Yesterday was The Max’s first Little Kicker’s football class. He’s been excited about this all week. He had such a good time in class that he literally started bawling when it was over and it was time to leave. He didn’t want to have to go. And today, he’s ready to go again, but class isn’t until next Thursday.
The boy loves his sports.
It was a joy to watch him in class; running, laughing…so excited that he had to run and jump the whole time rather than walk. It makes me wonder whether it would be better to get a part time nanny for him (more or less like we did before) or put him in a morning nursery school so he could interact more with other kids. We’ll hopefully be meeting more kids around the neighborhood, but it’s not like our old neighborhood in Prairie Crossing where there were kids everywhere and they could just steal him away for hours on end.
The one thing that The Max most decidedly does NOT love about London, however, are the cheese shops. I think even if you combined a football and cheese shop, he’d still hate it. We’ve gone into a few cheese shops (since Daddy and I DO love cheese) and as soon as we go in, The Max takes a sniff and says This place is oogy. We need to go now! Let’s get out of here! It’s bad!
I have no idea how we’re going to buy cheese unless we take turns and one of us waits outside the shop with The Max. They are rather pungent, in a blue-cheesey sort of way. An acquired taste, I suppose.
At any rate, we also went out to dinner last night at La Sophia, a local French Mediterranean restaurant on Golborne Road. It was a really pleasant surprise and we’ll definitely be back. Daytime Golborne is much more bustling than nighttime Golborne and I’d been telling Tony he had to check out the street…then we were walking down it last night and not much was open. Oops, sorry, honey.
I was beginning to wonder if we were going to have to try an entirely different street when we came across three restaurants in a row. All of them looked completely empty, which is generally not a good sign. One was Palestinian, one was La Sophia, and the other was Indian. Tony had curry for lunch, so that scratched the Indian place. We decided to go for the French one. We were the only people there for a while, but once it got around 8 PM, the tables suddenly began to fill up. Perhaps it’s just that we’re early eaters? After all, we’ve got to get The Max to bed at a reasonable hour.
Of course, we may be the only people that actually takes their toddler out to eat in London. Though at La Sophia, kids actually eat free, which was a pleasant surprise (The Max, for the record, had plain butter penne noodles and triple cooked chips).
The food was quite good and the ambiance was, to use a British term, brilliant. Very lovely, good lighting, all around a pleasant atmosphere. Smallish dining room up top, but Tony said there was more dining room down below. A lot of places here are like that. You can’t tell by the size of the ground floor dining how big a place *really* is.
I warned you, but you didn't listen.
I ordered the rabbit, which earned me the standard talk I get from every waiter when I order rabbit: Are you sure? Have you had rabbit before? I must not look like the type of person who would gobble up a fluffy little bunny. It happens every time and I almost always order the rabbit if I see it on a menu. This one was really yum (and de-boned, making it easier to eat than normal rabbit dishes tend to be). The only rabbit I’ve had better was in Italy outside of Florence.
For those of you who can’t imagine eating up a fluffy little bunny…I will tell you this — if you didn’t already know it from Monty Python and The Holy Grail, rabbits are really quite evil. Really. Don’t feel guilty. My parents briefly had a rabbit farm in Arkansas when I was little (no, I am not making this up…though I rather wish I were). Bunnies eat their own young. A lot of them have really nasty temperaments.
So, I was thinking last night about that dress that I found at that cool shop that upcycles (From Somewhere) and London-ish-ness in general. There’s nothing like moving to a large city to make you feel unfashionable and stodgy, especially when half of your clothes are packed away in storage somewhere. Sure, we lived near Chicago before, but the operative word is “near”…the Chicago suburbs aren’t the same thing as being in Chicago. That was one of the reasons why we rather wanted to move…we lived in a wonderfully idyllic neighborhood surrounded by…not much, really.
