I'll give it a go and report back when I have a result. I'd love to see us with kapet-scented incense at retreat this year. Whoo!

This all just reminds me of the two catch phrases my family used on my last visit....

For my mom, it was (originally in reference to the lights she wanted mounted on the front facade of her house): "...but does it look pretty?"

For me, it was (originally in reference to some cosmetic product): "Oh. I could make that."

I never intended to be a crafty person, kids. I just fell into it.   >> 10:16:44 PM 
 
 
Not that calamus oil is hard to find, or anything.   >> 10:04:32 PM 
 
 
A possible formula for Kapet (Kyphi), using essential oils:

9 parts frankincense
9 parts myrrh
2 parts benzoin
2 parts pine
3 parts calamus
3 parts lemongrass
3 parts juniper
2 parts cinnamon
7 parts honey
7 parts red wine
6 parts raisins

Combine the honey, wine, and raisins, boil until you have it to a desired consistency. Allow to cool, and then mix in the other oils.

Based on the Edfu and Philae recipes. I'll have to give it a try (if I can ever find calamus oil).   >> 10:03:53 PM 
 
 
I woke up this morning to birthday wishes in my mailbox. :) If I'd bothered to check my emailbox BEFORE going to bed last night, I would have gotten them in a timely manner. I was just too tired after a long day of gifts and fun and movies...

Speaking of which, AI was all that and a bag of chips. I can't tell you much, other than that while it is two and a half hours long, it's a good two and a half hours. If the Kubrick name is dissuading you from seeing it, don't let it. Kubrick's contribution to this film was almost entirely development and concept; Spielberg directed it and wrote the final screenplay. So it's a Spielberg film, and it's not. It's quite good.   >> 2:16:57 PM 
 
 
"I bet my war fan could knock Marmalade Stinkypuss off the cubicle wall," Dave said.

And blinked.

"I mean, Marmalade Sneakypuss."   >> 1:09:20 AM 
 
 

6.29.2001

Marmalade Sneakypuss.

That's the name of the stuffed cat that Tamma gave me.

Marmalade Sneakypuss.

Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh....   >> 6:04:25 PM 
 
 
...and suddenly, I'm 26.

Thank god for quiet birthdays. Not that last year's was bad, but a quiet birthday isn't bad, either. We had a great lunch with the company at Lewis and Clark's, and I've received some truly touching gifts. Thank you, everyone :)

My new sheets are like sleeping on clouds -- except without all the wind and dampness. Really, when you think about it, a cloud probably wouldn't be all that fun to sleep on...not to mention you'd probably fall right through it but -- I digress.

Great sheets! I don't like getting under too many levels of bedding, but I gladly do so with these lily-green sheets. 250-thread count brushed Egyptian cotton makes all the difference, I don't care what anyone says. And the comforter is so so so nice. If I can, I'm going to linger in bed tomorrow, and enjoy the downy goodness.

That's all for now. I'm done wandering for a month or so, so maybe the entries here can go back to being semi-amusing anecdotes rather than long splurges on all the stuff that life's dumping on me :)   >> 5:48:08 PM 
 
 

6.28.2001

You can see the new haircut in the picture of the day. I think this is the shortest I've ever had it. No one back here noticed until I pointed it out. ;)

Uuuuh...boggle! Purple! Obtuse! Aghast!

Glad to get that out of my system.

So the clothes from Dharma Trading came...the white rayon pants get an A+ and the short-sleeved thigh-length henley dress is a little thin but nice. The rayon tunic (large) is too small for my bustage. Aghast! I thought I'd ordered the biggest one they had, but apparently not. I wonder if I know someone in the area who could fit into it....

My biggest complaint is that Dharma Trading's ordering system kind of sucks. It doesn't send you an email with the list of what you ordered, it just tells you how much it cost. You get a paper invoice when they send the actual, physical order, but by then it's too late. So final analysis: cheap clothes that seem good (especially for white-needy me), but I'm iffy on their online ordering.

Bra tips for chicks who buy $20 bras -- try Bali brand. For 36-C me, at least, they're very comfy. Stay away from Vanity Fair underwires, no matter how satiny they may look. The wires kept busting out (no pun intended) and they itched like mad after a while.

I made a decision when I was flying over Kansas City last Thursday that I was going to put forth an effort to not eat so much crap. This is possibly the culmination of going to visit my mom (as I usually stress about my weight constantly before and during the visit), and possibly not. When I stress about something, I try to get above the babbling headwaters and figure out why my brain is spending so much energy into one thing, and I came to the conclusion that, while I love to eat new and good things, I should do so in smaller portions and try to avoid the crap.

So now that vacation is over, I ordered garlic chicken for lunch, threw out the fried wonton and crab rangoon that came with my lunch, and ate until I wasn't hungry, then stopped. I want to stress I don't believe in starving myself. But I'm going to avoid just eating everything on my plate, even if it does bug the miserly side of myself.

(Unless it's a non-starch vegetable. I can eat all of those that I want, I've decided.)

And I'm going to resume my swimming program starting Monday. I'd start tomorrow, but I have to wash stuff and my bedroom is a disaster area.

This is the week of the Reunion Festival. This is one of my favorite festivals; I love the mental image of Heru and Hethert coming together. :) And tomorrow is the Festival of Mut, Who is Herself syncretized with Bast (as Bast-Mut) in some cases, as seen in Mut's sacred precinct in Iesheru (jSr.w -- now part of modern-day Karnak). One of Mut's sacred animals is also the cat, and it's theorized She may even be the first Egyptian goddess associated with the domesticate in an official capacity (Bast's associations with the feline are admittedly more famous, however).

