Adia has discovered superheroes. I left some comics lying around, and she thumbed through them. Rather than being a "Mermaid Madeleine Princess" for Halloween, she wants to be a "Mermaid Madeleine Wonder Woman." Yesterday I got home from my daily run she met me at the top of the stairs.
"I'm Evil Batman and Mom is Wonder Woman."
"Cool," I said, expecting to be promptly informed that I was Superman or Good Batman or some complimentary hero.
"You're Evil Batman too. And we punch each other. Pyew Pyew Pyew!"
The last is meant to represent laser-gun noises. I have never been prouder of her than I am right now.
I was holding Sam later that day when she came in, still pyew-pyewing me. "Is Sam Robin?" I asked. Sam promptly cooed a cute little coo like he does. "Who is Robin?" Adia asked. "Batman's friend," I said.
Adia hugged Sam and kissed him. "Batman gives Robin lots of hugs and kisses because he loves him."
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
300-Word Book Review AKA How Can You Read This? There's No Pictures!
Explanation: After I read a book I usually like to take down a few of my thoughts regarding the book, lest it disappear down the memory hole. I had a whole document full of these comments. I forgot to save it when my laptop got stolen. A few of the comments ended up in correspondence, though, like the following that I sent to John Brown, the author of Servant of a Dark God.
300 Words! Better Than Fail Blog!
I argue fine points of LDS doctrine with John Brown on Facebook, so I wanted to read his book. I was genuinely, deeply moved. This book feels real. The book started with a description of a pretty basic day on a farm. At one point, when two kids asked their brother to guard a fugitive, he said, “Who will do the farm chores?” I liked that. So real and so easily missed.
Brown doesn't have Sanderson's gaming-module glee in his confusing magic system, though his characters are more real. Any government-unauthorized magic identifies one as a Darkfriend (called Sleth, but it’s the same idea). One of the characters, Argoth, was a former Darkfriend. He had gone from stealing life from others to hoarding it in small increments from donations—I think?—from his Sekrit Order.
The best parts are the moments where children face up to their parents' problems. Talen, the main character, had to accept how his dad is, to all appearances, a dark wizard. It reminded me of conversations with my dad; he always told me that my rigid view of Mormonism needed more gray areas. I thought he was on the road to hell. The book might have been better if Talen had maintained his definition of wizardry and betrayed his dad.
For more baggage, the character Argoth challenges a corrupt ruling wizard. To do so, he draws strength from his son, almost killing the kid. Armed with his son's energy, Argoth battles bad guy , and the wizard makes him into a mental slave. He took his son's life-force to conquer this baddie, and it DIDN'T WORK. I would kill to pull that off in a book. Brown plays for keeps,; well done in a world of fantasy comfort-food.
[Lest ye wonder, this is the list of books I've read and lost my profound thoughts on:
Collapse by Jared Diamond
The World Without Us by Alan Weisman
Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson
The Book of Saladin by Tariq Ali
Manhood For Amateurs by Michael Chabon
Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose
Lamentation by Ken Scholes
Canticle by Ken Scholes
Antiphon by Ken Scholes
Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon
The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
A Voyage Long and Strange by Tony Horwitz
Water by Steven Solomon
Old Man's War by John Scalzi
Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King
That's since April. 3-4 books a month is pretty studly. Oh yeah. It turns you on.]
300 Words! Better Than Fail Blog!
I argue fine points of LDS doctrine with John Brown on Facebook, so I wanted to read his book. I was genuinely, deeply moved. This book feels real. The book started with a description of a pretty basic day on a farm. At one point, when two kids asked their brother to guard a fugitive, he said, “Who will do the farm chores?” I liked that. So real and so easily missed.
Brown doesn't have Sanderson's gaming-module glee in his confusing magic system, though his characters are more real. Any government-unauthorized magic identifies one as a Darkfriend (called Sleth, but it’s the same idea). One of the characters, Argoth, was a former Darkfriend. He had gone from stealing life from others to hoarding it in small increments from donations—I think?—from his Sekrit Order.
The best parts are the moments where children face up to their parents' problems. Talen, the main character, had to accept how his dad is, to all appearances, a dark wizard. It reminded me of conversations with my dad; he always told me that my rigid view of Mormonism needed more gray areas. I thought he was on the road to hell. The book might have been better if Talen had maintained his definition of wizardry and betrayed his dad.
