I am returned1 in glory... to judge the living and the dying.
In honour of ... erm... me2, I shall bestow gifts and munificence upon my flock.
This year, the gifts will be piercings3.
Simply request a piercing during the feast of St. Mathias, and if it's sufficiently entertaining, dangerous or just downright obscene, and I will bestow it upon you.
Runners up will be given, as consolation prizes, holy piercings that have been removed from my very own body.
---
Open to: All, results viewable to: All
I would like this piercing:
I would like it to be made out of:
View Answers
Niobium (alloy)
0 (0.0%)
Titanium (alloy) 0 (0.0%)
Stainless Steel 0 (0.0%)
Uranium 0 (0.0%)
Parmesan cheese 0 (0.0%)
Anything else?
1 - From Leipzig, not the grave2 - See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Matth
3 - In previous years gifts have been arc welders, nailguns.
- Location:NW1
- Mood:
amused
I officially hate flip flops, as thanks to them, I can't walk.
I've had these flip flops for 3 years now, & seeing as it's summery again, I decide to wear them, only for them to give me blisters right between my toes. I've never had any problems with them before so I'm understandably pissed off.
The next day I wear a pair of lovely summery stilettos, which I have already broken in, & consider quite comfortable. They're fine up until about an hour before I get home, & when I eventually do get home, I check out my foot to see why it's so painful, & the blisters from the flip flops have grown & moved down a little, & are exactly where one would put pressure every time they take a step. So I take a needle to the blisters & drain them, & all's fine & dandy.
Then yesterday I decide to wear wedges. Comfortable beyond belief, they'll give my foot the nice needed rest from blisters. I THOUGHT WRONG! Blisters have refilled & grown again, & seeing as I was at a gig, I had to go to the bathroom & drain them again, then take a cab home after the gig had ended as it was too painful for me to do the 5 minute walk to the train station. When I got home I cleansed them & put some antiseptic cream on, & my first 2 toes absolutely ballooned. I had to hop around the house with a walking stick. It was so ultra sexy, I wish I'd gotten a picture.
Today my toes are still swollen, though not as much as yesterday, & the blistery area looks absolutely vile. I've tried to take a picture but I can't get a decent close up. I'll try again later when the lighting's a bit better, but I guarantee you'll all gush when you see it.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
I've had these flip flops for 3 years now, & seeing as it's summery again, I decide to wear them, only for them to give me blisters right between my toes. I've never had any problems with them before so I'm understandably pissed off.
The next day I wear a pair of lovely summery stilettos, which I have already broken in, & consider quite comfortable. They're fine up until about an hour before I get home, & when I eventually do get home, I check out my foot to see why it's so painful, & the blisters from the flip flops have grown & moved down a little, & are exactly where one would put pressure every time they take a step. So I take a needle to the blisters & drain them, & all's fine & dandy.
Then yesterday I decide to wear wedges. Comfortable beyond belief, they'll give my foot the nice needed rest from blisters. I THOUGHT WRONG! Blisters have refilled & grown again, & seeing as I was at a gig, I had to go to the bathroom & drain them again, then take a cab home after the gig had ended as it was too painful for me to do the 5 minute walk to the train station. When I got home I cleansed them & put some antiseptic cream on, & my first 2 toes absolutely ballooned. I had to hop around the house with a walking stick. It was so ultra sexy, I wish I'd gotten a picture.
Today my toes are still swollen, though not as much as yesterday, & the blistery area looks absolutely vile. I've tried to take a picture but I can't get a decent close up. I'll try again later when the lighting's a bit better, but I guarantee you'll all gush when you see it.
- Mood:
annoyed
Today's theme: Space
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Because I haven't posted a photo in a while.
This is a colour photo, not black and white.
It's inside the clock tower of the Brisbane City Hall.
IEEE Spectrum: Unsafe At Any Airspeed?
Interesting stuff, and not entirely a surprise to me but some of the findings are worse than I would have anticipated.
" In March 2004, acting on a number of reports from general aviation pilots that Samsung SPH-N300 cellphones had caused their GPS receivers to lose satellite lock, NASA issued a technical memorandum that described emissions from this popular phone. It reported that there were emissions in the GPS band capable of causing interference. Disturbingly, though, they were low enough to comply with FCC emissions standards."
I know that we've had engineers invest heavily in potted plants to place between them and working prototype handsets when they saw the radiation and radio output data for them. I've also seen a theoretically ready to ship 3G handset that could "talk" to its test rig without the cable across the lab.
I've certainly left my phone on a couple of times by accident.
The core issue is that outside of the critical phases this should be less of a problem anyway, (although the input on the effect of the Samsung phones on GPS is interesting, especially as built in GPS becomes a standard in 3G devices). Part of the problem with spectrum "noise" is an artifact of phones not being designed to (a) move at multiple hundreds of kph and (b) be 5 miles _above_ the radio landscape. Both of these factors lead to a very unhappy core network on the ground. Put a normal phone into a landscape like that and it'll crank up the power trying to handshake with a basestation (or in the case of CDMA lots of basestations) and keep doing while moving. It's a mess.
What will happen in the near future is the plane will have a micro-cell onboard which means the phone will lock onto the local cell a few metres away and broadcast at minimum power. That shouldn't be a serious problem.
Of course, the more serious problem is passengers fighting their natural urges to beat the leaving hell out of the ass on their phone for an 8 hour transatlantic flight.