In case you didn't notice, I love the III Shomu (June) religious festivals. :) And I'm trying to explain things sufficiently so that percentage Bruce quoted will shrink slightly. ;)   >> 3:50:20 PM 
 
 

6.27.2001

I walk upstairs after watching a segment on cooking boar, only half-listening since I am also reading an article in the Reader's Digest I snagged out of the downstairs bathroom. It chronicles the terrible deeds of Dr. Michael Swango, who took a guilty plea on three counts of murdering patients under his care. Criminology is one of my hobbies, so of course I read the thing from beginning to end.

At 11:45 I climb the stairs in my nightshirt and borrowed cotton pants. The doors to the master bedroom are open. The TV is on. My mother and her cat are asleep in bed.

I creep into the room, turn off the TV, take the remote from her lap and set it aside where she can find it in the morning.

I cross to the study, close the door softly, and sit down at the computer. Maggie (Magnolia) and Rosie (Rose), the boxers, raise their heads from their beds. They greet me with weary thumps of their stub-tails, then go back to sleeping.

The screen comes to life as I flick the mouse. The clock clicks to my right. It's gaining on midnight. But since it's a military clock, it's really gaining on 00.

I log into Blogger. The living room clock below me tolls midnight. One of the boxers farts.

It's my last night here in California, and the last day is always the one to pass the fastest, and it's the one where I start to notice the little things I'll miss. It's the day that people murmur, "Hard to believe it's only been...." and then add to the end of the sentence an estimate as to the length of my stay. My bags are packed, the house is quiet, and soon I'll be on a flight heading east.

Missing them all.

I'll be twenty-six on Friday, but for now I'm still twenty-five, and wishing I had enough money to visit my family every month. Wishing I could be more than just the aunt who comes to visit to my nephew. Wishing I could be there when Baby Jay learns how to roll over onto his stomach. Wishing my mom won't cry this time, but knowing she probably will.

This is the life I've chosen. Make no mistake, whether I fully comprehended it when I set out five years ago or not; the choice, ultimately, was mine.

And it's not good. Or worse. Or anything of the sort. But it is different, and I may regret it someday. And at the moment, I suppose I'm regretting it a little. But regret serves to send one toward making ammends, and that may be what I need to think about.

But for now, I need to think about sleep.   >> 2:12:21 AM 
 
 

6.26.2001

Not much to say. Saw the ex. He doesn't want to be my ex, and to some extent I don't want to be his ex, but we're clear that we're not waiting on each other anymore.

It was good to see him. We talked a lot about politics...religion...AD&D campaigns...villains...fiction...God...roommates. Probably the first time in a long while I've been with him and there was no serious smooching, just a long hug at the end and a gentle goodbye. I don't think we'll ever seal ourselves off from one another, but there's a high probability that we may never be romantic again. I can't tell the future, so I can't say more. This is alien terrain to me, cherished readers. All I know is that I said goodbye to a good friend this afternoon.

Esther kicks quantities of ass the size of small European countries (I have no idea what I just said). I met her at the 1993 WorldCon in San Francisco, and she sat with me in the lobby and talked about limos and conventions while I struggled to stay awake. I hadn't slept in three days, and it was a strange situation. Right after that, I proceeded to stalk Mark Shepherd for two blocks. It was quite weird.

We are going to Ikea tomorrow. Suz and Bruce, I'm sorry I haven't hooked up with you. I'm sorry to everyone in SoCal who I haven't hooked up with. I had very little time on this trip, and I'm afraid I am devoting the bulk of it to my mom. The only reason I got to even see Ron was because mom's boss said she had to work today. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have.

Uuuuh, and Jeff? I thought I posted my itinerary outside my cubicle, you goober. Unless I posted the wrong one. In which case, we all know who's the real goober.   >> 2:16:55 AM 
 
 

6.25.2001

To respond to the jigsawish one: I'm afraid, despite the fact that all of my publications so far have been in short stories, that I never read a lot of good ones. Not to be nepotistic, but I greatly enjoyed all of the Sword and Sorceress volumes up until around number eight or so (which is, incidentally, the point where my stories began being accepted into the anthology - heh). After that the story type shifted from interesting fantasy fiction where women were a key component, to what I feel was well-trod ground. Which in and of itself is not bad -- obviously, if people didn't want to read that sort of thing the anthologies would have never made a profit -- but I cannot recall any remarkable stories by name from the later volumes. The earlier volumes, though, had some wonderful fiction by Glen Cook ("Severed Heads", I believe), Charles de Lint (anything), Jennifer Roberson (lots of stuff), Deborah Wheeler (anything after "Imperatrix"), Misty Lackey ("Oathbound"), Vera Nezarian (whose name I have probably misspelled), Stephen Burns, C.J. Cherryh ("The Unshadowed Land", I think), and so on.

But I would have to say that one of my favorite short stories is "All Vows" by Esther Friesner. It was up for a Nebula a while ago. I don't think it won. It deserved to. It was published in Asimov's and it remains in my mind to this day.

One of my quiet semi-secrets that, I imagine, no longer needs to be a secret is that I ghost-co-edited one of the anthologies. By this I mean I did not approve the stories -- that was always Marion -- but I did handle the final product: requesting editorial changes, assembling the order, revising and in some cases writing the intros. I don't remember which one, and you won't see my name on it except in the story of mine that Marion accepted into the antho. I think it was the one with "Jewel-Bright", but I could be mistaken.

