| Yardwork and Other Thrills |
[May. 20th, 2012|03:03 pm] |
I'm trying to be better and more consistent with this blogging/updating thing, but every time I'm about to call our settling in "complete enough for a routine to establish itself," I am proved wrong.
I'd like to think we're closing in on the home stretch, but my husband is still deciding what to do about bookshelves in his study/the parlor - which unfortunately means that we still have boxes and boxes of books lying about. The core problem is that he wants to do built-in bookcases, and built-in bookcases are crazypants-expensive and time-consuming to achieve; but regular bookcases are also less than ideal because we have these massive 11-foot ceilings, and anything except absurdly tall bookcases would look weirdly stubby in there.
Absurdly tall bookcases are also crazypants-expensive, as it turns out. I'm not sure what, exactly, we're going to do yet. But I sure would love to unpack these books.
Also in the Not Quite Finished category ... the Perplexing Back Room. The PBR - part of a bonus area added in the early 30s - is still empty except for the cat's condo and some curtains. And okay, in the interest of full disclosure, it's also littered with all the crap we can't be bothered to take out to the garage, or haul up into the attic right this moment.
This littering/stashing is made all the easier by a Truly Questionable Built-In Cabinet.
It's awful. Painted a dozen times through the years, with all twelve layers peeling. Topped by doors installed so poorly that they won't stay shut unless you loop a rubber-band around their knobs. There's only one really nice thing about it: It's so shitty we aren't worried about messing it up. That's why it's stocked with paint cans, birdseed, plant food, and gardening supplies.
As a side note, while vacuuming yesterday it occurred to me that I'd never before had a place with so much room that I had to keep moving the cord around from outlet to outlet. I was tickled by this, until I noticed that I also had so much room that I had an entire room with almost nothing in it but room.
*sigh*
I swear to God, you guys - apart from the Perplexing Back Room and the Unfortunate Master Bath, the rest of the house is just gorgeous. If you don't see me going on and on about anything else, it's because everything else has been so damn easy.
Well, except for the yard.
The yard is somewhat less easy, but that having been said, it's not that bad, and it's very pretty. We have a lushly overgrown back (prettily landscaped with that precise intent), but we don't have a lot of front yard - which works out just fine for us and our interest in yardwork, which could best be described as "intermittent."
On Friday we actually took a crack at it, though.
I donned ratty jeans, long sleeves, work gloves, safety eyewear, and my stepmom's old combat boots ... then seized the electric hedge trimmer and went to town.* Town needed to be gone to. The yard had been unaddressed for the better part of a month, and those of you familiar with the southeast in the summer can just guess what this place was starting to look like.
I didn't do any cool shapes with the bushes or anything. Mostly I just took a little off the top, to make it look like civilized adults live here. Joke's on the neighbors, I suppose.
While I was at it, I cut a narrow swath behind the holly bushes, clearing the way for me to reach the garden hose and spigot. This also allowed me to reach my very tall, somewhat high-placed windows - a feat I achieved via ladder and a whole lot of swearing, plus an army of holly-leaf scratches up and down my shoulders.
This was a lot of trouble for the sake of some window-reaching, yes, but it had to happen. Why, you ask? Because our million-year-old screens were in utter tatters, and they'd been installed at some distant point on top of some old storm windows. This struck me as odd at first, but then I realized that the storm windows were installed at an even more distant point, back when the primary windows still opened, and all three levels of window-covering could be easily accessed from indoors.
Long story short, here in 2012 these particular windows don't open** and the screens couldn't be removed - even though they made the house look vaguely like a ghost ship with fluttering sails every time a breeze came curling down the mountain.
I could sit here and make up a bad-ass home improvement story about how I Macgyvered some fabulous resolution to this issue; but in fact, what I really did was take a box-cutter to the damn things, and slice them right out of the frame. Not the world's most elegant feat of problem-solving, I'll grant you, but I am not prepared to give a damn. They're gone, and the place looks much, much better.
Hmm. What else has been going on? Let's see.
We once again have TV in our lives, which is nice. Just basic thirteen, because any more than that, and I'd never get any work done. The TV hook-up was a low-drama affair, as compared to the internet hookup - but I don't think I remembered to post about that. In short, the internet guy drilled a hole through our water line. It was our first full day in the house, and our first minor crisis as homeowners. Luckily, this particular crisis wasn't our fault, and EPB fixed everything within a few hours.
