I don’t really think it needs to be said, but I’ll state the obvious: I’m a huge dork. My brother’s only been telling me that for the last 20 years, and I know he’s not wrong. But my dorkiness comes and goes—sometimes I feel downright hip—but today, today I am going to bask in the completeness of my inner dork, nerd, and geek, rolled into one.
Gather around, and let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, I was a dorky seventeen, working at the local Taco Bell. I would work late nights, mostly because, well, my friends did. And these friends, they liked to play Magic the Gathering (MtG) late into the night. And as a girl playing, I was a huge novelty. My friends gave me cards, made my decks, forgot about me when we played in massive group games to the point where I might, and did, win.
MtG: Arena
I enjoyed playing, and there was a book that was passed around, called Arena, that was pretty much the most awesomest book ever. Well, by ever, I mean in the history of MtG. Which at that time, wasn’t a terribly long list; from what I gather, Arena was possibly the first.1 But what I liked about the book, and probably what other people liked about it too, was that the main character was someone like us—someone who controlled mana and cast spells, as you do in the game. It was unique in that for a fantasy, it was a different look at the world. It was the introduction of “the plainswalker.”2 The plainswalker in the book was the position the player had while playing the game. Instead of a lightning bolt being an actual, natural lightning bolt, it was a spell pulled from a pouch and called into being, much as you would play a card from your hand.
Now, fast forward, oh, nearly ten years or so. I’m done playing MtG. I sold all my cards off or gave them away. I only desperately want a copy of Arena because I remember how awesome it was, and I’m on a terrible nostalgia trip about the books I’ve loved. And then E comes back from summer vacation, hooked on MtG bad. I mentioned that I used to play, if he ever wanted someone to play with. And so we did. Even before we were “official” with our dating, he had already amassed a large card collection that we “shared,” meaning he bought it, and it stayed at my place.
This pretty much meant I didn’t have to worry about amassing cards myself, because I nearly never use them. They just look pretty, as there are always more cards than can go into a deck. But, as we get back into it, I think more and more about Arena, and how much I liked it. And wonder in passing if there are still MtG books. And of course there are. But now, these books are based on the sets; a new book is released to go along with each card set.
MtG: Morningtide
MtG: Lorwyn
And being hooked on MtG again, I get a hankering to read these books, especially the book to go with the card set that I had become enamored with, Morningtide3. Every time I went to Barnes and Nobel, I checked the shelves but it was never there. For Christmas, I ended up getting E a Fat Pack, which has some cards, dividers, boxes to match the set, and yay! for me, the Morningtide book. But It was still awhile until I read the book. Morningtide was a secondary set release, and it’s book, much like it’s cards, required Lorwyn to make full use of it. I didn’t really even think about reading the book until E bought a Lorwyn Fat Pack4. And then, of course I had to. So over a rather long period of time, I read them both. And thought they were rather good, actually. I could recognize some characters as related to specific cards in the deck, but I was really brought into the world that MtG has created.
I am not sure how this book world relates to the other sets of cards other than the Lorwyn/Morningtide/Shadowmoor/Eventide block, as I don’t really play past sets (though I still am fond for the Urza’s block), and haven’t read any other than the three books. The only part that really bothered me was the untied plotstrings at the end of the second book. The first makes you read the second (and the second really needs the first to make sense), but the end of the second doesn’t really end things. The world has changed, and the book ends right on the cusp of that change. And I’m nuts over the unresolved plot involving the Morningstar elf, who isn’t a card in her own right and seems to play a major if not understood or explained roll in the second book.
I could hope that the Shadowmoor book would pick up the plot, since that card set is “after” of the events that occur in the book, but just reading descriptions online doesn’t really make it clear. Morningtide is obviously a book two (it even says it on Amazon), but Shadowmoor is listed as it’s own series, making it unclear if it goes with the previous two books. Being the huge dork that I am, I will probably pick up Shadowmoor just to figure out what’s going on.
