Saturday into Sunday, NY and NJ

(Cross-posted to LiveJournal)

On Saturday, Rodney and I left John to his grating (how he refers to grading), and took the train into New York City for the purpose of photographing urban over-development in what is technically historic Harlem. It was a little difficult to capture the right angles to make his point, and, in some cases, just impossible--but we wouldn't have known if he hadn't tried.

I think my favourite of the ones I snapped off on my iPhone was this one, which we entitled "Our Lady of the Condos":

More about finger buildings.

More about Saturday & Sunday:

There were only two subway rides over the course of Saturday, and mostly we just walked everywhere (woe to my flip-flopped feet), because the weather was gorgeous and Rodney is very familiar with the area. We went to a vegetarian dim sum restaurant for lunch, and then walked to the shopping strip, because--

In addition to my inappropriate footwear, the strap on Rodney's bag fell apart halfway through the day. Thus, we were looking for comfier shoes and a new bag. Of course, nothing we saw gave us any compulsion to buy. Sad feet. Sad bag.

When we returned to Rahway, all three of us went over to Little India for dinner and window-shopping. Dinner was delicious. Shopping was awkward, but then we didn't stick to simple window-shopping; we actually went inside three places. You could tell it made the clerks confused and anxious--which, in turn, made me feel anxious and guilty. It's a shame, really, because the fabric selections and the artistry involved in creating these clothes--it's amazing. Yet I feel undeserving and somewhat voyeuristic, a dull interloper.

As I told Kat, I was having poor luck with shop-keepers, in general. Later, we were at the mall (where I continued to feel awkward and wrong), and I laughed too loudly in the Game Stop at something or other that Rodney had said. I'm pretty sure the clerk wished me miles away.

~*~

Sunday was a quieter affair. We all went to New Brunswick so that John and Rodney could get some school work done. Rodney went to the computer lab, while John and I hung out in Au Bon Pain, taking advantage of their wireless access and air conditioning.

For dinner there were stromboli from Stuff Yer Face, followed by bubble tea at I's Cafe. I'd never had bubble tea before, and I can say that I really enjoyed the kind I tried (coconut milk tea) and can't wait to try others.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

everyone's a comedian

(Cross-posted to LiveJournal)

Getting much better at headstands. Why are you doing headstands? I dunno, just felt inspired to improve the quality of my headstand (having full carpeting in a room helps, because who wants to do a headstand on a hardwood floor?). Jon Stewart and Aasif Mandvi--yes, they're just as funny upside-down. On a related note, laughing while you're doing a headstand is not something I recommend. Also, whenever I do my craptastic headstands, I think of this:

Must stop staying up when I know I'll just want to die in the morning when the alarm goes off in the dark.

I just really wanted to get my laundry done--because everything that I should've done over the weekend is getting dragged out over this week's evenings. It's the same thing with grocery shopping. There's no reason I couldn't have gone on Saturday or Sunday. I just didn't--and then had a wonderfully anxious time driving there and back through rush-hour sunset traffic (a million cars and pedestrians that you can't see with the sun in your eyes: AWESOME).

On a positive note, I have clean clothing and food, so life can't be all bad ...

It was dark and overcast this morning, whatever Weather.com has to say about it. Oh, it's 29° and sunny! No. First of all, it was in the 30's. Second of all, it was not sunny. Weather.com should be above April Fool's (though that's probably giving them too much credit--knowing what the actual weather is and deciding to say something else in an attempt of [albeit dull] trickery).

The cover of weeklydig is pretty good. It's an apology from AIG that begins: "We're really, really sorry!"

Gmail's April foolery is one-upping itself from last year:

Autopilot by CADIE: The easiest email could possibly be.

YouTube thinks they're brilliant, too. And they are, sort of. When you're on the main page and you click on a video link to watch, it sends you there but everything's upside-down. Go look! I'm not kidding (that would be a lame April Fool's, anyway--"made you look! I'm so clever! I can lie on the internet!").

Also on YouTube, there's a new video from TheJokerBlogs--but it is also a prank (of course):



I need a haircut. Pronto.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

yes, you heard right

(Cross-posted to LiveJournal)

"Erm, I was looking for a book by Russell Brand, but I can't find it where the kiosk is telling me it should be ... Do you have any idea where else it might be in the store?"

"Is it listed as 'In Stock'?"

"Yep." I wouldn't be bothering if it weren't.

"And the title?"

"... Erm. ... My Booky Wook." *blush* It's not until you have to ask for it aloud that you realise how utterly ridiculous you sound by desiring it.

*smirk* ... Clickclickclickclick goes the keyboard. "And the author is Russell Banks?"

"Brand."

"Brand." ... Clickclickclickclickclick ... "And the title again?"

ARGH. ... Why do I get the feeling he's doing this on purpose? ... "My Booky Wook." *grimace*

"Right." Clickclickclickclick ...


And after that and a browse through the featured stacks (something I'd already done before asking for assistance), he couldn't find the book anyway. He asked if I wanted to order it, but I didn't bother. One, there's a Borders across the street. And two, I had a feeling he'd just make me give him the information all over again.

So I went over to Borders, and, lo and behold! They had plenty of copies in their Media section. I would've been lost in Biographies (where Barnes & Noble had it listed) if I hadn't done a search at their kiosk as well. And I begin to wonder if it wasn't in B&N's Media section, too ... Oh, well!

Also, the clerks at Borders were much less judgmental about my purchase. Or, rather, they were judgmental--but in a approving and non-mocking way.

So--I'm now a proud owner of My Booky Wook (but not so proud that I appreciate having to repeat the title aloud too often to people who have no idea who Russell Brand is, let alone having any concept of his particular level of silliness that would warrant such a title).