For more baggage, the character Argoth challenges a corrupt ruling wizard. To do so, he draws strength from his son, almost killing the kid. Armed with his son's energy, Argoth battles bad guy , and the wizard makes him into a mental slave. He took his son's life-force to conquer this baddie, and it DIDN'T WORK. I would kill to pull that off in a book. Brown plays for keeps,; well done in a world of fantasy comfort-food.
[Lest ye wonder, this is the list of books I've read and lost my profound thoughts on:
Collapse by Jared Diamond
The World Without Us by Alan Weisman
Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson
The Book of Saladin by Tariq Ali
Manhood For Amateurs by Michael Chabon
Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose
Lamentation by Ken Scholes
Canticle by Ken Scholes
Antiphon by Ken Scholes
Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon
The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
A Voyage Long and Strange by Tony Horwitz
Water by Steven Solomon
Old Man's War by John Scalzi
Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King
That's since April. 3-4 books a month is pretty studly. Oh yeah. It turns you on.]
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Lust For A Very Particular Book
So when my backpack was stolen, besides my laptop, iPod, art supplies and deck of cards, I had an ARC of Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings.
I was really enjoying the book. It took me a while to get into it, but it was so very pretty that I could hardly resist. Here is the thing. I would buy the book again, but I hate hardbacks. I can't carry them anywhere because they weigh something like ten zillion pounds.
If anyone has or knows of someone who has an ARC of Way of Kings and is willing to sell it, tell me, children. I will pay postage and whatever reasonable price the person wants.
I was really enjoying the book. It took me a while to get into it, but it was so very pretty that I could hardly resist. Here is the thing. I would buy the book again, but I hate hardbacks. I can't carry them anywhere because they weigh something like ten zillion pounds.
If anyone has or knows of someone who has an ARC of Way of Kings and is willing to sell it, tell me, children. I will pay postage and whatever reasonable price the person wants.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
ARG! Yay ARG! Yay.
This weekend has been bipolar. Along with the usual lack of sleep, I,
1) sold a story
2) got my laptop and iPod stolen.
On the first: I sold an elbow-rubbing story to Jen Brozek at Apex for her new anthology, "Human Tales." This particular antho is a bunch of faerie tales from the fey creature's point of view. Mine was an Arabian Nights pastiche, and well-received by my writing group, who promptly went home and died with their lives complete.
On the second: ARG. ARG. ARRRRRUGUGG.
We were at a potluck yesterday in Cornwall Park, aka Frisbee Golf Stonerville USA. Because we filled our arms with babies and baby stuff, we forgot to ensure that the trunk had closed properly.
Some ratfink who should catch leprosy and die opened the trunk and helped himself to my backpack, including a laptop, iPod, two notebooks full of stuff relating to my tutoring job, a deck of cards, and an ARC of The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson.
Seriously now. Why do people do this? There was a box of diapers, two carseats, and a mess of kids' toys in that car.
What drives me crazy--oh oh--is knowing that the person can go through all my crap. None of it is interesting. Most of it is backed up on another computer. But they can read my lists of books I've read and read my journal entries and look at pictures of me and Chrissy throughout the years. They can see the Radiohead bootlegs that probably only a few other fanatics have. They can even read my stories. If they are a complete idiot, they can try to publish them, which would actually be a nice way to bust the thief. I'm changing everything online--passwords, security questions, everything. I'm calling every pawn shop (luckily we go to church with the cop who took the report, so he's doing more looking than usual) in this county and I'm trying the ISP to see if they can find the IP address. I just scored a circa 2009 laptop on eBay for way less than Mac would charge me.
But.
Some stoner idiot is out there looking through my pictures and my writing.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGG.
1) sold a story
2) got my laptop and iPod stolen.
On the first: I sold an elbow-rubbing story to Jen Brozek at Apex for her new anthology, "Human Tales." This particular antho is a bunch of faerie tales from the fey creature's point of view. Mine was an Arabian Nights pastiche, and well-received by my writing group, who promptly went home and died with their lives complete.
On the second: ARG. ARG. ARRRRRUGUGG.
We were at a potluck yesterday in Cornwall Park, aka Frisbee Golf Stonerville USA. Because we filled our arms with babies and baby stuff, we forgot to ensure that the trunk had closed properly.