- It’s hard to tell, details are very sketchy on the MtG site. In fact, had I not ever read it and distinctly remembered it’s name, I probably never would have ever found a copy at The Used Bookstore in Chico. [back]
- Which, oddly, becomes a card type in the Lorwyn block of MtG. Because of this book, I feel very meta playing a plainswalker in my deck, when I used to be the role of a plainswalker. [back]
- I fell in love with the artwork, and then the way the set was played. What can I say. Distracted by shiny pretty things. [back]
- I won’t lie, it was mostly for the book and the “life counter.” But all E’s purchase. [back]
Yesterday, I thought up at least five good topics to write about. Unfortunately, they all came to me while I was in front of the copier, and I didn’t write any of them down. So now I can’t remember.
Which means, of course, that I’m going to tell a story that maybe no one will find interesting.
This weekend, I got a new bed. Not really new, but new for me. My uncle’s father died last month, and he had two guest rooms, both with twin beds. When the house sold, I was given the “good” one, which was the newer of the two.
Yes, I realize a twin bed isn’t really moving up in the bed world. But, considering the bed I was sleeping on before was a day bed, I’ll take what I can get.
So, I set up the new bed, which involved taking apart the daybed and moving it into our new guest bedroom before I moved back in, the room I’m in now was the guest bedroom. After putting the daybed back together in the new guest room, I moved the twin bed in, and for the first time since I moved back in, I have enough room in my room for all of my furniture. Since I can have the bed jutting out into the room, I have more wall space, and finally feel that when I go to bed, my bed isn’t going to fall apart
on me.
One of the side benefits of this room-reorganization is that I moved my yarn catch-all to the other side of the room. This necessitated my removing all of my yarn from the shelves and dumping it on the bed while I moved it to where I wanted it.
Jesus, I forgot I had so much yarn. Seriously, I have enough yarn for five full-sized projects, never mind the mass of lace-weight I have no plans for but have been secretly collection. Yarn enough for seven more pairs of socks. Good thing I like knitting socks.
I don’t think I’ll be buying any more yarn this year at all. Instead, I’m going to try to finish off all the projects I have on the needles now (expect to see that in a post near you soon), and then work on the projects I’ve had planned but haven’t started on.
Of course, this all depends on me not getting distracted by something, like the fall semester of school.
One of these days, I’m going to have to figure out how to read and knit complicated things at the same time.
—”Crooked Teeth,” Plans: Death Cab for Cutie
powered by ODEO
If anyone was keeping count, we’re on number four, and we’ve reached the point in the program where in I have stopped the editing. I did not edit any of my recording, other than trying to ensure that everything is approximately at the same level of volume. Listening to it with my volume bar dead center on the laptop give me a not-too-loud podcast that is doesn’t have too many volume jumps.
The content for this podcast is rather tame. I spend a little bit of time on my birthday next month, more time on things I hate to see in public, and I spill the beans on a super-secret project with a super-secret name that I won’t spill because I haven’t bought the domain name yet.
There is music in this podcast, but most likely You won’t like it. Good thing it’s my podcast, huh? The music also has nothing to do with the podcast, but I thought it’d be a good way to break up the podcast into parts. As always, I’m open to suggestions for what to include as music (must be podsafe, as always), and I’ll check it out.
Music Included
- Uma Floresta – If You’re Singing By Yourself
- Circle in a Square - Feels Like a Sunday
- Ocean Alexander – Pertinent not Penitent
All music downloaded from Pod Safe Audio, and so you are welcome to download them as well.
That’s all I have for you. No links or anything, because I didn’t talk about anything link-able. As always, I welcome comments, either here, or you can leave me a voice comment through Odeo.
Now, any bets on how long until the next podcast?
—”Letters,” Nasty Little Thoughts: Stroke 9
I really hate getting up in the morning. When the alarm on my phone goes off (twice), I’d rather roll over than get up.
It’s funny, though, because when I was little, I loved being up early in the morning, Especially since I went to summer school.
My sister and I would get up early and leave the house by 7:30, riding our bikes about half a mile to summer school. It was exciting to us because summer school wasn’t held at the school we attended, (which you could see entirely from our upstairs windows). Add to that the fact that we were on our own for the entire bike ride, and we were thrilled.
I’m feeling nostalgic for summer school this morning. When I walked outside to get in the car, the morning was nice and cool, with the birds chirping all around. It just reminded me off all the mornings I would hop on my bike with K and head off to take fun morning classes, which would be followed by an afternoon of swimming in the pool. Maybe it’s the thought of swimming that took me back.
Today is most likely going to top 100, and if I’m unlucky, today’s bus driver will feel just like yesterdays and not turn on the AC in the bus. I was miserable yesterday on the way home, and I’m not looking forward to a repeat performance. And I still won’t go swimming when I get home.
Our pool is nine and a half feet deep, and it’s really, really cold. It has a white bottom, so it never really warms up. When I was little, that didn’t really bother me. We’d just jump in and freeze for a minute or so while getting used to the temperature. Now it has to be really, really hot for me to get in the pool. Or Dustin has to be there.
I don’t enjoy swimming by myself, and since K doesn’t have time for me anymore, I don’t have a home-made swim partner around anymore. So, I miss summer school when we we didn’t have to work, and we could still have a real summer.
—”Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over,” Take This to Your Grave: Fall Out Boy
Blurry cameraphone photo of the busted fence.
This horrible photo from my phone demonstrates just why I really hate people. I realize it’s hard to discern what you’re supposed to be looking at, but that’s a large gap in my neighbor’s fence, with his above ground pool in the frame.
A week or so, someone careened into the fence, knocking it down, and coming within a few feet of the pool. Sadly enough, it isn’t the first time this has happened. This very section of fence gets run into at least once a year. People take the corner too fast—there’s no stop sign to make them slow down before turning—lose control, and end up into this section of the yard. Always someone in the house hears it, and always no one ever gets caught.
Usually the neighbor fixes the fence the first weekend after it’s been knocked down, but I suppose this time he’s fed up with it all, and I don’t blame him. There’s no guarantee that it isn’t going to be knocked down next week. Since this is in a separated, fenced off part of his yard that backs up to the creek, instead of fixing it he’s put up chicken wire or something similar to keep people out. My mum says that he’s waiting for the insurance company to pay for it, because it’s expensive to replace a fence.
Sunday night, though, the most unbelievable thing happened. People went swimming in my neighbors pool. At two in the morning. Also, unable to be seen in the photo is that somebody bent back the chicken wire to gain entrance into the yard, and could be heard splashing around in the pool until one of my neighbors (unclear if it was the guy across the street from us, or the guy who owns the house the pool is at), went outside and started yelling at the punks, and which point the punks jumped into the car they had parked out next to the fence, and took off.
I just don’t understand what drives people these days. I’m sure the punks responsible for both acts are between the ages of 16 and 25, right in my target peer range. And maybe I’m just a closet old lady, but I would never even think about doing crap like this, ever at all. It’s just such a large disrespect of property. These same people who would violate other’s space would flip out if someone thought about doing the same to them.
I can understand why the fence-runners never come forward. They are most likely drunk, and don’t want to get caught. Most of the time, I’m astounded that they never run into the above-ground pool which is right behind the fence with the invisible target drawn on it.
But the midnight swimmers? I don’t understand why they think it’s okay to use someone else’s pool. What’s to stop them from jumping in our pool next time they feel the need for a late night dip? Although, I almost secretly hope they do because our pool is so cold they would scream in pain. Seriously, really cold.
But jeez, people can do some unbelievable things sometimes.
—”I So Hate Consequences,” MmmHmm: Relient K
This weekend has been an exercise in patience, I think.
On Saturday, I did the normal Saturday things, which included de-leafing the backyard (I almost wish we had less trees), and mowing the front yard.
