Last Day

I'm sitting in my office with the door closed, my second piece of Going Away cake souring in my stomach. This was the cake I specifically requested be ordered from Maryland, a rich chocolate topped with a decadent caramel icing. Too rich and too decadent, as it turns out. I wish I had a toothbrush.

But even if I were that kind of slave to oral hygiene, I cleaned out my desk yesterday. There's nothing in these drawers except a couple of keys without locks, a spare computer cable or two, and dust. Lots of dust. The only thing left to do is box up my textbooks and clear the last few personal items off the top of my desk.

Here's my graduation picture, and a few candid photos of friends. The good highlighters that I brought from home, and my tiny mouse-shaped pencil sharpener. I'm pretty sure some of my personal contacts got mixed into my Rolodex, so I should probably fish those out. Two thank-you notes from patients. In the corner, some bottles and boxes for recycling. My file box of scientific articles. My diplomas on the wall, mustn't forget those.

This morning, I was elated. I woke up at 6:20 and couldn't get back to sleep, I was so excited. My last day. Sitting at my desk, doing whatever busy work my boss could find for me, I was dancing in my chair. Then my mom called me during my lunch break and said, "It is your last day! Think of all the things you've achieved over the past three years!"

This job... this job.

Only an hour and half left.

Brownies

One of the best things about moving is that you have a valid excuse to use all the perishable items in your fridge and pantry. So today I decided to make brownies. Furthermore, I decided I was going to make delicious wine brownies, like the ones Jojo brought to our impromptu class reunion. Of course, she simply substituted wine for water (WWJD brownies, if you will) in a packaged brownie mix. I don't believe in using mixes unless circumstances are dire, so I figured I would improvise.

*cue ominous music*

First I started with this simple brownie recipe:

1/2 c. butter or oil
4 tbsp. cocoa or 2 sq. chocolate
1 c. sugar
2 eggs, well beaten
3/4 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. nuts, chopped

Mix all ingredients together. Spread in well greased pan. Bake a 350, 30-35 minutes. Let cool 10 minutes.

Already I'm excited because of the two-step instructions: mix, then bake. Except, nowhere is water mentioned in this recipe. How am I supposed to substitute wine for water if there isn't any water? Upon further consideration, several other problems make themselves apparent...

1. I don't have any unsweetened cocoa, only hot cocoa mix pouches. Gourmet hot cocoa mix pouches, but still.
2. After my dad's heart attack, the whole family switched from eggs (evil, cholesterol-filled sons of bitches) to egg-substitute products.
3. There isn't a drop of vanilla extract to be had in the apartment, and I'm sure as hell not going out to buy any for one batch of brownies.
4. My mounting frustration, evidenced by my increasingly colorful language. Dammit.

So ... I improvised further. Here's what I actually ended up using:

1/2 c. butter (melted from it's frozen state in an improvised double-boiler)
entire packet of gourmet "double dutch" hot cocoa mix (why not?)
3/4 c. sugar (cut back to compensate for sugar in hot cocoa mix)
2 egg-equivalent amount of egg substitute (shaking a carton is much easier than beating eggs, anyway)
almost 3/4 c. flour (ran out!)
a pinch of salt (since I used salted butter)
1/2 tsp. baking powder (...ish)
a generous dollop on hard cider

Wait a minute, you're thinking. Hard cider? I thought you were going to use wine!

Yes, yes. But for some reason (I blame nasty, devious, wine-stealing gnomes!) I have no open bottles of wine in my house. Or rather, open bottles of wine never last long in my house. Anyway, I splashed in some hard cider and then enjoyed the rest of the bottle while I waited for the brownies to bake (same temp/time as the original instructions). A win-win, if you ask me!

And here I am, sitting with the finished product. Here goes, fair readers.

*nom nom nom*

Not bad. The chocolate taste is muted, and there is the subtle flavor of cider without the alcoholic bite. And they're quite cakey, not really as dense as brownies usually are. Overall, though, quite delicious and a definite success. Now I just have to figure out how to use that box of sangria Liz brought me, and I'll be all set!

