Just FYI: if you are waiting on interview questions, they are coming. We had a power outage of mysterious origin, and now I have to pack to go to dogsit for Rhi this weekend, so of course I am behind schedule in every imaginable way.

But here's something for everyone in the meantime: new Interpol

Just released, I believe, and very welcome after the lackluster second record. Not like their first, exactly, but with a similar feel. And if you don't like Interpol...well, it's the thought that counts.

I am wearing new boots: brand spanking new Frye harness boots in dark turquoise, for which I paid a paltry sum. Too bad it's summer in the South or I could actually go outside wearing them. Instead, I'm admiring my feet and memeing.

I was interviewed by rhiannonhero, who knows me very well already.

Q1) Say the anti-choicers get in charge of the world, and the mister's fixin' gets unfixed, and, thus you are forced to give birth to a child, and for some bizarre reason the people who are going to adopt it (assuming you'd put it up for adoption) insist that you name it, what would you call your daughter/son?

A1)...and in such a scenario, I'd probably be grotesquely fertile and even have multiple sprog without any outside help, because it would just serve me right...

I would actually name a boy Jackson because it is a good name, and it's also hysterically funny to me that he already exists in an alternate world as a two-mommies kid with some step-oedipal issues.

(For those who are not Rhi: Jackson is the made-up-on-the-spot son whose existence justified mine and Rhi's presence skulking around a tiny, lovely, Southern campus, i.e., we were scouting schools for the child I was shocked to realize I was actually old enough to have, though the real reason--novel location scouting--was just as good.)

A girl would get an old-fashioned name, probably. I like flower names, gem names, and Wren and Lark have long been my middle names of choice for the children I never planned to have, which made it especially wonderful that we'd never discussed that and yet you chose Wren for my your baby. Ivy Lark, maybe. I really like Violet, but it's too soft, and Ivy is tough, tenacious, and also lovely.

Q2) What one song off of the new Tori Amos album would you really like to hear played live at one of the concerts we shall be attending?

A2) I think I'll get my wish: Teenage Hustling, followed very closely by Digital Ghost.

Q3) If I died, what would you tell Cecily about all the porn that I wrote when she was old enough to understand?

A3) Hmmm...old enough to understand anything other than, "I'd really prefer if you'd read something else, honey, because I'm not quite ready to discuss Mommy's stories with you," is at least puberty age, maybe early teens IMO. That would be part of a larger, vaguer discussion about things she'd probably already have some knowledge of, i.e., sexuality in general, what's actually immoral vs. a right to privacy and to do with one's body what one wishes, and the creative process, and how all those things go together...and sometimes porn comes out! She'd have to have stumbled upon it and read it to know about it, I'm thinking, so if she had any questions about Mommy's (and Auntie Jed's) obsession with boys having sex with boys, there's a big discussion of the eroticism of the other, double prettiness and the freedom to completely make shit up that takes place then.

There wouldn't be any apologies for what you'd done, however. If she was grossed out, I'd be interested in finding out which aspect was giving her the creeps and addressing it, i.e., Mom having any sexuality at all, the M/M aspect, the bad TV angle, etc.

But you're not going to die, so you'll get to have those conversations yourself--perhaps when you discover that she's writing her own gay porn fanfic for some bad TV show yet to come (season 19 of Smallville?). Or maybe she'll be writing Barney wingfics where she has the great singing voice and the glowing amethyst eyes...

Q4) Why don't you own a cat? I think you might need one to complete the menagerie, and I think that Lula might like to eat one, so it'd be win/win, except for the death part. And then there are the birds to think of.... I think I may have just answered my question.

A4)I'm allergic, and I'm a poor housekeeper, which makes it worse. That is the Number One Reason we have no cat. I think often of the Sphynx cats (like gothphyle's kitty), but they require more care than the average fur-having cat, and they get sunburned if you're not careful, and I hate cleaning a catbox, and those Sphynx kittens are not exactly wandering around to be had for free, either. I doubt Lula would eat one--Jones is more likely to be a cat killer, except for the fact that he's too little to be very good at it. The birds are less of an issue as they get older and don't want to come out of their cages as often as I'd like. Someday, we probably will have a cat again, but not until we have at least one less bird, which hopefully will be some years from now.(I hope the Mr. doesn't see this, as he'll become convinced that I'm scheming for a cat!)

Q5) Why aren't you at my house right now so that you'd be there when I got home from work and I would be happy, happy, happy?

