karen-the-great

Fable II: Teaching Mythological Archetypes, perhaps?

2009-03-17T13:28:00.005-04:00

Socks, at last

2009-01-07T14:12:00.004-05:00

I made these in November and... well... I'm very proud. *sniff.

Baby alpaca in charcoal, perfect for B's cold feet (har. har.) especially the day that I finished, since he'd just contracted the flu.

And now, the moderately close up shot...

Thus, in a word: Ta-da!

Sir Jackson

2008-07-17T16:52:00.003-04:00

"This! Is! Sparta! Ka-chow!"

In my family, the geeking-out starts early.

Can I go on your next trip?

2008-07-08T13:04:00.002-04:00

Go here (but only if you're seeking pure delight!)

Trust me, it's way more pleasant than Gravity's Rainbow.

Be sure to watch in High Quality (link just below video window).

Pynching (GR, pt. 2)

2008-07-07T18:35:00.019-04:00

Posting tomorrow: chs. 2-3.

Right now, posting (briefly) on Chapter One.

ChapTER One.
CHAP-ter-ONE.
Chap, ter one.

I think that moment signifies my favorite thus far in this excursion into TP's brain. Significantly, it felt like an excursion into mine, at least in that moment. "You never did the Kenosha Kid."* Apparently, this blogger experiences a similar phenomenon, at least in the linguistic vs. the musical sense. I know that an error in the brain's auditory co, along with an inherent desire to find patterns (especially with gaps in the patterns - like hearing only a song's title) leads to the "song stuck in my head" problem. Why, then, do we get words or phrases "stuck"? They seem to run around and around, repeating even after I've shouted them at myself, or used them in a blog. (currently, and fortuitously - - sort of - - "auditory" is stuck in my brain. Lucky, that. :-/ )

Here's a commercial example more relevant to the Kenosha Kid situation. The cable channel A&E formerly used the slogan "Time Well Spent." Regardless of the response of wikipedia posters, I think they retired the slogan due to the ridiculous variations on that phrase that viewers, like me, could make:

Time, well spent (we use time here at A&E, and we use it well.)
Time, well, spent. (gotta get used up somehow; might as well be here.)
Time Well, spent. (what the heck is a "time well"? or should I say "who"??)

Even now, typing this out, I can feel the "round-and-round" of Slothrop's brain. (auditory, aggregate, enculcate). Even worse, and even dorkier, the eJ, her husband, and I took a trip to VA two years ago for Halloween and, to stay awake on the road, we played a horrible, wonderful, nerdy game. For hours (and hours) we took turns coming up with words that had specific suffixes. So, for instance, one round was "-ate." With a Spanish lit grad student, a history grad student, and an English lit grad student, you can imagine the length of each of the rounds. The trouble wasn't coming up with words; the trouble was stopping before the point of utter mental exhaustion. Even when the rounds were over, words continued to appear in our poor tired brains. We literally couldn't STOP our brains from pursuing that pattern in our linguistic memories.

Thus, I swing 'round back to my original reactions to Slothrop's dilemma(?). First, hilarity as a result of recognition/empathy, as described in the previous ramblings. Second, academic interest in both the psychology of the pattern and also the physiology of it, as described below in my discussion about the sodium-amytal. Finally, pattern-recognition as a catalyst for a close reading. Scary, and overwhelming, and cool.

Okay, point 2, then. The (psychotropic, tropes, aggregate, enculcate**), barbituate, "10% sodium-amytal, one cc at a time, as needed" (62) obviously indicate a jibe against/about human test subjects during the WWII era. For instance, Slothrop sings (recites? chants?) "Re-enlist-- Snap--to, Slothrop! / ...They just look for someplace else to send...me..." (63) , as if the physicians' only concern is to prep depressed, neurotic, suicidal soldiers for a return to the battlefield (see link in next sentence).

Note that the administration of the so-called -perhaps, anyway- "Blue-88" appears after Slothrop has already begun his linguistic spiral, a word I choose intentionally, for the implication is that of a downward tendency. Okay, so. In my case it may be simple OCD of the neocortex, in Slothrop's we must assume that Pynchon wants to say something, or, better, wants to imply that he wants to say something. Regardless, I'm gonna go with the the desire to say something, at least the desire to show something on a linguistic and a musical level. Thus, I've now moved from my previous point of "linguistic vs. musical" to a new region of "linguistic AND musical." Quite an important distinction.

Here we go: Slothrop gets the sodium-amytal, and the already overstimulated Broca's area (frontal lobe, neocortex) invites the auditory cortex (occipital lobe) along for the ride, and the complex, problem-solving/pattern recognition loop adds a soundtrack. Normally, I might argue that Pynchon was in now way references actual, physiological or psychological processes. The problem with my argument would be - and is - that the entire episode turns on psychological experimentation. Perhaps I go too far if I argue that TP intentionally alludes to the various regions of the brain - but do I? Note Slothrop's own words: "Tap my head and mike my brain, / Stick that needle in my vein" (63), and then "yowzah gwine smoke a little ob dis hyah sheeit gib de wrinkles in mah brain a process! straighten 'em all raht out, sho nuf!" (64, TP ital.) At least, based on the context, the essential physio-psychological processes play a role, even if TP doesn't specifically intend to discuss the regions of the brain.

But I do. So that's why I did a little research on the names here, both of the interviewer, PISCES, and the song, "Cherokee," playing during Slothrop's recital, which I hesitate to call a "flashback." Here's the dish: Pisces is the name a 1961 Art Blakey album, as well as a song on that album and this one, The Freedom Rider, from the following year. Considering the tempo of Slothrop's little ditties, as well as the setting, dialect, and storyline of his bathroom recital. I find it difficult to ignore the possible connections. The weird thing is this: I would destroy my students for making such a leap! It's a terrible fallacy to assume that somehow there's a connection between a 1960's jazz tune and one crazy-drug-induced memory. EXCEPT. We're talking Pynchon. The other snag in my neat little fabrication here? I can find no evidence that Art Blakey recorded the Ray Noble jazz tune "Cherokee," despite it's popularity among other greats.

Suddenly, I find myself playing a weird literary game of Six Stages of Separation, and I feel completely OCD.

I think I shall call it quits for one day, and continue these thoughts on the morrow. I'm caught in a lexical loop.

I'll leave you with Ray Noble's classic lyrics:

Cherokee (Indian Love Song)

Sweet Indian maiden, since first I met you,
I can't forget you, Cherokee sweetheart.

Child of the prairie, your love keeps calling,
my heart enthralling, Cherokee.

Dreams of summertime, of lovertime gone by,
throng my memory so tenderly, and sigh. My

Sweet Indian maiden, one day I'll hold you,
in my arms fold you, Cherokee.

~~~
* - Yes, I noticed they're an Athens-based band. More reviews here.
** - Blogger keeps telling me that I've spelled enculcate incorrectly. I checked, and I'm right. So HAH.
**.2 - Interestingly, arbitrarily repeating the "stuck" words seems to alleviate the cacophony/calliope in my head. Perhaps a new Pynchon theory?

~~~~~

Works Cited (referenced, or pointed to)

"3 Smart Things About Music." Wired. 16 June 2008. 7 July 2008.

"Battle of the Bulge." American Experience. Public Broadcasting Station. Transcript. Online. 7 July 2008.

ConstantSkeptic. "Words Stuck in My Head." [Weblog entry.] The Constant Skeptic: Tech-enabled Hipster Xenophiles Seeking to Question, Rant, and Inform Humanity. 17 December 2007. <http://www.constantskeptic.com/index.php/2007/12/17/quote-of-the-day-oscar-wilde/>7 July 2008.

Wikipedia. . 7 July 2008

Verbals Furballs. (Pynchon, Pt. 1)

2008-06-23T18:41:00.015-04:00

My god, the man obfuscates.

I have decided, after hours of contemplation, that I'll allow my first post to be little more than a knee-jerk RANT against the refrigerator-poetry of Pynchon's style. But let me start at the start.

I'm blogging, along with K.R., as I read Gravity's Rainbow in a united effort to hold ourselves accountable for actually completing the darn thing. It's my first go, but KR has tried several times and, not "failed," but decided to move on to less irritating reading material. Let me put it this way: many of you know my feelings about Don DeLillo's White Noise and James Joyce's Ulysses, so you'll understand my initial hesitancy when I searched GR on Amazon.com and they BOTH appeared as results. Why? I'm not entirely sure, but I imagine that if you like one or the other of these (supposedly, and I have my doubts) venerable tomes, you're sure to LOVE GR. Not exactly an auspicious beginning to this summer reading adventure.*

So... I decided to take the literary academic approach; or, at least, I decided to make an attempt at such an approach. And I still insist that I will have a few posts along the way that will gesture at scholarship, perhaps even brilliance, although the probability of the latter is quite slim. I'll save my attempts at thematic analysis, linguistic parsing, and etc, for later posts, however, for right now I have a terrible itch that I must satisfy, a tickle in my (virtual) throat: Pbbbttthhhttt! The Emperor is naked!

First, studious little scholar that I am, I practiced my "Fiction Preview" for this book. The steps of the preview are as follows:

Read the covers, inside and out (flaps, etc)
Read everything before Chapter 1 and after the last chapter.
Read Chapter 1 (all 180 pages).

First, the covers: Front cover is apparently black paint/ink splattered on a white canvas/surface, with the shape of a missile - purportedly the V-2 rocket, but not named - marked out as negative space. The edges of said shape are not sharp, perhaps to further indicate the space as negative space, rather than 3-D object. The rocket, then, does not have actual presence on the page (here or in the text), except as, like subatomic particles in physics, the measurement of the reactions or it's imprint on the environment. Okay, got it. The MISSILE/ROCKET represents the centerpiece of the novel, but the novel pivots on it, rather than focuses on it. And that's just Frank Miller's cover. (I KNOW! Frank Miller!)

The back cover, delight of delights, shows war-torn London, the famous bridge aflame in the deep background, rowhouses tumbled into lumber, rubble, and ash, defamiliarized (thank you, for dropping the cake, Jenna) into their disparate elements, though a complete wall of empty windows rises. Notably, perhaps, that wall lines up with the burning bridge in the deep background. Two figures, male and female, seem to have just escaped the collapse of a wall, although the male, following the female, may sill be caught by the legs in the crushing fall of whatever it is. His hand covers one eye and his forehead, and a frightening bit of lumber seems headed straight for a lovely impalement beneath his upraised arm. The woman faces away from the disaster, while the man watches the collapse. The artists depicts most of the scenery in reds and browns, edged in white to emphasize the heat and brightness, but the figures have a greener underlying tint. This coloration may indicate living vs. unliving, although the intuitive tinting for that purpose might have been the opposite: color of living should be red - blood, life, etc, color of death/nonliving/inanimate - green, black, industrial. In this case, the city is bleeding, burning, dying, the humans(?) frozen, copper-statue-like, concrete, mechanical. Hmm..

As I wrote this, I took another look at the inside back cover and learned that the image is "from a German D-Day leaflet showing scenes of apparent disaster in England." Anyway, here's a link to Calvin College's online German Propaganda archive (3rd image down).

Then, I read the only text on this back cover. A quote from The New Republic:
"The most profound and accomplished American novel since the end of World War II."

Um, what exactly is that supposed to signify? That it's a difficult book? That Pynchon somehow "accomplished" some mysterious SOMETHING with it? Is the verbose, complex, style "accomplished"? The in-jokes and puns? The (possibly) throwaway allusions and oblique references that may go somewhere but may have appear as a diversionary tactic? ("Hey, look at this bright, shiny thing I can do! Oh? What? I have no idea how this talking dog got here while you were looking the other way!").

Inside Front:

A
SCREAM-
ING
COMES
ACROSS
THE
SKY

Red font on black background, with mirror-image and reverse countdown to 2 in white at the extreme bottom edge. I now recognize the latter as a reference, not entirely subtle (oh yeah - it's Pynchon) to the Pavlovian reverse-neurological processes, the "ultraparadoxical phase" (Pynchon 49, his ital.) of impending/receding doom. Yes, well. How wonderfully clever.

Clever, clever Pynchon. Does the emperor actually have on a delightful set of magical robes that only the wisest of us can see? Or have we all been hoodwinked (heh, pun) by a man with too much time and too many verbals... or, is that the cleverest joke of all? That he, being TP, knew of the academicians and our desire for meaning, and he weaves a horrifyingly apt post-modern joke to expose - an humiliate us all?!

I don't think that I'm necessarily grasping at straws - or bananas - here, in an embarrassing attempt to explain my ignorance. I'm actually having little difficulty comprehending his "story," if it may be termed such, or even his metaphors, allusions, puns, descriptions, what have you. I'm just a little irritated that he won't let me in past this veritable wall of language to the heart of... himself? His tale? His point? It just makes me wonder if, like the child with the Russian doll, there exists nothing at the heart. Perhaps the tangle of alleyways and darkened windows in/around/through this wall are the point of it. The journey, not the destination, blah-blah-blah. Frankly, I don't know how I feel about picking up all of these jigsaw clues he leaves about in the twisted corridors and on the ledges of his text, only to find that the picture is only another post-modern attempt at abstract expressionism without meaning. Call me a luddite, but I don't care about books that I don't care about, and I especially don't care about Thomas Pynchon's thesaurus-diving.**

