Birthday Part Deux: The Haul

I did, I did, I did get a little piece of metal jammed into my nose. It hurt like hell for a few seconds -- I actually got light-headed -- but now I love it. My piercer was really sweet. For the record, ladies and gentlemen -- Body Manipulations, in San Francisco. Highly recommended. My stepdad said it looks like gold-plated acne, but he is just jealous. Actually, it is very cute.

Among the rest of the haul: I found a leather jacket at the Crossroads on Fillmore St. for under thirty bucks. Mine, mine! I thought, and so it was. So in about four hours I upped my badass quotient by a factor of ten. It was a wicked good deal.

And then I got home, and was presented with a) yummy yummy dinner of many favorite things, b) birthday cake -- chocolate with raspberries, c) a book about the philosophy of Shakespeare (YAY) and d) Slings & Arrows, all three seasons. Sigh. I win, I think.

Happy Birthday To Me

I live in a tree...

Wait, that's not right.

By the grace of God, I have made it out of that terrible year of twenty-two, and can now join the rest of the world, heaving a huge sigh of relief and relaxation. Twenty-three is BOUND to be better. It can't HELP but be better. I am so excited about twenty-three. Twenty-three is young enough to still be hip and ignorant, and old enough that I don't look like a misplaced college student. Twenty-three is old enough to do everything fun without being all self-conscious about being old enough to do everything fun. Twenty-three is going to be awesome.

It's already getting off to a much better start than twenty-two (knock on wood). I've found an apartment. "The winter thing" worked out, and soon I start work on a play -- with Omnipotent Softy, which is really exciting. I have a good job. I am working on my issues. I am making friends. I'm going to be fine, this year. Thank God.

And I am celebrating it with new clothes, a trip to the city, and possibly a piece of metal jammed into my nose.

Books Books Lots of Books

In today's (okay, yesterday's) Very Exciting News, I got a book signed by Nick Hornby. One more benefit of working at The Store. (I didn't meet him, but he inscribed a [used] copy of The Polysyllabic Spree to me, me, me, which makes me really happy. Especially because it's the book of his I'd been wanting to read forever, it came through used, and now it is inscribed to me. Sigh. Contentment.)

Anyway. I also found out the date I will be moving (in about two weeks); I bought a big fat Nazi book new from The Store -- I can always justify buying new books to myself, because I pay a used price for them. (For used books, I pay bargain basement prices.) So that is exciting right now. But when you put those two pieces of information together, and realize that I will have to get all my books into boxes and moved out of my parents' basement in scant two weeks, then suddenly it becomes rather more ominous.

A Place, It is Found

IT has concluded, and I have an apartment!

Actually, I have a bedroom in an apartment. But it is not too far from The Store, it is near public transportation, it seems to have nice people living in it currently, and it is eminently affordable, which is the best part.

So yes, that is Very Happy, and now I get to call and cancel all the other apartments I was planning on seeing, which is exciting.

Ah, Escapism

Which doesn't really work if you're not escaping. That can actually be read two ways.

1. It is time to overhaul my reading list a little bit. The three books I decided to focus on a week or two ago are doing nothing for me. Which is sad, because it's not like I don't like them or anything; they somehow just don't complement each other very well, and I'm losing all my momentum. So. I am switching my nonfiction book (I'm sorry, Victoria Finlay, I fully intend to finish your lovely book, but I can't right now) and my trashy fiction and regular fiction are getting switched into a different trashy fiction. (I'm sorry, Mark Haddon, but so far your second book is just not as interesting as your first. And no one loved Curious Incident more than I did, but... this one is just not hitting right, at least not yet. And I've given you a hundred pages already, so pick it up, dude! It's hitting too close to home to be entertaining, and not close enough to be touching. Sorry, man.) (I am not sorry to you, Laurie King, because I am either switching a Kate Martinelli book for a Mary Russell book -- both of which are written by you, and you have publicly admitted to agreeing with me that the Russells are more interesting -- or I am taking a break from you altogether to read some Dorothy Sayers, which I think you would also wholeheartedly approve of, given how much you love Sayers yourself.) Anyway. So, book switching time.

