Stream-of-Consciousness List-Making, Subtitled: A Catch-Up Post

Inspired by upstart_crow, who was in turn inspired by erzebet (all good things lead back to erzebet) I am currently:

- Dissertating.
- Trying to get my recs in order for Endicott.
(P.S., If you know a book which is wonderful and which deserves commendation, hit me in the comments.)
- Mulling over fiction titles in my head.  I have, like, a bakers dozens of story ideas in my head, yet not the bollocks (or time, I suppose) to write the results out for fear that I will end up with slush.  Ah, the ever-lasting trauma of being a professional critic .....
- Choosing the right academic essays for the next big double-issue of CdF.
- Trying to choose a topic for the editorial for the next CdF.
- Pondering the possibility of guest-editing another journal, and also wondering who the hell I'd solicit for essays on the New Weird.  (Uh ... pythia_akrypta?)
- Freaking right the hell out about going on the market next year.
- Savoring the feeling of having had a lovely tea with Ellen, Delia, and Terri.
- Turning the possibility of attending My First ReaderCon over in my mind - would anyone already attending be looking for a roomie?
- Plotting my first entry on Chicken Legs.
- Kind of appreciating the fact that my last piece of jewelry-making went wrong, as I'm liking how it went wrong.
(It was meant to be a simple marquis-shaped opal, bezel-set, in a collar of eyes.  However, the opal, being ... an opal, cracked in the setting.  Now it's a mosaic, to which I frustratedly attatched a little tiny claw-charm that I found with vschanoes last year in London.  Now, methinks, it is the beginning of a Baba Yaga necklace.  Go figure ....)
- Pondering commissioning elisem for a necklace with the title she posted finding on a scrap of paper in her pocket some months ago - "The Post-Colonial Literature of the Elves".  Being that I study fairy tales, it seems oddly appropriate; also, at the Haiku Earring party, a lovely woman solemnly told me that she was wearing a Magical Writing Necklace.  I want a Magical Writing Necklace.  Given Item the First, it seems oddly appropriate .....

You know, looking back over this list, it occurs to me that I am more prone to tangents than the other people who have made them.

In line with the necklace going wrong, yet my nonetheless liking the results .... figures.

Stream-of-Consciousness List-Making, Subtitled: A Catch-Up Post

Inspired by upstart_crow, who was in turn inspired by erzebet (all good things lead back to erzebet) I am currently:

- Dissertating.
- Trying to get my recs in order for Endicott.
(P.S., If you know a book which is wonderful and which deserves commendation, hit me in the comments.)
- Mulling over fiction titles in my head.  I have, like, a bakers dozens of story ideas in my head, yet not the bollocks (or time, I suppose) to write the results out for fear that I will end up with slush.  Ah, the ever-lasting trauma of being a professional critic .....
- Choosing the right academic essays for the next big double-issue of CdF.
- Trying to choose a topic for the editorial for the next CdF.
- Pondering the possibility of guest-editing another journal, and also wondering who the hell I'd solicit for essays on the New Weird.  (Uh ... pythia_akrypta?)
- Freaking right the hell out about going on the market next year.
- Savoring the feeling of having had a lovely tea with Ellen, Delia, and Terri.
- Turning the possibility of attending My First ReaderCon over in my mind - would anyone already attending be looking for a roomie?
- Plotting my first entry on Chicken Legs.
- Kind of appreciating the fact that my last piece of jewelry-making went wrong, as I'm liking how it went wrong.
(It was meant to be a simple marquis-shaped opal, bezel-set, in a collar of eyes.  However, the opal, being ... an opal, cracked in the setting.  Now it's a mosaic, to which I frustratedly attatched a little tiny claw-charm that I found with vschanoes last year in London.  Now, methinks, it is the beginning of a Baba Yaga necklace.  Go figure ....)
- Pondering commissioning elisem for a necklace with the title she posted finding on a scrap of paper in her pocket some months ago - "The Post-Colonial Literature of the Elves".  Being that I study fairy tales, it seems oddly appropriate; also, at the Haiku Earring party, a lovely woman solemnly told me that she was wearing a Magical Writing Necklace.  I want a Magical Writing Necklace.  Given Item the First, it seems oddly appropriate .....

You know, looking back over this list, it occurs to me that I am more prone to tangents than the other people who have made them.

In line with the necklace going wrong, yet my nonetheless liking the results .... figures.

(no subject)

Yesterday, as I walked to tea, I had one of those Weird New York Moments.

I stepped out my front door, wearing my shiny new skull-emblazoned tank top (I'm vaguely chagrined to realize that fashion has co-opted my aesthetic, but not really, because, well, this means I might stand a chance of getting to buy stuff I like this season), lit one of the pretty colorful cigarettes that TPB bought me on his Nat Sherman run (I personally think that these are a much bigger threat than Joe Camel ever was, because ... pretty!  like British crackers and Chinese fireworks rolled up into a delightfully vivid flammable treat), and heard myself addressed by a young woman with her hair all in knots, a guy with a little hand-held video-recorder behind her.  