Alright. I have read Ch. 1, but, obviously, haven't written on it. I have the notes! I swear, Dr. Roney, I've been keeping up! I'll write on this tomorrow, since I've talked too much today.
~~~~~
* Mantra: I'm reading this for pleasure. I'm reading this for pleasure. I'm reading this... oh hell.
** Yep.

Deep down dark

2008-06-09T09:49:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I think I took Mr. Tolkien's words a bit too much to heart: "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." Granted, as a child I wanted to resemble the noble Lady Eowyn for her courage and audacity, and I had hoped to avoid connection with the silly, munchkin-like hobbits. Now, however, I've realized two significant concepts:

Hobbits have a humble nobility and quiet greatness (redundant, yes - - but also hobbitlike)

Eowyn was not simply "brave": she was in a suicidal despair. Not nearly as much fun.

I would rather not, at least on a romantic, aesthetic level, have exterior associations with hobbit-folk. Really, what woman wouldn't rather remind her friends of Eowyn, beautiful warrior maid (better: Galadriel or Arwen... Elf-Queens!!?!) than short, hairy-footed people that live in little round houses underground?

The point that I have, in all my geek glory, successfully evaded for two paragraphs, shall now make an appearance: I tend toward hobbit-ness more often than elf-queen or warrior-maid. Blech. My poor, feminine, romantic heart wilts just a little at the thought. Before all of the Tolkien fans start heaving mathoms at me, I will offer an advance disclaimer: this post will certainly not focus on the less-admirable attributes of our little friends (Or of me, to be honest) . And, please, D., refrain from all snorts until all names have been announced. :)

This week, I stayed inside my emotional hobbit-hole, dark and cozy and self-absorbed. I took care of my responsibilities, e.g., kid's karate summer camp, SOAR at GSC, some prep for classes, RGTR orientations, dinner for my boyfriend (Bertolli!). I even fed my cats at the designated times and with requisite kitty-cat-talk. But when I wasn't take care of my BIG responsibilities, I avoided phone calls, neglected email, and slept on my couch* --> always a bad sign for me. Generally, I navel-gazed myself into pseudo-depression. Awful. Now, I know you're waiting with bated breath, wondering what the heck was wrong with me this weekend.

As I reflect (now on day 2 of this attempted post), I am learning that I have a few great fears in my heart, and that they typically manifest as minor insecurities until a major event propels me inward toward selfish introspection:

Fear of losing my drive for excellence and becoming lazy and "sufficient," rather than outstanding.

Fear of incompletion; i.e., becoming a woman that starts many things and finishes none.

Fear of mediocrity - coming in 2nd or 3rd instead of shining at the top.

Again, all of these major insecurities appear as minor complaints and worries in almost all aspects of my life - professionally and personally. I want to be the best teacher, best friend, best girlfriend, daughter, sister, karate student - obviously, however, if I'm human, it's virtually impossible to truly be the "best" at anything, much less the best at all of those roles. And thus, the fear of failure, of "mediocrity," raises its head and a cycle begins. I "fail" (per se), feel defeated, wonder if everyone has lost faith in me and my abilities, question my desires and dreams, and basically whine myself into a deep, dark hobbit-hole.

B. has said a number of times that I'm "ruled by my insecurities"; after a lengthy discussion last week about this very topic - and that specific comment - I recognize both the superficial truth and the underlying misdirection that his statement implies. The statement is true, insomuch that I believe most of us use our insecurities as both motivation to succeed and as excuses for failure, thus attesting to the bilateral nature of...well... our nature in general. On the other hand, B.'s comment misleads the object of the statement into an incorrect understanding of one's capacity for growth, either emotional or mental. Basically, when he says that I'm "ruled by my insecurities," I hear "You are incapable of growing as a person because you are controlled by fear rather than a sense of adventure, desire for success, or confidence in your strengths." Of course, he didn't mean it that way - he wants me to "see" myself as he does, which is, by all accounts, in a very, very good light. :)

The point? I have pondered and wandered and explored and explained, trying to find my way out of my own head and back into myself. That is, the self that tries (and fails, often) to become more selfless, even as I hold onto my own ambitions and dreams. I'll offer up my quote, though many of you have seen it. This quote, from Carl Sagan's Contact, feels... right... to me:

"She was determined to be as tough-minded as possible, without abandoning the sense of wonder that was driving her in the first place."

Perhaps I just needed to get this navel-lint out on paper, for all the world** to see, and now I can focus on OTHER THINGS. Whew. Blegh - it was icky in there. I think, for a start, I'll attempt to eliminate all of those self-deprecating comments that aren't really that funny, and really only represent a bid for attention and external ego-pumping (hehe - that's almost bad). After that, the world is my oyster! I will rule! I will become sheer...

~~~~~~
*Obligatory YouTube link.
**Or, any vaguely interested parties.

Happy Snuggle Day!

2008-02-14T12:09:00.003-05:00

Love,

Your Funny Valentine :)

(and now the citation for the pic... darn MLA indoctrination)
"UR So Sweet Nom Nom." ICanHasCheezburger.com. Access date: 14 February 2008.
http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/01/23/funny-pictures-ur-so-sweet-nom-nom/.

Warm head, warm heart.

2008-02-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

I finally finished my Christmas gifts - and, yes, I do realize that it's now into the month of February. Lucky for me, the recipients of said gifts reside in the far reaches of New England. My Aunt Elaine lives in upstate New York, in Watertown (or thereabouts), and my grandmother lives in VERY upstate New York: Peru. When I heard that my Aunt's region had received more than three feet this winter, I knew I had some time to spare. Technically, I didn't really, since Christmas gifts are usually, that is to say, traditionally given on or at least near Christmas, and I've extended that deadline a little beyond the pale this time around.*

But at least I finished two little projects!

First, a k1p1 rib neckwarmer for my Gramma (modeled here by my lovely colleague-who-must-not-be-named):

And for my Aunt Elaine, who is a snow-mobiler extraordinaire, a warm headscarf/earwarmer thingy from knitty, called "Calorimetry". Two models this time: myself (pic #1) and my reading colleague Joy (#2 & #3):

fig. 1

Typical "headbands" always slide off my big head, so the stretchy rib and wide band of this one is perfect. Yay!

fig. 2 & 3

Doesn't she look ready to brave the winter winds? My favorite part about this headscarf is that if the wearer has short hair, curly or straight, the scarf won't "flatten." Likewise, a long-haired girl like me can wear a pony tail and still keep the old ears warm.

Now, for my dad's deliciously warm (and fast) seed-stitch scarf. Not the greatest pic in the world, but red it weirdly hard to photograph:

Luscious,thick, marvelous "soft chunky" from Twinkle knits. Yum!

And on another, other note...

I also started using DPNs yesterday, for my first pair of socks. No pics yet... not too many rows yet... but I have hopes that my confused fingers will learn to deal with four needles at once.

Bryan wants some warm, soft, bed socks, so I chose a pattern that calls for some baby alpaca. What Bryan wants, Bryan gets. Sometimes. :) I took (dragged?) him to Main Street Yarns last Saturday to pick his yarn, and he chose a very masculine charcoal gray. I'm having the time of my life figuring out sock knitting, and I must send a million thanks to the amazing Amy at KnittingHelp.com. She's outstanding!

Happy Knitting!

~~
*Note: If you visit my blog for the spectacular wordplay and lexical nuance, then today's post will disappoint you. I'm awfully sleepy, but so proud of my finished projects that I had to share anyway, regardless of inept semantics. Or something.

1.5 hours later...

2007-12-30T23:31:00.000-05:00

I figured out a workaround for my Yahoo! avatar (to the right, there) image. I think that sometimes programmers, in a well-intentioned effort to help the less-savvy consumer (or blogger, in this case) have a more streamlined experience in techno-communication. Thus, the new blogger templates with "widgets." Call me old-fashioned, and nerdy, but I found the classic HTML templates much easier to use, since I could actually see the code I needed to fix or change. I wasn't great at it, but at least I could figure out the location of the issue.

This question, of course, brings me to an issue in the personal computer war that I have spent much time considering: Macs vs. PCs for people-friendly interfaces. Here's the thing: PCs represent (or used to, anyway) a sort of technology designed around the geeks of the world: those users that were versed in regedit and dos (do you remember Tandy's first "desktop" program?! So. Cool. I spent hours playing with those settings.../sigh. The old days) or at least those users adventurous enough to just dive in and figure it out. Macs, on the other hand, were specialized, right from the beginning. I remember when "Apples for Education" was all the rage and the cute rainbow symbol was a marketing tool for less expensive, less powerful, less geek-cool Apple computer. Now, that same Apple logo is translucent, or white, a representation of the graphic friendly, architecturally clean Mac.

The PC is powerful, cheap(er), ubiquitous, and generally easier to "figure out" for even mildly competent users. For instance, if I want to make sure that a program has been completely cleaned from my system, I can easily access the registry and search for log files to delete, etc.

The Mac, also powerful, costs a whole lot more, and I have yet to figure out how to fix my darn machine if anything goes wrong. Interestingly, however, I've had my laptop since 2003, and it has NEVER crashed. Ever. Not a blip. I have had problems, however, on a more hardware level. First, the ultra-cool battery adapter that came with the system had an overly thin cord that wore through in less than a year, since I had to wrap it to keep it in my laptop case. On the Apple website, a new one cost nearly $100. On Mac Mall, I got an off-brand for under $40. It's still working. Second, my screen is doing this weird thing, as if the inner wires are not connecting properly unless I set it exactly perfectly. Thank goodness for PeachMac.

But it's so pretty... and I will insist that the Expose feature, along with amazing overall stability and incredible graphic/video capability (and the pretty), make the Mac a special kind of machine. I just hate that I can't fix it myself if I wanted to.

It's kind of like owning a Volkswagen. Oh, wait...

I guess I'm a sucker for pretty.

Have a Happy New Year's Eve!

Go here.

2007-10-31T18:34:00.000-04:00

My little bro is in Hyderabad, India. Go read his ultra-cool blog about his trip!

Good morning!

2007-10-30T14:00:00.001-04:00

You might be a cat owner if you laugh at this:

I laughed until I cried, but only because of the similar agony that Galaxy and Xander subject me to every morning.

Putting the "super" back in "supersonic"

2007-10-17T13:30:00.000-04:00

I'm back! I'm trying to eat right, exercise, the works. After talking to the now-famous Mel (the Yarn Harlot blogs about her!!) I have decided that part of the plan for fitness must also include accountability. So...I'm going public. I have a link on the left, under "kicking" for my diet/fitness info that I will update daily.

Funny thing - when the world will have a record of one's eating habits, it's really tough to grab that handful of peanut-butter M&Ms and chow down.

If you're curious, check it out. Otherwise, keep moving. Nothing more to see here.

Happy Wednesday!

Always in style...

2007-10-08T15:52:00.000-04:00

You Are

A Classic Pumpkin Face

You would make a good pumpkin pie.

What's Your Pumpkin Face?

The wait is over.

2007-09-26T11:52:00.000-04:00

I've dreamed of fame for most of my life. I've never really yearned for the "fortune" half of that colloquialism; I've just always wanted my name in lights.

And here it is.

I guess I really am a force of nature. (bah-dum-dum-crash!).

By the way, for those of you just joining us for "Heroes," Mel sent me this link to the corresponding online, interactive graphic novel. I've only flipped through the first chapter, but it has already impressed me, in terms of both the artistic content and the storyline.

On that note, I'd like to relate a brief conversation that B and I had about the quality of writing on television these days. Although we bemoan the dearth of good programming with the advent of the "reality TV" shows - and, yes, even Project Runway has its critics - Bryan proposed that the subsequent excess of writers-without-jobs actually creates higher-quality writing for the remaining shows. Sort of an Adam Smithsian effect in Hollywood: low demand, high supply means that producers have their pick of the litter.

I suppose that means that all of the fans of "Lost," "Battlestar Galactica," "Heroes," "House," and pretty much all of the HBO serial programming should give a great big (albeit tongue-in-cheek) HOLLA! to "Flip This House!" and "The Bachelorette 17 (or whatever)." We, of the intelligent, articulate viewing audience thank you, Jessica Simpson, for your marital silliness. Thank you, too, Paula and Simon, for humiliating hundreds of wanna-be superstars. And you, MTV: we thank you for forgetting about that "music video" nonsense and turning to reality shows for your primary revenue.

We thank you as we watch polar bears prowl in the jungle and cheer as adorable Hiro stops time; as we ponder the weird disease of House's patient and despise the pathetic Dr. Baltar.

Go reality TV!

Ouch.

2007-09-19T19:07:00.000-04:00

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

Who knew?*

Clearly I'm reading other folks' blogs because I stole the idea from Anita.**

~~~~~~
*Rhetorical question. I know, I need to post more. Yadda-yadda, etc.
** Shameless plug.

Polonius-ness

2007-09-17T14:45:00.000-04:00

Well, hey ya'll.

It's been a while. I think the thing with the job thing is all getting up in my stuff. And everything. Anyways.

It's not bad, having a full-time gig with benefits and retirement, etc. I went to the doctor for $20 on Friday,* bought groceries (even some /gasp, items that weren't on sale, just for kicks) even took care of dry cleaning that's spent the last 18 months in my car. Oh, and I paid all of my bills. All of them. Even the ones several months overdue. Now that's something to write home about.

I have learned something interesting, though. Even now, I clip coupons, buy generics, peruse clearance racks, curb impulse buying - in short, even when I technically have the money, I have developed such stringent habits from the days of pb & j sandwiches and keeping the A/C turned off, that I continue to practice them. (that "in short" turned into rather a long - and awkwardly phrased - series of dependent clauses... very Polonial. Poloniusal. You get it.) I mean, what better thrill than when you hand the cashier a sheaf of coupons for items that one had intended to purchase anyway, and watch the savings rack up to $20?! Well, my record is only $19.26 @ ye olde Publix, but STILL!

It's good to be chea... err, thrifty. Less money spent = less thinking about money. {End blog topic.}

{Begin anew, anon}

Okay, Wil Wheaton. Either you know his name, or you don't, and either you loved him in ST:NG, or you hated him. Make no never mind either way, 'cause Wesley is gone and Kyle has arrived. Well, Kyle + Rosemary, to more precise. It's the cartoon debut event of the season! All the cool kids will be watching! Plus, the artist, Jun, sent me stickers, like this one, when I complimented her work on her blog. I love cool people. Especially geeky cool people.

Oh, and BY THE WAY, I have a very profound apology to make to all of my friends, neighbors, and strange people in parking lots who insisted that I start watching "Heroes" last year. You were right, I was wrong. It really IS "that good," as Bryan and I have repeatedly stayed up to 3 and 4am to finish the DVDs as they come in from Netflix. If you're not watching, or you haven't watched last season, make like an egg and get crackin' because Season 2 starts on the 24th. Of September, that is. Sylar is waiting, and he's starting to get hungry... (um. ew. sorry)

I would like to dedicate this blog to Heather. She knew that I'd come back, and it was her faith that urged me on (in more ways than one).

Happy Monday!

~~~
* I also learned that I owed $500 from a previous - uninsured - visit, but they're letting me pay in increments. It ain't bad.

Who's scruffy-lookin'?

2007-07-25T12:13:00.000-04:00

Luke, I am your father. (sorry about the ads - the only site I could find with a good video)

Also, if you're interested, new book review on ktgwords (from my copy for the "By the Book" section of Lake Oconee Living Magazine, with additional unpublished material). Enjoy!

This just in: Class counts

2007-07-11T11:00:00.000-04:00

At least, actually attending class counts. Again, the research demonstrates that student self-motivation [read: personal responsibility] acts as the fundamental component for a successful education.

Duh.

Look, I'll admit to skipping my fair share of classes as an undergraduate. Usually, however, I skipped out on the huge lecture classes and, quite rightly, ended up with a "B" instead of the "A" that I could have earned. I, however, will never, ever complain that the prof. was unfair or biased. I take full credit for any and all mediocre grades that I earned. I wasn't dumb - just, shall we say, lackadaisical.

All of this techie-stuff we've added to teaching, e.g. WebCT, online courses, podcasting, class chat rooms, blogging requirements, and even student shared folders, are only supplemental. And, in some cases, detrimental, insomuch that students get wrapped up in the techno-frustration of reams of new programs, professor-specific methodologies & processes, and the sometimes questionable sincerity engendered in a system, although becoming less-so, that requires additional levels (and angles) of cognition.

Thanks for reading today's blip. Happy Wednesday!

Recipe for a cyborg nation.

2007-05-15T11:07:00.000-04:00

Start with one of the most interesting - yet oddly disconcerting - books of satire and speculation that I have ever read:

Limbo, by: Bernard Wolfe

Fold in a little modern controversy:

Amputee Sprinter

Sprinkle some knowledge of the Transhumanism Movement, Modern Pop-Culture "Cyborg" research, and CyberPunk (Informatics, etc)

And thus we have the (very beginnings of) a debate. Get to reading, friends! I'll be back later with some thoughts.