Has it really been five years?

Last night, my freshman hall got together for an impromptu reunion. I immediately covered myself in glory by imbibing several glasses of wine. Happily, I was not alone in this, and soon we were merrily insulting each other and cackling evilly. Next came a retelling of embarrassing stories from our shared past, to everyone's horror delight. These included, but were not limited to:
- The time Kristy, Diana, and Rachel ran The Triathlon in a single night (see the W&M Wiki entry and scroll down to "Traditions")
- That Erin's only defense in a physical confrontation was to go limp ... at which point I would drag her bodily from our room and leave her in a heap in the middle of the hallway
- How even though Diana and Jojo disagreed vehemently on acceptable television and movies (with Diana expressing a strong dislike for all things Jane Austen), they could both come together to judge me for my love of Star Trek

It's strange to think that it's been five years since I was at the same school as these women, and almost a decade since we first met. I still remember being startled, upon being introduced to Erin, by her enthusiastic exclamation and tackle-hug. And how, during orientation, Diana and I intimidated each other - to me she looked tough, to her I looked monstrously tall. I forgot to bring my favorite hairbrush to school, and Jojo offered to buy me a new one from Target. I still have that brush somewhere.

These moments are so fundamental to my character that it seems impossible, ludicrous that they happened such a long time ago. This feeling is reinforced whenever we get together and the intervening years seem to disappear. Despite the evidence to the contrary - jobs, spouses, houses, children! - it seems that in a moment we'll dump our trays, leave The Caf and return to Gooch 2nd Upper at the end of another idyllic day of our freshman year.

The Big Reveal

Well, my little chickadees, I have some news. At the end of this month I will be leaving fair C'ville and moving up to Washington, D.C. This is an exciting opportunity - I'll be getting out of the clinical realm and pursuing my interest in public policy, via a very prestigious fellowship. Many of you may know all this already, but I didn't want to blog about it until (a) I had gotten my official offer letter and (b) I had broken the news to my bosses.

I went apartment hunting last weekend, which was a somewhat frustrating experience. I didn't like the places I could afford and couldn't afford the places that I liked. On Monday, however, I got confirmation that the stipend I had thought was for all 16 months of my fellowship was actually annual. That opened up a lot of possibilities for me, and I sent in an application for a studio in northwest D.C. today. I should be all set, as long as their criminal background check doesn't find all those arson and embezzlement charges. It's like they say - what happens in Uzbekistan stays in Uzbekistan, right?

In my nerdy excitment over the new place I printed out the floor plan and made scale cut-outs of all my furniture, to see if it would all fit. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think I can manage it. If I have to leave the infamous Swivel Chair behind, I will cry.

Can you believe I found a picture via Google Images?
God, I love the internet.

Despite a distressing amount of adverts*, I highly recommend this site: Emails from Crazy People. This is almost enough for me to wish for someone to send me a ranting, aggressive, foaming-at-the-mouth email ... despite my total aversion to confrontation. Enjoy!

*A word to any of my readers who are marketing execs - banner ads don't work. Anyone under the age of, I'm going to guess forty, doesn't even see banner adds. Our eyes skip right over them, enjoying our bliggity-blogs and facey-spaces while paying exactly zero attention to any and all sponsors. You're going to need more to capture my imagination than some random JPEG of a woman doing sit-ups. Also, WTF is up with the woman doing situps?

Awake and Dreaming

My dreams are intense. I've had lucid dreams, where you know you are dreaming and are able to control what happens next. Every once in a while I'll have a dream that is prophetic. Sometimes they're about trivial things - in high school I once dreamed an entire conversation with the boy I liked, the day before it happened. As a result I was able to avoid embarrassing myself (more than usual). More often, however, the meaning is less clear. Once I had a night terror about a flesh-colored sack filling with yellow viscous fluid. The next week, my father had a heart attack due to a cholesterol blockage. Even my regular dreams are so vivid that I will often confuse them, upon waking, with reality.

