In Which I Would Have Liked a Little More Notice.

Too bad I had to get online to find out that today is World Shutdown Day. Oops!

However, since I've already logged on and stuff, I figure I might as well resume my usual surfing habits.

Which Is Possibly My Best Idea Yet!

You know what I think would be cool? If somebody programmed some really advanced voice synthesizer software that took into account all the physical factors influencing the sound of the human voice. And I mean all the factors: number/placement of teeth, dimensions of mouth/lips/tongue, diameter of throat, quality of vocal cords, lung capacity, abdominal force, size of nose, standard posture, sinus cavities, everything.

So once all the numbers were sufficiently crunched, then you could speak into this synthesizer, and it would process your voice and regurgitate it as that of a person whose physiology is different from yours in whatever ways you choose. Maybe not a specific person, exactly, but somebody with a smaller nose, and bigger tonsils, and some teeth missing, or whatever suits your fancy.

(Somebody could totally do this. I mean, it would take an awful lot of measuring, but computers these days are definitely up to processing the data.)

Okay, but then -- and here's the cool part -- you could also take the stats and adjust them to the anatomy of any animal you want.

You gotta know that, if your dog spoke to you, his voice wouldn't sound remotely human. Even if he were fluent in English, he would sound weirdly distorted, what with the long snout, all that extra tongue, and not much in the way of incisors. Or your cat: good at sibilants, yes, vowels no problem, but how would he manage those labial consonants? Aren't you curious about what that would sound like? Aren't you tired of waiting for him to learn?

And that's just the beginning. How would an elephant speak? A hamster? A crocodile? I really, really want to hear what it would sound like if a giraffe cracked a joke. Could a snake's whisper be intelligible? Would all birds have a similar inflection? Oh, it would take me a very long time to get tired of playing with a toy like this.

But aside from the quasi-scientific research, the "what if" factor (which, admittedly, is my favorite part), think of what this could do to the movie industry. The movies are full of talking animals, but do they sound like animals? No! I'm telling you, a real lion would not sound anything like Liam Neeson. Or Matthew Broderick. A giant wolf would not sound like Gillian Anderson, even after digital manipulation to make her growlier. And I bet a real piglet would sound waaa(eeeeee)y more annoying than Christine Cavanaugh's charming rendition. In this age of cinematic wonders, why are we still doing animal voices with Mr. Ed technology?

...We'll leave the teapots alone, though. Teapots can just go ahead and sound like Angela Lansbury.

In Which I Wander in Darkness, and Don't Get Ice Cream.

Last night I went to a nearby Fred Meyer, which has been under major reconstruction for a few weeks now. Large segments of the store are walled off with sheets of plywood, other walls have been knocked out, floor tiles are torn up all over the place, aisles keep moving around. It's a little confusing, but not really a big deal.

This time, though, things were different. I mean, really different. Walking in, I got such a strong sense of the surreal that I had to do a mental check to make sure I was really awake.

A blown transformer down the block was the culprit: the store was running on generator power, which meant no climate control, no music, minimal lighting. Registers were up, but the freezer aisle was cordoned off. The store was dim and quiet, despite the many customers wandering around. Someone had replaced my mass-produced shopping experience with Plato's cave while I wasn't looking. The place even smelled different, faintly musty in an out-of-doors way, reminiscent of rain meeting dirt.

"Grocery shopping has never seemed so post-apocalyptic," I told the cashier. He laughed, then said, "It's a nice change of pace; makes you realize how much we rely on electricity.... The really fun part will be when the generator runs out in a couple of hours." I asked what would happen then, but he had to admit he didn't know.

I'm actually kind of sad that it won't be that way next time I visit.

In Which I Consult the Oracle.

I know I haven't blogged in a while, but my roommate and I had an appointment with a safe in Minnesota, and what with the cops and the angry villagers and the zombie smilodon, the whole thing just took a little more time than we'd planned for. Anyway, don't worry about that, everything's fine now.

The following Q&A isn't new, but it looked like fun, and it was. I found it here (no, I don't know her, but I feel like I should).

The game is iPodomancy, and the way it is played is thusly:
1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle.
[I don't actually own one, but iTunes or other audio software will suffice.]
2. Press forward for each question.
[Or just listen to the track and ponder its significance while multitasking in other windows.]
3. Use the song title as the answer to the question.

I've included some of the best tracks for your listening pleasure.

How am I feeling today?
"If I Could Split" - Kite Flying Society
Okay, that's definitely how I was feeling at work today.

Will I get far in life?
"Call Me What You Like" - Puffy AmiYumi
Huh. I'm thinking this is the equivalent to the Magic 8-Ball's "Reply hazy, try again."