Some ratfink who should catch leprosy and die opened the trunk and helped himself to my backpack, including a laptop, iPod, two notebooks full of stuff relating to my tutoring job, a deck of cards, and an ARC of The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson.
Seriously now. Why do people do this? There was a box of diapers, two carseats, and a mess of kids' toys in that car.
What drives me crazy--oh oh--is knowing that the person can go through all my crap. None of it is interesting. Most of it is backed up on another computer. But they can read my lists of books I've read and read my journal entries and look at pictures of me and Chrissy throughout the years. They can see the Radiohead bootlegs that probably only a few other fanatics have. They can even read my stories. If they are a complete idiot, they can try to publish them, which would actually be a nice way to bust the thief. I'm changing everything online--passwords, security questions, everything. I'm calling every pawn shop (luckily we go to church with the cop who took the report, so he's doing more looking than usual) in this county and I'm trying the ISP to see if they can find the IP address. I just scored a circa 2009 laptop on eBay for way less than Mac would charge me.
But.
Some stoner idiot is out there looking through my pictures and my writing.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGG.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Comin Atcha From The Depths of the Diaper
Hi.
I have not blogged in a bit. Nor have I written. Nor have I finished any of my career-oriented tasks within any more of an hour before they are due. Nor have I slept.
On the good side, though, nobody is literally drinking my bodily fluids that I know of. Chrissy often complains that "it's tough being a cow," to which I reply, "unutterably so."
I DO write, though. I tutor a kid who likes creative writing and we write together and swap stories. I get paid by the hour for it. My life is awesome.
This is not one of those stories. This is, instead, a story that awriter penned at a writing-group session, about me.
All Spencer wanted was to sleep. Between Samwise's 1:00 AM arias and Adia's new tendency to play Godzilla Death Metal Screamy Time at 5:00 in the morning, he wasn't getting more than one hour of sleep each night. It was starting to wear on him.
"Opium!" said Victorian Spider-Man, who looked exactly like modern Spider-Man, except he wore a black top hat, gloves and a monocle. "Opium will quiet those little scamps straightaway!"
"No, Victorian Spider-Man," Spencer said. "Opium will just warp their little minds and send them to rehab at age 5. What do you think, Housewife Superman?"
Housewife Superman adjusted his floral apron. "Send them to a different planet where they will be raised by a kindly elderly couple and grow up to be superheroes! Or give them warm milk."
"They don't have superpowers, Mrs. Kent. Tony Stark?"
Tony Stark gave him a skeptical look over the rim of his gin and tonic. "Do I really look like someone you'd want advice for your kids from?"
"Why not?"
Tony tossed back his drink. "I'd put them in an ice chamber and take them out when they were twenty-five."
A tiny voice from behind asked, "Daddy, why are you talking to the rice maker?"
I have not blogged in a bit. Nor have I written. Nor have I finished any of my career-oriented tasks within any more of an hour before they are due. Nor have I slept.
On the good side, though, nobody is literally drinking my bodily fluids that I know of. Chrissy often complains that "it's tough being a cow," to which I reply, "unutterably so."
I DO write, though. I tutor a kid who likes creative writing and we write together and swap stories. I get paid by the hour for it. My life is awesome.
This is not one of those stories. This is, instead, a story that awriter penned at a writing-group session, about me.
All Spencer wanted was to sleep. Between Samwise's 1:00 AM arias and Adia's new tendency to play Godzilla Death Metal Screamy Time at 5:00 in the morning, he wasn't getting more than one hour of sleep each night. It was starting to wear on him.
"Opium!" said Victorian Spider-Man, who looked exactly like modern Spider-Man, except he wore a black top hat, gloves and a monocle. "Opium will quiet those little scamps straightaway!"
"No, Victorian Spider-Man," Spencer said. "Opium will just warp their little minds and send them to rehab at age 5. What do you think, Housewife Superman?"
Housewife Superman adjusted his floral apron. "Send them to a different planet where they will be raised by a kindly elderly couple and grow up to be superheroes! Or give them warm milk."
"They don't have superpowers, Mrs. Kent. Tony Stark?"
Tony Stark gave him a skeptical look over the rim of his gin and tonic. "Do I really look like someone you'd want advice for your kids from?"
"Why not?"
Tony tossed back his drink. "I'd put them in an ice chamber and take them out when they were twenty-five."
A tiny voice from behind asked, "Daddy, why are you talking to the rice maker?"