This morning I dreamt I was covered in spiders, and that they were spinning their webs around my head. When I woke, I screamed at the top of my lungs. My roommate came running, only to find me out of bed, batting at my ears and shaking all over. When she asked me what was wrong, I couldn't remember the right words to explain myself. 'Nightmare,' my logical brain called to me from across the vast ocean of sleep. 'Ignore the feeling of wispy cobwebs against your neck - it's only your hair. That sense of creeping dread is a figment of your imagination. You are not about to suffocate, or be eaten, or die. Go back to sleep ... if you can.'

"I... I had a dream," I told my roommate groggily, and crawled back into bed.

Yar, Give Me Tha Booty!

Sorry, I think I saw one too many Captain Jack Sparrow costumes at Comic Con. I just want to share all the fun stuff I was able to beg, borrow and steal while at the convention. Well, not actually share. More like... gloat.

SWAG, aka free stuff! I got a t-shirt from Burn Notice - sure it's neon yellow with Micheal Weston's face in day-glo orange screen printed across the entire front and I would never be caught dead in it. It was free. I also got tons of buttons to add to my collection (and you thought I couldn't get any nerdier). Possibly the best swag, though, was at the Viz Media booth - free manga! Well, free promotional books with the first chapter of five mangas, in order to get you hooked and force you to buy the rest. They're basically like a drug dealer ... the first hit is free, but the next will cost you.

BOOKS ... well, graphic novels. As previously mentioned, I got volume one of Piled Higher and Deeper. I also got volumes one and two of Strangers in Paradise, one of the greatest romance comics of all time. When I went to the booth, the author was standing about chatting with fans, so I even got him to sign my copies - score! Of course, now I wish I had gotten volume three as well - I finished volume two before I even got home. But my bag was so overstuffed I barely managed to zip it closed, so all in all I think I stopped at a good point.

Katchoo, how did you get to be so cool?

STAR COLLECTING. I dragged Maggie through the line for The Guild so I could get my picture taken with Felicia Day. I also stood in line for half an hour to get the autograph of J. Michael Straczynski, a famous comic book artist, for my friend Jeff. Everyone else in line had comics or posters for him to sign. All I had was a page torn from Maggie's notebook. I felt like such a n00b.

I'm back from Comic Con bearing graphic novels, colorful buttons, and shame. Because what vacation would be complete without utter humiliation?

The Exhibition Hall at Comic Con is a massive conglomeration booths providing everything from swag (free stuff) to books for sale to meet-and-greets with authors and artists. The hall is so massive that if you stood at one end you wouldn't be able see the far wall - even if the room wasn't full of so many colorful banners, advertisements and directional signs as to cause total sensory overload. You could spend the entire con in the Exhibition Hall.

I had come in to hit two or three booths and get out ... so of course I immediately got lost. I was turning yet another corner in the blind hope of finding an exit, when I saw it. A booth for Piled Higher and Deeper (PhD), one of my all-time fave web comics. I squee'd and rushed up to the attendant, gushing about how inspirational the strip had been during my grad school days. He smiled politely. Feeling a bit silly for fan girling in front of this random person, I asked about buying a t-shirt. He kindly pulled down several shirts for me, but none were to my taste or in my size. Frustrated, I was about to leave when he said, "Well, if you buy a book, I'll sign it for you."

The man I had taken for a low-level flunky was actually Jorge Cham, the author of PhD.

That's the thing with Comic Con ... you never know who you're going to run into. I saw Jimmy Fallon walking down a hallways in a green spandex costume, camera crew in tow. I swear I saw Beth Grant (as Maggie said, it was one of those "hey, it's that woman!" moments) waiting for someone by the escalator. And every so often, in a panel, a star would come up to the microphone during the audience Q&A. So I guess I should have expected that Jorge Cham might be manning his own booth. Once I realized it, I tried to play it off.

