Below are the most recent 25 friends' journal entries.

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Saturday, November 28th, 2009
pepysdiary	11:00p	Wednesday 28 November 1666 http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1666/11/28/ Up, and with Sir W. Pen to White Hall (setting his lady and daughter down by the way at a mercer's in the Strand, where they are going to lay out some money), where, though it blows hard and rains hard, yet the Duke of York is gone a-hunting. We therefore lost our labour, and so back again, and by hackney coach to secure places to get things ready against dinner, and then home, and did the like there, and to my great satisfaction: and at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, Sir Thomas Crew, Mr. John Crew, Mr. Carteret, and Brisband. I had six noble dishes for them, dressed by a man-cook, and commended, as indeed they deserved, for exceeding well done. We eat with great pleasure, and I enjoyed myself in it with reflections upon the pleasures which I at best can expect, yet not to exceed this; eating in silver plates, and all things mighty rich and handsome about me. A great deal of fine discourse, sitting almost till dark at dinner, and then broke up with great pleasure, especially to myself; and they away, only Mr. Carteret and I to Gresham College, where they meet now weekly again, and here they had good discourse how this late experiment of the dog, which is in perfect good health, may be improved for good uses to men, and other pretty things, and then broke up. Here was Mr. Henry Howard, that will hereafter be Duke of Norfolke, who is admitted this day into the Society, and being a very proud man, and one that values himself upon his family, writes his name, as he do every where, Henry Howard of Norfolke. Thence home and there comes my Lady Pen, Pegg, and Mrs. Turner, and played at cards and supped with us, and were pretty merry, and Pegg with me in my closet a good while, and did suffer me 'a la baiser mouche et toucher ses cosas' upon her breast, wherein I had great pleasure, and so spent the evening and then broke up, and I to bed, my mind mightily pleased with the day's entertainment. (Comment on this)
truepenny	12:51p	I made it in my sleep. I wonder what it does. It amuses me that one of my most immediately recognizable dream-genres is the Escape from Dystopia Dream. Sometimes they're nightmarish. Sometimes they aren't. Generally, I find them more interesting than the vast unwashed masses of my dreams (I love enjoy am fascinated by dystopias, so it's really very generous of my subconscious to generate them for me), and sometimes, as a bonus, they give me story ideas. This one was clearly YA lesbian SF noir. Behind the cut is, not so much the dream itself, but some maundering about how I'd make that dream into a story. ( click if you're interested ) And there. It needs more Cool Shit, worldbuildling, and general SFnality, but that's the bones of a story. Not, of course, that I have time to write the flesh. --- *Notice that while my subconscious--on the basis of a dream earlier this month--cannot tell the difference between Minnesota and Switzerland, it's quite clear on the geography of Detroit, particularly wrt Canada. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
oursin	5:55p	Home agin, home agin After pleasing period of rest + physical activity (6 x walkies on the Common, 4 sessions in the gym, 1 Pilates class, 1 Core Conditioning Class) + delicious treatments (I want my home dry-float apparatus!), back home. There were a few crumpled rose-leaves, but the overall experience was so pleasant I could treat these with relative equanimity (where is oursin and what have I done with the hedgehog?) - indeed, the wonky tap in the ladies' loo next to the gym is becoming an old familiar friend, rather like the wonkinesses in one's own home that one has learnt to deal with. Discovered, from the taxi driver picking me up, that there was a replacement bus service between Haslemere and Guildford - something which had not been entirely manifest on the National Rail site when I checked - so I decided to take the taxi to Guildford rather than hoick self and luggage on and off taxi, bus and train. The drive went past the Devil's Punchbowl, which I hadn't realised was there - the setting of Monica Edwards' 'Punchbowl Farm' series? (I preferred the Romney Marsh ones.) *** Review of Lived in London: Blue Plaques and the Stories Behind Them edited by Emily Cole by Kathryn Hughes. Qu: surely the name of Flinders Petrie is still relatively well-remembered? Or do I think that because I work more or less round the corner from the UCL Museum of Egyptology that bears his name? Some novels never quite recover from the brilliance of their opening chapters. WORD. No, not really: Geoffrey Moorhouse, who died this week, was a great travel writer, but had also been one of the last gentleman reporters. He was adventurous in many ways: he had one of the first vasectomies, which went wrong, and he gave a hilarious description of phoning London from a bar in rural Ireland to describe the symptoms to his surgeon, while drinkers gave pennies to small boys to fetch their fathers so they could hear it too. Well, no, Simon Hoggart, actually: vasectomies had been being performed since around the mid-C19th, originally in the belief that they alleviated the evils of self-abuse and spermatorrhoea, from 1899 for purposes of sterilisation, and during the interwar period in the belief that they were a means of rejuvenation (HAI! W B Yeats). I.e. it is a rather simple operation that you'd think surgeons would have managed to get right by the time it became a relatively popular, or at least discussed, method of birth control in the late 1960s. I will concede that 'methods of birth control' (and 'weird operations performed for bizarre reasons'?) just possibly might be one of my Mastermind special subjects. This entry was originally posted at http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/1138864.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View comments.