I really am happy to have the book, though. I think it'll be an entertaining read.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

long wait

When I went back to re-read the email that Amazon.com sent me, I noticed the "shipping estimate" for my graphic novels ... September 4, 2008 - September 12, 2008?!

I get that they're low on their stock, but the new stock is coming in (according to the site) during the first week of August. Why the month-long delay? Did the order surge really take them by surprise?

It's not that I don't have other things to read. In fact, I can easily while away more than a month on the amassed unread books around the house. But sometimes you want what you want RIGHT NOW.

Eating wasabi peas is not one of those wants that you should satisfy whenever it springs. Especially not in the morning on an empty stomach.

Ugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'm already all out of fanfiction this morning. There have been decent ones. There have been pretty awful ones where my suspension of disbelief has threatened to shatter and shred the authors with shrapnel (that's not quite alliteration, but it pleases me).

In regards to recently read Batman fanfic:

Complaints about just one: Clubbing a suspect on the head when he's already apprehended is what is known as police brutality, and the victim of said brutality would probably walk on account. ... It's not up to detectives to determine why or if people are crazy. Change your character's motives, or change her profession. Or stop. Just full-stop. ... And nobody survives being a cop or a detective when they throw a temper tantrum every time a suspects says something unkind. Really.

Also, a general observation--there were apparently a lot of Mary-Sues at Bruce Wayne's benefit for Harvey Dent. Dozens, maybe. I don't know how Chris Nolan managed to dodge all of them, really.

In reading the fanfiction, I definitely get a better grasp of what others perceive about these characters. But, more than that, my own perceptions become a bit clearer to me--what works and what doesn't. What works in the illustrated universe of Batman is not necessarily what works in the animated series, Burtonverse, [then that odd gray period of Batman Forever and Batman & Robin that we like to ignore, though I thought Jim and Tommy did well with what they had], or Nolanverse.

For example, reading fanfiction based on the animated series and using Mark Hamill's Joker--if you try to read it and envision Jack or Heath, it might work. And it might not. Similarly, if you read the recent Nolanverse fanfiction, having Mark or Jack in mind can work some of the time. But if it's fangirl mooning of the PWP variety? Well, you get squicked. Or I do, anyway.

That said, I still can't take Bruce/Joker slash seriously at all. Even with the "you complete me" (which, even the first time around, made me think inappropriately, "I wish I knew how to quit you.") and the "I don't wanna kill you--what would I do without you?" lines. I get it. They're a yin yang, immovable object and unstoppable force, blah blah blah. But I can't see Bruce touching Joker unless it's to clock him silly. Joker/Scarecrow, I've read; and I think it sits better with me because they're both cold-crazy.

But, actually, nothing that paints the Nolanverse Joker as being sexually driven really works for me. The drama/romance/non-con/PWP just doesn't fly, and the writing always goes quickly out of character. Anarchy, the biggest shock, turning stuff on its head--that works, that's believable. And, reading people cite the Joker/Rachel interaction as proof of sexual motives? No. First, he goes after the old man in the scene because the old man sets himself apart by speaking out. He turns his attention to Rachel only because she too chooses to set herself apart by speaking out. The sexual innuendo is merely the sure-fire way to cause the most shock and horror; and he may recognise her as Harvey Dent's girlfriend, so it's also the quickest way to drag the DA out of hiding--which is why they're there, after all.

Tragic and abused? Some writers have taken the story that the Joker tells the mob boss (right before gutting him), as gospel truth about the character, using it to create a more understandable and wounded version of the character (that an OFC will obviously comfort, kiss, and make all better). Except--clearly he's telling stories, as we get an entirely different account of scar-origin during the benefit party. I'm with Michelle in thinking that he probably did this to himself, and just enjoys telling the most effectively horrifying story per whatever audience he has at the time.

OK, enough criticism for now ...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I recognise people on my commute. And they recognise me. It's a complacently good-natured community.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

morning thought

The pianist at The Natick Collection is unexpectedly cool (or geeky, depending on your point of view). We were sitting and listening outside one of the department stores in the oddly comfortable sofas that they have peppered throughout the mall, and at one point he was definitely playing a somewhat embellished version of "There's a Fine, Fine Line" from the Avenue Q soundtrack. And if you had never heard the lyrics, it fit in with his repertoire just fine.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

life at random

I had visitors this weekend. Several of them, over the course of the weekend, actually.

John and Rodney arrived late on Friday (or early on Saturday, depending on your point of view).

Saturday was mostly a day of crazy Newbury Street yuletide shopping.

Presents from Lush for the boys, a tea kit from Tealuxe for Michelle, address books from Trident for my grandmothers. I also bought a blazer and a blouse at H&M (I didn't even know there was an H&M on Newbury Street until yesterday).

We also had lunch with Karen at the Boston Beer Works and went for haircuts at Dellaria--amazingly well-priced haircuts, too. It's made my head feel strangely light, but it's a good sensation.

And Saturday never really ended. We didn't come home until 4 o'clock on Sunday morning ... a morning that ended in a session of strip-Mario Kart in which several boys were undressed down to their tighty-whities (none of which were actually white, as fate would have it).

I know. Wish you were here, right?

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

maybe it was just me

Ready to rip Shaw's a new one.

Didn't Midol used to sit with the other pain-killers? You know, Tylenol, Advil, Excedrin, etc.

Is it just too "icky" to put there anymore?

Were men buying the stuff by accident?

When I'm cranky and in pain, I don't want to go on a scavenger hunt. You'd best stock my pain-killers with the other pills. Because I'm thinking, Pain. Pills for pain. Maybe not sitting right next to Tylenol, but certainly in the Tylenol vicinity. Yes?

Hell, keep it in both places, if you must, but don't get clever and move my pain-killers to the "girl" aisle. I'm not looking for Tampax. I'm looking for PILLS.

