Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Gym climbing
Climbed in the gym with Shawn last Sunday. We've got a 5.11 lead route that we've been working on. It's so rewarding to work on projects in the gym because the improvements are so easy to see. This route begins with about 15-20 feet of technical, balancy climbing, and then a dynamic move off of two, smallish crimpy handholds to a bucket. At this point the wall begins to overhang and the sequence to the next clip is challenging. Actually the next three clips are challenging, but I learned that I could indeed do them. Physically and mentally, I learned.
The grand rounds
Ross got an assignment. A secret assignment. He got to write an article for Motorcycle Classics, and because of time and weather pressures he ended up riding the Grand Rounds in the Twin Cities on his Honda CB400f. I followed in the car and took pictures. It's something that I've dreamed of doing on bicycles, but it was actually really great via motorized vehicle. We went through some parts of the cities that I've never been to, which was really a treat. Any one of these cities is certainly big enough that I haven't seen all of it.
Things grow
I don't know why I even posted this picture, cos that was two weeks ago and things are getting huge and green now! We've got tulips with a hint of red beginning to show. Tulips make me so happy. Spring air makes me so happy. I revel in the glossiness and vigor of tulips. I love their gaudy show of color. I delight in their display.A spontaneous haiku.
Tulips are flashy
Some red, some yellow, some pink.
They're askin' for it.
Climate blogging
http://tamino.wordpress.com/
A cool blog I stumbled across today.
Admittedly, I tend to look at the pro-global warming blogs and sites rather than the (in my opinion) wacky nutjob "global warming isn't happening" sites, but the blogs I've looked at seem to belong to intelligent, thoughtful people who really care about science and believe in what they're doing.
A cool blog I stumbled across today.
Admittedly, I tend to look at the pro-global warming blogs and sites rather than the (in my opinion) wacky nutjob "global warming isn't happening" sites, but the blogs I've looked at seem to belong to intelligent, thoughtful people who really care about science and believe in what they're doing.
Motorcycle
I bought Randy's Ducati Monster a couple of months ago. I should post a picture, but I haven't taken one yet. Why, you may ask, do I own three motorcycles when I can only ride one of them at a time? I don't know. Why does Ross own... four cars? And probably ten motorcycles?
But I digress. I've always loved the way the Monster looks; I don't remember who designed it off the top of my head, but I know it was designed by some hotshot Italian designer and it looks it. It's muscular and timeless, a work of art in steel and aluminum, and very masculine. It's also very real-world; it does not force the rider into a contorted, feet-up, hands-down position like a racer-boy. It has a relatively low seat. A civilized ride. Randy bought this one last summer (flat black paint, 750cc) and rode it all year. Ross kept joking with him that it would someday be mine.
But I yielded to temptation and whim early last summer and bought a '99 Honda VFR 800. Ross had found it on Craig's list. He and Everett and I were looking at the listing and admiring it. Ross said, "I should buy this." Everett said, "No, I should buy it." I said, "I should buy it." Ross said, "Yes, you should."
Dear reader, I did buy it. It was a great deal, and I had been wondering if a full-fairing bike would increase my highway confidence. It did, although I still had a world of confidence-building to do. The VFR felt great, stable, and powerful while cruising down highway 100. It felt great, stable and powerful while riding to work.
Then came the day when Ross and I decided to ride up to Viper Motorsports (where Everett works) for their grand opening. It's an hour's drive north of the cities, all on the interstate. And so I discovered that riding for an hour at 70 mph, surrounded by traffic, is absolutely terrifying to me, at least in my relatively neophyte-motorcycle rider status. It's not that I was unable to make all the decisions and actions required of me. It's more the fear of the unknown, the fear of the speed and the lack of confidence in my responses. I never lost control, but I was terrified of what would happen if I did. And the thing is, if I had years of riding under my belt I would have that much more belief in my control and ability. I don't have that yet, and I want to acquire it in a less terrifying mode, in smaller doses.
On top of that scariness, once we got to Viper Everett helped me change the tires on the VFR (I had just bought new ones to replace the worn out ones it came with) so I had to ride home with new, still slippery tires and in the rain, no less! But the ride home was actually far easier. That amount of riding had given me a modicum of comfort-level.
One more VFR part of the story; I rode it to work last fall one day. I left home and pulled up to the stopsign and decided to practice coming to a complete stop rather than a rolling stop. First stopsign, right turn. Second stopsign. Right turn, but there was a manhole cover I decided to avoid by turning more sharply. I gave it gas and let out the clutch, and... I killed the motor. Not enough gas. It lurched forward, already turning, and started tipping. It was too far, I couldn't hold it... it went down, right on the corner, taking me with it. I was fine.
With help I got it up, rode to work, rode home. The only damage was a broken mirror stalk and a few scratches.
So when Ross told me Randy wanted to sell his Monster and would give me a good deal, I jumped. I could sell the VFR in the spring and enjoy the Monster. Those VFR experiences had made me doubt whether it was the bike for me. But the Monster now, there was a handsome bike of manageable proportions, with a tourquey two-cylinder engine, great for cruising around town.
Last week I got the Monster out for a first ride. It needed some fresh gas so I thought I'd just ride to the gas station and back, and then maybe go further. I started it, though the engine showed an alarming tendency to not want to idle, either running too high with the choke, or just dieing with the choke off. I kicked it into gear and rolled down the driveway, feeling very cautious. Through the stopsign and down the street, into second gear and suddenly I felt like I was moving very fast and it wanted to MOVE! I made the right turn, and then the left, and rolled into the gas station with extreme care. After putting a couple of gallons in I slipped the clutch like mad to circle the pumps and head back home. Riding it was terrifying, like holding a massive bull with a piece of yarn. I worked the clutch, fearing that if I let it out too fast the thing would leap away with me and careen across the street.
I got home and started up the driveway, and the thing killed. So there I stood, feet on the ground, one hand on the clutch, one on the brake. I knew I couldn't push it up the driveway; I'd have to start it again and simultaneously let out the clutch, the brake, and give it gas. No way. I let it roll back down to the bottom, started up and cruised up to the garage. Then I got off, went in the house, took off my gear, and cried on Toad's shoulder.