Virtual me, part II

2007-05-10T14:47:00.001-04:00

Okay, here’s the follow-up post.

I pondered this topic for a while – no, strike that. I pondered my reasons for pondering this topic for a while. After a, shall we say, heated conversation with Bryan about it, I began to question my own purpose. He challenged me to explain my “point,” and, I realized, I didn’t actually have one. Rather than completely rescind my post, which seems like cheating in this kind of honest forum, I’ll use this follow-up to explicate my thinking and, hopefully, invite conversation, for my comment pane remained chillingly silent all week.

Let me make a few things clear:

1. I am a gamer, of a sort; I like the quest-like nature of World of Warcraft , EverQuest, etc. I’ve always thought of D&D as a kind of “Choose Your Own Adventure” story, except verbally communicated instead of paper-based. And, no, I do NOT dress up as a character. Ever.

2. I’m not the type to invest myself emotionally in online worlds. I don’t instigate, develop, or pursue relationships (platonic or otherwise) in an online fashion. I also don’t allow – and I’m usually up front with it – others to consider my online avatar that way. Not my thing at all.

3. I try (really I do!) not to pass judgement on those that do become immersed in those worlds, those “other lives,” wherein the other participants become the primary source of many of these individuals’ social interaction.

The purpose, then, for my discussion, must constitute a desire for study of the phenomenon of technological interaction and communication. Ever since my first linguistics course in college, the structures and metamorphoses of language in a technological and instantaneous context have offered tantalizing points for study. (Now I just sound like a pseudo-intellectual. Ah, me.)

Not, of course, that I want to turn online folks into guinea pigs. I think it arises from my own sort of “outer rim” interaction with that culture and my own utter lack of interest in complete immersion (Good grief, what a snob I have become!). To ignore the repurcussions of this shift in communications from interpersonal and, comparatively, slow, to ever-mediated and lightning fast, is tantamount to holding onto the belief that babies arrive courtesy of storks.

And I’m not just thinking of one-to-one communication, either; on the day of the VA Tech killings, my good friend Brooke commented on the "virus-like" nature of the media. The implications of the ubiquitous coverage that day left me feeling both awestruck and reflective. From just a few stories on GoogleNews at 10am, to over 7,000 – and growing – by 2pm, Reuters and AP Wire had changed the front page headlines of newspapers from Blacksburg, Virginia to Syndey, Australia and New Delhi, India. The entire world had time to react to the tragedy at the same pace of the U.S.

Of course, thousands of graduate students, the world over, have written on this topic. Indeed, I had the pleasure of reading one of Melanie’s papers on “1337 speak” (get her to send you a copy – or convince her to post it – it’s brilliant!) for her graduate-level grammar course. I think, however, that if I tackled this realm (again), I’d go after within the framework of linguistic concerns, with an examination of the spiritual / psychological effects (and affects!)

Sooo…. now that I’ve probably embarassed myself with a whole lotta showing off and self-examination, I hereby declare this topic finit! (but you can still comment!)

Virtual me.

2007-05-04T15:09:00.000-04:00

Today, I read this article from Julian Dibbell, a Wired editor, linked from this. When I wander onto her page from Wired, I find Regina Lynn’s approach fairly interesting, particularly as she usually addresses topics on the edge of those accepted in "polite company," even though I often disagree with her conclusions. I appreciate typically cunning and often sardonic intelligence as she addresses the underlying psychological, social, and, yes, spiritual concerns about cybersexuality.

As an interesting note, I find that even using that term here, on my personal blog, I feel a hesitance. We, the intellectual technophiles, the self-professed "geeks," (or, wanna-bes*, the students-of-all-things-pop-culture, are not supposed to talk about s**. It’s an intriguing disparity: on the one hand, if I run a discussion in my classroom on the Othello's contradictory obsession with and revulsion of his own sexuality, I should not blink an eye. My students and I can discuss the relative importance of lust in Dante's hierarchy of Hell in "The Inferno," or the social implications of the incest in Oedipus Rex without compunction, and I would blithely proceed through a lecture regarding the same-gender relationships in classical Greece. On the other hand, I am blushing even as I type this post.

Why do I, a former grad student and pseudo-intellectual (aspiring? one must have dreams!) experience a reluctance, surprisingly powerful, to even bring up the subject of Internet-assisted – and/or inspired – intimacy? Perhaps the rampant, yet socially and morally taboo, availability of online pornography has become the standard by which we measure all other forms of technological intimacy. Perhaps, instead, the very idea of that level of psychological sans the corporeal engenders a subtle aversion, a kind of “ick” factor concerning the intrinsic emotional vulnerability that anonymity provides along with an underlying social prohibition against intimacy of that same type, as well as a lurking distrust of the “realness” of the person on the other end. To take that another step, instant messaging, chat rooms, social networking sites, simulated life programs, even online RPG games provoke, even invigorate, a user’s desire to create a persona that either conforms to an ideal, or breaks their own inhibitions in RL (real life) and allows them to virtually experience a world beyond their current capabilities.

I realize that I may sound as if I’m venerating cybersex (blush), but I don’t think so; rather, I hope that you, my gentle readers, recognize my desire to examine my own reactions to and possible establish future expectations of behaviors that are no longer relegated to the edges of cyberspace. In fact, if one reviews the history of the Internet, one will realize that some of the initial public forays into cyberspace consisted of MUDs and MOO’s , which, as the initial link in this post clearly demonstrates, constituted not the expected technological exchanges or business-like emails, but instead provided forum for those persons seeking other personae. The most fascinating aspect of this social interaction, for me, coincides to a degree with my fascination for literature: the myriad**, purposes, and manifestations of those desires. For me, this conversation is not about sexuality at all, not in the lustful, adulterous, or perverse sense. This conversation constitutes just a few minutes pondering of the great big “how in the world did we get here, and what do we do with it?”

I think I’ll write a follow-up post later, as I don’t feel confident that I even addressed properly, much less actually answered to any degree, my own questions.

~~~
*On a humorous note, my MSWord spellcheck suggested a replacement for the slang term “wanna-bes": cannabis. Someone call “Above the Influence”: I have their next commercial in the bag.

**You decide.

Grammar &tc.

2007-04-30T15:23:00.000-04:00

Does that title actually even mean anything? I know! I'll ask Grammar Girl!

You may be surprised to note that Grammar Girl ≠ The Grammar Queen . This grammatical wunderkind represents the best of all grammar geekdom: a technological outlet for grammar nerds and grammar noobs, online access to "Down and Dirty Grammar Tips" (oh heck yeah!), and blogiferousness.

In fact, I know she'd probably HATE my verbarianism - despite its cleverness, it's also a bit, oh, I dunno, silly.

It's Language Day on ktg, and I've got some other sites that will tickle your linguistic fancy... especially if you're a teacher that tires of the disparity between content and construct... medium and message... idea and presentation... readability and oh good grief did you even proofread this??:

A Sesquipedalian Haven
~my reaction: Word Geeks to the extreme. Feel smarter, and realize that you are not alone!
Dr. Ralph Alan Cohen's "39 Picky Rules"
~my reaction: One of the best professors I have ever, EVER had, graduate school included. Not only is he a Shakespeare scholar, the man actually teaches his students how to write. AND he's funny. The man makes grammar and style humorous, if you can believe it.
"High Brow" T-Shirts from One Horse Shy
~my reaction: Too. Perfect.
Bad Grammar
Loosers.

... and OH so many more.

Have at 'em.

The great escape.

2007-04-19T10:37:00.000-04:00

Ever feel like this? (you should hear the audio!)

As the end of the semester nears (approaches - draws nigh - looms - threatens - etc) I realize that I seem to feel the turn of the year much more at this time than at the traditional Dec 31/Jan 1 of the Julian calendar. The reason for this reflection is, of course, the years of "schooling" that I've "undertaken" (undergone? underwent??)

In fact, I'm so overwhelmed by the weight of my reflections, that I find I have started this blog post more than six time, with no forward motion. I am floating in a vast ocean of recollection and introspection, searching the only now visible shore of the future for some clue, some idea, of the land I'm approaching. (how's that for an extended metaphor, John Donne!)

Anyway, I still feel compelled to write something (with an obvious preference for that "something" to appear in italics most of the time), even though I'm essentially circumnavigating the issue(s) itself (themselves...hmm.) Time itself may be a problem, since I don't feel I can do justice to my thoughts at the moment. Perhaps after class today.

As to an update, I have discovered a deep, abiding love for the IRS.

(pause)

Riiight.

I had to file an extension with those lovely folks because somewhere amidst my seven (yes, SEVEN) W2s, someone decided to mess it all up and not include my hundreds of dollars of income taxes that I've already paid this year.

Thank my lucky stars for my father - for years, because of an off-hand comment he made when I was 14, I've kept every single pay stub. I hated it; the file folder stuffed full of ragged half-sheets, the sorting every two years, the random stub I neglected to file discovered in my school bag ... my karate bag... my knitting bag. Yet, this year, I learned that, for about the umpeen-millionth time, my dad was right. I told him that, too, and he was less exultant about my admission than I expected: humble, even. He's a great guy, my dad.

I guess, more later. For now, read my yearly April poem from Langston Hughes at the VERY bottom of this page.

AND... be sure to check out the brewmeister's page for pics of he and the eJ's new glorious baby, William.

AND... get your daily dose of (public domain) literature here. What a cool concept!

God is greater than a pair of broken glasses.

2007-04-05T20:52:00.000-04:00

I learned that this week. Or, perhaps I should say, re-learned it. Again. For probably the 400-millionth time.

So, Tuesday didn't start as swimmingly as I'd intended. Pretty much like every morning for the past several weeks. Despite the fact that I am achieving a ludicrously luxurious 6-7 hours of sleep every night (that is not sarcasm, by the way. That's truly lavish for me), I cannot seem to get to work at my preferred time of 8am. I know that I lose money for every moment that I'm not sitting at my corner desk, grading little 5th grade essays for the Gret' Stet' of Gawgia;I know that I should get up and go for a run, go to the gym, stretch out, do something physically productive; I know that I'm just wasting time for no real purpose, adding to my financial and, subsequently and consequently, personal stress. But I cannot get out of bed at a reasonable time or pace. I have no excuse, but I'm still asking for advice! Three alarms isn't working anymore.

So. Tuesday. Same thing, except, I was ready to be at work by 9, a significant improvement over the 9:45-ish arrival time. * And then.

I was feeding the cats, as usual. Scoop for Galaxy, scoop for Xander, make sure they're eating out of the right bowls (territorial little things) everyone's happy... I stand up and take a step forward, towards the kitchen. Apparently, my legs and feet were propelling me faster than the upper half of my torso could manage, because as I stepped and straightened up at the same time Wham!. Into the doorframe goes my face.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I walked into a door. Frame. Glasses first.

[insert joke about Bryan and trying to "cover up the truth." Nope. I really am that clumsy. Besides, you all know that anyone hits me better run for cover 'cuz girl don't play that. Kiai and everything.]

Thus, my trusty frames that have lasted through three opticians, three prescriptions, and four years went kablooooie onto my kitchen floor. Well, perhaps I overdramatize. One of the "arms" broke completely off. They're plastic frames, so there's almost no "fixing" to this type of break. Begin crying session. Not for sentimental reasons, but (and I'm fairly ashamed to say this) because it all felt so unfair. On top of all of the other bills and creditors and lack of finances, it was ONE MORE THING. And not a small MORE THING either.

I got it together (sort of...) and decided to try to go to work on the eJnan's advice: situate the glasses over my ear using the one remaining arm. Silly-looking, but probably workable.

On the way there, as my heart was dark and hopeless-feeling, I suddenly remembered my little brother's b-day gift. He had, with outstanding generosity and love, transferred some extra funds to my bank account. It was a surprise that I learned of just the previous afternoon. It was enough to cover a pair of frames. (wait, it gets better!)

I decided to call in to work and go to the optician instead. I'm starting to feel a little better - I called my little bro and told him where the money was going, and we laughed - actually laughed about the situation. He reminded me about something my dad likes to say: "If all you're worried about is money, then you've got nothing to worry about." (still gets better!!)

As I walked into Five-Points Eye Care , I felt sheepish, but hopeful. And THEN I remembered (the memories were just flooding back that day) that one of Bryan's good friends was an optician there. He called around to find someone to fix my glasses; no go. He said he'd spend the week trying to find just the front piece of my frames, to save some money. AND THEN he popped out my lenses, picked up a pair of Coach frames from the display, and popped my lenses in that set of frames. Mine for a week, so that I can go to work. I can work. AND THEN!!!! The optometrist called (today) to tell me that he'd extend my prescription until October, so all I have to pay for is frames: no lenses, no eye exam.

Point being?

God is greater, and infinitely more loving (and forgiving of my pride) than a pair of broken glasses. Or even I am to myself. I definitely feel more humble and trusting than I did earlier this week. I guess sometimes the people around me, from Bryan & Jenna's encouragement, my brother generousity and love, my optician friend's accommodations, are evidence of God's hand in my life. Again. As usual.

Man, I have a LOT to learn - even stuff I think I've learned I have to keep getting a review.

~~~~~
* For those of you who don't know, I do not have a "set" time to get to work, just guidelines for hourly commitments every week. (Sorry, not a very fun footnote. I suppose, however, that it probably serves more closely the actual function of a footnote than my usual notes. Except for the rest of this, of course.)

whistle while you work.

2007-03-01T18:18:00.000-05:00

Howdy-doo! Where have I been? Why, I've been here all the time, you just couldn't see me, as I was/am in a state of dynamic equilibrium. Or maybe YOU were/are in a state of quantum flux. You should get that checked out, dude.

Here I sit, proctoring my own exam. (did I use that correctly? Should I say "administering," like a much-needed vaccine against ignorance? "Inflicting," perhaps? Like a tool for the mass genocide of the tribes of "Iforgot'tostudy" and "yourclass-istoo-hard" ?) and reading blogs, for the first time in, quite actually, months. What a relief--- it's nice to have blogfriends that are readers and thinkers and livers. (ew.)

So much going on, but most of it the same-old, same-old, muchness-of-going-on-ness. Clearly I'm in linguistically playful (or playfully linguistic) writing mood/mode today... isn't this fun?

Enough of my self-indulgence on that score. Let's see...my students are diligently working on some of the toughest exam questions I've ever seen. The best part? I know they're going to be just fine. These kids* are not stupid, they're not even from a poor educational background. Most of them simply lack the tools + confidence + confidence in ability to use the tools that a literature course requires.

What are those tools, really? Well, that's what I'm working on.

Obviously, reading skills. (duh.) But, I actually mean that in a more advanced sense than simple phonetic awareness or so-called "fluency," or even simple vocabulary comprehension. I'm thinking about all of those skills that we IRD teachers learned, and subsequently taught, summer after summer, wherein comprehension isn't simply understanding what happened, rather it's the connection of this what to the questions of character motivation, awareness of narrative structure (even at a subconscious level), connections between action and consequence, and reader response input, i.e., what the reader brings to the work and thus, either consciously or subconsciously, imposes on his own interpretation.