I was also supposed to edit a collection of Marion's writings that she wrote for Fate! magazine under one of her pen names, Elfrida Rivers. Alas, I was too much of a fluffhead (at the age of nineteen) to do the work. Lost opportunities, my friends. Remind me to smack myself over the head with a frying pan over that one.

And there's more...I started writing about it here, but I admit that I have a strong policy of not talking about the things I did in confidence for others. If you see me personally, you can ask, but I don't want to set it down anywhere someone can find it. Suffice to say that I don't feel cheated about any of it. I was a contributing member of what Dr. Jane affectionately called Casa de la Crisis, and it was just part of my small way of paying them back for all they did for me. My time there ended strangely...maybe badly...but so much of me was defined by that place...I owe them all a great deal.

Meep.   >> 2:24:12 AM 
 
 

6.24.2001

She...compared...Tolkien...to...Diablo II....

Those gray hairs may start coming in sooner than I think.

To respond to all the Divas have been babbling about recently: Tolkien' s writing is dated, I will admit that. Some of his wordage is hard to slog through. But if you've ever studied other cultures or languages...damn. You really start to see why his work was so utterly mind-boggling.

I don't have a top ten list of speculative genre must-reads. For sheer comprehension of how the field has evolved, though, I would have to have one Tolkien book and one Misty Lackey (or MZB or McCaffrey or Norton or, hell, C.L. Moore) on my list. Or maybe Lois Bujold. Cordelia so rocks.

I would probably have to also include a dreadful TSR novel. Because they are so dreadful. And so many kids read them. And that has an impact, whether we like it or not. MST3K'ing TSR book-shaped objects is fun, though. Especially Shadowdale and Spellfire (which was the book that made me realize, at the age of 12, that I could do this and do it better).

And for what it's worth...I personally don't see it as feminine rights, gay rights, black, white, yellow, red, or purple rights...it's just human rights. Humans deserve to be treated like humans, regardless of all the baggage by which we judge them.

And finally -- Divas of Unusual Size, you may be interested to know that Lane Bryant is carrying a black t-shirt with the word "Diva" racing in a sassy, glittery fashion across the continental ridge. Or, at least, the California stores are carrying it. I almost purchased one, but held back. I did get lovely white capris, though. I am so dead sexy in them, awwww yeah.   >> 4:03:43 AM 
 
 
Whoo hoo! I have achieved recipe! (Thank you so much, Peryt!)

And Biayt, your aunt is in my prayers, as well. I'm so sorry...

Gray Hairs and Twenty-Six Years
My sister was clipping my hair this evening, and made note of something as she did so.

"Your hair looks like it's going to start graying," she said. "Look, see this?" And she pulled out one of my hairs and showed it to me. "It's super-curly, and it's got a texture that tells me your hair is maturing. In about three years, you'll be coming back here to get me to do something about it, I bet."

Heh.

I'm not too disturbed by this. I mean, in the scheme of things, I'd rather my hair start betraying me than my eyes or knees or internal organs. I kind of like gray hair, actually. I think silver is an attractive color, and in my dark dark dark brown hair, it will probably look good.

My hair is very short now; just above the shoulders, and it's curling slightly. It's going to be nice to have it this short for summer. My sister, as always, did a fabulous job.

What is bothering me a little is that my period has once again skipped a month. I'm not pregnant, and I'm not undernourished, but I am under (over?) stress(ed?) (three trips in the last four weeks, 70 hours of overtime in May). But, as I was explaining to my mom, it's not the kind of stress that I think is bad...I don't feel trapped or unhappy, I just feel busy. I'm always busy.

In less than a week I turn 26. On Monday I'll see Ron...I'm sure we'll talk...Jenny, I think, had mixed feelings on that. She said it was good we didn't break up mad, and that we are still friends; as the survivor of two marriages, she's had a lot of experience in that area, and it was good to talk at her about it (I'm afraid when I get talking I don't shut up -- sorry, Jen -- family trait, y'know). She and I are going to Ikea on Tuesday (NOTE TO MIDWEST READERS: I did not refer to it as "the Ikea", as I'm sure you were expecting -- end of note) with Mom, who has (dunh dunh DUNH!) NEVER been to one! We shall change that. Oh yes.

And..uuuuh. Yeah. 26. Urk. I'm just...amazed. And blessed. And thinking...wow. Wasn't I just 21...moving to Missouri...no. I guess I wasn't. So much has happened in five years of life. I wish I had journaled it all, so I could dig through the strata and observe the changing me. But really, there's no need. The end product is what's important, and with luck she'll be around for several more quarter-centuries.

Wheeee!   >> 3:27:30 AM 
 
 

6.23.2001

(yaaaaawn)

Yes indeed, I'm in California. Where to begin?

First, the morning of departure. Big communication breakdown, and I still feel awful about it. Long and the short of it is Ankhka wound up late for work, and I didn't show up much at all until I had to leave....

Previous to leaving for the airport, though, I checked my flight. One hour delay. Well, fsck. My connecting flight in Arizona was a) the last flight out of AZ to San Diego for the night and b) there was less than an hour between the two legs. So I did what I did with the Chicago flight: I made sure I left really early for Lambert Int'l airport....

...and so I was in a bit of a rush when I locked my keys in the car with the ignition on.

Now see, normally this does not happen to me. It's been four years since I did something dumb like this. Lucky for me, I do indeed have a spare key, and it was indeed in a place where Jeff could find it. Unfortunate for Jeff, he was in the line of fire when I realized what I'd done. I really hate doing stupid things like that, and I'm afraid I blew up at him. Sorry, dude.