Yesterday, my cousin Ryan (formerly of cat-sitting fame) swung by for a visit with his wife and son. His son is about 14 months old, so the cat stayed hunkered in the bedroom closet the whole time, but that was probably for the best. After awhile of kicking around the homestead, we wandered off for ice cream and pizza, and lo, a fine time was had by all. It was fabulous to see them! I'm absolutely delighted to be back in their time zone.
Next up: becoming local. Tomorrow I'll hit up the DMV for a new license, and get new tags put on the car. With any luck, we'll get registered for health insurance once again. I hate doing the self-coverage thing; it's expensive and the coverage you get is crappy, but it's (somewhat) better than nothing. I think.
Anyway. I believe this post has run long enough, so I'll wrap it up and go see about making myself some tea. I don't want to get too optimistic over here, but I just might try and get some work done ...
* The husband donned shorts and flip-flops, and started out the door with the edger/trimmer.
** Most of the house has newer windows, but this stretch doesn't. Naturally.
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| Am I back? |
[May. 20th, 2012|10:57 am] |
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Dunno, haven't entirely decided. |
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| [personal] Teachable moments |
[May. 20th, 2012|06:58 am] |
It's been quite a good conference here professionally speaking, but last night I went to bed early feeling irritated and sour. This morning I woke up feeling depressed and upset.
I walked for an hour along San Antonio's Riverwalk and tried to really get down into why I felt the way I did. Some facile explanations readily presented themselves, but even in the midst of my emotional distress, I recognized those for what they were. I think I eventually reached a better understanding, which in turn made me rather uncomfortable.
The fact that I was rather uncomfortable strikes me as a important, and as a reason to talk about this despite my first impulse to keep the whole business to myself in a fit of passive-aggressive sulking. This is especially true in the light of John Scalzi's recent, excellent post on the Lowest Difficulty Setting.
Last night, well after all our formal events were concluded, about a dozen of us were in the conference suite goofing off, cutting up, and so forth, as one does. Alcohol had been flowing, a little of it into me. For me, this evening space at writing conventions and conferences among like-minded people has always been one of the few places in my life where I can really cut loose and be my unfettered self. Fast talking, flirty, potty mouthed, pun riddled, and rather over the top. Those of you who've known me for a while in real life have probably seen me in this mode.
Most of the time I'm Dad, or an employee, or a professional writer representing myself, my work and my field, or a cancer patient. (A hell of a lot of that last one.) Or I'm just some guy in the grocery store or the post office or whatever, going about his business. All of those are roles, adopted with varying degrees of self-consciousness. But that convention/conference party space is one of those rare places where I have always felt I can just be me.
Except it went wrong for me last night. To be clear right up front, not through anyone else's bad behavior, as no one treated me badly at all, but through my own internal processes.
A joke with religious content was told. Someone was offended and left abruptly. I neither told the joke nor was upset by it, but I certainly made a strong material contribution to the fast-and-loose social environment that made that joke seem reasonable to the teller, and made all of us but one laugh uproariously.
In the wake of that moment, the bunch of us got into a lengthy, serious discussion about our social responsibilities to one another, what I in a moment of flipness called a "white people encounter group." It was rather productive, especially given that a number of us were at least tipsy, and we were all pretty tired. It was also eye-opening for me.
I've been explicitly aware of the concept of privilege, as discussed in progressive social circles, since the late 1980s. The first time I can recall hearing the term with this meaning was listening to an interview on NPR in 1988 or so with Peggy McIntosh discussing her essay on white privilege and male privilege, White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.
I've been thinking and writing about it both directly and indirectly for the quarter century since then. I've expended a lot effort in my personal life to avoid leveraging that privilege in areas where I do have control. Put very simply, for example, not cutting in front of the deli line because I'm the tall(ish) white guy standing in the crowd and the clerk points to me next.
I'm also co-parenting a child who is a female person of color. One of my primary jobs as her parent is prepare for her life by helping her become a happy, self-confident, intelligent young woman with enough wisdom and resilience to deal with all the stuff she'll have to wade through that has simply never come my way.