I happen to hate mowing the yard. The job has fallen to me, though, since my brother moved into his own house last November. Our yard is really big with lots of trees which I find hard to mow around. It takes me almost an hour to finish, and thank god it’s the last chore I have to do on Saturdays. Which really means I save it for last.
After lunch, though, my Dad took me out to the SPCA to look at dogs. Since I got straight A’s, he’s finally decided to allow me to get a dog (my mom and I have been asking for one since the house was broken into in December). We didn’t come home with one, because we’re both looking for something different in a dog. He’s got requirements, while I just want something medium-sized or smaller1 that’s cute and friendly.
Oddly enough, we did agree on one dog—a black chihuahua that was oh so cute and didn’t bark at all. Unfortunately, it was in the process of being adopted, so obviously not available for us. It was odd that we agreed on it, though, because neither of us like chihuahuas, and while I would love a toy dog, I didn’t think my dad would.
We came home without a dog, and on Sunday my dad told me that it was up to me to pick the dog, because he has requirements for a dog that will never be met. So, he gave me $100 in “dog money,” and the weekend after next I’ll probably have a new puppy to call my own.
And don’t doubt that I’ve already been thinking up the perfect dog name.
—”Miss Murder” Decemberundeground: AFI
- We’re using our last dog, Zippy, as a measuring guide, since we don’t want a dog bigger than she was. [back]
Every day, my mum tells me about what happened on yesterday’s reality TV programs.
It’s really annoying because I do not watch reality TV in general. So, depending on the schedule, I get recaps of Amazing Race, Survivor, Daddy’s Little Girl1, and the like. I have no interest in these shows, and I hate having to listen to the recap.
Thank god she doesn’t watch American Idle2, because I think my head would explode if I had to feign interest in that as well.
I know someone is probably thinking, “Why don’t you just tell your Mum you don’t want to hear it?”
But, there’s a problem with that. I work with my mum, and I sit five feet from her for about eight hours a day. We’re the only people in the office, and she likes to talk to me occasionally throughout the day. And so reality-recaps are often the only thing she has to talk about.
At least yesterday she let me be smug all day about my straight As, even if she did ruin it when I was telling my dad.
—”You’re a God,” Everything You Want: Vertical Horizon
- Unsure if this is really the title of this program. My mum doesn’t know for sure, and she says something different each time she brings it up. The show is about spoiled rich girls and their fathers. [back]
- Misspelled, I know. It’s Ben’s fault; after his AI post, it’s been stuck in my head. [back]
Thank god K is always good for some blog fodder.
Yesterday, when I get home from work, my dad tells me that K had called a little bit before, and she left a message for me. “J’s here, and I’m laughing.” That was it. The whole message. My parents and I sit down for dinner, and we discuss why K seeing J is funny.
I’ve got several conjectures, the most concrete of which is that J forgot which Costco K works at, and walked in with a guy who is not You. This is probable, since neither she, nor You or his mom have a Costco card. I can just see K laughing at J when J realized that K was there. Besides, K sees everyone who walks in and out of her store, since she works in Membership.
K calls at the end of dinner, to tell me the full story.
J was at Costco with her fat friend B, buying the new pink Razr (which is a horrid shade of pink, and I would never trade in my black one for a pink one, even if pink is my favorite color). When J wandered off to look at things while the phone guy set things up, K went over and talked to him, since she and he are friends.
She’s convinced him to ask the worst question to J, after all the papers are signed and he has gotten his commission.
“So, how’s the cancer going?”
Yeah. Seriously. I hope he asked. I hope she got red and pissy. And I wish more than anything I was there to see it. I love my sister, because this just made my day. I’m sure she’ll let me know later how things went down.
It’s a really long story about why this is funny to us, because, well, we’re mean, spiteful bitches over in this corner of the world.
—”Who I Am Hates Who I’ve Been,” Mmhmmm: Relient K.
So, I spent Saturday afternoon at the library, avoiding work on the essay I turned in last night.