Since I’ve been in London, I’ve felt really, um…not up to snuff. Not to mention that the equation of moving stress + eating out loads and loads (mostly not being able to cook for various reasons, such as not having access to a kitchen…or not much of one) for nearly 4 months + a month of staying with my mom, who loves to feed people + getting through the holidays = quite a few extra pounds packed on. I think I’ve gained back nearly all the weight I’d lost last year. Maybe not quite all, but a lot more of it than I’d ever wanted to see again. It’s hovering…er, quivering, really…around my mid-region, deciding whether or not it wants to take up permanent residence or not. I think I have managed to lose a few of those persistent pounds through recent walking and the fact that we are cooking again and I’ll be working on the rest this year. Anyway. Let’s just say that if one were to compare me right now to a cartoon character, curve-wise, I’m much more Jessica Rabbit than Olive Oyl.
Which brings me around to why I was thinking about that dress (ha, look how I did that!). The shop girl was one of those incredibly thin Asian girls (like in Shanghai, another place I felt very frumpy, even though we went while I was waning rather than waxing) who can most properly be compared to a toothpick, but a toothpick with great style and panache. I was trying on various dresses and finding lots of them to be rather more revealing of my lumps and bumps than I really wanted the world to see. “But,” she said after I mentioned I was feeling rather large, “you’ve got curves! You’ve got a lovely tiny waist.” And some other things to that effect (though, cynic-me thinks “ha, she’s quite the sales lady then, isn’t she?”) while gesturing to herself and her toothpick-ness.
Me, circa high school
When I was in high school, I was a toothpick with (small) curves. I weighed 85 lbs (keep in mind my height, or lack thereof to put that in perspective).
And I thought I was fat. Felt like a blimp. A whale. Didn’t believe anyone when they told me how pretty I looked or anything complimentary at all. Was probably borderline anorexic at times.
I try to be healthier than that now. I don’t starve myself (heavens, the hips are testimony to that). And I try to be smart about it and tell myself that, yes, self, you are heavier than you should be right now, but you’re not a bucket of lard, so stop all the inner moaning, would you? You’re being healthy now, after a stint of not-so-healthy, so suck it up. You’re just fine, alright?
Anyway, not that I really had a point with all of this. Just that, perhaps, you should try to enjoy who you are RIGHT NOW. Take pictures. Be in the moment. Over the years, sometimes you’ll be heavier, sometimes you’ll be thinner, sometimes you’ll have zits, sometimes your skin will rival that of a porcelain goddess…things change. They always do. So buy that dress or those skinny or not-so-skinny jeans. Be spontaneous. Dance when no one is looking, but dance when they are too. Be silly. Be beautiful.
So, The Max and I went out exploring today. We’ve pretty much covered Portobello Road from where we live down to Notting Hill Gate (it’s so close that it’s just lovely — you can get almost anything there). Today we went along Golborne Road and over to Meanwhile Gardens, a nice little park / community garden alongside a canal. There’s even a drop in Play Hut for kids, but sadly, it isn’t open until 2 PM, which we didn’t know until we got there. Still, we enjoyed tramping around the gardens, feeding some handy ducks and geese, and generally exploring. Max especially loves stomping over bridges.
There were a number of great shops and restaurants along the way too. I’m going to start keeping track of stuff I find here so I can remember it (it might be a bit tedious for readers, but hey, it’s my blog and it’s for me too!)
London Street Art circa our 2006 trip
We stopped first at Graffik at 284 Portobello Road because there were some crazy ugly slightly evil looking little robot-y things in the window that Max wanted to get a closer look at (and I’ll take any excuse I can to get him into a shop since a lot of the time he doesn’t want to have anything to do with them). Very cool art and t-shirts. I wound up buying 4 coasters, mostly with Banksy art on them. If you hadn’t heard of him before, Banksy is a British street artist. On one of our earlier trips to London, before I had ever heard of him, I had actually taken some pictures of his street art. Cool stuff. Or, at least, I *think* it’s one of his or at least influenced by him or whatever.
Anyway, I thought it was cool. The shop was cool too and now I have four cool coasters. So there.
Can I use “cool” in a sentence one more time? Let’s see…
We also found an excellent fishmonger, which is good since the next closest one is down by Notting Hill Gate station and is a bit far away. But Goldborne Fisheries (why they add a “d” in their name when they’re on Golborne Rd is beyond me) is really just around the corner from us and totally awesome. They had everything. Even The Max was fascinated by the octopus and squid and whatnot. So now we know where we’re getting our fish from.
And lastly (okay, see, I lied, I’m not going to go into every single shop that we stopped at…just the ones that really strike my fancy), I found a shop called From Somewhere which I am now officially in love with. They upcycle. Meaning they take discards from the fashion industry and then turn them into really cool (look, I used it again) clothes. I found a dress that I want to get (oh heck, I found tons of stuff I’d love to get if my body cooperated…eh, not to mention my pocketbook). The people were lovely too and even The Max didn’t want to leave. Which was strange. Women’s clothing shops not generally being his favorite. I didn’t have enough cash on me and they couldn’t take our visa (we have a “swipe” card which is US-style, not the chip embedded ones they use here), so we’ll have to go back tomorrow or Thursday to get it. Sigh.
We also stopped by the Kensal Green branch of the library. It was small, but nice. I got a couple of DVDs for The Max and one for me (Scott Pilgrim, which I’ve been wanting to see for some time) and a book for me — The Bride’s Farewell by Meg Rosoff. I wasn’t planning on getting a book, but I picked it up and read a few pages and then…well, you know the drill. Had to get it then. I’ve read Meg Rosoff before and she’s got a lovely way of hooking you in and dragging you along for the ride. Will let you know how it is. I also need to stop by a bookshop soon and get Kaz Mahoney’s The Iron Witch (she lives over on this side of the pond).
One of the great things about the new flat is that it has tons of bookshelves which, right now, are tragically empty. All of my books are in Chicago. *sob*
Hopefully I’ll be able to take pictures soon as our camera has been officially repaired (got the email yesterday from Samsung). Of course, now it has to be mailed to my sister’s house and then she has to mail it to me, so it will still be a while.
Oh, and did I mention I talked to Larry, my agent, today? He’s got my Cat Girl book out on submission. Hopefully there will be news on that soon. Fingers crossed!
There’s been a lot of talk lately on the general suckiness that is book piracy and the dark cloud traditional publishing is under. BUT ANYWAY…how about something more positive? You want to know how YOU can help your favorite author?
You do?
Glorious!
Here’s the most obvious one: buy their books. If you can afford to, buy them in hardback form, but really any sale will help (it’s not so much the extra money from the hardcover that helps more, though I won’t deny it, it’s the fact that often hardcovers come first and a book won’t necessarily make it to paperback if there aren’t enough hardcover sales, among other related tidbits like that).
As a follow up to that, don’t steal books. Every book you steal HURTS your fav author and this post is about how to HELP them. Because you want more books, don’t you? I know I do. I love books. I write ‘em, but I also read them. And buy them. A lot of people say they only download illegal copies of books to check them out, similar to how they might browse in a bookstore. Well, okay, fine then. IF you download a book illegally, do your perusal and if you like it enough to read it, then go buy it. That’s fair, isn’t it? Anywho, onward…
Wait, you say. I can’t afford to buy a book! I can’t even afford a stick of gum! That’s okay. Hey, I’ve been there. Here’s where I’d insert a joke about just how poor I was growing up, but it would honestly just depress me AND you, so I’m going to skip it. But it’s true. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you can’t buy the book. There are still TONS of other things you can do to support your favorite author:
Get the book from your local library. If the library doesn’t have your fav author’s book(s), ASK for them. Librarians are delightful people and they LOVE this kind of thing. They WANT to know what their patrons want. And book sales to libraries HELP authors. Not to mention, if the library buys the book, you’re helping more people discover that author. And if the copy wears out or the demand is high, the library will buy multiple copies. You can also donate copies of books to your library (hey, they are having budget crunches too).
Tell your friends. Seriously. Word of mouth is HUGE. I trust the opinions of my friends and tweeps more than I trust some stuffy reviewer in Kirkus (sorry, Kirkus). If you tell just one friend and they buy the book and tell a friend…you get the idea.
If you have a blog, review the book (heh. particularly if you happen to like it).
Review the book on book sites, like Amazon and Barnes & Noble and Waterstones and W.H. Smith and …you get the idea. Not to mention Library Thing and Goodreads and Shelfari and…ahem. Like I said, you get the idea. Reviews really do make a difference. Not only are people seeing your opinion and learning more about the book or author, some stores see the number of reviews as a reflection on the popularity of a book. So, they see a book with a lot of reviews and think, hey, perhaps we ought to order more of those…
Oh, and if you’re a book blogger / book reviewer, please do read this post from Waxman Literary on ARCs. Good stuff. So true.
If you’re in a bookstore and you don’t see your fav authors book(s) on the shelf, ask that they be carried. Or at least mention it to staff. This works in shops both large and small. They may or may not carry it just because you asked (if you’re not making an actual order), but it at least gets the author’s name / book title some notice. In my personal experience, I’ve seen a store that didn’t have my second book, but they had my first one. When I asked, they said they wouldn’t carry the second one until two people had asked for it by name. Me asking, of course, made no difference. ;P
Say you’re in that bookstore again. This next suggestion will probably get me the ire of some booksellers, but how about facing out the book(s) of your favorite author? Face front books are more likely to get noticed than spine out books. Hoo! Guerrilla marketing! If you really want to be radical, I suppose you could move them to an end cap (that’s the shelves at the end of aisles). Or, for something less to be frowned on by the booksellers, why not enthuse about your fav author / books to the sales people? You never know — hearing from you how awesome a book or author is may make them want to read the book or promote it themselves to bookstore patrons.
Anyway, that’s some thoughts for now. Anyone else have any ideas? I’d love to hear them. Questions too — I’ll take them.
And me? I think I’m off tomorrow to go buy some books from some of my favorite authors…because I want a world in which books keep coming and coming.
Hiya. Nice to meetcha. Sorry you’re not going to find what you were looking for (if you were looking for anything in particular).
The post that lived here has actually been removed because:
It was old and contained information that no longer applies to me or to the general book piracy discussion at large. I had added addendums to it but so much of it was old info that it seemed silly to keep it, and, perhaps most importantly…
Pro-piracy (and anti-piracy, for that matter) pundits kept pulling out single sentence quotes from it to try and prove their respective points, disregarding all the other things I had written. I was tired of being mis-represented. I can’t delete all their links, but I can at least prevent new ones. Lastly…
I really don’t know what I think about book piracy. It’s a many faceted beast and there are no easy answers no matter what proponents of either side of the debate say.
Anyway, now that you’re here, feel free to stick around and learn about me and my books or short stories. Or not, as the mood strikes you. Either way, have a good day and keep reading.
We’re in the final countdown (why, oh why, does my head insist on immediately going into 80’s hair band mode as soon as I hear that phrase? It’s just not right) for our move into our long-term flat over in Kensington. Wait, scratch that. The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. There, doesn’t that just go trippingly along the tongue?
I haven’t been posting much because, well, we’ve been busy. You know, moving continents and all. Well, us moving. Not us moving continents in a continental drift kind of way. I can barely get The Max to go to bed when it’s time; there’s no way I could get Europe to budge an inch.
We have nothing. Literally. Just some clothes and some toys for The Max. We’ve been looking at kitchen things and have finally decided on some towels (multi-colored, if you were interested) and two pillows. Everything else we own is still back in Chicago and, at this point, we’re not sure what we’re going to wind up moving over here. The furniture we have left is definitely not coming. My books? Doubtful. When we go back for a wedding in March, we’ll probably just get the rest of our clothes and more Max toys.
Which leaves us with…nothing. Does it even make sense to bring over any of our kitchen things? Probably not. What about our artwork? Therein lies the rub. Our collection of artsy stuff is really what makes our place…our place. My giant hanging frog. Our paintings and photographs. The big dragon for our mantle (of which we have none now, instead having just this flowerly wall-papered fake fireplace area sans mantle). My dad’s chess clock. Things like that. Perhaps we just store it all since we have to keep a storage area anyway and collect it when we go back to the states, whenever that is.
Of course, what happens if we decide to stay expats? I dunno. My life right now actually seems like a giant ball of “I Don’t Know.” Which is better than a giant ball of suck, so I suppose I can’t complain. I can just wonder.
We did buy Max a box of Legos to hold him over so he’s good.
But I guess I should share some of the interesting stuff, right? Rather than just general kvetching? We have been trying lots of restaurants, though quite a few were chains (just not chains that we’re familiar with) because they were open during the holidays. The UK shuts down quite a bit over the Christmas / New Year’s timeframe.
But I have to say, even the largish chains do things pretty well here (at least the ones we went to). Let’s see, there was a great meal at Zizzi (an Italian place) with a great Spanish waiter named Jorge. He was very friendly and told us his fav spot in the area is Camden. That’s definitely on my list to visit. Then there was Nando’s, which wasn’t anything like I thought it was going to be (and probably my least favorite of the places we tried, though the chicken was pretty good). Pommodoro Rosso (i.e. Red Tomato) over near our new place which had some AMAZING freshly sugared and nutella-d doughnuts. Oh my heavens, they were good. Everything else was good too and the staff there were friendly. And Pizza Express, which actually has very nice pizza, even though it sounds like a terrible place just based on the name. And…um, Patara, a really nice Thai place with what Tony called the best curry he’s ever had. There are only three or so of those, so it’s not a huge chain at least. Then a lovely French-style bakery called Pain Q-something-or-other which I would not at all have thought it was a chain except everywhere we go we run into another one. One place that wasn’t a chain was called Napket and they claim to be Snob Food. The food wasn’t bad, but service definitely wasn’t great and the overall experience there doesn’t make me want to try it again. Um, and also the Haha Bar and Grill. I’m not sure why it’s got such a funny name (ha, ha), but it was okay. Mostly The Max ate there, but he gobbled up the fish and chips, so that was a success. Oh, and Tony has been picking up meat from Jamie Oliver’s Barbecoa butcher shop and I gotta say, YUM. Well, you know, after it’s been cooked. I’m sure I’m forgetting some places, but that’s all the ones I can think of off the top of my head. London is a great town for foodies and I can’t wait to explore some non-chain restaurants.
Thank heavens we have no car and have been walking tons. Otherwise I’d already weigh a bazillion pounds.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I will try and be better about updating, though it will be easier after the 12th when we get real Internet again. The Vodafone dongle thingy works, but sometimes it is terribly slow.
P.S. There will be no pictures for the forseeable future as our Samsung camera is once again on the fritz and I had to send it all the way to New Jersey to get it fixed. Hopefully they can fix it. Hopefully they won’t try to claim it’s out of warranty when we’ve only had it 9 months (and this is their second time fixing it). Hopefully my sister won’t mind sending it back to us (we had to put in a US address, since Samsung wouldn’t send it back to us here in London).
Saturday, Max and I took Tony (the hubster) on a tour of the three top picks in our London flat search. Two were in Notting Hill and the other was in Kensington, but still very close to Notting Hill. It was a crazy snowy day and it was a good thing we were walking (from the Notting Hill Gate tube station) since the buses had all given up and were either off the road up on the curb (the unlucky ones) or just stopped in the street.
We saw the farthest away one first and Tony really liked it (especially the shower which is, I do not lie, the nicest shower I’ve ever seen anywhere). It’s actually in Zone 2, which we weren’t planning on going out into (we wanted to stay in Zone 1), but it’s actually very convenient to the Ladbroke Grove tube station and Tony can take the Circle line to Moorgate station and walk to his office from there. He’s been doing something similar right now while we’re staying near Buckingham Palace in the short term place. He takes the Circle line and gets off at Mansion House station and walks. The distance is the same (about .4 miles). The other really good thing about this one is that it has an actual private backyard/garden and outdoor space for Max is really important. All of my three favs have some kind of outdoor space.
We saw the other ones as well – one, at Arundel Gardens, has direct access to a communal garden. It is in the worst shape (though not bad) of the three, but has the largest reception area (but no separate dining area, which the other two have). The third is right at the corner of Portobello Road and Chepstow, so it is literally in the middle of things in Notting Hill. When we visited it, there were tourists everywhere standing outside and taking pictures. It had a nice private patio & high walls around it, but we were a bit concerned about the crime potential there and wondering if it would drive us crazy to be surrounded by tourists all the time.
So, if you couldn’t tell, we decided to make an offer on the farther away one up in Kensington. It’s not final yet, but hopefully we’ll get it. It does have a rather smallish reception room, but the outdoor space really makes up for a lot. And it’s still just about 2 and a half blocks to Portobello Road and lots of shops and things. Wish us luck. With the timing of the holidays and Tony’s upcoming trip to Wales (right before Christmas), I’m not sure how all the paperwork stuff will work out.
The bad thing is that there’s no way we can use any of the few pieces of furniture that we kept back in storage in Chicago (an antique hall tree, a double couch, a grandfather clock, two red leather tub chairs, and an antique case). The place does come furnished, though, albeit the lady had a serious penchant for pink (which is not even remotely my favorite color). So we have to figure out what we want to do as far as bringing other items over (like the rest of our clothes, personal stuff and Max toys). No idea what we’re going to do yet. We will be back in Chicago in March for a wedding, so we can take some things with us then.
The rest of the weekend we spent doing a bit of Christmas shopping. We went down Regent Street and took Max to Hamley’s, a 250 year old toy store. Wait, not a toy store. A toy extravaganza. It’s multiple stories and packed with every toy imaginable. We got him some things for Christmas and some things for now, since he’s got almost nothing with him.
The lights of Regent Street
We ate dinner at a place called Mother Mash. If you like mashed potatoes and sausage (English-style), you’d like it. You basically have three decisions to make: which style of mashed potatoes you want (Tony had a horseradishy one and I had it Irish style with butter and cheese), what kind of sausage or pie, and what kind of gravy. Very yum. I had to take a picture, though I’d already cut into my Cumberland sausage when I snapped it.
Dinner!
More shopping today over at Sloan Square, but not much as The Max is sick again with a fever. It’s been bouncing up and down, but has been rather bad all day today. We’re going to see how he’s doing tomorrow and if his fever doesn’t go down, we’ll either take him to a clinic (luckily, there’s one literally a block away) or have a doctor come visit the flat. He’s been rather fussy all week, which isn’t really like The Max at all. Hopefully he starts feeling better soon.
I still feel a bit like a fish out of water, but things are starting to calm down. I can’t wait to get into a permanent place so we can get on a schedule and really start figuring out where things are and how to get around. Mostly, I just want Max to get better and the weather to improve. It’s warmer than Chicago is right now, but still pretty nasty. We finally found a new jacket for Max (that he would wear, opinionated boy that he is) and I’m on the hunt for new boots since my favorite *sob* pair blew a hole out the side as soon as we got here…but I’ve been wearing them anyway since it’s the only remotely suitable pair of shoes I have with me. I am the bum of London.
But, as Tony keeps reminding me, things will work out one way or another. Hey, maybe this week when he goes back to Wales for a couple of days, we’ll go with him and have a proper shower (the short let’s shower has the worst water pressure EVER).
Oh, and tonight we had our first real homecooked meal (okay, it was kind of a pre-packaged-y thing, but still).
Okay, not really. But after 7 or so years of NOT living in Florida, I am a total wimp when it comes to heat. It’s November and the temp has mostly been in the upper 70s and low 80s. When I left Chicago, it was just starting to get really cold. I totally packed wrong. I’m having to borrow shorts and T-shirts from my Mom!
And it’s so funny to me that when the temp falls into the 60′s, everyone down here breaks out their jackets and they have fires! Even when I lived down here, I was hardier than that. But I guess I’m a bit of a cold-natured person, which will hopefully do me well when we get to London.
As for all of that, my hubby is finishing up cleaning the house out up there (had a showing yesterday, no word yet on how that went) and will be down here for Thanksgiving. Then on Sunday, he flies to London and we won’t see him again until he flies back for Christmas with us in Florida. Then Max and I can finish up applying for our visas in January and we’ll be off. It’s going to be strange — even though he’s traveled before, we haven’t been apart for this long since…well, since, um, when we were in college and spent a summer apart. That was a *long* time ago. It’s going to be tough on The Max too.