As for me, in Scalzi's terms, yeah, I'm playing life on the lowest difficulty setting. I sometimes joke that if I were fifty pounds lighter and $500,000 richer, I would be The Man. Except that's not a joke, it's true. And yes, I can point to a lot of obstacles in my life history from childhood sexual abuse to deep clinical depression in my teens and twenties to cancer in my forties, but all of those were overcome in part through my privilege as a white male, for example, by having the kind of family support and adult employment that gave me full access to high quality healthcare with excellent doctors who treated me with respectful attention. Even with all the crap, I'm still playing on the lowest difficulty setting.
What I realized last night, what depressed and upset me, was that my sense of being free and unfettered, of being able to cut loose and be myself, is itself a distinct form of privilege. Once we got serious, some of the women in the room were willing to speak up and explain that certain jokes which had passed earlier made them uncomfortable, but they didn't want to ruin the mood by saying anything. I myself pointed out that there had been some psuedohomoerotic clowning around by straight guys, including me, which would probably have made any LGBTQ-identified people in the room uncomfortable, though no one had spoken up. I was sharply (and appropriately) corrected when I prefaced one of my comments by saying we now live in a culture where offense is in the eye of the beholder. That is certainly my experience, but I'm speaking and thinking from a position of privilege, almost all of it transparent to me as its beneficiary. As the other person pointed out, women are constantly being told by men what they should or shouldn't be offended by. Probably including me, some of the time.
I feel like I lost something important last night. I feel like I lost a sense of unguarded social freedom. How I lost that sense of unguarded social freedom was by realizing deep in my gut something which I've known intellectually for years. That is, that for most people, that sense of unguarded social freedom never existed in the first place.
That makes me very, very sad.
I hate teachable moments, especially when I'm on the receiving end of them.
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| Dear Author :> (FKFicathon 2012) |
[May. 19th, 2012|11:18 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  happy | ] |
Dear Author:
If you've come this far, you know I'm a "Team Player" and a Casefic Fan! Beyond that, I love the way the show did the characters. I love the relationships they had and the hurdles they had to overcome.
That doesn't mean you can't invent new hurdles - it just means that ignoring canon is truly painful for me!
I love stories that examine the primary relationships within a casefic framework - and stories that introduce us to new information (without making me yet "this only happens in alter-world") are wonderful as well. New stuff is good as long as it doesn't fly in the face of established Canon.
I'm sure I'll have more for you, but for now, this is a good start :>
( The Actual Write Up ) |
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| 2011 Nebula Awards Announced |
[May. 19th, 2012|09:15 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | connie willis, delia sherman, geoff ryman, jo walton, john clute, ken liu, kij johnson, nebula awards, neil gaiman, news, octavia butler, sfwa blog | ] |
 The Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, Inc. is pleased to announce the recipients of the 2011 Nebula Awards®.
Novel Winner: Among Others, Jo Walton (Tor)
Other Nominees
Novella Winner: ”The Man Who Bridged the Mist,” Kij Johnson (Asimov’s Science Fiction, October/November 2011)
Other Nominees
- “Kiss Me Twice,” Mary Robinette Kowal (Asimov’s Science Fiction, June 2011)
- “Silently and Very Fast,” Catherynne M. Valente (WSFA Press; Clarkesworld Magazine, October 2011)
- “The Ice Owl,” Carolyn Ives Gilman (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November/December 2011)
- “The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary,” Ken Liu (Panverse Three, Panverse Publishing)
- “With Unclean Hands,” Adam-Troy Castro (Analog Science Fiction and Fact, November 2011)
Novelette Winner: ”What We Found,” Geoff Ryman (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, September/October 2011)
Other Nominees
- “Fields of Gold,” Rachel Swirsky (Eclipse 4, Night Shade Books)
- “Ray of Light,” Brad R. Torgersen (Analog Science Fiction and Fact, December 2011)
- “Sauerkraut Station,” Ferrett Steinmetz (Giganotosaurus, November 2011)
- “Six Months, Three Days,” Charlie Jane Anders (Tor.com, June 2011)
- “The Migratory Pattern of Dancers,” Katherine Sparrow (Giganotosaurus, July 2011)
- “The Old Equations,” Jake Kerr (Lightspeed Magazine, July 2011)
Short Story Winner: ”The Paper Menagerie,” Ken Liu (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March/April 2011)
Other Nominees
- “Her Husband’s Hands,” Adam-Troy Castro (Lightspeed Magazine, October 2011)
- “Mama, We are Zhenya, Your Son,” Tom Crosshill (Lightspeed Magazine, April 2011)