How do my friends see me?
"No Wow" - The Kills
Tough crowd, you guys.

When will I get married?
"Your Light is Spent" - Final Fantasy
I don't know what that means, but I'll hold off on picking the dress.

What is my best friend's theme song?
"Sunset" - The Appleseed Cast
I have multiple best friends, so I guess they can fight over this one. It's instrumental, laid-back, feel-good music that sounds more like a random cut from a soundtrack than a theme song, but all my best friends are pretty weird, so whatever.

What is the story of my life?
"Fantasia for Clarinet" - Modern Quartet vs Kocani Orkestar
That's... really abstract, man.

What was high school like?
"A100" - Billy Corgan
Why yes, my high school GPA was indeed over 4.0. And your assumptions (based on this information) about my social life at that time are likely to be accurate.

How am I going to get ahead in life?
"Blessing in Disguise" - Tom Vek
Oh. Whew. That's a relief.

What is the best thing about me?
"Lie Still, Little Bottle" - They Might Be Giants
So which is it, iTunes? My tendency to inertia or my (lack of) chemical dependency?

How is today going to be?
"Wish Me Luck" - Ofra Haza
I can't really argue with that.

What is in store for this weekend?
"Gene Clark" - Heroes and Villains
Who is Gene Clark? Maybe I should do some research.

What song describes my parents?
"Disappear" - My Brightest Diamond
I'm having trouble thinking of a context in which this answer would be accurate... except for a really terrible pun context: Dis a pair.

What song describes your grandparents?
"Eugene at Caroline's" - Eugene Mirman
Wait, this is not a song track. I'm not counting it.
"So Begins Our Alabee" - Of Montreal
Alabee is the infant daughter of the guy who wrote the song (I looked it up). I guess this is appropriate insofar as my grandparents all had children... though none of them were named Alabee.

How is my life going?
"Kaddish" - Ofra Haza
According to Wikipedia, Kaddish is (or comes from the) Aramaic for "holy." It refers to a central blessing of the Jewish prayer service in which God's name is glorified, but also to rituals of mourning. So... yeah, pretty much.

What song will they play at my funeral?
"So Passes Away the Glory of the World" - Typhoon
Oh definitely. The only lyrics to this overblown, unremittingly somber dirge are "Sic transit gloria mundi." Of course, you'd better follow it up with some outrageously cheery non sequitur, like "The Swimming Song" by Loudon Wainwright III.

How does the world see me?
"Onions" - Heartless Bastards
Um... same to you. You heartless bastards.

Will I have a happy life?
"The Cry of Man" - Mary Margaret O'Hara
That doesn't sound promising, does it?

What do my friends really think of me?
"Kaefusafi" - Stafrænn Hákon
Hey! Are you guys secretly Icelandic?

Do people secretly lust after me?
"Remedy" - The Black Crowes
I'll take that as an affirmative.

How can I make myself happy?
"Jaan Pehechaan Ho" - Mohammed Rafi
Listen to more Bollywood soundtracks. Ah. Good advice, iTunes Oracle.

What should I do with my life?
"Greenland Whale Fisheries" - Van Dyke Parks
You don't say! Stay tuned for the whale poaching revival of '09, kids.

Will I ever have children?
"Your Eyes Have It" - Bullette
Possibly maybe. Got it.

What is some good advice for me?
"Moonlighter Prizefighter" - Yellow Jacket Avenger
Yeah, I'll... have to think about that. Thanks.

What is my signature dancing song?
"Into Tomorrow" - The Waxwings
I can do slow waltzes, but signature? Come on, iTunes. Give me some credit here.

What do I think my current theme song is?
"Tango Till They're Sore" - Tom Waits
Yeah, why not? "Send me off to bed forevermore." As long as I get a new theme song tomorrow, because by "forevermore" I really mean "a good eight hours."

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
"Já Sei Namorar" - Tribalistas
Man, you win, everyone else. That song rocks. I don't speak Portuguese, but according to Google Translate, the title means "Already I know to namorar." So true. So true.

What type of men/women do you like?
"Graffiti" - Maximo Park
Men with Scottish accents, obviously.

What kind of kisser are you?
"Samson" - Regina Spektor
Mighty good.

What's your style?
"A Parade" - Kuryakin
Oh iTunes, you enigmatic tease, you.

What kind of lover are you?
"Use It" - The New Pornographers
Not that kind.

What would be playing on a first date?
"Today" - Jennifer O'Connor
"Today I stop guessing and give you my heart..." Whew, that'd have to be one good first date.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
"Middle of Nowhere" - Hot Hot Heat
Now we're talking, iTunes. But with that many questions, you're bound to get some right. I deem your prognostications unsatisfactory overall, and your position as soothsayer is hereby REVOKED.