ozarque	9:16a	Eldering; winter holidays ahead... One of the things that goes with eldering is that everything you do -- even things you've been doing for so many years that you could practically do them in your sleep -- starts taking much longer to do than it ever has before. It's frustrating, and infuriating, and you keep thinking that if you'd just put your mind to it you could do things faster .... but you learn that that's false. The reason I'm bringing this up isn't because I think it will come as a revelation to any of you. I'm bringing it up because starting tomorrow I'm going to be up to my eyebrows in getting ready for Christmas. Putting up the Christmas tree. Trimming the Christmas tree. Writing and addressing the Christmas cards and Christmas checks. Making the fruitcake. Making the handcrafted presents. Wrapping the presents. Putting the local presents under the tree, and getting the nonlocal ones off in the mail in time. Cleaning the house. Doing the last-minute Christmas shopping. Making the grocery list for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Cooking the Christmas dinner. Fixing the Christmas Eve buffet. And the most important task of all: Writing the To Do lists, where all of these things get scheduled, and without which I would be helpless. Usually we don't put up the Christmas tree until December 1st, but this year -- because George has discovered that everything he does takes him much longer now -- he has decided to get started early, and will be putting up the tree tomorrow instead. I won't be trimming it tomorrow, because tomorrow is my day off, but I will hit the ground running [slowly] on Monday. Everything has side effects, and a side effect of all this is that I'm not going to have much time for posting here at Live Journal. I wanted to let you know. In preparation for that, here are URLs for some of my Christmas posts from years past: Photo of our 2007 Christmas tree -- at http://ozarque.livejournal.com/476923.html . Compiled list of Christmas links -- to holiday filksongs, holiday recipes [including that fruitcake], holiday poems, and posts about the handcrafted Christmas gifts I make -- at http://ozarque.livejournal.com/561560.html . (21 Comments |Comment on this)
papersky	9:25a	Another moon poem nineweaving had spam this morning containing the phrase "submersible moonphase" and asks for poetry or flash fiction. To the Aegean she tosses the moonpath, rippling highway of silken silver if you could walk it, if you could take that first step, if you could keep your balance as she rises you could dance with Artemis beside Apollo Eleven. Our oceans are her cloak tossed over her arm, dragging behind her glinting, glimmering, shot through with silver waxing, waning tugged by her tides. Still she stands poised rising full over the mountain's rim a great silver coin as if a push would roll her splashing coldly down at Kythera impossible, underwater submersible moonphase. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 27th, 2009
nineweaving	11:55p	submersible moonphase I know it's just an ad for knock-off watches, but the phrase is rather glorious. I am tempted to set a competition: for the best poem or flash fiction on the theme of "submersible moonphase." Nine (9 Comments |Comment on this)
pepysdiary	11:00p	Tuesday 27 November 1666 http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1666/11/27/ Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and here I had a letter from Mr. Brisband on another occasion, which, by the by, intimates my Lord Hinchingbroke's intention to come and dine with me to-morrow. This put me into a great surprise, and therefore endeavoured all I could to hasten over our business at the office, and so home at noon and to dinner, and then away by coach, it being a very foul day, to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret's find my Lord Hinchingbroke, who promises to dine with me to-morrow, and bring Mr. Carteret along with him. Here I staid a little while talking with him and the ladies, and then away to my Lord Crew's, and then did by the by make a visit to my Lord Crew, and had some good discourse with him, he doubting that all will break in pieces in the kingdom; and that the taxes now coming out, which will tax the same man in three or four several capacities, as for lands, office, profession, and money at interest, will be the hardest that ever come out; and do think that we owe it, and the lateness of its being given, wholly to the unpreparedness of the King's own party, to make their demand and choice; for they have obstructed the giving it by land-tax, which had been done long since. Having ended my visit, I spoke to Sir Thomas Crew, to invite him and his brother John to dinner tomorrow, at my house, to meet Lord Hinchingbroke; and so homewards, calling at the cook's, who is to dress it, to bespeak him, and then home, and there set things in order for a very fine dinner, and then to the office, where late very busy and to good purpose as to dispatch of business, and then home. To bed, my people sitting up to get things in order against to-morrow. This evening was brought me what Griffin had, as he says, taken this evening off of the table in the office, a letter sealed and directed to the Principal Officers and Commissioners of the Navy. It is a serious and just libel against our disorder in paying of our money, making ten times more people wait than we have money for, and complaining by name of Sir W. Batten for paying away great sums to particular people, which is true. I was sorry to see this way of reproach taken against us, but more sorry that there is true ground for it. (Comment on this)
truepenny	4:38p	5 things 1. Thank you, everyone, for the birthday wishes on Wednesday. So far, thirty-five is going pretty well. 2. One of my birthday presents was a ring made by Sara Jayne Cole. I think I've linked to her work before, but I gotta say, it's worth linking to again. (Disclaimer: she is a friend of my mother's.) 3. My birthday present to myself--and mirrorthaw--was buying a new bed with the advance from the goblin book. Since the bed we were sleeping on was the one I bought when I moved to Madison in 1996, you may rightfully say that this birthday present is neither self-indulgent nor, indeed, a moment too soon. Also, for the first time in our adult lives, we have an honest-to-god bed frame. 4. The bed frame has taught me that I do actually have a (rather dim and rudimentary) sense of spatial relations. I walked into it in the dark yesterday because I knew exactly where the bed was. Or, you know, used to be. I'm developing a lovely bruise on my thigh. 5. I have reached 65,000 words in the goblin book. 45,000 to go. Which will be easier once I figure out what the captain of the palace guard wants to talk to the emperor about. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