Interesting stuff, and not entirely a surprise to me but some of the findings are worse than I would have anticipated.
" In March 2004, acting on a number of reports from general aviation pilots that Samsung SPH-N300 cellphones had caused their GPS receivers to lose satellite lock, NASA issued a technical memorandum that described emissions from this popular phone. It reported that there were emissions in the GPS band capable of causing interference. Disturbingly, though, they were low enough to comply with FCC emissions standards."
I know that we've had engineers invest heavily in potted plants to place between them and working prototype handsets when they saw the radiation and radio output data for them. I've also seen a theoretically ready to ship 3G handset that could "talk" to its test rig without the cable across the lab.
I've certainly left my phone on a couple of times by accident.
The core issue is that outside of the critical phases this should be less of a problem anyway, (although the input on the effect of the Samsung phones on GPS is interesting, especially as built in GPS becomes a standard in 3G devices). Part of the problem with spectrum "noise" is an artifact of phones not being designed to (a) move at multiple hundreds of kph and (b) be 5 miles _above_ the radio landscape. Both of these factors lead to a very unhappy core network on the ground. Put a normal phone into a landscape like that and it'll crank up the power trying to handshake with a basestation (or in the case of CDMA lots of basestations) and keep doing while moving. It's a mess.
What will happen in the near future is the plane will have a micro-cell onboard which means the phone will lock onto the local cell a few metres away and broadcast at minimum power. That shouldn't be a serious problem.
Of course, the more serious problem is passengers fighting their natural urges to beat the leaving hell out of the ass on their phone for an 8 hour transatlantic flight.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
What is absolutely clear is that publishers need to become enablers for reading and its associated processes (discussion; research; note-taking; writing; reference following) to take place across a multitude of platforms and throughout all the varying modes of a readers’ activities and lifestyle.
So says Sara Lloyd over at The Digitalist, a blog by the digital team at Pan Macmillan. This is the quote that leaped out at me, from the first of six pieces which will break a much longer article down into more manageable sections apparently.
In particular this prompted me to remember something I read on Neil Gaiman's journal a while ago. About how great it would be if publishers included a e-book licence along with a hardback, if I recall correctly. I really liked that idea.
Do you think some folk would be prepared to go back to paying the list price for books that are so deeply discounted now, if that included the option of a download for their PDA or whatever?
Anyway, I shall be reading this on-going article with interest.
Anybody know much about this?
Over dinner I was mucking around with a phone and Wikipedia and looked up our company and was a bit non-plussed to find the page had been deleted last week by some guy in the UK, reason A7 given.
Weirdly we are/were linked in several places including the Series-60 page where our competitors are also listed and where there are links to their entries which still exist.
There's lots of companies in our space on Wikipedia and from a note-worthiness perspective we're the largest non-Indian software outsourcing player in the phone industry at the moment, not to mention we've product that's referenced elsewhere in the wiki.
So anybody know what gives or why user (
Jimfbleak)
Has such a fetish for crawling around Wikipedia deleting things. His talk page is full of them.
Over dinner I was mucking around with a phone and Wikipedia and looked up our company and was a bit non-plussed to find the page had been deleted last week by some guy in the UK, reason A7 given.
Weirdly we are/were linked in several places including the Series-60 page where our competitors are also listed and where there are links to their entries which still exist.
There's lots of companies in our space on Wikipedia and from a note-worthiness perspective we're the largest non-Indian software outsourcing player in the phone industry at the moment, not to mention we've product that's referenced elsewhere in the wiki.
So anybody know what gives or why user (
Jimfbleak)
Has such a fetish for crawling around Wikipedia deleting things. His talk page is full of them.Blogged with the Flock Browser
BBC: The sloth's popular image as a lazy creature that sleeps for most of the day has been called into question.
Rather than snoozing for more than 16 hours a day, as observed in captivity, sloths in the wild doze for less than 10 hours, research suggests.
Scientists caught sloths living in the rainforest of Panama and fitted them with a device that monitors sleep.
Lead researcher Niels Rattenborg, of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Starnberg, Germany, said the study demonstrated for the first time that it was possible to record sleep in a wild animal.
"The real exciting finding was that they only slept 9.6 hours a day, which is much less than what people popularly believed and less than had been observed in a previous study of sloths in captivity," he told BBC News.
Rather than snoozing for more than 16 hours a day, as observed in captivity, sloths in the wild doze for less than 10 hours, research suggests.
Scientists caught sloths living in the rainforest of Panama and fitted them with a device that monitors sleep.
Lead researcher Niels Rattenborg, of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Starnberg, Germany, said the study demonstrated for the first time that it was possible to record sleep in a wild animal.
"The real exciting finding was that they only slept 9.6 hours a day, which is much less than what people popularly believed and less than had been observed in a previous study of sloths in captivity," he told BBC News.
before i FINALLY fall asleep after tossing and turning. I thought I would indulge in posting a little animal related grossity.
My cat likes to give me love taps in the face when I am asleep because apparently i start to pet him in my sleep when he does this...I've actually been woken up by the act of petting him.
Tonight he did so but I was not asleep.
So I start to pet the cat when I realize there is this horrible stench and a sticky damp feeling on my forehead.
As it so happens the cat had runny dijon mustard colored cat shit on his paw and had swiped it across my face...left shitty foot prints all over my sheets, and the carpet and from about the middle of the room in a trail to the litter box there were little pea sized drips of said cat shit...like he had been squeezing with all his might to keep it in until he got to the litter box but couldnt quite keep the drips from popping out.