In Which Answers Only Lead to More Questions.

And voila! In a bold stroke of genius, Mr. Whybark (yes, the very same Whybark mentioned in the previous post) enters the words "Minnesota hanging doll" into Google, and gets a) my blog, and b) some answers (in that order, oddly enough).

(I know, duh, but this actually hadn't occurred to me. Apparently I was more interested in wondering about the doll's origins than actually finding them out?)

Turns out the doll is not actually hanging. It's just sitting in the window, as you can see in this photo (shamelessly yoinked from the KAAL TV website):


He looks a little bored, if you ask me.

So there's an old doll sitting in the window of an old farmhouse in the dinky town of Janesville, MN. Big deal, right? But the plot thickens up a bit when you realize that Ward Wendt, the guy who first put the doll in the window in 1976, is not only keeping mum about his reasons, but he has written them down in a letter which he then placed in a time capsule and buried in the park across the street. The capsule is not to be opened until 2176.

Like anybody will even care then. That house will be long gone by 2076. It's like a dare!

Anybody up for a roadtrip to Minnesota? Bring shovels and headlamps.

* * *

While writing this, I was listening to They Might Be Giants' Flood, a work of deranged genius that exceeds even Ward Wendt's, and I began wondering just what that bluebird nightlight looked like. (If you know the album, you know the one.) Well... I think I found it.

In Which Writers Are Speakers.

Multiple thanks to Mike Whybark, whose blog directed me to Journalista just in time to discover that one of my favorite comic artists was coming to town this week. Gabrielle Bell has no real website that I can unearth, but her journal comics are among my favorite of the genre. I love her sense of humor and the understated way she draws.

The other night at Reading Frenzy, she used an ancient slide projector to show/tell us an unpublished story, "My Affliction." It was a meandering narrative "based on actual events" that involved giants, levitation, foul-mouthed magpies, a houseboat with a crow's nest and waterslide, and miraculous acne cures. She did different voices for the different characters, and barked and squawked for the dog and bird. It was extremely entertaining. Then she signed my copy of Lucky and made a little sketch in it (of me!), and I went home so very happy.

* * *

Earlier that day, I got to hear a published novelist speak to some college students about writing and stories. It was... eh... it was okay. The most interesting part of the lecture, for me, was the two stories of the Hanging Doll.

Apparently, in some small town in Minnesota, there is a big white farmhouse right next to the main road, and all the cars slow down when they drive past it. They slow down because, in the attic window of this farmhouse, you can see a battered antique doll strung up by its neck. When this writer guy was in college, his friends took him by the house and told him this story about it:

A long time ago, there was this girl who lived in that house, and she was what people politely refer to as "special." She had this doll she always carried with her everywhere she went, and she never spoke a word. Everyone treated her like a freak; kids laughed at her and adults whispered about her. One day, when she was maybe 16 or so, her mother couldn't find her... she looked for her upstairs, she looked for her downstairs, and finally she found her in the attic. The poor girl had hanged herself, and the doll that was her only friend lay beneath her feet. Well, after the funeral, her heartbroken parents used the very same rope she had hanged herself with to string up her beloved doll in front of the window, so that the town would always remember what their cruelty had done to a poor innocent girl.

That story got around; a lot of people in the area accepted it as truth. But years later, the guy went back to research the story, and he found out this instead:

Once the owner of the house was reading an article in National Geographic, and it had a picture of some house in Mississippi where there was a doll hanging in the window. And he said, "You know what? It would sure be cool if I hung a doll in the window of my house." And so... he did.

Then the speaker asked for a show of hands: how many of you found the first story more compelling? And most of the audience raised their hands. But I didn't. And while he went on to make some points about humanity's need for story and yadda yadda, I spent the next several minutes thinking about why.

The first version was a standard-issue ghost story. It was too pat,* too heartstring-yanking to be believable. It left no loose ends; it was in itself a resolution, a closed compartment.

The second version was an open door, a crossroads. It left a hundred questions unanswered: Why did the doll-hanger think it was cool? What kind of guy does this sort of thing? What was it about hanging a doll that appealed to him? What did he think would happen as a result? Did he know about the urban rural legend, and if so, did it make him laugh? Did he start the legend himself? Were his motivations really as simple as they seemed?

And why was there a doll hanging in a window in Mississippi? Do they tell stories there about a girl who hanged herself? Are there other dolls hanging in other windows elsewhere? Could this catch on, start a Hanging Doll movement? Is there already a Hanging Doll movement, of which we urban dwellers are blissfully ignorant? What does that say about our culture? What does it all mean??