lilithsaintcrow	1:24p	If I’d Listened… First of all, we have a winner in the contest for a signed Flesh Circus! Random.org helped me pick a comment number. The winner is comment #11, kara-karina! Kara-karina, drop me an email with your snail mail address and I’ll send you a signed, personalized copy of Jill’s latest adventure. Also, I am over at SciFiGuy’s place today, with an interview and a chance to win a copy of Betrayals. I will be answering questions in the comments all day. Come on by and say hello! Plus, I’ll be at the Cedar Hills Crossing Powell’s this Sunday for the SF/F Authorfest. Come by and see me, fellow Dame Devon Monk, Barb & JC Hendee, and a bunch of other cool people, including the 501st Cloud City Garrison (Vader’s Fist). Good times will be had by all. And now, my dears, for my Friday writing post. Are you all settled in with a tasty sandwich and frosty beverage? Good enough. If I’d listened, none of this would have happened. You see, I grew up being told that I was a quitter. That I never finished anything, that I had no discipline. I was told that I had my head in the clouds, that I was unreliable, that I might be booksmart but I would never be smart in any other way. I was just too dreamy. I always took the easy way out. Part of the work I’ve been doing on myself lately has been taking a look at some of those core assumptions I was raised with. A big core belief is that I’m unlovable. Only slightly less huge is the belief that I’m a quitter, that all my success has been a fluke and that I have to live in constant fear of being exposed as, well, a fake. I may know intellectually that this makes no sense. But the real work comes in when it’s time to change that sick heart-thumping feeling of danger, the feeling that you might be found out at any moment, that you are an imposter in a world of Real People. I have two beautiful children I’m raising mostly-alone. I am making a living by writing, not the easiest task. I have over twenty books out. And just this week my editor at Razorbill called and told me Betrayals made the Times list for Children’s Paperback Fiction. It was about twenty minutes later, when I was squeeing on the phone with my agent, that the ugly core belief came out. “Do they ever make a mistake?” I asked her, anxiously. “I mean, will they find out they’ve been wrong and take it away? Does that happen?” She reassured me that no, it did not happen, and we went back to squeeing. But later, after I hung up the phone, I wondered why I’d even thought that. It’s the New York Times list, for Christ’s sake. Why could I not accept and believe that I’d worked my ass off, day in and day out, and might deserve some part of the honor? Because of that core belief that I’m a quitter. It was said to me so often for the first twenty-odd years of my life that I’ve ended up internalizing it, believing it–and it taints even the best news a writer could hope for with the sullen, gut-clenching feeling of being a faker. But there’s hope. (There’s always hope.) I pretty much accepted failure was going to be part of my professional life when I set out to get published. Rejection and failure happen every day, and sometimes multiple times a day for a writer. But total failure wasn’t an option. I decided to keep writing until someone, somewhere, liked what I did and offered to publish it. Sooner or later, I reasoned, if I kept working at it, I’d get on somewhere. Lo and behold, it happened. I got my first break, and I kept writing. I networked like a mad bastard and kept writing. I got an agent and I kept writing. I got my first New York publishing contract and I kept writing. Other contracts followed and I kept writing. Foreign rights, requests for short stories, requests for other books followed–and I kept writing. Do you sense a theme here? The thing about challenging a core belief is that it requires that you take a look at the empirical evidence, not just how you feel. I am supporting myself and my kids with words I pull out of thin air. I do my best to hold up my end of the bargain with my Readers–to tell the truth–and you, my dear Readers, respond. I made an effing NYT Bestseller List, for God’s sake. This is not something you get just by sitting back and smelling roses. It took hard work and a refusal to quit. That refusal to quit makes me not a quitter. It means whenever that nasty little voice speaks up inside my head I can meet it with evidence in the real world that I am measuring myself by a broken yardstick. That’s the first step to replacing the yardstick with one that works–and not so incidentally, one that won’t stab me in the heart every time I’m down and a little low. If I’d listened just to that voice, though, this would never have happened. I would never have even gotten published the first time. I would have quit when I got my fiftieth rejection slip, or even earlier. Some part of me must have known it wasn’t true. Some part of me set its shoulders, lifted its chin, and said to hell with you and what you think, this is what I’m doing. That part is the real me, and it deserves to come out into the sunshine. This is the first jackhammer I’m going to take to that edifice of the core belief. I’m going to break that f!cker up and turn it into rubble, and build something better. If I had listened, I would have stopped before I got published. If I’d listened, I would have stopped before I got an agent. If I’d listened, I would have stopped and accepted defeat years ago. I did not. I kept going, even while believing myself a “quitter” down in the secret chambers of my heart. How’s that for crazy? So, my dear fellow writers (and Readers), let me tell you this. You are not what other people tell you. You are not what other people say. You are what you do. Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Get that jackhammer, get that wrecking ball, and start the process of being kind to yourself by chipping away at those voices in your head that judge you and tell you you’re Worth Less. Look at what you’ve done so far. Imagine, if you’ve done all this while believing those awful things about yourself, what could you do if you were not chained? How awesome would that be? It’s not easy work. But, as my sister once so memorably said, “They call it life because it’s hard.” I won’t give up. And if I can refuse to give up, so can you. Let’s go kick some ass, you and me. Over and out. Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.
