mrissa: (Default)

I am home from Montreal and digging out from under the mountain of things that will pile up when you take a vacation. It was lovely, it was grand, and now it is lovely and grand to be home. And oh, so much stuff. So much stuff. Presents to wrap, more presents to buy and wrap. Stories to revise, more stories to write. The laundry is starting to feel a bit under control, although I know that this is an illusion, as the laundry hamper is almost full again. There are several things that want cooking, and more that want backing, and…well, most of you know what day it is, Saturday.

While I’m doing all this stuff, the magic of publishing brings you things I worked on much earlier. I have a new story up on BCS today, A House of Gold and Steel. Go, read, enjoy.

Originally published at Novel Gazing Redux

mrissa: (tiredy)

1. I am in SF Signal’s Mind Meld this time around. It’s about the Suck Fairy and avoiding same. I think one of the things I thought of after, reading the other answers, is that you’re bringing different things when you’re at different ages. Sometimes you’re bringing your innocence or naivete. You shouldn’t feel bad about that–but you also shouldn’t feel bad about bringing greater judgment and experience later.

2. DDB is having a print sale at The Online Photographer, a very different kind of photo than the ones I usually link with Tim’s work. Check it out here.

3. I made a Sooper Sekrit Short Story Sale. It is both Sooper and Sekrit. I will let you know the details when I can, but suffice it to say: I am pleased.

4. The electric company is performing shenanigans in our vicinity. This is what I get for saying things about how I value infrastructure, isn’t it? Sigh.

5. If I have a fifth thing, this will remind me of Rise. And being reminded of Rise is a good thing, because there are still those of you out there who miss her and her “five things make a post” posts, too. Cancer: it stinks. Hearing news from another friend reminds me of the stinkingness of cancer and of how the little things that remind us with a smile of fallen friends are not to be neglected.

mrissa: (food)
So if you decide to use large tomatoes instead of ramekins or dinner rolls as implements for holding raw eggs to bake them in a moderate oven, it'll work just fine, but the acidity of the tomato will interact with the egg and increase the needed baking time to about 40, 45 minutes for a moderately firm yolk. I salted the inside of the tomato lightly and lined it heavily with basil before cracking the egg into it, and then I stuck a thin slice of baguette over top and put a little cheese on that. I'll use more specifically chosen bread (likely Swedish rye) and cheese next time, but I didn't want to go to the store for this experiment, so I used the bit ends of what we had, and it turned out fine once we figured out about the acidity. Pretty tasty, worth remembering.

And now you know, and knowing is, if not half the battle, at least some appreciable fraction.

The book I'm reading right now seems to think that the rest is breeding the right horses, but since it's regarding 1812, I'm not sure it's universally applicable.
mrissa: (household)
Upon reading the manual to our new car, [ profile] markgritter was startled to discover that it can be taught to open garage doors. ([ profile] timprov and I were startled, too, but did not read the manual. Suffice it to say that this is not a feature we would have been willing to pay for separately, but it's kind of cool to have it around.)

[ profile] markgritter: Okay, I've programmed it now so that 1 is the left door and 2 is the right door. We can make 3 your folks' if you want.
me: Awesome.
[ profile] timprov: Can we make 3 something else?
me: Like MIA so we can program the car to run off with all their Chinese treasures?
[ profile] markgritter: Well, it has to be 1-3 inches from the current garage door opener when it's activated.
[ profile] timprov: I was thinking more like Narnia.
[ profile] markgritter: If you can find a garage that already opens onto Narnia and get 1-3 inches from the opener when they use it, then yes, we can teach our car to open the door to Narnia.
[ profile] timprov and me: Awesome.
mrissa: (Default)
I was not sure whether to begin this post:

Woe, woe, gloom, despair! We will all catch tuberculosis in the workhouse and be buried in pauper's graves, woe!

or perhaps:

We have now completed the Scandosotan Stereotype Checklist and are perfect caricatures of ourselves.

but I think I will just go with the classic:

I bought a car. It is blue.

We are not only the proud owners of a used Volvo, but the first CD in its CD player was the Indigo Girls. Yah. Yah. That is just how much of a demographic we are.
mrissa: (tiredy)
My goal for the weekend, after about 8:00 Friday evening, was to be externally boring, and I think I can honestly say we're doing a good job. There has been writing, reading, working out, doing PT, cooking, and various and sundry other useful and/or pleasant things. And, I mean, I could chatter away to people about The Dark Knight and Bones S1 and the books I'm reading, but I'll probably do some of that later. Some of the people we want to do stuff with are out of town, and some are busy, and also some of us are unpredictable regarding sleep (just the usual some, there), and we're all sort of tired and peopled out. I was very pleased with having two weeks of 4th St. related stuff, but when push came to shove it had gotten to be time to curl up and not do or say much.

And so yesterday I invoked the 5:00 Rule*, and [ profile] markgritter made guacamole today, and I think I win at holiday decadence, but just in case that's not enough, there will be grilled sockeye salmon, and I will finish this book I'm reading, and I will play with the doglet's ears, and that's what, really.

It's good timing for a lazy, lazy holiday: the doglet hates the 4th due to feeling under attack, so having quiet, soothing monkeys around is just as well for her. Also the rest of July is looking...a bit like we have a thing or two to do, let's say.

But more on that later. For now I am catching up on correspondence and renewing my zoo membership and other stuff that is quite satisfying from the inside and not the least bit of interest externally. So yay.

*The 5:00 Rule, for those of you who need a refresher course: if you are a morning shower person, and you manage, with this and that, to put off your shower until after 5:00 p.m. and don't have other stuff to do, you win! You are not required to put actual clothes on but can instead put clean pajamas on after your shower and luxuriate in your decadence.
mrissa: (writing everywhere)
I am doing revisions on a printout, because I need to revise on printouts mostly, and when I try not to, I bang my head repeatedly against the wall and then feel stupid when it turns out all I needed was a printout. So. Printout! I need to remind myself of this in future, because I am unlikely to come admit to you-all that revisions have stalled out and give you the chance to remind me that I need a printout.

Anyway: I am doing these revisions with the purple pen of mystery. It's the oddest thing. (Where by "the oddest thing," I mean "a fairly ordinary household object.") It's a disposable fountain pen. There is absolutely no way to refill this fountain pen. It's nice, though. It's a pilot, and I wouldn't say the nib is any worse in smoothness than my refillable Pilot fountain pens, though it's lighter. I found this pen cleaning out a box of things that got stuck on the corner of the hearth when we moved in and stayed there. And yet the ink has not dried out and the nib isn't clogging. It is a good little pen.

The thing is, we cannot figure out where this pen came from. Mark doesn't use fountain pens. Timprov and I know all of our fountain pens personally and have no recollection of this pen ever joining their number. And we can't think who would have left this pen with us. Most of our guests are definitively non-users of fountain pens or else Dave obsessive enough about their fountain pens to know what kind they use and keep track of where they've gone.

It's too bad, too, because after five years I would not offer to give this pen back, at least not until after I'd finished revising this book with it, but I would want to know where the heck they got such a thing, and where I could get another, or ideally a whole pack of them. Wait! I know! The magic of the internets has told me where to get more. Well, all right then. It is a Pilot Varsity. If this might be your pen left at my house for five years, I'm dreadfully sorry, but at least I know replacements are only $3.25, so you won't be too bereft. And neither will I when the thing runs out.
mrissa: (reserved)
Did you know that a bowl of milk and Cheerios contains a truly alarming amount of milk when you fall and gift your office with it? Sad but true, and so I have added, "Steam-clean office carpet," to the list of things to do for today, since I am not even remotely confident in my ability to find all the wee milk spots by hand and clean them up so they don't smell (to my nose, not to your nose) and get sticky.

It wasn't a bad fall, but that was in part because I sacrificed the bowl of Cheerios to be able to catch myself and not whack my head very hard on something cornered and unpleasant. I do not even slightly regret this choice. It's just that it means steam-cleaning carpet in an unscheduled sort of way. That's the thing about this stupid vertigo: people can see how it takes me longer if I need someone's arm when I'm walking around. They don't see how much it means extra work of cleaning the kitchen cabinets or the carpet, or going to buy another set of glasses because one has broken too many of the set one had, or like that -- and how those things in turn have to be done around the vertigo and take vertical time and energy. Ah well. At least the new clinic shows promise.

