#purgefail, or what I read instead

Cover Image for Inside Job, by Connie WillisReading Territory led to a dangerous chain of logic: Emma Bull -> other female SciFi writers -> Connie Willis. This culminated in the compulsive purchase of All About Emily, Remake, and Inside Job. Have spent the last week or so reading these on my phone instead of the, oh, say, two dozen unread hardbacks on my shelves. Sci-fi Old Hollywood is the best!

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Top 5 Worst Calendars of 2015

It’s time again for the semi-annual worst calendar list. After a 2013 and 2014 full of goats in trees, I’m ready to move on to something new. There are all the usual contenders: different breeds of dogs, kittens, more kittens, gardens, sports teams, cars, hobbies…but what will it be?

The Worst of the Worst

5. Thomas Kincaid’s Disney Explosion. I’m sorry to repeat myself, but I’m afraid this particular selection is going to have to make the list each and every time.

4. Nude Circus Freaks. A case of knowing your strengths and sticking with them.

3. Butter my Butt. Another repeat, but seriously guys.

2. Minecraft. Sixteen months of artists’ renderings of Mincraft. The reviews are hilarious.

1. Baby Memes. Because once wasn’t enough with this shit?

Runners Up:

Keeping it depressing.

Rock and roll animals. I actually kind of want this one. Those eyes!

Squirrels. “Life lessons,” cutsie photos, what could be better?

Bronies! Sad, drunk bronies.

Sons of Anarchy. A heartwarming selection.

Intimidating Hens. And reaching for puns. I almost love this one, actually

And a little extra something from Regretsy. This advent calendar will give you nightmares.

And, I feel like an idiot…

…for my initial failure to connect Fun Home with every feminist’s favorite media analysis criteria, the Bechdel Test, with Allison Bechdel the cartoonist. I guess I was thinking of it along the lines of the Turing Test for artificial intelligence, presuming it to be rooted deep in the murky academic writings of the second wave (although I guess we could makes a case for a 1985 issue of Dykes to Watch Out For…)

Super tiny boarding house style studio apartment, furnished

Ta da! Turns out you can cram a lot of crap into a studio apartment. I had been waiting to share pics until the new place could be fully and perfectly decorated, and completely clean. But, it’ll be a few months before I can afford my sofa and rug, I may never hang the mirror, and as for clean, well…you get the idea. So here it is, without further ado, seven rooms in one and a half.

The Kitchen

Studio apartment kitchen
Entering from the main room.
Studio apartment kitchen
Looking to the left…
studio apartment built in cabinets
…and back toward the entrance.
Studio apartment tea
The tea station.
Studio apartment kitcchen
The sink, doubling as both kitchen and bath room sink. (I’m especially proud of the utensil hooks.)
Hooks, shelves, and more hooks
Studio apartment furniture
One of the few pieces of furniture I purchased especially for this space, a kitchen cart from Ikea which fits perfectly in the strange hole under my counter and includes: tupperware and plastic baggies, a tooth brushing station, and a box of pharmacy stuff.

The entry way

Closets

My God, closets.

Studio apartment closets

Studio apartment closet and dressing station

Main room

Studio apartment dining area
Dining area

Studio apartment decoration

Studio apartment bedroom area

Studio apartment bedroom area

Home office

Studio apartment home office

Studio apartment home office

Things I’ve Learned or Remembered Since Moving

Six weeks into my new apartment, I have determined that…

1. My house will never, ever be clean enough for me to take and post “after” pictures

2. The landlord was totally bullshitting about that window thing. I closed it during the second of several cloudbursts in March. No suffocation has yet taken place.

3. Berkeley is more boring than I remembered.

4. But my God its cheep.

5. I really miss my car.

6. A half-way decent shower is a luxury that may elude me all my life.

New Years 2013

New Years Resolution imageNot so long ago (or at least it doesn’t feel long ago), in a fit of credulous sentimentality, I made the mistake of publicly posting my New Years resolutions, in the mistaken belief that it would somehow make a difference. The whole exercise was ludicrous  and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But, since I did that, I might as well do this….

 

5. Care for skin. I didn’t do so bad with this one, actually. No shocking sunburns. Nothing but a mild tan acquired despite layers of spf. The liklihood of my getting skin cancer has not risen since last year.