oursin	1:23p	Hmmm, fantasy adventure.... Recently purchased, off my Amazon recs list (where it waspresumably 'because you bought Farscape &/or Neverwhere) a boxed set (v cheap) 'Fantasy Adventure Collection', containing Labyrinth, Mirrormask, and The Dark Crystal. I enjoyed Labyrinth, because of stroppy bolshie female figure in quest fantasy, although also the 'be kind to passing creatures and they will help you in your quest) element, lots of allusions to classic works, and David Bowie as camp as a row of pink frilly tents. Plus, it seemed to me to focus on the plot and less on the cool design stuff. (Not that some of the design stuff wasn't cool.) I liked Mirrormask rather less, although I appreciated the reverse-Persephone motif. Except - Queen of Light/Queen of Shadows - HAI MY KLEINIAN PARANOID-SCHIZOID POSITION, LET ME SHOW U IT - a binarism I never like much, and this one had the Queen of Light in a coma. Also, was ambiguous male sidekick being set up as Romantic Interest? - eeeuuuwww. Also, a lot of this did seem driven by Cool Stuff We Can Do, some of which was, I admit, v effective. Both of these, interestingly, had episode in which protag was sent to sleep/put into a trance/given amnesia, and this was associated with trappings of conventional femininity. (I have some problems with this - I'd like to see a narrative in which the girl deliberately and knowing chooses these with some particular purpose.) The Dark Crystal was pretty but pretty terrible. I am so over any narrative that focuses on Dim Male Chosen One - in this, the female gelfing had more in the way of natural talents and general nous (even with the markings of conventional femininity and fairy wings) but Dim Male Gelfling still gets to Heal The Crystal (I'm sorry if that's a spoiler...). Okay, we did have a female mad or at least eccentric scientist or seer, but distinctly non-humanoid and apparently the only one of her species. Also, the Mystics? They were adowwable cute, I want a stuffed plushy one to hug and pet and call George, but while they might have been Good, they were pretty dumb. You have an impending End of All Things and a Prophesied One Among You. Wouldn't it be a good idea to inform the Prophesied One and give him some degree of Cloo rather than the Oldest and Wisest Mystic, on his/her/its deathbed, going 'O HAI U B CHOSEN 1. TIEM 2 FULFIL PROPHICI B NAO'. Duh. Not even that scenario where Prophesied One has been lost or too well-hidden, they'd had him around since they found him as a wee baby gelfling. And I'm not sure that any society as all-out EEEEEvil as the Skeksies (?sp) could survive 1000 years or whatever it was, with everyone's talon against everyone else. (And didn't they, or something v similar, turn up in an episode of Farscape?) And the narrative was bog-standard straightforward quest with clear good v evil: at least the other two had ambiguous sidekicks with shifting allegiances. This entry was originally posted at http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/1138535.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View comments.
