Okay, so the guy in the office next to mine is watching Dr. Phil

I guess I'm not the only one doing something personal on the company dime.

Recently finished reading:
Can there be a true meshing of tragic American history and magical realism? Yes, it's called The Monsters of Templeton.
The first two of the ever-growing (and addictive) Maisie Dobbs series, by Jacqueline Winspear.
The latest in a series of hardboiled vampire noire: Already Dead, by Charlie Huston.
Comic book genius Warren Ellis' fiction debut, Crooked Little Vein.
And I caught up on all my Buffy Season Eight (yes, including that issue).

It occurs to me I have very diverse reading tastes. I like it that way.

Listening to:
My iPod! I lurv lurv lurv my iPod! It's like having your favorite radio station on all the time with no commercials. The only problem is, I'm obsessed with my shuffle. I have 854 songs on the thing and I'm only at song 476. Do I have the fortitude necessary to keep going until I hear every song in the tiny thing? My favorite aspect of it: the Dada-esque quality of song choice. For example: I had My Bloody Valentine's Loveless in there. And it seemed the Pod was determined to give me every song off the album at inopportune times, such as when I want to hear Rob Zombie, for example. No one wants to hear "Soon" when they're in the mood for "Living Dead Girl" people. So I would fast-forward only to have...yet another song from Loveless come up not two songs later. As if the Pod were telling me, "You will hear something dreamy right now because it's what I've determined is good for you and I'm the mighty Pod. Do not question me!"

Yes, master. Shall I eat some bugs next?

Colleen Mondor Says exactly What the Goddessdster is Thinking

I am so glad I don't have to put the energy into writing this, as she did it for me.

I Can Haz Sprk Plugz?

Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

Library Smut

I repeat: Library Smut

Just a little thing...

As an opening caveat I feel I should say I subscribe to Horn Book; I frequently read YA literature and fantasy, consider myself an adult (but not a grownup - I don't feel I will ever fully reach some pinnacle wherein I will then stop growing as a person), and have considered (and am still considering) studying children's lit, possibly for an MLS.

Read Roger is the Horn Book blog. It frequently annoys me, as in the example of this post.

Now there are many many things I could say in response to this, but I believe this commenter put it the best:

Deborah said...

Roger, there is a big difference between taking issue with children's literature advocates who claim that children's or young adult novels are the sublime epitome of all that is good in prose, and saying "adults whose taste in recreational reading ends with the YA novel need to grow up". You say that those of us whose recreational reading needs are met in the main by children's or young adult books are "missing a lot". Well, sure. Everyone who makes a choice is missing a lot. Those who fulfill their recreational reading needs with Barbara Kingsolver might be missing out on what John McPhee can give them. Those who will gobble up restoration comedies might be missing out on the thrill of a high-quality mystery. People who only have time to watch Grey's Anatomy miss out on Scrubs. The world is full of great ways to spend our recreational time, some marketed towards children and others marketed towards adults, some well-crafted and some less so.

You say "to say that children's literature will give a grownup all he or she needs from books suggests there is no reason to grow up in the first place". Really? My pleasures of growing up have included owning my own home, of eating Cadbury's Chocolate Spread the spoon without anybody yelling at me, having a profession and an avocation, volunteering, choosing friends, having sex, growing my own garden, making pie, and yes, reading Flora Segunda instead of cleaning my room. Was my reason for growing up really so that I would learn to appreciate Stephen R. Donaldson over Diana Wynne Jones, Jane Austen over Margaret Mahy? Because personally, I'll take having the right to vote and the intellectual capacity to vote wisely over some kind of moral requirement that my recreational reading come from books marketed towards adults.

Well put, Deborah. Whoever you are. You are my heroine of the day.

Edited to add: Deborah is a librarian and reviewer for Horn Book and posted her response to her own words on her lj here.

Oh, and one more thing...

I miss TV.

I miss my (imaginary) friends...

So here are some pictures to keep us all going.

Oh, the pressure!

I recently deleted my MySpace page. I had grown to hate MySpace and resent its intrusive presence in my life. I hated the targeted ads I was seeing every time I logged in. I hated that my so-called friends had gotten in the habit of only giving out any information about their lives through their blogs and considered that communicating with others. I especially despised the hollow empty feeling I would get whenever I tried to convince myself this was a true means of staying in touch with others.

Secret (not): I am an introvert. I love people. I can socialize beautifully for about two hours tops until I feel like my brain is imploding. This happens even at family gatherings. My soul is literally sucked out of my body anytime I attempt to make what is termed small talk. I require time and space to myself to feel fully human and be ready to face whatever life throws at me. But I am not a loner. I get lonely. I tend to isolate myself too much, sometimes not out of necessity, and feel as if my emotional walls are closing in around me. That point when I believe it's totally okay to be alone all the time? That is the point at which I should start worrying. That is the point where I've given up.