In my defense I was having an emotionally bad day. Work was getting me down. I should have ridden a smaller, friendlier bike for my first ride of the season. But, heck, this was supposed to be my dream bike, and it scared the crap out of me! Ross told me once that he could see the appeal of climbing, but the process of working through the negative fear was too much of a burden for him to make climbing worthwhile. Sometimes I feel that way about motorcycling.
But there are other days. Better days.
But I digress. I've always loved the way the Monster looks; I don't remember who designed it off the top of my head, but I know it was designed by some hotshot Italian designer and it looks it. It's muscular and timeless, a work of art in steel and aluminum, and very masculine. It's also very real-world; it does not force the rider into a contorted, feet-up, hands-down position like a racer-boy. It has a relatively low seat. A civilized ride. Randy bought this one last summer (flat black paint, 750cc) and rode it all year. Ross kept joking with him that it would someday be mine.
But I yielded to temptation and whim early last summer and bought a '99 Honda VFR 800. Ross had found it on Craig's list. He and Everett and I were looking at the listing and admiring it. Ross said, "I should buy this." Everett said, "No, I should buy it." I said, "I should buy it." Ross said, "Yes, you should."
Dear reader, I did buy it. It was a great deal, and I had been wondering if a full-fairing bike would increase my highway confidence. It did, although I still had a world of confidence-building to do. The VFR felt great, stable, and powerful while cruising down highway 100. It felt great, stable and powerful while riding to work.
Then came the day when Ross and I decided to ride up to Viper Motorsports (where Everett works) for their grand opening. It's an hour's drive north of the cities, all on the interstate. And so I discovered that riding for an hour at 70 mph, surrounded by traffic, is absolutely terrifying to me, at least in my relatively neophyte-motorcycle rider status. It's not that I was unable to make all the decisions and actions required of me. It's more the fear of the unknown, the fear of the speed and the lack of confidence in my responses. I never lost control, but I was terrified of what would happen if I did. And the thing is, if I had years of riding under my belt I would have that much more belief in my control and ability. I don't have that yet, and I want to acquire it in a less terrifying mode, in smaller doses.
On top of that scariness, once we got to Viper Everett helped me change the tires on the VFR (I had just bought new ones to replace the worn out ones it came with) so I had to ride home with new, still slippery tires and in the rain, no less! But the ride home was actually far easier. That amount of riding had given me a modicum of comfort-level.
One more VFR part of the story; I rode it to work last fall one day. I left home and pulled up to the stopsign and decided to practice coming to a complete stop rather than a rolling stop. First stopsign, right turn. Second stopsign. Right turn, but there was a manhole cover I decided to avoid by turning more sharply. I gave it gas and let out the clutch, and... I killed the motor. Not enough gas. It lurched forward, already turning, and started tipping. It was too far, I couldn't hold it... it went down, right on the corner, taking me with it. I was fine.
With help I got it up, rode to work, rode home. The only damage was a broken mirror stalk and a few scratches.
So when Ross told me Randy wanted to sell his Monster and would give me a good deal, I jumped. I could sell the VFR in the spring and enjoy the Monster. Those VFR experiences had made me doubt whether it was the bike for me. But the Monster now, there was a handsome bike of manageable proportions, with a tourquey two-cylinder engine, great for cruising around town.
Last week I got the Monster out for a first ride. It needed some fresh gas so I thought I'd just ride to the gas station and back, and then maybe go further. I started it, though the engine showed an alarming tendency to not want to idle, either running too high with the choke, or just dieing with the choke off. I kicked it into gear and rolled down the driveway, feeling very cautious. Through the stopsign and down the street, into second gear and suddenly I felt like I was moving very fast and it wanted to MOVE! I made the right turn, and then the left, and rolled into the gas station with extreme care. After putting a couple of gallons in I slipped the clutch like mad to circle the pumps and head back home. Riding it was terrifying, like holding a massive bull with a piece of yarn. I worked the clutch, fearing that if I let it out too fast the thing would leap away with me and careen across the street.
I got home and started up the driveway, and the thing killed. So there I stood, feet on the ground, one hand on the clutch, one on the brake. I knew I couldn't push it up the driveway; I'd have to start it again and simultaneously let out the clutch, the brake, and give it gas. No way. I let it roll back down to the bottom, started up and cruised up to the garage. Then I got off, went in the house, took off my gear, and cried on Toad's shoulder.
In my defense I was having an emotionally bad day. Work was getting me down. I should have ridden a smaller, friendlier bike for my first ride of the season. But, heck, this was supposed to be my dream bike, and it scared the crap out of me! Ross told me once that he could see the appeal of climbing, but the process of working through the negative fear was too much of a burden for him to make climbing worthwhile. Sometimes I feel that way about motorcycling.
But there are other days. Better days.
Monday, April 16, 2007
finding blog time
I wish I could blog at work, but I don't think that would be appropriate.
I want to blog more.
I want to form a book club.
I want to read, and read, and read.
I want to rediscover the voracious need to create art.
I want to climb.
I want to ride a motorcycle and not be scared.
I want to go on vacation.
I want to win the lottery so I can do all those other things.
I want to blog more.
I want to form a book club.
I want to read, and read, and read.
I want to rediscover the voracious need to create art.
I want to climb.
I want to ride a motorcycle and not be scared.
I want to go on vacation.
I want to win the lottery so I can do all those other things.
An intriguing morning
This was actually a morning last week. On mpr Kerri Miller talked to E.L. Doctorow and then to Anne LaMott. What a pleasure to listen to such profoundly articulate individuals. That just reminded me of how startlingly inarticulate many actors seem when speaking extemporaneously (Tom Cruise, for example). I suppose it has to do with the professionalism of the writer's ability to bring forth thoughts in a rational manner.
When I was in high school my English teacher (Mr. Tom Reiter) recommended "Ragtime" to me. I was utterly, head over heels in love with "Wuthering Heights" and he was trying to point me in some new directions. I wasn't ready for Doctorow, however. I don't even remember why because I really didn't get far with the book. Now after hearing him speak he is freshly added to my mental list of writers I really want to read - along with John Updike, John Irving, Donna Tartt and Barbara Kingsolver, among others.