I've stripped the bed, wiped up the mess on the floor and I've scrubbed my forehead 5 times...I dont think i have any skin left...and I can STILL smell kitty diarrhea
My cat likes to give me love taps in the face when I am asleep because apparently i start to pet him in my sleep when he does this...I've actually been woken up by the act of petting him.
Tonight he did so but I was not asleep.
So I start to pet the cat when I realize there is this horrible stench and a sticky damp feeling on my forehead.
As it so happens the cat had runny dijon mustard colored cat shit on his paw and had swiped it across my face...left shitty foot prints all over my sheets, and the carpet and from about the middle of the room in a trail to the litter box there were little pea sized drips of said cat shit...like he had been squeezing with all his might to keep it in until he got to the litter box but couldnt quite keep the drips from popping out.
I've stripped the bed, wiped up the mess on the floor and I've scrubbed my forehead 5 times...I dont think i have any skin left...and I can STILL smell kitty diarrhea
The last couple of days, a group of fairtrade advocates have had a sweatshop running at the university -- a group of two or three women doing ironing and mending clothes 12 hours a day for the two days. I got them to fix the pocket and zip of my black jacket, which I'd been meaning to do for months. They did a better job of it than I would have, too.
The work was done for no charge, but in return I gave some money towards their Burma disaster relief fund. At this stage, hopes it will do any good are slim, but better than if there was nobody helping at all.
I also bought a t-shirt for Agent Weasel with a cycling advocacy message, as her current "save the planet, ride a bike" t-shirt is almost too small for her now.
The work was done for no charge, but in return I gave some money towards their Burma disaster relief fund. At this stage, hopes it will do any good are slim, but better than if there was nobody helping at all.
I also bought a t-shirt for Agent Weasel with a cycling advocacy message, as her current "save the planet, ride a bike" t-shirt is almost too small for her now.
- Mood:
impressed
Since realizing that I haven't had a period since early March when I'm normally on a very regular cycle I've been paying very close attention to my body for any sign of my period starting.
Last night I had multiple dreams involving me and my period, including one where I was having to pretend to be a boy and having clots sliding down my leg(which actually seemed to be a running theme in the dreams, fun)
Jump to tonight I finish taking a piss and wipe, and spot a few traces of blood on the tp my period has arrived!
I'm sure tomorrow I'll be cursing my uterus, but for now all is right in my little world.
Last night I had multiple dreams involving me and my period, including one where I was having to pretend to be a boy and having clots sliding down my leg(which actually seemed to be a running theme in the dreams, fun)
Jump to tonight I finish taking a piss and wipe, and spot a few traces of blood on the tp my period has arrived!
I'm sure tomorrow I'll be cursing my uterus, but for now all is right in my little world.
- Mood:
weird
So, in prepping some promotion ideas my buddy
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moshdaddy suggested I start up blogs on other blog sites and then post a new comic every day to each of those sites (obviously including LJ). He says there are applications that can feed into all those other sites. I'm open to other ideas.• typepad
• blogger
• movable type
• pownce
• tumblr
• vox
• wordpress
• myspace
He also suggested that I ask people to start reviewing/listmania/discussion stuff on Amazon. So... if you're inclined... I'd be appreciative.
I'm going to give it a shot. I'm really proud of the Postage Stamp book set. I want it to sell.
Since the opera has finished up I've lacked motivation. A friend once said "a rut is just a deep groove." I hope he was right. I also hope I can get my sorry ass in gear. I'm frustrated with myself and I feel overwhelmed for no good reason.
- Music:nouvelle vague - dance with me
I mentioned to X a while ago that after an election campaign, particularly an on-the-day operation, I dream about campaigning. He looked horrified, but it's true. Even after Sittingbourne, I dreamed about knocking up. After Bromley, I dreamed about campaigning for a solid week. At the last General Election, I regularly dreamed, before and after, about endlessly delivering my own ward, and I had something similar at the last council elections.
Last night, I experienced a whole new wrinkle to this. I'm not going to Crewe (out of the country), and I doubt I'll make Henley (out of the country/President's Dinner). And yet, last night I dreamed about Dibley Central, and even populated it with the right people (most of whom I know by sight, even if they don't know me), and dreamed about going campaigning.
I. Am. Appalled.
Last night, I experienced a whole new wrinkle to this. I'm not going to Crewe (out of the country), and I doubt I'll make Henley (out of the country/President's Dinner). And yet, last night I dreamed about Dibley Central, and even populated it with the right people (most of whom I know by sight, even if they don't know me), and dreamed about going campaigning.
I. Am. Appalled.
Been fighting all day with the new EeePC 900 trying to make the bloody thing play streams from live365, which is the only thing Colleen listens to. No joy. Mplayer and the corresponding Firefox plugin play MP3's just fine; neither smplayer nor amarok will play live365. They work fine on the older one she's been using. Suggestions? (Ubuntu will be considered.)
Made the call to my aunt; she sounded resigned, tired, sad. Not surprising. Making the call was incredibly difficult. Not surprising; I don't like making calls even when they're happy ones.
I'm feeling tired and ill. Dinner didn't help much. Have a headache. Brain feels like it's made of mush. Will take my drugs and get some hugs. They won't help much, but any improvement will be welcome.
It was a pretty good day at work, but that didn't help much either.
