BlogNoir

Cats on a Treadmill

2008-05-11T04:08:06Z

All the world's a stage...

2008-05-10T23:46:27Z

Your Score: The Comedy of Errors

You scored 26% = Tragic, 60% = Comic, 20% = Romantic, 34% = Historic

You Scored The Comedy of Errors. The Comedy of Errors was one of Shakespeare's earliest works and one of his most farcical and outlandish plays. Full of slapstick physical comedy, intelligent and bawdy wordplay, and mistaken identity, The Comedy of Errors pretty much sums up all of the hilarious plot devises we expect from a Shakespeare comedy. As The Comedy of Errors, you were most likely the quintessential "Class Clown" in high school. In a room full of people you were probably right in the center, making people laugh with your hilarious stories and amusing anecdotes. You probably have a stock-pile of go-to gags for whenever the party is getting dull, and you're willing to go to any length to make your friends smile (including dressing up in drag!) People love you because you are an all-around nice person - and that's why we love you too!

Link: The Which Shakespeare Play Are You? Test written by macbee on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
View My Profile(macbee)

random observation

2008-05-06T02:28:20Z

When I've been reading The Onion, switching over to real news sites can sometimes be jarring. For instance, I'll find myself still reading the headlines with that Oniony inner voice and thinking, "Heh... that's funny-- er, wait. No, that's a real story. Damn."

Iron Man vs. Batman

2008-05-06T02:05:33Z

Ganked from mercury47 so even MORE people can enjoy!

That's viralocity, boys and girls (the more you know)!

Feeding Frenzy

2008-05-05T03:04:47Z

I came home from the gym this evening even later than usual, and while I had an idea in my head of making supper, when I hit the door, I was overcome with The Hungrys and ended up eating random things and deciding to call it a meal.

So I had a some vanilla yogurt, the rest of a bag of trail mix (which was not a lot, btw -- maybe 1/3c?), a ho-ho, and some almonds. Later, I had a cup of coffee and another ho-ho.

I had a really good, healthy lunch, so... not a total culinary disaster of a day. Still, I guess I've learned my lesson about how long I can put off supper before I just melt down in the kitchen. Eight o'clock is Too Late.

Buffy Meets Fray

2008-05-03T18:51:27Z

Buffy, Season Eight just keeps getting better…

And issue #16 is due out in July—just in time for my birthday!

(click pic for details)

Oh, Joss, you shouldn’t have! But I’m so glad you did.

Iron Man

2008-05-03T05:12:50Z

More like AWESOME MAN!

Stay through the credits.

Also, Robert Downey, Jr., has been promoted on my Crush List from about 5th to 2nd.

('Cause, y'know, there's still David. *Points at icon.*)

Smart People Blogging

2008-05-01T00:16:05Z

Smart blog posts make me happy, and today I came across two for the ages:

Feminism by

tammy212

Don't be That Guy by

synecdochic

Breaths of fresh air after some recent and more idiotic posts in recent memory.

The Faire, Ophelia, and Ranulf

2008-04-23T13:42:16Z

I wrote this about a year ago with an entirely different starting intent — I keep trying to write a librarian story, and the idea in my head keeps morphing into something else the moment I start typing. This time it turned into an insane fantasy/chick lit/Arthurian pastiche that was so far from the rather dark, serious, non-Arthurian idealet I started with, I have no idea how this even happened.

But I think it’s kind of fun. Happy Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day. I hope you enjoy.

The Faire, Ophelia, and Ranulf
By Jenna Waterford

Bookish Memery

2008-04-21T16:12:11Z

tagged me for a meme! Whee!

Here are your rules.

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to maryrobinette's blog (your tag-ees will post to mine, etc.) once you've posted your three sentences.

The nearest book was Journal d'une Princesse (or the first Princess Diaries book in French!) and I don't want to type in all those special characters, so the 2nd nearest book was The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce, the 3rd Alanna book which I am currently rereading:

Shortly after Coram's return, Mari brought Farda, the tribe's midwife, to make her peace with the tribe's new shaman. Within minutes, the two were trading secrets of healing. The next day, Farda took over instructing the apprentices in herbs: from that moment on, most of the women made their peace with Alanna and her young people.