"Excuse me, are you from New York?"

So I figured, what the hell, tourists looking for directions.  Right?  Wrong.  For, you see, the next question wasn't, "So, how exactly do I get to the Apollo from here?"   but rather, "Did you grow up in New York?"  And at this point, my incredibly slow-moving lizard brain sat up, stuck forth its forked tongue to taste the air, and sssuggested that thessse might be activissstsss ... or worse, documentary film-makers.  And, well, I was in a kind of a White Rabbit situation, what with having taken too long to choose the tank top, so I politely begged off and told them that I was late.

No dice.  They were happy to walk with me.  So there I was, cautiously answering questions about where I'd grown up, wondering when I'd be hit up for a donation, asked something way too personal, or asked to sign a consent form, all the while walking and being asked to look straight at the camera (harder than you'd imagine, but then again, I may just have been having a Blonde Moment) (in my own defense, the woman kept weaving behind and around me so as to not block the shot, and I was experiencing that same sense of "But it's rude not to look at you!" that you have when you're talking to a taxi-driver and staring at the back of their head while they're looking at you in the rear-view mirror).  

Sometimes, I'm too much the New Yorker - cynical, suspicious, jaded, etc.

Because the woman asked me one of the more interesting questions I've gotten in a while before brightly thanking me and returning to the corner to await further participants.

"So, what's your definition of a New Yorker?"

In restrospect, I reckon I pegged them wrong: most likely film students.

My on-the-fly definition was that a New Yorker is someone who's willing to take risks in order to experience life to the fullest.  What's yours?

P.S. - This whole thing threw me to the point that when a blustery red-faced gentleman in an alligator tee and plaid pants, accompanied by his wet-behind-the-ears but otherwise identical offspring asked me for directions to Columbia in front of St. John the Divine, I almost got into a conversation with him before getting brusquely brushed off.

P.P.S. - I'm still faintly nervous that I'm going to end up in one of those "The Truth" commercials.

(no subject)

Yesterday, as I walked to tea, I had one of those Weird New York Moments.

I stepped out my front door, wearing my shiny new skull-emblazoned tank top (I'm vaguely chagrined to realize that fashion has co-opted my aesthetic, but not really, because, well, this means I might stand a chance of getting to buy stuff I like this season), lit one of the pretty colorful cigarettes that TPB bought me on his Nat Sherman run (I personally think that these are a much bigger threat than Joe Camel ever was, because ... pretty!  like British crackers and Chinese fireworks rolled up into a delightfully vivid flammable treat), and heard myself addressed by a young woman with her hair all in knots, a guy with a little hand-held video-recorder behind her.  

"Excuse me, are you from New York?"

So I figured, what the hell, tourists looking for directions.  Right?  Wrong.  For, you see, the next question wasn't, "So, how exactly do I get to the Apollo from here?"   but rather, "Did you grow up in New York?"  And at this point, my incredibly slow-moving lizard brain sat up, stuck forth its forked tongue to taste the air, and sssuggested that thessse might be activissstsss ... or worse, documentary film-makers.  And, well, I was in a kind of a White Rabbit situation, what with having taken too long to choose the tank top, so I politely begged off and told them that I was late.

No dice.  They were happy to walk with me.  So there I was, cautiously answering questions about where I'd grown up, wondering when I'd be hit up for a donation, asked something way too personal, or asked to sign a consent form, all the while walking and being asked to look straight at the camera (harder than you'd imagine, but then again, I may just have been having a Blonde Moment) (in my own defense, the woman kept weaving behind and around me so as to not block the shot, and I was experiencing that same sense of "But it's rude not to look at you!" that you have when you're talking to a taxi-driver and staring at the back of their head while they're looking at you in the rear-view mirror).  

Sometimes, I'm too much the New Yorker - cynical, suspicious, jaded, etc.

Because the woman asked me one of the more interesting questions I've gotten in a while before brightly thanking me and returning to the corner to await further participants.

"So, what's your definition of a New Yorker?"

In restrospect, I reckon I pegged them wrong: most likely film students.

My on-the-fly definition was that a New Yorker is someone who's willing to take risks in order to experience life to the fullest.  What's yours?

P.S. - This whole thing threw me to the point that when a blustery red-faced gentleman in an alligator tee and plaid pants, accompanied by his wet-behind-the-ears but otherwise identical offspring asked me for directions to Columbia in front of St. John the Divine, I almost got into a conversation with him before getting brusquely brushed off.

P.P.S. - I'm still faintly nervous that I'm going to end up in one of those "The Truth" commercials.