desperance	12:49p	Things for which to be grateful This whole Thanksgiving thing? It seems very alien, to an English sensibility. Counting your blessings in public, and marking them with a feast - it's kinda lovely, but oh so foreign. Our nearest equivalent would have been Harvest Festival, when in our tradition we gave food away rather than om-nom-nomming it. Which is kind of a pale version of a festival, all that self-denial and chilly church. It lacks rumbustiousness. One of these years, I shall cook a turkey and require friends to eat it - but I've been saying that for years now, and never got there yet. So: there it went, yesterday. Today, in the spirit of perversity, I am cooking. The cake is in the oven, but right now I'm more interested in lunch. Jerusalem artichokes so fresh & crisp I might have eaten them raw - yay for veggie bags! - but in fact I steamed them lightly, and am going to fry them now in olive oil with chunks of ham. Which I will then mix in a mustard-and-lemon dressing, and call it a salad of sorts. Om-nom-nom. Also, my window is fixed. Yay for blond windowfixers. (14 Comments |Comment on this)
papersky	7:12a	Raspberry muffins, very easy Pre-heat oven to 180 C. Put paper cases in muffin tins. Melt 2 oz (50 g) butter or marge. Put 6 oz sugar in a mixing bowl. Whisk in the melted butter, then add 2 eggs, a slosh of vanilla (teaspoon) and half a pint of milk, while continuing to whisk well. Fold in 6 oz SR flour. Pour a little batter into each of the 12 cases. Then put four (fresh or frozen, I used frozen because it is November) raspberries on top of the batter in the cases. Then put a spoonful of batter on top of the raspberries. Melt 2 ounces of butter or marge. Add a handful of oats, a handful of ground hazelnuts and all the brown sugar that's left... probably a tablespoon or so of brown sugar. Stir with a wooden spoon until it's like crumble. Distribute this over the tops of the muffins. (It's this faffing about with a topping that makes things muffins instead of cakelings as far as I can see. Well, also the milk.) If you were organized you could make it first and have it ready to put on. Bake in the top of the oven for just over 20 minutes until done. Having so little fat, these won't keep long. Make them on occasions when they don't need to. I made 12 and there's one left, which is going in rysmiel's lunch. I'd have predicted four or five left. This started off with a couple of online recipes, and then wandered far away when I realised the first one hadn't done their conversions properly and that I hadn't enough milk for the second one and just thought "OK, I have six ounces of sugar in a bowl and 2 ounces of melted butter, the oven is on, let's just improvise." The bit with putting the raspberries in the middle of the batter was from the second one, and definitely worth it, if fiddly -- you end up with the raspberries totally surrounded by cake in a layer, not at the bottom, but the muffins well risen. The topping was from a banana muffin recipe I found online ages ago, well sort of, as I vaguely remembered it, except for the hazelnuts, which I just thought of yesterday. The results were so deeply appreciated that I can see that these are something Z is going to want again, which is why I'm writing it down, because otherwise there's no way I'll remember. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
specficmarkets [ ericreynolds ]	12:39a	Call for submissions - Aether Age anthology The Aether Age anthology Hadley Rille Books will publish The Aether Age, edited by m-brane sf's Chris Fletcher, and author Brandon Bell, to be released in 2010. Guidelines. Suppose that the course of human history had been different. Suppose that over five thousand years ago, something happened in the Mediterranean basin, and perhaps all over the planet, that took all of human progress on a radically different path. Suppose, also, that something was different with nature itself and the Earth moved through space, shrouded in a vast life-sustaining cloud of unknown origin. This is a world where the printing press was used to propagate the philosophies of ancient Greece, where Pharaohs sailed in airships as Egyptian imperial grandeur reached its height, where mechanized armies clashed on the battlefields of Mesopotamia, and where interplanetary space itself came within the reach of brilliant, struggling humans all those centuries ago. m-brane sf Hadley Rille Books | ericreynolds (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 26th, 2009
pepysdiary	11:00p	Monday 26 November 1666 http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1666/11/26/ Up, and to my chamber to do some business. Then to speak with several people, among others with Mrs. Burroughs, whom I appointed to meet me at the New Exchange in the afternoon. I by water to Westminster, and there to enquire after my tallies, which I shall get this week. Thence to the Swan, having sent for some burnt claret, and there by and by comes Doll Lane, and she and I sat and drank and talked a great while, among other things about her sister's being brought to bed, and I to be godfather to the girle. I did tumble Doll, and do almost what I would with her, and so parted, and I took coach, and to the New Exchange, buying a neat's tongue by the way, thinking to eat it out of town, but there I find Burroughs in company of an old woman, an aunt of hers, whom she could not leave for half an hour. So after buying a few baubles to while away time, I down to Westminster, and there into the House of Parliament, where, at a great Committee, I did hear, as long as I would, the great case against my Lord Mordaunt, for some arbitrary proceedings of his against one Taylor, whom he imprisoned, and did all the violence to imaginable, only to get him to give way to his abusing his daughter. Here was Mr. Sawyer, my old chamber-fellow, a counsel against my Lord; and I am glad to see him in so good play. Here I met, before the committee sat, with my cozen Roger Pepys, the first time I have spoke with him this parliament. He hath promised to come, and bring Madam Turner with him, who is come to towne to see the City, but hath lost all her goods of all kinds in Salisbury Court, Sir William Turner having not endeavoured, in her absence, to save one penny, to dine with me on Friday next, of which I am glad. Roger bids me to help him to some good rich widow; for he is resolved to go, and retire wholly, into the country; for, he says, he is confident we shall be all ruined very speedily, by what he sees in the State, and I am much in his mind. Having staid as long as I thought fit for meeting of Burroughs, I away and to the 'Change again, but there I do not find her now, I having staid too long at the House, and therefore very hungry, having eat nothing to-day. Home, and there to eat presently, and then to the office a little, and to Sir W. Batten, where Sir J. Minnes and Captain Cocke was; but no newes from the North at all to-day; and the newes-book makes the business nothing, but that they are all dispersed. I pray God it may prove so. So home, and, after a little, to my chamber to bed. (Comment on this)
mac_stone	12:34p	Happy Thanksgiving! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
lilithsaintcrow	1:04p	Happy Turkey Day It’s raining, but it’s warm and cozy in here. I’ve decided not to go to the grocery store–it will be a madhouse today, plus there’s nothing I really need. I’ve still done my hair and everything up as if I’m expecting to, and it feels good. There’s just something about dressing up for oneself. So. Happy Thanksgiving, all. I have plenty to be thankful for this year, starting with my children and my career, all the way through my friends and my sisters, and ending up with the bestest present of all yesterday. I’m thankful for my Readers, each and every one. I’m thankful for my editors. I’m thankful, when it gets right down to it, that I’m still here. Every breath is a victory. I’m happy to get up in the morning and see this old globe is still spinning on a vast sea. It’s been a rough fall–boy, is that ever an understatement. Plenty of times I didn’t think I’d make it. But I’m so, so glad I have. I’m glad I stuck it out, glad I held on–sometimes by mere fingertips. I’m very, very happy to still be here. And I’m happy for you, whoever you are. If your eyes are touching these words right now, I am very happy you’re here. I’m thankful you’re around. Be gentle with yourself, okay? Someone is glad you’re around, even if it’s just me. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I bought a 13lb. turkey in a fit of marvelous insanity, and it’s beginning to smell really good in the oven. In a little while it’ll be time to start cooking some other stuff, and make some phone calls. But for right now I’m just going to sit a bit and drink my coffee and be glad. Right now, at this very moment, life is good. Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.
