Yet another exercise in creative definition

Guess what time it is: time for made-up words with ridiculous definitions! Let's heave to. Gods above bless whoever invented Captcha.

• 
  
  muctere: verb, infinitive. A Latin term which has sadly sunk into neglect, meaning "to muck around." Example: "Muctere conjugates as follows, class: mucto, muctem, muctor, mucter. Repeat!"

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  bowgrati: noun. A strange system of payment for goods found in the Republic of Pefkakia; namely, the customer presents an elaborately arranged ribbon bow to the shopkeeper instead of cash or cards. Example: "Madam, as a tourist you are obviously unfamiliar with our system of bowgrati. I will accept cash at this time, as a favor to you for visiting our fair country."

• 
  
  Prepa: proper noun. The plural of Prepon. Example: "The Prepa will be arriving shortly--yes, both Laura and her brother. Has Wilmer called with an ETA yet?"

• 
  
  tarched: adjective, regional. In the "Dixie" region of Utah (cf. St George and environs), a term referring to the setting something on fire. Example: "No sense in porking the core in the car-part...remember when those neighbor boys tarched Aunt Abrah's Oldsmobile when it was porked not five feet from the house?"

• 
  
  borinate: verb. To be bored as only Strong Bad can bore. Example: "Borinating the urban landscape, borinating Park Slopers; borinating all the people and all their slate-shingled loft apartments!"

A-conventioning we go

So, this happened.

That's the George Perez, folks. Awesome and sauce. I didn't mean to close my eyes, but I'm incapable of taking a picture any other way. You can infer, I'm sure, from this image that Megacon was awesome this year. Mr. Perez drew a Wonder Woman insignia in my copy of Gods and Mortals, Terry Moore talked with my manfriend about heavy metal and guitars and asked for my opinion about how large a "Look it up!" poster should be (answer: as big as possible!), Stan Lee declined to kiss a puppy, I nabbed a Doctor Who t-shirt featuring #10, and general merriment abounded.

On Wicked Pretty Things

I don't normally cross-link this blog and my so-called professional portfolio blog, but this morning I posted on the other blog about the Wicked Pretty Things anthology and how it relates to libraries' collection development.

...yeah. So. It's a set of interlinking topics that I think are really important. So I thought it (and The Sparkle Project's broader coverage) deserved a plug.

Film Fantasy Friday: Searching for Dragons

Welcome to Friday, friends and lovers. Ready to visit the awesome Enchanted Forest of Patricia C. Wrede's excellent tween fantasy series? I am too. Let's go to there. I decided to to the second novel in the series, Searching for Dragons, because that's when we get to meet the foxy Mendanbar and the not-as-foxy-but-still-fun Telemain.

Princess Cimorene: played by Kat Dennings, Cimorene is a wry, smartypants princess who currently serves as Chief Cook and Librarian to the King of the Dragons...who has suddenly gone missing.

King Mendanbar: played by Dominic Cooper, Mendanbar is the absent-minded king of the Enchanted Forest who ends up journeying with Cimorene to rescue Kazul, the dragon King.

Kazul: voiced by Tilda Swinton, Kazul is the King of the Dragons, recently kidnapped by the Society of Wizards.

Telemain: played by John Simm, Telemain is a magician--not a wizard--and is interested in researching and studying magic across practitioners. He is a bit smarmy.

Zemenar: played by Ian McKellen (because who the hell else walks around with a beard?), Zemenar is the head of the Society of Wizards. He has a grudge against Cimorene for her tendency to foil his evil plots and to melt him into temporary nothingness using soapy water with a dash of lemon juice.

Morwen: played by Gillian Anderson, Morwen is a witch and one of Kazul's good friends. She makes excellent cider, keeps many cats, and has a no-nonsense attitude toward life.

Note: I need to point out something about Patricia C. Wrede. She was one of my favorite fantasy authors as a kid and I still have a lot of respect for her (and tons of love for The Enchanted Forest Chronicles). However, her novel Thirteenth Child has some issues of erasure--literally. Read here for more info.

Hard to care for what you don't respect

And now for your Thursday dose of introspective gloom. I was listening to the Conception album Flow in my car yesterday, as I have been since I got a burned copy of it two weeks ago--it takes about eight times before the lyrics really start to sink in. And so I was driving along, singing in my charming off-key voice, and this line hit me in the teeth: "Now I know enough to hate myself/for heaven's sake".

Well. Well, I said to myself. It's like Khan knows me. Many of Conception's lyrics contain scintillating bits of atheist soul-searching, but this was the first one to really make me say Hmm, because it is a perfect encapsulation of something I bet lots of Mormons deal with. Presumably lots of Christians and other denominations too, but I have only my own experience. