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May. 6th, 2008
12:48 am - here we go . . . .
I early-voted this morning, because tomorrow I'm leaving on a jet plane and not coming back until I've seen England, Italy, Greece, and Turkey -- or at least small samples thereof.
I'm nervous. It's been a while since I've taken a trip this long, and I've never done a multi-stage thing like this, not that I recall. I had to make a second stack of Things To Be Packed, for ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
kniedzw to luggage up and bring to Rome next week.
No doubt I've forgotten something. (You always do.) But my father will be smug; for possibly the first time since I got out from under his thumb enough to avoid it, I made an honest-to-god written list of everything I needed to bring. Yes, Dad, you win.
London trip-blogging to follow. Cruise-blogging will be dependent on how obscenely flagellant the Internet prices are on board the ship. Worst-case scenario: I'll see y'all again in June.
Apr. 25th, 2008
12:58 pm - sorry, Team Boston
Despite the best efforts of our east-coast friends (and they *were* good efforts, believe me), the decision is done: kniedzw and I will be heading west. He's accepted a job offer from Akamai's San Mateo office.
Timetable is still fuzzy. His work starts June 16th, but I won't be following until (probably) August, along with all our stuff. Yes, this means moving in the middle of writing a book. On the bright side, Akamai is helping out with moving expenses, which means that for the first time in my life I can pay somebody else to do the heavy lifting. This makes me happier than I can say.
And I'm going to live in California! I confess that one thing which swung me toward the west coast was looking at the area in the satellite view of Google Maps; seeing San Mateo nestled between the blue of the water and the thick green belt of the hills made my heart sing. Nature! A bike ride away! kurayami_hime has been waxing poetic about the eucalyptus forests, and I'll get to see them for myself. And redwoods! I adores me some redwoods.
It'll be a new experience for us both. We won't necessarily stay there forever, but I'm glad we'll be staying there for a while.
Apr. 3rd, 2008
01:13 pm - Decision time.
Those of you who read kniedzw's journal have already heard the news, but for the rest of you: my husband's employer filed for bankruptcy today, putting him out of a job.
This brings into the open something I've been considering for a good year, maybe more. Some of you have heard me talk about it, but I haven't said anything publicly because, well, public = real. (LJ = real, apparently.) But forming an agreement with my anthropology adviser constitutes pretty real, I'd say, so I might as well bite the bullet and type the words.
I'm leaving graduate school.
Yeah. Um. I have a whole lot to say on this topic, but to spare people's friends-lists, I'm putting it behind a cut.
( A year's worth of thinking, maybe more. )
So this is the official decision: I'm going to jump through the necessary administrative hoops and do whatever thesis/project/whatever work they're willing to accept, and leave graduate school with a master's in anthropology and folklore.
What we don't have yet is a timetable. May 6th, I fly to London, and then Kyle and I go on the cruise and we don't get home until May 30th. July 10th, I have an appointment for lasik surgery here in town. October 1st, I have one of those research-intensive novels due. I have plans for a Midnight Never Come book launch at Pandemonium in Boston, and a con in Oklahoma at the end of July. Somewhere in there, I will finish my master's. In the meantime, there's the question of work for Kyle. I don't know what we'll be doing about that, and so I don't know when we'll be leaving.
But leaving will happen. It's the Great Bloomington Exodus: like a dandelion full of gamers, we're poofing out into the wild blue yonder, scattering our seeds across the U.S. For us, it seems it will be a little sooner than anticipated.
Mar. 28th, 2008
05:20 pm - my HEARTFELT apologies
Apparently some of Joyce's family found my post, and I have been told there is an error in it.
I foolishly neglected, in my account of the révérence, to mention the curtsy to the Royal Box.
I mean, how could I have overlooked such a vital part of the process? Shame on me. One must never forget one's curtsy to the royalty who are surely in attendence.
My most heartfelt apologies for the oversight. <g>
Mar. 26th, 2008
08:33 pm - In Memoriam: Joyce Seaborne Bader
She was a prima ballerina, in her carriage and sense of the dramatic. Not to say that she was a drama queen -- she had a lovely sense of humour and a generous heart -- but everything I know about florid overdone stage bows, I learned from that woman. Révérence, the curtsy that traditionally ends a ballet class, was a grand affair with her, as you made your bows to the audience, those in the center, those stage left, those stage right, those poor souls up in the balcony who spent their hard-earned savings on tickets to see art, a gesture to the conductor, the gracious acceptance of flowers from the younger girl who ran out on stage to give them to you, breaking off a bud to present to your partner -- it could go on for minutes at a time.