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
It Is Done And Cannot Be Undone
More or less.
He's Samwise, for good or bad. No doubt much of the Internet is pleased and a few of you are horrified. This is my favorite text on the subject: "When he is twenty, what will happen when he's trying to pick up on a girl and she finds out he is named after a hobbit?"
To the sender I point out: Sam is the only one of those hobbits who snatched himself a lady.
Just in case, though, I am starting a money jar to change his name when he's older if he really wants it.
I spent so much of my life trying to be "important." I wanted praise and recognition and I wanted to be brilliant and better than everyone.
And yet my literary hero was totally humble and even a little dumb, but he did what his upper-class, literate, smart and informed buddy couldn't do.
I want Sam to understand that you don't have to be brilliant, you just have to be brave and stouthearted.
IN OTHER AWESOME NEWS: This weekend was much better than it had any right to be, considering we were out of the house, stuck in Bothell, while the landlady is having the lead paint removed. I got to go to a Clarion party with the awesome criada . I would like to reiterate to everyone there that I Am Not A Cool Guy. I got a new contract position at work helping to design the curriculum for some online courses, which is really cool.
ANNNNND.... I got into Viable Paradise for this year along with aforementioned criada and plunderpuss . Represent, Bellingham! W00t!
He's Samwise, for good or bad. No doubt much of the Internet is pleased and a few of you are horrified. This is my favorite text on the subject: "When he is twenty, what will happen when he's trying to pick up on a girl and she finds out he is named after a hobbit?"
To the sender I point out: Sam is the only one of those hobbits who snatched himself a lady.
Just in case, though, I am starting a money jar to change his name when he's older if he really wants it.
I spent so much of my life trying to be "important." I wanted praise and recognition and I wanted to be brilliant and better than everyone.
And yet my literary hero was totally humble and even a little dumb, but he did what his upper-class, literate, smart and informed buddy couldn't do.
I want Sam to understand that you don't have to be brilliant, you just have to be brave and stouthearted.
IN OTHER AWESOME NEWS: This weekend was much better than it had any right to be, considering we were out of the house, stuck in Bothell, while the landlady is having the lead paint removed. I got to go to a Clarion party with the awesome criada . I would like to reiterate to everyone there that I Am Not A Cool Guy. I got a new contract position at work helping to design the curriculum for some online courses, which is really cool.
ANNNNND.... I got into Viable Paradise for this year along with aforementioned criada and plunderpuss . Represent, Bellingham! W00t!
Friday, July 2, 2010
Sam(wise?) German Ellsworth
I started on Tuesday to write a blog post about how the baby was eight days overdue. It was snarkily called "Honey, BP Called And They Want Your Cervix To Plug The Oil Spill."
As of 8:00 that night, Chrissy proved that blog post unnecessary. After a small intervention by the midwives to help open said cervix, five hours of intense labor produced a nine-pound boy at 8 PM. True to his hobbit namesake, he proceeded to have two dinners, four midnight snacks, and three breakfasts.
Adia is much happier about having a brother than we thought. She wanted a sister and she was also afraid of getting replaced. But she is fascinated with Sam and constantly wants to hold him.
We are still waffling on whether or not to go all the way and name him Samwise. I love the idea of a special name no one else has that is based on a noble little hobbit. On the other hand, his teacher will read it aloud on the first day of school and somebody just might say "stupid fat hobbit!"
Of course, that would make said tormentor a schizophrenic fish-eating jewelry-addicted goblin.
What do you guys think? To Wise or not to Wise?
As of 8:00 that night, Chrissy proved that blog post unnecessary. After a small intervention by the midwives to help open said cervix, five hours of intense labor produced a nine-pound boy at 8 PM. True to his hobbit namesake, he proceeded to have two dinners, four midnight snacks, and three breakfasts.
Adia is much happier about having a brother than we thought. She wanted a sister and she was also afraid of getting replaced. But she is fascinated with Sam and constantly wants to hold him.
We are still waffling on whether or not to go all the way and name him Samwise. I love the idea of a special name no one else has that is based on a noble little hobbit. On the other hand, his teacher will read it aloud on the first day of school and somebody just might say "stupid fat hobbit!"
Of course, that would make said tormentor a schizophrenic fish-eating jewelry-addicted goblin.
What do you guys think? To Wise or not to Wise?
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