At the airport, I checked my bags and got rerouted promptly by the kindly Southwest folk, who pointed out that the flight I was connecting with originates in St. Louis to begin with (whacky!). It meant I had to sit through an additional stopover, but it was worth it, knowing I'd be in San Diego when I was supposed to be.

Flights were uneventful, aside from turbulence. No one sat next to me (nekhTET!) and I got my window view. The seats were horribly uncomfortable. I don't remember them being that uncomfortable before. I got through almost 200 pages of Dune and napped sparingly.

I do major clothes shopping twice a year: when I go visit my Mom. And true to her form, we went shopping today. Four hours of mall walking, reminding my legs of just how out of shape they are. But I got some neat outfits and some more lessons in frustration: just because it says XL and size 16, doesn't mean it really is. Honestly, why do clothing lines do this to people? Some of the stuff fits me perfectly, the rest...ugh. It's not fun, amigos, to go through fifty shirts and only have three fit you right. And it can't be just me that finds this hard. What of the woman who works her way down to a small, only to have to shift one or two sizes up because some dumbass company used a matchstick for its clothesmodel? I'm sorry; I feel sometimes like the fashion companies go out of their ways to be snobs about sizes, and it's not like American women need another damn reason to be self-conscious about their bodies.

But ANYWAY.

We also bought me some nice sheets for the bed (and I guarantee you when they say they're "Queen" sized they really are), and bras (horray for stretch lace thingies!), but the highlight of the day was seeing my new nephew, Jeff Jr. ("Jay"). He's a drooling, baby-soft lump of blue-eyed cute. My family is very fortunate.

Then we retired home, where I made rice crispy treats with a sparing amount of chocolate chips, and Mom made some chicken thing. I also made the ranch dressing. I loooove freshly made ranch dressing.

Tomorrow/today we'll have gazpacho and tuna-tossed salad for dinner. Mmmmm.

But for now, I'm heading to bed. :)   >> 3:25:17 AM 
 
 

6.20.2001

Oh, and I started a WBT storyline over there. Origins of Belligerent Dave and Super Hef!

There probably won't be a World Tree update on Saturday this time around, or on the next Saturday, because I'm going to be off in California one weekend, and recovering the next. But after that...yeah.   >> 4:23:10 PM 
 
 
As much as I love roses and hibiscus, I am just as much a sucker for herb gardens. And EVIL TAMMA sent me that link, so blame her!

Of course, what's funny is...we were pulling out of our driveway this morning, and Dave commented that one of the trees in the far corner of our yard was blooming. Lavender, trumpet-like blooms. Hibiscus flowers.

I feel like a bit of an idjit for not having realized we have a hibiscus tree in our yard already. Ehehehehehehe. It's a big yard!

We used to have morning glory climbing up the south side of the house, too, but I think winter killed it. I really want an herb garden now, though. And I'm plotting...maybe if I put it on the side of the house...?   >> 3:37:33 PM 
 
 

6.19.2001

"Steph whose posts I usually understand about 30% of..." I like the sound of that!

Larp! Snofnurgle! Whoot!   >> 1:04:03 PM 
 
 
There's been a lot of hubbub, bub, about whether or not Atlantis is based on Nadia: Secret of Blue Water. I'm skeptical, myself, and until I actually see Nadia, I'm going to refuse to make a judgement call, but from reading the synopsis for the first four episodes of the anime, I have my doubts Atlantis is as much a rip-off as some rabid otaku are claiming.

So what of the movie itself? It's the first Disney film I've seen that was completely lacking in cute animal side-kicks. There were also no songs. None. And finally, while it's not a bloody or gruesome film, a ton of people die. Like, lots. And they don't come back.

I think I agree with what Melissa has said about it; the first twenty minutes are rushed and don't seem to fit. After that -- I think at the point where they get past the whole "grease trap" business -- the film picks up considerably. I liked the intro. I liked the dialogue, even if many of the gags were highly predictable. And while I never liked his art when he worked for Marvel, I have to admit I think the Mike Mignola-influenced character designs are kind of cool.

The only one I didn't like was the main female. I adore Cree Summers's voice, but (and I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, the anime girl) I thought her character's eyes were too big. I really loved seeing Claudia Christian do the tough girl shtick. I missed Ivanova in the fifth season of B5, and it was nice to at least "hear" her again.

But the best part? No aliens. None. Nada. Zilch. Whoot!

Would I go see it again? Probably not. I felt a great deal like they suppressed the story to make it kid-friendly, and that annoyed me. I could see the Joss Whedon influence, and that didn't annoy me (my guess is he was brought in to punch up the dialogue and the story). But I generally felt like it could have been much, much better.

Not that it was bad. It just wasn't...great.

In other news, I'm told there's a whole lotta boobie in the Tomb Raider flick. Since I myself own a pair that I can admire anytime I wish, I have no desire to go see said film.

Oh, and if you haven't yet -- please go see Shrek. It's just delightful.   >> 9:26:57 AM 
 
 

6.18.2001

Soooo cute. :)   >> 10:49:59 PM 
 
 
kaCHUNK!

That's the sound of the universe falling into place.

I have been speaking lately to others of kaCHUNK moments in my life. I refer to the moment when I became a heri-sesheta Bast ("Who is over the secrets of Bast.") as a kaCHUNK moment. I swear I could hear the gears of the universe grinding over my head.