Many teachers turn a blind eye or actively encourage their students in anorexic behavior, eternally pursuing the insanely thin body now considered desirable in classical ballet. When a fellow dancer my age kept talking about how she needed to lose five more pounds, Joyce and her daughter Lyndette took her aside and told her point-blank she needed to gain weight -- that she would dance better with a healthy body than a skinny one.
Joyce and Lyndette kept me in ballet for another seven years after I had left my old studio with the intention of quitting entirely.
And after I graduated from high school, after I went away to college, I would come back and attend the daytime adult class my mother had started taking. I still do. And I remember one incident particularly, that encapsulates the kind of teacher Joyce was.
I had only just mastered the fouetté before I stopped dancing regularly, but I had always loved it. After the adult class ended, when everyone else was heading for the dressing room, I would go into the center of the floor, start myself with a pirouette, and then do fouettés until I fell off my leg. Which generally took only three or four turns at best, because I was never on my center enough to stay up.
One day, after Joyce watched me do this for a few moments, she told me that I was turning my palms down when I opened my arms. "You've got to turn them up," she said.
The direction of my palms was the least of my problems; I just didn't have the glutes any more to keep my working leg high enough, not to mention I'd always been crap at spotting and now my hair was long enough that I had to keep it in a braid instead of a bun, which shot my center all to hell. But whatever.
Fifth position. Tendu, place, pirouette --
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Oh, I fell off my leg eventually. But I was on, three hundred percent better than I'd been before she made the comment about my hands.
Lyndette's the one who broke me of the atrocious habits left by the neglect of my old studio. I owe my still-excellent feet to her. Joyce, though, had that special gift for seeing the one tiny thing you never thought had anything to do with your problems, but in truth was the key to them. Palms down took my energy into the ground; palms up centered me, straightened my spine, lifted my ribcage, and brought everything into line.
She was an inspired teacher and a wonderful woman. She fought off breast cancer twice, encephalitis, countless other health problems that would have dropped a lesser woman ten times over. I don't know how old she was when she died today -- it used to be that even her daughter did not know -- and I'm sad for the way her health and mind deteriorated after she could no longer teach even the adult class. Ballet was her life, and when it went away, so did she. But I will always tell the story of the day she turned my palms up and made it all work, and I will always remember her with love.
Jan. 30th, 2008
08:42 pm - it's that time of year again . . . .
. . . the time of year when I am the laziest laze-about to ever laze.
Seriously. Late January, early February? It's all I can do to pause the Buffy DVDs long enough to go feed myself so I don't die of starvation. I had things I was going to do tonight. I have things I'm going to do tonight.
. . . right?
Maybe if I watch all the rest of Season 7 really fast, then the lack of additional Buffy to watch will compel me to be productive.
Maybe.
Dec. 31st, 2007
09:36 pm - ::snarl::
Seven hours of travel delays is not how I wanted to close out my year.
But I made it home with three hours remaining. Now I try to get in a party mood, to end on a better note.
Oct. 18th, 2007
09:57 pm - oof.
If the last two days of work have not precisely slain the Paper Monster, at least they have dealt it not one but several Mighty Blows.
See, the Paper Monster can't actually be killed. I turn my back, and the next thing I know it's sprouted more bills and class papers and critiqued drafts and scribbled-on bits and oh wow I never even opened that envelope. But it can be beaten into submission, at least temporarily.
My mistake was letting it grow so big this round. But it grew, and then I was moving, and then I was in England, and then I was noveling, and then I was getting married. The results were predictable, and entirely my fault.
On the other hand, I have a floor again. And maybe this time I can even keep up with my filing system.
Hah. Optimism.
11:37 am - ::hiss::
Bad customer service makes me very, very pissy.
Oct. 14th, 2007
04:36 pm - fans
Not the sort who send you e-mail or ask for autographs; the sort you hold in your hand, for cooling yourself.