2. Seeing King Lear was much more fun than I expected, but not really the escapism I was expecting. A shout-out to my RKs, I am continually impressed with you guys. When I was in high school, I can't remember ever complaining that the people I was doing theater with weren't dedicated enough. Hot shit, you guys. At the same time, the show made me realize all over again how much I am itching and aching to direct something. I know I can't shut up about it, either in person or online, but its ferocity keeps taking me by surprise. God I am praying that this winter thing works out.

Three Reasons to Love My Job

1. Today a complete genealogy of the characters of Greek mythology came through The Store. Through like with a laxative, because it is going to be sold to me. I love the people I work with, who go out of their way to show me things I might like.

2. I am leaving my shift an hour early today, to go see King Lear with the other RKs. My manager barely batted an eyelash.

3. This is the only place I can think of working where I like coming to work on a rainy day. I mean, back me up here, bookstores are seriously some of the best places to be on a rainy day, no? I've no doubt I'll get sick of it eventually, but I still feel... cozy, here, when it rains. Compare and contrast to France, where I was miserable every day it rained (so basically... every day) because I hated slogging through the mud or biking through the puddles. Just walking to the bookstore has a whole different feel.

UGGHHHH

IT has begun.

IT is the Great Apartment Search of 2007. I swore up and down to myself I'd be seriously looking by the time my birthday rolled around (and it's in two weeks, so I'm sticking to that deadline anyway) and moved in by Christmas. But oh, my God, is IT ever a pain in the ass. I hate IT already and I only started IT today. And I can tell I'm going to be talking about nothing else for the next month, or however long it takes me to find someplace. WAAAAHHH. In France I had people doing this FOR me. (Because I couldn't speak the language, not because I'm incompetent.) But now I want someone to do IT for me HERE. Whine whine whine WHINE.

I've called two places (set up an appointment at one of them) and emailed like, three or four more, so that gets me started. But yuck, anyway. Yuck yuck yuck. I hate IT. I am trying to be responsible, but IT is just an all out pain in the butt. Maybe if I had someone to blame, IT would be easier, but as IT is...

Okay, I will be positive. I have nothing specific to complain about (except for how I can't find a frigging apartment in BERKELEY because they are all psycho-eco-friendly and want you to swear you'll never use shampoo that might have murdered a rodent).

Anyway, I'll keep you updated. Probably grumpily.

New Obsession

Well, it's not really new; it just has a new form.

Those acquainted with me for longer lengths of time will remember my obsession with all things Robin Hood. Oh, admittedly it was at its height when I was about nine, back when I owned my own quiver full of arrows and unstrung longbow, back when I took archery classes, back when I'd read everything the public library had on the subject, back when he was only my second-ever book crush.

But I never entirely got over it; when I did my "Book Tour" of England with Elfcat, we stopped at Sherwood Forest (which IS a real place, just like Ithaca is a real place, which I've known since I was a little kid and which may explain a lot about my persistent inability to entirely separate truth and fiction). I've calmed down some, but I still have my favorite variations of the legend, and my own opinions, and I still sort of am drawn to any new ones I haven't run across yet.

Which is why I was so thrilled when I found out the BBC made a television series of Robin Hood, called, wait for it, Robin Hood. I found this out last spring, read some very good reviews of it, wanted it, and was traveling and forgot about it. But now! Now I have remembered, I put it on Netflix (God bless Netflix!) and I am on episode five.

And it's... kind of hilarious. It's absolutely impossible to take it seriously, at any rate. Netflix describes it as having a "modern sensibility" which I think translates to "a total and complete lack of subtlety and a willingness to disregard the rules of historical accuracy whenever they become inconvenient." The Sheriff of Nottingham -- who is this delightfully fey, scenery chomping type and whom I adore -- talks about "winning hearts and minds" away from Robin Hood. A delightfully non-anorexic Maid Marian tells our friend Guy of Gisbourne, who is all broody and square-jawed, that it's barbaric to suspend rights at home simply because there is a war going on in the Holy Land. She also seems to attend the meeting of nobles (where Sir Guy and the Sheriff browbeat the other men into helping with their evil plots) regularly, although in a nod to the complete improbability of this, she is not allowed to sit down and must strike her verbal blows for justice standing behind her father's chair.

