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Mary
18 November 2009 @ 09:18 pm
Oscar, the Halloween surprise kitten, continues to develop. He begins to look more like a cat and less like the stuffing out of a dog toy (which is what Lori took him for when she found him on her entry door mat).

Here are some Friday, November 13, photos of Oscar, with his eyes open. I have been wondering if kittens do not open their eyes for a week or two in order to protect the very sensitive rods in their retinas.

and:



When Oscar opened his eyes, one of the first things he did was hiss at Lori. (I think because she was making oh-isn't-he-cute faces at him,)

Below are photos of him after he started walking. He was born on or about October 28, so now he's about three weeks old. Wicked cute.




He's going to be quite handsome, isn't he?

 
 
Current Location: Stray cat shuffle
 
 
Mary
05 November 2009 @ 01:28 pm

So, Lori has spent massive amounts of time getting the mamma cat and the baby to bond.  She has kept them in bed with her even. The result is that the kitten is gaining weight steadily and seems quite healthy.   Apparently the mother cat has milk and the kitten is getting nourishment from her.   Vast improvement over other possibilities!  The pictures below are by Lori:

 

 

 

What amazes me is that the mother cat is completely at home with strangers (Geoff and me) coming and watching her cuddle her baby.

 

 

Oh, and by the way, the kitten's name is now Oscar.

 

I think -- but I'm not sure -- that the two kittens, Oscar and his deceased brother, were quite large at birth.   Possibly that might have made the delivery of the second kitten more difficult.  Lori and I have speculated about the paternity of the kittens.   One candidate is a large black cat who prowls our back yard.  But I have also seen a large, handsome black and white cat patrolling the perimeter by the metropark.  We will never know.

 

Sure is an adorable kitten, though.  Pat, the other neighbor, will adopt him.  Sigh. 

 

 


 
 
 
Current Music: Gatto Matto, by Roberto Angelini
 
 
Mary
31 October 2009 @ 10:12 pm
More on the surprise Halloween kitten:

 

Anyway, Lori's initial thought was that the mother cat (called Little B) had not given birth before and didn't know what to do. But in fact, Little B did know to remove the caul from the kitten. Also, the vet estimates from Little B 's teeth that she's about four years old. We can't figure how an unaltered female could live outdoors that long without getting pregnant, unless her owners were very careful-- and they apparently weren't so careful that they didn't let her out this year.

 

Anyway, Geoff and I went over Thursday night and the kitten looked pretty strong. It screams very vigorously and can crawl all over the little box Lori and Scott fitted out made for it. Another neighbor is taking care of it and feeding it when Lori has to go to work. It gets rehydrated kitten milk from a doll-size bottle -- I'm not sure how kitten milk is made, but the kitten seems to thrive on it. He doesn't drink very much at one time.

 

It has bonded with a white faux fur hat Lori gave it, and she uses microwave-heated corn-filled bags to keep its box warm. It is necessary to rub its abdomen, anus, and urinary outlet to stimulate elimination -- which is not as gross as it seems, as the little beast is about the size of a Twinkie.

 

While we were there, Lori tried to reintroduce the mother and the baby. The mother was less aggressive this time:

and here's why:


About 24 hours after the birth of the surprise kitten, Lori and Scott were awakened by horrific screams. Little B gave birth to another, larger kitten, unfortunately dead. So poor Little B had been walking around all this time in labor. No wonder she didn't have the ability to nurture the live kitten. She must have left it in the hallway where Lori would find it, in the (correct) belief that Lori would know what to do and would take care of it.


Little B is a much more laid-back cat now.


While we were there, Geoff sort of held the mother down, and we brought the kitten over to sniff at her teats The kitten did not grab hold, but it may not have been hungry, since it had just had a bottle (similar problem is observed in hospitals where supplementary feeding is given to infants whose mothers are trying to nurse them).


But the photos Lori send me today show the mother cat sniffing the baby and then allowing it to cuddle beside her. I don't know from the pictures if any suckling is taking place, but it looks very hopeful that this kitten and cat are going to bond and that both are doing well.



 

The kitten's temporary name is Carlos, after the other neighbor's husband.

