Book of Ashes

I am a gadget girl.

You can take the meaning of that phrase however you wish, but truth be confessed, I love shiny, techie gadgets. Macbook, iPod, Nintendo DS, PSP Lite, and my cell phone all hold a special place in this geek's hearty heart.

Four years ago I underwent a surprise heartbreak and decided Retail Therapy was the way to go. That is when I purchased my white Sanyo Katana flip phone -- sleek and sassy at the time. I wanted white because EVERYONE had black or grey boring cell phones. I understand needing to keep up with the zippy technological pace, but must we all possess the same thing? *shudder*

Last Saturday, after attending a local Pow Wow and getting a much needed message from the PTB (aka Universe, The Big Cheese, UPG, RPG, what have you), I decided to spend the rest of my afternoon biting the bullet and getting me a smartphone.

I've wanted one for over a year since my contract with Sprint ran out. I had options to go to another carrier and snag the ever coveted iPhone, but I have a policy about signing a contract with Satan. Because as we all know AT&T is Satan. Really.

Verizon is Satan's little brother.

T-Mobile is the weird Uncle Earl that hovers on your back porch waiting for free beer. Crappy beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon "beer".

Sprint is not infallible, they have their "issues", but they have treated me damn well for the past 10 years and some change, so they have earned my loyalty. In return I earned some mega discounts and rebates.

Ladies and Gents. Geeks and Freaks. May I introduce you to my new technokid:



Yes, it's the HTC EVO 4G in white.

**giggles maniacally**

Now before some of you get on the "HTC SUX" bandwagon let me just say this --- as there is no such thing as a perfect cell phone provider, there is no such thing as a perfect cell phone. They all have their pros and cons and thanks to a habit I picked up from my dear friend, Queen Bitch, I've learned to do massive research before buying.

No, the size doesn't bother me because I have long fingers and it fits in my palm perfectly. *wink wink nudge nudge say no more squire*

Overall, it has everything I need and then some. I've had it for a week now and already the shiny is still vibrant as I'm learning all the cool shit this phone can do. NOW I get why people are so in hot, sweaty, luv with their smartphones. Just look at it! IT'S FUCKING SEXY!

Certain apps have been downloaded and I'm keeping my EVO trim by not bogging it down with every "Hip Of The Moment" app that comes out. A few essentials (TweetDeck, eBuddy) and a few fun ones (FX Camera, Moon Guide, Kali Mantras).

I am also one who protects her investments. Before my EVO even took a step out of the Sprint store, s/he had a protective shield on. My case arrived from Amazon just the other day. Yes, I am going for a steampunk theme (I have also caught the irony that my white phone is covered in a predominantly black skin, but at least I KNOW it's a white smartphone).



Even my EVO's homepage has a steampunk wallpaper and a cool old style analog clock with gears and cogs. I am still trying to find a name for him/her. We all do it. We all name our gadgets, our cars, our pets, and our computers. My iPod is Mad Madam Mim, my Macbook is Capt. Rio of the RumRaven, my car is Roxy Sassyass, and my cat is Jameson.

Names in the running are: Babbage, Tesla, Aida, Mae West, and Ambrosine Frood.

Until a name can be found, I want to declare that I hearty heart heart my sexy, voluptuous phone.

Two hummingbirds are dog-fighting outside my bedroom window. Chasing. Zipping. Dodging. All for the love of a ruby red, plastic feeder and who can lay proprietary claim. Observing those itty bitty Kamikaze birds made me realize that is pretty much how the past month has been for me.

Doing this. Adding that. Doing that other thing again. Standing on my head while drinking coffee just so the caffeine could percolate my brain cells faster. Pop! Pop! Zang! But as with everything, the crash had to come. And it did. And I still won.



I am not without pride to say I am five for five; five years of participating in National Novel Writing Month and having five WINNER certificates to show for it. This is an awesome accomplishment for me as I pat myself on the back and indulge with a congratulatory bottle of something sparkly and fizzy.

I say this because, well, I am a Procrastinating Fool. If I can put something off to the last micro second, knowing I can get away with it, I will. I am also easily distract.....

HUMMINGBIRDS ARE BACK!