And this is what I think about as my students compose BRILLIANT (I just know it) essays on The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, Oedipus, the King, the Book of Genesis, and Akhenaten's "Hymn to the Sun." **

Oh, and I'll put some knitting up soon... I was a hat-knitting-crazy-person this Christmas, and I have a few scarves n' things to show off, including an almost done gift for Linda Musgrove ... that I can't talk about b/c I haven't given it to her yet.

And, oh yeah, that OTHER THING. You know what I'm talkin' about. Hehehe. I love secrets.

~~~~~~~

* Yeah, um, many of my students are hardly kids - and those that are not under the age of 25 are just plain awesome.

**Not all in the same essay, of course. I have to read these, you know!

Warning: not intended for home use.

2006-11-20T09:31:00.002-05:00

I'm spreading the word about this site because it causes me such paroxysms of delight.*

Take the grammatical agony out of everyday reading. Also, check out Darren's post and link to it; his descriptive sentence causes me physical pain. (and OH I hope that was intentional because otherwise I've just insulted Darren and/or shown my own linguistic weakness!)

Happy Monday-Before-Thanksgiving!

~~~
Edited to add: Yes, I realize that opening sentence rhymes. I'M A POET. I DO things like that. Man, tough crowd.

I made a hat

2006-11-13T11:56:00.000-05:00

But I haven't taken a picture of it yet.

So here's one that I found online (courtesy of Brooke's email link to this site)

What do you think? Maybe in red for GalaxySpaceCat?

As Mel says: Happy Monday!!

Girl got skillz.

2006-10-26T16:29:00.001-04:00

When you hear that, you can rest assured that they are - whoever these mysterious they are - talking about me.

I'm sitting here, not grading (though I should be...) knitting AND blogging AND thinking about martial arts. I'm like a flying-spinning side-kick to the purl stitch through the back loop. Rock it.

I've been feeling marvelously peaceful lately. Work hasn't really slowed down, and if it weren't for that darn printer yesterday, this week, though busy (duh) might have floated on by like...like... a drop-stitch scarf on the stream. Or something. Huh, what?

I've got friends. I've got LOST* tonight. I had our Bible-study small group on Sunday, with spaghetti and meatballs and fellowship and everything. I know that God is answering my prayers in quiet, surprising ways, and I know that writing is my calling. I can feel it calling (shouting) at me, even in my sleep. Maybe that's God, too.

But see, here's the thing: I love teaching. All the way and wholeheartedly. Yet...always yet! I'm learning that it's almost impossible to do both, unless I'm old and gray with a PhD under my belt - after my name - somewhere, anyway.

So, there's that to think about this week.

But there's also this, for the "Pirate Party" in VA this weekend:

and this (for the same reason):

(see? Half-bird, half-woman, all totally hot. Well, tempting unto the rocks of death for the Greeks, anyway).

And the almost-done-but-not-quite scarf for my sister-in-law. Hence, the simultaneous blog-knit. This particular b-day gift might turn into a Christmas gift...

Happy Halloween!

~~~~

*Does anyone else have the strange urge to correct that phrase to "I've gotten lost tonight."? Dratted grammar indoctrination.

New Book Review up on ktg words

2006-10-09T12:50:00.000-04:00

See the sidebar for the book review on Good Omens.

Also. I'll post something soon.

Wheee!

Stop in the name of Newton's First Law of Motion!

2006-09-19T16:47:00.000-04:00

Wanna hear something really, really cool?

...

I am SO BORED.

As in, I am sitting here, in my office chair, with absolutely nothing to do for almost two whole hours.

Isn't that WONDERFUL?!?! Whhheeeeehahahahahaha!

(if you think this post is ironic, you are so out of the loop.)

In the words of the inimitable Hoops & YoYo: "Happy sunny day! Happy sunny day!"

I think I'm gonna go sit still for a while.*

~~~~~~~~~~
*"why not blog, while you've got the time?" you might ask. . . . . . I think I'll save that for later. Because I can! Mwuahahahahahaha! Power! I have the power!**

~~~~~
** okay, no more maniacal laughter. I go relax now. Bye-bye!

September, what?

2006-09-11T14:30:00.000-04:00

Wait, wait, wait.

It's what date? September 11th? I don't want to post about that since everyone is going to post about that. **

insert your own...
- remembrances - anger - bitterness - sorrow - politics - pictures - songs - poems - lists of lost -

I know my feelings on this. You know them too: you experienced / are experiencing them today, we all have been. for 5 years.

5 years. Sheesh.

I won't tell you to "Never Forget" and put up a horrifying picture of the devastation in NY. I won't play a patriotic tune and tell you that you need to march forth to prove your inner staunchness. I won't tell you that I spent all morning weeping as I remembered that day. That's not what grieving is about.

Listen to something lovely and aching today. Look into the air as an airplane passes over and pray a little. Hold someone's hand. Laugh and be joyful all by yourself. You can. It's allowed. Go to a memorial service and make congregational reponses. Stare into space. Sing a sad little song that hurts your heart. Write an essay. Write a letter. Talk. Be silent.

You can look at a flag drifting on the wind at half-mast and know peace. It's not sacriledge. You are also allowed to feel fury. Emptiness. Patriotism. Frustration. Today's the day we remember. Tomorrow's the day we keep going, as we always have. As we must.

So, mourn in your own way, as I'll do in mine. I'll also be with you, if you need it. Today and tomorrow and on.

Does this sound bitter? Distant? I hope not - that's not what I intend. Encouraging, if anything. Be well, all.

-ktg

~~~~~~
Oh. I just did post, didn't I? Ah me. I might as well say, "I am speechless." Like will ever happen.

Revelations of Cosmic Import.

2006-08-23T13:39:00.000-04:00

Sci-fi geeks and NASA scientists punched the air and possibly did a little moonwalk across their living rooms when this news burst onto the scene yesterday.

Oh yeah. And you thought we were nuts. Ha!

Go here for more background info on all the excitement. Don't you just love it when a possibility becomes a reality?

Why is this important, then? Ever heard of the "Big Bang"? Yeah, well, dark matter is another piece in the puzzle that, once completed (if ever, really) will explain the origin of the universe (see "Big Bang nucleosynthesis"). I'd say that's rather significant. Also, it's really, really cool. It supposedly shifts galaxy orbits and velocities... the reason the universe moves around, spins, expands.

But what is it, really? Is it, as Stephen Baxter in Vacuum Diagrams proposes, evidence for life in another form? Access to another dimension? Ooh ooh, the possibilities, as always, are infinite.

Oh, Happy Day!

Peek-a-Boo!

2006-08-14T21:08:00.000-04:00

See that? Up there? Yeah, that's me lately. Running around so fast, so hither-thither, I'm not even a blur; I may have actually traveled through the brane of the universe, on a singularity, bent around a quantum function, crossing over the fold in space-time on a cosmic string...

Okay, soooooo... too much hard SF lately (although I'll probably post a review of Stephen Baxter's Vacuum Diagrams here in a bit) and not enough Buffy. Oh, wait. How about: not enough Spike TV. No, um, hold on. ...come on, Karen, think of something normal, possibly even girly or something... Yeah, like, not enough Project Runway, and stuff. (Anita, I am definitely teasing. Please do not wrap me up in too-tight white pants and frowzy silver lamé blouse! You were right about the Pam Grier, though. So awesome!)

Ya'll want an update or something?

Well, here's where I'll be working this fall (click weekday links for location):

Monday , Wednesday , Friday

ENGL 1101 (2 courses)
ENGL 1102 (1 course, M & W only)

Tuesday , Thursday

ENGL 1101

And wherever else I can find work for the remaining 20 hours of my week.

So, yes, I did get a job (or 2), and though not exactly the position I wanted (the full-time gig at GSC), I now have some good stuffs to add to the old curriculum vitae. I also have a lead on a weekend spot with another company for a few weeks in the fall that will add some cash to the budget. It's going to be a long, hard, haul, but I have faith that I'm being looked after. It's funny - lately it seems as ifGodd has been sort of having a good time with me, as if he's just wanting to point out, again and again, that I'll be taken care of, no matter how fearful I am.

I mean, He sent me my dearest friends. And, actually, that's the topic that I wanted to post on today. Friendship. I sometimes sit back in completely wonderment at the abundance of good people in my life. It's almostunbelievablee that I could be so lucky as to have such... outstanding? amazing? phenomenal? friends around me. One friend helps me paint my living room into the wee hours, never complaining a single time as I demand that she fill in the holes in the wall with extra paint and be extra careful not to get any on the baseboards, since I force her to do the dreadful "detail work" at the edges of the walls. Then she grins and invites me to lunch the very next day. And that's only one day - her kindnesses, both the small and the gigantic, happen every day, in unnumbered ways.

Another buys me lunch because she wants to spend time with me. Did you get that? She buys me lunch just so that we can hang out. Then she gets me a job for a bit of extra moolah, we work together for eight hours, and she STILL wants me to sit with her at her house to watch an episode of Deadwood that she's already seen. She even poured me a glass of Diet Cherry Coke and brought it to my lazy-butt-self on the couch. Girl is so tired she passes out on the other couch as I make loud comments and shouts of surprise during the show, completely disregarding her poor sleepy self. Yet another friend just makes my day happy with an extra beef enchilada and hours of good talking. Not to mention, of course, miles of bookshelves and bowtie festival pasta. They help me calm down when I have a job/money/men/schedule freakout (prior to the exciting news mentioned above). Another, going out for super-cheap sushi, talking about the former / sometimes men we can't seem to extricate from, laughing out loud and listening close, and just letting me know she wants to spend some time.

Friends who lend you grocery money. Give you mattresses and appliances. Get you a job.

Friends that want to see you because they want to see you. Not to get anything, not to take care of you. Just to hang out, be together, laugh, all that.

It's funny: I've written on this topic before, in rather a different vein, but I'll reiterate here. I've spent most of my life believing that I'm not very good at being friends with women, but I've learned that some of the most important relationships in my life are with these women that have come into my life in the past few years. I just hope that I can be as good a friend to them as they are to me. It'll definitely take some work - they really do take care of me in the most astounding ways.

I am the luckiest girl in the world. (a bit gushy - I knew I'd get around to being girly.)*

And... I'm BACK!

~~~~~~~~~~~
* No, this blog did not suddenly morph into the We Channel. Geek-girl-super-sonic-knit-kicking will be back soon.

Spicy dicey.

2006-07-28T16:56:00.000-04:00

This scarf is actually rather pretty, in a feisty, Mardi Gras kind of way. It was a gift for my (wicked)* stepmother's birthday. I used the same gorgeous-yet-horrific rayon bouclé from Fiesta Yarns ' La Bohéme collection that I used for my mom's shawl, except in Jamaican Spice. Anyway, here's a dreadful picture of it. I tried to color-correct, but I'm still learning about white-balance.†

I won't include the mortifying details of the creation of this project, as the yarn became more snarled and tangled than the relationships in the 2nd season of LOST, and as I realized that I know more curse words than any decent English teacher should. "Blast" and "darnit" don't count, by the way. All I will say is that it is only advisable in the most extreme circumstances to ever, EVER cut the knots out of a skein of yarn. I wove in something like . . . oh, I dunno, eight or nine dangling ends. Not counting the bind off length. For a single-skein scarf.

The great news is that the drape of the fabric is just about that which I'd hoped. I worked on size 10 circulars, knitting flat, and the guage made the scarf lightweight, but not overly flimsy. It's 26 stitches wide, so that when it hangs around the neck, it folds and twists in a suprisingly flattering way (are you noticing all of the "f" adjectives? no idea where that comes from . . .) I had considered fringes, but the nature of the yarn made that an unnattractive option, since it was so splitty that the fringes just looked messy. The edges don't seem very "neat," but with the drape and the width, they almost seem purposefully ruffle-y. Folded in a drawer or elsewhere, the scarf may appear less-than finished, but I think it will be perfect on a black suit, even for a more formal occasion. I'm sure that Peggy will have a great place to wear it.

And now! I have five whole rounds done on the Honeymoon Cami. I am no longer afraid! The pattern is emerging from the needles, and I wish I could express how thrilling that is! Now I have something to fully occupy my poor anxious brain while I wait for . . . The Phone Call. From those people (about the job).

Seriously. It's got to be soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~
* Peggy is not really "wicked." She is the rare breed of stepmother that doesn't usually appear in fairy tales. She's actually a cool lady. (do I get my favored child status back now?)

† What did I learn from this project, you ask? Since my goal is to learn something each project, here's my response. Do not ever, ever, ever, EVER buy rayon bouclé again. Ever. And don't cut knots in frustration. And use a white piece of paper for white balance in photographs. I am now enlightened. The end.

Beyond the Tesseract

2006-07-19T12:41:00.000-04:00

This is the kind of geek that I am.

Imagining the Tenth Dimension.

Please, enjoy. Learn. Be enlightened.

Anticipation.

2006-07-18T11:27:00.000-04:00

sucks.

And yet, I must wait, fingers crossed and eyes lifted heavenward. Oh, help me have faith in what must be.

(meanwhile... tap, tap tap goes my foot.)

~~~
degré de solvabilité d'image: Dessin Gwendal, de Massilia Sound System. du cet site Web

"Do you not hear me speak?" UPDATED!

2006-07-12T12:37:00.000-04:00

I have just been cast as "Antonia," the female version of Antonio, in Town and Gown's production of William Shakespeare's The Tempest. Yeah, she's the bad guy. Wicked, scheming, devious, evil... we love her.

And I would put someone else's role up here, too, but I'll let her share the news.

At the request of my readers, I add the show dates:

September 22 - 24
and
September 29 - October 1

Town and Gown Theater
Athens, GA

Fri-Sat: 8pm
Sun: 2pm

I hope you're hungry.

2006-07-06T15:37:00.000-04:00

This from a friend to whom I send many kudos.

Poetry, dear readers. That's what this is. Beautiful, beautiful, poetry.

(po'tree, even)

Happy Birthday, Mom!

2006-07-04T09:59:00.001-04:00

My mom celebrated her birthday on Sunday, and though she probably hasn't received her gift quite yet, she's already seen the pictures I'm including here.

On a close inspection of my face, it appears
that I must be about to say something terribly profound.
Too bad you'll never know what it is...

The shawl that I made is from a super-easy pattern (CO 36, knit one row, increase second stitch of every subsequent row, BO, weave in ends, and voilá!) But the yarn, OH that yarn. So pretty, so tempting, with its tasty colors/flavors (raspberry mocha is the one I chose for my mom). On the size 15 needles, however, the bubbly rayon bouclé that looks so enticing dangling from the yarn store rack rapidly became the stuff of nightmares. It took almost two months to create this supposedly "simple" pattern, as I started and stopped and ripped and shouted my way through the first 20 rows.

"Oh no," I'd think, "did I remember to increase this row?" Well... since my original 36 stitches have now increased to over 50, but also since I haven't been counting and it's impossible to count rows with this yarn, I'll guess, "no," and go ahead and increase riiiiiight now.