 

Here's the kicker: Lori has never had a cat before, and learned all this from experiences in zoos and elsewhere.   She and her husband have had the privilege of seeing tiger cubs, in person, for example. But no previous cat ownership.

Instant cat person!

 

 
 
Mary
30 October 2009 @ 10:02 am
My neighbor Lori adopted a small black and white cat that had been wandering the neighborhood.   

She came downstairs one morning and found what she thought was a rat on her entryway door mat.   Instead, it was this:

\

i'm having trouble uploading photos, so rather than go mad, I'll leave just this image here -- hoping it stays -- and tell the rest of the story later --
 
 
Mary
25 October 2009 @ 02:54 pm
Charlie Jane Anders gives us a tantalizing glimpse of a never-was library -- in which John Varley, Stephen King, Philip K. Dick, Octavia Butler,  Samuel Delany, Douglas Adams, and others actually finished certain novels.   Here's the link:  twelve unfinished novels.

My fave is H. P. Lovecraft's Azathoth.  

How could they do this to us?

And some of these writers are still alive.  Hm.

Thanks, Charlie Jane, for making us crazy!
 
 
Current Location: Home
Current Music: Eros Ramazzotti, "Un'altra te"
 
 
Mary
15 October 2009 @ 03:05 pm
 Sam is on the back porch, trying to get in.   There is a small crack, about three inches, and a pillow, which I think he should be able to move.   He has demonstrated that he knows how to work the door handle, but of course since the door is already open, this does no good.  He has been reduced to meowing politely.

 

My thought is that a cat of his age and talents should be able to rescue himself.

 

Should I let him in?

 


 
 
Mary
17 September 2009 @ 12:21 pm
Did you know that it was maintained in a court of law that the famous Keane paintings (kids with big eyes) were actually painted by Margaret Keane, as opposed to her husband Walter?  She went to court to prove this, and painted in front of the judge.  Her husband, according to Wikipedia, declined to paint, citing a sore shoulder.  The judge decided for Margaret.

Here's her website.

Lurker's secret fantasy is to be painted by Margaret Keane.   She might settle for being photographed by Yoneo "Does this make my nose look big?" Morita.
 
 
Mary
Pamela Sargent was kind enough to point me to this document, which indicates that two of my works, An Old-Fashioned Martian Girl (as serialized in Analog) and Mars Is No Place for Children, are provided as recreational reading on the International Space Station.

Wow.  I'm speechless.   This sure is the audience I have always dreamt of!

(I'm not sure astronauts have much time for recreational reading, though -- )
 
 
Mary
12 August 2009 @ 02:21 pm
 I am writing a story which has led me to some very strange research.  Here, for example, are some photos and reports of cats born with two tongues and double canine teeth.

(I'm not sure why such teeth aren't called feline teeth.  Go figure.)
 
 
Current Music: meow
 
 
Mary
02 August 2009 @ 03:12 pm

Last weekend, at the urging of my son Jack and his girlfriend Tiffany, Geoff and I attended our first medieval faire.

 

 

Great Lakes Medieval Faire and Market Place was in a little town called Rock Creek, Ohio.  The buildings are permanent, and they do a Halloween Haunted Faire each year as well.   We enjoyed the journey there and stopped on the way to get some peaches and green beans from a farmer's market called Sage's Apples.  We put them inside two insulated bags.

 

Our first impression was excitement but annoyance at the throngs.   Parking was in muddy fields, apparently the front yards of cooperating farmers.  It was a long walk to the fair, and since I had chosen to try to blend in, I was carrying an awkward bag instead of my usual sleek purse. I won't call my outfit a costume, but I was wearing a long skirt, chemise, and  bodice that at least wouldn't jar the eye from a distance, should someone be shooting pictures.  Geoff had on a muslin Hamlet shirt and his magnificent hat with the feather that tickles my nose if he swings his head around with me at his side.

 

 

Jack and Tiffany wore mixed-message garb: black all over, but for Jack a tee shirt to go with leather medieval-looking accessories.   I got a kick out of the fact that Tiffany's very authentic-looking black wool skirt had been originally rescued from my late mother's closet.  It was way too big around Tiffany's waist, so she wore it at the hip, covered with a long bodice.  She had ripped the hem out and machine washed it.  It had been an expensive wool Pendleton originally.  Perfect fate for it.  Recycling.