It’s really surreal to be a) living in my mom’s house again (not the same house I grew up in or anything, but, you know, just the general “living with your mom” thing) and b) being back in my old college town, where everything has changed. I can’t even explain how odd it is. It’s like being in two different time warps at once. I keep expecting Tim Curry to jump out at me and start screaming “It’s just a jump to the left…And then a step to the rriiii—gghhht…”
That would be freaky.
Though my mom would probably beat him off with her shoe.
I did get my mom all set up with my old desktop computer. I got her a new webcam and some speakers and she got her internet all set up yesterday (no more borrowing from the neighbors! Yay! I hate doing that. Though, seriously, anonymous neighbor-people, you really ought to secure your networks). I set her up with Skype so we can do video calls once we’re across the Big Pond.
Of course, it’s really so she can see The Max. I know how things work.
Other than that, not really a lot going on. I did get my hair cut and colored blue again yesterday. Much different experience here in a college town than back up in Chicago. Lot less careful here. In fact, she got blue dye on my favorite T-shirt. But the haircut came out good.
And The Max is having a lot of fun playing with Grandma and Pop Pop Watson, not to mention Auntie Lisa & family. It’s the most time he’s ever spent with any of them. He’s also in love with the fact that Pop Pop Watson has a TV in every room in the house. We had one TV in our house — it was a huge monster one, but just one. The Max is like “OOoooooohhhhhh!” with the TVs in the bedroom and the porch and…literally, every room in the house. He’s discovered the Disney Channel. And Sponge Bob. It’s kinda funny, he kept asking me for something that sounded like “Bob Bob Pins” and I couldn’t figure out what it was. I finally did…he was saying Sponge Bob Pants. He keeps missing the “Square” part.
And you wanna talk about surreal? I bet Sponge Bob is under surreal in the dictionary.
Ahem. So, apparently I forgot to post this before. I did a little guest post for David & Kelly at YA Book Reads about which is better, vampires or werewolves.
So, you know, go check it out. Tell me what you think. Agree? Disagree?
There’s a reason I don’t do NaNoWriMo. Any time I have an arbitrary goal, my brain immediately begins concocting excuses to not follow through. ‘Cause I’m contrary like that.
But I *would* actually like to blog every day for a while. I think it’s safe to say that my mental health is better when I’m writing, because then there’s an outlet for the weirdness in there. As John Lee Hooker says, it’s in there, and it’s got to come out. Of course, he was talking about boogie woogie, but I think you get my point.
And I’m not working on a book right now. There are a number of reasons why not and I can’t really share any of them, so…I’ll just leave it at that.
My brain is going to explode.
So I’m going to try and blog every day for a while.
Just warning you.
(and look at what an overachiever I’m being! This is my second post today. Okay, yes, I’m up past my bedtime and I’m going to regret the heck out of it in the morning, but hey, there you go. I also changed around the website a bit and updated the About Me page. Not that you necessarily wanted to know anything about me. But just in case.
EDIT: Except, apparently, my blog is living in a different time zone than I am because I pushed “Publish” at 11:12 PM and then checked it out on the site only to see that it says Nov. 5th instead of Nov. 4th. And not only that, but the “last edited” thingy says 4:12 AM…okay, excuse me, but where the heck does my blog actually live? Is it off partying somewhere that I don’t know about? What in the world is it doing up at 4 AM??)
So I was busy folding and putting away clothes and thinking to myself, “Geez, I’m such a mother.” Meaning a mother in the I-have-a-child-and-I’m-such-a-MOM-now sense and not in the sense of something you might yell out your car window at someone who cut you off. Not that I do that. The cutting off part or the yelling out the window part.
Because I’m really more of a quietly annoyed person, on the whole.
And I didn’t mean it in the sense of “Oh for crikey’s sake, how much laundry can one small boy generate!” though I certainly do think that to myself often enough. After all, he’s not even three feet tall yet. How can he go through so many clothes? Do they multiply in the laundry basket? Or is the fault really my husband’s and the many layers of clothing he wears as soon as the temperature drops below 65 degrees?
