mer: (Default)
Favorite Ways to Catwax, #427:

Be concerned that too high a percentage of your short story titles begin with the letter H. Write down all letters of the alphabet, diagnose true proportions, and start thinking up new stories you can write that start with B, Q and Z.

Moue

Jul. 1st, 2005 03:20 pm
mer: (Default)
Potentially the funniest email I've gotten ever. Certainly, all year.

From la stepdaughter:

Hi mer are you going to the cottage with dad and I. If you'er going
then we'll have so much fun and get to be life long friends! Well
we'er already life long friends but close enough. If you do'nt go I
will miss you very much. Oh and I'll feel bad because you'll miss
the candy and the sweets. WOW I'm making my self hungry,and also if
you might not go but do'nt know you are risking to miss the
fierworks. But it's your distion to make. Love you bye.

There's a very serious and very candy-obsessed personality inside that brain. When she was little and used to bang on our student-ghetto coffee table with both hands and look smugly pleased with herself from making that noise... I really would never have guessed she'd grow to be the person she is today. But it does all fit, in retrospect.

I have a feeling it gets weirder from here on in.
mer: (if I were me)
I dust thneethed tho hard I dit by tug.
mer: (if I were me)
"disease" is actually *not* a synonym for "unease"
mer: (Default)
My homemade eggnog came out... chunky. And stinking of sulphur.

Gotta remember to throw that out tomorrow.

Happy holiday of your choice.

Aaaaargh.

Jul. 31st, 2004 01:26 pm
mer: (if I were me)
I meant to write today. Today was going to be the writing day. But by the time I sat down to do this thing, it was noon, and by the time I actually opened a file, the doorbell rang and I had to go talk to a neighbor today about our blue spruce trees they're going to cut down. (The property line runs right through the trunks, so they're just as much their blue spruce trees as ours, and neither Dann nor I want to quibble, plus this would do good things for the veggie garden boxes, and they're only going to take one down.)

(Oh, yay! I finally heard a cicada! Yay, yay, yay! I'm disappointed that it's not been raucous cicada nightmare, after all the anticipation about Brood X. I like markers to the years, particularly non-harmful-just-annoying markers, like raucous cicada nightmare could have been.)

Anyway, it's 1:30. We have to leave at 3:30 for ah, uhm, a thing I can't report on just in case there's more journal readership than I think. It's a good two hours to work, and that's not anything to sneer at, but it's not enough time to get into the intensive novel work I was thinking of today. The novel work I was thinking of today will involve at least 20 minutes of scrubbing in order to provide the proper sterile operating environment before I open her up. The liver is in the wrong place, you see. So, I'm going to have to dig up something less intensive to work on, like maybe, "The Paradise Covenant." Which is a much less bad story than I remembered it being, and I don't need to rewrite it from the ground up. I have some lovely So-Fic (Social Fiction, as opposed to Science Fiction, mwaha, watch me *not* coin words right there) in it, including a backlash against psychiatry. Woo. I'd totally forgotten that.

But, still. Grumpy, because my plan has been derailed. Do you think if I tried to write for eight hours a day on my vacation, anyone would let me? I don't think so, either. Oh, they'd say they'd let me, but they wouldn't, really. Dann's not as bad as my mom was when I was growing up, who in turn wasn't as bad as my grandparents...

But let's face it, the problem with living with non-writers is that they don't realize how the process works. That yes, you-the-writer are allowed to get up, leave the quiet area, initiate conversation, rant, wring hands, call someone on the phone, eat snacks, dramatically beat the keyboard, demand that anyone around illustrate some fine point of wrestling, knife-fighting or kissing (depending on appropriateness), beg for help on word-choice and discard all their suggestions as too banal, and otherwise be an apparently interactive (and yet irritating) member of society/the family while writing. Because, in-between, you're dashing back to the computer and typing furiously, headphones on and head down and not talking to anyone. It might not look like working, but it is; that's how it is when I'm writing fast. That's a 10k day, right there.

Inevitably, the not-writers come up to you and demand that you take out the garbage, because it's apparent that you're not really working, or interrupt you in the middle of the typing-furiously-time to ask if you want snacks--because clearly, you're interruptable, look at the crazy stuff you just did in the last half-hour--or just want to know where they left the hairbrush/remote control/car keys... Or even better, little nine-year-old non-writers come in and want to "watch you work." Uhm... And boom, you're out of crazy writer world. "Gaugh!"