Does anyone have a recommendation for how to hang folding fans on a wall in a manner that won't damage them? The one time I've done it, I've put in two small nails just inside the outermost sticks, below the fabric, but that warped the fabric where the weight was resting on the nails. I'm looking for a better solution. (All I can think of is nails on either side of the pivot pin, but they'd have to stick out awfully far, and I'd still probably need small nails at the top corners to keep it open and flat against the wall.)
Oct. 10th, 2007
11:04 pm - hello, brain, my old friend
We're up to 442 words on "How Heroes Fall" (its other possible title). Which doesn't sound like a lot, but since this will consist of a bunch of vignettes around a theme, it's a decent amount; it's two vignettes out of some unknown total -- maybe eight or ten.
This is, without a doubt, the most artsy-fartsy piece of crap I've ever written. My one hope is to make it good enough to remove "crap" from that equation. (Ain't nothing gonna redeem it from artsy-fartsy-hood.)
I had all three of my e-mail accounts down to thirty e-mails or less when I went to bed last night; they've bounced up a bit since then, but not much. The fact that ninety unanswered e-mails counts as brag-worthy progress tells you what state they were in before.
I'm in a weird state right now. Not enough motivation to get anything done, but enough brain to want to get something done. Can't figure out what to do with myself. Answer e-mails? Grade? Those would be useful. Write? Read? Watch something? Those would be entertaining. Clean up the house? I really ought to. But I can't settle down to anything, it seems.
Meh. Stupid temperature dropping like a rock. We skipped right over the first two stages of fall, it looks like, and went straight to grey and dismal.
Oct. 9th, 2007
01:42 am - I'm back. (What's left of me.)
So, I got married. And then I went to Vegas. (With a pause in there to teach two more days of class; I couldn't just cancel a whole week.) Now I'm home.
Very, very glad to be home.
I'm trying to recover enough brain to deal with the backlog of e-mail that has built up over the last month or more. Most of the truly crucial stuff has been dealt with as it happened -- I hope -- but there's a lot of non-crucial stuff owing. If any of that stuff involves you, Dear Readers, then please bear with me as I try to wade through it. Cerberus (my collection of three e-mail accounts) has grown a fine new set of teeth on all of its heads; dealing with those will take a little while.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying my return from the land of Flashing! Lights! and Brightly! Colored! Things! and did we mention the Obnoxious! Noises! The shows we saw (Penn & Teller, and Cirque du Soleil's Kà and Mystere) were fabulous, but right about now, I'm taking deep pleasure in reading unmoving black text on a white page. And even writing a bit of my own; one of the flash vignettes that will make up the story "How They Fall" (if that ends up being its title) got scribbled down during my office hours today. I have hope this signals the return of my brain. It's been missing for several weeks now; I'd love to see it again.
Oct. 2nd, 2007
08:56 pm - OMGAAAAAAH
I have nail polish on my toes.
Well, there's a first time for everything.
Sep. 14th, 2007
02:07 am - not too bad
After two rounds of questions on the career thingy, here's what it recommends for me:
1. Anthropologist
2. Interpreter
3. Sign Language Interpreter
4. Historian
5. Actor
6. Comedian
7. Dancer
8. Translator
9. Writer
10. Musician
The one I don't get is "comedian." (For starters, it didn't ask me a single question about my sense of humour.) But it told me "anthropologist" after the first round, and "writer" started out at #11. If I didn't need to go to bed, I'd answer more questions and watch how it changes. But as career advice things go, this one isn't half bad. My major interests do in fact include history, dance, music, and foreign languages.
Sep. 13th, 2007
12:04 pm - zoom zoom
I'm really digging my schedule these last few weeks. I teach MWF, which means my Tuesdays and Thursdays are open, and lately that's led to a pretty high degree of productivity. I go to the gym those days, so I always have to leave the house anyway; it's pretty easy to talk myself into running errands along the way, especially since the gym is a bit of a drive, and it feels wasteful to go all the way to the other side of town just for that.
It reinforces what I've thought before: I'm at my best when I have some structure in my life. Give me nothing but free time and unscheduled tasks, and I end up floundering. Maybe it's just perception, but I feel like I get more done in an average week now that teaching is taking up some of my time than I did this summer, when my schedule was completely open.
The best example of this rule might be the last two months of my senior year. Having finished my thesis, I was taking two classes, one of them pass/fail, and I had a grand total of five hours of class per week. I wrote a novel and six short stories, and had a great social life, too.