desperance	7:26p	Thursday evening, going down It has been suggested to me - on more than one occasion, actually - that I am entitled to a little downtime, even when I can't afford it. Actually, right now I don't have the choice. I can't sit here without cramping up. So: this is me, going down. Going downstairs. Making comfort food and giving up. Lunch, oddly, was vampire chicken caesar salad (which, for the curious, is the residue of Mary's vampire chicken salad - that's chicken and beetroot and pine nuts and melon and red pepper and parsley and iceberg, largely - refreshed with crispy sourdough croutons). Dinner will be my standard pork-belly chilli (with carrots and mushrooms and onions and garlic and smoked paprika and such) on rice (with cabbage and more mushrooms and onions and garlic and such), but I'm also baking a post-apocalypse cake, for I am a survivor (as we all are, until that moment that we cease surviving). This is intended for those bleak winter days after Christmas, when everyone else has had a surfeit of fruitcake and I have not. So: whatever dried fruit I had in the house is now soaking with grated apple and orange juice-and-zest and lemon juice-and-zest and marsala, and tomorrow I will add spices and flour and ground almonds and such, and bake something slow and dark and gorgeous. I used myself to be slow and dark and gorgeous, but no more. Ah, those whirligigs of time... Now: a marathon of Kill Bill, vols one and two. With chilli, and a bottle of wine, and a toast to Jay Lake's health, ongoing and improving and such. PS - if a DVD is jumping and breaking up and such, is this a faulty DVD or a faulty player, most likely? And would a better newer player (for this one is very old) overcome any incipient faults in the disk, most likely? (10 Comments |Comment on this)
oursin	7:26p	The potency of cheap music... Or at least, the popular music of one's youth. A thought generated by finding a spring in my step, even a skip, as I moved towards the step machine in the gym this morning to the opening bars of the Monkees, 'A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You': It often seems implied that the power of the popular music of one's youth is because it brings back those happy memories of one's younger days when life spread out before one - Except, okay, we may have an imaginary younger day in our minds, and perhaps the music taps into that? because a lot of the music I love is nonetheless associated with times of misery, depression and adolescent/student years/early adulthood angst. I.e. I was not happy and carefree, although perhaps I was, temporarily, as I bopped to the beat. *** In other news, in spite of a few crumpled rose-leaves (the lack of a Guardian, the way the spa, although open, didn't really seem to be geared up for early morning sybarites this particular morning, the breaking of a watchstrap that I only bought and had fitted a few weeks ago), this has been a pretty good day. I managed to reschedule my facial so that I could go to the Core Conditioning class (intense but good). It was beautifully sunny this morning and I managed to take some photos, several of the toadstools previously mentioned and of the grounds more generally, though I think the camera is trying to tell me that the battery is getting low. Glorious walk this afternoon even if it did get showered on partway through and I was in a but of a rush at the end to make sure I actually got to the Core Conditioning. Wallowing in the jacuzzi (my only complaint that it runs on rather a short cycle, chiz). Working out in the gym. So, pretty good day. This entry was originally posted at http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/1138370.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View comments.
oursin	4:08p	Plz 2 B mindin them prepositionz Seriously aaaaargh subheading in the Guardian G2 online version (I haven't seen the dead tree version today, some delivery problem): Why it's simplistic to blame government cuts on students turning to prostitution, says Deborah Orr We discover, on reading the actual article, that she doesn't believe that it is just cuts in funding that are driving students to sex work, NOT that government cuts are the result of students turning to selling their bodies. Duh. I'm not sure who gets the codfish across the chops here, though: presumably Orr doesn't write her own subheadings? I don't think this is a question of sheer pedantry, really, but of gross misuse of language to convey an entirely opposite meaning to what was intended. This entry was originally posted at http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/1138083.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View comments.
