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Thus far, it’s been a typical Saturday: Chores, Cal acting nuts—he keeps climbing up onto the ottoman and/or the couch, neither of which is acceptable, and had a screaming breakdown in the bath after Steve was forced to speak to him harshly for grabbing my toes and bending them back painfully—figuring out what has to be done/how to do it, all while the calldera of Real Work beckons. So it’s back to the daily litany again, I guess, in order to get somewhat up to good archiving speed:
Loads of dishes done: Two.
Loads of laundry done: Two.
Garbage trips: Four.
Other chores: Vaccuming, organization, changed light in kitchen. I’m in the process of making gift-bags for Jen Judge (her shower is coming up) and Mom (just because).
Coffee?: One cup in the morning.
Music: Spent the last couple of days putting what Steve and I consider our "perfect" albums into two big sleeves, a pleasant project, since we’d already been talking at about the concept for some time—what made something feel "perfect", ie when an album has a theme, when the songs all "go together" (lyrics and music reflect and compliment each other), etc. Some albums simply create a mood, one you can inhabit, while others tell a whole story that unfolds when you listen to the tracks in the same order they’re listed/intended to be played. I opted to exclude both "Best Of" collections and soundtracks, while Steve did put on a few of the former, mainly because they were how he’d first encountered these particular artists; he was a bit disappointed, later, to see that while my picks had already filled a sleeve and a half, his didn’t even fill the rest of one sleeve. The final roster held few surprises, aside from my realization that Laurie Anderson’s Bright Red had suddenly shot up into my personal Top Ten EVA at some unspecified point over the last five years, and is now in heavy rotation, with occasional pauses for amendment. And yes, They Might Be Giants’ No! made the cut.;)
Exercise?: Mom’s signed up for a new health club in the area, Soul Fit, on Toronto at Richmond. It’s a great place, female-only, thus routinely folding in spa-type elements along with its well-kept equipment and well-taught classes (nice-smelling soaps, attention to lighting/décor, massage chairs you can sit in for up to a half-hour, free green tea). I did their SoulFit class last Saturday (a mix of pilates, yoga and tai chi), and had intended to do that again today, but I was just too damn tired. Will make up for it by doing it tomorrow at 9:00 AM, then signing up as well. They have pilates "gravity machines"!
Aches and Pains: As ever, incredibly tense shoulders and the amazing popping left shoulderblade/lat array. Actually, given how much working out I’ve been doing and how much better I’m sleeping/eating/fitting into my clothing generally, I continue to be in what I would call overall "bad shape"; using Nytol every night, popping Robaxicet like candy in three-pill increments, often needing a back massage from Steve that ends up making me shriek like a little girl. Two separate incidents of free rectal bleeding over the last montha nd a half lead me to suspect I may have haemherroids, and my clenchy insides just don’t let up—I’m constantly swinging back and forth between Kaopectate and fibre pills, never sure what I need at any given moment. Stress? Oh, ya think?
Book(s) finished: The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan—this seemed initially supernatural but turned out to be a fairly straightforward psychological thriller, yet sustained that late-1970s/early-1980s psychadelic hangover that infects most of Harlan Ellison’s writing throughout, so I didn’t mind as much as I might (also reminded me somewhat of Jonathan Kellerman, but no big wrench there, since he blurbed it); also The Dry Salvages by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
greygirlbeast, which I must first hideously reduce by typing it as Event Horizon rewritten to exclude all the dumb-ass bits, but then go on to call a masterful exercise in POV restriction and suspense created through ex- rather than inclusion, very Peter Weir on another planet. I’m also going through Shakespeare’s sonnets, a la agincourtgirl, and am greatly amused by the date-movie-from-hell narrative that emerges between the lines when you read them in order. They’re certainly less depressing than the selected poetry of Poe, at any rate, which is currently hanging around in my bathroom.
Started: Son of Centaury Zebra, a space opera written by one of my students and pulished through PublishAmerica.com, which I seem to recall hearing bad things about: Oh well. She’s actually one of my better students, aside from her tendency—here too, unfortunately—to add on the multiple exclamation points and question marks with a liberal, liberal hand.
DVDs watched: Neil Gaiman’s Mirrormask, which really was the cinematic equivalent of reading one of his graphic novels. I’d like to see it again, when I have more leisure-time…like never, ha ha ha! But seriously: Perhaps not as good as Neverwhere narratively, but so far ahead of it visually as to be on another planet. Gina McKee’s mother/White Queen/Black Queen turn was hair-raising, as was the evil Bros. Quay puppet version of "Close to You."
TV watched: Too much, though we missed Lost, which really pissed me off. I think Bleak House may be coming to an end soon, which is sad, though obviously not unexpected; like so many other things A. once recommended to me and which I avoided on that basis alone, it really is pretty damn great. I may even read the book.
This business of living: Tonight I’ve set aside for poring through my own entrails and jump-starting "Every Angel", with an eye towards breaking maybe 2,000 words by Monday; I also owe notes to several different students on several different scripts, many extracurricular, plus I have to get on top of the new 5th term pitches. I’ve already made sure Steve and I (and Michael McMaster and his wife Bekka, and Jason Taniguchi, and possibly somebody else) can go see a preview screening of Night Watch, the Russian vampire/Matrix-hybrid movie that topped former USSR box-office all last year, on Monday. And I have to read two small, esoteric books and write two 500-word reviews of them for Morbid Curiosity, which should be fun. Still haven’t heard back from the woman I’m supposed to do that very quick interview with for POV, though, which means I need to really put my foot up somebody’s ass (my own, most likely).
