I know it's grouchy of me and I'm not saying I'd do any better, but I swear these last two weeks of school are nothing but my kid being used for community focus groups. Yesterday, someone from ACT came by to beta test a writing exam on Tweetie's class. Earlier, there was an assembly so a spokesperson from the public library could tell them all about the summer reading programs. They are the captive audience for older students' end-of-year recitals, and their unit review of Levers and Pulleys was a video about the rides at Disneyworld. This is why I don't feel guilty at all about Tweetie missing the last (snow make-up) day of school so we can get to the Grand Canyon; she'll be a much more active participant in learning with us on the road than being used as a test subject.

...pictures tend to clear it. -- Magnificent Ruin

I squeaked when I stumbled across this on tumblr, because I had clipped this very juxtaposition of images from a magazine and taped it to my nonfiction bookshelf about eight years ago.



I adore Matisse's collage work. I once read that he took up collage when it became difficult for him to paint. He couldn't stop making art, so he made a new kind of art. And it's so happy, like Look at me go! Nothing can stop me! I don't care for Picasso or his work (well, there is *one* drawing of running horses). But seeing the two images together made an impression that I wanted to hold onto.

Since Tweetie often played in my office space as a baby, she saw the pictures a lot. I explained that they were drawings done by two artists who knew each other, and how someone put them next to each other to compare them. One day she handed me a drawing of yellow and blue lines. She indicated it was her rendition of the drawings. I taped her artwork on the bookshelf underneath the inspirations.

Not long ago, I finally removed all three pics from the shelf, because the first two were rippled from humidity, and Tweetie's had faded to nearly nothing in the sun.

And then! Tumblr gave them back to me.

The full con schedule is now available at the WisCon site.

Stop Killing All the Minority Characters!  Fri, 4:00–5:15 pm
Panelists: Na'amen Gobert Tilahun, Lisa Bradley, Lauren K. Moody, Nisi Shawl
Why are so many women, people of color, and queer, trans*, and disabled folk killed off in our fiction? Is it because there are so few of these characters represented in the first place, or that they are less likely to be main characters and thus more likely to be red shirts? Are the writers all bigots who enjoy killing off minorities—or is something else going on here? What books or TV shows do a better job at keeping their minorities alive, and how do they do so? Are some stories that are blamed for this also killing off just as many straight cis able-bodied white men, and, if so, does that even make a difference? How do these killings reflect real life and in what ways do they reinforce that reality?

Open Secrets, A Speculative Poetry Reading  Sat, 2:30–3:45 pm
Members of the Secret Poetry Cabal (a speculative poetry group) will read their work. Readers include Amal El-Mohtar, Gwynne Garfinkle, Nancy Hightower, Kathrin Koehler, Shira Lipkin, Alex Dally MacFarlane, Elizabeth R. McClellan, Julia Rios, S. Brackett Robertson, Sofia Samatar.

Spindles and Spitfire  Sat, 4:00–5:15 pm
Join us for a reading packed full of sinister whimsy, hidden hearts, folkloric sensibilities and SNACKS! Lisa Bradley dances with the skeletons in her closet. Shira Lipkin will apparently write anything if you dare her to on Twitter. Alex Dally MacFarlane works at a spindle of bones and gold. Patty Templeton writes hellpunk in a handbasket, full of ghosts, freaks and fools.

Passing: Self-Care and Embracing Who You Are  Mon, 10:00–11:15 am
Participants: Mary Anne Mohanraj, Lisa Bradley, Courtney, Shayla Dunn, Kathrin Koehler
In some situations a person can choose to pass (hide their oppressed status); in others a person passes unless they choose to purposely identify their status. And sometimes a person has no ability to pass. When we have a choice, it's often a difficult one. We're often encouraged to embrace and disclose who we know ourselves to be, and trying to pass as something we're not (white, cisgender, etc.) can be a source of great pain. But passing as something we know we're not is sometimes the only safe way to live. Passing can be a matter of self-preservation. How can we decide whether we're being self-indulgent or taking good care of ourselves? How can we make these choices with more social consciousness and self-acceptance?
 

Torrential rains delivered a full month's worth of rain to our previously droughty part of Iowa. Only it did so in a single day, maybe not realizing it was doubling what we'd already gotten in the first two weeks of April. Our street flooded, which it never does. Our basement flooded, which it never does. But the street has storm sewers, unlike our basement, and our basement has carpet, unlike the street. So since Thursday, we have been vacuuming up water, and cutting and rolling wet carpet that reeks of reactivated cat-piss ghosts, and peeling carpet glue off linoleum and hauling stuff to the curb. All of this with the knowledge that even once the floor is clean and dry, we will need to tear down walls to repair leaks, and replace the flooring, and buy new furniture.