Ring, ring. "Hello," I answer the phone, holding my knitting less-than-perfectly-carefully in my other hand, watching in horror as the giant stitches of bubbly yarn slipped off the needle before my helpless eyes. Where did they go? Lost forever! Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!! Over and again I dropped these ridiculous stitches. I once was just sitting and knitting with Mel when I glanced in her direction to laugh and then looked back: at 3 dropped stitches.

Suffice to say, by row 112 (or so), I had learned to find those pesky fallen friends and wind them all the way back up to my live row. At one point a little one had slithered its way down 6 rows, but with my now-well-trained eyes, I caught the little bugger and twisted him back up to where he belonged. I can barely express my self-satisfaction at that point. Ha-HA!

Melanie, again, proved a lifesaver. Apparently, this skein was two smaller skeins knotted together, which, in my infinite observational skills, I failed to notice until about 1/3 of the way through the row in which the knot should appear. In her infinite wisdom and patience, Mel helped me go backwards through the tangled jungle of rayon insanity and start the second 1/2 of the skein at the edge. How she accomplished it, I'll never know, since I still can't see the RS or WS of the knitting with this stuff.

I learned quite a bit on this super-easy pattern, of which the quality of perserverance as it applies to knitting is not the least. I also learned to beware of rayon bouclé. Its dangers sneak up and nip, nip, nip, until the "little project" turns into a marathon. The point, however, is that I have accomplished my general knitting goal, even with something this seemingly straightforward, which is to learn something new from every piece that I create. Thanks, Mom, for that, even though you had no idea you were still learnin' me sumthin'.

Happy Birthday, Mom!
I hope you get to wear it somewhere delightful!

Orbs.

2006-06-30T11:44:00.003-04:00

What is this? Is it an orb, of the kind the Ghost Hunters† are always seeking? Or is it a conveniently place flying object, of a dust-mote sensibility?

On Wednesday night, Brooke, Jenna, and myself, armed with chocolate-chip cookies and red wine, put ourselves in the enviable position of seekers of the paranormal (I say "enviable" with confidence because you and I both know you wish you had been there). We spent several hours, four in fact, sitting in a cell in the Old Greensboro Gaol, built in downtown Greensboro GA in 1807. We made it until midnight, when our rear-ends had had just about enough of paranormal scouting for the night. I almost finished my knitting project (which shall remain a secret for a bit, since it's a gift to be mailed today), and Jenna read some lovely Latino/a short stories, one of which is rather appropriately titled: "The Night the Lights Went Out." We made a unanimous decision that reading that particular tale out loud was not the best option in the spooky jail cell.

So, about this place. It's a two-story, granite, well, I can't exactly say "monolith," though the two-foot-thick walls certainly project fortitude (ya' like that, IRD teachers?), but perhaps stronghold? Small citadel? According to the brochure, the prisoners were apparently hung, rather than hanged, and OH how it hurts the grammarian of my heart - even as it provides rather ridiculously easy fodder for gutter humor. I like this description of their demise better (an actual detail from the Historical Marker just outside): "When the hangman pulled the lever that controlled the trap door, the culprit was...

Upstairs, to the far left, dangles a noose . . .

And, once the Executioner, a.k.a. the County Sheriff, pulls the lever attached to the stairs . . .

so does the prisoner. Dangle, that is. Down this hole.

(See that bright light? I think that must be eternity.)

Aside from that, the prisoners of this squat edifice made a home in either one of two ground floor cells, less than 2 feet from the main door, behind gridded iron doors, and had no windows or privy. Heavy iron chains are attached to the wall, "just in case." The rickety, unnerving stair to the second floor is to the right of the door, 6 steps up, pivot, 4 more...and you're facing the noose, dead (ha) ahead. To your right, from the top of the stairs, is the penthouse: a larger cell, usually reserved for the non-violent criminals. Like child molesters. I kid you not.

I took this shot facing the door, as the "chandelier" lights glinted with only the reflection of sunlight from the two top-floor windows, and the darkness encroached from the corners. Jenna had my back as I took this, and the other shots, while Brooked manned the light switch downstairs. I shouted "Off!" and the world went dark. I shouted "On!" rather hastily, as I got each shot and started to feel my neck hairs prickle as the dark crept close.

This upstairs cell is probably the only area of the Old Gaol that felt like anything at all. The air was weighty, even while the sun was up, and its stuffiness seemed like more than the usual summer heat in a closed space. It was difficult to breathe, and I definitely didn't like it. I politely asked the whatever-may-be-up-theres to show themselves, if they liked, because I am fascinated by them and don't want to disturb them. I don't know if "they" exist in that place, and much less if "they" made an appearance, but I did get that seeming "orb" just after my request. Granted, I was standing directly in front of a working floodlight, aimed at the ceiling, so it's probably weak evidence. Interesting, nonetheless.

The three of us gradually became more and more comfortable with the place, especially as we practiced our own variations of "whistling in the dark." We all chatted sporadically, Brooke enjoyed her Esquire, Jenna laughed at her reading, and I shifted any nervousness I had towards the open door to the building, watching for pranking teenagers or more questionable visitors. The only visitation we experienced as we sat in the musty, hot cell downstairs, was a black cat. I caught a glimpse of a twisting shadow outside, and then the glint of green eyes in the dark beneath the trees. He ran away before we could get over to him, but it was a rather appropriate high point to our night.

No EVPs, no shadows, no electromagnetic readings. Just three women enjoying a steamy summer night in an old Georgia gaol, half-hoping for a spooky experience, half-relieved that all stayed quiet on the paranormal front.

And then...

~~

† See also: TAPS official website, and the Georgia Ghost Hounds. Yeah. I'm a nerd. You knew this.

§ No Jennas were actually harmed in the making of this blog.

Welcome home, Melanie and Nate

2006-06-26T13:01:00.000-04:00

I'll post more about the grand return of the Childers later, but I wanted my readers to see the kind of parties we throw 'round about these parts.

Thanks to Reuben Bennett for reminding us that it's waaay more fun to make carbonated beverages explode than it is to drink ourselves into oblivion. Hurray to the little kid in all of us!

Experiment Requirements:

1 2-Liter of Diet Coke
4 Mentos (the Freshmaker!)
a group of people that like to watch things go "kablooie!"

It's just that easy, kids! Please, try this at home!

And be sure to thank the amazing Brooke Hatfield for her photographic amazingness. Not to mention her astounding fashion sense. (girl knows how to kick it!)

Totally lied.

2006-06-23T11:44:00.000-04:00

'Cause I'm back to make you laugh a little on a Friday afternoon.

Best. Onion article. EVER. (from Ejannnena.)

Oh, and I went for a run this morning in my spiffy new shoes. So awesomely awesome. Except for the part where I paid $89, and now I see that they are less than $70! Ah well. The pain I suffer for my addiction...

And NOW!! The Great's Schedule, redux.

Sunday

9:30am-7pm - teaching with IRD in Duluth*
9pm-10pm - Deadwood, on HBO

Monday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconee† (tutoring)
2pm-10pm - teaching with IRD in Decatur

Tuesday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconee (tutoring)
3:30-5pm - continuing training for IRD
6pm-7:30pm - jiu-jitsu

Wednesday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconee (tutoring)
4pm-7pm - Martial Arts (and STORM team teaching)

Thursday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconee (tutoring)
2pm-5pm - working on writing, getting published°
6pm-7:30pm - jiu-jitsu
7:30pm-8:30pm - open mat (optional)

Friday
10am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconee (tutoring)

Saturday
7:30am-5:30pm - teaching with IRD in Snellville
5:30pm-midnight - whatever the heck I feel like doing.∞

~~~~~~~~~~

* All IRD teaching times include driving time. (for which I get paid, btw)

† Why didn't anyone mention that in the previous schedule post I misspelled "Oconee" every single time?! (and I bet now you're gonna go look, just so you can have a good laugh at my expense. Yeah, go ahead, laugh. But now you know that I know that you didn't notice, either! So, there, HA!)

° I like footnotes!

∞ Any suggestions?

Yeah, so...

2006-06-22T11:30:00.000-04:00

Probably going away for a while. Just a warning. But I'll be back. Ohhhh, yes, I'll be back.

George R.R. Martin

2006-06-20T15:12:00.000-04:00

This one was SO GOOD. And now this one is sooooo goooood. Must post review soon!

I have almost nothing to say about this right now except:

GO OUT AND BUY THE FIRST BOOK!

\I'm going to read for 5 minutes before the meeting. Maybe even during the meeting. Then in the 15 minutes between classes. I won't attempt to read while driving, though I'm tempted.

Currently pondering: what unnecessary item in my apartment can I sell to get the money to get the next installment... any ideas, readers?

Tuesday, Belgium, etc.

2006-06-13T15:15:00.001-04:00

Tuesday is not my favorite day. Mondays are the traditional "rough day" for most folks, starting out the workweek after weekend, getting back into the daily grind, taking care of business (every day!), working your way to the top, eight days a week, 16 tons...[insert your favorite cliché or song lyric here].

But for me, Tuesdays are the bane of my... um... something.

I actually started this post yesterday, a Tuesday, but the very nature of that 24-hour period of marked time rendered completion of any project nearly impossible. I couldn't even finish a single round of knitting on the Honeymoon Cami. Melanie, my hero and my Wonderwoman** friend, helped me unknit/unravel/rip out/bang-head-on-wall, and then proceeded to help me cast on again - all 183 stitches. I'm not much into all the tacky pop-culture angel thing, but she's pretty much the definition of one of those helpful guardian flying creatures. Except for the flying part.

Now that it's all over, however, I don't actually feel the need to vent or complain about the bumpiness of my interaction with the world yesterday. Melanie clarified it for me, as I fidgeted and fussed about getting everything done and getting everywhere I needed to be: "Okay," says she, "What can you control today?" She was so right, it was like a punch in the face. Although significantly less painful, it was a real awakening (sans Kate Chopin and/or Robert DeNiro).

Sometimes I feel like these grand "revelations" that I come to, despite that term's overtones of impending armageddon and subsequent rapture, are simply melodramatic attempts to justify previously unhealthy behavior. But then I realize that neither the catalyst for the lightning-bolt enlightenment (intentional pun, thank you) nor the manner of expression are relevant at all; indeed, the decision to make a change is all that matters.

Case in point: me, and scheduling every moment of every day, so much so that I am never, ever, sitting still. Rather, I am always "on my way..." somewhere, to do something, and I'm only ever just going to make it on time. It isn't as fun, or exciting as it sounds, believe me. Call me crazy, but sometimes having too many interests just ain't all it's cracked up to be. I thank Bilbo and Mr. Tolkien for the best analogy: "I feel thin, like butter spread over too much bread." (No, I am not wearing a Ring of Power. Neither am I going Gollum on you, my preciousss readersss)

Ooookay... with that in mind, I end this post with this thought:

What can I control today? My happiness, and my attempts to bring a little happiness to others. That's my Wednesday for you. So long Belgium!

~~~~~~

**Note: I wanted to use this as a link, but I didn't think Mel would appreciate. I dare you to look and not at least giggle a little, though.

The Summer Schedule, Part I (edited, again)

2006-05-26T13:57:00.000-04:00

This schedule isn't really set in stone, so much as carved into a bright blue bar of Dial soap. Because, you see, time is like water - it gradually wears away all of our plans, slowly fading our intentions into first abbreviations, then memories. It's a place to start, darn it!

the GREAT summer schedule:

Sunday

10:30am-2:45pm - teaching with IRD
9pm-10pm - Deadwood, on HBO

Monday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconne (tutoring)
3pm-10pm - teaching with IRD

Tuesday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconne (tutoring)
3:30-5pm - continuing training for IRD
6pm-7:30pm - jiu-jitsu

Wednesday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconne (tutoring)
4pm-7pm - Martial Arts (and STORM team teaching)
9pm-10pm - Ghost Hunters on SciFi

Thursday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconne (tutoring)
2pm-5pm - working on writing, getting published
6pm-8:30pm - jiu-jitsu, open mat

Friday
9am-1pm - Gainesville State College, Oconne (tutoring)

Saturday
8:30am-3pm - teaching with IRD
3-12am - whatever the heck I feel like doing.

Hey, it's a start, people! It will change on July 5, and again on July 10. Charge on!

(cross your fingers that the July 10 change will be a j.o.b. that is full-time with a certain c.o.l.l.e.g.e. Fingers AND toes, please.)

Eye of the book-holder.

2006-05-23T23:35:00.000-04:00

Now I know how my books feel as I sit at 2am snuggled under my comforter...while I eat breakfast...on airplanes and in airports...beside the pool in the sunshine...on the 'L in Chicago, the subway in NY...they must feel almost like they're being watched.

Peering into depths of theme and character, seeking insight and creativity, abhorring pretension but honoring craft. Looking long and deep into, behind, and amongst the sparkling words on the page into the galaxies of story. *Sigh.* I wish I could read all day, every day. BOOKS RULE!

Current "Can't Put it Down" Reading: Game of Thrones, by George R.R. Martin. Keep your eyes peeled for a review on ktg's reviews. Also, I'll have a new one up for We soon, even as I write an article on accessible sci-fi for "...a magazine that I won't name yet because the article isn't pbulished yet...". I'll let you know when that gets published, then I'll post the article on the reviews blog.

Lizzie B. (Bennet, NOT Borden)

2006-05-22T10:18:00.000-04:00

Well, I guess that's a good thing - although I note with chagrin that Marianne is a close 2nd. Ahem. (Note to self: Watch out for impulsive, overly emotive behavior!)

You scored as Elizabeth Bennet. As one of Austen's most beloved characters, Elizabeth Bennet represents what most women would like to become: strong, independent, and loyal. Of course, she has her faults including a stubborn will of iron and a clinging to first impressions. Overall, Lizzie is bright and lovable...something to admire and aspire to.

Elizabeth Bennet

78%

Marianne Dashwood

63%

Jane Bennet

53%

Emma Woodhouse

53%

Elinor Dashwood

47%

Lady Catherine

19%

Charlotte Lucas

19%

Which Jane Austen Character are You? (For Females) Long Quiz!!!
created with QuizFarm.com

Hey, I've gotta joke...

2006-05-06T11:52:00.000-04:00

Please, go to this site. Please.

I think my neighbors hate me... I laughed SO LOUDLY at these. Genius. Especially Einstein. But get this: the penguin voicemails are actual messages that this guy has received, which he then "penguinized."

If the idea of penguinized voicemails doesn't get your attention, I don't know what else to tell you. Get over there!

Watch that Swatch!

2006-05-03T16:46:00.003-04:00

I did it! I finished my first swatch for my first garment! And you thought that I'd given up knitting for good. Harumph.

I've decided to go relatively easy on myself with this lovely "Honeymoon Cami" from knitty.com. If you've never been to that site, it boasts an extensive list of FREE patterns that are actually wearable...as opposed to some of the other "free" sites that make you think, "yeah, free of any kind of style or aesthetic sensibility." Visit them often, keep them up and running, because we love them.

Here's the swatch. It's GREEN! We LOVE GREEN! (I should never have watched that mini-series on Queen Elizabeth I. The royal "we" is addicting).