4. Weigh 125 lbs. Not so much. Its not that I didn’t loose any weight; its just that I gained it all back. Carry that one over into 2013, I guess.

3. Achieve a modicum of financial stability. Not so bad in this department either. More lucrative job? Check. Two, actually. Small savings? Check. It was hard. Really, really hard. But its there somehow, and I’m not touching it.

2. Graduate! Oh, right. No thesis; no diploma. May 2013, here I come.

1. Write everyday. Um…no. Huge improvements in this area actually; I’ve put in a lot of work. But everyday? No. It does occur to me that this was a dumb idea. That if I was going insist on quantifying, I should have gone with something like total pages, or total hours. Excuses, excuses.

Top 5 Worst Calendars of 2013

When shopping for a calendar turned into an extended exercise in yikes, I decided to share. If you really think about wall calendars, they’re all a little strange–flowers, pets, farm animals, sports teams, scenic views, children dressed like adults–but these are each in one way or another, a new level of terrible. I give you, the worst calendars of 2013.

The rules: No Cafe Press weirdness (examples: this or this). Too easy. You could fill up a top fifty list in 5 minutes on there. Calendars must be offered on websites which feature mostly mainstream products normal people could conceivably want.

The Worst of the Worst

5. Butter my ButtFull title: Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Classin’ up the joint, I see. Well, I’ll be.

4. Underwater Dogs. What. the. fuck. This gives me the shivers, but people love this calendar: 58 positive customer reviews.

3. The Peeps Show. Something the quirky-hot-girl in a romantic comedy would come up with. Listen, honey, you’re not that charming. Just stop.

2. Thomas Kinkade: The Disney Dreams CollectionAppalling. There is so much sentimental bullshit crammed into this, its hard to know what to say.

1. Celebrity Feast. I take that back. Now it’s hard to know what to say.

Runners up:

Breastfeeding Mamas. Okay, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for breast feeding, empowered moms, cute babies, and going topless. I’m just saying: wouldn’t this look great on my desk at work?

One Direction. Its like there was a most-unintentionally-homoerotic photo contest.

 

Ma’s Dolls. Six haphazard snapshots of super creepy mice dolls. Alright.

Goals for 2012

I decided to make my 2013 New Years Resolutions public. At least as public as a blog read by exactly 2 people can be. Partly for purposes of accountability, and partly so that I do not loose the piece of paper I wrote them down on and forget what they were. Without further ado then, my resolutions, in order of importance, are:

5. Care for skin. This means sunscreen. And aloe, and lotion, and no more super-hot showers.

4. Weigh 125 lbs. I’m not going to tell you how much weight loss will be required to achieve this. Suffice it to say that it will be challenging, but neither impossible nor unhealthy.

3. Achieve a modicum of financial stability. Pay off some debt, spend responsibly, find a more lucrative job, develop a small savings account, win lottery.

2. Graduate! I am currently two classes (6 unites) behind if I want to graduate in December 2012. Somehow, I’m going to have to find some way to make up for this. But how?

And, the big one…

1. Write everyday. I mean fiction. If you count journals and letters, I actually do this. But I write fiction, and do pretty much everything else, in slightly frantic bouts spanning 1-4 days, with respites in between of inappropriate duration. This must stop! This is not the first time I’ve made this particular commitment, but this time it’s the serious number one thing. I will call in sick to work, I will miss an assignment at school (anathema!); if I have a 103 degree fever I will write about my visions, if I’m on a road trip I will pull over by the side of the road, if I’m tired I will drink a case of 5-hour energy. This one is the one.

Notes from a Writing Workshop

While looking through my files in search of something else (obviously) I stumbled upon the list of requirement from my senior writing workshop. They read,

No crying, and absolutely no single tears.
No vomiting, except in cases of drunkenness or illness.
No opening the mouth without speaking.

(I have to admit, I had been guilty of the vomiting thing.)

Other rules for this class included, but were not limited to:

Double space everything, and print only on one side of the paper. No, I don’t care what the college says. Writers hate trees.

I will lock the door behind me. Don’t knock; if you arrive after me, you cannot come in.

In the (unlikely) event that anyone ever asks me to lead a workshop I will adopt all these rules.