And then came Anne LaMott, who, in her frankness, her unapologetic selfness, and her genuine ownership of her faith, makes me feel a little braver, a little more willing to own my own truths without needing to excuse or hide them. It made me think about the fact that I've got an ongoing struggle with my sense of selfworth which goes WAY back. Certainly back to middle school days - I have distinct memories of not trusting people to like me. Note: there is a substantial difference between not trusting others to like you, and not liking your self. I've always liked what I am. But that not trusting others to like me... really hits the nail on the head and has shaped a lot of behaviors for me over the years.
But I digress. It was a wonderful, literary morning. It made me excited about reading, and excited about thinking.
When I was in high school my English teacher (Mr. Tom Reiter) recommended "Ragtime" to me. I was utterly, head over heels in love with "Wuthering Heights" and he was trying to point me in some new directions. I wasn't ready for Doctorow, however. I don't even remember why because I really didn't get far with the book. Now after hearing him speak he is freshly added to my mental list of writers I really want to read - along with John Updike, John Irving, Donna Tartt and Barbara Kingsolver, among others.
And then came Anne LaMott, who, in her frankness, her unapologetic selfness, and her genuine ownership of her faith, makes me feel a little braver, a little more willing to own my own truths without needing to excuse or hide them. It made me think about the fact that I've got an ongoing struggle with my sense of selfworth which goes WAY back. Certainly back to middle school days - I have distinct memories of not trusting people to like me. Note: there is a substantial difference between not trusting others to like you, and not liking your self. I've always liked what I am. But that not trusting others to like me... really hits the nail on the head and has shaped a lot of behaviors for me over the years.
But I digress. It was a wonderful, literary morning. It made me excited about reading, and excited about thinking.
argh!
I keep intending to blog! Every weekend! And then time passes and I do other things and the blog gets neglected.
Two weekends ago I went to the climbing gym with my cousin Sara, her husband Chris, and their kids Henrik and Gunnar. Everyone loved it. It was crowded, the Friday before Easter, but we got on a perfect, easy route and the kids built up their confidence.
I went back to the climbing gym the next night with Shawn, and we kicked it on some hard lead routes.
This weekend I went to the gym with Katie and we spent almost the whole time in the lead pit. It was great, because she had been getting into leading but then hurt her finger at the competition and has been easing back into it, and I loved encouraging her to push her limits but stay comfortable and in control. The mental game is such a big part of climbing. That is certainly part of why I love it so. It is a physical activity that really forces you to push your limits - not just the physical but the mental.
Two weekends ago I went to the climbing gym with my cousin Sara, her husband Chris, and their kids Henrik and Gunnar. Everyone loved it. It was crowded, the Friday before Easter, but we got on a perfect, easy route and the kids built up their confidence.
I went back to the climbing gym the next night with Shawn, and we kicked it on some hard lead routes.
This weekend I went to the gym with Katie and we spent almost the whole time in the lead pit. It was great, because she had been getting into leading but then hurt her finger at the competition and has been easing back into it, and I loved encouraging her to push her limits but stay comfortable and in control. The mental game is such a big part of climbing. That is certainly part of why I love it so. It is a physical activity that really forces you to push your limits - not just the physical but the mental.
Monday, April 02, 2007
A sad and soggy weekend
Still sad and confused and dazed about the loss of my coworkers. It rained all weekend and we never went running. I did go climbing at the gym with Katie on Saturday. Climbing with Katie makes me happy. She is just so enthusiastic and we enjoy each other's company while climbing. I feel like I can be a little bit "mentor-y" with her because I've got my years of climbing experience to share, and yet we climb as equals. I've been climbing a bit harder than her, in part because of my years of climbing experience, and in part because she tweaked a finger tendon and is still recovering, but I dig the experience of climbing with another woman.
Still love climbing with Shawn, too, though. There is something distinctly different about it. Shawn is stronger than I am, but I'm close to his level. Perhaps in the same way that Katie is close to my level. Shawn pushes very hard; when I climb with him I end up climbing harder things that are closer to my limit and there certainly is a satisfaction in that. Sometimes I'm not in the right mental space, and then the pushing of the limits can feel intimidating.
Went to St. Cloud to visit Ross' mom on Sunday. I helped her hang some pictures while Ross went to a motorcycle swap meet; then we had lunch, watched a cool show she had taped. Went out to the farm where she keeps her horse and walked the dogs in the woods. It's fun to watch Toad react to the horses.
Still love climbing with Shawn, too, though. There is something distinctly different about it. Shawn is stronger than I am, but I'm close to his level. Perhaps in the same way that Katie is close to my level. Shawn pushes very hard; when I climb with him I end up climbing harder things that are closer to my limit and there certainly is a satisfaction in that. Sometimes I'm not in the right mental space, and then the pushing of the limits can feel intimidating.
Went to St. Cloud to visit Ross' mom on Sunday. I helped her hang some pictures while Ross went to a motorcycle swap meet; then we had lunch, watched a cool show she had taped. Went out to the farm where she keeps her horse and walked the dogs in the woods. It's fun to watch Toad react to the horses.
It's been too long
Been too long since my last post. I intended to post on the previous weekend, and then again this last weekend. Keep doing things that prevent me from posting.
Previous weekend; went climbing with Shawn and Mike to the cliff that Shawn and I were developing down by Rochester. I believe we're calling it Coyote Cliff. It's just outside the tiny hamlet of Hammond, MN, a mere 10 minutes drive from Rochester. The guy who owns the climbing gym in Rochester happened upon this cliff last summer and told Shawn about it. Shawn's been kinda keen on doing new routes, so he dragged me down there. The first time we were there we were really ambivalent about even trying to climb it. There was a lot of brush growing on parts of the cliff, and it all looked dirty and dusty (it's right next to a gravel road). But we bushwacked to the top, set some anchors and rappelled, "cleaning" our routes as we lowered from the top - which involves prying anything loose off of the wall. After a good cleaning we climbed our routes, then did some secondary cleaning, and then eventually bolted a few of them. The purpose of bolting a route is to allow lead climbing. I'm too weary right now to describe the distinction between lead climbing and toproping, but suffice it to say that there are now six bolted routes at Coyote Cliff, as well as about six more that are not bolted.
Anyway, we went there. First outdoor climbing of the year. Mike is a great guy, but I was disappointed that his wife Elizabeth had not come along. They're both really cool people, very intelligent, personable, good climbers, good company. Mike can be VERY funny. He is a fount of movie quotes. We started joking about the dampness of the rock, and whether it was clammy or "oystery". Shawn's best route (and perhaps the best route of the cliff) is called Latrans (the scientific name for Coyote) and involves some delicate, crimpy climbing up a sandy face, then long, powerful moves between positive holds, then a big reach to a alcove/ledge, a slap to a rounded top, and finally a lovely, crimpy sequence to get established in the alcove, and then a desperate lunge to an intermediate and then a good pocket. Then two more pockets to the top. I've never made it past the desperate lunge part. And the crimpy sequence was too wet to climb.
Previous weekend; went climbing with Shawn and Mike to the cliff that Shawn and I were developing down by Rochester. I believe we're calling it Coyote Cliff. It's just outside the tiny hamlet of Hammond, MN, a mere 10 minutes drive from Rochester. The guy who owns the climbing gym in Rochester happened upon this cliff last summer and told Shawn about it. Shawn's been kinda keen on doing new routes, so he dragged me down there. The first time we were there we were really ambivalent about even trying to climb it. There was a lot of brush growing on parts of the cliff, and it all looked dirty and dusty (it's right next to a gravel road). But we bushwacked to the top, set some anchors and rappelled, "cleaning" our routes as we lowered from the top - which involves prying anything loose off of the wall. After a good cleaning we climbed our routes, then did some secondary cleaning, and then eventually bolted a few of them. The purpose of bolting a route is to allow lead climbing. I'm too weary right now to describe the distinction between lead climbing and toproping, but suffice it to say that there are now six bolted routes at Coyote Cliff, as well as about six more that are not bolted.
Anyway, we went there. First outdoor climbing of the year. Mike is a great guy, but I was disappointed that his wife Elizabeth had not come along. They're both really cool people, very intelligent, personable, good climbers, good company. Mike can be VERY funny. He is a fount of movie quotes. We started joking about the dampness of the rock, and whether it was clammy or "oystery". Shawn's best route (and perhaps the best route of the cliff) is called Latrans (the scientific name for Coyote) and involves some delicate, crimpy climbing up a sandy face, then long, powerful moves between positive holds, then a big reach to a alcove/ledge, a slap to a rounded top, and finally a lovely, crimpy sequence to get established in the alcove, and then a desperate lunge to an intermediate and then a good pocket. Then two more pockets to the top. I've never made it past the desperate lunge part. And the crimpy sequence was too wet to climb.
Friday, March 23, 2007
I'm hip
I have joined the ipod nation! I'm hooked in! I'm with it! I have music at my beck and call! I can podcast with the best of them! I can destroy my hearing in an instant! But I'm not as cool as those dudes in the TV commercials who are listening to songs on their cell phones. Man, those dudes are the coolest.
My ipod is named Little Cupcake, and it's white, and I bought songs from itunes and put 'em on it. Then I played solitaire until I won. Now, unless I get some better games (or I happen to be really bored) I don't have to play the stupid games anymore. Although I must say that solitaire is good practice in using the thumb ring controller... or whatever you call it.
Happenings
Ross got a new car! A new old car, that is. I should post a picture, but I don't have one... no wait, his digital camera is sitting right here and it DOES have a pic of the car on it. Wow, I love modern technology. So here it is - a 1967 MGB GT. And this picture just happens to have the Jaguar behind it, and the '63 Ford Econoline behind the Jaguar. Ross' menagerie.
Why, you may ask, did Ross buy a '67 MGB? Well, because some guy has wanted to buy his '97 GTI for over a year now, and when that guy asked Ross recently if he wanted to sell yet Ross decided that he did indeed want to. The GTI was in fairly good shape but had some problems that Ross just didn't want to deal with and it seemed an opportune time.
We made beer. Should have taken pictures of that. It is now sitting in the fermenter, fermenting. We will bottle it next Wednesday. Exciting. We have an ambition to make labels for this batch of beer; we will be known as Bouvier Breweries, and this batch will be called Rust Bucket Bitters.
There are upheavals and changes at my workplace. The times have been a-changin' for a while... CEO out, new management group in, and some of the big changes are starting to be enacted. I am now the sole sculptor. As of today my co-workers Diane and Betsy were out. It was a terrible, weird, unpleasant day. We were all freaked out and sad and upset about this. The new management has decided that the majority of the sculpting will be done overseas, but it is advantageous to keep one sculptor in-house for last-minute changes, photo shoots, etc. I'm still in a daze, and I'm sure that Betsy and Diane are worse. I hesitate to rant about my anger and frustration. Suffice it to say that Betsy and Diane were doing excellent work, and the people who are ultimately responsible for the bad decisions that have led to the sorry state of the company have not felt any pain in this matter. In fact, they finagled gigantic golden parachutes for themselves.
Argh.
Why, you may ask, did Ross buy a '67 MGB? Well, because some guy has wanted to buy his '97 GTI for over a year now, and when that guy asked Ross recently if he wanted to sell yet Ross decided that he did indeed want to. The GTI was in fairly good shape but had some problems that Ross just didn't want to deal with and it seemed an opportune time.We made beer. Should have taken pictures of that. It is now sitting in the fermenter, fermenting. We will bottle it next Wednesday. Exciting. We have an ambition to make labels for this batch of beer; we will be known as Bouvier Breweries, and this batch will be called Rust Bucket Bitters.
There are upheavals and changes at my workplace. The times have been a-changin' for a while... CEO out, new management group in, and some of the big changes are starting to be enacted. I am now the sole sculptor. As of today my co-workers Diane and Betsy were out. It was a terrible, weird, unpleasant day. We were all freaked out and sad and upset about this. The new management has decided that the majority of the sculpting will be done overseas, but it is advantageous to keep one sculptor in-house for last-minute changes, photo shoots, etc. I'm still in a daze, and I'm sure that Betsy and Diane are worse. I hesitate to rant about my anger and frustration. Suffice it to say that Betsy and Diane were doing excellent work, and the people who are ultimately responsible for the bad decisions that have led to the sorry state of the company have not felt any pain in this matter. In fact, they finagled gigantic golden parachutes for themselves.