Me: Shouldn't you have a minion doing this for you?
JC: You know, I should!
Me: Talk to your publisher and demand a minion!
JC: Well, I have a pretty tough publisher.
Me (not knowing what else to say): Oh. Bummer.
JC: *wry grin* I'm self-published.
Me: Hahahahahaha, I'm laughing because I'm uncomfortable.
JC: ...
Me: I'll just go, now.

Just forward my mail to Ballroom 20

Greetings again from Comic Con! Look forward to many posts on the TV blog of the ah-mazing panels I've been in. Right now, on this blog, I'd like to talk about the thing about Comic Con that they don't want you to know ... the f*cking lines.

Today, I got up at 6:30 am to get ready, get my stuff packed, catch a trolley, and wait in line for an hour and a half. All for the sake of seeing David Tennant live and in person, but still. Here's the thing - if there's a panel that you really, really, really, really want to attend you have to get there stupid early. The plus side is that you meet interesting people in line. Some have fascinating jobs, like video game designers or interns at Cartoon Network. Some have wonderful costumes, as you saw in my previous post. Some have interesting ... odors, which is not as fun. Still, overall it's good.

There's a whole strategy involved, as well, For example, I want to see the Being Human / Torchwood panel this afternoon in this same room. I know that's going to be a popular, so I'm just going to hang out here all day. Yes, I'm insane. No, I do not care. Also, I'm not the only one. I'm here in the American Dad panel, and half the t-shirts I see around me are squeeing about Ianto Jones (character from Torchwood). That's just how we Comic Con-ers roll.

Day One (and a half) of Comic Con

You will be pleased to note that I survived my cross-country journey (starting at 6am) from Virginia to California.

First of all, Comic Con is amazing! Even if comic books, awesome TV shows, movies and novels aren't your thing (I imagine you would spend most of your day playing with your belly button lint), you have to admire the sheer organization it takes to corral some 126, 000 nerds in and out of meeting rooms all day.

I am currently sitting in the hallway of the San Diego Convention Center, watching heroes, villains and ninjas walk by. Don't believe me? Observe...

Kakashi and the 3rd Hokage from Naruto

American Maid and Sewer Urchin from The Tick

The Doctor, pictured with a Dalek, from Doctor Who

I love seeing and recognizing truly random costumes - and I think the people wearing them enjoy having their hard work pay off. For example, yesterday I saw a man dressed as Captain K'nuckles from The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack.

Adventure!

Comic Con, ho!

This time tomorrow, I will be basking in the warmth of sunny San Diego ... shortly before locking myself in a convention center for the next four days. Yes, Comic Con is finally (almost) here! For those of you who don't know, Comic Con is the O.G. comic book/cartoon/sci-fi/fantasy convention. It's the Nerd Mecca. Maggie, Rachel, Carly and I have been planning this trip for ages.

The only problem is that there is so much to see and do! Even when you factor in my general lack of interest in the mechanics of comics (how-to workshops and historical reviews leave me cold), my schedule is jam-packed. There are a lot of hard decisions to make. For instance, do I go to listen to Terry Brooks talking about the latest Magic Kingdom of Landover book or to "Mad Science: The Science Behind Science Fiction?" Should I stick with my plan to go to the "Meet The Guild" panel, or try to get Neil Gaiman's autograph when he comes to talk about Coraline? And at some point I should probably go out and, you know, see San Diego.

Hopefully I will have internet access at the hotel and energy enough to blog about all the wondrous happenings. If not, you can just imagine me in my Comic Con t-shirt, running from room to room according to my obsessively-complied schedule, surrounded by my nerd brethren and the occasional famous person, with a big grin on my face.

Per usual when my life is a mess, the blog suffers. Here are list of links to keep you amused during the current dearth. About 80% safe for work. Unless your boss is a real @$$hole about the firewall.

FailBlog - full of hilarious pictures, videos, articles and the occasional response to a threatening email.

FML - stands for F*ck My Life. A standard entry would sound something like this. "Today, my sister and I were kidnapped by hill folk never to be seen again. FML." The best part is that you can show your support/disdain by clicking, "I agree, your life sucks" or "You totally deserved it." FML keeps a running tally of the votes ... I always imagine someone coming back to their post, only to realize one million internet strangers think they deserve what they got. Glorious. Although some entries can stir up mixed emotions.