But you know what? My husband is hard-working, cheerful, and appreciative of my help. So I suppose if I must get gross, sweaty, and sore with someone in a completely unsexy way, I'm glad it's him.

Fickle Spring has set her lightning hand upon Iowa, drawing worms up from rain-soaked soil to gasp and die on sidewalks and roads, by bird or burning light. At night, we sleep with windows open...until dogs still unaccustomed to sleeping out of doors startle at owl hoots and shadows. We know not whether short sleeves or sweaters are best suited to the day. Also, rabbits.

When not playing hopscotch over earthworms, I've been following news of the Arkansas tar sands spill. I wonder when I'll be cynical, paranoid, or wise enough to no longer be surprised that these things happen: that the rich and powerful are so careless of the rest of us, that corporations destroy our homes and lives with impunity, that the government allows the perpetrators to command airspace and control the media... Honestly, I write about this stuff and it's called science fiction?

(On a related note, I discovered this weekend that the used blu-ray of The Crazies I bought from the Blockbuster belly-up is scratched. Is it true I can use Turtle Wax to mend the disc?)

As for writing, yes, I'm doing it, but I'm shoulder-deep in novel revisions, discussion of which would only bore you. Trust me. But on the topic of writing, alankria has a good post on using "they" as a singular personal pronoun. It is a position I've come to share over the last couple of years. Copyeditors are not generally known for flexibility, and newbies especially enforce "rules" without considering the ethical implications of those rules. But as I've become more educated about gender issues and more familiar with genderqueer folks, I've discarded any stickliness/illusions about singular "they" being grammatically incorrect. I hope more people accept this usage moving forward.

As a fan but not a "Fan" of Teen Wolf, I found the aftermath of that fandom's recent explosion quite illuminating.

It seems the worst thing one can do is challenge someone's fanhood, even if that person has done something egregiously awful--say, hacking into their beloved celebrity's personal photos and posting the photos online. Although most everyone I read on tumblr admitted that "stealing" personal photos was wrong, many fans also sounded discomfited by the celebrity (Tyler Hoechlin) questioning whether the thief was a "True Fan." As if they were concerned that they too might be called out if they crossed some invisible line. To my mind, password protection offers a very visible line between right and wrong, fan and criminal, but perhaps I am old fashioned.

The celebrity may have compromised the fan's privacy by using her tumblr handle on twitter. (although I'd think turnabout would be fair play) The fan claims to now be receiving death threats from other fans. Did Tyler sic his fans on the thief? Did he "allow" his followers to attack her? I don't know. Perceptions seem clouded by whether a person interprets the power dynamic as favoring the celebrity (he's "rich," he's beautiful and famous, he's got legions of followers) or the fan (empowered by anonymity, whereas the celebrity has ceded all expectations of privacy).

As a Supernatural fan, I can't help but wonder how the CW would've handled the fiasco. It's hard to speculate, since the stars of Supernatural were social-media reticent until maybe season 4, but I've always had the impression that the CW has fiat power over how Jared and Jensen interact with online fans. And that guest stars and crew make themselves available to fans as a way to draw some of the heat off the guys. (Jared asserts himself more now; after eight seasons, he's earned the right--and now he's got a family to protect.)

MTV released promotional video that's obviously fan service. It shows Tyler and a co-star hanging all over each other, thus fueling their characters' OTP status. (Had the personal photos not shown Tyler kissing a popular actress, more to the point--a woman--I doubt we'd have gotten such an uproar. Tyler having a heterosexual romance apparently stomps fans' fantasies.) CW also strategically releases promo material to sustain fan interest, but I can't think of an instance where it moved this fast to save face.

Whether at the behest of MTV or not, Tyler requested via twitter that fans "Forgive and Forget" and all be friends again. I don't think it works that way, but it sounds nice.

While in Wisconsin, we visited the small but expertly curated Racine Art Museum. On display in the ceramics exhibit was--to my great but gleeful surprise--a Richard Notkin teapot:



This one was labeled Ironclad Hostage II. Many moons ago, I posted another Notkin teapot (Hostage Metamorphosis II) on my cafenowhere tumblr:



Somehow I never imagined I'd see one in person.