......ed. A new creative idea, a new toy, a new project will lure me away with it's seductive shiny from my current goal at hand. Yet, on the ironic side, once I set my intent on something, it gets done, but only after I wade through the tides of "I'll Work On It Tomorrow" and dodge the traps of comfy laziness.

This year's NaNo almost kicked my ass. The long hours at work fried my poor, little brain and when I insisted it pound out 1,000 words before bedtime, it whined. So some coaxing was involved before my brain complied with a grump and a harrumph. Fortunately there were these amazing inventions called "weekends" where I was able to rest up and pour out 1,000's of words so I could catch up. To my surprise, Thanksgiving weekend bore me over 23,000 words and it was that final push, that last gasping sprint which propelled me across the finish line into a 51,230 word story. My tale was done and I performed a celebratory lap to the nearest Red Robin for a Cadillac Margarita.

So. One would think after spending four weeks struggling with words and timetables and self-pressure to achieve a personal goal, that the month of December would be a wonderful, peaceful reprieve. Well, you know what they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.....

Which brings me to my next point.

National Novel Reading Month

By all that is holy and strange, what have I gotten myself into? Again? From December 15, 2010 to January 15, 2011 the goal is to read one novel a week, which depending on the book can average 50-100 pages read a day. Well, one can argue that I am a glutton for punishment or insane, but I honestly want to read more. I enjoy reading, it just gets put on the back, back, far back burner located in BF Egypt. Remember the Shiny Factor? Yeah. I am horribly guilty of starting one book, finding another I wish to read, set aside Book#1 to make time for Book#2, then I find a Book#3. Wash, rinse, repeat cycle. The towering stack of tomes by my bed is damn impressive.

Because of this, it is difficult for me to finish. Earlier this year, I had set a new personal record by reading (AND finishing) five novels within six months: Silver Borne by Patricia Briggs, Boneshaker by Cherie Priest, Demon Hunts by C.E. Murphy, FEED by Mira Grant, and Eat, Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. All of them spectacular in their own right, but if I had to recommend one that truly blew my Malabrigo Yarn socks off, it would be FEED. Gift it. Enable others. I personally love being in a bookstore and then happening upon a lone shopper staring blankly at the Horror section. I simply walk up, take the book off the shelf, hand it to them with a sly smile and say, "Highly recommend it." And before they can utter a response, I walk away like the Ghost of Unknown Awesome Books never to be seen by them again.

Back to the books. For National Novel Reading Month I have made my four selections. It was difficult but I was able to narrow it down by allowing myself one criteria:

Read a novel by an author you have never read before.

Out went the Gaiman, the Briggs, the Murphy, the Harris, the Adams, and the King. In came, in a rather sauntering fashion, these titles:

This is the book that I have picked up off the shelf, put back, picked up again, put back, then finally bought because the time was finally right. Think Harry Potter going to college and add more witt, more scares, and an author's delicious and odd use of the English language. I am one chapter in and hooked.



This one has been sitting on the shelves of my personal library for about two years. I always mean to read it but never got around to it. Now is the time and I will do my best to not allow the musical to taint my expectations of the book as many folks have informed me they are different creatures.



I do not do a lot of Young Adult (Harry Potter notwithstanding), but when I heard from friends, "You love Buffy! This series is amazing and has a very strong heroine." Okay, I'll bite and hence this book was purchased.




I am REALLY excited about reading this book which is one of the reasons why it will be the last one for my monthly challenge. The other is that in standard paperback size it is over 900 pages long. So if I cannot finish it in one week, it won't hinder my timetable with another book. The story is based off an actual historical event but the author spins it to add more of the horror of the Arctic Expedition by writing about the interpersonal fears and an unseen force trying to claw its way into the ship. I really hope I enjoy this author because I already have Drood queued up to be purchased if I do.

So that is what has been going on behind the blogging curtain. The one where you occasionally see a peek of fire tresses or hear a giggle of a mutant. Lots of writing, lots of reading, and perhaps a few knit and purl stitches in between.

As a child, during long road trips to the coast or the desert, my parents impressed upon my young, squishy brain many different flavors of music. I grew to appreciate Chuck Berry, Elvis (Mom could NOT get enough of "Blue Hawaii". I swear, it was a thing), and Barry Manilow. However, I would always stop figgeting in the back seat of the car and stop poking my older brother whenever these gentleman lilted through the car speakers.