Am I completely wrong to expect to find Midol with other pain medication?



... On a non-cranky note, I'm really enjoying the Penderecki I purchased from iTunes. His religious intent doesn't interest me much, but he's created some truly beautiful haunting music. Harmony and cacophony all at once. Penderecki is what I imagine when reading the music descriptions in Rice's Memnoch.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

pure morning

Oh, this past weekend ... ~_~

And now for a more-detailed account of the weekend's events, adventures in Providence, and terrorists on skis.

Friday afternoon I left work and headed inbound, stopping at Park Street to browse through the Borders at Downtown Crossing (and apparently there's another Borders on Boylston St. now, too?). I was looking for books on doll-making (big surprise, that is) and drawing super-deformed characters (chibi!), since the human dolls I'm interested in making are of the chibi/SD variety. All around, that was a very discouraging stop, since there was really nothing I could use in stock.

Art dolls are ... interesting, but they give me the creeps. I'm not talking about sock creatures or weird animals or patch-work creations--but rather dolls like this. I recognize their art value; I can even understand why some people would want to collect and create them; but I wouldn't deal well with having one in my room. I would have Puppet Master nightmares (except that the nightmares would actually be scary rather than stupidly funny, like those movies).

From Park Street, I went to Harvard Square to visit Tokyo Kid, looking to see if they had any plushies in a discount bin; because, at a cheap enough price, I wouldn't mind buying one just to take it apart. Yes, I should've known better, really. Nothing is ever cheap at that store. Plushies of the type I was interested in were starting at $14. Yeah. No. Not for a UFO-catcher doll. Not when I've seen them on eBay for $6.

They did have how-to guides for drawing manga characters, but they weren't really what I wanted (and $20 besides); so I left without buying anything and continued on to The Coop. They were also a no-go for doll-making books, but they did have a very nice selection of manga-drawing books on the lowest shelf in their Art section. I might've bought one, but when I looked at the neverending line for the cashier, I lost my verve and opted to just go home. It was easy to do, really, since I knew I'd be spending money on Saturday. And since I went to Amazon.com, and ordered this.

And, check, spent money on Saturday. Melissa picked me up at the train station and we drove 'round to The Fabric Place and A.C. Moore. At The Fabric Place (where my head spun around and exploded upon entering--no, not really, but yikes, it's overwhelming) I bought velour in white and light gray, an evergreen suede, and a book on the basics of making soft toys. A.C. Moore had beanie babies for $4 ... yes, ashamed to say it, but I bought two: a skunk and an owl who have joined Jiji on the top of my television set. Oh! and some fat quarters in red, black, purple, and blue with different and interesting patterns.

Really, I wasn't as bad as I'd expected. The grand total could've been much worse.

After that, we went back to Melissa's to pick up Erich so we could all go to lunch. We went to The Texas Roadhouse. It's awesome. Yeah, the music is country-western, and we could all live without that, but the food ... The food is really just to-die-for. I haven't had steak in ... forever; and this was the perfect reunion for me and steak. And I ate alllll my food--and didn't really notice how full I was until it was time to get up and leave. And Mel very graciously spotted me the money for dinner again, so I really must buy her and Erich dinner next time around. I feel like a free-loader! TT_TT

Then we went back to the house for stitching and season two of Doctor Who. The six-minute segue between the end of season one and "The Christmas Invasion" (that I'd never seen before) really helps the Christmas special make more sense (so far as Rose accepting the Doctor's body-change, and how they crash). And holy crap, I love the outtakes so much. It makes me want to dress up as a cyberman and run around the Common, chasing squirrels and pigeons. Mmm. David Tennant.

And I was being productive too! I cut new arms (as I was less than pleased with my first attempt), hand-stitched them, and hand-sewed them into the torso seam, all ready to be stuffed when I got home. That doesn't seem like very much when typed out, but it took me a while to do all that. I think the biggest headache was in figuring out the placement of the arms in seams; because I wanted the seams to be perpendicular, not lined up (I like making life difficult for myself). But after they were pinned into place, it wasn't too bad.

After the Doctor Who outtakes, Mel drove me home--which was super-nice of her. And I, of course, stayed awake to stuff the doll's arms and torso, and attach the head. This was all while half-heartedly watching Icebreaker. I didn't know what the hell was happening in that movie by the time I'd finished crafting and was actually paying attention ... so I started the DVD over again from the beginning. And promptly fell asleep.

I tried to watch it again on Sunday morning. It's a really bad movie, Bruce Campbell and Sean Astin notwithstanding. A concise description of the plot idea would be "Die Hard with skis." If you think that sounds dumb, you don't know the half of it. I swear it was written by somebody (probably a former member of ski patrol) who was working at a ski resort and got bored. I can just see it:

"Oh, what if terrorists showed up?" [for no bloody reason at all] "Hmm. Yes. They need a reason to be here, don't they? ... Uhh, they've lost their nuclear weapons from Russia in a plane crash on the mountain! And the only way to get them back is to take the ski lodge hostage!" [never mind that Russia is small beans anymore, but they can't just sneak up there and get their nuclear stuff back without anybody noticing?] "No! We want this to be like Die Hard! And, instead of a cop, what if a member of the ski patrol had to save the day?" [because, you never know, it could happen] "And we can have terrorists on skis, chasing the hero down the black diamond trail!" [the terrorists know how to ski?] "Yes." [and snowboard?] "Yes!" [and shoot guns at the same time?] "YES!" [how do all the terrorists know how to ski?] "Because they do!" [and, yes, losing me ...]