And yet... I am loving it. I used to be so picky about my Robin Hood that I couldn't even stomach Men In Tights as a child, and was known to reject whole novels based on Robin not meeting Little John in the proper context. But I seem to have mellowed, because this show is cracking me up and keeping me completely entertained. It makes no logical sense at all (Robin seems to waste arrows as often as breathing, for example) and yet I cannot look away. He and his men are like the Cute and Stupid Brigade. They are always in the throes of cute schemes which they execute stupidly, or stupid schemes which they execute cutely, and the overall effect is adorable, like a child smashing toy trains together. It helps, I guess, that Robin is played by the toothsome Jonas Armstrong, but that's not all of it.

It's one of the TV shows I don't really want to share with my family. Which is odd for me, because normally my sister and I trade TV shows like -- I don't know, what do kids trade nowadays? Pokemon cards? When I was little, it was Pogs, but I think that's only good for telling you exactly how old I am -- anyway, we normally trade all the time, and spend all our time recommending them back and forth, and she's less discriminating than I am. (Short Stuff made it all the way through Angel, for example.) But in this case, it's kind of just dorky and mine. And I am having so much fun with it.

Double Dose of Drama Day

As in, started out helping with a SMAT at CalShakes, am finishing by working on the lobby display for Iphigenia. The information is mostly complete; just a question of setup and display and stuff. And watching a rehearsal.

I didn't see all of Lear, (didn't want to ruin it for myself; I'm going later) but from what I saw, it was great. The design, at least, was wonderful. Much (but not nearly all) of the power is lost when you wander in and out for five minutes at a time, but some stuff is incredible no matter what. coughGloucester'seyescough. I could neither watch nor look away, which is the best kind of theater.

Tiring, but fulfilling. Also finished A Grave Talent, which by my own rules means I am allowed to start O Jerusalem, unless I decide to stick with Kate Martinelli through another book.

Iphigenia rehearsals are fun, although it's always hard to turn off my director-thinking and be in research mode. (Does "research mode" make anyone else think of Daughter of Time? I am so a woolly lamb.) Anyway, I do hope ADing later this winter works out. I am excited but trying hard not to jinx it. Meantime I let my director thinking run loose whenever I can't sleep. I come up with elaborate play-thoughts, such as the proper temporal setting for Two Gentlemen of Verona and Lord Peter Wimsey's floor pattern in Busman's Honeymoon.

Not Really Worth the Delay

I finally finished Smiley's A Thousand Acres last night, and like the Pagels book I finished two nights ago, it... wasn't really worth it. King Lear just does not work as a novel. It... writhes against the novel form. It doesn't mesh, it loses all its power and none of its depression. So that was disappointing.

I am, however, cutting down on my list of "books I'm in the middle of," which is nice. If I can get it down to five (only four more to go) I will be GOLDEN. I don't think I'll ever get it down to fewer than three (one always should have a fiction, a non-fiction, and a trash) but between three and five seems a laudable goal.

Speaking of books, I was talking to my boss last night about various and sundry book crushes I've had over the course of my life, starting with Odysseus when I was about eight, all the way up through Lord Peter Wimsey, last month. I'm going to do a short piece of writing on the subject sometime in the next week or two, once I get my thoughts more organized. I'll post it here when I finish. It should help distract me from my three-month performance review, which will be on Friday. Gulp.

Now, Remember, Fighting Doesn't Solve Anything

I know that a ton of posts recently have been me linking to various and sundry articles in real news media. But hey, other people's lives are more interesting than mine; I am trying to keep up on Events In the World; and I try to only link to the interesting and/or funny stuff. Plus, you can always refrain from clicking the link if you don't feel like it.

But if you do feel like it, check out Slog's response to Ken Burns's new book/TV series/whatever. I think they're absolutely correct. Admittedly, I've never been all that impressed with Mr. Burns; we went to the same high school (though not at the same time), so I got to hear all about him, and I never really agreed with his attitudes about America and our accomplishments and whatnot. We're selling his book at The Store, but I haven't looked through it. And reading the quotation at the beginning of the article -- from the Metro Times, not Burns himself, so that's something -- , I shook my head in frustration. I knew I disagreed, but where to start? And then Slog took care of it for me.

(I could go on and on here about how depressing it is to live in a society where war is basically a necessity for government stability, but it would be dull and obvious and y'all have heard it before.)