Last night we went to see a lawyer about wills and such. We'll have to go back in a bit to sign things and make them all official-like, but it was quick and painless. If you're local and don't know the name of a lawyer who does this sort of thing, I can tell you who we went to see, phone number and all. (Many of you who are local already know him, though, some quite well.) Far better to go through the slight hassle of establishing legal documentation while everyone is alive and well than to be hassled over it just when you have a rather large lot of other unpleasant things to think of.

As [ profile] timprov noted, we discovered when we attempted to dine there that Brix has closed its doors to reimagine itself as a Tex-Mex place, which almost certainly will not feature goat cheese toasts with rosemary honey, which means I have to figure out what kind of goat cheese it was (you can't just go buy goat cheese and have it come out right! that's like saying ice cream was made with cow milk and then expecting it to all taste the same!) and how to make the rosemary honey go and ideally the little toasts as well. Because I already miss those. We went to Fat Lorenzo's instead, which is always a fine thing, but not very seriously similar to the pasta in the shape of wee hats.

The tub people are very sure that they will be able to finish the project today. I believe them. It's already looking good to me, and my mom has confirmed her willingness to help paint in there. Robin's egg blue, most likely. Not this month for sure. They have been courteous and efficient work people, and I'm very pleased with them, and I will be very pleased to have them done.

And aside from the unexpected steam-cleaning, there will be the expected book-improving and the expected hotdish-making and the expected grocery delivery, and that's all going to be fine, I'm pretty sure. And that's what, today.
mrissa: (hippo!)
1. I no longer like milk chocolate. I am still willing to eat a frozen Reese's Peanut Butter Cup once in a blue moon, but that may be it. I still have to try a Marabou hazelnut milk chocolate bar to be sure. But when we were in the Toronto airport, I spotted the lovely Quality Street packages and bought some. I enjoyed them two years ago. I loved them two years ago. I ate one and thought it tasted funny, so I thought maybe I was coming down with something. Waited a few weeks. Tried another two pieces for lunch today, different flavors: um. No. Not at all, in fact. There was clearly nothing wrong with them. They were just...milk chocolate. Which I don't like now. At all, apparently. I mean, it's not spit-it-out gross to me, turns out I'd really rather not.

I had some inkling of this when I was in the car dealership waiting for several hours and they had a vending machine. I thought, "I will get myself a treat!" And I looked, and they didn't have anything I would classify as a treat. It all looked like it would be a chore to eat, and that's no good on any axis, so I didn't get anything. And I thought I was just being a snob about mass-market American chocolate, because I have been known to be a snob from time to time, you will be shocked to hear. But then this with the Quality Street, which, okay, is still mass-market. It is not the finest milk chocolate British chocolatiers have ever produced. But it was awfully good just two years ago, and I don't think Nestle is what's changed. I think it's me.

So I have two tiny bars of Green & Black 70% for in the airport and/or on the plane next week. Just In Case. What if there's a storm? Who'd want to be stuck on the tarmac in Detroit without chocolate? Uff da, what a thought. (I will also have my own homemade mix of dried fruit and nuts. Hypoglycemics travel prepared. Hypoglycemic snobs, doubly so.)

2. I am the Death of Plants. The Death of Rats says, "SQUEAK." I don't know what I say. "C55H72O5N4Mg," probably. (The subscripts are all elevated to the same line, making it the equivalent of all-caps for a chemical formula, right?) One of the people I love most in the world gave me a living stick for my birthday. It is now a formerly-living stick. I misted it with the laundry bottle! I misted and misted! But it is crunchy. I am no expert on plants (which is surprising, given that I am their Death, but there you go), but I am given to understand that crunchy is generally bad. This makes me oh-for-three for the year when it comes to plants. Naming them doesn't help: I killed a pothos called Porthos. Not naming them doesn't help. Nothing seems to help. I am just the Death of Plants.