You know that's how it went. Sean Astin should've known to stay away from terrorist movies after Toy Soldiers. Oh, well. In spite of its being a really dumb movie (actually, maybe because it's a really dumb movie), I did kind of enjoy it. But then I enjoyed Toy Soldiers too, and that's equally absurd.

Oh, yeah. A little after ten o'clock the doorbell rang. It was the USPS carrier. On Sunday. My package from Aranzi Aronzo had arrived--less than a week after ordering it. From Japan. And on a Sunday. The EMS packaging boasts: "fastest International delivery." I think they've earned that boast. I really didn't expect it to arrive that fast.

The book is beautiful and chock full of visual instructions that make it really easy to follow along. And the fact that I can read katakana helps a bit too.

On the invoice somebody wrote a small note in very neat (and somewhat broken) English. But it was just so nice. And personalized. And it definitely made me go: "Awwwwww!"

It might be a generalization of their culture, but it's a good one--and so, hopefully, forgiveable--but ... Japanese people are so damn nice.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

tableware you know you want to use

The title, you'll soon understand, is sarcastic.

I was browsing Aranzi.net, a Japanese store featuring products with different animal characters (and some that aren't animals at all), and found these in the Tableware category:

"Poisoned drink" and "poisoned food" (respectively). It's like Hello Kitty from Hell. Awesome.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

nuigurumi

This past weekend I rewarded the leaps and bounds I had made in organizing my desk by finally pulling out my sewing machine and using it (after a hibernation period of how long?), temporarily relocating the laptop to my bed. I also cleared out a nook for the sewing machine on one of the lower shelves of the desk for when I'm not using it; having it there will make it easier to take out whenever I want.

Friday afternoon, I had found a fairly simple pattern for a stuffed cat on Craftster, and on Saturday morning I decided to give it a try. My first attempts were, I now see, doomed. The pattern was too small for the fabric I had chosen (remember the black faux fur-like remnant from The Children's Museum? no, I hadn't either--until I found it lumped in with my other sewing odds and ends); it was shedding and thick and pretty impossible stuff to work with, and not at all a good idea for a "first stab" at a stuffed animal.

So I took a break for lunch, popped a couple ibuprofen, and began to watch the third season of Arrested Development, which had just arrived in the mail. And at some point during the show, I started sorting through the other kinds of fabric--they were still spread out on my bed since I'd not put them away. I decided to make life simpler, enlarged the pattern, chose two kinds of cotton (from the various fat quarters I've collected over the years), and started afresh.

It should be noted that this particular pattern is in Japanese. I don't know Japanese (well, not entirely true--I know very little, and cannot read kanji), so I basically followed my intuition with the process. Most of it worked out well; some of it could've gone better. Like the arms. I stuffed the arms before machine-sewing them into the seam of the torso. And if I ever do that again, I'll probably sew them with their seams perpendicular, rather than parallel. Because they're kind of floppy, in a way that would be arm-breaking on a real creature.

I think I had just finished the machine-sewing part when the first disc of Arrested Development ended. I plugged the iPod into the television to watched The Illusionist (which is kind of weird to watch after Gob's magic nonsense on AD), and stuffed the separate body parts (head, body, and tail) with destroyed pieces of the black fur material (because what else am I going to do with that stuff?).

Some of the way through the stuffing process, I realized that I had no hand-sewing needles. I rummaged through my disorganized bags of sewing stuff, and no. Nothing with which to sew the pieces together.

So, Saturday night concluded with my project looking like this:

Sunday I took the trip from South Station out to Framingham. I had about half an hour to wait for my train, so I stopped at one of the food stalls in the station for a sandwich. There's a new one called Cosi, and I recommend it to anyone who happens to wind up in South Station. Their melts are awesome.

My purpose of the day was to visit The Fabric Place and get whatever I needed to finish my project--and browse too, since it is, according to their advertisements, the biggest Fabric Place in New England. I bought more than I needed to: a 50-pack of hand-sewing needles, more fat quarters from the quilting department, felt squares, poly-fill (no more lumpy stuffed creatures), and poly pellets (no more top-heavy stuffed creatures either).

I arrived home around twilight, and finished sewing the cat's pieces together before dinner arrived while watching the second (and last) disc of Arrested Development, season three. He still needs a face (as I'm using pins to mark where I'm thinking it should go), but this is what he looks like now:



Somewhere between Framingham and South Station, on the trip home from The Fabric Place, I decided that his name is Farsil Redleaf. The "Redleaf" part is fairly understandable (the maple pattern fabric that makes up his front, tail, and inner-ears); but don't ask me about "Farsil," because I don't know or remember why I arrived at that. I was always bad at naming pets. I'm equally bad at naming stuffed animals.

Other changes I would consider making to the process:

1. Perhaps determine a more stable way of attaching the head to the body (or, indeed, a way of attaching all pieces to the body before stuffing). I just feel like the hand-sewing bits were the least uniform, and maybe the whole design could be machine sewn if slightly altered. Maybe the tail, like the arms, could be pre-stuffed and sewn into the seam.

* In lieu of that, do some trial-stitching on spare fabric and try to recall that old secret of "the hidden stitch."

2. Stitch the face (with whatever) before sewing the head together, because I can already tell that any attempt at satin-stitching the face is going to be rather difficult.

3. Make use of the poly-pellets in the bottom (and maybe the feet too) so that it's not so top-heavy. Otherwise, it really can't sit up by itself.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

digging for the truth

It's a slogan that The History Channel has pasted all over the MBTA Green Line trains (I can't speak for the other lines, as I don't see them very often). It's a sentiment that would seem to express serious scholastic interest, but none of the accompanying images really match up.

"Digging for the truth" apparently means taking part in adventure sport--hang-gliding over lost civilizations that bear a striking resemblance to scenery from King Kong and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, rock-climbing the face of large old statues (that, amazingly, aren't so old that they crumble or self-destruct under the stress and pressure of human weight), and base-jumping (or perhaps sky-diving, I couldn't tell) out of helicopters. ... But no actual "digging," no, not as such.