Now that's what I call compelling.

*No offense to Pat, who is entirely credible.

In Which They All Lived Lamely Ever After.

Yesterday was a landmark of sorts, the conclusion of what has become an annual tradition. Yesterday I finally finished that first interminable novel of the year.

Here is what happens: While making travel plans for the holidays, I pick a nice thick novel I've been looking forward to reading. I read some of it on the plane, and maybe some while I'm wherever I've traveled to. But not much. Then I come home and I've got a ton of pages left on it, and I nibble away at it before I go to sleep at night, and it lasts for weeks and weeks.

I have got to stop doing this. It's no way to read a novel.

But I was looking at old reading lists, and I discovered I've been doing it since 2004. Whether or not it's a good book, once I get well into January, I just bog down.

So I'm blogging to remind myself of this New Year's resolution -- not for the present new year, but for all future New Years' seasons: I will only begin short novels. Fat books are fine for other times of year, but not for January.

The book I just finished is Little, Big by John Crowley, and I cannot under any circumstances recommend it (though if LibraryThing reviews are any indication, it has quite a following). It's the story of an American family that lives on the borders of Fairyland -- a concept which surely has a lot of potential. But the narrative never really engages with either reality or fantasy, only wanders around in a sort of haze between (though I don't think there should really be a haze between, but bright-dark perilous wonder). And the characters spend pretty much all their time just being passively confused; no one confronts, no one demands, no one can ever say what they're thinking but just pussyfoots around it, hoping that their listener will hear the words they're not saying. And, because the fairies are always looking out for their pet family, everything happens for them exactly as it was predestined to do from the very beginning, without any real effort on the part of the humans. This is not only boring, but runs counter to rule #1 of fairy tales, which is that things can go terribly wrong. You can wander off the path in the woods and get lost forever; you can snub an animal or deny an old woman's request and get your quest cursed to failure. Here, nobody could step wrong even if they tried (though some of them did try, in a halfhearted fashion): fairy tale bumper bowling.

Anyway, it feels good to have finished it. (Don't ask why I can't just put a novel down when I'm not enjoying it; I haven't figured that one out yet.) Now I am reading about what sailors used to eat, and a friend's draft novel.

In Which Blogger Vexes Me, and the Secret Project is Revealed.

Thanks for the comments on New vs. Old Blogger. It's apparent from your feedback that the new version, though officially out of beta, is still more buggy than I'm comfortable with.

It really only came up because of the aforementioned top-secret internet project, which is a group blog, which I'll tell you more about in a second. See, Blogger's group blogs can be either Old Blogger or New Blogger, but not both; if you happen to be using one then you can't participate in the other and vice versa. Also, you can't have an Old Blogger blog and a New Blogger blog at the same time.

While this wouldn't bother most people, it's disastrous if you're trying to start a collaborative blog. Either only Old Blogger users can contribute, and nobody new to Blogger can join (because new users are automatically funneled into New Blogger) -- or only New Blogger users can play, and anyone who wants to join has to upgrade. Because of the number of core contributors who are still happily using Old Blogger, the blog's editor decided to stick with the former option for the time being (a choice I obviously support).

I've been a devoted Blogger fan for six years now, but the way they're handling this whole transition is lame, especially in that some people are already being forced to make the switch. I understand that it's necessary to move everyone over to the new model at some point, but can we at least make sure it all works first?

Anyway, now that I've got my grousing out of the way: The Suggestions is the collaborative blog in question. It was inspired by shopping blogs, but aspires to be something more. Exactly what that something is remains to be seen as it takes shape over time. It's still a little wide-eyed and stumbly; I'm not even sure the RSS feed works properly yet. But you can have a look, if you like.

(My original plan was to include an invitation to potential contributors in this announcement, but that's sort of moot now... unless you're an Old Skool Blogger user. In that case, if this looks like something you'd like to be part of, drop me a line.)

Which is a Question for Blogger Users.

I'm interested in hearing from those of you who have made the switch from Old Blogger to New Blogger, particularly if you wrote a significant number of posts in Old Blogger. Any problems with the switch, or complaints in re: the new setup? Please let me know via comments or e-mail.

I'm also curious about how many of my readers are still using Old Blogger, and whether you have reasons for doing so other than inertia.

In other news, my friends are all having babies.

Which Is, Honestly, Kind of a Cop-Out.

I'm posting, not because I have anything in particular to say, but because I'm tired of the last post being the last post. If you know what I mean (I think ya do, mon).