And that's the best-case scenario--that's if anyone even respects the quiet area. Often times, the quiet area becomes the TV-watching area, or the loud conversation area, or the sleeping area. Or the brushing teeth area. (That one I still don't get.) And you get told that you were crazy to expect the quiet area to remain the quiet area, and don't you have an office?. Well, I do, as it happens, and it's full of guestbed, and it gets hot, and some days, you just can't work in the same place. Even so, I don't have an office at the lake. And I believe the nearest Starbucks or Borders to the lake might be in Grand Rapids, which is a bit of a haul. And if you do retreat to an office or even a bedroom, you get lambasted for being anti-social.

Am I going to offend everyone in my family with this one? Probably. Please keep in mind I'm basing this on years and years of experience, from age 11 on up to now. And that I wasted 40 minutes of completely interrupt-free time while Dann sleeps in the other room to complain about how my time is devalued. Because I'm hilariously hypocritical like that.
mer: (Default)
[10:16] FairMer10:: Anyway. The one funny thing said today, but didn't get written down, was about the "misshelved" designation.
[10:17] FairMer10:: Misshelved, if you think about it, is the most useless thing to say about an item. How do you know? Isn't it just lost? If it's honestly misshelved, you can't know that. If you do know that, go shelve it properly.
[10:17] DiraSudis: *nodsnods*
[10:17] FairMer10:: So, we were coming up with "positive things" to say about the Aleph implementation.
[10:17] FairMer10:: (shrug)
[10:18] FairMer10:: And I said, "They decided to do away with 'misshelved.'" And there was blinking, as everyone took it in.
[10:18] FairMer10:: And someone said, "Who comes up with something like that?"
[10:18] DiraSudis: *grins*
[10:18] FairMer10:: And Harold said, "Well, Aleph is widely used in France."
[10:18] DiraSudis: hee!
[10:19] DiraSudis: Oh, France, man. I have heard horror stories - well, a horror story, anyway - about their big national library.
[10:19] FairMer10:: Oh?
[10:19] DiraSudis: Apparently it's just a big building full of rooms full of boxes full of things that are probably books.
[10:20] FairMer10:: "probably"
[10:20] FairMer10:: Yikes.
[10:20] DiraSudis: A professor I had for a drama class had gone over there to do research and they just took him to a room and said, "Here. What you're looking for is probably in here. Somewhere."
[10:20] FairMer10:: Yeah.
[10:21] FairMer10:: That's about as bad as it gets.
[10:21] DiraSudis: So, on the bright side, there are probably lots of treasures of French literature lurking somewhere.
[10:21] DiraSudis: And on the other bright side, at least we aren't the French.
[10:21] FairMer10:: Suddenly, misshelved takes on a whole new dimension.
[10:22] DiraSudis: Also, wouldn't that be a cool job? Trying to *fix* a library like that?
[10:23] FairMer10:: Yes.
[10:23] FairMer10:: Well, I'm jealous of what Brandon got to do in the Titiev library, and it wasn't half that bad.
[10:23] DiraSudis: Dave actually recommended me a SF book once, where the main character was a librarian and that was what she was doing - she was *creating* a library from all these boxes of stuff, and I was just, like. Guh.
[10:24] DiraSudis: But then it started focusing on guns and action and drama and stuff, and I lost interest.

"some kid"

Jun. 15th, 2003 10:27 am
mer: (Absurd (Arrested Development))
The doorbell rang half an hour ago. A little blond boy was at the door.

"Hey. There's some kid who lives here. Can she come out and play?"

Startled, I said, "Uhm, Kayla's not here today."

"Ok, thanks!" And then, as he jogged away, "Kayla. Kayla. Kayla." Muttered to himself.
mer: (Anthropology (Binford))
An article by John Pfeiffer appearing back in Science '81 (what can I say? Most of my anthropological reading comes from reserves lists, as I process them) speculates that since human beings waste so much time and energy on silly pursuits, there must be some sort of evolutionary advantage to it all.

Fancy that. Instead of seeing "the impressive human ability to waste energy" as some sort of outcome of the advancement of human cultural evolution, Pfeiffer sees it as a possible catalyst.