I had a lot of time to contemplate these advertisements over the three-day weekend (because I work at a university, and Martin Luther King Jr. received his doctorate here--if we didn't celebrate Martin Luther King Day as a proper holiday, what would people think?).

Saturday I spent indoors, watching DVDs from Netflix and some episodes of Psych that I had downloaded from iTunes. I also began to rearrange and tidy up my book-shelves, trying to give the madness a recognizable method--important since there are things I can't find that I really wish I could.

Like my sketch books or my votive candles. I had a whole bag of votives, and now I have no idea where they are. I really hope they're not in my closet (a whole other barrel of worms--yes, a barrel), but the fact that I dread even attempting to search there probably means that that's exactly where they are.

But speaking of Psych, the long mid-season pause (a pause of several months, as the last new episode was back in August) is nearly over; there's going to be a new episode airing this Friday. I'm looking forward to the continuation and hope that the series is picked up for another season. Blasphemy, but I like it better than Monk.

I nearly stayed indoors again on Sunday, but outside forces were at work that would change my mind midway through the day. Numerous instant messages overnight from my mother guilted me into inspired me to call my parents. My mother was happy to find that I'd been making use of the iTunes gift card they'd given me for Christmas (those television episodes). She also wanted to know my extended weekend plans, which had basically been put on the shelf due to inclement weather, and I said as much.

Then my father got on the phone and gave me a pep-talk--you know the kind. Don't let bad weather discourage you, get out there with an umbrella and enjoy the time, etc. It's a very easy pep-talk to give when your own weather is not shit (they live in North Carolina, and enjoyed a sunny and mild weekend). So I said in a very noncommittal way that I would get out of my apartment, and he seemed nonetheless satisfied with that unenthusiastic response.

They rung off, and I surprised even myself by actually doing what I said I would. I ate a quick lunch and left the house, North Station my destination--and arrived there at about 1:45 PM. I bought a round-trip ticket at the booth, and took the Rockport train out of Boston at 2:15 PM, which is how I ended up spending a rainy afternoon in Salem, MA.

While there, I [finally] bought Christmas presents for my flat-mates at a shop on Derby St. called Witch Ways: a sun-and-moon themed wind-chime for Michelle and an opalescent "witch ball" for Stephanie (they call it that because it's meant to protect a home from malevolent forces, but to me it looks like a pretty glass-blown Christmas ornament). After that, I went farther down to Ye Olde Pepper Candy Companie, the oldest candy company in America (open since 1806), and bought truffles--because I really like their truffles and thought they would be nice to accompany the gifts.



Christmas crises over with, I walked back toward Pickering Wharf, and stopped in at Cafe Jaho for a cappuccino and some writing--and, though I hadn't really expected much of myself, I got a fair amount of writing done. It needs editing, as the characterization of my main character is a little off for the scene (though I haven't dealt with him in 50,000 words, so that's not very surprising); but I like what I've done with the secondary character, so it wasn't a wasted or fruitless effort.

I didn't leave Salem until nearly 6:00 PM, and walked around taking pictures in the dark until the next inbound train was due to arrive.




Some of them turned out better than others.

Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready to go out into the rain again, the doorbell rang. It was the postman with my purchases from Amazon.co.uk--the three new books based on the Torchwood series. I unwrapped them, enjoyed the sight of them for a few minutes (when you line up the three separate book spines they make a picture of the whole team), and put Another Life in my bag for T reading material.



I spent the afternoon at the CambridgeSide Galleria, and bought a new protective case for my iPod (a black and red leather folio that I saw at the Apple Store in Raleigh, NC over Christmas break and had been coveting ever since, regardless of the U2-connection).

Shopping confession two, I feel, requires preamble to justify the purchase--one that the majority of my friends will still feel is not an adequate justification; but if they're really my friends they'll forgive the rather "preppy" vanity involved. I don't generally shop at Abercrombie & Fitch; it's usually out of my price range, and, quite frankly, most of the clothing is poorly crafted and overpriced for its quality (or lack thereof). I've only shopped their clearance, because that's when I feel that the clothing is actual worth what you're paying.

All that being said, I really like the way Abercrombie & Fitch clothing smells--you know, before the first time you wash it. And, while looking for clothing deals with my mother in the post-Christmas madness, we went into an Abercrombie & Fitch. I ended up buying a sweater and a pair of greenish-gray khakis; and again, I was struck by the fragrance on all of the clothes.

Waiting in line, there was a table beside the check-out counter with bottles of multiple scents, and I picked up the test-bottle of "Classic" on a hunch and spritzed it on a test-strip. Sure enough, "Classic" is what all their clothes smell like. And I wanted it, but I didn't buy it; it seemed like overkill at the time (and I'm sure still seems like overkill to you, dear readers, now).

With that long introduction to the fact, the shorter story is that I went and bought a bottle yesterday at the Galleria. Because I was there, and alone, and had no one in tow to give me judgmental glares about the silliness of such a purchase (you know who you are--yes, all of you, most likely). No, I'm only leaving myself open to criticism after the fact by mentioning it in my blog; but at least this way no one can attempt to talk me out of it.

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saving those pence

I watched the finale of Torchwood last night, but only after observing the torrent with much frustration for several hours. It was certainly worth the wait.

First of all, BBC Three aired the final episodes (12 and 13) of Torchwood on Monday night. I waited and watched mininova and similar sites, on the lookout for an update and available torrents. A little while before I was getting ready to go to bed, they were suddenly there, so I started them; and, in spite of there being purportedly dozens of seeds, the torrents were downloading very slowly. I huffed and sobbed and eventually went to bed, with the old aphorism of pots boiling running through my brain.