John Denver, Jim Croce, and Gordon Lightfoot.

John had a country twang which was not really my taste, but I LOVED his voice and could not get enough of "Grandma's Feather Bed". As an adult, my heart soars whenever I hear "The Eagle and the Hawk". Jim Croce on the other hand, helped me get my funk on. My butt would wiggle in the seat as I would jam my childhood self to "Bad Leroy Brown" and "Don't Mess Around with Jim".

Yet one of these folk masters would consistently wrap my attention around his golden tones and that minstrel was Gordon Lightfoot. In 2nd grade, I had the most awesome opportunity, along with thirty other kids, to sit in the cafeteria for a private Gordon Lightfoot concert when he was in town. Sitting on one of the plastic, bendy chairs and with the guitar rested upon his knee, he talked to us. He would answer questions and take requests. I raised my hand and asked him if he could play my favorite song ever. "Sure, darling. What song is that?"

"That song you sing about the boat sinking. The Wreck....The Wreck....", my memory faltered but he grinned and started the first few cords. Strumming I perked up and smiled, "Yes! That one!" And he sang to me. He sang to all of us.

Yesterday I was at a local coffee shop sipping my drug of choice and ka-nitting away on a pair of socks. The wind howled and buffeted against the storefront, while the rain opted to perceive the world sideways. At that moment of perfect synchronicity, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" wound it's haunting tune through my ipod and back into my memories.

The past month has been a combination of being wonderfully chaotic, newly anxious, and sadly disappointed. I am so behind on reading folk's Tweets, LJ entries, and FB statuses that I've pretty much given up on trying to catch up. Nothing personal, it's just too mammoth a behemoth to master. Or something like that.

Did I mention I am tired?

You see, I'm a workin' gal now and my day starts when I sludge out of bed at 4:30am. Get to the office by 6:00am and work until the work is done. Usually as late as 3:00pm or as early as 1:30pm. Such is the life of a contractor.

The thing is, by the time I get home and do chores or run errands, I am WIPED and bedtime around 8:00PM sounds heavenly. I barely have the energy to write and my blog posts have suffered for it. My plan though is since I won't be working Friday, I can take the three-day weekend to finally blog the following:

1. My Rebirthing Party (with pix!)
2. Knitting Guild's Shop Hop (shiny, yarny pix!)
3. Last weekend's Southern Beltane festival (yes, you guessed it....with llamas!!)

I hope everyone on my F-List is healthy, happy, and being dangerously creative.

Snugs and Spanks,
Mutant

March 31, 2010

The time is 4:30pm, two and a half hours before Patricia Briggs, author of the Mercy Thompson Series, arrives at my local Powells Books. I come ready with knitting basket in hand, to knit and purl and ssk the minutes away while I wait. Patiently. Earnestly.

Strolling through the double doors, my eyes immediately fall upon vibrant book covers. Book covers with the titles, "SILVER BORNE" scrawled across them. I practically scream of pure geekdom within the stacks as I grab a copy and hug it like a precious, fluffy kitten. People stare. I blush. I suppose my suave decorum could only last for so long. Hey, I tried.

Fortunately, I was not alone. Huddled with the comfy chairs were other fans, some of whom I had seen last week for the Cherie Priest signing, and they were waving me over. We chatted, we knitted, and I kept my eagerness to dive into the new novel at bay. "When I get home, I'll start reading it," I promised myself.


At 6PM, Powells employees were setting the stage and unfolding the chairs. Because of our preparedness (or overzelousness, which ever you prefer), the early birds were able to snag the front row. Minutes ticked away as I counted the rows in my shawl pattern and searched in my bag for my measuring tape. I was curious as to how many people would show up. Every reading I've been to, the numbers have always been unpredictable. Twenty? Fifty? Five hundred? I also find it humbling and cool to peer upon the guest author's face as they survey the crowd, jaw a bit slacken, and say in awe, "Wow. There are so many of you here." Not once are they grumpy because not enough readers showed up, they are always surprised people actually like their books.

( Patricia Briggs was no different. )