Damned time machine. Rewind button is stuck.
- Mood:defeated
Sorry about the font-mess of yesterday's post. I did it using Safari on a PC, and the result was hellish. Obviously these are not two things that work well together when playing with Blogger. And each attempt to clean it up on my part made it worse. (Thanks to the Web Goblin for fixing it.)
I did a second draft of the Waterstones "What's Your Story?" story (only a few words I wanted to change, but it meant handwriting the whole thing out again), and FedExed it off today.
My thanks to the Eagle Award voters -- I was thrilled that Absolute Sandman volume 2 won an Eagle Award for Best Reprint. (Last year it was Absolute Sandman volume 1. Next year the vote will probably be split between Absolute Sandman volumes 3 and 4, and something else entirely will win.)
(I was looking to see if there were covers for Absolute Sandmans 3 and 4 up yet at Amazon, and noticed that volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4 are all on sale for $62.37 [and that they are going to weigh a grand total of 29 lb altogether] and the last two have 5% preorders discounts up as well. Which I mention mostly for those people who write to me and grumble about the Absolutes being $100 books.)
And it's still true. (That speech is, along with another speech about tulips and comics, and an essay on how to do successful signings, available in Gods And Tulips, illustrated by Chester Brown, price $3 from the CBLDF commercial website.)(And for those of you after instant webby gratification, the whole Procon speech is up at the Magian Line archives at http://www.woxberg.net/gaiman/magian/3-2.h
I did a second draft of the Waterstones "What's Your Story?" story (only a few words I wanted to change, but it meant handwriting the whole thing out again), and FedExed it off today.
My thanks to the Eagle Award voters -- I was thrilled that Absolute Sandman volume 2 won an Eagle Award for Best Reprint. (Last year it was Absolute Sandman volume 1. Next year the vote will probably be split between Absolute Sandman volumes 3 and 4, and something else entirely will win.)
(I was looking to see if there were covers for Absolute Sandmans 3 and 4 up yet at Amazon, and noticed that volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4 are all on sale for $62.37 [and that they are going to weigh a grand total of 29 lb altogether] and the last two have 5% preorders discounts up as well. Which I mention mostly for those people who write to me and grumble about the Absolutes being $100 books.)
Not sure if the cover for Absolute 4 is a mock-up or the real thing. I suspect it's not the final, mostly because I'm pretty sure that face is from Sandman #1, and for Absolute 4 we'll be taking a cover portrait from somewhere in the last 20 issues.
...
Regarding the Julie Schwartz Memorial Talk at MIT on the 23rd of May: To reiterate from the other day -- over at http://cms.mit.edu/juliusschwartz/ticket
...
An ebay auction with a story... I've been rereading some old Batman comics recently, although I don't think I'd want these. But the story that comes with them is wonderful...
I'm worried and upset about the earthquake in China. From Nancy Kress's blog I learned that at least some of the friends we made in Chengdu last summer are okay -- and so are the pandas.
...
Rice pudding re-prompt! Once you get home to proper milk, of course. "Your general guidelines for a batch of rice pudding please, Mr. Gaiman!"Thank you!! ^_^b
I'm working on it, honest. Decided to figure out the proportions I'd used by a) finding a very similar recipe on the web and starting from there and then b) fiddling with it.
Two night's ago's rice pudding (the web recipe) was much too salty and wrong. I fiddled with the proportions and last night's was a lot better but now too sweet. Tonight's rice pudding would have been perfect I have no doubt but I forgot to buy more milk, so I didn't actually make one.
Dear Neil,
The press down here in Brazil have enthusiastically announced you'll be here for the Paraty International Book Fair, first week in July. But since you're also scheduled to lecture at Clarion, I'd like to ask if this is true. Or maybe you have a doppelganger. Or maybe the organizers here had a dream. Or maybe you're taking a weekend of from Clarion down here in Rio (if so, it'll be winter here, and rainy, not the best time to come...) Best regards,Eric
That sounds right, yes. (I teach Clarion the 3rd week in July.)
Hello hello hello,
To quote one of your other fans, “I have a question for you about writing”. I find that my own writing will echo the style of which ever author I am currently reading. Any idea how I might get around constantly mimicking others?
You write more.
I don't think there's anything wrong with copying other people's styles -- it's a skill you'll need, after all. Many actors begin as mimics. You don't worry about it, and keep writing, and after a while you'll have written enough that you can't help sounding like yourself, whether you want to or not.
Style is what you get wrong, that makes what you do sound like you. Style is what you can't help doing. Style is what you're left with.
(I just googled "style is what you can't help doing" because it sounded half-familiar, and I wondered who said it originally, and discovered that it may actually have been me, as I found myself looking at an extract from a speech I gave to an audience of comics artists and writers in 1997 at ProCon in Oakland:
We are creators. When we begin, separately or together, there’s a blank piece of paper. When we are done, we are giving people dreams and magic and journeys into minds and lives that they have never lived. And we must not forget that.
I don’t want to sound like an inspirational speaker here. "Be you." "Be the best you that you can be." But this is really important. It’s something that we mostly lose track of when we starts, because when we start in comics we’re kids, and we have no idea who we are or what our voices are, as artists or as writers.
Young artists want to be Rob Leifeld, or Bernie Wrightson, or Frank Miller, just as young writers want to be Alan Moore, or Chris Claremont or, well, Frank Miller. You’ve seen their portfolios. You’ve read the scripts.