Argh.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Bats
Had a bat in the house again. Ross woke me; it flew into the main room. We closed doors and opened the front door; eventually it flew out. Went back to bed but not to sleep. Argh. I googled bats the next day; apparently they are nesting from April through August, so if we chase them out during that time their babies will remain behind and die. We must live with bats until August?
I found it
Today I found it. Someone wrote what I wanted to say about Daniel Craig, capturing the nuance and cultural implications that I wanted to get at, but failed to achieve in my previous postings. I have a certain writer's remorse, or embarassment, or just plain disgust with myself and my inability to nail down that certain POV. I have, at times in my life, pretended to be a writer. I have loads of writings that may or may not have any actual virtue. Maybe it is enough that they have virtue for me. That they have been, at times, so precious to me and so meaningful.
Anyway. That was all a digression about how I felt when I discovered this:
"The frame of the movie where he emerges from the sea in those clinging trunks is so scorchingly hot I feel embarrassed watching it, even when alone. It has been used as the key piece of pre-publicity on the movie, and with good reason. Good film directors recognise gold dust when they see it. This is the kind of image that even straight men can't peel their eyes from."
And now, some evidence that there are people far more obsessed than I am. Here is a link to an article on absolutelyjamesbond.com, about how to affordably reproduce all the outfits he wears in the movie.
http://www.ajb007.co.uk/articles/007/casino-royale-on-a-budget/
Actually that site has loads of fascinating stuff. For someone who is obsessed, that is. Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little obsession. Get off my back. I am not lost in a fantasy world!
I love that there ARE fantasy worlds to get lost in, is my deal. I am a geek, utterly and completely, have always been, and love being a geek. And part of that is revelling in geekly obsessions such as this.
Anyway. That was all a digression about how I felt when I discovered this:
"The frame of the movie where he emerges from the sea in those clinging trunks is so scorchingly hot I feel embarrassed watching it, even when alone. It has been used as the key piece of pre-publicity on the movie, and with good reason. Good film directors recognise gold dust when they see it. This is the kind of image that even straight men can't peel their eyes from."
And now, some evidence that there are people far more obsessed than I am. Here is a link to an article on absolutelyjamesbond.com, about how to affordably reproduce all the outfits he wears in the movie.
http://www.ajb007.co.uk/articles/007/casino-royale-on-a-budget/
Actually that site has loads of fascinating stuff. For someone who is obsessed, that is. Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little obsession. Get off my back. I am not lost in a fantasy world!
I love that there ARE fantasy worlds to get lost in, is my deal. I am a geek, utterly and completely, have always been, and love being a geek. And part of that is revelling in geekly obsessions such as this.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Bond. James Bond.
I remember seeing a couple of Bond novels on my cousin Sara's bookshelf when we were kids. I remember her reading one, but I never did. I bypassed them, along with mystery novels. I just always had plenty to read what with SF&F and classics and whatever else fell into my hands, and I never knew the lack. My older cousin Sanna was pretty into that kind of thing; I remember seeing Sherlock Holmes on her shelf, and a set of books about an investigator named Solar Pons. The name grabbed me but the books didn't; I always had my hands full with other stuff. Sara did get me into suspense just a tiny bit - she gave me "Brat Farrar" by Josephine Tey, and I loved it so much that I read most if not all of Tey's other works. On another occasion she praised "Assignment in Brittany" until I broke down and read that, too. Good stuff. A lot of good stuff.
But Casino Royale put me in the mood for more Bond, and I decided to check them out. Literally. From the library. I've chugged through "Casino Royale" the first, and to me the most pure so far, and then "Live and Let Die", "Moonraker" and "Diamonds are Forever". I'm enjoying the opportunity to rip through them all in sequence. I read some stuff online about Bond and Ian Fleming, and the differences between the movie Bond and the man in the books. I gather that he gets rather grim toward the end, with a serious drinking problem and no lasting relationships... It seems to be the logical conclusion to the life we see in the movies, although the moviemakers chose to show us the "happy" side of the killer. The books are terribly, terribly dated, but in a very amusing way and I've had fun reading the car bits to Ross. Women are always girls, black people are always Negros with a capital "N". Cars are early 19th century models. Drinking and smoking are constants. I feel like a bit of an anthropologist as I page through the books, soaking in the details of another time and wondering if it's worth my time to watch all the movies again.
But Casino Royale put me in the mood for more Bond, and I decided to check them out. Literally. From the library. I've chugged through "Casino Royale" the first, and to me the most pure so far, and then "Live and Let Die", "Moonraker" and "Diamonds are Forever". I'm enjoying the opportunity to rip through them all in sequence. I read some stuff online about Bond and Ian Fleming, and the differences between the movie Bond and the man in the books. I gather that he gets rather grim toward the end, with a serious drinking problem and no lasting relationships... It seems to be the logical conclusion to the life we see in the movies, although the moviemakers chose to show us the "happy" side of the killer. The books are terribly, terribly dated, but in a very amusing way and I've had fun reading the car bits to Ross. Women are always girls, black people are always Negros with a capital "N". Cars are early 19th century models. Drinking and smoking are constants. I feel like a bit of an anthropologist as I page through the books, soaking in the details of another time and wondering if it's worth my time to watch all the movies again.
Casino Royale out on DVD
Haven't rented it yet. I'd like to watch it with some people, and make James Bond-style martinis. So. There he is with a couple of very attractive women. I'm sure he didn't mind posing for that photo.
He looks dangerous in the publicity photos. Very James Bondian. Nice.
He looks dangerous in the publicity photos. Very James Bondian. Nice.
Daylight savings time is extremely wearisome
It wearies me. Didn't sleep well last night. Rarely sleep well. What's the deal? What's the secret? A couple of weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night out of a dream about bats to the sound of a bat flying around the room, but I still for the life of me don't know if there actually WAS a bat flying around the room. I thought I was awake. I thought I heard it, I thought a saw a dark shape flitting across the ceiling. I grabbed Ross' shoulder and whispered (as if it matters to the bat) "Ross, I think there's a bat!" Then I turned on the light, and there was nothing. But it could have flown out, it could have flown into the basement never to be seen again.