A5) My teleporter is still broken. The Mr. said he ordered the part, but it's still not here yet, and even if it was, he's been working so much that I'd hate to nag him to fix it when the last thing he wants to do is fiddle with tech. It's so annoying. What's the point of having twenty-seventh century technology if it's just going to break all the time?

~~~

Want to be interviewed?

THE RULES (as stolen from JJ):

1. Leave me a comment saying anything random, like your favorite lyric to your current favorite song. Or your favorite kind of sandwich. Something random. Whatever you like.
2. I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better.
3. You update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You include this explanation and offer to ask someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be asked, you ask them five questions.

I'll be checking back later today to see if my Intrepid Girl Reporter skills are required by anyone.

Things I probably ought to talk about before I get to the bicycle: My parents' visit. Doing an end run around sister-in-law and renewing contact with niece and nephew. My hair disasters and repairs. Books I've read. Books I'm writing. "My" baby, AKA, Rhi's daughter. The Lucky 13th anniversary of my marriage to the Mr. So many pairs of shoes. Very welcome houseguests. Dogs. Ever-present reddish dust/dirt. New and shiny computer.

But, no. Let's just cut straight to the New Bike.

It is, of course, not identical to the Raleigh that was my first and most beloved (to this point) bicycle. However, it does have 3 speeds, coaster brakes, and it is blue, albeit a different (and better) blue. I am impatiently awaiting its delivery - they had a white one and a dark green one at the bike shop and, lovely as the white may be, I just have this stubborn mental equation that goes: me + white = grubby. And the beautiful, super-dark green was just...not what I wanted. At all.


Electra Amsterdam. And yes, it's a GIRL'S bike.

The coaster brakes will take some getting used to, just as the hand brakes on my first 10-speed required an adjustment period, though I was about twelve at that time and my ability to adapt to changing circumstances was probably better then. Clearly, I am overly nervous about this, and I am also worried about keeling over and dying in the heat, as a bicycle is necessarily used outside, which is an environment somewhat akin to hell here, at the moment.

The Raleigh was the present I got for my eighth birthday. I was one of the last kids at my elementary school to learn to ride a bike. This is part of a larger pattern: last to learn to tie her shoes, last to learn to tell time, last to know that I wouldn't be allowed to marry a girl if I wanted to, etc., etc. I made up for the delay in learning to ride by becoming especially adept in my own way, i.e., the bike was my circus horse, and I did tricks. I would coast into the school playground in the morning at high speed, standing on the left pedal with my right foot, often in an arabesque (HA!), rolling through the pre-class crowds into an open slot in the bike rack. No helmets, no locks and, in my case, no clear understanding of riding on the "right" side of the road.

I often saw adults riding bicycles against traffic, and with my bizarre and unproven belief that adults as a group were capable and correct, I assumed this meant that the "right" side of the road was determined at the beginning of the journey, i.e., it would be the side on one's right going to a place, and on one's left returning from a place. My worry was that I had this backwards, i.e., that the "right" should be determined by the return trip, not that I had it entirely wrong.

My parents were young and foolish and treated me as if I were a little adult most of the time, which means that many of my questions were answered with sarcasm or scoffing instead of actual answers. This is how I got to be a junior high student before I understood that the rules of the road that applied to cars also applied to bicycles. I was also very late to the understanding that the Washington state where I grew up was a separate thing entirely from Washington, D.C., though I think I can blame the schools I attended to some extent, since obviously we weren't being shown maps as early or often as we probably ought to have been.

While it is not flat like Manhattan or New Orleans here, the places I'm interested in riding, i.e., to coffee shop or grocery store, are a fairly level pedal, and everything is about a mile away, including the store where I bought the bike. As there was a point in time when I rode a fast 40 miles a day on a hilly trail, it's likely that I can overcome the unfamiliarity of coaster brakes and the punishing heat and get good use out of this very styling conveyance.

The original version always just seemed dumb, but this Alanis Morissette cover manages to find all the creepy angst hiding inside "My Humps."



I don't remember Alanis being quite this hot in the past.

( technically, I'll be living a lie + a poll! )

Books I know I’ve read this year and not last because they are near the tops of the piles of stuff that sit around our house:

I enjoy reading book reports as they come up on my f-list and so I keep meaning to do my own. I was doing a 2006 list back...oh, three months ago, I guess, but then I couldn’t figure out whether I read some of them in 2005 or 2006 and…well, I did what I always do, which is, um, nothing. So here’s a late start to 2007:

( The Thirteenth Story – Diane Setterfield )

( The Historian – Elizabeth Kostova )

( Special Topics in Calamity Physics – Marisha Pessl )

I have just sliced my forehead open with my own glasses.

So, hello. I'm still here, sometimes.

( storytelling )

( retro red )

( bitch )

How've y'all been, anyway?

Adult Baby/Diaper Lovers of Montreal

And here, a clumsy translation courtesy of babelfish re: the childish adventures awaiting the Adult Baby, completely with fully-clothed-yet-totally-disturbing visuals.

Not sure if this is more or less disturbing than straight-pin porn, or the site that tells how to create artificial genitalia for your most alluring plushies, but it certainly ranks high.

We might have a second dog. If we do, her name is probably Lula. If it turns out that she belongs to someone else, I guess they can keep whatever name they've given her, but I think Lula fits. She looks freakishly similar to our friends' pitbull/boxer mix (I thought it was him when she joyfully greeted me in the grocery store parking lot), she's sweet as pie, and she and Jones seem to like one another and even played race-around-the-yard games. Considering that the Mr. has been saying that he doesn't want a second dog, or, more accurately, that he probably doesn't, he seems rather attached already. She has decided that he is her champion (not me, certainly - the one who heaved her into the back seat of the car, where she cowered and piddled in abject dread) and seems prepared to adore him as much as he'll allow. Of course, everyone adores the Mr., so this is nothing unexpected. If she turns out to be our dog, there will be dog photo spam aplenty.

I have been sick for a week, and I'm still sick-ish. I slept most of the week, but it was different from my usual sleeping-through behaviors in that I was very congested during all the naps. Due to this sleeping/sickness, I missed a great party as well as a Beck show. Also, I was going to go to Winchestercon since it was right here in town but 1) sickness, and 2) I only knew about five people total who were going to be there, and I understand that two of them didn't show up after all. However, my dear gothphyle was in town, so I took her away from the con and, after a brief stop at the store that resulted in a baguette and a dog (see above), the Mr. and I fed her Cheeses of All Nations (well, the EU, anyway), and then stone_princess, joyfulgirl41, and lalejandra came over to partake of the cheese and watch me get drunk. Then the Mr. and stone_princess went on a pork-hunting mini-date, I got maudlin for a minute, and Jones got petted. I'm not sure if my throat is sore because it's been sore, or because I was talking and laughing so much. I'm kind of worn out and sick-ish again, but it was a lot of fun. So many fine bitches...