It’s all the library’s fault really. They had Wi-Fi. For free! It’s a recent addition, since when I was there last month they didn’t have it. So, I spent the afternoon surfing the internet on my laptop, instead of actually doing research.
I had claimed a table for myself, and spread all my crap all over the place. It was interesting, because at the next table a high school male was working on his research for the Civil War. It really made me feel bad, because I didn’t have a single library book around me, while his table was littered with them. He was filling out note cards willy-nilly, and while I did sketch out an outline of my paper when I first sat down, seeing his note cards made me really want some of my own.
At the table in front of me, there was an elderly gentleman, who—I’m not kidding—looked like Mark Twain. He had the longer gray hair, the bushy mustache, and the requisite white suit. Come to think of it, he looked remarkably like Colonel Sanders, as well. He was working on some documents, filling them out and such, so I don’t think he notices me looking at him too much.
The library is always filled with interesting people. For example, there was the boy using the computers, who had his mum looking over his shoulder the entire time. Research-Boy had his mum helping him as well. There was the elderly couple looking up things and ignoring each other the entire time. And the kids trying to find books in the adult section.
I do enjoy the library, and don’t get to go there nearly often enough.
Oh, and checking my email Sunday night revealed a multitude of of classmates doing the same essay I am, and needing responses to their questions. What I thought was funny was that they waited until Friday night to send them out, they only included two questions, and they copied them off the prompt. I had at least two emails where the content was exactly the same. I didn’t answer them because:
- The waited till the last minute, and I checked my email at 11pm Sunday night. The paper was supposed to be due by midnight, but my teacher gave us a few extra days. Good thing I didn’t know that ahead of time, or I wouldn’t have done my paper when I did.
- They should have come up with their own questions. It’s lame using the ones you’re supposed to answer with the prompt. My questions were lame, too, I know. But, I made them up my self.
- I’m doing the same prompt. I’m not helping out other people when I’m writing the same paper, and I want an A. Yeah. I’m mean like that.
So, yeah, I spent last night writing the paper, and it’s not due until Tuesday now. Now I have two more days to stress over how bad it is, even though I don’t care, and will still get a really good grade no matter how badly I do. But I hate stressing about it.
—”Crooked Teath,” Plans: Death Cab For Cutie
I realize that today is Cinco de Mayo. I also acknowledge that, for me, it has no significant value.To me, it’s the same as St. Patrick’s Day, or Boxing Day. Holidays that are important to other people who aren’t me.
However, I do have some fond memories of Cinco de Mayo. When I was little, we lived in Woodland for about three years. Woodland is a farming town, and my elementary school had a very large population of children from migrant workers, most of whom were Mexican. This, in turn, lead to a very large bilingual population, along with students who could only speak Spanish.
Cinco de Mayo was a big thing for our school. In first grade, we practiced for weeks to learn a song in Spanish. I don’t remember much about the second grade, but I’m sure another song was involved. In the third grade, our class learned how to do the Mexican Hat Dance (which may or may not really be Mexican), and then performed it at an assembly.
The assembly was always a big production, held outside in a smallish amphitheater, if you can call it that. The way the building was designed, three classes butted up against one another to create a hollow half of an octagon, and there was a set of steps / seats, that formed three sides of the octagon facing the building, leaving the last two opposing sides as a walk-through.
The whole school would be congregated in this outside amphitheater, watching each class do their little performances. I’m sure there were speeches too, to tell us why it was such an important day, but I don’t remember them.
I do remember the party atmosphere. After the assembly was over, we’d all go back to our classrooms and there would be a big spread set out with all sorts of different Mexican food, and I think once we had a pinata. There was no learning going on for the rest of the day.
So for me, while Cinco de Mayo has no cultural significance, it is a good reason to party. Not that I’ll be doing any of that tonight. Instead, I’ll be working on a paper that just refuses to die. But, I’ll be dreaming about a party.
Happy Cinco de Mayo to those who celebrate!
—”A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More Touch Me,” From Under the Cork Tree: Fall Out Boy