So I tag... hrm...

davidatn
goth_huntress
lisamantchev
meganbmoore
stephanieburgis

The Paris Trip Report: Day Two

2008-04-18T02:18:31Z

Sunday, March 16 – Pens and Marmots and Sparkly Things

It all began, innocently enough, with a desire to go see pens. Min, Chris, and I had our already-traditional breakfast croissant and café crème (I believe still acquiring both at a café — a practice we abandoned very quickly since a wider variety of pastries were available and much more cheaply at a selection of patisseries leaving us to only pay for the privilege of sipping our coffees in a leisurely fashion while sitting at one of the thousands of possible cafés we had to choose from).


A Dark and Stormy Tour	The Muses... I think.	A yellow-bellied marmot, native of Yellowstone National Park

We decided to go look at La Tour Eiffel as one must in Paris, and so to the Metro station we went. After mucking about with the ticket machines and eventually having to get help from the station staff, we were on our way!

It was on this day we learned we'd been fooled on Saturday. This was to be the weather we would have for most of the trip — cool-to-cold, often drizzly, kind of windy — but there were some sunny moments and the few times it really poured down, we were in cafés, so *shrug* whatever.

There was quite a bit more agressive begging and shilling in Paris than in London where, at least in my two visits, it was nearly nonexistent or in the subtle busking form that most people actually like to encounter. On the train from the airport, two teenagers had wandered down the line of cars, hands outstretched and attitudes impudent. I gave them my librarian, "You've got to be kidding me look" and they huffed, offended, and disappeared into the next car.

At La Tour Eiffel, however, it was just CONSTANT offers of tacky souvenirs. And the guy who, while we were looking at the Seine, came up to us, pretended to find a gold wedding band on the ground beside us, and the proceeded to try to make us take it. This elaborate ploy was apparently so we would then, sharing in our newfound wealth, give him money for un café... Uhm, non. I do wonder if this works for him. We did spot him trying it with some other people later on.

After looking at the tower for a bit, walking around it, waving the hordes of souvenir salesmen away, we crossed Pont d'Iéna (I think we had to break out our parapluies for a bit) to the other side of the river and walked through Place de Varsovie where there are lovely statues of the Muses. The impressive buildings you reach at the other end house the Musée de l'Homme and the Palais de Challiot, but we didn't go into either. The exteriors were gorgeous and no matter which way you look while standing on the massive plaza between the two buildings, there's a great view.

At this point, we needed food, and before us, spiraling out as many intersections in Paris do, were many streets with many dining choices. We wandered around the curve of the spiral and picked one, we thought, but ended up in its rather more expensive neighbor by accident. Which turned out to be *FINE* because the food was fantastic. Min and I both ordered a very simple, light vegetable platter with haricot verts, potatoes, and other things, a bit of hollandaise sauce drizzled over, café crèmes all around, and later, dessert, but I still remember the veggies. I've been buying French-style haricots verts ever since I got back because of this restaurant's simple but perfect presentation. And our waiter was a delight. This was a nice restaurant, and he had the dark trousers and white shirt and little apron and almost Jeeves-like correct bearing, but he was friendly, attempted English when we bungled the French, and made us feel welcome and relaxed.

We were there for a good while, and afterwards were ready to continue on the way to our intended ultimate destination. I know you've been wondering (if you've read this far), "But Jen? What about the pens?!"

I'm getting to that. Don't rush me.

Chris, our intrepid navigator, might as well as I could tell, have been leading us around on a wild pen chase. The museum was tucked away several blocks from our lovely luncheon restaurant. But, of course, he knew where we were going, and the walk was charming. Parisian architecture is scenic as all get out, so even walking through a residential neighborhood, there were a lot of things to admire.

At last, we arrived at our destination! La Musée du Stylo et de L'Écriture (The Museum of Pens and Penmanship)!

And it was closed pending a move.

Damn it.

"But Jen? Didn't you say something about marmots? Did you end up going to a zoo?"

Geez! I said, don't rush me!

Disappointed, we pressed our noses to the windows and stared longingly at all the pretty, pretty fountain pens and fancy non-fountain pens just beyond the glass in a small but interesting-looking space, and then we had to figure out where the heck we were going next.