Each time I try to post something, I am so overwhelmed by the backlog of Things To Tell You that I can do nothing but whine about something small, petty and containable in a sentence or two, i.e, the software for my stupid little Bluetooth dongle will not install correctly and keeps telling me that I have no license to use it and then shuts itself smugly down. I have a goddamn license, thank you very much, and if I could punch someone in the face after shouting those very words, I know I'd feel a hell of a lot better about my continued inability to get wallpaper transferred from my computer to my phone.

And in other news, we are apparently overrun by tiny, darling, charcoal-brown mice that have no interest whatsoever in eating the food in the traps, though they seem determined to populate foodless areas, such as the region to the immediate left of my laptop (hello, little friend!), or the bathroom, especially when it is in use. I know they are vermin, and I know we have to do something more dramatic than traps, probably, but they are so cute. Like little scurrying velvet buttons. One of my favorite stories of all time is the Beatrix Potter tale of Hunca-Munca, a little mouse who trashes a dollhouse with her husband. It's pretty rock-and-roll, considering.

Yet another person has moved from a perfectly good place in order to live here in Nashville. We did nothing to dissuade her, and apparently she's happy with her decision. I just don't get it.

See, it's so peripheral, what I end up talking about. In an attempt to recap: there was a trip. There were out-of-town visitors from various places and at various times. I got stupid drunk a time or two. I learned new skills with, unfortunately, little practical application. I WROTE, which is kind of a big one, actually. I took naps.

Okay, I can't stand it. That Bluetooth thing is mocking me with its stupid blue light and nonsensical error messages. I am going to go get a rock and smash things like a cavewoman. Either that, or escape via nap.

Despite all my complaining, I am finding the whole Joomla/coding mess very interesting, if frustrating. I wanted to do a site redesign because, well, I just like to do a redesign every now and then, and I wanted to delve into content management systems a bit because they're fairly ubiquitous. Additionally, the Mr. and I will eventually get more serious about our tiny hosting company, so it would be nice if we had turnkey CMS packages ready to go for potential clients, which means that we have to make them, which means I have to make them because the Mr. has other things to do. Like work.

If for no other reason than marketing, I am having to think more seriously about CSS. I understand and appreciate the flexibility inherent in a CSS-based site, but I am also well aware of the limitations - browser incompatibilities, in particular. I have found several wonderful tutorial sites that will show me how to do incredibly complex things with CSS, but I can't help noticing that a large percentage of these tasks could be achieved fairly easily with hard-coded HTML and...TABLES. I love tables, and the bookendy logic that nested tables require is just my kind of thing (picky and precise, yet cluttered at the same time). However, instead of doing what makes sense to me, i.e., tables and hard-coding, I have decided to start from scratch to re-make my new site template (I used code from a free template as my example for the current version) so that I can perhaps learn something practical instead of theoretical about the superiority (or so one would be led to believe) of CSS coding.

Regardless of my intent to use CSS for the site, I am still unconvinced that CSS is inherently superior. I am not a real web designer or graphic designer or anything designer, and I have never been to any seminars about CSS, taken any classes about CSS, or read anything about CSS that wasn't either a tutorial or air-puffed propaganda. From my non-pro perspective, CSS is clearly a design ideal, and a very seductive one, at that, but it seems debatable whether it actually represents a functional improvement over well-considered hard coding. What I like about hard coding is that I can depend upon it: it looks like it's supposed to in every browser without work-arounds, and is thus quick and easy. Since I know my understanding of the subject is limited, I would appreciate it if anyone knows of a link to a good explanation of WHY CSS is superior to hard-coded HTML from a end-user/viewer/functional standpoint.

This is cross-posted to velvetglove, so my apologies if you're seeing it twice.

Once there was a water glass, basically full.

A hand is observed mid-gesture, neither impulsive nor without purpose, yet somehow completely out of conscious control. Oh. That would be my hand. Damn it.

The intersection of the gesturing hand and the aforementioned water glass has more than its share of drama. Despite my frequent and intimate knowledge of the principles of cause and effect, the sudden change in the resting position of the water glass, moving from upright and responsible to recklessly lazy, still comes as a rude shock.

A surf-worthy wave, personal size, crests in slo-mo before crashing down, frothy with force, upon the keyboard of my laptop computer. Learn from my experience: it is simply not possible to catch a pint or so of rapidly-moving water in non-webbed fingers, no matter how quick one's reflexes.

This has a happy ending, I believe. Other than an annoying new habit of adding 7000 unwelcome commas here and there, the laptop seems relatively unscathed. I did, however, have to go get another glass of water.

Apparently, what I need to goad me into writing is the existence of another task, of equal or even greater urgency, that is more arduous and unpleasant-seeming than the comparatively sunny prospect of just sitting down and writing any old thing that comes to mind.

Thus, er, inspired, I've reviewed and added to several old SV works in progress (okay, it's not the writing I should be doing, but it's writing), and all the while the necessity of determining how to configure a Joomla menu module so that it will do what it's told bedevils me from the shadowy (and slightly claustrophobic) sidelines.

( a question for people who watch Smallville, possibly spoilery if you're prone to hysteria )

I was of the opinion that I was a not-stupid person, but then I tried to figure out how to configure Wordpress running inside Joomla and I died a little inside.

Faced with all the 'so easy!' propaganda on the sites for both programs, I would beg to differ unless 1) one is the programmer of said CMS-bloggity software, and thus is the source of the illogic therein, or 2) one is comparing the use of WP and/or Joomla to scratching cuneiform on clay tablets with pointy sticks and subsequently attempting to upload it to the internets for mass perusal. Given any other scenario, neither Joomla nor Wordpress is remotely intuitive.

After much brute trial and error, everything is working, and it's working perfectly fine, except for the part where it's ugly, and there seem to be no controls that alter the aspects of the presentation that I so desperately need altered. And I know these things can be changed, because they're changed on every Wordpress site I've ever seen, and I'm sure some of the folks who implemented those sites are people I would have previously looked down upon as being mental midgets as compared to myself, except now I know better. The truth is, I am too stupid to figure out the Wordpress equivalent of a cut tag. God, I hate admitting that.

The theme I made for Joomla is, however, very pretty, and exactly what I wanted. Supposedly, making themes/templates actually is hard, although I had no difficulties whatsoever. Perhaps it's because I was working directly with the code, which is more or less understandable and tweakable, rather than with coding results, which are shaped and driven by the whims of strangers and typically only vaguely approximate goals of my own.