When I awoke the next morning, they were barely half-done downloading. I huffed some more, and went to watch episodes of Arrested Development and Robin Hood and continued to check on my torrents restlessly.

Episode 12, "Captain Jack Harkness" finished at around 7:30 PM, and I eagerly dropped everything else and was fairly hypnotised by my media player for the next fifty minutes. Brief plot: the Jack we know and Toshiko walk through a rift in time in an old abandoned Ritz, and they end up in 1940s Cardiff just before the blitz--where they meet ... Captain Jack Harkness.

First off, the other Captain Jack Harkness is very pretty; this episode was asking for a Jack/Jack snog the moment the audience (and our Captain Jack) was introduced to the other one. Suffice to say, the episode doesn't disappoint in that way at all. It almost makes you believe it's going to disappoint you, but then it doesn't.

Eventually, the rest of the team bring Jack and Tosh back through the rift (with their machine and an incomplete equation). Actually, that's much easier said than done on-screen. Ianto and Owen get into a serious brawl over whether they should or shouldn't use the rift machine without the complete equation (Owen for, and Ianto against). Owen manages to activate the machine, bringing their teammates back through, but Owen doesn't get through that act unscathed. Ianto shoots him in the back, and only barely misses his heart.

"End of Days" is the thirteenth and final episode of this season. The aftershocks of Owen's opening the rift continue to have ill effect on Cardiff and the world. Aliens, Roman soldiers, and peasants carrying the Black Death are coming through the rift and wreaking havoc. Jack blames Owen, and after too much insubordination from Owen, Jack fires him. I also get the feeling that perhaps Jack would've been happier to stay in the 1940s in the previous episode, and is angry that Owen has brought them back at such an expense to humanity.

Throughout the episode the team members see dead loved ones urging them to open the rift--that if they only open the rift entirely, everything will go back to normal. Gwen ends up being the catalyst; her boyfriend Rhys is stabbed to death by the strange Ritz manager from the previous episode, stabbed while Rhys is locked in the Hub (and supposedly safe from harm). Gwen, convinced that she can turn back time and bring her beau back to life, insists upon opening the rift. Jack knows better, but Owen shows up again (after a haunting visit from his lost Dianne) and they all turn on Captain Jack in mutiny. And Owen shoots Jack in the head when the Captain tries to forcibly stop them from turning on the machine.

No, turning on the rift machine was a bad idea. As it turns out, a giant demonic creature lives under the rift, and the team has inadvertently released it and brought on the destruction of man; because any human being standing in the shadow of the monster falls down dead. Well, as he has done in previous episodes, Captain Jack comes back to the land of the living after being shot in the head repeatedly, determined to sacrifice himself for the greater good again.

The final minutes of the episode are fairly biblical. Jack has Gwen drive him out to the hills to meet the demon and tells her to run away. Jack and the giant have a battle of will--the creature's ability to fell anything in its path versus Jack's apparent immortality. There's light and rumbling, and Jack's neverending life-force seems to react with the monster's shadow like a meeting of matter and anti-matter. The creature is consumed in light and disappears, leaving Jack (looking much worse for wear) lying on the hill-top.

Gwen brings his body back to the Hub, and everyone besides her believes Jack is (at last) dead. After assuring herself that Rhys is back and alive, Gwen returns to Jack and sits with him for days. When she seems ready to give up, she kisses him, and starts to walk away. We hear Jack say, "Thank you." And, like Jesus out of the tomb, he's back!

It's a good way to end the season and a real tear-jerker. Everyone's crying and hugging and apologising, and Jack forgives a crying Owen and snogs Ianto. It's just a happy ending.

And then Jack seems to see something that the audience isn't allowed to see, there's a sound--very Tardis-like--and Jack disappears without a trace. Again, like Jesus being collected to Heaven.

Jack is a total Christ figure.

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Continuing my need for Torchwood, I went to Amazon.co.uk, and ordered the first two books based on the series: Another Life and Slow Decay, priced at £5.59 each. I also purchased Maddigan's Quest, because I've been meaning to watch it since last January.

However, when I went back to Amazon.co.uk this morning, the books were priced down to £4.89 each; so I cancelled them on the previous order, and re-ordered all three at the new and lower price. Because I value that £2.10--that's $US 4 or so. I can get three cups of coffee out of that at Dunkin' Donuts.

Yes, I'm cheap--but it's Amazon's fault for allowing me to be so. You can cancel anything up until they actually ship it to you; and since they hadn't shipped them yet, I was allowed to cancel and get the discount. And I like getting a discount, especially when I'm paying nearly £10 for shipping and handling (because there's no super saver shipping to the States from the UK).

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And a final note to self: Slip the rent check under the landlord's door. While she's a nice lady and won't come to murder you in your sleep, you shouldn't take advantage of that. Stop being forgetful. The End.

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more presents

In which I give a catalog of my haul and the food made and consumed thus far.

No, not really, but close enough.

PREZZIES


I also received $40 from my Grammy, a $50 iTunes gift card, a pair of black pjs from Gap Body, and a navy blue hoodie from AEO (the last two of which I am presently wearing).

On Saturday, we went out to lunch at an Asian bistro down by the ballpark.

In the afternoon I made chocolate-chip cookies. Then, my mom was having issues with the baci and the cookie press, and enlisted my assistance with those as well. We ended up removing the shaper at the end, and (in my opinion) they looked more like what they were supposed to be in the first place.