To make my fears more understandable I will now inform you that we did actually have bats in the house last summer, and in fact on each of the three? four? occasions they were in our bedroom. So I'm not crazy - my dreams are not becoming reality. And it was exceptionally warm on that night a couple of weeks ago when I thought there was a bat. Maybe it was woken up out of its hibernation. There remains the possibility that I WAS dreaming it and that it seemed real when I woke up, and that I wasn't awake when I thought I was.
There's a small door in the bedroom closet that allows access to the back of the plumbing for the bathtub. I wonder if the bats came in through there. It has fairly wide cracks around it - not a well-fitting door. I taped over the cracks with packing tape, and now I have visions of peering into the closet and finding a bat stuck to the opposite side of the tape.
I did a bunch of web surfing for bat info and I've discovered what we need to do to get 'em out of the attic. We think we know where they're coming in, and we just need to staple a piece of screen over the hole so they can squeeze out but can't get in again. So simple. Why didn't we do this last summer? Because we were each in our own way busy with other things and too lazy to make bat removal a priority.
Perhaps the packing tape in the closet is keeping them out. Perhaps.
To make my fears more understandable I will now inform you that we did actually have bats in the house last summer, and in fact on each of the three? four? occasions they were in our bedroom. So I'm not crazy - my dreams are not becoming reality. And it was exceptionally warm on that night a couple of weeks ago when I thought there was a bat. Maybe it was woken up out of its hibernation. There remains the possibility that I WAS dreaming it and that it seemed real when I woke up, and that I wasn't awake when I thought I was.
There's a small door in the bedroom closet that allows access to the back of the plumbing for the bathtub. I wonder if the bats came in through there. It has fairly wide cracks around it - not a well-fitting door. I taped over the cracks with packing tape, and now I have visions of peering into the closet and finding a bat stuck to the opposite side of the tape.
I did a bunch of web surfing for bat info and I've discovered what we need to do to get 'em out of the attic. We think we know where they're coming in, and we just need to staple a piece of screen over the hole so they can squeeze out but can't get in again. So simple. Why didn't we do this last summer? Because we were each in our own way busy with other things and too lazy to make bat removal a priority.
Perhaps the packing tape in the closet is keeping them out. Perhaps.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Best SF&F trilogies
This is a very geeky topic.
I know, I know, I know. It's very geeky, and it will reveal my dreamy, out of touch with reality side that some may think is one of my more prominent sides. But it's part of me, and a part that I feel very nostalgic and sweet and tender about. So with no further ado, here is my attempt... not to list the "best" trilogies in any objective sense, but to list the ones that I have gotten attached to over the years - I'm sure there are plenty more good trilogies out there.
The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
I cannot possibly leave this off, and I ought to include the Harper's Hall trilogy as well, as the second book in that series (Dragonsinger) was the first Anne McCaffrey book I read. To summarize - Anne did huge things with this series. She created a fully functioning world, with some fantasy trappings (dragons) that is in fact a science fiction series. As she illustrates in some of the later books, the dragons in question were a native species to Pern and were genetically altered by humans to achieve their large size and usefullness.
The Riddlemaster of Hed - Patricia McKillip
It occurs to me that I could easily make this "best SF trilogies by women", and have no shortage of candidates. This trilogy just does so many things that I find utterly admirable in SF. Patricia creates a world, a stunning, vibrant dangerous world in which the rulers of each of the kingdoms have a unique bond to their land - a sort of psychic connection with the land itself. This psychic "landbond" is passed from parent to child, or brother to sister. Each kingdom has a distinct character; she writes wonderfully of the nature of Hed, the small island nation where our protagonist, Morgon, has recently become the landruler. And she drops us into the story, into the plot, without a word of establishment but creating an instant bond with Morgon and his sister and brother... and then proceeds to run Morgon and the reader through the kingdoms and through Morgon's mind... Well, you may not appreciate this trilogy as much as I do if it's not your cup of tea, but it really is a classic of the genre.
The Fionavar Tapestry - Guy Gavriel Kay
I believe these were his first books, and admittedly they are not as polished as the works that came later and in fact start with such an incredibly overused and cliched fantasy "alternate worlds" setup that I almost didn't keep reading when I first picked them up many years ago. But there was something... something that really was unique despite every stereotype that rears its head in these works. He presents us with a alternate universe populated by warriors and kings, elves (albeit under a different name) and dwarves and orcs (again different name), and figures out of myth and legend... and then slathers on the melodrama... you might almost think I didn't like these books, although I love them and have reread them many a time! There's just something so utterly mythic and at the same time profoundly human about his characters and the times they are living in. Sweet.
The Deed of Paksenarrion - Elizabeth Moon
I should have listed this first, really, because I adore it so utterly much and worship at Elizabeth Moon's feet. Again, a work with many cliches of fantasy. It's got the elves and dwarves and orcs and such. It's got magical swords. It's got heroes and lost kings (well one, anyway). But, in Paksenarrion, it has a heroine who is far more than stereotype. Moon's military background allows her to infuse Paksenarrion's life as a mercenary soldier with excellent and gripping detail. Moon has a nice touch with dialog. The third book does unfortunately lose the immediacy of the first two - the details and care with which she set scenes and put breath in it - in the name of plot development. Big developments get set forth and wrapped up, and Paks becomes both more and less than she was. More heroic, less of a living, breathing human.
The Chronicles of Tornor - Elizabeth A. Lynn
I bought these when I was in high school, and I still remember writing to my cousin (something I did a lot in those days) about some things that disturbed me or left me unmoved. But these are books that I had to grow into, indeed books that the average reader of high fantasy is going to find strange, maybe disturbing. There are (gasp) homosexual relationships. Her writing is a study in clear, simple prose. Her imaginary world is a working world, one without dramatic creatures or magic, but one in which fascinating, complex characters move through their lives and learn new things about themselves. Each of the three books could really be seen as a story of initiation, a journey to a new self and a more full life. The books take place in the same country but many years apart, and reference characters from the previous books only in passing. Fine work, and the author wrote very little else.