There are secrets and then there are mysteries, and mysteries usually hurt my head and don't like to be pursued. Like right now. See, I'm trying to explain this all to you, but does it make sense? No! You're wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Unless you are over some mysteries yourself, and then you're probably shaking your head and rolling your eyes at me.

Rest assured, I'm doing fine. I'm just sorting out some metaphysical issues.

kaCHUNK!   >> 10:45:57 PM 
 
 
Don't quote me on this, Gryph, but I believe it's a semi double that blooms once (when the bulbs were poking up, so mid-Spring, I think). Not much fragrance. Dark red or mauve, but not lavender -- sort of a deep red-purple or burgundy. Yellow heart. Thorns. Oh god, does it have thorns.

And it shoots up all over the place if I don't trim it once a month.

I want a shrub rose or a hibiscus plant (mmm... H. moscheutos "Cerise") to close off that empty space between it and the mailbox. Any suggestions?   >> 3:07:56 PM 
 
 
I'd replace the citronella with lemon tea tree, but I bet it works.

(scratch scratch mutter scratch scratch)   >> 1:53:20 PM 
 
 

6.17.2001

How Does Your Garden Gr -- AAAGH! BEES IN MY HAIR!
Corey's doing it. Gryph's doing it. Suz and Bruce are doing it. Together.

Gardening, of course.

My back and feet hurt, and I'm going to have multiple mosquito bites by morning (forgot to wear my lemon teatree -- meh), but I got all the sprouted plants done, and all that's left now are the herbs and the sunny mixed-seed garden I want to plant, which I think I'll do in late June/early July.

This was all part of my plan to Actually Enjoy a Weekend to Myself. I woke up Saturday morning and was temporarily dumbfounded (a rare state for me) when I realized I didn't have to go into work. I was going to clean, but that seems to fallen by the wayside. I did plant, though, and the yard isn't Martha Stewart-perfect, but it looks a little better.

I planted some jasmine, a dozen wizards, some blue flowers I forget the name of, catnip, Carpet-of-Snow Alyssum and Royal Carpet Alyssum (I mixed the last two up).

I'm not quite sure what to do with the Gallica (?) rose bush that's on the border of our yard. It wants to grow straight up, but what we really need there is a low, bushier shrub. Really, whoever planted it there probably shouldn't have. I've trimmed it and trimmed it, and it's still trying to stick up. I feel bad trimming it (hello, anthropopathy), but if I don't it'll just trail all over the place and raise a ruckus. It's the kind of rose that seems to want to climb up against a house, or seduce an unsuspecting Japanese schoolgirl, not screen out the neighbors. Alas.

I resisted the powerful urge to buy a hibiscus or honeysuckle bush this afternoon. I will reiterate: that it was a strong urge to buy either or both. Ultimately, the jasmine (which was more steeply priced than any of my other purchases) won over the other two. The star magnolia tree was easier to resist, since it had a $45 price tag tacked onto it (!). I love star magnolias, but it only blooms once, and $45 is just too much to ask for.

And now, a short rant about your garden variety nurseries.

I was commenting to Jeff in the car that it seems the more rude the staff, the better the nursery here in Missouri. The first one we went to -- and this was specifically a nursery, not a hardware store plus nursery or something of the type -- there were lots of employees walking about, but all the plants looked dead. I mean, dead. Jeff thought they were selling weeds. They had my beloved star magnolia and honeysuckle, but I just didn't like the look of their perennials. So we left.

The second nursery we went to (which doubled as a water garden supply place -- will have to go back there when/if I get my water garden going), everything looked great, but I couldn't find anyone to help me. I was in the ghost nursery. Eventually, a somewhat brusque man came out of the greenhouse and took my order. He looked at me funny when I asked to buy one of his rocks, and ultimately didn't sell me one. Feh.

And the Home Depot -- lots of helpful people, but absolutely dismal sprouted plants, except for the geraniums and marigolds, neither of which I care for the scent of. I didn't buy anything but seeds from them.

Maybe I'll buy a shrubby rose to fill in the gap in the perimeter on the left side of the house. Or that hibiscus plant....   >> 10:06:29 PM 
 
 
Well, it took since January, but I finally finished Chrono Cross.

Square games always seem to have some very broad similarities: Big, convoluted storylines involving a priveleged woman, a silent male lead, and something about the planet either hating everyone on it, or being destroyed by some big cosmic thing that hates everyone on it. And pseudo-science that makes entire Star Trek seasons look silly.

I did enjoy the game a great deal. I liked the vast variety of characters and the little details were great. As with the two Final Fantasy titles I've played (VII and VIII), I can't tell if the story twists are too clever for me to grasp or just confusing and badly explained (or badly translated -- though CC seems to have been very well translated). It seems like everyone was backstabbing everyone else, and there were a couple story twists that just seemed really underplayed.

I always feel a little lost when I finish a Square game, is what I'm saying. But then, I think platform games are one of the most challenging places to relay a story. With a book -- sure, you can set it down and come back to it later, thumb through a few previous pages to remember where you are... with a game, you don't really have that option (unless, I guess, if you have a replay feature -- which few games do, which may tell you something about the value that is placed on story in the gaming industry). You don't know the flow of the story, because at any time a player could get stuck in a certain area, get frustrated, put the game down...which is sort of what happened with me and Chrono Cross. Not that there were parts that I got stuck on, but there was so much to do, that unless I had several hours to commit to it (and I didn't), I couldn't really play it.