I think earlier Min had mentioned the Musée Marmottan, and I'd made a joke about marmots which was actually somewhat funnier since neither Chris nor Min knew what a marmot was [Min and Chris? Please see picture, above]. From then on, I referred to the museum as the Marmot Museum, and we decided we would go there!

Lay on MacDuff— er, Chris!

Another long wandering through interesting urban terrain followed, and at last (in a much classier-looking and very upscale residential area), we found the Marmot Museum, better known to cultured people as la Musée Marmottan Monet. According to my Lonely Planet, it has the largest collection of Monets (about 100) -- in the world is implied, but they don't finish the thought properly, so I'm going to infer that they meant "in the world."

It's a lovely, lovely place just packed with fantastic art. A very large percentage of the collection is devoted to the Impressionists, Monet particularly, of course, but there is an enormous number of excellent works by female artists who were working in the same style or were contemporaries. Much of the collection was put together by Paul Marmottan, and we came to admire him very much as an adventurous and forward-thinking art collector, indeed. The Monet chunk was (from memory) given to the Marmottan by an heir of Monet's though I think M. Marmottan did collect some himself.

We spent quite some time there before wandering back outside, blinking and very, very impressed and pleased with ourselves for on a whim deciding on "the Marmot Museum." Not far from the museum in a little neighborhood park, there was a Punch-and-Judy style puppet show going on, but we couldn't see any of it. They made sure you *had* to pay to see any of the outdoor theater space by completely walling it off with... canvas or box hedges or both? We went all around hoping for a peek, but alas. It sounded wonderful, and I wanted to see it in order to pretend it was Magicians of Caprona and Chrestomanci might show up at any moment, but the next show wasn't for a couple of hours and we were tired and needed a break.

More walking took us through another little park with a naked statue I believe Chris photographed extensively. I don't know why I didn't take any pictures most of the day, but I only have a few very bad ones (even for me) from Sunday.

We wandered back into shops and dining establishments territory and tried out a marvelous patisserie. I don't remember what I ordered there, but it was (as all food was in France) exceptional. More sitting, talking and sipping of café crèmes ensued, and then we felt up to going back to the Eiffel Tower to see it at night.

If you aren't tired of all the walking by this point, I can assure you, I was. My feet were KILLING me and my back was killing me from lugging my over-packed purse all over the place. But I was not going to be stopped by a little thing like that, so on we went. I did vow not to bring so much stuff with me from then on; a vow I kept which led to occasional swearing but overall worked out fine.

We ended up outside a Metro station just as twilight settled over the city, but we had an unclear path to the river, though we could see it from where we were and the tower. This neighborhood was really lovely, and we wandered around a much more circuitous route than it turned out was necessary before we made it down to the river and a bridge which I'm pretty certain was le Pont de Bir Hakeim. The view of La Tour from the opposite side of the Seine there on the bridge was fantastic, and it was full dark by the time we'd reached the bridge so we took some pictures. Mine are crap, but Chris took bunches, and I'm sure his are great.

As we reached the corner to cross to the Eiffel Tower, an hour struck (it would have been 8p or 9p), and the tower burst into sparkles! All the tourists gasped and squeeed and pointed and the veterans and natives laughed at all of us -- apparently because they have no souls ;) It was BEAUTIFUL. Being me, I just couldn't believe the time it must've taken to deck the entire tower out in bazillions of little blinking lights. The lights blinked randomly in a constant sparkling non-pattern for a good chunk of time -- at least ten minutes though maybe longer.

We wandered around, and Chris took pictures, and we waved away souvenir salesmen until we about wanted to murder one of them as a warning to the rest, and at last we went in search of supper.

A lovely little creperie was located, and we all had dinner crepes and café crème and then dessert crepes and more café crème. Completely exhausted, we shuffled to the nearest Metro station (the same one we took to get to La Tour many, many hours earlier as it turned out), trundled our way back to our home station, and dragged into the hotel and off to bed.

Next up: Day Three — In Which We Don't Go to the Louvre or La Musée D'Orsay

kitchen impaired

2008-04-17T14:29:40Z

I just dumped 1/3c yogurt into my espresso instead of onto fruit.