I'm torn between including some of the cheesy fantasy stuff that I really love, and trying to keep a certain degree of "quality" about this. But what the heck - how many times does one get to lay one's secret indulgences out before an audience of... few?
The Arrows of the Queen - Mercedes Lackey
Almost her first published books (now she's got TONS) and definitely amateurish. But I got SO wrapped up in these when I first discovered them, and I do love them more than all her other books. They came to me at just the right time. I was a year or two out of college, figuring out what my life was about, and here came this detailed fantasy world with an imperfect, damaged heroine - shy, troubled, desperately shy, struggling with a new life, shy, etc. And despite the troubles that besiege her she is supported by deeply caring friends, has a job of great importance, AND has a psychic bond with a white horse with saphire blue eyes. Holy cats, what more could a fantasy loving woman want in a book? I know it sounds silly, and it probably IS, but omigod I loved this book.
In fact I joined the fan club, wrote fan fiction, got published in multiple fanzines (not an impressive accomplishment considering that they'll accept almost anything) and did loads of art for said fanzines. This all got me jumpstarted back into writing fiction - a hobby that had gotten waylaid during college - and got me drawing during any free moment at work. Actually did most of my fanfic at work, too; I spent a fair amount of time typing and answering phones, and generally people didn't even look to see WHAT I was typing. In my five years at the U I had people ask me only twice what I was writing just as I was in the midst of a story. Oddly enough, on both of those occasions the person was immediately distracted and didn't wait to hear my explanation. This was a time in which I also wrote to loads of penpals who I met through the Mercedes Lackey fanclub, and wrote fanfic jointly with a number of them. Some of it I'm not even too embarrassed about.
Now this is turning into a confessional about that particular time of my life, and the things that gave that time meaning. Things changed when I changed jobs; I was working at Leisure, Inc and sculpting for a living, but it was the end of the writing stories at work and doing illustrations, because my work day was completely filled with sculpting. At the same time my music activities really took off and being in a band became my primary creative expression. It was a new, great time, with new great friends, and unfortunately I shortly lost touch with all the penpals I had been writing devotedly to for years. I regret that because they were great, creative people, and they deserved better than to have me fall off the edge of the earth.
End of confessional! And end of this installment of "silly books that Kiri loves dearly"!
I know, I know, I know. It's very geeky, and it will reveal my dreamy, out of touch with reality side that some may think is one of my more prominent sides. But it's part of me, and a part that I feel very nostalgic and sweet and tender about. So with no further ado, here is my attempt... not to list the "best" trilogies in any objective sense, but to list the ones that I have gotten attached to over the years - I'm sure there are plenty more good trilogies out there.
The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
I cannot possibly leave this off, and I ought to include the Harper's Hall trilogy as well, as the second book in that series (Dragonsinger) was the first Anne McCaffrey book I read. To summarize - Anne did huge things with this series. She created a fully functioning world, with some fantasy trappings (dragons) that is in fact a science fiction series. As she illustrates in some of the later books, the dragons in question were a native species to Pern and were genetically altered by humans to achieve their large size and usefullness.
The Riddlemaster of Hed - Patricia McKillip
It occurs to me that I could easily make this "best SF trilogies by women", and have no shortage of candidates. This trilogy just does so many things that I find utterly admirable in SF. Patricia creates a world, a stunning, vibrant dangerous world in which the rulers of each of the kingdoms have a unique bond to their land - a sort of psychic connection with the land itself. This psychic "landbond" is passed from parent to child, or brother to sister. Each kingdom has a distinct character; she writes wonderfully of the nature of Hed, the small island nation where our protagonist, Morgon, has recently become the landruler. And she drops us into the story, into the plot, without a word of establishment but creating an instant bond with Morgon and his sister and brother... and then proceeds to run Morgon and the reader through the kingdoms and through Morgon's mind... Well, you may not appreciate this trilogy as much as I do if it's not your cup of tea, but it really is a classic of the genre.
The Fionavar Tapestry - Guy Gavriel Kay
I believe these were his first books, and admittedly they are not as polished as the works that came later and in fact start with such an incredibly overused and cliched fantasy "alternate worlds" setup that I almost didn't keep reading when I first picked them up many years ago. But there was something... something that really was unique despite every stereotype that rears its head in these works. He presents us with a alternate universe populated by warriors and kings, elves (albeit under a different name) and dwarves and orcs (again different name), and figures out of myth and legend... and then slathers on the melodrama... you might almost think I didn't like these books, although I love them and have reread them many a time! There's just something so utterly mythic and at the same time profoundly human about his characters and the times they are living in. Sweet.
The Deed of Paksenarrion - Elizabeth Moon
I should have listed this first, really, because I adore it so utterly much and worship at Elizabeth Moon's feet. Again, a work with many cliches of fantasy. It's got the elves and dwarves and orcs and such. It's got magical swords. It's got heroes and lost kings (well one, anyway). But, in Paksenarrion, it has a heroine who is far more than stereotype. Moon's military background allows her to infuse Paksenarrion's life as a mercenary soldier with excellent and gripping detail. Moon has a nice touch with dialog. The third book does unfortunately lose the immediacy of the first two - the details and care with which she set scenes and put breath in it - in the name of plot development. Big developments get set forth and wrapped up, and Paks becomes both more and less than she was. More heroic, less of a living, breathing human.
The Chronicles of Tornor - Elizabeth A. Lynn
I bought these when I was in high school, and I still remember writing to my cousin (something I did a lot in those days) about some things that disturbed me or left me unmoved. But these are books that I had to grow into, indeed books that the average reader of high fantasy is going to find strange, maybe disturbing. There are (gasp) homosexual relationships. Her writing is a study in clear, simple prose. Her imaginary world is a working world, one without dramatic creatures or magic, but one in which fascinating, complex characters move through their lives and learn new things about themselves. Each of the three books could really be seen as a story of initiation, a journey to a new self and a more full life. The books take place in the same country but many years apart, and reference characters from the previous books only in passing. Fine work, and the author wrote very little else.