3. We don't have the material for new kitchen curtains. I looked at everything they had, and I wanted none of it. We do, however, have books, because I went into the used bookstore next door and salved my feelings about the whole curtain business with a biography of King Christina and a book about the exploration of Australia and, oh, several other things. As the leaves fall, my back-door neighbors will be able to see directly into the kitchen when I sit at the kitchen table and drink hot chocolate and read my books. I suspect that the world will keep turning. (But I will go look for fabric further afield after I get back from World Fantasy anyway.)

4. I also do not have Ha'penny, nor my Mammals CD (not featuring [ profile] elisem: different Mammals), nor my Kurlansky book, nor [ profile] timprov's Dar Williams Live DVD, nor yet my Veronica Mars Season 3 DVDs. And yet I have not run down to the mailbox to collar the mailbeing and demand them. Because I am a mature and reasonable individual, and also because I didn't see when the mail came yesterday.

5. I have now written more short stories than I've sold this year. Although no one should feel constrained from tipping the balance back again. I was saying elsewhere, in response to a locked post, that periodically I feel the need to "clear the decks" of short story ideas so that I have fewer half-finished short stories wandering around my brain. This process is always good for me, but never in the intended way: writing all those short stories gets me thinking about Things, and those Things get me thinking about more Things, and pretty soon I have a bunch more short stories started. This is as though putting away groceries made you think of food and go have to write half a dozen more things on the grocery list so you can make them later.

Wait. I do that, too. So it's an ongoing theme in my life, is what we're saying here.

And the one serious thing: Someone in my close extended family (if that term makes sense: close to me personally but not by legal reckoning) has fallen and broken her hip. (Probably the reverse order, given how these things tend to happen with elderly bones.) She's in a lot of pain, and a previous medical problem means that she's not entirely mentally clear on the world around her any more. So pain and confusion. We're hoping the doctors can keep her comfortable while they fix the hip, but if I seem preoccupied, that may well be why. I'm perfectly willing to talk about more details on e-mail with those of you who have reason to want them (those who know my extended family members, for example), but when I'm not clear on where someone wants privacy, I don't want to name her publicly. Still, she's in my thoughts.


Sep. 5th, 2007 07:44 am
mrissa: (out with friends)
We did ten loads of laundry yesterday. Ten. My mom said, "Didn't you do laundry before you left for Omaha?" No. I was writing a book. And the weather was varied enough between cool and warm that it was really not a problem, what with towels and dustcloths and this and that, to accumulate ten loads of laundry.

This has to be some kind of record for filthiness of three adults living in a house.

Having vanquished Melvin the Laundry Monster, I am now ready to head out to the airport. I should have connectivity while we're gone but probably won't be spending a heck of a lot of time on the internet. So! If you've been Captain Incommunicado lately, now's the perfect time to write me a chatty and leisurely e-mail about what's going on with you, and I will get to read it but answer in a chatty and leisurely fashion myself. Doesn't that sound nice? Of course it does, and now I'm off.
mrissa: (Default)
Briefly, on my way out to the airport --

Yes, I know some messages are bouncing to my regular mail. Please re-send them (some of the bounced ones have gotten back through) or send them to my gmail. Thanks so much.
mrissa: (frustrated)
Oh, very fine. Of all the times for my gmail to be down for 36 hours (and counting), the times when I have issues with my other e-mail are the best. Wheee.

So if you've gotten something bounced from my mail, or if you haven't gotten an answer and thought you should have, it's probably because I haven't gotten it on either front. [ profile] markgritter has fixed my regular e-mail issues, except -- N.B., [ profile] rysmiel and other smartasses -- you can't use anything you want at-sign any more, it has to be mris for the username. (Bah.) (But even those were bouncing for awhile; please re-send.)

Gmail's response was wholly inadequate: "Oh, this problem only lasts a few minutes, please try again." No, jerkfaces, it's lasted nearly 36 hours at this point. And yes, I've cleared cookies set by them, so it's not just that I'm getting an error message that no longer applies.