 

Other faire-goers seemed to focus not on looking like nobility or even commoners, but on pirates and ladies who sold their physical wares and showed them off as ads.  My son found the ample flesh (and some of it was very ample) a bit off-putting, but we all got into the spirit rapidly -- not too many man-boobies.  Some of the outfits on the very skinny performers were fabulous.   

 

I also noticed you could rent costumes.  That might be a cool thing to do.   Some of the costumes people were walking around in were spectacular, not to speak of the performers' outfits.

 

 

We headed to the food court where we discovered we had to have Faire money to buy any of the food (other vendors took cash and sometimes "Lady Visa and Master Card").   The food was surprsingly varied and tasty; better than you'd find at a commercial theme park.  Jack bought me a roasted turkey leg, which cost six dollars.  I had brought some veggies just in case nothing healthy was to be had.    I think again I'd bring a knife and slice it up to share with Geoff .   I think the turkey leg could easily have made three portions.  Tiffany chose a spinach pie. Geoff and Jack had fajitas -- okay, not so medieval, but they looked good and were ample food and not too unhealthy.   Of course we got meat sauce and juices all over ourselves, but that just added to the fun.

 

I especially liked the fact that the faire was all under trees so it wasn't too hot and sunny, as a commercial amusement park would be.   The vendors were friendly and had excellent goods. I got a little cat pendant made out of some green and pink stone.  Next year I probably would plan to buy things for Christmas gifts, but this year we got interested in the various theatrical events. 

 

Entertainers were professional without being slick and imitation Disney.   The jousting was well orchestrated and funny.  Handsome horses and handsome knights.  Wonderfool was a hoot; just dangerous enough to give a little thrill with his fire-breathing and bull-whip.  

 

We also heard Danny Molloy; and enjoyed the lyrics to his Irish songs.  Molloy has a great voice and is a skilled instrumentalist.  His audience was encouraged to should "Harp! Harp!" and  "Guinness!"  at appropriate moments.  Lots of fun.  If one of his friends should be reading this, tell him his fans would love to have him have a webpage.

 

Lots of children were in attendance, and they seemed quite happy.  I suspect the shady venu and the availability of child-oriented entertainment and food helped keep them  the boredom and crying you often see at  amusement parks.  We glanced in at Dragon Tales,  a show  with a huge dragon puppet who spewed water at his mistress.  

I noticed other all-age shows I'd have enjoyed -- maybe next year.  And next year, I'll definitely get a camel ride.  We did get to pet the ox, which had surprisingly soft fur (is it called fur?) which changed its direction at its neck.

 

Geoff's sandals fell apart when we stopped for a walk in Whitlam Woods on the way home -- he wound up wearing one of my Tevas.   And when we finally made it home, our peaches and greenbeans had survived their time in the car just fine.  We had a peach for a snack.

 

All in all, well worth the money and time.


 
 
Current Location: Rock Creek OH
 
 
Mary
25 June 2009 @ 09:29 am
 A friend, Astrid Julian, sent me an article from Spiegel Online on the glories of a cleared desk:

"The desk is kind of like an exterior version of our brain," says Küstenmacher, an organizing consultant. "Whatever you have in your head, is reflected, almost magically, on your desk."
 
Vastly amused, but not convinced.  Last year I read a fascinating book,  A Perfect Mess: how Crammed Offices, Cluttered Offices, and On-the-Fly Planning Makes the World a Better Place, by Eric Abrahamson and David H. Freedman 
 
Abrahamson and Freedman looked at a number of scientific studies and discovered  1) the amount of time lost in keeping perfect order is greater that the sum total of time looking for things that are lost in disorder, and 2) the main people to profit from meticulous orderliness are consultants who specialize in organizing people's offices -- for a price -- and also companies that sell organizing supplies.  (You will, if you read the article, notice that two sources cited are professional organizers and Staples, who sell truckloads of organizational stuff.)
 
Abrahamson and Freedman, in A Perfect Mess do not claim that complete disorder was desirable, only that a messy desk did not necessarily subtract from productivity.  
 