Which raises an interesting point. If I ever do end up writing full-time, I'll probably need to find some regular volunteer job or the like -- something that makes me leave the house on a regular basis. Otherwise the lack of structure might hamstring me.
Anyway, I'm almost done with lunch; time to put my money where my mouth is and do the productivity thing.
(I'll admit, though, that I'm looking forward to when the wedding is done, and I can officially declare Screw Productivity Week, when I will do jack-all that Tuesday and Thursday.)
Sep. 1st, 2007
05:23 pm - Birthday Egotism
Every year I feel obliged to explain this post, because it's a little bit odd.
Some time ago -- four years, I think -- I was having a crappy birthday. Nothing big and dramatic; just the kind of day that makes one slouch angstily in a chair and think, "I'm twenty-three years old, and what do I have to show for it?"
This was a stupid question, and so I set out to prove that to myself. You see, I'm veryverygood at being self-critical. Not so good at patting myself on the back. Ergo, I made a post about the Awesomeness of Me: all my accomplishments, all the things I had learned, all the things I could do, everything I might be proud of in my life to date. I made myself do so publicly, because the point was to toot my own horn for once. And I didn't let myself put in any qualifications or disclaimers -- which was damn hard for me. Nothing but the positives, all in one place so I could go back and re-read it if I ever sank back into that Slough of Despond.
And this has become a tradition.
Mind you, this year's birthday has been fantabulous so far. Lunch with friends, then a road trip out to the Exotic Feline Rescue Center -- in five years of living here, I'd never managed to go. It's sunny and the perfect temperature (as far as I'm concerned), I had ice cream, I'm relaxed and happy. But this is tradition. So here is this year's update of Birthday Egotism: everything from the last year that I'm proud of.
So. I'm twenty-seven years old. What have I got to show for it?
( WARNING: Rampant Self-Aggrandizement Within )
It's been a quieter year than some, but a good one. And today is a lovely milestone marking the change from one year of my life to the next. If such things are omens, then this upcoming year will be lovely.
And full of other things to be proud of.
Aug. 28th, 2007
09:35 pm - huh.
I've been silent lately, haven't I? The only two posts I've made in the last eleven days have been Lymond book-blogging, hence not public.
I promise, I'll surface again soon. With all kinds of fascinating updates about teaching and wedding prep and all that good stuff. No, really I will.
But before that happens, I will Finish This Revision.
No, really I will. (Because it's due in to Madame Editor real soon now.)
Back to the grind. I have some thoughts about revision, and what I have learned about it in the last eight years, but those can wait. Like just about everything else.
But hey -- I have a new monitor stand. Remains to be seen whether I like it -- god, my monitor seems high -- but it's worth trying out, at least. And it provides me with small shelves beneath said monitor, which is nice.
I said "back to the grind" a paragraph or two ago, didn't I? <sigh> Here we go.
Aug. 2nd, 2007
12:06 am
Did I loan somebody my copy of The Unstrung Harp? You know, the little Edward Gorey book about the writing of novels, and the aftermath thereof.
I've been promising myself for a while now that I would get to read it when I finished Midnight Never Come. But now I'm finished, and I can't find it.
<sad swan>
Jul. 16th, 2007
06:10 pm - an update on the labors of Hercules
The inbox for my personal e-mail account is down to 11 messages.
The inbox for my writing e-mail is down to 10.
We'll continue, for the moment, to pretend my academic e-mail account doesn't exist.
It's progress. But I think I've made as much progress as I can stomach for today. Having done the work of the virtuous, now I'm going to go let my brain die for a while.
Jul. 10th, 2007
05:23 pm - e-mail
I can't decide which Herculean labor is the right metaphor for the battle I've been waging for several days now, against the backlog in all of my major e-mail accounts.
Candidate A: Cerberus. There are three accounts, after all, so it's kind of like dealing with a three-headed monster.
Candidate B: the Hydra. Because every time I think I've made progress toward defeating one of the accounts, it sprouts new heads/new e-mails to attack me again.
Candidate C: the Augean Stables. Shoveling endless mounds of shit, and feeling like I'll never be done.
This post brought to you by the forty or so e-mails I dealt with yesterday, and the fact that today's schedule has prevented me from dealing with any more, which just ensures that tomorrow's battle will be harder.
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