In other news of Things Gone Awry, they're making a Dark Is Rising movie, and they made Will Stanton an American. Whether they set the whole thing here or made him an expat over there, it's just plain wrong. This is as bad as invading Jesse and Leslie's privacy by showing us Terabithia. It is Not Okay.

Also, in my bleary half-awake state, I misread the clock and did not try to force myself back to sleep, with the result that I was awake at 5:30, which is utterly inadequate amounts of sleep, rather than 6:30, which might have done. And I'm too hungry to go back to bed. And I just used the last of the Nutella. Harumphharumph.

I didn't hear a harumph from that guy.

Okay, people. Your cheering-Mris assignment, should you choose to accept it: tell me of musicians or authors (or just one, that's fine) who integrated themselves seamlessly into your mental landscape. You know when you first listened to or read them, you just can't make yourself feel like they were ever not a part of your life. This came into my head because I was thinking about making my dad some more mix CDs, since he seemed to like the ones I made him at Christmas, and I was thinking of the playlists I composed for the drive back from California. (Not used, as it turned out: the U-Haul had no CD player, and [ profile] timprov did his own selections in the car -- he was still able to drive then.) I had to think hard several times to remind myself that the "Iowa" on the playlist was by John Linnell, not Dar Williams, because Dar is a musician who feels like she has been part of our blood and bones around here. But I can remember very clearly listening to my first Dar song: Jon Truitt brought "Christians and Pagans" in for us to listen to when he was in town for the holidays in 2003, after we'd moved home. (Dad, of course, can have both. But that's not the point.) Who feels permanent like that to you but clearly isn't?
mrissa: (food)
You know what silly thing I'm really no good at? (Okay, this is your time to listen inquisitively, rather than starting the list for me.) I seem to be physically unable to get rid of perishables without getting rid of less-perishables at an equal or greater rate. Olive oil. Plastic bags. Champagne mustard. These things would not go bad while we're gone next week! They could have awaited our return with the patience inherent to condiments and kitchen accoutrements! Yet we still have an entire red bell pepper in the veggie bin after tonight's broccoli diablo, and we did not manage to consume the entire population of kiwi fruits in the fruit bin. I fear that the process of using up those things will require us to run out of rice flour, almond extract, rubber bands, and brillo pads.

But I am patient. I will persevere, and I will triumph over the perishables. The lettuce will fall! The eggs will quiver before my wrath! Or something like, anyway.

I suspect that part of the problem is that it was *shudder* springlike here today, and just as fall brings about the urge to squirrel away food in the freezer and the pantry, spring brings the urge to clean them out! But tomorrow I will counter that urge by putting banana bread in the freezer instead of removing something. After all, it'll use up three bananas and two eggs, and that counts for a good deal.
mrissa: (Default)
Last night was pretty suboptimal around here. Today has been better. I love our new dentist's office. They let you see all kinds of things on a computer screen. I am all about being as fully informed about my health care procedures as they have time to do, even if it's a simple procedure like a teeth-cleaning/gum-check/etc. Having a great relationship with my dentist and hygienist as a kid probably has set me up pretty well for adult life -- when I go into a new dentist, I don't have to assume it'll be a horrid experience for me. (Even though it has been the last two times.) I mean, I'm not leaping around singing songs of joy in anticipation of dentist appointments. But they're not that bad for me, just one more thing you gotta do sometimes.