But wait! I'm sure that the eJ will have her swatch up for her... garment soon. I won't give away any secrets, but she is going to demonstrate her true astoundingness in the very near future. And if you haven't visited Anita's little abode and checked out her "KPS Tee," you need to get on over there. She's a role model for all of us.

And Mel? Man, that woman has some prettiness going on with her Prairie Tunic. Mosey on over there, friends, and watch her saga unfold. Or, at least, unfurl.

For those of you who visit my site for fierce and fiery rants and diamond-edged humor, and are taken aback at the knittable gushing, read the previous posts and fear not: I'll keep the silliness coming.

In fact, here's an oddment for today.

Last week, while Jenna and Darren (a.k.a., "The Killer Grems") were at my place watching TV with me, MythBusters was on, and I, in a state of somnolescent frenzy, fell sound asleep. Now that's a hostess for you. Jenna snapped this while I snoozed on the (in)famous couch. Yes, I really am asleep here, and No, this is not the first time I have fallen asleep on the couch sitting straight up. Remember this? Yeah, well, now there are witnesses. Gotta quit that nonsense!

Speaking of nonsense, a bit of, um, "poetry" for you:

The sun is shining, the sky is blue,
Nature's calling out to you,
Spring is here, but moving fast
So get outside and have a blast!
Or else I'll hunt you down and say,
"Why in the world aren't you outside, enjoying the afternoon! Do I have to come over there?! You do not wanna make me come over there!"

Happy Wednesday, ya'll.

ctrl+alt+del

2006-05-02T11:19:00.001-04:00

Restart program.

Yeah, so today started out seriously, seriously, inside out. Got up on the wrong side of the bed and everything...and believe me, that's a feat when my bed is pushed up against the wall.

So first, Melanie made me laugh with some Penny Arcade and a manbearpig. (I am so totally cereal!). And yes, pontificators and pundits, we definitely get that it's a riff on Al Gore's evangelical environmentalism. I'm not even going to link that, b/c so many bloggers have commented on it. Duh and double-duh. Thanks for the insight, oh sage webwrights. But I digress... and become snarky.*

I was going to post this picture:

But I determined that it would be nothing less than a ridiculous bid for pity. Although... didn't I negate my positive decision to move away from martyrdom by subsequently posting the picture anyway and thereby surreptitiously (for you, eJ) obligating my readers' sympathy? I must be careful, or I'll end up ripping a hole in the time-space-continuum.**

I am cheering myself with silliness, the best, and actually most offensive, is the e-greeting card site listed in the next paragraph. I warn you, if you are easily offended by swear words, or if you don't like SouthPark and other suchlike humor (see above: manbearpig) then I strongly advise you to visit this site instead.

Otherwise, go laugh, albeit with a shocked expression, at the Grumpy Llama. And please, don't hate me forever because I posted a link to something a little off-color. Seriously... although I guess if everyone gets all a-flutter about it, I might change it out.

If you'd rather have some more geekiness in your life, go to Wil Wheaton's blog. Yes, he was Wesley Crusher, of the inimitable (man I love that word) Star Trek: The Next Generation, but he is also a fantastic writer and total, utter, and complete geek. We love him. And come on, you know you watched TNG when you were a kid.

The End. I leave you with the sweetest pic EVER of my nephew Jackson. And for those in the know, this is Jackson #1, of Dave and Jodi.

Now if that doesn't make you grin, nuthin' will. Have a wonderful day, dear readers!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*(aside:Ooh! Ooh! A footnote!) You might notice my lack of patience for pretension. Also, my affinity for alliteration and assonance.
** And you thought it would be a Back to the Future link. Crafty, ain't I?

Attack of the Killer Grems.

2006-04-24T11:21:00.002-04:00

My friends, Darren and Jenna, really love each other. In fact, they married each other. Sometimes I wonder, however, about all of the aggression. Like at my birthday party in March, and in public, no less! (Okay, so it was the Taco Stand, and yes, they've probably seen weirder things).

Darren makes the first strike, moving in for the rear choke attack!

What the...?! I'm completely dazed and confused at this random, senseless attack!

Steve and Anita find the whole thing amusing, not realizing the gravity of the situation. They're just here for the booze anyway.

Unlike Grover, who eats when he is anxious. He calms himself with a tortilla chip, and tries to pretend nothing is happening.

I decide that Grover has the right idea, and cheer myself up with a delicious Cadbury Egg.™ Mmmm...mmmm.........

Brooke wishes she was in on the action, and flexes her phalanges in anticipation. If only she had a throat to wrap those fingers around.

But Jenna comes back with a knockout for the win! Jenna wins! Jenna wins!

This, my dear readers, just shows to go you, that I have really awesome friends that know how to throw a surprise birthday party! Sorry for the long delay in getting these pics out there, but hope you enjoyed the show.

Happy MONDAY!! I'm a whole day early!

"Brevity is the soul of wit..."

2006-04-18T10:03:00.000-04:00

(And, if you'll recall, that was part of the humor of Polonius's characterization, for he was hardly ever concise in speech)

Well, my gentle readers, I have neglected you for quite long enough.
So, since it's only 10am and I have had NO COFFEE, this post will undoubtedly be malapropos, inchoate, and laconic. And plus I wanted to use those groovy words.

I started to write a really personal post today, but decided against it. This is a public forum, and the eerie awareness of friends and strangers sort of peering over my shoulder really gives me pause sometimes. Unless I'm ranting, of course. But an intimate discussion of my deep emotional concerns sometimes seems a little - - - self-indulgent, actually. I know most of you come here because you think I'm so awesome and everything, but I don't imagine you need to read all that junx (the eJ and the Anita will certainly both note the attempt at linguistic humor as a deflection from the possible emotional exposition). Ahem.

I will say this, however: an email that the j to the enna sent me last week is still rolling around in my head, in that way that only things that are so-true-they-sting-a-little do. Girl knows her stuff, and her timing is astonishing. The subject line of the message was: "When God pounds us repeatedly over the head," and in it, she quoted a friend-of-a-friend's blog comment. Bit of a long chain of communication, but that doesn't make the comment any less poignant, or any less startlingly apt:

"if we are beginning to learn that God is strong -
prepare to feel weak, and if we are learning that God
fills our needs - prepare to be keenly aware of your
neediness"

So...finding a church and a small group and fellowship and support has given me strength and new eyes to see the world - or, at least, has polished up the old ones - but it sure hasn't made things easier. But at least I know where I have to go to find rest, and where I can, and should, lay my burdens.

On an entirely different note (I think maybe...C#...) a friend of mine, Dave Marck, of the inimitable duo, Shelley and Dave, wrote this in the local "independent, student-run" newspaper. One can only imagine the level of ignorance and bad writing typical of this paper, and you Athens locals can do more than imagine: you've probably been subjected to the agonies of those editorial/opinion/ill-informed articles. Dave, however, is a former editor and a darn good writer, and he wrote the linked article in response to an opinion piece by a philosophy major here at UGA. A philosophy major, writing about the American Soldiers and their bad behavior in Iraq, blaming them, rather than the government. I'll let you read the articles and the responses without my own opinion (yet!), but I will say this: I agree that the philosophy brat is a pompous a**. And you all know how I react to pomposity.

That's all for today, boys and girls. I'll have plenty more to say tomorrow. And what is it with me and Tuesdays, anyway?

Mmmmm...coookies...

2006-04-14T09:05:00.001-04:00

You Are a Smiley Face Cookie

You're happy go lucky. So happy, in fact, it's a little past the point of normal sanity.

You usually make those around you smile ... when you're not creeping them out!

What Kind of Cookie Are You?

When knowing is half the battle.

2006-04-12T10:52:00.001-04:00

Okay, so I don't really have that much to do as I sit around the Gainesville State College (Oconee campus) Library, waiting for the possibility of a student who needs writing help. I guess one might argue that the potential, the waiting itself, is a kind of exciting suspense...but I think that that one would really need to get a life, and maybe go see a scary movie. (But take me, 'cause I want to see this).

I have officially declared that this week is "Get Papers Ready for Possible Publication Week." A newly created holiday, though not as cool as this one. Which means that I spend about an hour every day looking over my previous writing and editing it a bit, another 1/2 hour researching potential journals, and probably about 15 minutes debating my worth as a scholar at all. Even in the field of Science Fiction, which I can now claim as "my field," since I officially have an M.A. with a thesis on that subject, and that makes me "one-of-the-gang," I feel like a kindergardener who somehow wandered into the reference section at Congressional Library. Look at all the pretty books! Oooooh...words...! And they even have Where the Wild Things Are! . . . which I suppose is in the reference section for some doctoral candidate who's writing a dissertation on... Songs of Innocence: the subjectivity of story in children's narrative. Or something.

Anyway, it's like that old commercial on NBC, with all of the movie-stars and rock-idols making obvious statements about how to live your life: "The More You Know." The only thing is, those sage-like celebrities never finished the dratted sentence. It should be: "The More You Know, The More You Realize the Indescribable Vastness of the Previous Research and Thought in Your Field and Thus Your Own Pathetic Peon-like Quantities of Knowledge in Said Field." Or, in layman's terms (for the general populace - this is Public Access, after all) "The More You Realize You Know Nothing At All." And, for the harsher of tongue and the generally flippant, "The More You Realize You Suck Big Time."

I have a plan, however. Today, even though I was seriously distracted by my older papers and their possibilities, I will restrict myself to only the main one, The Big One, as it were, and its potentialities. (Ya like that word, dontcha?). The Big One, the shattered remains of my thesis-become-presentation-become-publication, "The Grand Inquisitor: Seeking the Sublime in Alastair Reynolds' Revelation Space." I will finish it this week. You'll recall that this week is officially "Get Papers Ready for Possible Publication Week." Well, I will rephrase. From henceforth, this week shall be called, "Get One Paper Ready for Possible Publication Week." Less, pressure, you see.

I also want to add, before I head out, how proud I am of the Ej! She is mostly finished with her thesis, and she's still working as hard as ever to make it the best thing since sliced bread, instead of just a pretty good thing called bread. So anyway, she's pretty darn awesome. Go comment on her awesomeness at her blog. For you are finished here. This is the end. I'm going now. To work on stuff. Well?! Get outta here!

Oh, wait: Be sure to have a marvelous 3rd-day-of-the-week! (or second-day, if you're one of those crazy Latins or Europeans. Weirdos.).

Bueller...? Bueller...?

2006-03-30T11:04:00.000-05:00

Okay. So, I'm here. Or there. Or somewhere.

People have been requesting my current schedule, so that they can find me. Why they'd want that, I have no idea. And who are "they," anyway...

But here it is:

Monday thru Thursday:

Friday:

Saturday:

Sunday:

This will change, of course, in May. And again in June, and once more in July. But it's a start. Hopefully (cross your fingers and pray!) after July, my schedule will be set for at least a year. We hope hope hope.

Okay, I'll write more later. Joyeux mardi! ¡Feliz martes!

¡Hasta la vista!

WARNING! Super-Geeky Post. Normal friends beware.

2006-03-28T08:45:00.000-05:00

My dear readers, you may remember my "birthday wish" post that I put up last week, as I struggled to find silliness and happiness in the midst of my 27-year-old-to-be gloom. I cheered myself with goofy links to farfetched wishes for gifts and to random pages that made me laugh. Turns out that someone took me at least partially seriously...

My little brother just moved to Austin, Texas, apparently the live-music capital of the world. I'm thinking it's not much more than Athens, GA with cowboy boots and prairie dogs, but Matthew is getting to love it (I think).

Anyway, the one thing that he and I have always had in common is an interest in video games: console, PC, and otherwise. Let me tell you, he was a bit disappointed that I bought a Mac laptop, since game programmers hardly ever make games for that platform. But I have WoW to keep me content, and that's all I need.

As time has gone by, our consoles have changed, as have our interests. I was formerly a strict Super Mario Brothers (esp. #3), Castlevania, and anything with fast cars and the option for manual shifting. Matt and Dave, my older brother, got into PC first-person shooters, like Half-Life and Counterstrike, and while I enjoyed the heck out of the storyline Half-Life, as well as Duke Nukem - really hilarious - the Doom series didn't appeal to me at all. I would say that it was the violence and gore, and perhaps I'd be somewhat correct, but really it was the stress and tension that arises when playing against others, usually 12-14-year-old angsty brats that like to snipe - and whine when nobody listens to their rants - that turned me off of most FPS. In college, though, I remember Matt and I playing Diablo on PS-1, for 8 hours straight one weekend that he came to visit me at JMU. Crazy fun, that game. With two players, it's always a battle to see who leads the way to the next engagement, and with Matthew and I, you know that's a good time.

Matt and I found common ground again in H.S. with a series on PlayStation that was so graphic, my mother banned it after Matt had already purchased it. He took it back to the store... only to buy it again several months later, when we got televisions in our own rooms and he could be sneaky about it. I know he re-bought it because I had fallen in love with it.

The game was Resident Evil, by Capcom. Ooooooh it was good. Replete with spooky sounds, slasher-flick camera angles, make-you-jump scare sequences, and crafty little puzzles to solve. It was like Castlevania on steroids. And with guns. RE-1 was the first RPG console game I'd completely beaten since Castlevania, back in the day. I mean, of course I'd beaten MegaMan and all of those fun Nintendo Games, as well as Sonic the Hedgehog on Sega Genesis, but this! This was something to accomplish. Those of you who've played - remember listening down a long hallway, with the camera view at an angle that rendered it impossible to see ahead, waiting to hear the sticky-stomp footsteps of a wandering zombie? What about the time you jumped - and you know you did - when those dogs first crashed through the line of windows?

It wasn't until RE-1 that I realized that the kinds of gaming that I prefer is the *gasp* RPG. You'll notice that, even now, I have a hard time expanding that acronym to Role-Playing-Game. RPG is a nice little euphemism for those of us just on the fringes of absolute geekdom. Or, those of us who like to believe we're on the fringes. Heh. I loved the idea of solving puzzles and advancing an interesting storyline, as well as battling the bad guys that were obvious bad guys, as opposed to the FPS that encouraged me to shoot other human beings on the opposing team. I guess one might argue that RE-1 isn't really an RPG, since it doesn't involve chance (dice-rolling, or saves, in RPG terms), or experience points, but you can alternatively argue that the increasing weapons capabilities and storage capacity is a form of character-leveling. At least I think so, and I'm the one writing the post. But for the sticklers, RE is technically a "Survival Horror" game. Whatever that means.

Anyway, after beating RE-1 (twice), I moved on to RE-2. I didn't find it as compelling as the first one, all though there were definitely more zombies. There was something about the puzzles being too easy and almost perfunctory that I found kind of bland. I didn't play Resident Evil just to shoot up some zombies, after all.

RE-3 rediscovered its creepy self, with new characters and monsters and puzzles and goriness. I won't give away any of the secrets, but I will say that players get fun prizes for beating this one.