I really don't have a lot to report. The roommate and I have both elected to spend this Friday evening in the living room with laptops, rather than partake in whatever activities Portland may have to offer. She's letting me wear the DJ hat, and I'm reacquainting myself with my long-neglected iTunes library. So that's fun.

Hm... let's see, what else? I've been working on a top-secret internet project with... some other people. But that's all I can tell you for now. Isn't that intriguing? ...and annoying? Anyway, I think you will like it. Eventually.

Here is a roughly accurate summary of my life these days:
Springfactory - Get Out of Bed

But this (thanks to mixmaster alissa) is the song I can't get out of my head:
Mew - The Zookeeper's Boy

In Which Cat Exits Bag.

The word is out. Official announcements have been made, and so I can finally say it here: I'm quitting my job.

This has been a long time coming, so it's a relief to have it out in the open. In keeping with my policy of not blogging about work, I won't go into my reasons for departure here. However, they are good reasons, which I will gladly share with anyone who inquires, and which can be summed up as follows: It's time to move on. My employer has been good to me, and in some ways it will be hard to leave, but I've been ready for the change for quite a while.

So now what?

I've decided to put my library career on hold for a bit. I'm currently applying for a paid contract on... wait for it... a sailing vessel. My short-term plan is to spend several months next summer/fall as purser (bookkeeper) on either the Lady Washington or Hawaiian Chieftain. (I know, you never would have guessed, huh?)

After that? Who knows. Maybe more sailing, if I'm not totally sick of it by then. Maybe another library job. Maybe something unforeseen will come up and I'll go in another direction entirely.

So anyway, yeah, you read that right. I'm quitting my job as a librarian to become a sailor. You might say I'm having my mid-life crisis a few years early.

And I am. So. Excited.

In Which I Explain My Aversion to Gratuitous Arr-ing.

It's not that I don't think pirates are cool. I do, and have, for a good sixteen years now. (Ninjas may beat pirates in a fight, but pirates throw better parties.)

It just wears on you, after a while. You're out hosing down the deck and somebody yells "Arrr!" at you from shore. You're motoring into the harbor and a guy in a fishing boat hollers, "Arr, matey!" You're aloft furling at the end of a long day, and you hear an "Arrr" from the dock, and you don't even look, you just roll your eyes. You can't yell back; that would be unprofessional, and besides, what would you say?
a) "You okay over there?"
b) "So's yer ma!"
c) "Heard that one. Got any others?"
d) "S! T! U! V!"
No. There is nothing.

There was a passenger on one of our battle sails last week who had a seriously cool pirate costume, topped off with a big curly mustache. All this was fairly impressive until he started bellowing at the passengers on the other boats, calling them "bloomin' cockaroaches" and "foc's'le scum". The worst part was that he pronounced foc's'le in such a way that it sounded like he was swearing at them. I was embarrassed for him.

I guess what it comes down to is that there's a big difference between playing at being a pirate and working at being a tall ship sailor, and when you're involved in the latter you run into an awful lot of the former. And it gets old fairly quickly.

Don't get me wrong. I really don't mind if you, my friends, feel the urge to say "Arr" to me, and I'm certainly not offended if you talk like a pirate in my general vicinity. Heck, I think it's kind of cute. Just be aware that if you ever happen to visit a sailing ship, no one who works there will think it's cool. They hear it all the time.

In Which My Hands Get Callused Again.

I'm home after a two-week stint of sailing in the LA area. Same boat as I was on this summer (the Hawaiian Chieftain), some of the same crew, some different. This time I talked Meep into coming along so that she could have the whole volunteer training experience, and so we could continue our tradition of spending New Year's together in interesting places. We had really nice weather, and terrific three-way battle sails with the Lady Washington and the Privateer Lynx. When we weren't sailing, there was more than enough painting, refinishing, sail mending and other much-needed maintenance to keep us all busy, which I also enjoyed. I think Meep would admit to having a pretty great time as well. At the very least, we must have stocked up several years' worth of inside jokes.

As has happened before, I resolved to journal my sailing adventures, but at the end of the day there was just too much to write down with what little energy I had left. However, I did manage to take a few notes, which I will now replicate and annotate here for your reading pleasure.

12/22/06
I dreamed I had forgotten to pack my boots, and woke to find myself wearing them, lying on a row of seats at the airport. The man beside me had a sketchbook & pen in hand -- I couldn't quite bring myself to ask if he had drawn me.

Airport naps: inevitable after staying up too late packing. Meep and her sister picked me up at LAX, and the sister drove us out to San Pedro. I greeted old crewmates while Meep's sister changed her baby's diaper on -- get this -- the poop deck. I know, huh?