For all that it's predictable and not super original (original, in this case, going by the standard set by such authors as Tim Powers, Neil Gaiman, etc.), I have always been impressed by the storytelling abilities of the Blizzard crew. I don't think there's anyone who was too terribly surprised when Kerrigan turned out to be the thing the Zerg were incubating, but ooooh what a story twist. Especially when the Terrans left her for dead initially on the planet. Sure, it was high cheese insofar as I know my troops could have survived that rush of Zerg, but story-wise it was fabulous. Delicious. Powerful.

And the reason it was so was because it was dead simple. While I wish at times Blizzard would just once build a game with multiple paths in the story, I can see the temptation of the linear storyline. It's much simpler than what Chrono Cross is attempting: multiple endings, depending on the actions of the user.

Things to think about.

While I was not aware of it before, apparently nurseries here in Missouri all close around 6 pm. Feh, I say! Makin' me get up before noon on a weekend is just a crime....

Speaking of which...gots to sleep. Much cleaning and planting tomorrow. Buh-bye!   >> 3:52:47 AM 
 
 

6.15.2001

Feeling Saree For Myself
This year for retreat, I have to have white outfits.

See, we came to a conclusion last year that priests need to be visible, but cassocks, while striking, were not comfortable in many ways. Not just for me personally; many people just didn't like them.

So the priesthood settled instead on keeping part of the idea and ditching the rest. I'll still be wearing the cassock in formal circumstances -- which is perfectly fine -- but during informal events, I get to wear "normal" clothes...they just have to be all white normal clothes.

No patterns. No prints. No detracting embroidery or beadwork. Solid white garments.

When I was at Kashi, all of the swamis wore saffron-orange outfits. T-shirts, tunics, pants, shoes, socks...all orange. And one of the things I really liked was the tunic-and-pants suit that are a fixture of Indian fashion, worn by both men and women. I don't know the exact name for them; in some cases they're referred to as lahengas, and in some cases they're referred to as salwar-kameezes. I think it depends on the region. In any case, there are a few places that sell this type of garment online.

I can't help but be attracted to it. It's feminine without being silly. It's comfortable without being frumpy. If I can get four outfits in that style of the long, short-sleeved tunic and ankle-length pants, I will.

But damned if I can find anything in solid white.

If I had more money, I'd buy the white Moroccan dress from Natasha's, but the amount they're asking is enough for me to pick up four outfits at Lane Bryant, so that's right out.

Feh.

There is, of course, a certain irony in this. In most African religions, an initiate must buy new clothes for their initiation. I am seeing this as that instance, just done a little later in my life as a priest. :)

Hopefully, though, that whole shaving the head thing won't come into play anytime soon....   >> 2:44:47 PM 
 
 
You're welcome, C. Corey. :) So, like, I didn't think I had to mention it, but -- I've been updating White Board Theatre just about all week, and they've all been SimuCon related. I didn't want to write another SimuCon write-up -- Ankhka's filled that void -- so I drew one instead. Bwahahahahaha.

And the first page of the World Tree goes up Saturday, as well. I redrew it; you can see the original here and, when it goes up, I imagine the new version will be here as of Saturday (until then, you'll only get a 404 if you click on the link).

I'm still adjusting to the tablet. It's still not the same as actually penciling a sketch -- a lot of subtlety gets lost -- but since the comics would get inked over anyway, I think I'm going to stick with it for the online stuff.

And I've babbled enough. Time to go. Bye-bye!   >> 12:28:08 PM 
 
 

6.14.2001

To the Welfare Queen: If I knew all my taxes were going to such as you, I would pay them happily each and every year.

As it is, it is strangely comforting to know that my taxes are going to the likes of you. It eases a little bit of the helplessness. I wish I could do more, Corey.   >> 11:53:39 AM 
 
 

6.13.2001

What's in a Ren?
Before I was able to talk, my father was watching television and (according to him) he saw an athlete named Stephanie Ruzich. Women's tennis, I think. My parents started calling me Ruzich, and somewhere it split so that my mom and stepfather call me Roo, and my dad calls me Zeech.

When I was in preschool, there was a lovely woman named Rose who was one of my instructors.

One day, on a ride home from preschool, I informed my mother that Rose and I had struck a deal and we were swapping names. I was to be known as Rose from now on, which my mother found most amusing.

It lasted less than a day.

When I was in second grade, a representative for a native rights group came to our school and asked if anyone in our class was of American Indian descent. I raised my hand and despite the skeptical looks of my instructor, informed the rep that I was, in fact, American Indian. Later, they called my home. My mother had to explain to them about her somewhat precocious daughter and no, I wasn't of native descent. Sorry.

When I was in fourth grade, on the first day of school my teacher asked if any of us went by any nicknames -- like our middle name, for example. Once again, my treacherous hand shot up, and I informed her that my middle name was Diane, and it was what I preferred to be called by, much to the confusion of my gradeschool friend, Summer Stewart.

A week later I admitted to the teacher that no one called me Diane, and to please correct the rolls to reflect that she should be referring to me as Stephanie.

It's not irony, I think, that I now belong to communities that encourage me to have a healthy set of names and cultural associations. I'm the Kemetic American Jones girl with a love for Japanese culture and her fingers dipped in the pool of interfaith teachings. I'm Stephanie, Rowan, Talia, Lark, meryBast, Sekhauesmutes, Kai-Imakhu, and Web-Entity.

And next week, when I go back to California to see my mom, I'll be Roo again.