The amusing thing about knowing my bagger at the grocery store pretty well is that I don't just get a smile and a mumbled "haveaniceday," I get some sense of how Paul is doing. He's a person, not a customer service policy. Today he was a person who had recently come in from the outdoor job, and he was not pleased. "I don't think they should put you out there," I said, and he grinned. "You know how I stand it? See that little shop there, just inside the door? They sell whiskey." He kept bagging my groceries. "You know what else I want to bring with tomorrow? A crowbar. People kept telling me to put stuff in the trunk, and then the trunk was locked, and they'd come out and look at it. Put the car in neutral! It's not going to unlock until you put it in neutral, no matter how many times you press the little button! And now here you are outside the car without your keys, with the car running, so you can't press the button again now that you've parked the thing! Idiots, I'm telling you. You'd never do that to me. Tomorrow, the crowbar." He checked over my eggs for cracks. I do that anyway, but Paul just wants to make sure. ("If it was most folks," he told me one day when I told him he didn't have to, "they'd get home and say, 'that damn Byerly's, they sold me cracked eggs.' But it's you, so you'd say, 'that damn Paul, he didn't even look.' So I look.") As he was putting a rubber band on the egg carton, he said, "I was putting groceries in this woman's backseat, and she says to me, 'ohhh, I think it's getting warmer today.' I wanted to tell her, lady, go get your meds checked. I'm the one out in it, and I can tell you, it is not any warmer!" Shirl, my backup cashier, thought this was a step too far: "Paul," she said warningly, but when I grinned, she grinned back. I think she just doesn't want him to talk like that to the wrong person and get in trouble.

I'm not the one cooking tonight. I'm the one curling up on the couch with a book tonight. The division of labor doesn't always go like that, but tonight I'm grateful it does. I'm feeling sort of curled up and tired. I'm going to aim at a restful night and a productive day tomorrow. It seems like a plan, and if I miss and have a productive night and a restful day tomorrow, the world won't come to an end.
mrissa: (Default)
I hate the telephone. Hate. Haaaaaate. But I have finished two phone chores, leaving two more for the week, unless something comes up. I am mighty. I am fierce. Etc. I should probably go dig up the documentation I need to make those other two phone calls right now, and then I can feel virtuous and, more importantly, liberated from the phone for the rest of the week. The basement is cold. Perhaps if I get tea after digging. Hmm. Perhaps if I promise myself more of the monkey chapter after. The monkey chapter is creepier than I expected. I never expect to be creepy. I think of my own brain as a sunlit meadow. It is apparently a very creepy sunlit meadow sometimes. Other people seem to have noticed this on the order, it's looking like eight years ago now, I guess, when the college lit mag published one of my stories.* The self-image, it sometimes takes a good while to catch up. I think it's partly that I'm one of the least depressive people I know, so I sort of think of myself as skipping around singing tra-la in comparison to the rest of you lot. And I forget to account for much of my social group being...writers.

In unrelated news, if there is some chance that you will be in the San Francisco Bay Area in late February or early March, please e-mail me. (Some of you should already have these e-mails. Others of you -- I have either misplaced your e-mail or (mentally) misplaced you, as in, placed you somewhere else. For irrelevant example, I have to remind myself every time I read [ profile] callunav and [ profile] juliansinger's posts that they are at least one city farther north than I always think they are, sometimes two. So: Bay Area. Help.)

*I wrote it in a fit of pique at my fiction studio prof. He loved it. My fits of pique are often ineffective in this way. "Take that -- I'll write you a story!" "Oh, cool!" "*sigh*"
mrissa: (getting by)
It's no good, the tides of entropy are still high here. Or maybe the tides of mope, but it's more feeling overwhelmed with stuff that Needs Doing than just plain mopey.

[ profile] markgritter is doing his part: he installed a new toilet seat last night and sleek new drawer pulls in the bathroom. Last night I pulled open a drawer, and the handle did not fall off and have to be propped back on (stripped screws) with much swearing. That made me feel better all by itself.

Unfortunately, it means that I'm seeing our other closet and drawer pulls with new eyes. Ick! How fussy! How very not-us! I would have said, if you'd asked me, that our closet and drawer pulls were really not much our style, but who thinks to do anything about it? How much difference could it make? (Um. Please don't cry, [ profile] retrobabble. Don't tear your hair. It is nice hair. We've thought of it now, and that's something, isn't it?) So there may be an era of new pulls around here when I go to another hardware/home maintenance store, which I will have to do anyway due to absence of humidifer replacement parts at the last one. They're cheap. They're easy to install. And now I keep noticing the old ones, feeling and seeing them as I didn't before.

Anyway, surely the entropy must recede at some point, and in the meantime, there are stories to tell and clothes to wash. Pigs to slop, as [ profile] matociquala would say. Gotta slop the pigs. Chop wood, draw water, and all that.