I also saw two marvelous teapots by Irvin Tepper. I can't find images of them online. Tepper's website shows some of his other ceramics, but the ones I saw were nearly ethereal glazed porcelain, flattened and "threadbare" in places, as if the "dough" had been rolled too thin, that weird white that wants to be blue...One was titled "Teapot from the Happy Room of Mystery."

We got back from Wisconsin last night. I will reply to business correspondence tomorrow. What exciting, amusing, wretched, ridiculous, or run-of-the-mill stuff has happened to you since Wednesday?

It is Spring Break at Limoncello. Even JJ took the week off. Last week we did a major cleaning, so all that's left are some odd jobs before we head to Wisconsin for adventures.

One of the odd jobs was buying new luggage for J and Tweetie. (My suitcase is in decent shape.) They found a deal at CostCo, getting a matching set of "Ricardo of Beverly Hills" hardcases with slick caster wheels. Tweetie has thus named her suitcase Ricardo and spent a LOT of time yesterday speaking in a loving robotic voice to Ricardo and her old suitcase, Space Giant. (Why was she speaking in a robotic voice? I don't know. But it was weirdly cute.) She also donned as a toga the foam sheeting that came in the cases, then had the suitcases wear it as well. And, she curled up to read in the big box that the luggage came in. So, good purchase!

We continue to watch Smallville as a family. We are in ssn 9 and I spend most of my viewing time rolling my eyes so hard it's a wonder they haven't rolled out of their sockets. The show is a debacle. Plot holes and fantasy elements that only a tween could accept, but with hokey sexual content that embarrasses us all. Alas, Tweetie is hooked. I enjoy Teen Wolf MUCH more, but it's scary for Tweetie, so we have to pace ourselves with that show.

I'll admit to one highlight of watching Smallville this week: after a magician cast a spell on Clark Kent to make him kiss and make out with her, Tweetie told me, "I know what that was. That was rape." I was astonished, but got it together enough to agree that yes, sexual activity without proper consent from the participants was rape. And I was proud that she knew that, even though she likes the show, even though it was a man who was the victim, even though the aggressor was a smiley female and the episode continued as if it had all been a game. Tweetie was not fooled.

We've been investigating the history of our town a bit. Using a Google program called Field Trip, J found mention of a devastating fire at a glove factory near the Iowa River back in 1911. We hadn't even known there was a glove factory. So we went to the site, which is rather glum looking now, being a run-down industrial area and now home to the sprawling recycling center. We agreed the site would've been a very convenient factory location, near the river, near the railroad tracks.

Also using Field Trip, J showed Tweetie a photo of a man fishing in the Iowa River right near a fish ladder. After explaining to her what a fish ladder was, I suggested it wasn't very sporting to fish there. I said, "It's like building a bridge over a highway so people can walk across, then shooting them." Tweetie's face went pale and tight. After a moment, she said, "Mom, sometimes you scare me."

A Blockbuster store was going out of business, so we went in to score some cheap DVDs. I got Pontypool, The Crazies, The River's Edge (all of which I've seen and enjoyed before), and a couple of things for Tweetie. I also saw about 500 copies of My One and Only, a 2009 Renee Zellweger movie I'd never even heard of. J suggested Blockbuster's inventory of that movie for the entire country had ended up in this store. It still seemed like way too many.

This weekend is our weekend to clean ALL THE THINGS, and in the process I rediscovered some found poetry I did over a year ago. To give my back a break from cleaning and to discard two more sheets of paper, I shall transcribe the worthy poems here.


__________________

golden honeycomb
pregnant with
the world



#


gold spheres
blossom and flourish
disrupt unidirectional rations


#


baskets and rugs
richly textured
present trajectory and identity


#

skyscraper deeply influenced by
false starts
and comic enlargements
of ancient monuments

_______________________

This weekend Tweetie went to a sleepover, so JJ and I had some ultra-rare adult time in which we spoke in complete, uninterrupted sentences in satisfyingly thorough conversations not suited to little pitchers with big ears. We figured out some stuff and got on the same page about other stuff and I surprised both of us by telling him something about me that he didn't know, which is difficult considering we met when I was 14.