No, what I meant was that I’m a total mom because I happen to know that The Max (the aforementioned two and a half year old) wiped his somewhat snotty nose on a pair of my clean underwear while he was wandering by the laundry basket of clean clothes. But I didn’t know which pair. And instead of re-washing every pair of underwear, I just folded them all and put them away instead.
See, I’m such a mom now.
In other news of randomness, I made the many-layered husband read this post from The Bloggess about how she met Neil Gaiman, because they are both people I’d love to meet some day and find endlessly interesting and, in general, I consider them my peeps. Not that we’re hanging out buddies and, in fact, the closest I’ve come to Neil Gaiman was being at ALA while he was also there (and not being able to get my book signed by him because his signing time was actually opposite my signing time for my book AND the line waiting to see him stretched across the entire fricking building). The closest I’ve come to The Bloggess was snorting Sprite out of my nose while reading one of her posts.
Okay, not really. I don’t actually drink a lot of soda.
Anyway, regardless of my very nebulous (non-)connection to the both of them, in my head they are my people. Writer people. Odd people. Whatever.
And I thought the whole W00tstock thing sounded awesome. So I made my husband read it.
What I really should have done was take a video of my husband reading it as the expression on his face went from slightly curious to baffled amusement to the look of someone who is wondering whether or not he should hide the knives in the house. Just, you know, because.
His final reaction was “O-kay….”
And that was pretty much it.
Sometimes I feel very alone in my head. Not that it’s really a lonely place, per se, being as how it’s pretty full of random characters wandering around and bumping into things and getting into trouble. But they’re kind of hard to carry on a conversation with.
I’m just saying…it’s pretty one-sided.
In the interest of more randomness for anyone reading this who has actually hung on this long, here’s a wrap up of the random things that have caught my eye and my ire and my interest today:
Which is one of the few things that have made me smile today. It’s been a frustrating day. Actually, scratch that, it’s been a pretty frustrating five or six months. But anyway. A very cool video.
And then there was the huge debacle over Cooks Source stealing from a writer. Or infringing copyright. Or whatever you want to call their general asshattery. And yes, I just swore. I don’t do that a lot. In real life or on paper. But there are some things that you just have to swear about. And I think it’s great how everyone from @NeilHimself (which would be the aforementioned Neil Gaiman…wow, look at that, I actually tied two separate things together there, how do you like them apples?) to official publish-y outlets are backing her up. The author, that is.
Though then I have a moment of sadness that pirates can steal over 20,000 copies of my second book and I mostly get some troll who tells me I should be “grateful” about it. That is also asshattery. Of course, it’s really easy to get angry when you’ve got an editor (like the above-mentioned CooksSource editor) who so easily lends herself to it by being such an idiot (seriously, you have to click through and read what she said — it’s insane — thank heavens I’ve never had to deal with an editor like that). There’s an easily focused upon enemy in that kind of situation. Something to get worked up about. People who pirate books and music and movies are just kind of this “out there somewhere” cloud of faceless people. It’s hard to figure out who to be mad at.
But I’m bringing myself down again. Let’s move on to the NEXT RANDOM THING on my mind today.
Actually, I’ve got lots more I could say on that, but I think I’d just wind up getting myself really worked up. So I’m going to just leave it at that and let you read it on your own. I’m glad, at least, that the majority of the comments are supportive. Because I’ve almost about given up on reading comment threads in general as a protest against stupidity.
And on that note, I think I need to wrap this up and go find some chocolate. But wait, one last bit of random…my favorite poem for your reading enjoyment:
The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
By T.S. Eliot
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? . . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet–and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.” 110 . . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . . 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
(given that it’s posted all over and T. S. Eliot is dead and I think that the poem itself is in the public domain now due to it’s age, I think I’m okay posting it here. Because I don’t want to be the asshat* who infringes on someone else’s copyright. But here, go learn more about the poem while you’re at it. There. I’m being educational.)
* Note to Self: learn some new curse words. Asshat is getting old.
Then Max and I can finish up applying for our visas in January and we’ll be off. It’s going to be strange — even though he’s traveled before, we haven’t been apart for this long since…well, since, um, when we were in college and spent a summer apart. That was a *long* time ago. It’s going to be tough on The Max too.