I would not press disorder on people who enjoy filing every last piece of paper at the end of each day, any more than I feel superior to morning people. (incidentally, research now shows that some people are genetically predisposed to being either morning or night people -- which makes sense from a Darwinian standpoint, hunter-gatherer groups need watchers at all times.)   But I also feel that while there are people who have a very low discomfort barrier toward exposed paperwork, they are not necessarily more successful than those who take a more relaxed approach.  I've been in the home offices of several multiple Hugo and Nebula winners.  True,  none were hideously chaotic (although of course they had tidied up for company) but none featured completely clean, empty desks and surfaces.  
 
Moderation in all things.
 
The really untenable situation is when a more messy person marries a neat nazi or is employed by one.  A situation I have happily avoided!
 
 
 
 
Current Location: a my messy work station
Current Mood: optimistic
Current Music: La societa dei magnaccioni
 
 
Mary
06 June 2009 @ 01:16 pm
 This morning I ventured outside to see if my nasturtiums were coming up and stepped on something squishy.   At first I thought it was a plum, but upon further examination I discovered it had a beak.   I am fairly sure it was not alive when I stepped on it, especially since its sibling was lying quite dead halfway down the path.   

The front of our house is covered with ivy, and lately we have discovered six bird nests in it.




I am unable to purge that disgusting image (dead bird, not ivy) from my mind, and now I've given it to you.   Sorry.

Any tips on how to purge nasty images?   I have some that are five and six years old and they really bug me when they suddenly pop into my mind and I can't get rid of them.   One of them I thought I purged by fantasizing attacking the person who had given it to me with a giant water pistol, but it came back.   

If you're looking for a photo of a dead baby bird, here is one, but it is not MY dead baby bird. 

Meantime, how do you get rid of persistent nasty images?   They are worse than earworms, which at least can be purged by singing a different song, and which don't put you off your feed.


 
 
Current Music: Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner
 
 
Mary
02 June 2009 @ 10:53 am
Both Steve Swiniarski and I have been nominated, but did not win, the Cleveland Arts Prize.   It is always possible that one or both of us will win it in the future. (I wrote a letter of support for Steve, who I think is a stellar gem in Cleveland's diamond mine.) 

But I have to say, I was somewhat -- amused?  boggled? -- not surprised by the information that Harlan Ellison has been nominated several times for the award, the nominator being Cleveland's own Les Roberts, and when he finally won, turned it down because the committee refused to pay his travel to Cleveland.

Ellison also objected to being asked for the names of people who might contribute money by placing ads in the program book. I don't want to second-guess the judges, but I think if I had been on the phone with Ellison, I might have said that the committee wasn't able to front everybody's ride to Cleveland, but they would scrounge around for a patron who would do it for Ellison. I think they might have made the money back in additional ticket sales -- which are $50 for regular seating and $250 for special donors. By using a private donor, they wouldn't be accused of favoring one awardee over others.

Here's the story in the PD.

I think this brings up the whole question of whether the literary world is too attached to getting patrons and not enough to honoring superstar writers who are subsidized by their own sales alone.  

What do you think, gentle readers?

And how about situations where Poet A sends his work to Poet B, who edits an academic-based poetry magazine, and then Poet B sends his work back to Poet A, who just happens to edit another poetry magazine?


Or how about the whole Foetry.com mess, which indicts situations where hundreds of poets pay thousand in reading fees to enter a competition, but their work isn't even read, because the judges give the award to somebody they know?  I've heard rising poets say they can't afford to enter chapbook contests and therefore go unread in academe.  How is this different from poetry venus that unashamedly publish awful awful work, and then suggest the poem might like to buy the volume with his poem (crammed on a page with ten other poems) for $49.99?  Well, maybe the poetry is better, but what if there's even better poetry out there which is not accepted because the poet decided not to fork over the $25.00 reading fee?


Harlan has a screed on being asked to donate his image and material free. He is but echoing the words of Samuel Johnson: "No man but a blockhead wrote, except for money." But then Ellison can afford to turn down publicity. As could Johnson.