...and something just occurred to me that maybe will work. Though why the documentation wouldn't mention it is beyond me. Maybe because it's 'so easy!' that it should have been obvious to any mouth-breather with mad server-side skillz.

I'm not an American Idol fan, but I did watch the few episodes leading up to and including Kelly Clarkson's win, so I found this especially hilarious: Kelly Clarkson + Metal Skool. She's drunk! And a good sport! And making strange wardrobe choices, considering where she is. But!!! It's funny! Thus far in her career, she isn't singing the kind of songs I want to hear, but I do love her voice. Maybe after this she'll do an album of 80s hair metal covers.

My bird is doing better. I hesitate to say this for fear of jinxing her recovery, but...she's doing better! I'm happy.

I think I'm going to be a definite redhead (as opposed to the red-tinged calico I am naturally) again by the end of the day. Now I just need to decide how red I want to be.

[/random]

So, every time I think I'm going to post something that's more or less positive - neutral at worst - something bad happens, or I do something stupid that complicates my life, or my pets come down with mystery illnesses. Of late, it's been all three, but the only one I am going to talk about is the sick pet.

My lovebird, my first bird, and the pet whose loss would cut the deepest, is very sick. We have a pretty good idea what has gone wrong with her, but the only way to know for sure is to do a surgical procedure (whcih might kill her in and of itself) that wouldn't actually help with the problem, merely delineate it. The nonsurgical diagnostic option would be probably cost a couple thousand dollars (which we do not have) and, again, would not be in any way curative. As things stand, she'll either get better or she'll get worse and there's not much I can do about it except try to tempt her to eat the tiny hen equivalent of junk food and to drink her sneakily medicated water.

She's still cute as a damn button, charming and flirtatious, if a bit subdued.

I don't know what I'll do if she dies.

comments off, since - again - I doubt I'll be in a mood to answer them. this info is just fyi for those who wonder where I'm at lately

So. Hot.

Both AC systems going full-blast, plus a fan, plus basically no clothes, and I'm still uncomfortably sticky and sweaty. I don't think I can get the water cold enough that I won't be sweating again by the time I get out of the shower. There's a show tonight that I've been looking forward to attending, but the necessity of getting dressed, however minimally, makes me dread what ought to be actual fun. Hopefully, the air conditioning will be more effective at the show, and I know there will be more beer than I've got available to me here.

Yesterday, I had to move some furniture for JJ and K and, although I couldn't be bothered to find a bra or shoes, I did grab my cowboy hat for the 6-block drive. This was pointed out to me as being very Tennessee, and I can't argue otherwise. But however acclimated I become, I can't imagine there will ever be a day when this kind of heat won't make me want to shave my head, peel off my too-tight skin, and blame everyone and everything else for my discomfort.

Like this: I've got a sweat mustache and it's all your fault.

I didn't get a callback, so I clearly didn't get the job, nor will I be receiving the pile of money that is the reason for wanting the job in the first place. At least it was quick; I didn't even have a chance to spend the money in my head.

The experience was incredibly demoralizing, and I am again left feeling embarassingly diva-esque, as it's difficult for me to reconcile this rejection with what is now suspected to be erroneously high self-regard when compariing myself to the rest of the people floundering in the job pool. The Mr. has reasserted that I should just write my damn book(s) and not worry about a "real" job - especially since it's unlikely that I'll be able to get a job that would make getting up at 7 AM (or earlier!) worthwhile.

I had other things to talk about, but right now all I can think about is 1) sick bird, and 2) hate mail from mom. I think sick bird is actually injured bird, and I believe she hurt her beak/jaw by playing too hard - no signs of plague, scurvy, or typhoid - but since she won't eat, I'm fretting.

As for the hate mail, it was really just passive-aggressive bitch mail, but she has yet to respond to my nice reply. It's possible she's revving up to really let loose on me, and I'm sort of hoping this might happen, since I'm curious how I'd feel about someone in my family actually expressing emotion in a forceful way. I think I'd probably like it, even if it was mean, provided that it was direct.

Tomorrow morning I am scheduled for a telephone interview for a job (yes! a job!), the results of which will determine if I'm special enough to warrant an in-person interview. I am terrified.

The last time I interviewed for a job - interviewed for real, not a going-through-the-motions interview because it was already my job and all the other candidates were only being seen to fulfill EOE obligations - was a long time ago. I was thinking it was 10 years ago, which is already quite a while, but I realized this afternoon that I was incorrect in that assessment. Actually, the last time I interviewed for a job for which my hire wasn't already a given was in...

NINETEEN EIGHTY-NINE. That's 17 years ago, kids. Even if you take off the last three jobless years, that's still fourteen years of smug feelings of job security with nary a thought for the poor job seekers being interviewed for no reason at all to make my hiring seem non-nepotistic, clean and fair. I am convinced that my massive karmic job-entitlement debt has come due and I shall be humiliated, probably publicly, by being denied the opportunity to do a job that is far below my skills and abilities yet offers rich financial reward.

I don't know if you should cross your fingers for me or not, as I'm not clear myself on what I deserve in this situation.

(comments off since I am too nervous at this moment to answer them anyway)

I've never seen so much agreement on LJ, EVER: Have you seen this? If you followed the link (as I did) from boniblithe's journal a couple days back, you were statistically likely to be just as unhappy about it as the thousands of commenters thus far. 57 pages worth of comments at the time of this writing from people overwhelmingly unhappy with a pointless redesign of the "user info" page.

http://community.livejournal.com/lj_design/

The most articulate and reasonable comment I read (it wasn't mine!) is here, by grrliz, who also suggests a better design, which is visible at her own LJ. The only quasi-official folks responding are burr86, who is apparently an intern, and someone named foxfirefey who manages to come off as both rebel and apologist and may not have any official connection to LJ at all. I think she just likes code. She does have a poll regarding the change at her LJ, though, so maybe you can go click a button or two.

Not only is the user info page non-announcement pretty much a debacle, but here we see evidence that our input is not being actively solicited because, apparently, we are too inept to discuss design. An excerpt from a post by winniewong:

I sketched out a possible solution, and started getting feedback from small groups. There's no faster way for a good design solution to die than by putting it in front of a big group of people, and asking themfor open feedback. Invariably, they:

1. will be displeased with it in some way
2. not know how to verbally express their displeasure
3. try to design it for you