TFLN - no, I don't mean the Teaching for Learning Network. I mean Texts From Last Night, a hilarious catalog of the foibles of youth. For example...

(425): If I had a nickel for every time somebody called me a bad person I would have enough money to check into rehab

Enjoy!

You Call Me Haraam? Well, So's Your Mom!

If you are in the DC area, I have an event to recommend! Headscarf and the Angry Bitch is a one-woman play that is part of the Capital Fringe Festival. The protagonist, Zed Headscarf, is a Muslimah comedy folk singer who has been hired by a local mosque to do community outreach. Her outrageous personal stories and music about growing up Muslim in America speak of an irreverence born from familiarity, rather than contempt. There were plenty of shout-outs for the South Asians ("We'll get to Indo-Pak relations in just a bit," Zed promises at one point, with a twinkle in her eye. Later, we hear her ballad to her Indian ex-boyfriend. I won't spoil the ending, but it's good). Parts of it were really touching, and I'm woman enough to admit that I blubbered like a baby. I got the feeling that the character draws heavily from the life experiences of the author/actress, Zehra Fazal.

She's a friend of my friend Kristi, which is how I heard about the show. We met her afterward, and I totally fangirled all over myself. So ashamed.

A few bits of advice: Buy tickets ahead of time! I foolishly did not, and had to buy one of only ten standing room only tickets. The show isn't too long (less than an hour), so standing isn't a problem unless you're a lazy lump like me. Luckily I had friends there saving me a seat (thanks, guys!). In addition to tickets, you'll need to buy a Capital Fringe Festival button:


The final two shows are tonight at 8:30 and tomorrow at 3:30, at the Warehouse Next Door. There is a bar, but don't be seduced by the fact that they have Pina Coladas on tap - they're sickeningly sweet to start, and nothing but ice by the end. Maybe because mine was a virgin... insert a sexual innuendo of your choice here.

Signs

This may sound strange, considering the source, but I love roadside church signs. You know the ones - white with movable black letters, like fast food billboards. Only instead of two-for-one deals on greasy burgers, they advertise fellowship meetings and children's pageants. And sometimes they deliver little bon mots to make a long drive more bearable. For example:

- in front of a predominantly Black church near where I used to live in Richmond: SOUL FOOD SERVED HERE
- on 29 North, at what I assume was a nondenominational church: GOD WANTS SPIRITUAL FRUIT, NOT RELIGIOUS NUTS!

I know full well that there signs are not meant for me. None of these churches are seeking to recruit overly intellectual American Hindus who suspect Christianity may be secretly polytheistic.* But I love these signs, because their whimsy underscores an intrinsic similarity - I think God has a sense of humor, too. And my laughter as I drive past is an outpouring of joy at this shared revelation.

*The Devil? Are you kidding me with that?

"Research is what I'm doing when I don't know what I'm doing.” - Werner von Braun

Another re-post from the old writer's blog! Try to contain your excitement.

--

We all know the old adage, "write what you know." But with the help of a little research, you can 'know' just about anything. I'm not entirely certain that this is a good thing.

Research is a natural part of writing for me. I usually like to research every detail, right down to appropriate name meanings for my characters' pet toads, but not everyone shares in my psychosis. In fact, I feel this practice has the potential to get me into real trouble. For one, it can break up the flow of writing - if you get hung up on if Chicago bus drivers wear blue or purple uniforms, you might miss your hero's stop. For two, there are potential, ahem, legal ramifications.

In one of my stories the heroine has to type a letter for her boss, the assistant district attorney. I wanted to show off his clout, so I addressed the letter to a politician in my heroine's hometown ... and used the politician's real name and address. Later I realized this was a BAD IDEA (yes, all-caps are necessary to contain the badness of this particular idea) and changed it. On the other hand, no one wants to read that your hero attends Nondescript University in Nowhere Special, Nebraska, regardless of that fact that his major is Underwater Basket Weaving and he's secretly dating the captain of the football team. You just need to find a balance.