- “Movement,” Nancy Fulda (Asimov’s Science Fiction, March 2011)
- “Shipbirth,” Aliette de Bodard (Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2011)
- “The Axiom of Choice,” David W. Goldman (New Haven Review, Winter 2011)
- “The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees,” E. Lily Yu (Clarkesworld Magazine, April 2011)
Ray Bradbury Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation Winner: Doctor Who: “The Doctor’s Wife,” Neil Gaiman (writer), Richard Clark (director) (BBC Wales)
Other Nominees
- Attack the Block, Joe Cornish (writer/director) (Optimum Releasing; Screen Gems)
- Captain America: The First Avenger, Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely (writers), Joe Johnston (director) (Paramount)
- Hugo, John Logan (writer), Martin Scorsese (director) (Paramount)
- Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen (writer/director) (Sony)
- Source Code, Ben Ripley (writer), Duncan Jones (director) (Summit)
- The Adjustment Bureau, George Nolfi (writer/director) (Universal)
Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy Book Winner: The Freedom Maze, Delia Sherman (Big Mouth House)
Other Nominees
Read the rest of this entry » Mirrored from SFWA | Comment at SFWA |
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| [culture|child] Giraffe rules and shotgun rules |
[May. 19th, 2012|06:28 am] |
About four years ago here on the blog, I mentioned the concept of "giraffe rules" [ jlake.com | LiveJournal ]. As I said at the time:
“Please don’t eat the giraffe” rules […] are the kinds of rules any society has which no one ever thinks to spell out in so many words, until someone comes along who tries to eat the giraffe. If you’re a parent, you’re pretty familiar with these rules, because kids are always finding some giraffe to eat. If you hang out with writers, many of whom are the beneficiaries of what at the kindest could be called quirky socialization, you run into some of these same rules. (And of course, there are places in the world where “Please don’t eat the giraffe” may well be a needed social rule.)
So a while ago, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1) the_child commented that she thought that Mother of the Child and I weren't very good parents.
"Why?" I asked her, quite curious about this utterance.
"Because you don't give me very many rules."
"Well," I pointed out, "You don't need a lot rules. You pretty much behave yourself. Parents make rules when kids do things they shouldn't."
Such as trying to eat the giraffe.
There are so many unwritten rules in society. Not just unwritten, but even unconscious. A favorite example of mine is the priority of seating in an automobile. With the partial exception of a socially flat group of peers (such as high school kids of the same gender and clique in the same year-class), we almost always know who's going to sit where in a car without having to ask. If you begin to pick at how that works, it's a pretty complex hierarchy with a lot of exception management. Who owns the vehicle? Who has the keys? Who is dating or married to whom? Who's infirm or elderly? Who's exceptionally tall or short? What's the gender mix? What's the age mix? And even for peers, there's a protocol. Calling "shotgun", for example.
Yet no one ever sits down and explains this to people. We all just know, by some magic osmosis. We'll call these shotgun rules.
So there are giraffe rules, which are so obvious they aren't normally stated at all, then there are the shotgun rules which are the opposite of obvious, maybe even vanishingly subtle, but they aren't normally stated either. And believe me, being a parent brings both sets of rules to consciousness, especially if you have a kid like mine, who spends a lot of time analyzing other people's behavior. Or likewise if your kid's on the autism spectrum, you spend a lot of time explaining these rules.
What are your favorite examples of giraffe rules? What are your favorite examples of shotgun rules?
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| [conventions] Hanging out at Paradise Lost |
[May. 19th, 2012|06:25 am] |
Today is the second full day of Paradise Lost, the writing conference I'm at in San Antonio. We've got a good crew here, including fellow pro mentors John Joseph Adams and Steven Brust, as well as organizer Sean Kelley, my good friends @dratz and Mrs. @dratz, and ton of other fun, interesting people, including a guest appearance from creed_of_hubris yesterday evening, and a guest appearance from my cousin the park ranger this coming evening.
So far we've eaten way too much food, hot tubbed, drank, engaged in deeply inappropriate conversation, played several games of Bang!, drank, critiqued, discussed submittals and editorial etiquette, drank, eaten way too much food, talked a lot about writing, and drank.
Why the hell do I come to these things anyway? Oh, the food. And drinking. (Though in truth, very little of that for me and my liver.)
It's a fun group having a fun time being writers together. I like this part of the writing life, a lot.
Meanwhile, I have a lecture to go be a part of shortly.
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