No, I did not try it to see what it was like. I also had *just* finished perfectly steaming milk for the espresso.

*sigh*

*sips remade café crème*

Generation X-cellent

2008-04-17T02:36:27Z

*eyeroll* I know!
(totally snicked from wildrider)

You Belong in Generation X

You fit in best with people born between 1961 and 1981.

You are fun, laid back, and very independent.

You are willing to take risks and live your life however you see fit.

You are casual, accepting, and friendly. You see everyone as your equal.

What Generation Do You Belong In?

70-degree news alert

2008-04-17T02:24:50Z

It's been 178 days since the last time Chicago saw 70ºF -- so the Tribune sent out a news alert.

178 days. It was October the last time it happened. Six months. Half a year. A LONG FRICKING TIME!

I won't mind a mild summer, but WOW am I sick of this vicious winter. Let's hope this means it's over.

Irish Language Lab

2008-04-15T03:59:36Z

Another snippet from Television Parts.

Okay. THIS one was my *absolute* favorite one of all.

Zootcomewitpotatoes!

Did you know the famous "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" started on this show and *not* on SNL? Trufax!

And, yes, Michael Nesmith saying, "Disneyland burned down!" was funnier than "Jack Handey" saying it. Nesmith just had the better delivery.

Happy Birthday ELD!

2008-04-13T18:36:37Z

Hey, everybody!

It's evil_little_dog's birthday!

I hope it's a great day.

Sorority Girls From Hell!

2008-04-11T03:22:00Z

This is one of my favorite things ever. I'd nearly forgotten about it, then I saw someone reference it on gawker.com in comments and I squee'd and ran to YouTube. As one does these days. It's from a short-lived comedy skit TV show created by and starring Michael Nesmith (you know, the Monkee!) in the very early 80s

I own the video. It also has a fantastic bit by Ed Begley, Jr. on it which I'll dig up a link to later if I can find it.

So funny.

The Beatniks, Issue 1, Page 2

2008-04-07T02:20:05Z

(click for larger view).

Disney Girl Quiz

2008-04-06T22:40:35Z

Find Out Which Disney Girl You Are!
created with QuizFarm.com
You scored as Jane

Running through the jungle, obsessing yourself in books and learning new things - you're ever so Jane! Learning new skills and ideas is always an amazing thing, but basing your entire life around it might make you miss out on some other fun things in your life. Don't work so hard - learn how to take a break now and then to have some fun too! And stay away from those pesky monkeys!

Jane

71%

Belle

63%

Snow White

63%

Jasmine

54%

Megara

54%

Tinkerbell

50%

Mulan

50%

Cinderella

50%

Ariel

50%

Aurora (Sleeping Beauty)

42%

Alice

42%

Esmerelda

38%

Violet

33%

Pocahontas

29%

The Paris Trip Report: Day One

2008-04-06T04:19:56Z

After all this time, I should attempt a Paris Trip Report before I forget what happened.

Friday, March 14th, 4pm – Saturday, March 15, night
(Hey, look! I traveled on the Ides of March!)

I worked the Friday I was to fly out--all day right up to quittin' time. I got ready at lunch even unto yanking my luggage out of the bedroom to sit by the door. I took little breaks to rush around and clean the cat box, feed the cats, do last-minute straightenings, and all that kind of thing.

My friend Anita had volunteered to drive me to the airport, so she arrived very promptly as I was dragging my suitcase out onto the sidewalk. And off we went.

O'Hare may be hellish for many people, but I have *yet* to have any real problems there. Other airports, yes; O'Hare, not yet. I'm sure a day will come when I will curse its name, but so far, so good.

I had checked in online so had my paperwork, but with international flights, my usual habit of curb check-in wasn't an option. But the line was tiny for United and I was rid of my big suitcase quickly and off to the fun of international security. Again, I find that O'Hare does this pretty well. Lots of showing the passport, and the ordeal of getting all of the stuff you have with you -- shoes, coat, purse, carry-on, jacket -- loaded into the little gray bins to spend three seconds being irradiated is just that: an ordeal -- but a pretty efficient one, so I was then off to find my little designated waiting area which is WAAAY the hell down at the end of its concourse. I get myself a coffee and snack, settle down, and read for awhile. I had ended up with no seat assignment, so I had to check in at the gate and get my seat (20E) which turned out to be right next to an orchestra conductor who was reviewing the music for Ralph Vaughan Williams' Sea Symphony (my favorite composer if not my favorite of his symphonies -- that'd be a tie between the London and the Pastoral) which we discussed a little bit.