It's not their fault. Very few people are good at taking an emotional topic like Design, and talking about it in a very structured way. Also, most people are good, and want to help you, and that's why they come up with suggestions on how to fix it. But none of that really helps the Designer unless they understand the source of the displeasure. And it's a lot easier to get that in a small group than a big conference.

(emphases mine)

Later, we have a group of a whopping FIVE free users deciding what changes need to be made to Scrapbook. I don't really use Scrapbook, and I have no idea what changes might be required - if any. I do believe, however, that a testing group of more than five people would be useful, considering the size of the LJ user base. Also, since these people were all from the same area, of limited age range, and all FREE users, I would question that there would be enough diversity to reflect the needs of LJ as a whole.

Most annoying to me is an entry regarding a card-sorting game that was supposed to allow the staff (none of us end-users, of course) to determine how LJ should be used and/or marketed. This is ridiculous, since LJ already exists as a journaling community, and has been so for years now. They all seem very pleased with themselves for almost reinventing the wheel.

I had never heard of the lj_design comm previous to the rumblings re: the user info page, but reading the entries was a sobering experience for me. There seems to be no coherent approach to user design needs, which OUGHT to take into consideration all sorts of group psychological issues and, accordingly, should have some actual research into demographics behind the effort. There is apparently none of that happening, if this journal is to be taken as at all truthful. Apparently, LJ staff assume that there are no substantial differences in the way LJ is used between paid and permanent members vs. free or Sponsored+ members, which is difficult to believe. Your customers are the people who pay for your services, are they not? If you want your advertisers to be your customers, perhaps you need to start a new, advertiser-courting business that is separate from the online journal business. Additionally, if the disgruntled murmurings about Six Apart's focus are true-ish, I think LJ is making a mistake to dismiss permanent members as a continued revenue source. I know that many permanent users of my acquaintance continue to purchase LJ subs for others despite the fact that they already fully "own" their accounts. Paid members, such as myself, can STOP being paid members at any time. While LJ won't return the money spent for my year sub, you'd think they'd be concerned about getting my money next year.

newsflash! While I was writing this, a new entry came up to semi-address some of the issues brought up by users. It's basically a piece of mollifying CYA, but at least the complaints are going to be quasi-addressed. I responded here, and I believe I was reasonably coherent. And stupid! I said something stupid and had to kind of apologize!

I was very dismissive of the myriad "sky is falling!" posts that followed the announcement of LJ's acquisition by Six Apart, and I still think that I was correct in believing that Six Apart wasn't going to "ruin" LJ by getting rid of all the free users and "alternative" comms. I even got into a polite debate with the hysterian who wrote a salon.com article about the purchase, as well as a Six Apart employee with poor reading comprehension who didn't understand I was agreeing with him. Of course, I was more correct than I had thought. As it turns out, Six Apart might want to keep ONLY the Sponsored+ accounts and the self-injury comms, and begone to those of us who have been writing, well, journals here for years. And porn. I'm not forgetting the porn.

because we are twelve: Today the Mr. and I have been married 12 years. We're practically a teenager now, and maybe we should start acting like adults if we want to be treated like adults.

For the record, I do know how lucky I am :)

new yorke: Hey. Did y'all know that Thom Yorke was putting out a solo album by himself? Well, while I was moping about not being able to go to see Radiohead play last night at Bonnaroo (paying $185 to camp in the heat and mud all weekend? no thanks!), I stumbled upon not only news of this album, but an illicit download of same, which does make up a little bit for not actually seeing them play live. The album, called The Eraser isn't due to hit the stores until 07/11 (and I will actually be at Grimey's on that day, overly excited, ready to purchase a legit copy). After just a couple of listens, it reminds me somewhat of Amnesiac and Kid A in that it tends more toward the experimental than the rockish. In other words, despite what Mr. Yorke is apparently saying about these songs not being appropriate for Radiohead, this project of his sounds like a Radiohead record, pretty much. Which, IMO = yay!

I can already see I need a bigger one: As of yesterday, I finally got a bigger external drive. The old 80G drive has had...issues. It still works, but it has betrayed my trust a time or two with disastrous data loss resulting. The new drive is very tiny and cute and, more importantly, holds 250G worth of whatever. I don't just need storage space: in my efforts to convert various video formats to something playable on standalone DVD players, some of the programs I'm fiddling with require a full 9 GB of maneuvering room to convert a single ~350 MB file.

fangirls and cowgirls: I'm going to pick up stone_princesss and ethrosdemon to see the Avett Brothers doing an in-store performance at the oft-plugged Grimey's record store (despite the frequent mentions, I have no financial stake in the place - I just love that I have such a good record store nearby for purposes of loitering and purchasing both). Happily, I believe it is somewhat less sweltering today, which means I can wear my cowgirl boots. Yeah, all I care about is my outfit. Once I've actually heard the band, however, I'm sure that the balance of enthusiasm will shift their way.

where is my mind? I am rudderless. My palm's screen died and now I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing or when. Once I send the device off for repair, I will have to wait 5-7 business days to get it back, and that's far too long to go without my phone book, my lists, and the ability to play a game of surreptitious Scrabble wherever I might happen to be.

In other news:

• I insisted on the biopsy of what the doctor said was a benign skin lesion, so now I have a small, tidy divot missing from the top of my thigh. Although it wasn't necessary to go to such lengths, I suppose, I'd much rather have a real scar than a pretend cancer.


• Venture Brothers DVDs are finally available!


• In no particular order: fresh lemon juice, NARS lipgloss, Y: The Last Man, paying $23 for jeans instead of $200, thyroid replacement therapy, copy protection work-arounds, the latest lurid installment of Hot Gimmick, candied ginger, the imminent arrival of JJ, and finding oneself to be mostly acclimated to 90+ degree weather and matching humidity.


I need coffee now, and more comic books.

Okay, then.

Since I have not received the majority of the e-mails sent to me for the last year or so*, and definitely have not received those that were, in many ways, the most important, and because my server refuses to communicate with the servers of several of my favorite people, thus depriving them of my infrequent but vehement/heartfelt diatribes, I have stuffed my paranoia in a box and have signed up for a gmail account that I will actually use.

If you are not spam, you are welcome to email me at: scissorsandpills (at) gmail.com

If you have me in your address book as anything else, including at any of my own domains, please change it to the gmail address. Additionally, my livejournal address redirects to the gmail account. I am so beleagured with junk at my own domain addresses that I am currently planning to phase them out entirely, if not necessarily permanently. I figure that there has to be a point after which even spambots will stop sending messages to nonexistent addresses.