Ellison also says none of us should give our work away, that to do so is scabbing. But is this really an issue? I am not really in competition with stars like Ellison. It's not like, well, Ellison won't give us a story, so we'll take one from Turzillo.

Or am I wrong?

Opinions?
 
 
Current Location: Ivory tower (not)
Current Music: You think this song is about you?
 
 
Mary
23 May 2009 @ 11:31 pm
 Geoff and I have tickets to see Evil Dead the Musical.  

The tickets are selling out -- apparently they extended the run, and still we couldn't get tickets for the week we wanted.  After the tedious process of getting credit card numbers, the box office lady asked me if we wanted to be in the slaughter zone.

Slaughter zone?  Damn straight, lady!

I just finished a sort of semi-penultimate draft of  The Dragon Dictionary (a riff on Bierce's Devil's Dictionary).  It's 56 pages of craziness by Marge Simon and me.  My eyes are falling out of my head.   Formating hokey dictionaries is a pain.

I'm ready for the slaughter zone.

 
 
Current Music: Adamo, "La notte mi fa impazzir" (The Night makes me crazy)
 
 
Mary
 Yesterday I got a robo-call on my cell phone from a nice AI (well, maybe not so I, and not very nice either) saying that Wonderful! Opportunities! were Offered! in the way of Grants! for Small Businesses! and they didn't have to be Repaid!  This was from something called the National Grant Writing Authority, and the number it came from was 530-229-4854, Portland Oregon.   I listened patiently to the message, and when prompted told the bot that my name was Geekette Skiffy, my telephone number was 877-382-4357 (this happens to be the number of the FTC, incidentally), and I needed a cash infusion of a million dollars.

Sure enough, when I got home last night, there was a message, presumably from a live person, saying that it was extremely urgent that I, Geekette Skiffy, contact the National Grant Writing Authority, at 866-629-4371, concerning my grant for a million dollars.

It is rather amazing to me that nobody at the National Grant Writing Authority thought it was odd that a person dialed at random would have a business that could think of an accountable way to spend a million dollars.

I should have asked for a billion.

Then there's the car warranty and cheap health insurance offers.  Two or three a day.  On my cell phone.  I was standing next to a lady at Giant Eagle just as she slammed her cell phone shut on one of the auto warranty calls.  Like many who are receiving them, she didn't have a car.

Here's Stupid Evil Bastard's take.  (Les Jenkins is a stitch, and at this URL he reveals the name and address of at least one source for these diabolic calls.)





 
 
Current Music: Silhouettes: "Get a Job"
 
 
Mary
11 May 2009 @ 08:39 am

 Geoff and I went to a May 4 peace poem reading and I read an excerpt from a memoir by my long-time friend Betsy Hoobler, who taught a class on Kent campus at noon, May 4, 1970, and who walked out of that class into the chaos of the shooting.  I also read my own poem, "Sculpture, Ohio, Spring 1970," about  the May 4 shootings and about the spring the war came home.

My poem is up on www.newversenews.com today.

This is the sculpture which was pierced by a bullet that day.  The bullet hole is punched very neatly right through the steel.  You can sight right up onto the hill or down into the parking lot through it.  The people who died are tragically gone, but that bullet hole is right there to witness. We can't forget.

I also had the honor of meeting Mary Ann Vecchio and giving her copies of Betsy's memoir and my poem.

If you would like to read more about the shootings, I recommend the May 4 archives. You will find there the famous photo of Mary Ann Vecchio and a lot of material that isn't in the wikipedia article.  And there is a photo of the Don Drumm sculpture laden and glowing with memorial candles.

 
 
Current Location: Ohio
 
 
Mary
25 April 2009 @ 09:55 am
 



I’m going to blog more about Geoff and my Italy trip, but I wanted to mention our 10th anniversary meal yesterday.   You can skip this if, understandably, you’re not interested in food except what’s actually on your own plate.

 

We usually go the Le Volte, the restaurant that replaced Portofino, (which became Nemo's) where we had our rehearsal dinner.  But we decided instead to go to Fire, one of Cleveland’s most famous restaurants, and now my candidate for the best restaurant in North East Ohio.  This was my first time to Fire.

