think, and it's all kind of... depressing is the wrong word. Overwhelming, perhaps. I seem to have grown up when I wasn't looking. I don't like fireworks or zoos or fairs half so much as I used to. I have my own car, my own credit card; I have had my own job; my long-delayed final semester of school is coming up; I'm seriously thinking about what kind of job I'm going to end up in, not because I have to, but because I'm actually looking forward to the idea of settling down a bit. A solid income would be pretty cool, too. It's, I don't know, *weird*.
I wish I had more work and could stop thinking about this sort of thing.
Monday, July 01
Erg. I think my Ozzie friend gave me his cold. Ah well- it could easily be just the stress. Got woken up late on Saturday night- actually it was more like early Sunday morning- by some drunk guy coming in and pissing in the wastebasket. He then crawled into bed above me, which would have been just fine, except it wasn't his bed and there was already somebody else in it.
'Okay,' said the guy above me, 'this is seriously not cool. You're gonna have to leave, man. This isn't your bed.'
'Wha?'
'This isn't your bed.'
'Is my bed. I sleep here.'
'No, man, it's not your bed. I've been sleeping here all night. You're in the wrong room.'
'I sleep.'
'No, don't go to sleep, you've got to leave. This is my bed.'
'Fight you for it.'
'What?'
Indistinct, sleepy, drunk muttering. After about five minutes of this, the rightful bed owner said, 'okay, guys (everyone was thoroughly awake) help me out here. What do I do?'
'Go to reception and get the night guard,' I said. 'This isn't your problem. Make them deal with it.'
He did, and the large, tattooed, Irish guy manning the night desk came up. 'Okay, you, this isn't your bed; get up.'
More sleepy muttering, but the night guard wasn't having any of that; he slapped the drunk awake. 'What room are you supposed to be in?'
'Denmark.'
'I don't give a shit where you're from! What room are you supposed to be in?' The drunk tried to go back to sleep, and got slapped again, and this kept up until he was finally persuaded to get up and leave. He attempted to apologize to us, which, by that point, was pretty much a waste of time, and finally *left*.
'Why *me*?' said the bed's rightful owner to me the next morning.
'Just be glad it wasn't me,' I said. 'If some drunk guy had crawled into my bed the entire hostel'd have been awake.'
In spite of all this, I did manage to get myself and my luggage out of the hostel and to the ferry terminal more-or-less on time in the morning, with the help of my Ozzie friend. Mind you, I was the last one on the ferry and too late to check my luggage, but I did make it. The ferry was huge. I've never seen anything like it- it wasn't like being on a ferry at all, more like being in a hotel or something. Quite incredible. Then on to the train nightmare- it is just not worth *trying* to travel on a Sunday in this country; they always screw up. The journey took about an hour and a half longer than it was supposed to and we had to do the last leg via bus because of late trains. It was okay, though. I met a very nice Canadian lady both at the train station off the ferry and again on the bus and had fun talking to her. She's been in Britain for the last eleven years, working for the college in Oxford. We had some great conversations and she directed me to the Oxford youth hostel, the best bookstore in town (which now has entirely too much of my money- but it was four floors! Four floors of *books*! How could I resist?), and a pub called the Eagle and Child which Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and others used to drink in. I was too tired to hit the pub last night, and my plan to get lunch there has been rather cramped by the fact that I feel a bit ill today, but I did walk by it. It looked cool.
Hard to believe I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's so much I didn't get around to doing... so much I'll miss here. Pubs, for example. And pedestrian districts. And these lovely cool old buildings. I've barely skimmed the surface of Oxford, which looks cool. I'll have to get used to my money all being the same color again, and not having one- and two- pound/dollar/Euro coins. I'll have to get used to hearing the American accent everywhere, and people not talking to each other on public transport, and not having public transport. I'll see my family again....
My bro has seriously screwed up- twelve-hour layover in LA, and then missed his plane, still wasn't home when I talked to Mom yesterday. It's making her paranoid. Under the circumstances, telling her about the hitchhiking incident back in Killarney probably wasn't bright. But I'll make it home fine, Mom, I promise. Very soon. How *strange*.
And, incidentally, it's Canada Day. Isn't that something?
'Okay,' said the guy above me, 'this is seriously not cool. You're gonna have to leave, man. This isn't your bed.'
'Wha?'
'This isn't your bed.'
'Is my bed. I sleep here.'
'No, man, it's not your bed. I've been sleeping here all night. You're in the wrong room.'
'I sleep.'
'No, don't go to sleep, you've got to leave. This is my bed.'
'Fight you for it.'
'What?'
Indistinct, sleepy, drunk muttering. After about five minutes of this, the rightful bed owner said, 'okay, guys (everyone was thoroughly awake) help me out here. What do I do?'
'Go to reception and get the night guard,' I said. 'This isn't your problem. Make them deal with it.'
He did, and the large, tattooed, Irish guy manning the night desk came up. 'Okay, you, this isn't your bed; get up.'
More sleepy muttering, but the night guard wasn't having any of that; he slapped the drunk awake. 'What room are you supposed to be in?'
'Denmark.'
'I don't give a shit where you're from! What room are you supposed to be in?' The drunk tried to go back to sleep, and got slapped again, and this kept up until he was finally persuaded to get up and leave. He attempted to apologize to us, which, by that point, was pretty much a waste of time, and finally *left*.