~~~

In other news, we will be hosting our first party ever this weekend. Yes, that's right: ever. I have not been the nominal hostess of a party since I ate cake and listened to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack with my two friends on my twelfth birthday. The Mr. is in a similiar state of entertaining retardation. While I think everyone benefits from a person waiting to experience certain things - parenthood, for instance - I don't think that having a few people over for drinks falls into this category. We've had people at our house for dinner in singles and pairs in the past, and we've had numerous people stay at our house as guests, but we've never invited people to come at a more-or-less specific time to participate in semi-defined social activities and ceremonial alcohol poisoning. I am, of course, anxious. Absolutely not mitigating my distress is the fact that we don't have any of the equipment that allows a party to happen. Things such as stemware. Enough plates. Rudimentary bar tools. Places to sit down.

Why, one might ask, are we doing this? Well, our friend, Brilliant, is visiting. She has been here for some time, but the Mr. was working too much and I wasn't aware that she was actually in town, and basically we missed most of her stay. She's leaving next week, and we love her and don't want her to go, so we're going to get her insensibly drunk and then imprison her in the basement. It's a nice, dry basement. Anyway, throwing a party will allow us to kidnap her without it being obvious what we're planning.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately (for her stress level), stoneprincess will not be in Nashvegas yet. We'll have to throw another party for her later, provided this one doesn't make me cry and/or alienate everyone we know.

The one thing that does alleviate a little of the anxious buzzing is the thought that I can finally wear some of the fancy shoes I've been stockpiling. Maybe I can even change shoes mid-shindig. Perhaps the glamour of my footwear will distract people from the relatively squalid atmosphere of our furniture-sparse abode.

So, if any of you are going to be in Nashville on Saturday, come to our party, okay?

*Significantly, I haven't received LJ comments THIS YEAR, despite receiving other types of mail at the address assigned to LJ. Not only have I not seen personal comments unless I happened to be looking at the page directly, but I didn't see the comments made about my remix story until fairly recently, which meant that I spent months salting a festering sore of injured diva pride when the ratio of response to self-regard probably only warranted a week or so of pouting.

So, the Mr. and I were in the kitchen continuing a discussion that was, at least at the beginning, about Brian Wilson's Smile, while I prepared breakfast (okay, brunch) for our various birds. Retrieving the dirty dishes from the parakeets' cage, I also removed a new egg that sat, cold and dented, on the scattered seed husks on their floor. Iris, the female bird, is certainly a child-free personality, and I suspect that she doesn't even bother getting down from her perch, but just lets the eggs drop where they may. I take the eggs away from them on the remote chance that they might show an interest in seeing an egg through to the end, which is something the Mr. and I definitely don't want to be involved in. (I like the eggs as objects, though. Today's egg was exceptionally small and cute and hardly dented at all.) On returning to the kitchen, I made a remark about birds being notoriously private about their sexual behavior, as well as about laying eggs. Although our lovebird has laid somewhere in the range of 200 eggs over the years, I've seen her produce only two. As for sex, The Mr. could not recall ever having seen birds mate, and I had seen it happen only once, and for mere seconds, on a dogwood branch outside the kitchen window.

Because we were still talking, if only tangentially, about Smile, the Mr. followed me and the parakeets' breakfast into the room where they were, as always, making a racket. I was looking back over my shoulder as I spoke, but when I turned to look at the cage...

Wow.

Sex! Actual bird mating activity! And nothing like what I saw outside the kitchen window, that's for certain. Berry was hunched on top of Iris, looking much more purposeful than we've seen him. An unusually submissive Iris twisted her neck around so they could "kiss." Berry was all puffed up, had a wing wrapped around Iris' back and chest for leverage and was, well, banging away. Although the noises they were making were the the noises they always make, in this new context they were kind of disturbing. It was...almost hot. It looked more like human sex than any other animal mating I've ever seen, making both the Mr. and I more than a little uncomfortable. And they just kept doing it! They didn't stop! The Mr. and I gawked, mouths hanging open and eyes wide, but the birds just kept on shamelessly humping! Finally, after several minutes of explicit bird action, they broke apart, reverting almost instantly to their usual smooth, bland, bead-eyed selves.