Now, I could only play 2 and 3 because my awesome little brother "lent" me his PS-1 while I was at JMU, because he'd gotten a Nintendo 64, and because he was far more invested in EverQuest on his PC than in his console systems. When I moved to GA, the PS came with me...and, um... I finally returned Matt's Final Fantasy VII to him this past Christmas. Sorry, man. I didn't even play FF.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for my grad school career, RE-Code Veronica and RE-4 were released only for the PlayStation 2, which I did not have and had no intention of getting. Money was tight, and so was time. I happily played EQ for a while, until the game visuals outstripped my PC processor capacity. I didn't play much of anything until EQ-II, and that was only at home with the bros. Blizzard, brilliant company that they are, decided to release World of Warcraft as a dual-platform game, which means that we poor, oft-overlooked Mac gamers got in on the goods right at the beginning.

But I still missed my Resident Evil.

So, my brother continued his outstandingness this year, and actually sent me a PlayStation 2 for my birthday, along with a still-in-the-plastic copy of RE-4. Wow. WOW. Of course, it's wonderful for me in a selfish, time-consuming, geek-chick kind of way. But the best part is that for me, RE brings up the connection I have to my little brother. Yeah, I know, it's dorky. But it's important to me. I don't know, maybe he didn't even think of any of this when he bought it and had it sent; but it's still an incredibly thoughtful gesture to remember my favorite game of ALL TIME and send me the components I need to play it at the next level. I'm a lucky girl to have a brother like that.

I'll admit, I played for 5 or 10 minutes last night, just to see. It's beautiful. And, of course, horrific. I promise I'll get my work done before I get a memory card and start really playing...but when I do, you may just have to leave a message, 'cause I'll be busy for a few days.

Bro, you rock my face off. Even if you are a psuedo-commie-robot-space-cadet.

Reviews

2006-03-26T17:59:00.000-05:00

If you know me, you know how I feel about books. It's no secret, really: I have an addiction to getting lost in a good story.

So, then, I have decided to do my best to maintain an updated and ongoing list of reviews of my reading material. I have my current reading in a list in the sidebar, and any books that are linked have reviews attached at my other blog, ktg-words.

I'll do what I can to keep up with it, and if you have book recommendations, please send 'em my way!

The celebrity look.

2006-03-24T10:09:00.000-05:00

New hair for Karen?

Super-short

Cute bangs.

More cute bangs.

Medium-short.

In a hole in the ground...

2006-03-23T17:56:00.000-05:00

There lived a Karen.

And she will stay there until it gets warm outside again.

¡Lloro! ¡Lloro!

2006-03-21T16:09:00.000-05:00

Not really... although I did drop two stitches in my yoga-wrap swatch and can't seem to find them anywhere. Did you take them?

Also...still waiting on the NY pics. I should be getting a digital camera for my birthday (please note the final entry)

What do I want for my birthday, you ask? Nothing, really. I'd like to hang out with my friends this weekend, and since most of us are poor students or young (read:poor) professionals, I hope that none of you actually think I'm seriously asking for any of these things - except for my brother, because he works so much - too much!! - overtime that he's became a good old Texas aristocrat.

But in the spirit of openness and soul-bearing-ness that blogging so insistently engenders, here's my current "Dream, dream, dream" list:

~~First, the reasonable – sort of. For my rich friends, anyway~~

Buffy.
Music in my ears.
For starters. And then, the geek continues with this
For the crisping of bread I actually need one – but these people really like toasters.
Happiness. Yes, really.

~~And now, the dreamable.~~

Vroooom!
Um. Yes, please.
And another for my girl, Jenna. He’s all yours, baby.

~~and, finally...~~

Maple Leaf forever!(We can only hope they’re kidding).

So, this is what I do when I'm bored. I'd write poetry, but the muse isn't singing to me today.

But! It's cloudy, and rainy, and icky. Or so you might think, unless you are know this lovely little piece. Sure, it's about April, but it's still wonderful:

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
~Langston Hughes

And then, of course, there's the unmistakable poet of our childhood:

Rain

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
~Shel Silverstein

Okay. The End. Happy Tuesday!!

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit!

2006-03-17T13:24:00.001-05:00

My Irish Name Is...

Clodagh O'Farrell

What's your Irish Name?

I PROMISE a NYC post coming soon! Waiting for pics - I have so much to tell, I might just write the post and add pics later...

Happy Leprechaun Awareness Day!

Racy Lace

2006-03-08T10:41:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a big day for the knitting, as Anita taught me, with great patience and wit, how to read a pattern diagram, to SSk (super-sonic knit!), and to YO. I started a swatch, CO-36, of the yarn I want to use for this gorgeous "Yoga Wrap". Even though the pattern calls for bulky, Anita and I decided to go with a worsted-weight green Alpaca blend...oooh so yummy...

It means changing the pattern, obviously, but since it is essentially just a great big rectangle with sleeves, the alterations should be fairly straightforward. Or so Anita says - I hope she's not just comforting the newbie!

As soon as I remember, I'll stick a pic of the yarn on here. I haven't completely decided that the green will look good as a large sweater-type-object, so I'm taking advice and comments. I'll also post a shot of the swatch.

Good times will be had by all!

My right to rant.

2006-03-06T12:05:00.001-05:00

After reading Darren's post this morning, I decided that I needed to catch up on my Google News reading. So, for the past hour or so, I've been perusing publications from around the world on myriad topics: from Hamas's disinterest in Al'Quaida video-taped support of Palestinian policies to the sentencing of a Californian senator in the biggest corruption trial since the Teapot Dome Scandal. I read about Crash winning a "Best Picture" Oscar, and about Jenny McCarthy earning her Razzie.

The kicker? The reason for a second blog post just hours after the really-really-long previous one?

This story. This, unbelievably, disturbingly, heartbreakingly, confused and ridiculous attempt to somehow justify a woefully inept "educator's" (please note the heavy sarcasm here) pathetic lack of self-control and dearth of teaching ability.

Free speech?? For a teacher?? I don't care about the teacher's opinion; whether I agree or disagree with his comments, or the President's policies, for that matter, is utterly irrelevant. Teachers don't get "Free Speech" in a classroom. Yes, teachers need to lead students to think for themselves, absolutely, but we must never, EVER, not even for one tiny moment, forget that our audience, our students, are not only a captive audience, but are both under our control in the classroom AND rely on us for grades and our "opinion" of their thoughts.

How many of you, my good readers, have ever hedged on an opinion in middle school, high school, or college, because you were uncertain of the instructor's position on the issue? How many of you, and be honest here, have actually adjusted your comments because you wanted to ally (or, better, align) yourself with the overall atmosphere in the classroom? Oh, I'm certain that half of the comments I receive on this post will be the counter-argument, that students, especially in high school and at university, will purposefully disagree with a teacher or professor, for the sake of argument, or of rebellion. Even if one argues that students often take a stand against the teacher, even if one argues that the percentage of these students is greater than 5% (which would be a bit of a stretch, I assure you), why should they need to? Teachers provide an open, safe space for students to submit their opinions and to learn to structure arguments, not to allow students to agree or disagree with the teacher.

I have no clear idea as to the nature of this particular teacher’s (in CA – raise your hand if you’re surprised) infraction on this score, since I do not credit sound/text bites in a mainstream news source. I’d rather read the complete transcript of the student’s recording.* The item that set me off onto this rant is the title of the LA Times article. Teachers are not supposed to be indoctrinators, any more than they are to be baby-sitters, and the obviously established standard in the media – supposedly the “voice of the masses” – is that since parents aren’t teaching their children the correct political attitudes, the teachers are responsible for the civic and moral education of their little charges.

I am torn, as ever I am, between a desire to rush into a public school system and start to repair some of the damage before it’s too late – if it isn’t already - and an overwhelming urge to run in the opposite direction. Fight or flight?

As Mutant Enemy might say, “Grrr. Argh.”

* Although I must say, anyone with an ounce of sense, or a few World History classes, should recognize the absurdity of comparing the conservative president of a Constitutional Republic with the dictator of a fascist state. I mean, really.

Nikki Sixx.

2006-03-06T09:17:00.000-05:00

Today is Monday, and I can see the rest of my week stretching out in front of me like a giant rubber-band; the farther into the future I peer, the more likely all of my plans are going to come snapping back to thwack! me on the nose. But in a good way. ‘Cause on Thursday I’ll be in New York City with Jenna, Jen, and Melanie!

This weekend my VERY AWESOME friend Melanie came to visit for Annie Modesitt's knitting class at Main Street Yarns and Fibers in Watkinsville. (Four links in one sentence! Rock on!) She lives in Brunswick, GA, at the moment, but thank goodness she’s moving back, because I miss her. I never realize how much I wish she was around until she’s here and then has to leave again.

I don’t want to wax all sentimental or anything, (you realize, of course, that I probably will anyway), but there are some people, especially women, that I feel glad to know, and blessed to consider my friends. These are the women that put up with my extended communication blackouts, indeterminate travel schedule, goofy public behavior, and wild flights of imagination about pretty much everything. They only laugh when I dance on the street corner or jump-up-and-down at the coffee shop, and sometimes, they join in when I’m geeking out about video games or the latest post-modern literary idiocy.

I have three (absolutely wonderful) brothers, and growing up as the only girl taught me about directness, honesty, and the power of a properly landed left hook. Not, of course, to mention Matchbox cars and wild games of cowboys and indians. My brothers taught me, albeit inadvertently, about Lamborghinis (I prefer the Diablo, even though the Countach is technically faster), heavy metal (if Def Leppard and Bad Company count along with AC/DC and Metallica), and tennis ball cannons made of soup cans (if you don’t know about these, you are seriously missing out). The whole “geek” thing? That’s Dave and Matt, all the way. Sorry, boys, your secret is out. You’re nerds, and you infected me. Remember, home is where the hearthstone is.

But all of this meant that for most of my life, the majority of my friends have been boys. They’re easier, right? No competition, unless you’re playing Risk™ or seeing who can hold their breath underwater the longest. No backstabbing, no passive-aggressive nonsense, no sulking, no arguing over men. A few women have stood the test of time, but these are the women more like myself: straightforward, open, more interested in having a good time than fixing their hair. Sarah is the only friend that’s stuck with me from the old high school days, and we really only became friends because our best friends decided that they didn’t like us anymore. Boo on them... except that I wouldn’t trade Sarah for anything. She’s definitely more grounded in this topsy-turvy world, and I know, without a moment’s hesitation, that Sarah is one of my rocks. And she rocks, so that’s cool.

Let me get to the point. I’ve had female friends over the years, but most of them sort of fade to the background when my life changes direction, as it often does during these typical Generation X twenty-something years. Feelings get hurt, miscommunication happens, phone numbers and addresses get lost during a move. It’s tough to keep girlfriends.

Yet. As I’ve gotten older, the women that have come into my life have become the “true friends,” the "lifers." Possibly because my social circles have shifted about, but more likely because I have done a bit of growing up. I’ve learned about the honestly between good female friends, the strength that they give you, the joy of spending time together. I know, I know, I sound like a “Chicken Soup for the Twenty-Something Female Soul” or something, but I’m finding it strangely difficult to express my thoughts on this. I guess, hmmmm... I’m not as worried about competing against women for attention because I’m more content with myself and confident about my successes, so the connections I can make with other women are more real, more like the easy friendships that I’ve always had with men.

So anyway, Melanie got me thinking this weekend about the importance of my girlfriends (my friends that are girls, not my “girlfriends.” Come on now, let’s don’t be silly). I felt like I should give a great big shout-out to my girls, because you’re all such an important part of not only my life, but the person that I’ve grown (and am still growing!) into.* So, cheers to you all! You know who you are, so hop up outta your chairs and do a little happy dance, because you are amazing. Boys, you can dance, too, because you're awesome, too.

And, oh yeah, I started two new knitting projects. More info on those this afternoon.

Happy Monday, girls and boys!

* for Jenna – I know! Dangling prepositions everywhere! Aaaacck!
** Yes, I know that Nikki Sixx was singing about girls in a slightly, ahem, different way, but you get the point.

Which crew?

2006-02-20T10:57:00.000-05:00

Stole this from Anita, my fellow English-Lit-Sci-Fi-Geek (though she's a relative newbie to the world of consummate geekdom).

Wanted the Neb' to be first, but I guess I'm a bit of a mercenary rebel at heart.

Serenity (from Firefly)

100%

Nebuchadnezzar (from The Matrix)

100%

Moya (from Farscape)

88%

Enterprise D (from Star Trek)

81%

SG-1 (from Stargate)

81%

Millennium Falcon (from Star Wars)

75%

Galactica (from Battlestar: Galactica)

56%

Bebop (from Cowboy Bebop)

56%

Which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? v1.0
created with QuizFarm.com

Stripe 2 - Done and Done (or not)

2006-02-18T18:01:00.000-05:00

I had a test today in jiu-jitsu, for Bujutsu, 11th kyu. (2nd stripe, Gold Belt) Hardest thing I've done in a while. The testing process took almost two hours, which was suprising in itself, and then the actual testing elements were incredibly tiring and...well, tough.

After watching Erika, however, as she was testing for her 2nd stripe, blue belt, I cannot complain. She not only had to grapple for extra time, she had to wrestle our sensei; thus, she had to lose, quickly yet gracefully, time and again, in front of the entire class. Talk about poise. She did a wonderful job.

I have learned over the years that I am an incredibly competitive person, yet, with no one am I more antagonistically competitive than with myself. Losing is not a loss to another player/fighter; rather, it's a failure on my part to rise to the standards set before me, or to accomplish/remember all of the skills I have been practicing. Though I didn't lose any of my grappling matches today, neither did I win any of them. Shelley and I, and then Eva and I, both came to a draw each time. I got frustrated with the Eva match because I couldn't pull off the sleeve choke, and then couldn't think of how to get around that "locked door."

But I think that the most important thing about that match wasn't that she didn't submit me, or even that I failed to submit her. Instead, I had a moment of intuition, of instinct, if you will, in that I suddenly recalled the technique for escaping the half-guard- and then I pulled it off. I actually did it correctly and regained the mount. That moment was just, well, cool. (I shouted out loud, actually, which is not exactly the best etiquette, but it was a thrilling feeling)

When Randy, our sensei, was handing out the stripes at the conclusion of the test, I realized that obtaining a black belt, far away and as impossible as it seems, is one of the biggest goals of my life. For the first time, I have a committment that I want to pursue for years and years, through all of the hard parts and the failures and the sweat. I want that. That's why this post title includes the parenthetical "or not": I'll never be done training - and gosh, isn't "never" a big word? - even when I get to the highest color rank.

Oh yeah, and in Karate, too.

Best watch out, sweet friends, karen-the-great has designs on actual (rather than ironic) greatness. Haha! Bring it!

The Daily Show, with Galaxy SpaceCat

2006-02-15T13:34:00.001-05:00

It's my kitty!

I can't help it. I am an old cat-lady! (but at least my cat has good taste in entertainment)

Thanks to Jenna and Darren for this pic - the two best godparents I could wish for.

Hoping I don't sound snobbish...

2006-02-14T19:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, so here's the thing.

I'm completely addicted to online randomizers, search engines, and silly games.