We all swipe when we start. We trace, we copy, we emulate. But the most important thing is to get to the place where you’re telling your own stories, painting your own pictures, doing the stuff that one-one else could have done, but you. Dave McKean, when he was much younger, as a recent art-school graduate, took his portfolio to New York, and showed it to the head of an advertising agency. The guy looked at one of Dave’s paintings—"That’s a really good Bob Peake," he said. "But why would you I want to hire you? If I have something I want done like that, I phone Bob Peake."
You may be able to draw kind of like Rob Leifeld, but the day may come, may have already come, when no-one wants a bargain basement Rob Leifeld clone any more. Learn to draw like you. And as a writer, or as a storyteller, try to tell the stories that only you can tell. Try to tell the stories that you cannot help but tell, the stories you would be telling yourself if you had no audience to listen. The ones that reveal a little too much about you to the world. It’s the point I think of writing as walking naked down the street: it has nothing to do with style, or with genre, it has to do with honesty. Honesty to yourself and to whatever you’re doing.
Don’t worry about trying to develop a style. Style is what you can’t help doing. If you write enough, you draw enough, you’ll have a style, whether you want it or not. Don’t worry about whether you’re "commercial". Tell your own stories, draw your own pictures. Let other people follow you.
If you believe in it, do it. If there’s a comic or a project you’ve always wanted to do, go out there and give it a try. If you fail, you’ll have given it a shot. If you succeed, then you succeeded with what you wanted to do.
And it's still true. (That speech is, along with another speech about tulips and comics, and an essay on how to do successful signings, available in Gods And Tulips, illustrated by Chester Brown, price $3 from the CBLDF commercial website.)(And for those of you after instant webby gratification, the whole Procon speech is up at the Magian Line archives at http://www.woxberg.net/gaiman/magian/3-2.h
creativeAs an antidote to the broken washer, I want to talk a little about the Fourth Street Fantasy Convention. Please note that the pre-registration deadline has been extended to May 31st.
One or two people have asked about the name, so here's the history as I recall it. There's a cartoon depicting a row of restaurants, with signs in order like this: "Best pizza in the city," "Best pizza in the country," "Best pizza on the planet," "Best pizza in the galaxy," and the last one, a tiny place with a long line of people outside it, says simply, "Best pizza on the block." During our first couple of years, Fourth Street was in a downtown hotel on, in fact, Fourth Street, and we used the motto "Best fantasy convention on the block" to indicate the combination of humility and ambition that we brought to the project.
Other people probably would tell this differently, but that's how I recall it.
I was supposed to write an essay months ago for the website, but I have been finding it difficult to bring up coherent memories. Fourth Street was a great deal like disappearing under the hill, visiting the very far lands of Faerie. It was, at least, if Faerie had chocolate-covered coffee beans and a wedding party leaving at six a.m. so that the participants, including the bride and groom, could be back at the convention for the start of panels at ten; if Faerie included Samuel Delany, leaving in the middle of a panel to catch his plane home and stopping the standing ovation he was getting with the startling words, "No, no, sit down and do what you're doing. This is valuable work"; if Faerie included Jane Yolen and Patricia McKillip doing a joint guest of honor speech; if it included Patrick Nielsen Hayden standing up out of the audience and demolishing the entire premise of a panel and providing a new one, all in a paragraph; if it included a membership so involved in the programming that moderators were sometimes obliged to say they would take only questions, not comments, until later in the hour; if it included sitting around at five in the morning while music was still going on in the other room, discussing simultaneously Dorothy Dunnett, the vagaries and virtues of fountain pens, the flavors of jelly beans, and the proper use of violence in fantasy. A few local writers, both established and aspiring, used to leave early on Sunday, followed by the pleas of their friends to stay longer, because the programming had made them want to do nothing except go home and write. Cally Soukup once stayed up for 72 hours straight at a Fourth Street, because there was always somebody to talk to.
It's ten years later now, and we're all different, and some of us are gone, but we're going to try to recapture that feeling. Elizabeth Bear, known to many of you asmatociquala, is our guest of honor, and long before this revival was thought of, reading her journal used to remind me of Fourth Street.
I'm looking forward to it with the same mixture of glee and trepidation as I always did -- it would take me a long way away and sometimes send me home again unsettled. It doesn't matter if you recognize any of the names I mention above. If you love fantasy, or are curious about it, do think about coming.
Pamela
One or two people have asked about the name, so here's the history as I recall it. There's a cartoon depicting a row of restaurants, with signs in order like this: "Best pizza in the city," "Best pizza in the country," "Best pizza on the planet," "Best pizza in the galaxy," and the last one, a tiny place with a long line of people outside it, says simply, "Best pizza on the block." During our first couple of years, Fourth Street was in a downtown hotel on, in fact, Fourth Street, and we used the motto "Best fantasy convention on the block" to indicate the combination of humility and ambition that we brought to the project.
Other people probably would tell this differently, but that's how I recall it.