Words (Fic or Fiction): 24,000+ so far this year, with an eye towards A) a new collection, B) a finished novel and C) a new script. Which means I better get back on the clock, y’all.
See ya.
Loads of dishes done: Two.
Loads of laundry done: Two.
Garbage trips: Four.
Other chores: Vaccuming, organization, changed light in kitchen. I’m in the process of making gift-bags for Jen Judge (her shower is coming up) and Mom (just because).
Coffee?: One cup in the morning.
Music: Spent the last couple of days putting what Steve and I consider our "perfect" albums into two big sleeves, a pleasant project, since we’d already been talking at about the concept for some time—what made something feel "perfect", ie when an album has a theme, when the songs all "go together" (lyrics and music reflect and compliment each other), etc. Some albums simply create a mood, one you can inhabit, while others tell a whole story that unfolds when you listen to the tracks in the same order they’re listed/intended to be played. I opted to exclude both "Best Of" collections and soundtracks, while Steve did put on a few of the former, mainly because they were how he’d first encountered these particular artists; he was a bit disappointed, later, to see that while my picks had already filled a sleeve and a half, his didn’t even fill the rest of one sleeve. The final roster held few surprises, aside from my realization that Laurie Anderson’s Bright Red had suddenly shot up into my personal Top Ten EVA at some unspecified point over the last five years, and is now in heavy rotation, with occasional pauses for amendment. And yes, They Might Be Giants’ No! made the cut.;)
Exercise?: Mom’s signed up for a new health club in the area, Soul Fit, on Toronto at Richmond. It’s a great place, female-only, thus routinely folding in spa-type elements along with its well-kept equipment and well-taught classes (nice-smelling soaps, attention to lighting/décor, massage chairs you can sit in for up to a half-hour, free green tea). I did their SoulFit class last Saturday (a mix of pilates, yoga and tai chi), and had intended to do that again today, but I was just too damn tired. Will make up for it by doing it tomorrow at 9:00 AM, then signing up as well. They have pilates "gravity machines"!
Aches and Pains: As ever, incredibly tense shoulders and the amazing popping left shoulderblade/lat array. Actually, given how much working out I’ve been doing and how much better I’m sleeping/eating/fitting into my clothing generally, I continue to be in what I would call overall "bad shape"; using Nytol every night, popping Robaxicet like candy in three-pill increments, often needing a back massage from Steve that ends up making me shriek like a little girl. Two separate incidents of free rectal bleeding over the last montha nd a half lead me to suspect I may have haemherroids, and my clenchy insides just don’t let up—I’m constantly swinging back and forth between Kaopectate and fibre pills, never sure what I need at any given moment. Stress? Oh, ya think?
Book(s) finished: The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan—this seemed initially supernatural but turned out to be a fairly straightforward psychological thriller, yet sustained that late-1970s/early-1980s psychadelic hangover that infects most of Harlan Ellison’s writing throughout, so I didn’t mind as much as I might (also reminded me somewhat of Jonathan Kellerman, but no big wrench there, since he blurbed it); also The Dry Salvages by
greygirlbeast, which I must first hideously reduce by typing it as Event Horizon rewritten to exclude all the dumb-ass bits, but then go on to call a masterful exercise in POV restriction and suspense created through ex- rather than inclusion, very Peter Weir on another planet. I’m also going through Shakespeare’s sonnets, a la agincourtgirl, and am greatly amused by the date-movie-from-hell narrative that emerges between the lines when you read them in order. They’re certainly less depressing than the selected poetry of Poe, at any rate, which is currently hanging around in my bathroom.Started: Son of Centaury Zebra, a space opera written by one of my students and pulished through PublishAmerica.com, which I seem to recall hearing bad things about: Oh well. She’s actually one of my better students, aside from her tendency—here too, unfortunately—to add on the multiple exclamation points and question marks with a liberal, liberal hand.
DVDs watched: Neil Gaiman’s Mirrormask, which really was the cinematic equivalent of reading one of his graphic novels. I’d like to see it again, when I have more leisure-time…like never, ha ha ha! But seriously: Perhaps not as good as Neverwhere narratively, but so far ahead of it visually as to be on another planet. Gina McKee’s mother/White Queen/Black Queen turn was hair-raising, as was the evil Bros. Quay puppet version of "Close to You."
TV watched: Too much, though we missed Lost, which really pissed me off. I think Bleak House may be coming to an end soon, which is sad, though obviously not unexpected; like so many other things A. once recommended to me and which I avoided on that basis alone, it really is pretty damn great. I may even read the book.
This business of living: Tonight I’ve set aside for poring through my own entrails and jump-starting "Every Angel", with an eye towards breaking maybe 2,000 words by Monday; I also owe notes to several different students on several different scripts, many extracurricular, plus I have to get on top of the new 5th term pitches. I’ve already made sure Steve and I (and Michael McMaster and his wife Bekka, and Jason Taniguchi, and possibly somebody else) can go see a preview screening of Night Watch, the Russian vampire/Matrix-hybrid movie that topped former USSR box-office all last year, on Monday. And I have to read two small, esoteric books and write two 500-word reviews of them for Morbid Curiosity, which should be fun. Still haven’t heard back from the woman I’m supposed to do that very quick interview with for POV, though, which means I need to really put my foot up somebody’s ass (my own, most likely).
Words (Fic or Fiction): 24,000+ so far this year, with an eye towards A) a new collection, B) a finished novel and C) a new script. Which means I better get back on the clock, y’all.
See ya.