Like I said, life is good :)   >> 10:44:38 PM 
 
 

6.12.2001

Much to do. I'm going to put together a photo diary of the Kashi trip for Kemet.org, and we're releasing an image gallery from an event a few months ago. Other big changes to Kemet.org, too, though more to the backbone than the visible side...more as that develops.

Things are very good. I wish I could tell you everything that's going on, but some things I can't talk about just yet. All I can assure you is that everything really is going well. I am in a grand mood, and my cold is going away.

I bought the household shelves yesterday, and the kitchen looks five times better. This weekend I'm going to dig into cleaning the place up and maybe doing some gardening. I want to erect an outdoor shrine...one in general to the abstract ideas of my religion; Netjer as the world, if you would, and the netjeri (nature spirits) as well. Part of living in Missouri -- especially semi-rural Missouri -- is that you feel a lot closer to the natural side of the world, and I've been moved by the various writings in the blog community to dig up dirt and plant plants. And we have this perfect ring of stones in our front yard where a shrine would just go great....

Not that I don't think cities are without their own souls...and if you believe in that sort of thing, then you, like me, are probably wondering just what it is Berkeley's souls have been smoking...and where can you get some...but I digress. Perhaps this is related to that anthropopathic thing...or something Cindy McQuillin told me once...or just part of my own unique reality. :)

The lightning bugs have been grabbing my attention lately. They sit in the trees out here and flash their butts on and off, making it look like the trees are twinkling. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but no. I really love the show. Never had glowbugs in California.

Speaking of which -- next week I leave for California. My mom can barely contain herself. Tomorrow I go back to my swimming routine. It's been so long. Alas.

The IRS accepted my request to go on an installment plan. My stepfather and father are getting father's day cards from me. My brother is turning 32. I'm turning 26. The weather is hot, my car has no A/C, and so I have a great reason to chop my hair even shorter and roll down the windows.

I may see Ron while I'm out in California. Still need to work that out. We are, first and foremost, friends. I can't tell you how much his friendship means to me. I have no plans on throwing it out the window, and it'll be good to talk to him again in person.

Oh, and I got a flight to Chicago for the retreat for $83. That's, like, really freaking good. Less than two months away! I gotta make the soap!

So much going on!

Life is great. :)   >> 3:19:49 PM 
 
 

6.11.2001

Hundreds dying every day of various diseases, people starving in every country, cats and dogs living together...and what are we throwing money at?

An Emeril Lagasse sitcom about...Emeril Lagasse.

If only I were joking.   >> 8:00:56 PM 
 
 
Be happy.

That's the best advice I can ever give you.

Be really, truly happy.

Grab that big ball of happy, clamp your jaw down on it, and hold on tight.

But not so tight you crumble it.

And not so loose you're willing to let it go for anyone.

Be happy. It's the same life, whether you were or not.

This is not, perhaps, the SimuCon wrap-up you were expecting. But I'm too damn tired after tackling all my email and IMs and board reading to give you what I intended to. So you get philosophy instead ;)   >> 2:57:59 AM 
 
 

6.7.2001

Fingerprints of You
I went through this evening and started clearing out space on my harddrive so I could edit some images. And as happens with this computer, which Ron built for me about three years ago, I found some of his files.

Nothing personal or really of much intellectual interest. Just some old Might and Magic save games, which I knew were his because he loves that game. I used to sit and watch him play it, perched on the arm of the couch and finding creative ways to brush up against him as he went on quests, slew dragons, and gained levels. He'd swear. I'd laugh. And after a while I'd get dizzy from watching the cruddy 2D graphics and have to look at something else.

It's June, 2001, and since March (I believe) we've officially been Over. At first, finding traces of his input in my life cut hard. I spent a few nights lying in bed and crying or thinking or praying. Because that's where I personally prefer to devour the sadness of a passing of relationships. I consume it, I allow it to stir my emotions, and once I've absorbed the nutrients, I let it go.

It doesn't cut deeply anymore, but at the same time -- I still love him. I would still consider taking him back if he showed up on my door tomorrow. And can I say I'm over him? Do we ever get "over" anyone?

The lives of others cannot be dismissed with the flip of a wrist and a shrug of the shoulders. Though Bast knows -- because I've told Her -- I've tried to do so.

If there is one thing I feel right about, it's that we didn't part angry. We split sad, not angry. I have struggled in my life to try and keep that a constant in how I deal with relationships. I want to reach down and say that this is because I remember the raging lioness my mother became when she found out my father was cheating on her, but I don't think it stems back to this. That was a significant blip in my childhood -- and don't get me wrong; I feel very strongly that my mother was justified in her anger -- but it isn't why I behave in this manner.

I do because I have, as I am wont to mention nowadays, been a part of a lot of communities. I've seen a lot of personalities. I've seen hearts of gold, shrugs of indifference, and I've seen people so torn up and bleeding inside that the only way they know how to function is by lashing out at others. People who thrive on making people react -- even if the only way to get them to react is by cussing them out or spitting on them.

People for whom the only course of action is no reaction. Do not feed the energy creature, SFRT-MORGAN would say. I agree with her.

In that vein, I've seen a lot of community relationships end. I've seen the crap people pull because they think they're wronged, or because they want to be wronged, because when you're the victim, you have a steaming hot buffet of pity to choose from, complete with sneezeguard and champagne service.

I refuse that right.

I refuse it, because I'm twenty-five and I'm already sick of it. I refuse it, because while I could wail about how I was treated...who, my friends, was the one allowing the treatment to begin with?

To be a victim in this manner is to surrender my right to control how others treat me. And I refuse.