If you've never had--or made--them before, baci are rather work-intensive cookies; but the product is well worth the effort. We made "Romeo" baci (versus "Juliet" baci). "Romeo" baci have chocolate in the batter, whereas "Juliet" baci do not and are a plain almond or hazelnut flavor. They're baked in halves; then, you paint melted chocolate on the underside of one and stick it to another underside; then, you put them on a plate or sheet and stick them in the fridge until the chocolate sets again. It's a sandwich cookie, but it looks like ball--and more than a little naughty when it's in its halves.

Before baking the baci, we had to let them sit on the sheets for a few hours to set up. So we went to Costco and Kroger during the interim. At Costco we bought 5 lbs. of Australian lamb, two bottles of wine, and a few different kinds of cheese.

Some religious nut had left a fake $20 on a pile of journals with a "call to Jesus" on the inside: "Disappointed? Jesus won't let you down." It was followed by a church address and a number for a hotline. I borrowed my mother's red pen, wrote my own little message on the inside, and put it back where I'd found it. Shit-heels.

My dad wandered off, and my mom and I continued on to Kroger looking for bread and Ballatore. There was wine-tasting going on in the alcohol section, and I tried a merlot while my mom had a shiraz. They were good, but not tempting enough to make us change our planned course. All the bread was pathetic and embarrassing, so my mom said, "Screw this! Let's make our own!" Our cart was conspicuously food-free; we bought two bottles of Ballatore (the regular spumante and the rosso), a six-pack of the peach Bacardi, a six-pack of Mike's hard lemonade, and Dayquil for my eversick father.

When we got home, my mom sent me out to the yard to collect oregano and rosemary, and we proceeded to make garlic and herb baguettes. While they were rising, we finished the baci.

Saturday night dinner consisted of spiced wine, a few kinds of cheese, baguette, and cured ham--with baci, chocolate-chip cookies, and chocolate-covered almonds (because we had to do something with the leftover melted chocolate) for dessert.

Sunday continued the madness of food. Lunch was another simple sit-down with more homemade bread, cheese, and ham. Then, we went out to the Grand Asia Market and Trader Joe's in Cary. And, you know, bought more food. Because we had to.

After getting home again, my mom and I got started on Christmas Eve dinner: a riesling, roasted lamb marinated in too many things for me to list, herbed mashed potatoes, and a vegetable stir-fry. The lamb took nearly three hours to complete, but it was so worth it. I hadn't had lamb in nearly three years, and this was a happy reintroduction.

Today, following the morning's present craziness, we began Christmas dinner: a rose wine, still more bread, shrimp in marinara sauce, and Italian sausage lasagna. I am so damn full; I think I'll be rolling back to Boston after the holiday is over.

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high and dry

The title is in reference to where the Holidailies hub has left us for today--promptless. I am thus abandoned and neglected, and my topic must fend for itself and decide what it wants to be. My topics are a lot like me, however: indecisive, ever changing, and always procrastinating.

Granted, I've been mostly ignoring the Holidaily prompts, or twisting them to suit my purposes. But I like having that option of ignoring something.

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My morning has been terribly lax. Toast, tea, and milk in bed. And Torchwood.

I was re-watching "Countrycide" this morning, the sixth episode of the series. It's like The Hills Have Eyes, but set in the Welsh countryside--and focusing more on the team-members of Torchwood rather than the crazy rural cannibals. I made some screencaps ... and four icons.

John Barrowman has the best teeth ever. Seriously. The man has perfectly white, straight teeth. And nearly vampiric canines. Just awesome and unbelievable teeth.

I've been downloading songs and bands that have been featured on the show so far, because the music in the first episode inspired me. I think it was Snow Patrol's "Spitting Games" that set me off on the music search. And it just so happens that wikipedia has an episode log for the series, and a music list for each episode. Seventeen songs, fourteen artists, mostly Brit pop. My favourites have been Snow Patrol, Placebo, Hard-Fi, and Mogwai.

Yes, I'm kind of obsessed. There's a new episode airing tonight on BBC Three, and varying reports are calling it "Random Shoes" and "Invisible Eugene" ... I'm inclined to believe the latter, since it's coming from imdb.com (which seems to be a better source for reality than wikipedia--hey, I love wikipedia, but it can be full of crap).

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The shopping update? I've done no holiday shopping this weekend (bad Ri!), online or otherwise. I really must get that act together. And soon.

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shopping horrors

I'm not sure if it's because I've never had a truly horrible shopping experience, or if my mind is just that good at blocking out bad memories--but I can't really think of any personal horror stories of shopping. Nothing major that would make an interesting anecdote, at any rate.

But dressing rooms have been known to make me nauseous, which leads me to think I may have a minor case of claustrophobia. Basically what sometimes happens is this: I overheat and feel like I might faint or get sick. It doesn't happen all the time, just sometimes. Only I can't recall ever feeling like that in a lavatory stall or lift, so I'm not sure what it is. Maybe I subconsciously just don't enjoy trying on clothes.

... My parents did lose me in department stores when I was younger. Well, my mother likes to say I was playing hide and seek in the clothing racks; but I can clearly recall just losing them on one or two occasions. I would turn around for a minute, something catching my attentively deficient and easily distracted gaze, turn back, and they were gone. And I remember being taken to the lost and found station by some worried passer-by, and having a sales associate page my mother or father. That was kind of horrifying. And, in retrospect, it's horrifying to consider how damned dangerous that situation really was (and can be, even more-so, today).

There's nothing holiday-related in those little factoids, though; and that's making this entry seem like a lost prompt.

On a more holiday-relevant note, I keep receiving e-mails regarding the UPS and USPS updates on certain of my packages for friends and family. All seems to be going well, and no terrible kinks in the works yet. *Knock on wood.* Hopefully things will continue to go according to plan.

Expected shopping horrors ahead are more at my own fault, and less at any peculiar metaphorical department-store lightning bolts from on high. I still have yet to decide what to get from my flat-mates, my grandmothers, and three other friends. Of these seven people, only two have wish lists on Amazon.com.