Facebook? Oh yeah. All up on it with my friends from UGA (and Henry IV and American Black Belt Academy and JMU and MCHS and...). I do not have a single "friend" that I haven't worked, played, or talked with in person.

MySpace? Not so much, however. - MySpace is a bizarre singles bar, somehow, wherein complete strangers want to be my "friend." Riiiight. Seems a bit, um, desperate? hopeless? false? to try to connect to people that I've never met and, in the case of the very young man from Southern California who requested a friendship, probably never will meet. As anyone born after 1976 can tell you, online identities are only faintly connected to the soul behind the words. If one believes that the gorgeous chick with the awesome "profile" on MySpace is quite as "cool" as she seems, then one must, perforce, believe that Stephen King's characters are exact replicas of himself, rather than a complex juxtaposition of imagination, observation, and self-analysis (or awareness, one might argue). But to propose that both little Danny Torrance and Roland of Gilead are true replications of the author seems rather a stretch.

And, even as I typed this last week, (Feb. 14) I sensed my own hypocrisy. That's the reason I am only now posting this blog; I knew, in the deeper part of my gregarious soul, that even I had succumbed to the draw of both FaceBook and MySpace. Thus, here I sit, while supposed to be preparing for church, typing a blog and trying to avoid checking my MySpace "comments" and "messages," though only really delaying the inevitable for another few hours. I mean, I did find Michelle from college, Steve from dance class, and Erin from middle school and high school on there. That is pretty darn cool, I must admit.

My friends that are members of either (or both, as in most cases) may be appalled by this post, in that it flagrantly attacks an exercise that many consider one of the ways that they expand their social circles. Just know, dear readers, that I love chatting with and keeping up with "youse guys" with these...message boards? Group lists? Search engines?

I surrender! But at least I didn't go down without a fight!

There will be a quiz on Friday. Learn it.

2006-02-07T17:34:00.000-05:00

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Karen the Great!

The fingerprints of Karen the Great are virtually indistinguishable from those of humans, so much so that they could be confused at a crime scene.
Karen the Great once lost a Dolly Parton lookalike contest!
Karen the Great can jump up to sixteen times her own height.
Karen the Great can eat up to four kilograms of insects in a single night.
Neil Armstrong first stepped on Karen the Great with his left foot.
If you drop Karen the Great from the top of the Empire State Building, she will be falling fast enough to kill before reaching the ground.
New Zealand was the first place to allow Karen the Great to vote!
Karen the Greaticide is the killing of Karen the Great!
Karen the Great never said 'Play it again, Sam'.
Karen the Great can not regurgitate.

Run away, run away, I will follow.

2006-02-04T17:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, after a day of feeling 82.5% (as opposed to 42.8% on Thursday), I decided to go for my first run in almost a month.

I slept until 10 (well, actually, until my phone started buzzing with a text from the mighty mighty eJnan around 10:15am) and moseyed on into the living room to watch my magnificent television. I was feeling extravagant, so I ordered a $3.99 film from OnDemand. Oh the luxury! Oh the pleasant expenditure! On the recommendation of Jen and Zack Odum, the coolest folks in Lawrenceville, I ordered Michael Bay's The Island. Not a bad sci-fi / action flick, actually. You'll note that the / is more than a composition device; the "/" is, in fact, a representation of the dual nature of the film itself, in that, The Island is almost two films in one. First, a minimalist Brave New World-type of biological horror mixed with a sprinkling of Athem-esqu dialogue and empty-shell femaleness; then, the film morphs into a frantic fireball-car-chase-helicopter-fire-building-smashing action flick. It's basically what one might term, "a grand old time": not the most brilliant or original screenplay or dialogue, but at least the SF sections are approaching thoughtful, even if the underlying terrors are a bit tired and some of the neuroscientific explanations tenous, at best. I loved that the official term for the "products." The cloned humans are "agnates," a term that signifies a genetic descent only in the patrilineal sense, i.e., a genetic history only traceable on the paternal side. Thus, all of the "products" are "Sons of Adam," or, as the Sean Bean character would no doubt prefer, "Sons of god" (note the little "g," because he has a little soul...[grin]).

I did not, however, begin this post intending to compose a critical review of Michael Bay's success, or, as the case may be, lack thereof. (Although, on a final note, I will say that Ewan McGregor was wonderful, and, of course, beautiful - cállate, Mateo! I know your response, little brother!) Oddly enough, one of the most inspirational points of the film was the amount of actual running that Ewan and Scarlett Johansson did during their escape from the bunker. I kept thinking, "Wow. They're totally going to get away because they are marathon runners or something. I can do that if I get out there and start again." And I started plotting and planning my return to my running routine (how about that alliteration!), considering 5k's to run and half-marathons for which to train. My knee is feeling like its old self again and I felt far more healthy than I did the day before, what with the falling-down sick at rehearsal and all, and I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY.

So, with just a little over an hour before I had to start getting ready for Henry IV rehearsal, (pics, too!)I donned my running gear, drank a bit of water, and headed out the door.

During the 5 minute warm-up walk to the apartment complex entrance, I was already beginning to feel the twinges of excitement to be back out. It was 60 degrees and sunny, but the sun was beginning to descend behind the tree ridge to the west, so the light on the trees had a faint golden cast. I skipped a few times, in exuberant anticipation, and, when I reached the starting place, I grinned and laughed. Really. Out loud and everything. I knew that I had to go easy on the knee, despite the lack of pain for the past week, so I kept myself at a 10min mile pace (so slow), and decided only to run about 30-40 min, or 3.5 miles (approx). It was an unexpectedly glorious expedition.

My legs were stiff and tired from disuse, for, even though only a few weeks have passed since my last run, those days have been spent sitting at a computer or driving my car, not walking as much as I should. My breathing was easy, at first, and even though it became more difficult later, I never lost my rhythm or my breath. I think that I smiled the entire time.

As I rounded the curve past the recreation fields, near the Ramsey Center at UGA, I looked up at the darkening sky. The shadows beneath the trees were creeping towards the pathway. Their darkness was not menacing or cold; rather, it seemed to me that these shadows were markers of the rising tide of evening. Move more quickly, they indicated, before night comes and your footfalls must be more wary. Move more quickly now, and revel in the fading afternoon air and light and song. Strange thing - this was the noisiest run I have ever experienced. The rushing cars, shouts on the fields, my heart pumping, wind in the trees, and on - - - like a moving song, a dancing hum to keep me in this place of joyful movment.

I sprinted the last 1/8 of a mile, up the hill on Milledge Avenue.

A doctor or sports trainer might tell me that the exhilaration I felt, turning into the apartment complex, still running, still grinning, was nothing more than a rush of endorphins, adrenaline, and opiates. They would argue that the chemicals my body produces to manage pain and exhaustion generate this sense of elation. I don't know the total veracity of this position, since it eradicates the emotional spirit of a such an endeavor, rendering the accomplishment less worthy. I mean, part of the pleasure is in the stuggle and the surmounting of it; the triumph is in the defeat of defeat. If that makes sense.

I felt, in those last minutes, a powerful euphoria, so much that it almost, finally, took my breath. I thanked God in those minutes, for giving me legs to run and a world to see and a joy so bright it hurt my heart to bear it. I laughed, again, out loud. I cheered, I jumped, I punched the air.

Yeah! I'm running again! Now for more. Watch for me on Milledge and East Campus...you might miss me, as a I race by and leave you in my dust.

Rock on!

-k

I'm Batman. Except I'd win.

2006-02-02T09:11:00.000-05:00

This has nothing to do with anything, except that it's the funniest darn thing I've seen in weeks.

Thanks to The Huggable Joe for this one!

The Ultimate Showdown.

Watch for the Delorian!!!

Platinum, or Dirty?

2006-01-27T11:00:00.000-05:00

I am far too busy to post anything of interest, except for this fantastic blonde joke that I heard from two people, actually.

Knee-jerk reaction.

2006-01-20T10:23:00.002-05:00

I have done it!

I have decided!

I have the answer!

(it is not, as some might suggest, "42")

My blog shall be a teaching, jiu-jitsu, knitting blog. Or, "TeaJiuKni." (pronounce the hard "k" sound). Sounds cool. I think that makes me cool. Or something.

But what about Sci-Fi!? What about Buffy? What about my family? My faith? My piano? My Shakespeare? Tolkien???

Fear not, gentle friends! I shall not neglect the ten million other obligations and interests of my heart...no, not even you and your antics. You and your shenanigans, as well as the escapades of your loved ones, are fair game in this rollicking ride of one writer's attempt to break through her block of fear and procrastination.

"Aha!" one might say. So you have sold your soul, your sincerity and directness, for a trademark wit and gentle banter. Again, I say to you, "Fear not!" I am, as ever, my SELF, and will indulge in light humor only to better engage my multifarious (a word chosen with great care - delightful, yes?) readers and therefore ensnare them in a dialogue of delicate philosophical considerations and mighty internal debate.

Intrigued yet?

Tune in next time, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel, for more TeaJiuKni from karen-the-great. Kaaa-POW!

(okay, so maybe the so-called "same Bat Time" is actually a little bit later today...but you can tune in whenever you like)

So...something about one of my three topics........

Jiu-jitsu it is then. (On google cached searches, this line will be highlighted. Neat-o.)

Background: I just started my Gracie Brazilian jiu-jitsu classes in July, so I'm still new, and in that kind of "awe and wonderment" phase. I'm only a gold belt with one stripe, but I'm proud of that anyway, especially since, due to some scheduling issues and my sensei's faith in me, I've been attending the intermediate class for about two weeks. Going well, except for the catastrophic knee-injury that happened this past Monday. Well, catastrophic is a bit melodramatic.

Very silly, and I hate it when I'm very silly and it causes injury and embarassment. I was grappling with Erica, an excellent blue belt and a lovely person, and I had a half-guard of her right leg, stretching her out to threaten her base. But she, being alert and talented, shifted her weight to her left for a choke, and I, being slow and amateur, held on a split second too long. Snap, POP! (no Crackling, thank goodness). Ouchie.

I did NOT cry. Or scream. But I did almost bite through my mouth guard.

It's all achy today, and in Karate on Wednesday I couldn't do any kicks at all. I couldn't stay for jiu-jitsu after, since the throbbing started up again. Total un-fun. (Did I mention I also participate in Adult Martial Arts?) My little bro, the golden child Matthew (golden hair, golden heart - a good kid) tore his ACL several years ago, and is all OVER me to go the doctor. Same for the B. Funny how the whole no-health-insurance-thing limits the doctor's visits for big problems.

I think I'll be okay - keeping with the icing, the Motrin, the brace, etc. But I want to play. It's almost like I'm the little kid stuck inside on a rainy day with no good books to read, and only a goldfish to talk to. Not that ya'll are goldfish, Jenna and Darren! Definitely more like purple striped parrot fish.

Okay. That's the "on-topic" post for today.

Sweet grasshopper Joe.

2006-01-06T16:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a day of days.

Would have been warm, but for a chill wind out of the west...My little beetle-bug was tossed back and forth on the road as a ship on high seas. Or a little green pea in a big bowl of soup.

Good news, all who wonder and worry: I have a job! Well, two 1/2, actually. Still working a few odd hours here and there at the insurance agency, but adding about 10 hours at C2 Educational Center in Suwannee/Snellville and, believe it or not, at Gainesville College, Oconee campus. I'll be the Writing Tutor for the Regent's test students out there, 4 days a week.

I'll probably still be poor beyond all sense, but I'll be learning and working and challenged, especially at Gainesville. But getting that call yesterday morning was like a bright light in the dark, and one that stayed true until the evening.

The night was bitter, and sweet, and full of regret. Not something I usually experience. My usual mantra of "no regrets, only lessons learned" doesn't really work in the case of a lost friends and happy memories' fading. I talked with an old love for hours, took his hand, and drove away without him. I am strong, but not without sorrow.

Enough pretension, enough crystallization of emotions in cold, false poetic terms. On, life! Write, on!

My jiu-jitsu instructor taught me a valuable lesson yesterday afternoon, using an old television drama and some martial arts wisdom: (If you get this reference, then you are cooler than I was at 7:30pm yesterday,though not cooler than my 8pm version).

A blind man and a young boy with eyes closed listen to the silence for a moment.
"Can you hear the grasshopper at your feet?"
"Old man, how can you hear that?"
"Young man, how can you not?"

In fact, if you get it, you are so cool that I'll buy you a yummy cup of Hot Corner joe (or tea, if you like) if you are the first person to name the show and the lead actor. :) (I'll buy you a muffin if you submit a nice treatise on the philosophy of the interchange!)

AND! come on by Hot Corner. It's hot. (actually, they keep it FREEZING in here, probably to encourage the purchase of more toasty beverages!)

Be warm, my friends.

Potato

2005-12-21T11:15:00.000-05:00

Slept on the couch last night. Again. I wish I could make the argument that my couch is so comfortable that the cushions are like sweet, soft clouds that lend themselves to somnolescence…but I can’t. In fact, my sofa is remarkably uncomfortable (not to mention unattractive), with flat, stiff cushions and ugly, scratchy fabric.

Why then, drift off into the land of dreams from such a graceless port?

Because I was far too lazy to walk all the way (all three steps) to my bedroom, put the clean bedclothes on the bed, set my alarms (all four of them), tidy up the mess, and re-situate myself in a new sleepy state, since I was already nodding off in the living room.

Wow. That sounds a bit pathetic, all out there like that. Perhaps this new sheepish feeling will lead to a reduction in the number of sofa-sleeping incidents.

Meow mix.

2005-12-19T15:28:00.000-05:00

It’s a funny circumstance.

I’m back in the insurance business.  It’s like I can’t escape from the universe of claims, clients, and calamity that has been my father’s sphere since I was a little girl.

Calling seniors (65+) to schedule times to talk about their Medicare Medigap supplemental insurance is definitely not the apex of excitement…but at least it leaves me free to sneak in a blog or two  - since I’m just getting started anyway.

I’m getting a kitty today!  My new little girl is all black, with medium-length hair, sweet disposition, named … well, named “Squishy” by the vet, but that’s not a name I’m going to keep.

She looks strikingly similar to my old Suzy-blue (the boy named Sue, for those of you who remember), so already bringing back memories.
This is so exciting!  Pictures will certainly be available soon.

Shieldmaiden

2005-12-19T12:20:00.000-05:00

This blogging-thing is a wee bit intimidating for me, especially since even private journal-writing poses unsettling questions of self-indulgence, audience (reader / readership / author). I suppose that since I’m composing, or, rather, exposing, my thoughts on the world in a public forum (Kathrine Hayles might argue a public space, but that’s another topic for another day) I do actually want readers.

I have a drive to write, but of what? I have felt, until very recently, that I’m not ready, I haven’t seen enough of the world, I don’t know enough, I’m too young, too credulous.
But that’s rather all about a kind of fear, right? And I am

karen-the-great!

I fear nothing, not even death. “I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?” (Eowyn, LoTR, RotK-5)

More later, as the day progresses. (or doesn’t, as it may be)

2005-12-15T12:29:00.000-05:00

Greetings, world.

I have begun to begin, etc.

More later.