desperance	1:53p	Limits, we haz them Heh. You wouldn't believe it, but there's kibble all over the kitchen floor. Uneaten kibble. Been there for hours. Thing is, I bought a big sack of the stuff yesterday. Then I picked up my veggies and came home, and was so interested in what was in the veggie bag, I entirely forgot to lock away the kibble. Came down this morning, fed the boys their daily kibble - and then remembered about the sack. And went in search, and yup. Neat little hole, contents depleted. God knows how much they ate between them, but they left their brekfusses half finished, and four hours later Mac is only playing with his mushroom, no appetite at all. At least they seem to have had the sense to stop when they were full. This is much better than the last time they raided supplies, where they went all Roman on me: stuffed themselves to bursting, threw up and carried on eating regardless. Maybe they're growing up...? Meantime, I keep acting like I'm ill. Turning up the heating, drinking hot toddies, huddling on the sofa with a book. Hardly working at all, but not worrying about it. Which I wouldn't worry about, except that I'm not ill, I just hurt; and I'm going to go on hurting for a long time, so I'd better bloody get used to it. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
oursin	9:47a	Happy birthday, londonkds! This entry was originally posted at http://oursin.dreamwidth.org/1137771.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View comments.
Wednesday, November 25th, 2009
pepysdiary	11:00p	Sunday 25 November 1666 http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1666/11/25/ (Lord's day). Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, and there coming late, I to rights to the chapel, where in my usual place I heard one of the King's chaplains, one Mr. Floyd, preach. He was out two or three times in his prayer, and as many in his sermon, but yet he made a most excellent good sermon, of our duty to imitate the lives and practice of Christ and the saints departed, and did it very handsomely and excellent stile; but was a little overlarge in magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates, that we have seen in our memorys in the world, whom God hath taken from us. At the end of the sermon an excellent anthem; but it was a pleasant thing, an idle companion in our pew, a prating, bold counsellor that hath been heretofore at the Navy Office, and noted for a great eater and drinker, not for quantity, but of the best, his name Tom Bales, said, "I know a fitter anthem for this sermon," speaking only of our duty of following the saints, and I know not what. "Cooke should have sung, 'Come, follow, follow me.'" I After sermon up into the gallery, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; where much company. Among others, Mr. Carteret and my Lady Jemimah, and here was also Mr. [John] Ashburnham [L&M suggest it was William. P.G.], the great man, who is a pleasant man, and that hath seen much of the world, and more of the Court. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I to another room, and he tells me more and more of our want of money and in how ill condition we are likely to be soon in, and that he believes we shall not have a fleete at sea the next year. So do I believe; but he seems to speak it as a thing expected by the King and as if their matters were laid accordingly. Thence into the Court and there delivered copies of my report to my Lord Treasurer, to the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry, and others, and attended there till the Council met, and then was called in, and I read my letter. My Lord Treasurer declared that the King had nothing to give till the Parliament did give him some money. So the King did of himself bid me to declare to all that would take our tallys for payment, that he should, soon as the Parliament's money do come in, take back their tallys, and give them money: which I giving him occasion to repeat to me, it coming from him against the 'gre'1 I perceive, of my Lord Treasurer, I was content therewith, and went out, and glad that I have got so much. Here staid till the Council rose, walking in the gallery. All the talke being of Scotland, where the highest report, I perceive, runs but upon three or four hundred in armes; but they believe that it will grow more, and do seem to apprehend it much, as if the King of France had a hand in it. My Lord Lauderdale do make nothing of it, it seems, and people do censure him for it, he from the beginning saying that there was nothing in it, whereas it do appear to be a pure rebellion; but no persons of quality being in it, all do hope that it cannot amount to much. Here I saw Mrs. Stewart this afternoon, methought the beautifullest creature that ever I saw in my life, more than ever I thought her so, often as I have seen her; and I begin to think do exceed my Lady Castlemayne, at least now. This being St. Catherine's day, the Queene was at masse by seven o'clock this morning; and. Mr. Ashburnham do say that he never saw any one have so much zeale in his life as she hath: and, the question being asked by my Lady Carteret, much beyond the bigotry that ever the old Queen-mother had. I spoke with Mr. Maya who tells me that the design of building the City do go on apace, and by his description it will be mighty handsome, and to the satisfaction of the people; but I pray God it come not out too late. The Council up, after speaking with Sir W. Coventry a little, away home with Captain Cocke in his coach, discourse about the forming of his contract he made with us lately for hempe, and so home, where we parted, and I find my uncle Wight and Mrs. Wight and Woolly, who staid and supped, and mighty merry together, and then I to my chamber to even my journal, and then to bed. I will remember that Mr. Ashburnham to-day at dinner told how the rich fortune Mrs. Mallett reports of her servants; that my Lord Herbert would have had her; my Lord Hinchingbroke was indifferent to have her;2 my Lord John Butler might not have her; my Lord of Rochester would have forced her;3 and Sir ------ Popham, who nevertheless is likely to have her, would kiss her breach to have her. Apparently a translation of the