Also there is a note on my desk that says, "Social insurance of heroic death availability re: Valhalla," and that can't help but mean good things for the day to come, can it?


Jan. 3rd, 2007 05:52 pm
mrissa: (Default)
I strongly suspect that the apricot preserves I put in my brother-in-law-in-law's crockpot apricot chicken recipe were The Wrong Kind, because I am not at all sure we have something salvageable here. We will try again later with a different kind of apricot preserves, but not tonight, for heaven's sake not tonight. This is why they have these cunning little shops that manufacture pizzas to suit.

I know entropy wins every day. But today is a day that feels more like entropy is winning. Even though much of my desk is cleaner than it was 24 hours ago. Rooms dusted! Thank-you cards written! Story notes sorted! Magazines filed or bagged to send away! Buttons sewn on! And when I sew a button on, it stays sewn on. Unfortunately, often this means that a good yank such as a casual person might do to their trousers casually will shatter the button rather than merely pulling it loose. But never mind that. I have done my part with the sewing and can do no more.

And still the entropic feelings. Bah, entropy. I think it's because of the door thing falling off my desk. Did you know they used to springload typewriters in these things? True story. [ profile] lydy explained it to me. ( it must be true, right?) The light is bad in this corner, but I do need to get in there and Make It Go, or determine that it won't and figure out what to do from there. This was my grandfather's desk. I love having my grandfather's desk. I also love having a functional desk. So there you have that.

Or it might be the malfunctioning post office machines, or it might be the lack of humidifier parts at our Home Despot, or it might be sheer perversity on the part of my brain (never to be underestimated). I don't know. Anyway, I am going to try to wrestle the feelings of entropy into submission by writing some more of "The Snow Queen and Milady de Winter." It's not the winning, it's the trying, and all that.

How are you wrestling entropy? Who's winning?
mrissa: (tiredy)
Dad brought the charger up last night, so we'll get the battery charged enough to get the car over to buy a new battery. Or get its alternator fixed. Whichever turns out to be the problem; we suspect the former but are prepared for the latter.

The hot tub people are arranging to get the door off the sun-porch so they can put the hot tub in. (!!!)

The zoo yesterday was pretty cool: nice weather, good company. I got home pretty tired and dizzy, though.

I have read Garth Nix's Sir Thursday, lent to me yesterday by the little girls, and I'm now climbing the walls like everyone else waiting to find out what happens next. And the next volume isn't listed on Amazon yet, that I could find. SIGH.

I have a million and one things to do today, and most of them require me to be upright. The stuff that didn't get done when I was dizzy all day every day is coming back to bite me pretty hard, and I'm not actually feeling great yet, just better.

More later if I manage to carve out a chunk of time for lj.
mrissa: (frustrated)
[ profile] timprov and I were supposed to go to the zoo today with [ profile] ladysea and her mostly-shrimpy entourage. And in fact it looks like we will be doing exactly that, but not under our own power: the car wouldn't start. It started just fine when I went to get us Panera sandwiches to take with for lunch and dropped off library books. Then we got in to go to the zoo, a few minutes early. It makes an unhappy noise and then does not start.


So. [ profile] ladysea will be picking us up, and we will be taking the car in or having someone else come and fetch it. And really it's been a good car with no problems for so long that I could hardly be annoyed with the car, in fairness. Still: makes one glad one didn't commit to pay for the hugely overpriced basement-renovation job.
mrissa: (Default)
This time it's not just free books, but also a free CD and some free VHS tapes. First priority to people in the Twin Cities; after that, first come, first serve within North America. These are either duplicates (the CD didn't get taken off [ profile] markgritter's Amazon list the first time) or discards. Either comment or e-mail me if any of these are of interest.

Cliff Jordan & John Gilmore, Blowing In From Chicago

History of the World, Part I
The Tick Vs. Arthur (single episode of The Tick)

Kevin J. Anderson Hidden Empire
Elaine Cunningham, Shadows in the Darkness and Shadows in the Starlight
Patricia Kennealy-Morrison, The Deer's Cry
Sharyn McCrumb, Zombies of the Gene Pool

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