Mostly I slept on the plane. This is why I take overnight flights to Europe (all THREE times I've gone) -- because if you can manage to sleep, there is not so much of the jet lag.

So the next morning as we're approaching Charles De Gaulle airport at last, having our little breakfasts and tidying ourselves up, what should I realize but that I hadn't printed out anything in all my mad organizing and printing-out of things -- ANYTHING about my hotel arrangments. Nothing. I didn't even write down the name of the place.

Fuck.

I did not, for the record, panic. I did a little frantically pull out my travel book and start looking through. I remembered the name -- was it the right name? Philippe Auguste? Yes? Oh, good. There's a metro stop named "Philippe Auguste." Oh, and the next one over is "Pere La Chaise" which was the name of the cemetery I knew was very close to the hotel.

Okay, so not great, but at least I know how to get *close* to the hotel. Then I'd have to depend up on the kindness of strangers to see me through to the actual hotel.

Charles De Gaulle airport does not get the highest marks from me as a friendly airport -- not because of rude people but largely due to confusing layout and poor signage. I went through customs *almost* without stopping. It was *ridiculously* perfunctory. They did not even take my little card that one fills out on the plane.

After that, I tracked down an ATM to get me some Euros, found the area where one accessed the trains, and purchased myself an all-access pass for the next five days for Paris and all its modes of transport (not including taxis), and headed off to Philippe Auguste, fingers crossed that I was heading to the right place.

I didn't realize my first stop at Charles De Gaulle Etoile placed me directly under the Arc de Triomphe -- which I would discover almost a week later -- but I was pretty focused on finding my hotel at that point. The Paris Metro is not as easy-to-use as the London Underground but it is a LOT more polite (Londoners, my dears, you are very, very rude people when you're commuting. Srsly, work on that. The *FRENCH* are making a better impression). And the Metro is easier -- and cleaner -- than the Chicago CTA so it gets points for that, too.  Signage... could be better.

But I'd been able to plan my mass transit attack using my travel guide, so I eventually landed above ground once more, bags dragging (on wheels) behind me just outside the Pierre August station. I looked *all* around for any sign of my hotel and after several moments and a bit of milling around found none.

There was nothing for it. I was going to have to try to speak French.

So to the lovely fruit and vegetable stand men, I said, "Je cherche l'hotel Citea Pierre Auguste?" with my crap pronunciation and probably not-great accent, but they responded, "Oui, l'hotel?" and pointed me down a little winding side street which led right to its door. "Merci! Merci beaucoup!"

"You are too early. Come back at 2!" the lady hotel clerk informed me. She did relieve me of my suitcases, though, so I couldn't be really mad at her. In a reversal of my usual experience, this hotel seemed very firm about check-in and very unconcerned about the time you checked-out. Since I was tired and had rather counted on being allowed in, I was slightly bummed by this...

But the area (Pierre Auguste?) was really lovely, the day was the nicest one we had the entire trip, weather-wise -- warmish and sunny -- and I was tired and hungry, so, delighted to have only my purse to carry, I went back down the little street to the confused intersection where the Metro station was and looked around at my options. There were several, but one cafe in particular had a good view of the street and station exits so I could relax and keep an eye out for my fellow travelers, minmortonand her husband Chris.

Another thing I'd discovered, though I wouldn't be sure of this for another couple of days, was that my phone -- in spite of my having taken the time to call the company and check and get it activated for international use -- did not work in France. I never got a signal. Whether the activation got borked, the signal was just that bad, or the phone itself didn't have the right stuff to work in France, I have no idea. But I did know that if I didn't spot Min and Chris on their way to the hotel, the day had some chance of turning farcical due to my lack of phone when I had firmly believed I'd have a phone, and we'd planned accordingly.