Iris is a bitch, both to us and to Berry. She bites and complains, and she literally henpecks Berry into doing things she considers potentially dangerous (i.e., examining new toys), but now it's vividly clear how they achieve balance in their relationship. Go, Berry!

As for theories of avian privacy issues, my whole worldview has been altered.

What I've done today:

1. Played eleventy-some games of Scrabble on my Palm.


2. Learned how to prepare/burn DVDs from various file types and started the excruciatingly long encoding process.


3. Pulled teeth from a skull with a pair of pliers.

( strategy, not spelling )

( guys like girls who have skills )

WARNING: possibly disgusting corpse talk ahead ( bucket of skulls )

( the box he came in )

For those who sully their minds with such things, my remix story is posted on the other journal. In this tale, I manage to entirely avoid pleasing anyone by producing a story that is 1) non-pornographic, and 2) based on source material that (almost) none of you have seen. However, if you have seen Gankutsuou, you may have some use for this piece.

Maybe this is old news to everyone else, but it was new to me. Link plucked from Metafilter to a Newsweek article and a trailer for the upcoming film, United 93. I should caution you that it may be very upsetting to some people, and not necessarily just New Yorkers. Obviously, I'm not a New Yorker, but, like most American citizens, I remember very clearly what I was doing on 09/11/01. Watching this trailer brought back the strong sense of visceral horror that I felt then. I'm an emotional girl, and I have strong emotional responses, but I really don't think this was upsetting only because I'm a big crybaby, so please proceed with caution.

If you do watch the trailer, you might then want to look at the comments in the Metafilter thread. When topics like this are up for discussion, I expect there to be people who insist on being more morbid than thou, so that aspect doesn't really surprise me. What does surprise me is the overwhelming impression that this film represents exploitation. My impression of the trailer was of a film shot in a very naturalistic way, making good use of the contrast between the small, ordinary moments of the boringly pleasant pre-flight experience and the mayhem that would follow, and I'm not sure where the exploitation is evidenced. Despite the fact that I found the clip very upsetting, I did not get the impression that this film would do anything except pay tribute to the people who were on that flight for their bravery and sacrifice. It could very well be that this is a hideously exploitative piece of crap, but I don't think it's possible to assume that based on the clip.

Someone does point out in that thread that while it may be "too soon" for people to want to see this movie, it's better that it's made now, when it is possible to have both the permission and the contributions of the families of the people who went down in the plane, rather than in 20 years, when a "true" account will be impossible, rather than simply biased. I don't know if I want to see this movie or not, but the better-sooner-than-later argument makes sense to me.

In the event that you thought you were the only person in the world incapable of learning from experience, I am here to prove you wrong. And when I say I "always" do these things, I'm barely exaggerating at all.

I always do this:

It's written in past tense. It works in past tense. Yet, I'm bedeviled by an overwhelming urge to convert it to present tense. To get rid of the itch, I spend too much time tweaking tense, all the while feeling more and more convinced that I'm doing the absolutely genius thing, internal accolades buzzing through my head like flower-drunk bees, but when I print it out to read (which is a necessity of my own final editing), I realize that this tense switch has been a miserable folly and that I will have to change everything back to the way it was in the first place. In spite of this acute and crushing realization, the digital version of the story will remain diabolically reasonable in its wrongness, and it will require constant comparison between versions to keep me convinced that the paper doesn't lie.

I always do this, too:

I write a story for a challenge. It's perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with it, and maybe it's even the rightest thing I could have written for the situation, but then I realize that what I wanted to write - no, NEEDED to write - was a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STORY. So I do that. Write a different story. What the hell. I'm only days past deadline, after all. And I can predict, based on much past experience, that when I can finally bring myself to read the original, hateful story months from now, I will have absolutely no idea what I thought was wrong with it.

Just thought I'd share. Now I've got to run and fix some tenses.

I got home from meeting Rhi's baby (I have pictures! I'll post tomorrow!) and discovered that something is very wrong with my e-mail. I have either 60 or 1243 unread e-mails which seems a bit ominous and also a bit...drunk? I mean, come on: there's a big difference between 60 and 1243. Regardless of whether 60 or 1243 is the accurate number, it is going to be all junk except for about 5 messages from people I actually know. I was able to actually open and read one of those, but I can't open the rest, and I can't answer the one I was able to read. So, if you sent me a message in the last 24 hours that I ought to have responded to, know that for once I am actually trying to be a good communicator but technology is thwarting my attempts. I hope to fix or kill Thunderbird sometime tomorrow, at which point I will hopefully be able to respond to your important, life-in-the-balance queries.

This is a post about Bach's Sonata 3 in C Major for solo violin, and specifically about the three versions of it that I own and know well.