I was supposed to write an essay months ago for the website, but I have been finding it difficult to bring up coherent memories. Fourth Street was a great deal like disappearing under the hill, visiting the very far lands of Faerie. It was, at least, if Faerie had chocolate-covered coffee beans and a wedding party leaving at six a.m. so that the participants, including the bride and groom, could be back at the convention for the start of panels at ten; if Faerie included Samuel Delany, leaving in the middle of a panel to catch his plane home and stopping the standing ovation he was getting with the startling words, "No, no, sit down and do what you're doing. This is valuable work"; if Faerie included Jane Yolen and Patricia McKillip doing a joint guest of honor speech; if it included Patrick Nielsen Hayden standing up out of the audience and demolishing the entire premise of a panel and providing a new one, all in a paragraph; if it included a membership so involved in the programming that moderators were sometimes obliged to say they would take only questions, not comments, until later in the hour; if it included sitting around at five in the morning while music was still going on in the other room, discussing simultaneously Dorothy Dunnett, the vagaries and virtues of fountain pens, the flavors of jelly beans, and the proper use of violence in fantasy. A few local writers, both established and aspiring, used to leave early on Sunday, followed by the pleas of their friends to stay longer, because the programming had made them want to do nothing except go home and write. Cally Soukup once stayed up for 72 hours straight at a Fourth Street, because there was always somebody to talk to.
It's ten years later now, and we're all different, and some of us are gone, but we're going to try to recapture that feeling. Elizabeth Bear, known to many of you as
matociquala, is our guest of honor, and long before this revival was thought of, reading her journal used to remind me of Fourth Street.I'm looking forward to it with the same mixture of glee and trepidation as I always did -- it would take me a long way away and sometimes send me home again unsettled. It doesn't matter if you recognize any of the names I mention above. If you love fantasy, or are curious about it, do think about coming.
Pamela
Also, for some reason, I keep thinking about Al Swearengen and Trixie. And that conversation they have when Alma has fired her for questioning Alma's drug habit. And Trixie goes back to see Al, to ask if she can turn tricks for him again. And he's all, like, "Get out of here, you loopy c***!" He's looking at a woman who has managed to turn her life around, who is doing better for herself, who has prospects and opportunities she didn't have before. She has risen in the world, but now she shows up to resume her old, familiar life with him, and he won't have it. He could exploit her. He could tear her down. He could let her back into the same old, same old relationship. But instead he won't aid or collude with her that way.
Al is not by any means all sweetness and light. But sometimes he does stuff like that, and awwwwwwww. :^)
It's quite moving. Not least because Trixie has come so far. I love... The look Trixie gives him on the way out the door. The look on Al's face when he talks to her. I love the complexity of both characters. Their situations. Their relationships. So many layers, and at the same time, so simple.
That's why I love Deadwood. It's character-driven. In terms of the plot there is no reason to have that small moment. It advances no strand of the action. But it reveals so much about the characters and their relationship! How they have changed. How they go on changing. It's wonderful.
I love that show. So of course it was cancelled. ;^)
Al is not by any means all sweetness and light. But sometimes he does stuff like that, and awwwwwwww. :^)
It's quite moving. Not least because Trixie has come so far. I love... The look Trixie gives him on the way out the door. The look on Al's face when he talks to her. I love the complexity of both characters. Their situations. Their relationships. So many layers, and at the same time, so simple.
That's why I love Deadwood. It's character-driven. In terms of the plot there is no reason to have that small moment. It advances no strand of the action. But it reveals so much about the characters and their relationship! How they have changed. How they go on changing. It's wonderful.
I love that show. So of course it was cancelled. ;^)
Got to see the asthma/allergy folks today. They now have me on three meds plus my emergency med and whoooieee, I'm breathing!
And exertion isn't pushing me into scary shortness of breath. I couldn't do the allergy shot today because my reaction scared the nurses badly enough they're consulting with the doctor again on Thursday.
Thing is... my inner adrenaline junkie, now fed on various adaptations of... well... adrenaline and steroids, is occasionally jumping into my brain and going, "Oh oh oh oh come on, Come On, COME ON. Why the F-- are you GOING SO SLOW!!!"
Ahem.
I am now very glad that I did not buy the Z3 M roadster or even the other M series cars I was looking at while in the midst of my upper management high a few years ago. I am glad I did not take up a friend's offer on a good deal on an AMG series Mercedes. I am even more glad I do not have a Tesla or a motorcycle.
Because it makes the temptation mostly moot. Even as it was I was forcibly taking my foot off the accelerator of the Passat as I would just blow by everyone from the stop lights.
I now understand Jyuushiro's calm control just a little more. *laughter*
And exertion isn't pushing me into scary shortness of breath. I couldn't do the allergy shot today because my reaction scared the nurses badly enough they're consulting with the doctor again on Thursday.
Thing is... my inner adrenaline junkie, now fed on various adaptations of... well... adrenaline and steroids, is occasionally jumping into my brain and going, "Oh oh oh oh come on, Come On, COME ON. Why the F-- are you GOING SO SLOW!!!"
Ahem.
I am now very glad that I did not buy the Z3 M roadster or even the other M series cars I was looking at while in the midst of my upper management high a few years ago. I am glad I did not take up a friend's offer on a good deal on an AMG series Mercedes. I am even more glad I do not have a Tesla or a motorcycle.
Because it makes the temptation mostly moot. Even as it was I was forcibly taking my foot off the accelerator of the Passat as I would just blow by everyone from the stop lights.
I now understand Jyuushiro's calm control just a little more. *laughter*
- Location:home
- Mood:
amused
Admit it, you love my picture posts!
'Twas a good cycling day today.
In reverse chronological order:
Limo line.
St. Lawrence.
Deadly machines.
Tunnel & mural.
Chinatown mural.
'Twas a good cycling day today.
In reverse chronological order:
Limo line.
St. Lawrence.