We watched Seven Psychopaths, which was entertainingly meta about the limitations of American action films. Great dialogue, charming psychopaths, stunning scenery. As is often the case, however, lampshading the problems is no substitute for fixing the problems. Consider the poster for the movie, which features 7 white people, two women. Now, there is one female psychopath in the story, but she's black. And I don't think she has any lines. Her story is told by her male lover. So the marketing department clearly wanted to tell potential audiences that there were women in the movie, but we couldn't have *gasp* black women on the posters. (The most admirable, bravest character in the film is, in fact, an older black woman. But she dies. And Gabourey Sidibe, of Precious fame, is totally wasted as a sobbing object of fat-phobic verbal abuse.) Even  though one character tells the main character, a screenwriter, that he writes crappy women characters, the movie itself is no better. In fact, the movie's actual director/screenwriter admits he wrote that chiding scene just to let himself off the hook. Knowing that kinda defuses the truth bomb delivered by his most charming psychopath: "You can't let the animals die in a movie...only the women."

We also watched Robot and Frank. I found it sweet and visually appealing, often funny. Frank Langella has marvelous gravitas, making him believable as both a grandpa and a still-sexual person. But the threat posed by the police in the movie seemed unrealistic to me. Surely they wouldn't be allowed to access a person's medical records without a warrant, maybe not even then. Also, I'm not sure what the message of the movie is supposed to be except that, we can't always mind the gaps, because we can't always foresee what the gaps will be. And sometimes people will get hurt.

This morning I was clucking over JJ, who has somehow managed to not get sick despite my best efforts and those of several coworkers. I hugged him and pleaded that he drink some orange juice for the Vitamin C.

"I don't need orange juice," he said, smiling into my hair.

"Are you at least taking your vitamins?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm taking my vitamins, I don't stand at the crossroads, I'll be fine."

Which made me laugh and relax, thinking I've trained him well.

There's a crow conference being held down my street. Some crows are doing that clicking purr in their throat, sounding disdainful or disappointed. Maybe just tsking that the meeting is starting late. Other crows are cawing, as if to drive off curious onlookers. At least one has learned to honk. I like the crows, but I try not to stare. They are like the mafia of the avian world, and they have long memories.

I may have found a way to keep the kitchen table clean and uncluttered: Bribery. Tweetie loves to eat by candlelight, even if we have the overhead fixture on as well. So I've told her if she helps me keep the table clear, we can have candlelight more often. So far, so good.

I had been doing LetterMo, then I got really sick and gave up, but now that I'm mostly recovered, I've realized I'm not that far off track. Granted, I haven't gotten to the mailbox every day, but I've sent multiples at a time, so number-wise, I'm close. And I have received some really fabulous mail.

Our family started watching Teen Wolf on Netflix. I think it's hilarious--really, the "dramatic" shots of Derek suddenly looming in the moonlight, then gone in the blink of an eye? It helps that he looks like every broody dude on the cover of a paranormal romance. And I LOVE Stiles. I just want to rub his fuzzy head and clap a hand over his motormouth. 

1. I am finally starting to feel human again, though I keep overestimating my ability to remain awake and upright. The fortunate thing about having been so inarguably ill...



is that I was forced to cede control over a number of things I thought were important (and which may have well been) but that were diminishing my resources without sufficient payoff. 



2. Winchester Wednesday! A new episode of Supernatural airs tonight, and though I don't love it the way I used to, it's been surprisingly entertaining as of late...



and it gives me an excuse to be alone for an hour on a weeknight. (Tweetie is allowed to watch it but prefers not to. And JJ keeps Tweetie company and keeps her on task with her school night routine. (Except for when something happens to the Impala and I shriek in horror, at which point he rushes in to ask, "Are you okay?") Win-win? I think so.)

3. My first winter women's retreat was successful. We all agreed it wasn't quite long enough, and I spent most of it sick, but it seems to have done the trick for me, jogging me out of some unhelpful patterns. I really enjoyed tromping around in the snow, following deer tracks, trying to figure out where the land ended and the snow-covered river began, eating pristine snow, finding still-verdant streams, lying in the snow and waiting for the stars to materialize, listening for coyotes...

4. Banana Joe. I love that name. I say it just to smile: "Banana Joe."

5. Stoned corgis. Corgis in mailboxes. Floppy-eared corgis

6. Only half an hour before I can take more medicine.

ETA: WHY WON'T MY GIFS GIF? WHY ARE THEY JUST SITTING THERE, GLUM & BLURRY?

I'm back from my winter weekend getaway, but I have a terrible cold. I've been semi-upright for 'bout an hour, and I'm exhausted. If you've received an email from me with the subject line "awesome" and nothing else but a link, please do not open/click. It's not from me; I don't send vague emails like that.