 

The restaurant itself has a great ambiance: busy but not so noisy you can’t have a conversation.   The legended fire burns behind the stainless steel divider where the staff prepares the meals.   Our waiter was efficient and friendly, informative without being pushy.  We ordered two red wines -- they brought the bottles, and when Geoff saw the bottle he realized he had been unclear on his order, instead wanting the North Coast one because we always like to try local wines.  The waiter whisked the unwanted one away and brought back an excellent red blend, Kinkead Ridge, Ohio river valley .  MIne was pinot noir, Angeline, Sonoma County We also had a bottle of Pelligrino,  mineral water being a habit we picked up in Italy. 

 

 The waiter brought bread and olive oil, which I usually ask them to remove, because I’m damned if I’m going to sacrifice the 18 pounds I’ve lost for something as mundane as bread. But I was quite hungry, having banked calories from the previous two days in order to splurge for Fire, so I indulged in the very airy crisp bread and an olive oil that had a pleasingly bitter tang.

 

For an appetizer, Geoff ordered a dish he had had before at Fire: fire-roasted banana peppers, house-made chorizo, and tomato ragout.  I agonized over several delicious sounding items; Fire uses pomegranate, goat cheese, and olives imaginatively, and I wanted to try several openers, but decided on roasted beets, ricotta salata, blood orange marmalade, frisee and truffle vinaigrette.  

 

For our main course, I looked with pure desire on the several fish entrees, but was inevitably attracted to something a little different:  tandoor roasted whole fish, with orzo, olives, creamy leeks, pomegranate relish and toasted pistachios.   Geoff decided his opener was rather heavy, so he decided on vegan “fire curry” with quinoa pilaf, smoked eggplant, cauliflower, sautéed spinach and cilantro puree.

 

The appetizers were splendid: my beet salad contained two kinds of beets: the traditional red, and also a very sweet white beet -- at least I think it was a beet.  I love frisee, and there was just the right amount of that, plus a sprinkle of ricotta.  Geoff’s banana peppers were a tease: you never know, with banana peppers, just how hot they’ll be.  I invoked the wife rule and tasted these: the bite I got was hot enough to wake up my mouth, and the chorizo was luscious,  

 

Our main courses had a lot of eye-appeal, of course;  Geoff’s was a tower of delights.  He loves eggplant in any form, and I gather this was well prepared.  Actually I forgot to ask for a bite of this, because I was so focussed on the splendid trout in front of me.

 

The waiter had identified it as a type of trout; it was entirely fresh and perfectly done.   As soon as I had eaten a few bites, the chef came over and asked how I liked it.   I am not sure if this was the famed  Douglas Katz, because I’m not good with faces, and it was only after he had left that Geoff told me his badge identified  him as the executive chef.   I always like it when a chef asks how I like a dish, because it makes me feel as if I’m some sort of an epicure.   I asked him where the tandoor was, if it was really that big flame, and if the fish really had come out of it, and he said, oh yes, and see those steaks there, they were also done in the tandoor.  Plus, I notice, a lot of other things on the menu were flamed.

 

And the Tandoor Fish was indeed something special.   As I mentioned, the skin was crisp and flavorful, I suspect from some kind of pre-tandoor anointment with -- what? butter? marinade?  too subtle to pick out just one flavor.  The flesh inside was pink and moist, melt-in-your mouth fish like what I fell in love with as a small child eating fish pulled out of a tiny lake near my parents’ house.  I wish I had more vocabulary to describe how lovely this fishy was.   You know, you remember great restaurants you've been to -- the Tour d'Argent (back when it was four star),  Balans  on Lincoln Road, Joe Allen's, Maison Akira,  but do you remember individual dishes?  This one I will remember.  

The orzo was prepared with some cheese, I think, and olives.  Orzo means “barley” in Italian (we drank a lot of caffé d’orzo, roasted barley coffee, in Italy), although what this really is is pasta in the shape of barley grains.  There was more frisée, beautifully dressed.  One of the things l liked about what I had at Fire is that the dressings are balanced: you don’t immediately say, Oh that’s the blood orange marmalade. There is a blend of flavors.