The internet is the double-edged sword of research. Obviously you can get the facts on just about anything from databases like Answers.com and Wikipedia. I also like to use Google Images to find pictures of my settings. But the ease of obtaining information can often lead you astray. A good rule of thumb: if it takes you more than five minutes of dedicating Googling to find something out, is anyone else going to get the reference? Unless you're writing Star Trek fanfiction, the answer is probably 'no.'

Also, never underestimate the benefit of life experience. All the research in the world is no substitute for visiting your setting or observing/working at your hero's job, if only for a day. If your hero is a surgeon or cliff diver or some other job they don't let you temp in, bribe someone with expertise into having a nice, long chat. I find that cookies and promises of a spot in the acknowledgments work wonders.

Fat Lip

It's amazing to me what I can and can't do with the right lower quadrant of my face completely numb from Novocaine. I talk on the phone and eat a cup of yogurt. I can't purse my lips evenly or stop playing with my mouth. It feels like my lower lip should be huge, but constant checks in the mirror confirm that my face is as proportional as it ever was.

On the upside, I learned a lot about my dentist today. She enjoys ballroom dancing, and has been taking lessons for over ten years. She watches trashy reality TV shows like The Bachelorette and likes to pretend that her office (in the mountains) is actually located on the beach. I quite like her. Which is pretty remarkable, since just this morning she spent the better part of an hour drilling holes in me. And then told me I'd be too numb to eat much of anything until 3pm.

*pokes lip* Any time, now.

Urgh

There are so many descriptive terms for the biological process of emesis. Of course there is the most common, throwing up. But there's also getting sick or being ill for the more refined, and spewing or blowing chunks if you want to be descriptive. There is also context to consider - after a long night of partying, you worship the porcelain god. If you wake up to a churning gut it might be morning sickness, which may or may not be a good thing. So many, many ways to say the same thing. But my kind readers will forgive me if I speak plainly for once.

I am so nervous I want to vomit.

I don't usually have a sensitive stomach - I can (and unfortunately do) eat almost anything. I think it comes from being raised on Indian food. Growing up, being able to tolerate spices was considered a necessity for gastronomic health. More recently I've come to the conclusion that my stomach may actually be slightly larger than is typical. When properly inspired, I have been known to eat an IHOP breakfast and a half, as Maggie can attest. I have also won a Jell-O eating contest... The details of which I do not plan to publish. Sorry.

So what could cause a dedicated, resilient organ such as my stomach to stage a revolt? This afternoon I am expecting an important phone call. Life-changingly important. How-am-I-going-to-get-through-clinic-today important. So as soon as I got my breakfast down this morning, it immediately wanted to come back up again.

Fear not, gentle readers. I have not expelled the contents of my stomach ... yet. Lunchtime may bring new and unpleasant developments. Please think good thoughts for me and my bubbling gastric acid.

Not cool, President Obama. Not cool.

I'm really puzzled by the news of this DOJ brief on DOMA. On Friday, the Department of Justice called for the dismissal of a lawsuit that challenged the heinous Defense of Marriage Act. DOMA states that the federal government doesn't recognize same-sex marriages and that states don't have to, either. This DOJ brief contradicts President Obama's campaign promises to repeal DOMA, a law he described as "abhorrent." The gay rights movement, having supported the President's campaign en masse, was patiently waiting in line behind the global economic crisis and a slew of other "more pressing" issues. When this came along leading activists were, needless to say, pissed. Now the administration is saying that the President still intends to get rid of DOMA, but it is the DOJ's job to uphold the law of the land, whatever that law may be.

You know what else used to be illegal? Interracial marriage. Yeah, I said it! How the DOJ brief could compare same-sex marriage to incest and statutory rape and not make this much more reasonable connection is beyond me. My point is, we know that the law of the land is not infallible. It is the product of human effort, and as such can be wrong and scary and bigoted. If we wanted our government to follow the letter of law - no more, no less - we could install a system of computers for that. And soon we'd all be living on Mars, toiling endless to mine the ore they need for fuel. But I digress.