French 'contre le gre', and presumably an expression in common use. "Against the grain" is generally supposed to have its origin in the use of a plane against the grain of the wood. ↩ They had quarrelled (see August 26th). She, perhaps, was piqued at Lord Hinchingbroke's refusal "to compass the thing without consent of friends" (see February 25th), whence her expression, "indifferent" to have her. It is worthy of remark that their children intermarried; Lord Hinchingbroke's son married Lady Rochester's daughter. -- B. ↩ Of the lady thus sought after, whom Pepys calls "a beauty" as well as a fortune, and who shortly afterwards, about the 4th February, 1667, became the wife of the Earl of Rochester, then not twenty years old, no authentic portrait is known to exist. When Mr. Miller, of Albemarle Street, in 1811, proposed to publish an edition of the "Memoires de Grammont," he sent an artist to Windsor to copy there the portraits which he could find of those who figure in that work. In the list given to him for this purpose was the name of Lady Rochester. Not finding amongst the "Beauties," or elsewhere, any genuine portrait of her, but seeing that by Hamilton she is absurdly styled "une triste heritiere," the, artist made a drawing from some unknown portrait at Windsor of a lady of a sorrowful countenance, and palmed it off upon the bookseller. In the edition of "Grammont" it is not actually called Lady Rochester, but "La Triste Heritiere." A similar falsification had been practised in Edwards's edition of 1793, but a different portrait had been copied. It is needless, almost, to remark how ill applied is Hamilton's epithet. -- B. ↩ (Comment on this)
news [ theljstaff ]	2:07p	LiveJournal Major Notes: Security, Mobile, Facebook, Writer's Block, and Notes Tweaks and enhancements In order to improve site security, we've temporarily suspended the ability to change passwords for old email addresses that haven't been used for over six months. For further information and support, please visit our customer care page. We've launched a new mobile site with an enhanced UI at m.livejournal.com. View spotlights, post to your journal, read and post to friends pages, and more, no matter where you roam! Please let us know what you think, since this will eventually replace our existing mobile interface. You can update your mobile preferences on your account page. We've upgraded from Beacon to Facebook Connect to improve dual posting. If you've already signed up for Facebook Beacon, you're good to go. If you wish to update your Facebook Connect setting, visit Account Privacy settings and scroll down to the option labeled: "Send information about my updates to Facebook." You can choose Always or Ask each time. Remember to save (on the bottom left corner of the page). To learn more, check out FAQ 249. While we're on the subject, if you happen to be visiting that side of town, please join our Facebook fan page for a touch of home away from home. You'll now receive the Writer's Block Question of the Day in the body of email notifications. To sign up for Writer's Block notifications, visit writersblock and choose the Watch Community option. Next, update your Writer's Block notification settings by checking the box to the right of "Someone posts a new entry to writersblock." Paid and permanent users can now view, add, and edit Notes of commenters. Notes will appear beside the username of comment posters (instead of stars) on S1-themed comment pages. Send some lovin' thanks to your friends with our holiday vgifts! Photos of the week We're so delighted with the immense talent of our growing, global lj_photophile community that we've decided to introduce a poll. Each week, we'll choose a half-dozen photos (based on user comments and staff feedback) and ask you to select a photo of the week. The winning photo will be announced in the next newsletter. If possible, please limit photo size to 350x350 to ensure that images display properly on friends pages. We want to thank you again (and again!) for sharing your passion. Check out this week's photo poll and more fantastic user content after the jump! ( Read more... ) Curtains Thanks for joining us. To our American friends, have a fantastic Thanksgiving. To all of our international neighbors, we'll eat a little extra for you! (159 Comments |Comment on this)
lilithsaintcrow	2:41p	“Betrayals” made the Times list! Oh, my GOD, you guys. You guys. After a totally cruddy fall…oh, my GOD. My editor called me not half an hour ago with the news that Betrayals, the second in the Strange Angels series, is #5 on the New York Times Children’s Paperback Bestseller list for Dec. 6th. I think I screamed in her ear for five minutes straight. I am now sitting here alternately stunned, screaming with joy, or weeping with joy. I’ve called my writing partner, Coyote Boy, my agent, my sisters, my friends. Everyone agrees I need champagne. The kids are pleasantly happy for me, though they have no idea what the heck is happening. They just know Mum’s really excited. I have only two words: thank you. Thank you to Linda K. for believing in me. Thank you to Miriam, my wonderful agent, for believing in me. Thank you to Devi P. and Jessica R., editors who believed in me too. Thank you to my friends, thank you to my sisters, and thank you to my children for being wonderful. Thank you to Coyote Boy for holding the line. Last, but most important: a great big THANK YOU to you, dear Reader. Thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for showing your appreciation. Thank you for being there. Without you, I’m just shouting in the wind. Thank you all, each and every one of you, so, so much. I’ve got to go cry (with joy) a little more. I keep repeating “Oh my God” and “thank you” and “Happy Thanksgiving” like a broken record. Once more, then, because it really bears saying, and I really mean it: Thank you. I am so happy right now. Thank you all. Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.
papersky	4:06p	Recent posts of mine at Tor.com Yendi, Brokedown Palace, Barbara Hambly sequel stories to download, Teckla, Taltos. More Dragaera posts coming soon. (2 Comments |Comment on this)

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