 

My predation of the fish continued as I ate the top half and sucked on the bones.   I removed the backbone and set aside the remaining half, plus most of the orzo, for today’s lunch.  Like a serial killer, I like to take home souvenirs. 

 

We had forgotten to decide at the beginning of the meal whether to order pear crisp, which takes 20 minutes to prepare.   I think we were afraid dessert would be too much at that point. But I felt like enjoying everything Fire had to offer, so we ordered lime tart.  This turned out to be an intense sweet-sour tart with a brulée crust.  Four tiny caramelized slices of kumquat adorned the plate.  We could split the tart, because the flavor was very focussed and each bite was like a dessert in itself.    We did the Zeno’s paradox splitting thing with the last crumb (see Ellen Klages’ story “Mrs. Zeno’s Paradox.”), though Geoff had forgotten his pocket scanning electron microscope.

 

We had espresso, and the waiter brought two little chocolate chip cookies.   Geoff doesn’t eat chocolate, so he dissected the cookie into chocolate and non-chocolate bites: the chocolate ones were still a bit runny from the oven.   At his invitation, I licked his fingers clean of any remaining chocolate.  If anybody was watching, they did not snicker loudly enough for us to hear.

 

Then we took a walk around Shaker Square.  

 

That was our anniversary.  I hope we have many more, just as indulgent.  

 

And be advised, Fire is a world-class restaurant.  I don’t know how we’re lucky enough to live less than an hour's drive from it.  The menu is a catalog of high art.  

 
 
Current Location: Berea
Current Music: Tiziano Ferro, Rosso Relativo
 
 
Mary
11 April 2009 @ 08:36 am
 We've been having a fabulous Italian adventure!  I think I'll just post at random about it --  we started with Eurocon, in Fiuggi, where we stayed at the Ambasciatori  and I gained at least two of the pounds I seem to be carrying as a result of this little escapade.    Here is one of the reasons:


The hotel restaurant was such a great pasta place that we were served an average of two primo piati every meal.  (The Italian meal goes this: antipasto, primo piato (usually pasta, occasionally soup), secundo piato (fish or meat), contorni (vegetable), then maybe dessert and/or coffee.  Wine and mineral water are offered at every meal, and I think the mineral water is one of the secrets of the good health that Italians enjoy.    The pasta was great!  I had recently lost about 20 pounds doing South Beach and a lot of other healthy dietary behaviors, but I was so hungry I ate quite a bit of the pasta.    And no, you can't walk it off.   You would have to be a field laboror to get enough exercise to use that many calories.    We saw a lot of very gorgeous men and women in Italy who were very thin, but generally this was partially from smoking.  

But what I really enjoyed at Eurocon was the cosmopolitan crowd.   I will post about this in detail later, but I do want to mention the book launch for Ian Watson and Roberto Quaglia's hysterically funny, transgressive, and mind-blowingly imaginative new book, The Beloved of My Beloved.  It's a rare book for which the authors post rejection slips for their book, but take a look at the book's website:  

(The rejection slip sounds like a blurb for the book!)  

You can read one of the stories from the book, "The Moby Clitoris of my Beloved" (and as hysterical as it is, I don't even think it's the best one), on the Clarkesworld site.  

I'll try to post some photos, and I will be posting more about The Beloved of my Beloved and about Eurocon generally, but I wanted to get started here.









 
 
Current Music: Concerto, by Alunni del Sole
 
 
Mary
05 March 2009 @ 04:17 pm
 

 

I met with the women of my high school graduating class today, and after we all got caught up on news -- we do this about once a year -- somebody mentioned that I look like my mother, who was, to put it kindly, a very strong personality.  And this reminded one of the women, Yvonne, of a strange incident:

 

“You know, Mary Angela, I almost got blamed for that awful thing that happened in the ladies’ room in the Second Baptist Church.  But it was Charlene,” she said.

 

I said, understandably, “Wha?”

 

“She had you trapped in a corner and was sticking straight-pins into you.  When your mother heard about it, she called my mother and read her the riot act.  But my mother said that didn’t sound like any daughter of hers, and finally it came out that it was Charlene.”

 

Charlene and Yvonne were the witty uppity girls in my class, very pretty, popular with the boys, and most of all, snarky and capable of wicked humor.