( classical music is sexy )

song FYI: if you wanted a song at the time of my last post and the uploadsend service was down, I've reupped the songs to savefile. I've not had problems with either service before, so I'm expecting (not unreasonably) that one or the other set of links should be working at more or less all times. Qualify, qualify, qualify, and wash my hands of the whole deal.

~~~

( s t r e t c h and cut )

( never say never - remix and fanfiction )

Mr. G is watching the super bowl with Chuck, Doctor, and the Friendly Giant. I'd bet that they're all having a good time, sure, but that they're also at least a little wistful re: my absence. I'm sitting in a coffeeshop full of damn kids, directly next to a couple who seem to be trying to convince one another that they're really, really, deep and spiritual people who deserve love. Gah - just go fuck already! And I just discovered that the power strip I'm plugged into actually isn't working, so my screen just dimmed, battery is half-dead (or, for the optimists, half-charged), and I still haven't done anything work-like.

I had other things to talk about. Gender, for one. My Peter Berlin "porn" viewing experience. Characters. Cover versions, adaptations, remakes, and musings on why we use different terminology for music made with orchestral instruments (for which I've got a lot of tracks set aside). That will have to wait. I'm going to write at least one fictional sentence before my battery dies. That's a very achievable goal.

01-25 update: Well, fuckity. Apparently, I broke the uploadsend service. The original links may or may not work - I had no problems this morning, but now they're inaccessible. Hopefully, I will not kill savefile, as well. Try the new links if the original set won't work for you.

some songs: new, old and in-between

Cat Power - Lived in Bars - a good example of how different (or not) her new album is from past work. I think the album was released today.
Also @ savefile link

Blonde Redhead - Messenger - it occurs to me that the voices of these people might drive some listeners insane, but I happen to like them.
Also @ savefile link

Blonde Redhead + David Sylvian - Messenger - same song, except this time David Sylvian sings it. Even good things are better when David Sylvian sings them.
Also @ savefile link

Beck - Missing - uploaded previously, I think, but I'm still awfully fond of it. Moody bossa nova.
Also @ savefile link

Grace Jones - Pull Up To the Bumper - ran across this while making a disco comp. It's amazing to me that when this song came out I was completely oblivious to the not-very-subtext.
Also @ savefile link

Broken Social Scene - Canada vs. America - Starts as coherent noise (A-OK by me) and then turns into an insanely catchy emo-dirge.
Also @ savefile link

Broken Social Scene - Hotel - Not a clue as to the lyrics, really, but this sounds like S-E-X so it's reasonable to think it's about sex, too. I suppose it could be about dishwashing or quitting smoking, but I doubt it.
Also @ savefile link

Magneta Lane - The Constant Lover - another repeat, I think, but if you didn't download it before, do it now. Gravelly garage pop voiced by a world-weary teenager.
Also @ savefile link

Mew - Circuitry of the Wolf and Mew - Chinaberry Tree - if it didn't entail working on an entirely separate computer and disconnecting/reconnecting so many cables, I would have spliced these together. Tracks 1 and 2 off ...and the glass handed kites, listened to in that order for best effect. First, they're verging on metal, then they're almost twee. I think they're Danish, but I can't tell for certain.
Also @ savefile link and savefile link

Neutral Milk Hotel - Song Against Sex - I know they broke up years ago, but I only discovered them last year.
Also @ savefile link

The Long Winters - It'll Be A Breeze - spare and sad and beautiful.
Also @ savefile link

The Selmanaires - Selmanaire Rock - Atlanta 3-piece who sound a lot like an apolitical Gang of Four with a touch of gratuitous falsetto...
Also @ savefile link

The Selmanaires - LMNO6 - ...except when they're a psychobilly band. Or (on other tracks) the evil twins of the Dave Clark Five. They're playing on the 8th here in Nashville and (unless someone has a baby or something) I'm definitely going to be there.
Also @ savefile link

The White Stripes - My Doorbell - I have a hard time looking at Jack White these days - he's turning into the white Michael Jackson. Or, wait, Michael Jackson is white, isn't he?
Also @ savefile link

recommended, but not uploadable: The Cara Cara orange. Sweet, juicy, and, as a bonus, it's pink inside, just like you and me and everyone we know! I got a half-dozen yesterday and I have...one left. I did share one with the birds, though.

Returned from New York. I want to see my Mr. and my pets, and I want to be nearby for Rhi's spectacular baby-producing experiment, but I really wish I could be in New York and still do those things.

I slept wrong on my right shoulder (on the plane, even) and it hurt like hell all week - still does, in fact. So picture me grimacing yet valiantly soldiering on as I type, type, type.

BTW, this is so long. SO long. You may require sustenance to even contemplate reading to the end.

( shelter plug )

( pun & sir, the met, saufina paneer lababdar )

( snow boots and snapshots )

( chosen vs. given names, little ukraine )

( no patience with shopping / rat hat )

( walkabout )

( solving the enigma of odeon once and for all )

( peter berlin and further indications that I am actually a gay man )

( lapinorama and a regretful adieu )

So. Home again.

( pills - which, as usual, may be TMI for some )

( social skills )

( make it there, make it anywhere, ny, ny, etc. )

My resolution for this year is to try to respond to comments, perhaps even within a reasonable time frame.

misssaturn.com

At the Saturday night burlesque show, wearing the second-shortest skirt* in the club, I stood up in front of a packed house and held out my hand to demand money from my husband - or anyone, really - and "won" the auction for Miss Saturn's candy-striped hula hoop. I believe there may have been other bidders, but I was already at the foot of the stage, saucy, and determined, and when the auctioneer asked if there were any more bids, I admonished the crowd, "Don't you dare!" There was lots of laughter, but I'm told they were laughing with me, not at me. My winning bid was supposed to be $30, but since Mr. G just handed me the contents of his wallet, I apparently paid more like $50.

She signed it for me, "with love," and when I accused her of committing a falsehood, she insisted otherwise and wrote "IT'S LEGIT!" on the hoop. Well, I still don't believe her, but it's funny, at any rate.

I've entirely lost the knack of keeping a hoop going for more than a few seconds. If I'm going to insist on practicing, I need to get another, cheaper hoop so I don't wear the inscription off of this one with repeated drops to the floor.

*This was just a little contest between me and the world, no prizes awarded. I had been really hoping for the shortest skirt and I thought I had it in the bag until some short person showed up with the undercurve of her ass hanging out below her hem. Where does a 5' girl find a skirt short enough to leave her ass hanging out??? Still, I had the best legs. Yes, even in a room full of nubile young things and burlesque performers, I still had the best legs. Hey, I know my good points.