Deadly machines.
Tunnel & mural.
Chinatown mural.
It's a pity I broke my toe, or else I would be doing lots of sit ups and push ups tonight. Ohsomany!
Yes, it's one of those days. Again. Remind me after the conference that I have days like this, in case I am insane enough to think of volunteering for anything like this again! Or actually, that is what LJ is for; I'll get to look back on how volunteering for the conference brought out my borderline self, and my capacity for flipping! Whee! (I'll be all "Read with Mother" with myself. "Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then I'll begin. Once upon a time, there was a very naieve woman who had a dream. One day, she got onto a roller coaster, and... WOAHMYGOD!WOAH!" ;^)) Because some days, it feels like a great job. And I really enjoy it. I honestly do. Couldn't be happier. And other days I wonder why the f**k I put myself in these situations. It's not like I don't have other things to put my energy into. Many of them probably less sporadically crazy-making for me than this.
Sometimes I wish I didn't care, or I didn't care so much; I think when people note about me that I am detail-oriented, that is a part of me that cares. ( Read more... )
So I don't want to care, and I don't want to not care. I want to care the right way, for the right thing, and I want to care just the right amount. And who the f**k knows what that is?! ;^) When you find out, let me know. And then you can go on to cure the common cold and cancer, end world hunger, create world peace, and bankroll Joss's Whedon's wildest fantasies for the big and small screens! ;^)
On that note, foot is a lot better, and I'm not limping anymore. But I can still feel oddness in my toe (sometimes down to the ball of my foot), and it does hurt at times. I guess it is taking 6 weeks to heal.
Yes, it's one of those days. Again. Remind me after the conference that I have days like this, in case I am insane enough to think of volunteering for anything like this again! Or actually, that is what LJ is for; I'll get to look back on how volunteering for the conference brought out my borderline self, and my capacity for flipping! Whee! (I'll be all "Read with Mother" with myself. "Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then I'll begin. Once upon a time, there was a very naieve woman who had a dream. One day, she got onto a roller coaster, and... WOAHMYGOD!WOAH!" ;^)) Because some days, it feels like a great job. And I really enjoy it. I honestly do. Couldn't be happier. And other days I wonder why the f**k I put myself in these situations. It's not like I don't have other things to put my energy into. Many of them probably less sporadically crazy-making for me than this.
Sometimes I wish I didn't care, or I didn't care so much; I think when people note about me that I am detail-oriented, that is a part of me that cares. ( Read more... )
So I don't want to care, and I don't want to not care. I want to care the right way, for the right thing, and I want to care just the right amount. And who the f**k knows what that is?! ;^) When you find out, let me know. And then you can go on to cure the common cold and cancer, end world hunger, create world peace, and bankroll Joss's Whedon's wildest fantasies for the big and small screens! ;^)
On that note, foot is a lot better, and I'm not limping anymore. But I can still feel oddness in my toe (sometimes down to the ball of my foot), and it does hurt at times. I guess it is taking 6 weeks to heal.
- Mood:
indescribable
I had lunch at a Chinese fast food restaurant, and instead of music videos on the TV, they had the news feed from China. How is it that the American media doesn't get footage like I was seeing? I've seen the same tired shots over and over, and the truly terrifying stuff didn't even make the cut. Like the traffic camera that caught a highway overpass in the act of collapse, with the cars and highway simply dropping into the abyss, or the power station with huge arcs of lightning playing in the sky off the tops of the columns, or the bodies being stacked like cordwood, bloating already. (Okay, I admit, I haven't seen shots as explicit as that last one on TV since the Vietnam war, but you know what I mean.) Shots of collapsing walls, huge boulders falling on highways, caught live. And devastation on a truly gut-wrenching scale, reminiscent of Kobe and Mexico City. I've checked on the net, and even they don't really have shots like these.
The news folks really do determine what they think Americans want to know about and interact with. That's why I've always preferred my news from sources catering to foreign audiences.
The news folks really do determine what they think Americans want to know about and interact with. That's why I've always preferred my news from sources catering to foreign audiences.
- Mood:
thoughtful
Today I learned that I do, in fact, have a brain.
When I was having the Migraine of Doom, it got to the point where my GP referred me to a neurologist, who did various tests and concluded that it was, most likely, a Migraine of Doom. He did mention that he was going to discuss it with a superior to see if any further tests were appropriate, but felt it wasn't likely.
Imagine my surprise when, the following week, a letter popped through the letterbox containing an appointment for an MRI scan (aka a Brain Scan to we mere mortals). Today I had that scan.
I had to make sure that metal was removed from my person, which meant taking out all the piercings. I also made sure not to wear a bra, and to stick to leggings and a T-shirt - a tactic which saved me the humiliation of the hospital gown. They confirmed the answers I had given on my screening form, and took me into the room, which looked exactly like you'd expect, with the gleaming white machine centre stage, and its High Priestesses secluded behind glass in the next room. It had been suggested that I bring a CD to listen to, and I had to ask them to fetch it fromautopope in the waiting room. I hadn't been able to find the CD of Ultravox's Rage in Eden, so I opted for Moi dix Mois' Dixnadu instead.
I had to lie on a trolley, with a cushion below my knees, and headphones (with plastic tubing instead of cables!) were placed around my head, before a white plastic cage thing was put over my face (not tight or anything). I was then wheeled head first into the doughnut hole mouth of the machine, and then the trolley was raised until it seemed my face was almost touching the ceiling. My arms were positioned, and some kind of padding put into place to give something resembling comfort. The inside was lit, and brightly so, and I decided to close my eyes, think of Mana, and attempt relaxation.