I'm torn between including some of the cheesy fantasy stuff that I really love, and trying to keep a certain degree of "quality" about this. But what the heck - how many times does one get to lay one's secret indulgences out before an audience of... few?
The Arrows of the Queen - Mercedes Lackey
Almost her first published books (now she's got TONS) and definitely amateurish. But I got SO wrapped up in these when I first discovered them, and I do love them more than all her other books. They came to me at just the right time. I was a year or two out of college, figuring out what my life was about, and here came this detailed fantasy world with an imperfect, damaged heroine - shy, troubled, desperately shy, struggling with a new life, shy, etc. And despite the troubles that besiege her she is supported by deeply caring friends, has a job of great importance, AND has a psychic bond with a white horse with saphire blue eyes. Holy cats, what more could a fantasy loving woman want in a book? I know it sounds silly, and it probably IS, but omigod I loved this book.
In fact I joined the fan club, wrote fan fiction, got published in multiple fanzines (not an impressive accomplishment considering that they'll accept almost anything) and did loads of art for said fanzines. This all got me jumpstarted back into writing fiction - a hobby that had gotten waylaid during college - and got me drawing during any free moment at work. Actually did most of my fanfic at work, too; I spent a fair amount of time typing and answering phones, and generally people didn't even look to see WHAT I was typing. In my five years at the U I had people ask me only twice what I was writing just as I was in the midst of a story. Oddly enough, on both of those occasions the person was immediately distracted and didn't wait to hear my explanation. This was a time in which I also wrote to loads of penpals who I met through the Mercedes Lackey fanclub, and wrote fanfic jointly with a number of them. Some of it I'm not even too embarrassed about.
Now this is turning into a confessional about that particular time of my life, and the things that gave that time meaning. Things changed when I changed jobs; I was working at Leisure, Inc and sculpting for a living, but it was the end of the writing stories at work and doing illustrations, because my work day was completely filled with sculpting. At the same time my music activities really took off and being in a band became my primary creative expression. It was a new, great time, with new great friends, and unfortunately I shortly lost touch with all the penpals I had been writing devotedly to for years. I regret that because they were great, creative people, and they deserved better than to have me fall off the edge of the earth.
End of confessional! And end of this installment of "silly books that Kiri loves dearly"!
The world might come to an end
Last week I was going about my daily business one morning when I heard two stories in short succession on public radio that really put the fear of god (or whatever) into me. Or not so much that, but stories that really gave me paws.
One was the news that the Chinese stock market had fallen hugely, and the American stock market had tumbled in response. The other was a story about the mysterious deaths of bees. I had heard news about the bees a couple of times before, but this time it seemed both more urgent and more mysterious. Previously "they" had said that bees were suffering from attacks by something called the varroa mite; essentially a tick that preys on bees, latching on to their tiny bodies and sucking their juices until they die. But now the bee problem had widened to the unexplained deaths of large number of bees in California - bees that are trucked from field to field in the spring in order to pollinate crops.
The two stories just made me aware of... not the fragility of life, but the fragility of this culture, this society that we live in and the networks of high-tech transit and virtual information that we depend on, and the fact that there really is no guarantee that this will all still exist five or ten years from now.
Of course humans are adaptible creatures, and were all the bees to die off there would no doubt be crowds of human pollinators in the fields ensuring that our crops of vegetables and grain would still grow to maturity. But the change; oh the change. Perhaps it would become exceedingly common for people to have vegetable gardens in their back yards... a return to the victory garden. The survival garden?
And the stock market thing just makes me ponder the invisible making and unmaking of money, and the marvel and mystery of people devoting their lives and their fortunes to something so unreal. I do it too, of course. Got a nice 401k goin' on. I'd be bummed if it went away due to the machinations of public opinion. Which it wouldn't, of course. I'm still saving for the long haul - I don't care if it fluctuates.
Things change. People change. Interest rates fluctuate.
One was the news that the Chinese stock market had fallen hugely, and the American stock market had tumbled in response. The other was a story about the mysterious deaths of bees. I had heard news about the bees a couple of times before, but this time it seemed both more urgent and more mysterious. Previously "they" had said that bees were suffering from attacks by something called the varroa mite; essentially a tick that preys on bees, latching on to their tiny bodies and sucking their juices until they die. But now the bee problem had widened to the unexplained deaths of large number of bees in California - bees that are trucked from field to field in the spring in order to pollinate crops.
The two stories just made me aware of... not the fragility of life, but the fragility of this culture, this society that we live in and the networks of high-tech transit and virtual information that we depend on, and the fact that there really is no guarantee that this will all still exist five or ten years from now.
Of course humans are adaptible creatures, and were all the bees to die off there would no doubt be crowds of human pollinators in the fields ensuring that our crops of vegetables and grain would still grow to maturity. But the change; oh the change. Perhaps it would become exceedingly common for people to have vegetable gardens in their back yards... a return to the victory garden. The survival garden?
And the stock market thing just makes me ponder the invisible making and unmaking of money, and the marvel and mystery of people devoting their lives and their fortunes to something so unreal. I do it too, of course. Got a nice 401k goin' on. I'd be bummed if it went away due to the machinations of public opinion. Which it wouldn't, of course. I'm still saving for the long haul - I don't care if it fluctuates.
Things change. People change. Interest rates fluctuate.
Funny things at work
An amusing incident from work...
Betsy was talking about some liberal radio story, ranting on.
Jokingly I said, "Poppycock!"
She said, "What?"
(I should at this point mention that Betsy is somewhat hard of hearing)
I said, "Poppycock!"
She said, "What??"
I said, "POPPYCOCK!"
She said, "Poppy what?"
At this point I was laughing so hard that I could hardly get out the word, "COCK!"
And then she said, "Oh. I've never heard that word before."
Betsy was talking about some liberal radio story, ranting on.
Jokingly I said, "Poppycock!"
She said, "What?"
(I should at this point mention that Betsy is somewhat hard of hearing)
I said, "Poppycock!"
She said, "What??"
I said, "POPPYCOCK!"
She said, "Poppy what?"
At this point I was laughing so hard that I could hardly get out the word, "COCK!"
And then she said, "Oh. I've never heard that word before."
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