I had an odd meal of espresso (I did not yet know to order "café crème") and a ham-on-baguette sandwich (buttered! ham + butter -- please may I have more FAT please? Oh, and, yum!), listened to my trusty iPod, and read a book that I didn't end up liking enough to finish, and after a long, relaxing wait (with dogs -- people just take their very well-behaved dogs EVERYWHERE in France. I approve because the dogs are *shockingly* well-behaved. America? You suck at dog training. DO BETTER), I at last saw Min and Chris trundling along toward the hotel with their luggage. I gathered up my stuff and dashed out to greet them.

(Min? I'm fuzzy on this -- did we have the coffee and then go check in or did we check in and then go get coffee? Remember, I was a little jet lagged.)

At this point, either we checked in after the coffee (whence I discovered "café crème" which would become our beverage of choice for the entire week) or before it... I think after. I think the cafe stop was a time-killer until 2pm.

The café crème, though, was delightful as was the company and the success of having overcome my self-imposed near-disaster without incident. After check-in, we retired to our separate rooms (much bigger than my two London hotel room experiences, I have to say, though those had been *nice* teeny-tiny rooms. We relaxed a bit , unpacked, changed, napped, whatevs.  Later, we went to dinner, first walking around the area and checking it out.

We had a lovely, long, relaxing meal and dessert and coffee and conversation that night at a restaurant (one of MANY -- seriously, you cannot throw a rock without hitting a cafe or a patisserie or a pub or a restaurant or *SOME PLACE* to eat in Paris. It is crazy) before we headed back to the hotel and to bed. I may have sat in Min & Chris's room for some more conversation and listening to various funny clips on Chris's iPod (using my iPod speakers) that night.

The next day, we were going to go check out Paris a bit. Run around, see some places, stare at the Eiffel Tower. Y'know. Be tourists.

I was in Paris. I'd navigated the Metro. I'd asked directions in French. I'd met up with my friends from England without incident. I'd been introduced to café crème. And I was tired.

I also couldn't figure out how to turn on my TV.

Which means I was *really* jet-lagged.

Next up: Day Two -- Pens and Marmots and Sparkly Things

Pothole Borks Weekend Plans

2008-04-05T15:19:42Z

Poor marimarguerite was on her way here for the weekend when an Evil Pothole stopped her cold on the highway. She's fine but the car needs a new tire and maybe a new rim, so she turned for home.

So no shopping, no relaxed luncheon at Noodles & Co., no hanging-out with my friend. :(

Stupid mean old pothole.

This is not a wordcount

2008-04-05T06:45:13Z

I’ve cleared 10K tonight on SanClare Scarlet, take 2.03. I’d write more but I have company coming tomorrow, and I’m already up two hours later than I’d planned.

This is good. I think this is good. I think I’ve found the threads that will weave this story together at last. I hate feeling like I’ve said that over and over, but I’ve been here before, slashing through the underbrush with my dull machete. Eventually I find the trail.

leave a comment at Complete Fabrications and Vicious Rumours

Why I Love Peter Sagal

2008-04-04T02:35:43Z

I encourage *everyone* to go listen to his commentary (it's best when you can hear his voice) on Horton Hears a Who (the movie, not the book):

Gender Inequity in 'Whoville'

Peter hosts one of my all-time favorite things, Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me -- the NPR News Quiz -- which I've been listening to for years. It's homebased right here in Chicago, usually recorded at the Chase Auditorium downtown on Thursday nights, and is smart and funny without fail. On my list of Reasons to Move to Chicago, somewhere not too far from the top, was the item, "Can easily go to live tapings of 'Wait Wait.'" (Which I have. Twice. Go if you ever get the chance -- they're lots of fun).

Preview Pix of Paris

2008-03-29T20:30:29Z

Teaser Cat

Le Chat a Pere LaChaise

Chambord with Min in the foreground

Eglise St-Eustache with Big Giant Head

Winged Victory at the Louvre

Not the Paris Post

2008-03-29T19:01:05Z

Just an observation about my picture-taking abilities. I took 215 pictures while in France and *all* of them tilt slightly to the left. Is it me or the camera?

*le sigh*