12/23/06
Stumbled up on deck to discover we were already underway, motoring out to pump out [the black water tank], blue sea and sky and wind -- magnificent.
Later, was seasick.

I'd never been seasick before, though I'm generally a little iffy my first day out on the water. I would have been fine up on deck, but I was trying to do my morning chores, which that day involved cleaning the heads. So, below decks, bending over, in water with a bit of a chop to it... yeah. It wasn't as horrible as I imagined it would be, though, and I really did feel much better afterward.

12/24/06
Today I did something I never thought I'd do: I stood on top of the yard.

I really thought this was a big double-no. Turns out that when you're sanding down and refinishing the yards (the horizontal things the sails hang on), all bets are off. On the Chieftain, the upper and lower yards can be close enough together that you can stand on the lower and lean on the upper. If you're harnessed in, it's really pretty secure (Mom), especially if the boat isn't going anywhere. Later on I discovered the secret to not being freaked out when you're climbing around in precarious places: a seat harness. I don't know why they even have those crappy chest harnesses on the boat. I am getting myself a seat harness ASAP.

12/25/06
12 hours @ Disneyland is about as exhausting as any day I've spent on a boat.

Seriously. And two or three days later, half of us came down with colds. We had a pretty great time, though. I was 3 years old last time I went, so it was... different. I found it all a little creepy, to be honest, but that's another blog post. I think my favorite part was the fireworks display -- not because I watched it, but because everyone else did, and so we ran around to as many rides as we could because the lines were gone.

...12/29/06
May have been the best day of my life so far. Fueling/pumpout/transit/battle sail w/Lady & Lynx. Huge sailing buzz, got all choked up. Later, crashed youth ministry convention w/2 drunk sailors.

The sentence with a lot of slashes sums up an adrenaline-fueled sequence wherein we had to get from San Pedro to Long Beach in time to participate in a scheduled "grand arrival" battle sail, but were delayed by repairs and by the need to refuel. We were bending on (reattaching) the sails while underway, and touching up paint at the fuel dock. Good thing we weren't scheduled to take any passengers. I was busy with lines when I realized the gunner was loading the cannons, and then I looked up and saw the Lady and the Lynx and just about dropped my eyeballs, I was so in awe. How to describe that rush, I don't even know. I kept saying to myself: I am so lucky to have lived this day.

(The convention, now, that was surreal. I will have to cover that another time. I wasn't serious about blogging about the creepiness of Disneyland, but I will definitely blog about the convention.)

...12/31/06
Sailed Lynx. Wow.

Sailing on the Lynx was my first schooner experience, and it was fascinating. The current captain of the Chieftain has captained all three of the vessels I've mentioned, and he compared them as follows: "The Lady is like Grandpa's truck. The Chieftain is a Jeep, and the Lynx is a Corvette." It was the cleanest, prettiest boat I've ever seen -- you could entertain royalty in that swanky hold -- and it was fast. Sailed circles around the Chieftain, literally. Setting and furling the sails was a lot more labor-intensive, but the results were well worth the effort.

The other two visiting Chieftain crew members and I discussed how "our" boat looked from the deck of another. The Lady is a pretty classy-looking vessel, and the Lynx is downright sexy. But the Chieftain, we agreed, has a disreputable air to it, like a gypsy caravan or an old VW bus with Grateful Dead stickers in the windows. Sketchy. You can't tell from the photos I linked to above, but the sails are all faded and stained, with patches upon patches. As much as we hate it when people shout "Arrrr!" at us, a pirate flag really wouldn't look out of place atop that mast.

1/1/07
Lunch w/Aunt ___. Dinner w/[old friends]. Good to get away.

We had the day off. Some of the crew hung out watching movies and nursing hangovers, and some wandered off to various points of interest around town. Meep and I met up with a few people I knew in the area, who fed and hugged and made much of us. I was really tired and had trouble maintaining my end of a conversation for any length of time, so I was glad to have Meep along to give intelligent responses on my behalf. (She wisely went to bed before the shanty-singing began on New Year's Eve. I was not so wise.)

1/2/07
Ed sail. Taco Nite & DDR.

An "ed sail" is when you take a boatload of schoolchildren out and give them little mini-lessons on Life in the Age of Sail. They do a bit of line-handling, hear about the life of an officer and of a common sailor, and learn a little about the triangular merchant trade, iron tools for sea otter pelts for silks and tea. I like ed sails, though not everybody does. They're a big part of what the Lady and Chieftain do year-round, but I didn't get to see any last summer because school was out. After the sail we all went to a local Mexican restaurant for $1 taco night. While we were waiting for a table for 14, several of us went to the arcade next door and played Dance Dance Revolution. I'm so bad at that game, but I love it so much.