His argument is that you don't see most carnivores wasting time or energy in vain pursuits like sky-diving (technology and opposable thumbs aside). Carnivores are either pursuing food or lazing around (e.g. lions, which sleep or drowse 20 hours a day). Never mind that human beings have culturally advanced to a place where a large percentage of the world population (at least, most of the energy-wasters) don't have to conserve all their energy for periodic massive bursts effort wherein they locate and acquire enough calories to survive. Many humans are currently swimming in an excess of calories; they have plenty of energy to waste. And while it seems especially so in this day and age, one could argue that humans have had an edge on caloric acquisition for so long, that we have probably been wasting time for many, many generations, maybe all the way back to Lucy (or Eve, if you insist).

But my point is not to prove or disprove this theory. My point is, it's a damn cool theory, and really, the only big hole in it is comparing us to full-fledged carnivores. Pfeiffer is absolutely right. We waste all kinds of energy (witness this blog), and for no good reason. Or is there a good reason? Is it encouraged, both genetically and culturally, because the energy-wasters of today are the geniuses of tomorrow? Pfeiffer says:

"[Energy-wasting] may have paid off handsomely in crisis times, for example during the settling of Oceania... about 3000 B.C. It was not mere wanderlust: People left their homelands because they had no choice, probably forced to migrate because of soaring populations. But the evidence suggests that they were prepared by the time the pressure was really on, that they had already, through 'energy-wasting' activity, learned enough to undertake voyages far out of sight of land....

"We can imagine the nature of most of those early experiments... The wild ones were having their ling with drag races and games of chicken in sailing vessels, daring one another to go farther and farther out into unknown waters... overnight and then over several nights... And they must have invented all the time, tinkering with new sails and new boat designs and various versions of outrigger gear...

"In the process, they discovered a great deal about the ways of the sea... [though] the wild ones paid a high price for their adventures. Many of them learned the hard way about whirlpools, sudden, violent storms, waters awash over treacherous reefs... [but] the crews and the boats and the experience were all at hand when long-distance voyages were no longer mad stunts but the only means of survival."

It's a fascinating portrait, and I think it helps explain some things about evolution, both technological and even biological.

"Perhaps the readiness to do or believe practically anything, to indulge in the most far-out of lunatic fringe behaviors, is a form of survival insurance," says Pfeiffer. It's just a fun thing, to think that all the times we act crazy, we're really just maintaining the flexibility to adapt, come the Apocalypse.

That appeals to my sense of humor almost as much as it does to my Inner Anthropologist.
mer: (16 no's (HIMYM))
"And I bought us some Chai tea for when you're here. I don't know how to make Chai tea, but we'll learn."
"Sounds good, Mom."
(pause) "The canister says 'you'll feel like you're sitting and sipping in Kashmir.'"
(pause) "How would we know? I've never been to Kashmir."
"I don't know. I've never been to Kashmir, either. I think that's what they're banking on."
mer: (Reading (Liza Bennet))

I didn’t start breaking things out like this until 2002, so this is a backdated entry.

109 total books for the year. It was not a bad year. It was not the best year, but the best years are behind us, back in high school and junior high.

Fantasy: 29
Science Fiction: 36
Young Adult: 16
Biography: 1
Non-fiction: 13
Classics: 1 (Pride and Prejudice, of course)
Mystery: 1 (my first Sayers)
Philosophy: 2
Mainstream Fiction: 8
Romance: 6
Pop Culture: 2
Ridiculous: 2 (the LeHaye-Jenkins books)

mer: (Reading (Liza Bennet))
Ok, so these are the books I’ve read thus far in 2001:

Read more... )
mer: (Reading (Liza Bennet))
I did not write today, or all last week, so tomorrow my resolve must be set anew. I must reach 1000 words a day-- 7000 words a week.

Currently reading Persuasion and the last Jaran book.

What I have learned:

Mostly I've been comparing the movie against the book for Persuasion, which is not helping me notice other things, but I'm amazed with the off-handed humor of Jane-- and how it doesn't ruin the "passion." The Law of Becoming disappoints a smidge-- I miss Tess.

Actually, it's not true. I have written this week, but none of it was fiction. I should not dismiss the non-fiction. I wrote a great deal of Arthur stuff.

Things I noticed today:

-at the movie theatre, I looked up at a poster advertising "A Dog of Flanders"-- big picture of a man and a bouvier. I felt both pathetic and sad-- couldn't believe I wanted to cry. Why did that pet mean so much? Is it universal, ancestral? I remember an argument with my grandmother about animals and souls when I was 10 or so.

-the utter darkness on the way home-- cloudy night; the sparkling driveway lamps on Golfside, and the dark golf course on the other side. The lights made no impact on the darkness...

May 2024

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