Update: Apparently we mighty have misjudged Mr. Burns. Those who have reason to know (therefore, not me) have told me that the doc comes across as really anti-war, and presents a very bleak view of WWII. Which... that's really good. Because good views of war are depressing. Not that I want to go on record as saying we shouldn't have fought the German/Japanese/Italian invasion -- especially after my residence in Europe. But I wouldn't go so far as to say WWII was inevitable.

I still think Slog has a valid point in saying that WWII still has a much different stigma from the Iraq war, and a lot of people do see it as our finest hour, the uncomplicated war, etc. But if Burns's documentary is helping to change that, it gets all my support.

Quick Hit

I don't have much to say today -- it's my first real day off pajama style in awhile, which means what I mostly do is lay around reading and futzing with my computer. (I finished two books last night and only started one new one today, so that seems to be progress of a sort. I've also started really going back to some of the older ones, to finish once and for all.) But I finished answering all my emails and the next logical step is to update my blog.

Whiiiiich means it's probably a good day to link to this piece in the Guardian about Quakers, and what they believe. There are a lot of spiritual things I'm still figuring out, but Quakerism is about the closest I identify to an actual religion, and it's nice to see it get some positive press.

iPod, iPod, fixy fixy!

Yaaaaay! Thanks to my good friend Computer Rock Star, my iPod works again! It's gotten a bit of a makeover, which I also like.

Yay! Tunes!

BWAH!

God, you know how sometimes you're arguing with someone about some sort of philosophical issue, and one or the other of you takes it to its (il)logical extreme, just to demonstrate? Sort of a "Which is absurd, therefore QED," kind of argument, except that it doesn't actually work unless you're doing math?

Well, the Republicans seem to have gotten that confused with actual good strategy. No, seriously! Look! I mean, my God. Hillary vs. Gingritch? That would be like... like... like a mud-wrestling match, and just as fun to watch. If the stakes weren't so high (I mean, good God, what if he won?) I would completely agree with the article and want him to run for the sheer entertainment value. Especially against Hillary. Then we'd really see how far American politics have progressed into a mud-slinging match, and maybe the country would wise up a little. Not that I'm holding my breath.

Taking Charge of my Reading

No, you guys, for serious real, I am going to do that. I am going to make a rule that I have to finish a book before I get to start a new one. In fact that I have to finish two in order to start a new one. Yes. This is my plan. Because I don't know if you've noticed, but the "Right Now Reading" list over to the right there just keeps getting longer. And some stuff has been on it for like, six months. So the goal is to cut down, by finishing books rather than abandoning them.

I sold off my parents' books yesterday (God, do I love my job) and bought a new stack for something like 20% of what they're worth (no, seriously, I LOVE my JOB). But if I start those all haphazardly and crazy, I will never finish a book ever again, possibly for the rest of my life. So, no, I am going to be disciplined. Finish two non-fiction books before I start the next non-fiction. Finish two decent novels before I start the next decent novel. I'm generally in the middle of only one trashy detective story at a time, but I have to be careful of those too, or I am going to run out of all the good authors. And then where will I be? Reading sub-standard trashy novels, that's where!

Oh, right. In case you wanted something a little more interesting than my reading habits, this was on Slog the other day and it cracked me up something wicked.

Barrel Of Cute

Contrary to my expectations, Stardust really was as good as everyone was saying it was. Claire Danes is good, the little puppy they got to play her boyfriend was good, Robert de Niro is one of my personal heroes, and it was as funny and cute and touching as could be. Definitely kind of a dorm room movie; maybe some up and coming young generation of college students will worship it like my college friends and I worship The Princess Bride.

It is really a lot like Princess Bride, and there were some homages in there that just had to have been intended. The reviewers were all comparing it to that, and it has sort of the feel of Princess Bride's younger, higher-budget, slightly more shallow, but nevertheless cute sister. And if I had been seeing it with Jay, or Silent Bob, or Mr. Irish, or Little Joan and the Sweet D boys, it would have been a double feature and we would have screamed and giggled and filled in lines.

(As it was, I almost couldn't resist when Yvaine asks rhetorically "Let's see, murdered by pirates, having my heart cut out and eaten, or meeting Victoria. Which one sounds like more fun?" The correct answer is, of course, "Murdered by pirates is good!" but I didn't want to sound like a nutcase to the ever-sweet Ozma, with whom I went. But I did mention to her how much I would LOVE to see de Niro's Captain Shakespeare team up with Wallace Shawn's Vizzini. That would be SO COOL.)