1/3/07
Blackwater explosion! Boat cleaning day.

We had a full morning of maintenance planned, and then disaster struck. The blackwater tank (into which the toilets empty) had filled up during the night. There are two ways to (legally) empty your blackwater tank: into a pumpout dock, and a certain number of miles offshore. We were actually right next to a pumpout dock, so the engineer and captain attempted to empty the tanks. But there was some sort of incompatibility with the hoses, and blackwater ended up spraying both of them and gushing out into the main hold, where most of the crew sleeps. So instead, while they showered, the rest of us turned to bleaching the main hold from top to bottom. After that we cleaned the smog off the railings and wiped out all the nooks and crannies on the deck. And then we went sailing.

1/4/07
Painted bowsprit a beautiful shade of blue.

Probably about a dozen interesting things happened on this day, but this is the one that got written down. It really is pretty, though. The bowsprit was white before, but it was hard to keep that looking nice. Plus, the blue actually matches the rest of the boat. Earlier, I got to strip paint off the bowsprit as well. It was fun to hang off the front of the boat in my borrowed seat harness. When we took the paint off we found something written on the bowsprit to the effect of Lahaina Welding w/c Kahului. I forget the exact wording, but I took a photo of it before it got painted over.

1/5/07
Sailed on the Lady Washington.

Not my first time sailing on the Lady, but my first time to sail as crew. And I got to go aloft to cast gaskets (unfurl the sail), which was extra neat. It's such a cool boat. I like the way it sort of wallows through the water. I don't like the lines, which look like rope but feel like synthetic twine. They were paid for by Disney so they would all look uniform for the movie. And they do look sharp, but they're nasty to handle.

1/6/07
Meep and I had flights around 7 pm, but didn't want to miss the 2-5 sail. At the captain's suggestion we did not wait for the Chieftain to dock, but rode in on Pele the small boat with [the coxswain, or master of the small boat] and [the crew member with a car], luggage piled high in the bow. Big boat to small boat to car to plane, and so home again.

The small boat is small, I mean like a good-sized bathtub, and notoriously leaky, and has been known to flip. So I was a little nervous as I climbed down the Jacob's ladder and settled into the little inflatable vessel with three other women and several heavy bags. But Pele was kind to us, and our lifejackets never touched the water. We skidded across the surface of the harbor, crewmates waving to us from the deck of the rapidly shrinking Chieftain, and Meep said, "Well, that was a pretty neat exit. I mean, you can't really top this, can you?"

In Which I Obviously Don't Have Time for Complete Sentences.

Preparing for holiday trip. Sailing. Disneyland. Meep. Good times. Now: packing. Making lists. Finding things stashed in hidden places. Sunglasses under pile of scarves. Travel sized bottles in box of travel sized things... or not. Darn. Noting things that must be remembered. Keep itinerary handy. Don't smash that corner of backpack. Triaging. Departure preparations always far more elaborate than expected. Something has to go. Laundering sleeping bag. Will smell funky in two days anyway. 8 hours of sleep. Yeah right. Bad idea to make sleep a low priority. Always happens though. Blogging. No time left to blog. Didn't want previous post to be last post of year. Wanted to write great post about travel plans, family, etc. Witty comments. Links to weird stuff. Too bad. Offline for next two weeks. Goodbye, internet. See you next year.

Which Involves a Mystery of Sorts.

My blog seems to have disappeared.

I'm hoping this post will make it come back.

If it does, I expect LiveJournal will regurgitate a chunk of my posts for no apparent reason, as it is wont to do.

If it doesn't, I'll have to resort to more strenuous measures.

(I haven't exactly figured out what those are yet.)

In Which I Smell Like Victory.

Crossing the finish line is a lot more fun when you can hear your friends cheering for you. Thank you all very much for your support and encouragement!

Which is a 25K Celebration.

This is a celebratory blog post. I'm celebrating reaching the halfway mark in my novel wordcount. Does it faze me that I still have 25,000 words to go and only 10 days to write them in? Heck no! ...Well, okay, maybe. Kinda. Yeah. But I can do it, with the help of my secret weapon Thanksgiving Break.

I know the little counter over on the left is kinda confusing. I think the full length of the stripes with red, and the gray parts of the gray/green stripes, represent the number of words I need to write per day to reach 50K by the end of the month. They keep getting longer because I keep on not reaching that number. It looks like there are several days where I didn't write anything, but that's misleading; I just didn't update my wordcount until after midnight. And that really long gray/green stripe actually includes a lot of words from the previous day, so it's not as impressive as it looks. But the gist of the chart is accurate: I started out reeeaaal slow, and now I have to write like a maniac to catch up.