'Why *me*?' said the bed's rightful owner to me the next morning.
'Just be glad it wasn't me,' I said. 'If some drunk guy had crawled into my bed the entire hostel'd have been awake.'
In spite of all this, I did manage to get myself and my luggage out of the hostel and to the ferry terminal more-or-less on time in the morning, with the help of my Ozzie friend. Mind you, I was the last one on the ferry and too late to check my luggage, but I did make it. The ferry was huge. I've never seen anything like it- it wasn't like being on a ferry at all, more like being in a hotel or something. Quite incredible. Then on to the train nightmare- it is just not worth *trying* to travel on a Sunday in this country; they always screw up. The journey took about an hour and a half longer than it was supposed to and we had to do the last leg via bus because of late trains. It was okay, though. I met a very nice Canadian lady both at the train station off the ferry and again on the bus and had fun talking to her. She's been in Britain for the last eleven years, working for the college in Oxford. We had some great conversations and she directed me to the Oxford youth hostel, the best bookstore in town (which now has entirely too much of my money- but it was four floors! Four floors of *books*! How could I resist?), and a pub called the Eagle and Child which Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and others used to drink in. I was too tired to hit the pub last night, and my plan to get lunch there has been rather cramped by the fact that I feel a bit ill today, but I did walk by it. It looked cool.
Hard to believe I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's so much I didn't get around to doing... so much I'll miss here. Pubs, for example. And pedestrian districts. And these lovely cool old buildings. I've barely skimmed the surface of Oxford, which looks cool. I'll have to get used to my money all being the same color again, and not having one- and two- pound/dollar/Euro coins. I'll have to get used to hearing the American accent everywhere, and people not talking to each other on public transport, and not having public transport. I'll see my family again....
My bro has seriously screwed up- twelve-hour layover in LA, and then missed his plane, still wasn't home when I talked to Mom yesterday. It's making her paranoid. Under the circumstances, telling her about the hitchhiking incident back in Killarney probably wasn't bright. But I'll make it home fine, Mom, I promise. Very soon. How *strange*.
And, incidentally, it's Canada Day. Isn't that something?
Saturday, June 29
Ended up going out on the piss last night- that's the cool thing about hostels, there's always someone wanting to go out, and even if you're just vegging out in the tv room waiting for your brain to implode you can manage to get invited out. Ended up being a really big group. We hit two pubs, I ended up geting stuck with a half-full pint just as we were leaving both of them, and this probably had a lot to do with my staggering home at two am discussing the philosophical similarities between Neitze and Ayn Rand and the personal/economic/social ramifications of the practical application of aforesaid with a very nice Ozzie, and having serious difficulties with curbs, too. I made it home though. It was all cool.
The Ozzie turned out to be one of my roomates and I decided, after waking up, that I'd be staying another day. I still retain my spectacular luck with hangovers, the lack thereof, but I was really not feeling up to crawling onto a ferry, riding three hours, and taking a six-hour train. I'll go tomorrow. So he and I explored Dublin for most of the morning. It's a really cool town and not just because it's covered in pubs. We went all up and down the canal, found the local phallic monument and took pictures of it, drifted our way through a museum (student prices rock, and she didn't even ask to see ID), had lunch on him because I kept forgetting to stop at the ATM (I've paid him back now though), and discussed more philosophy, September 11th, the Internet, post-modernism... other stuff. I forget. Some of this was also, I have the nervous feeling, discussed in the pub last night, but that's okay. We had fun. I'd forgotten how cool it was to explore *with* someone.
On the way back to the hostel we stumbled across a gay pride parade, which was a hoot. Drag queens dancing to eighties music on floats. They looked like they were having fun, and we thought it was great, so everybody was happy. Took pictures. The front float was a great, well, I'll-let-you-guess-shaped balloony thing with 'Put On The Rubber!' written on it. Down the main street of Dublin, Ireland, no less. Good craic.
No idea what I'll do tonight. Hopefully nothing too energetic as I really, really must leave tomorrow... but who knows. And now, to watch crummy daytime tv and discuss commercialism in America.
The Ozzie turned out to be one of my roomates and I decided, after waking up, that I'd be staying another day. I still retain my spectacular luck with hangovers, the lack thereof, but I was really not feeling up to crawling onto a ferry, riding three hours, and taking a six-hour train. I'll go tomorrow. So he and I explored Dublin for most of the morning. It's a really cool town and not just because it's covered in pubs. We went all up and down the canal, found the local phallic monument and took pictures of it, drifted our way through a museum (student prices rock, and she didn't even ask to see ID), had lunch on him because I kept forgetting to stop at the ATM (I've paid him back now though), and discussed more philosophy, September 11th, the Internet, post-modernism... other stuff. I forget. Some of this was also, I have the nervous feeling, discussed in the pub last night, but that's okay. We had fun. I'd forgotten how cool it was to explore *with* someone.
On the way back to the hostel we stumbled across a gay pride parade, which was a hoot. Drag queens dancing to eighties music on floats. They looked like they were having fun, and we thought it was great, so everybody was happy. Took pictures. The front float was a great, well, I'll-let-you-guess-shaped balloony thing with 'Put On The Rubber!' written on it. Down the main street of Dublin, Ireland, no less. Good craic.
No idea what I'll do tonight. Hopefully nothing too energetic as I really, really must leave tomorrow... but who knows. And now, to watch crummy daytime tv and discuss commercialism in America.
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