Over the past week the administration has paid lip-service to the ideas of equality, possibly trying to pacify angry gay rights activists. President Obama granted some benefits to the same-sex partners of federal employees (though, of course, not full benefits... that's outlawed by DOMA). And the DOJ has allowed one man to change his passport to reflect his married name. It's kind of like cutting off someone's leg, then handing them back a few toes.

This is, at best, a first-class f*** up (Joe Biden's in the back with his hands in the air, "Not me this time! Totally not me."). At worst, I've heard it called an attempt by the Obama administration to kowtow to "family values" conservatives. One thing is for sure - the trust has been broken. President Obama will need to offer up a lot more before he can again count on the support of the gay community and it's supporters.

Here's a link to a good summary article.

My library was dukedom large enough

When I was a child the library was my sanctuary, my summertime escape. I could avoid the sun, heat, and physical activity that typified most kid's vacations. In the library I didn't have to worry about my body, already plumping up in all the wrong places, and it's many athletic deficiencies. There it was my mind that was active - running through long reading lists, doing laps around the stacks. I was training my brain for the marathon of education that would follow - high school, college, grad school and beyond.

While running the race of higher learning, however, I had little cause to return to the library. My text books were purchased, not borrowed, so I could take notes in the margins and highlight important passages. I would never dream of defacing a library book like this, but such was my training. Reading was no longer a sport - it was my occupation. For the most part, pleasure reading fell to the wayside. For six years I read almost nothing but academic texts and scientific literature. Even when I started work and had a little more free time, I didn't go back to the library to browse and relax. Until this week.

I had requested a novel for a book club, and it came in on Monday. The book club meeting is today, and I had conflict anyway, but I figured I couldn't just let the book sit there. I went to pick it up from Marion the Librarian at the branch where my Toastmasters group meets. Please do not imagine her to be the precocious heroine from The Music Man ... think instead a short woman with gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses and hard features. I can tell that Marion disapproves of the noisy speechifying that goes on in the library's meeting room. She scowls impressively over her glasses every time I walk by the circulation desk - daunting, to say the least. Still, on this day it galvanized me to action - I would not flee before Marion's dour expression. I would stay, and leave when I was ready to go.

I wandered in and out of the stacks, admiring the classification by genre that mirrored my bookcase at home. I went from Mystery to Westerns to SciFi to Adult Fiction. Young Adult called to me from out of the past, but I resisted. I amused myself by confirming that I'd read all the Agatha Christie available and considered checking out Ralph Compton's last installment in the Danny Duggin series, Death Along the Cimarron. Searching for Neil Gaiman revealed three slim Sandman graphic novels, but no Neverwhere or Anansi Boys. I finally settled on a book suggested by my book club last month, that I had previewed on Amazon but never got around to buying. When I was finished, I used the self-checkout station (the wonders of our age!), snubbing Marion entirely. Take that, I thought childishly. I win at Library.

Mark my words

Here's an old post from the blog I started with my now-defunct writer's group. It consists of me fangirling Mark Twain for several paragraphs. *eye roll*

--

"Let us guess that whenever we read a sentence and like it, we unconsciously store it away in our model-chamber; and it goes, with the myriad of its fellows, to the building, brick by brick, of the eventual edifice which we call our style." - Mark Twain

If this is the case, the entire basement of my house of style is made of tiny bearded bricks in white linen suits. Mark Twain saw the world so clearly. He saw the humor of things because he also saw the truth of them. Thus, Twain's self-awareness as a writer and a man just makes sense. His ideas about writing (and about life) are inspirational without being maudlin and funny without being trite.

"The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really want to say."

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug."

"Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very.' Your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be."

Do yourself a favor - go read Captain Stormfield's Visit To Heaven. It will change the way you live your life. Or at least the way you use adjectives.