But freaking MySpace tortured me with its seemingly perfect opportunity to keep in touch with multiple people at once. Instead I felt I was taking part in some shallow vapid game of ironic oneupmanship and continuously emptying my heart to people who couldn't be bothered to share with me personally the news of their lives. Then the guilt would set in if I didn't keep up with every little bulletin, every blog, every change to their page, their pictures. And I couldn't just see it, no. I had to comment on all of it.

Small talk in the virtual world. That sound you hear is the whooshing my spirit makes as it slowly dies.

I hung in there. For months. Because (are you ready for this?) I was afraid everyone would forget about me. Yes, I am that pathetic. Recent events, though, convinced me that the relationship is officially dead. I got into my third argument with the same friend over a miscommunication through MySpace messaging. And insert the ARRRRRGH!!! here, please. After I got over being angry, and then got over feeling like a moron (because this never would have happened if we had been talking face-to-face), I deleted my page. I thought I would regret it. I thought I would miss checking in on all the minutiae of my friends'/acquaintances' lives. I honestly thought I would feel like the kid not invited to the party but who gets the joy of hearing everyone talk about it later.

What I actually feel is...free.

In Avoiding Conflict, She Avoided Life Altogether

Last night, the better half and I had what may be termed as a disagreement over dinner about what I perceived as his cavalier attitude towards the behavior of his male friends. We were in a restaurant and actually having a pleasant time, talking this and that, but talk veered madly for about 20 minutes and I had to fight the urge to do what I usually do, concede and move on. I needed him to see how much it bothered me, even though I tend to back away from any sort of confrontation. In the past I would have filed his stories away as further evidence of his hypocrisy. His gentle allowance and seeming acceptance of his friends's boorish behavior was further evidence to me of an obvious character defect.

For some reason last night, I challenged this defect and let him know I intended for him to live up to the model he proclaims to be for others. This is important to me. I dislike three main types of people: bigots, cynics, and hypocrites. I believe we can all live as models of goodness for others. I know he is looked up to by his friends as the "good guy" model and I appreciate that about him. But what kind of model is he when he doesn't even appear upset by this behavior, even seems to act amused by it? What am I supposed to think of this man who finds cheating and over indulgence funny?

So I did the challenging. I'd had enough. I'd had 14 years of enough. And it felt fucking fantastic. He got defensive and I continued to state my case and we went round and round and neither of us won or lost.

And for the first time in ages, we sat at a dinner table for over an hour and talked to each other. We had a conversation. We chatted and shared and got annoyed, but we didn't once stop talking and allow silence to feel normal.

And it was nice.

Holy Fucking Crap!!!

That's really all I can say at the moment.

Really. I don't have time to go into it.

I just had to express the utter holy-fucking-crapness of this day.

Here is a picture to calm me:

The Goddessdster Expresses a Need

Sometimes I'm not too sure what I'm doing here. By here, I don't mean this blog. I know exactly why I'm typing these words. But here, in the sense that I have no idea what the fucking point is.

Sometimes it makes perfect sense.

Sometimes I feel the pointlessness of it all as an exercise in creating meaning out of nothing. If I can say: I tried to learn as much as I could about the world and treated people decently, then I feel I've lived a good life. I truly do believe that smiling at one person each day is reason enough for a seemingly meaningless existence. Maybe my entire purpose is to be little more than a supporting character for the human race. That's not a knock. I think supporting characters sometimes have the most important roles. They provide the feedback, the reaction, the comic relief, so the main character can develop into a fully three-dimensional being.

Who is the main character? I guess if I were one of those unapologetic Jesus freaks (and that is not an insult, but in many ways an expression of envy - I wish I could believe so freely and unapologetically in something not empirically visible), I would say God is the main character of the Universe and we are all supporting characters. In many ways, I believe that to be true. And yet, as it applies to my small life, I think my supporting character role is reserved for he or she who needs me most. I live my life needing to be needed or I just don't understand what good I am.

How pathetic is that? Except I also believe there is no pathos in freely expressing how one feels.

Which brings me back to my opening statement. Why a blog, when I spent so long mocking others for doing exactly this? Am I finally giving in admitting my own hypocrisy? Probably, but I do that a lot. I am here for what I believe is the same reason you are here and so many others. Because if I don't figure out a way to express how I feel, I think I'll just go crazy.

Welcome to my world.