Words of explanation were said, and my music came on. Because it was coming through air, not copper, it sounded like I was underwater, or maybe listening to it via a tin can and a bit of string. The bass was non-existent. The machine shuddered into life, and it was remarkably loud. This masterpiece of shiny modern technology sounded like the digestive system of a metal-shredding robot with indigestion. Every so often, the music would stop and a distant voice would tell me that the next part would take a particular length of time. Each time, the noise varied. At one point it added a rhythmic bassline, to replace the one that had got lost in the tubes, except it was taken from something by Rammstein. At other times, Einstürzende Neubauten popped in to join in the jam session and the whole machine seemed to shake.
And then, after about 20 minutes, it was done, butfluffcthulhu will have to wait about 2 weeks.
ETA: And whilst I've been able to get my nose ring back in again, I can't get the ball to fit in the gap. Bugger.
When I was having the Migraine of Doom, it got to the point where my GP referred me to a neurologist, who did various tests and concluded that it was, most likely, a Migraine of Doom. He did mention that he was going to discuss it with a superior to see if any further tests were appropriate, but felt it wasn't likely.
Imagine my surprise when, the following week, a letter popped through the letterbox containing an appointment for an MRI scan (aka a Brain Scan to we mere mortals). Today I had that scan.
I had to make sure that metal was removed from my person, which meant taking out all the piercings. I also made sure not to wear a bra, and to stick to leggings and a T-shirt - a tactic which saved me the humiliation of the hospital gown. They confirmed the answers I had given on my screening form, and took me into the room, which looked exactly like you'd expect, with the gleaming white machine centre stage, and its High Priestesses secluded behind glass in the next room. It had been suggested that I bring a CD to listen to, and I had to ask them to fetch it from
autopope in the waiting room. I hadn't been able to find the CD of Ultravox's Rage in Eden, so I opted for Moi dix Mois' Dixnadu instead.I had to lie on a trolley, with a cushion below my knees, and headphones (with plastic tubing instead of cables!) were placed around my head, before a white plastic cage thing was put over my face (not tight or anything). I was then wheeled head first into the doughnut hole mouth of the machine, and then the trolley was raised until it seemed my face was almost touching the ceiling. My arms were positioned, and some kind of padding put into place to give something resembling comfort. The inside was lit, and brightly so, and I decided to close my eyes, think of Mana, and attempt relaxation.
Words of explanation were said, and my music came on. Because it was coming through air, not copper, it sounded like I was underwater, or maybe listening to it via a tin can and a bit of string. The bass was non-existent. The machine shuddered into life, and it was remarkably loud. This masterpiece of shiny modern technology sounded like the digestive system of a metal-shredding robot with indigestion. Every so often, the music would stop and a distant voice would tell me that the next part would take a particular length of time. Each time, the noise varied. At one point it added a rhythmic bassline, to replace the one that had got lost in the tubes, except it was taken from something by Rammstein. At other times, Einstürzende Neubauten popped in to join in the jam session and the whole machine seemed to shake.
And then, after about 20 minutes, it was done, but
fluffcthulhu will have to wait about 2 weeks.ETA: And whilst I've been able to get my nose ring back in again, I can't get the ball to fit in the gap. Bugger.
Irena Sendler, who saved about 2500 children -- some of them babes-in-arms -- from the Warsaw Ghetto. As many as possible were reunited with their extended families after the war.
Irena Sendler memorial site
Thank you for everything, Mrs Sendler.
Irena Sendler memorial site
Thank you for everything, Mrs Sendler.
- Mood:
sad
Road
Originally uploaded by Antony J Shepherd.
Had a bit of a wander at Lunchtime with an infra-red filter fitted to my Ricoh GR Digital camera. I was trying some different settings, converting to B&W in camera rather than later. Looks pretty good.
There is just something so satisfying about taking a huge dump, especially at work. Ahhh.
In other news, I have a tendency to get zits on my thighs - sometimes huge ones. Probably because I hate doing laundry and don't wash my pants often enough (if they start to stink, they get washed though). It's kinda awesome to finally get them to pop - the one today was a big painful bump, and was full of pus. Felt like an accomplishment to deflate it. Seriously. Most zits are like that. I hate how they look, but love popping them and getting whatever solid matter inside of them out. Bwahaha.
I seem to have a lot of random TMI stuff today, cause there's one more. I've recently come to realize the fact that I rather like the smell of my fingers and whatnot after masturbation. Sort of a sweet-ish, pleasant smell. At least to me. Sometimes it lingers even after hand-washing, which is amusing.
In other news, I have a tendency to get zits on my thighs - sometimes huge ones. Probably because I hate doing laundry and don't wash my pants often enough (if they start to stink, they get washed though). It's kinda awesome to finally get them to pop - the one today was a big painful bump, and was full of pus. Felt like an accomplishment to deflate it. Seriously. Most zits are like that. I hate how they look, but love popping them and getting whatever solid matter inside of them out. Bwahaha.
I seem to have a lot of random TMI stuff today, cause there's one more. I've recently come to realize the fact that I rather like the smell of my fingers and whatnot after masturbation. Sort of a sweet-ish, pleasant smell. At least to me. Sometimes it lingers even after hand-washing, which is amusing.