 

At this point, I said, “Are you sure that it was me that she was sticking with pins?   Because I don’t remember anything like this.” I really didn’t!

 

“Oh, no, it was you.  And then your mother went after Charlene’s mother and there was hell to pay.”

 

I continued to express complete stupifaction, because surely if somebody had been sticking straight-pins into me, I would remember.  I didn’t know Charlene or Yvonne until high school; it’s not like it was some childhood trauma I would have repressed. 

 

“Are you sure it wasn’t Judy Starcher? Or Phyllis?”  Judy had been a friend of mine, also quite diminutive.  I named a couple of other names, friends of mine were had, like me, rather unlikely to fight back and defend themselves in a physical confrontation.

 

And she swore it was me.  “It was you.  And I was so afraid you’d remember and hold it against me after all these years.  I’m so relieved that you don’t even remember.”

 

I am bewildered. 

 

In the Spiritualist community, there is a phenomenon called the Walk-in, which occurs when a person loses the will to go on in this life, but does not want to cause pain to those who love her by dying.  Another spirit comes and “walks in” to the first person’s body.  Often the walk-in is unaware of having been switched in.  It is not like possession; this is a benign, even healing process.

 

Am I a Walk-in?  I was a very pious, modest child; but now I’m quite sacrilegious and not at all embarrassed about the extensive pecadillos of my younger and middle years.   And so maybe that’s wny I don’t remember this pin-sticking business.

 

Actually, I’m a skeptic, not a Spiritualist, but this would be an explanation.

 

Or maybe being stuck with pins in the lady’s restroom at the Second Baptist church (and what was I doing in the Second Baptist Church anyway?  I was a devout Catholic and forbidden to set foot in a Protestant house of worship) was such a minor detail of my youth that I just forgot it much as I would forget getting a mosquito bite at camp.

 

Anybody think of any other explanation?

 
 
Mary
28 February 2009 @ 12:42 pm
If you still haven't nominated for the Hugo, here are some suggestions.  They are fairly random; I'm pretty sure "26 Monkeys" will get on the ballot, as will Fast Forward II, Solaris II, The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, and The Del Rey Book of F&SF.  There are obvious giants of the field here, plus some you may not have thought of.   So, on the off chance you're voting at the last minute, and in case you want your memory jogged, here are some of my picks.  Notice I have a short story and a novelette.   Rather late, but if you haven't voted --

 

Novel:

Marsbound, Joe Haldeman, Ace  (This is pretty sure to make it, but I just want to point it out.)

James Morrow, The Philosopher's Apprentice, Wm Morrow (ditto)

Resa Nelson, The Dragonslayer's Sword, Mundania

 

Novella:

Vera Nazarian, The Duke in his Castle, Norilana

Brian Stableford, "The Philosopher's Stone," Asimov's

 

Novelette:

Richard Bowes, "If Angels Fight," F&SF

Mary Turzillo, Ewaipanoma, Sam's Dot

Geoff Landis, "The Man in the Mirror," Analog

Maureen McHugh, "Special Economics," Del Rey Book of SF& F

Michael Bishop "Vinegar Peace, or the Wrong-Way Used-Adult Orphanage," Asimov's

Bud Sparhawk, "The Late Sam Boone," Analog

 

Short story:

Kij Johnson, "26 Monkeys, also the Abyss," Asimov's 

Mary Turzillo, "Scout" Cat Tales, Wildside

S. Andrew Swann, "The Enigma of the Serbian Scientist," Fellowship Fantastic, Daw

Geoff Landis, "Still on the Road," Asimov's

 

Related Book:

Stanley Schmidt, The Coming Convergence, Prometheus

Drew Morse, The Rhysling Anthology 2008,

 

I'd love to see Aoife's Kiss get some recognition for Fanzine -- but is it fan or semi-pro?  It's almost all fiction.

 

And I'd love to see Marge Simon and Sarah Clemens get some recognition in the artist category, although again, I'm not sure where they would be categorized.  Sarah Clemens is the "Magus and Loki" dragon/cat artist.  I’m not sure she illustrates other people’s fiction, though.

 
 
Current Mood: waiting until the last minute
 
 
 
 

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