Part of the reason I got off to such a slow start was that my roommate was moving out. Yes, she has hopped the proverbial fence and moved on to the proverbial greener pastures. I have a new roommate lined up to move in next month. Her blog is broken, or I would link to it. (We'll have to work on that.) In the meantime, I can be as much of a slob as I like. Rest assured I am taking full advantage of this opportunity.

Before I get back to writing this cheesy faux-symbolic dream scene, here is a comic I just read that made me laugh pretty hard. I'm posting a link to it, but it's only for my single friends! Married friends, do not click here.

In Which Another Novel is Begun.

This year's noveling feels very different from previous years'. For one thing, I'm getting off to a slow start, yet not feeling particularly uneasy about it, given that I'll have a lot more unoccupied time later in the month. I used to be such a stickler for the 1667 words per day (2000 if possible!), especially the first week or so. Now, at the end of Day 3, I have less than 3000 words. Ah, well, I'll catch up soon.

For another, I feel fairly relaxed about the story. Everything about it was designed to be easy for me to write, and so far it really has been, aside from a couple sticky "I don't know what happens next" moments. Of course, there will be plenty more of those....

Finally, if I've learned anything from the previous two years of noveling, it's this: specificity is where it's at. Vague, tentative writing is painful to write and painful to read. I now know to commit myself to as many particularities of plot and characterization as I can come up with, as early as possible in the narrative. I spent way too long worrying about writing myself into a corner before learning that it's the corners that give you something to write about. Specificity brings momentum, which brings enthusiasm, which just makes everything a whole lot better.

And now: sleep.

Which Was Posted a Day Late, Due to Technical Difficulties.

Today [Saturday] I went to the increasingly awesome Stumptown Comics Fest. It's increasing in size as well as in awesome, so I found that the hour and a half I'd allotted for the event was barely enough after all. Stumptown is not your standard Marvel/DC convention, but an artist-oriented show that highlights a lot of new, unique, and self-published work. So the spandex and mutant boobs were vastly outnumbered by the journal comics, the social satire comics, the comics-spoofing comics, the cute-yet-disturbing comics, and a lot of stuff that's just plain unclassifiable. I got to chat with a lot of amazing artists, some of whom I've never heard,* and some whose work I've admired for a while (Amy Kim Ganter! Bill Mudron! Dylan Meconis!). And I brought home a bag full of postcards and business cards and small, inexpensive books to peruse at leisure.

*My two favorite discoveries were Aron Nels Steinke, a Portlander who just started drawing comics this year and already has a Xeric grant, and Hilary Florido, whose scribbled-at-work journal comic made me wish for a do-over on those tedious receptionist temp gigs. I can't wait to see what these talented people come up with next. (Suggestion: real web pages?)

Another wonderful discovery: this sign.

You get such a range of personalities at these things. I noticed I was really just way more interested in the work of artists who were friendly and eager to talk about their work. I think what it boils down to is that I prefer interacting with people who make me feel comfortable -- not something I'm proud of, but something I share with the majority of humanity. Sorry, shy cartoonists! That glazed "you're not going to buy anything, I can tell" look, or just awkward silence as I look over the art, generally sends me shuffling away embarrassed. On the other hand, I bought several cheaper things that weren't all that appealing to me, simply because the artist was so enthusiastic about it.

(Speaking of enthusiastic, friendly and eager to talk about their work, I'm proud to say there was one artist there who knew my name. Evan Nichols didn't have a booth this year, but he was doing the rounds, promoting his comic and making friends right and left.)

I had the chance to apply the above lesson in salesmanship to my subsequent shift at a booth of baked goods, used baby clothes, and holiday sundries at a fundraising fair (Holiday Fair, for those who are familiar with it). This was good fun too, primarily because I got to see a number of people I know but don't cross paths with often. Notable among these were the still-feisty-though-great-with-child Gina and her husband, who kept me greatly amused for at least an hour.

And then I met up with another old and rarely-seen friend, Athelstan, for coffee, rambling conversation, and a stroll in the fragile autumn sunshine. Yes, that's three unconnected blogging friends in one day! Hat trick!

In Which I'm Still Looking for the UN-STOP Button.

After a long drive out to North Plains and back, and a ridiculous delay involving a plug with the wrong number of prongs, we finally have a working stove again.

It's very high-tech, with a panel of buttons and lights and a digital clock. And powerful. I've never owned a stove that was so incredibly powerful. You think I'm exaggerating? One of the buttons is labeled STOP TIME.

I'd better download the manual for this thing.