Vague Tension and Dissatisfaction

(I will try to get through this post with no cute little onomatopoeia-words used to designate sighs, grumblings, or other annoying noises. This is a departure for me, I know, but a necessary one.)

It's one of those days -- well, one of those clumps of several days -- where I am tense for no reason. Everything in my life individually, is going well. Not fighting with anyone; work going well, having fun; math tutoring hovering between normal and good; dramaturging going well; etc. In the middle of some very satisfying mystery stories, and some very interesting non-fiction. Keeping up with friends, more or less.

And still, somehow, I am tense. But, but, but, I say to myself. Part of it, I think, stems from the fact that I am trying to make friends with my coworkers, so all my shyness and self-retiring-ness is kicking and screaming and crying. Other than that, though... I don't know. I mean, I just have to push on and quit bitching and moaning; it just sometimes feels nice to acknowledge it when I'm all flippy-dippy, instead of trying to pretend I'm not.

I'll sort it out in a day or two, I suppose.

As a quick note -- it's amazing what a difference eleven years makes, especially when ten of them were spent in formal education. I picked up The Hound of the Baskervilles again, which I haven't touched since I was eleven or twelve, and found that it really wasn't nearly as difficult to read as I remembered it being. In fact, Conan Doyle actually has a really straightforward and simple writing style, although I still think he does better work with his short stories than with his novels. Huh. Whodathunk?

I am So a Detective

Whee! For possibly the first time ever, I predicted who the murderer was a good hundred pages before the end of the book. Even better was that it followed this conversation with my mom:

Me: I have Dorothy Sayers all figured out.

My Mom: Oh really?

Me: Yeah. It's always the person that you've eliminated but didn't want to eliminate.

My Mom: So who did it in Busman's Honeymoon?

Me: Not sure yet; not enough clues. But I won't be surprised by the ending.

My Mom: You don't know a thing. You always have to meet the criminal during the course of the story, otherwise it's not fair. You don't know who did it.

Me: Fine.

That was about nine. I retired to my room, picked up the book, and within fifty pages was like, by my own rule, it has to be this guy. And I stuck to it for the last hundred or whatever pages of the book, and lo and behold, one-thirty in the morning and I am TOTALLY proven right, it WAS him. I didn't realize how he'd done it, but I absolutely knew who it was.

I confronted my mom with this knowledge as she left for work at eight and then retired back to bed until noon. Heh. It was pretty awesome. Staying up until all hours finishing books makes me feel like a little kid again. I haven't been able to do it much since around high school, when the crazy homework load took over. But it is wicked fun.

I would be a totally brilliant detective as soon as I figured out who my author was.

I'm Sure There's a Pun Here, But I Can't Think of It

A pun about how badly I want to direct Busman's Honeymoon, that is.

I'm loving the book -- it may make it onto my list of my favorite books ever; there is so much to have fun with, and Peter and Harriet are completely adorable -- but, with that said, it is also one of the most frustrating books ever. Because you can TELL it was based on a play, it's really obvious, and it's making me think play thoughts. Like how much I want to try to set up Peter's and Harriet's relationship as a counterpoint to the murder investigation (a parallel would be too obvious, but a counterpoint would be interesting) and their movements and floor patterns, and how you would set up the stage, and how you could dangle red herrings, and where you would have entrances and exits, and what parts are funny versus what parts are morbid, and, and...

I miss directing and I miss ADing. It's like an itch I can't scratch, and it's driving me so nuts. Sometimes I wonder about it; like it almost seems presumptuous of me to miss it, since I'm not a real director. But I can't help it, and I can't stop myself. I may ask the Divine Dictator if she knows of any teens around who want to work a scene for fun, just to keep me in practice. Maybe it will help once I start regularly going to Iphigenia rehearsals, but so far dramaturging is not really enough.

"Though she's as like this as a crab is to an apple..."

She meaning me, who is crabby today. I think I'm getting my sister's cold. I don't have any symptoms really, beyond fatigue and a strong desire to spend the day in bed with a mystery novel. I often have these symptoms, especially when I am short on sleep, but it is easier to blame my sister's cold than the fact that I was out babysitting till midnight last night.

Also, I kind of can't believe I live here. Everyone knows I'm a liberal, but really it's my academic mindedness that objects to people judging things they admit to not actually knowing anything about.