Perhaps after all I can trace this back to my mother. Perhaps I can dig down deep and find the strength of the woman who made the then very unpopular decision to quit her marriage rather than stand by and be a victim.

This goes back to him, to Ron, to my heart, and ultimately, what he also taught me. We talked about professional victims a lot, he and I, about what it means to command your own destiny, and its ultimate price. You may have noticed that it is a common theme in these virtual pages, and I hope I don't sound like a broken record. It's something I mull over a lot, and that I'm still coming to decisions on.

I think, sometimes, that a great deal of Western society's problems could be solved if people weren't content to allow themselves to play the victim-volunteer.

Victims do exist. People who have been treated horribly, who are defenseless and helpless. I'm not negating one's right to be wronged. Far from it. But too often, people yearn to be shining within the right without actually earning that right. The more I know of the world, the less I find the true victim to be as common an occurence as the victim-volunteers themselves would have us believe. Which, in and of itself, cheapens the people who actually are being hurt. Who really do need help.

My father is not a horrible person. He's a kind, humorous man who made a mistake a little under two decades ago, and it's going to be with him for the rest of his life. I don't know if he thinks about it anymore, though. For all that his choice changed my life significantly, I wouldn't have things any other way.

I still love him. My mom and him are on very good terms. He has my stepmother, and she has my stepfather, and everyone is happier in the relationships they have now that previously. So really, no one loses -- it just stung a little, at first.

Speaking of which...she and I talked last night, and she reminded me that my word for breasts was not pizzaboobies but pizzababoos. I do apologize for the mix-up.

...And for the long, rambling post. I have so many friends who have been legitimately hurt or who are hurting, and if I could pick you all up and put you under my shelter, I would. But I can't, so I'll do the next best thing and put you in my prayers instead.

For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain,
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world.
Shantideva (8th Century Buddhist Saint)

I also remember what my childhood word for breasts was. My mom thought it was hysterical. You see, I called them...pizzaboobies.

Heh.   >> 11:24:25 AM 
 
 

6.4.2001

Nothing extraordinary, just trying to get the hang of this thing, and so far I think I'm starting to figure things out.

I can lay down structures for images in one window, clone it, and then make it a tracing that I can go over for a new image. Because I do actually lay down the shapes for characters (circles, cylinders, etc. -- all that stuff you're supposed to do to keep the structure copacetic) when I'm drawing them, this is very useful.

No layer tools in Painter. Bummer. So for final process, I have to move everything into Photoshop and edit it there. Not so bad, though. I find I'm growing more and more comfortable with Photoshop, and less comfortable with ImageStyler.

And Painter's water color tools are not bad. I don't usually add color to my drawings because I'm just not precise enough for it. But in a virtual environment, where I can undo the inevitable mistakes, it's not so hard.

Whoosh. Lots more to say, but I have to get back to fixing up pages for the con. Kashi recap still pending, I promise!   >> 5:10:28 PM 
 
 
The SimuCon blitz continues. Wheee.

Sammy pug says hi.   >> 1:05:31 PM 
 
 

6.3.2001

My shameful display of cartooning ability continues. The tastelessness factor goes up with the continuation of Rowan's lack of right to bear arms. Ah, I'm horrible, ain't I?

Painter is an interesting program. It lacks a lot of features I would have liked in a drawing program. Specifically, I'd love if you could lay down a guideline layer that could be deleted later. You can sort of do this with the trace feature, and I'm going to continue trying that out to see if I can get it to do what I want.

The brush options are nice...better than Fireworks or Photoshop's offerings, in my opinion. It's funny how far we've come with drawing programs. It's too bad the tablets still aren't up to par with real pen-and-paper drawing.

And that's probably where it fails. I have a hard time training myself to look at a screen while I draw. I'm much too used to being intimate with the paper. I suppose with enough practice I'll get used to it, though. And it does save a LOT of time....

I promised that Kashi trip report -- and then SimuCon came along and crushed my puny soul. I'm going to see what I can manage. I've been working the last two days. I took a break today to draw the comic, because I bought the tablet Friday and really wanted to see what I could do with it. Now I know (sort of), and knowing is half the...oh, nevermind.

And finally...farewell to Cleo. She wasn't a person, but she was a beloved cat, and she will be missed.   >> 7:35:09 PM 
 
 

6.2.2001

I found an odd radio station a few weeks ago: 88.1. It's probably in the vein of PBS, as far as radio stations go. So far I've heard funk, soul, reggae, rap, punk, electronica, country rock, oldies, latin, and (today) swedish folk featured on it. And none of it bad. It's a nice change.

Was headachey and nauseous by the time I got to Chili's for lunch, probably because I slept too long and didn't get food when I was supposed to. A cup of chili and chicken pita later, I felt much better. The two aspirin and slice of margarita pie (it's really fricking good) also helped.

Time to work. Work work work. Wheee.

Sometimes I feel
It's taking me nowhere
Sometimes I feel
My actions are not mine
Sometimes I feel
It's taking me nowhere
Sometimes I'm taken by madness divine

"Acting up", in this case, means Explorer crashing every thirty seconds.

Figured it out after some rooting about; seems there was a file that was giving Win2k indigestion, and it had been accessed recently, so every time my "Documents" folder was loaded up (you know, the one that keeps track of the last twenty or so documents you used), it would try to reference the bad file and...FOOM!

It took us five hours to figure this out.

What a waste. I have no choice now except to come in Saturday, because there's at least three things I still need to get done to have the site ready for SimuCon. Feh.   >> 11:11:47 PM