General cluelessness, combined with the character flaw of chronic indecisiveness, will make this final stretch of holiday shopping my own personal nightmare.

At least I have illicit copies of Torchwood episodes to make it all better at the end of the day. Captain Jack Harkness helps me black out the horrors of shopping.

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sun or snow?

It's December 3rd. As predicted yesterday, I've managed to check five people off the gift list so far. I want to get at least two more done tonight, hopefully with the help of Amazon.com.

This does not include holiday cards, unfortunately. And I keep remembering people that I need to do cards for, so that list is getting longer. Problem being that I'm not sure where my address book is--or if it's even updated. So I might flake on those again (it's nearly traditional at this point, my not sending cards). Yes, I'm a writer who does not like writing cards. Silly, right?

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Illicit confession time. I've been downloading Pan's Labyrinth since Friday. It's almost done. I've already watched the first hour of it (sometimes the file allows you to see what's been downloaded so far, sometimes it doesn't).

The version I've got is dubbed in French with chopped-off English subtitles. Whenever a character was saying so much (two line's worth), you can read the top line. But not the bottom line. And for single lines of dialog nothing can be read at all. So I kind of understand what's being said, but not really.

It has some particularly violent and bloody moments--thus the R-rating--but I don't think that should deter fantasy enthusiasts; because, for all the gore, what I've seen is pretty damn brilliant. I think I prefer it to The City of Lost Children (another foreign fairy tale for adults). I'm looking forward to watching it in the cinema, in its original Spanish with full English subtitles.

I also watched A Ma Soeur yesterday. I'm not sure what to say about it. I suppose I could share the plot. But it's awful, so feel free to skip the following paragraph.

French family on vacation has two adolescent daughters. The elder one is 15, thin and pretty and, oh yeah, a slag. The younger one is 12 or 13 and overweight. The parents insist that the elder drag the younger everywhere she goes, and they have to share a room and so on, etc. Elder one falls for 20-something Italian guy, and he visits her at their house in the middle of the night. And the younger one has to lie there and pretend to be asleep while her sister is being a cocktease one night and loses her virginity the next (at great length--the scene goes on for about fifteen or twenty minutes--I think the director is a twisted bitch). The parents are oblivious, and the father is a workaholic who leaves vacation early. So the mother eventually finds out that her daughter has been a naive slag and then starts driving them home. Only they stop at a rest-stop on the highway and some guy comes along with an axe, breaks the windshield, bashes the slutty sister's head in, strangles the mother, and then drags the overweight girl into the woods and rapes her. But he doesn't kill her. And the message we are meant to glean is anyone's best guess: that just because you're fat and quiet doesn't mean you too are not worth raping. Or something. But that's the way the movie ends, with Anais (the fat sister) being led out of the woods by policemen and seeing her mother and sister half-dragged from their car, chalked and taped by forensics. And Anais says, "He didn't rape me," or something to that effect. The End.

As you might expect, it kind of left me feeling very bleah, which led to watching Love Actually (because after you take a downer, you're going to need an upper to make you feel okay again).

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appreciating the smallest things

Headaches, shopping, and dollies. Oh, my!

I suppose I should appreciate that my headache is a small one. All things considered, I'm not sure what has prompted this headache. My stress has depleted a fair deal since this morning. Why? Because I've managed to tick off three names on my gift list. Well, three and half of two people--so it's kind of like I've managed four people if we put the two halves together.

Who are the incompletes? My parents. I solved half of the parental gift-giving puzzle today. They asked for clothing, and I will get them clothing. But I also wanted to surprise them, get them something they wouldn't expect and didn't ask for. And this morning I finally figured out something that seemed fitting.

In summers long past, my folks and I used to go camping in New Hampshire near a town called North Conway. The town had lots of little stores and one of them was a three-level Annalee's shop--a clearance basement, and a first and second floor show-room. It became my family's habit to visit there once a year during our stay to look at the new display of poseable figures.

What are Annalee dolls? you might ask. Poseable, hand-painted, mostly felt-and-wire dolls of all kinds--people, animals, holiday-oriented and otherwise. If you have an occasion, Annalee's probably has a doll for you. The history of these dolls goes back to the 1930s, and I could attempt to relay the details, but they have an official site that will probably do a better job at that.

Annalee's

Before I left North Carolina this Thanksgiving, I was going through the holiday decorations and found a few of the dolls--but we didn't have a lot of Christmas-related ones. Three or four, I think. And this morning I was thinking about them again, and I can't say what prompted that either; but I decided that it's something my mom and dad will never expect but probably like a lot, given its sentimental value.

Yeah, I know. They're dolls. But I feel secure that my dad is a modern fellow who can appreciate the artistry of these weird little creations.

My first attempt at ordering from one site might have incited my headache; I got an error message before the checkout could go through. I didn't want to chance something like that happening while "completing" the order, so I went to another site that had a similarly large inventory--and the exact thing that I had wanted in the first place.

And, if you're curious, these are the three I'm sending them:

Yuletide Santa
Mrs. Jinglebell Santa
and Tobogganing Bunny

Now I just have to do the clothing thing, which I intend to get to tomorrow while JCPenny is having some special Sunday sale online for "friends and family." I forget the specifics of the sale, but my mother sent me an e-mail and it's still in my inbox, so I'm not worried about it.

My dad asked for a cardigan, and that's what he'll get, but I think my mom may be getting some kind of sweater from them as well.

So, with three and two halves done, I have ... [looks at list] six and two halves to go. I'm appreciating those two halves right now--they're small, and after tomorrow I won't worry about them anymore.

Other small things that I appreciate--my credit card. So small, so light, ... so damned important this time of year.

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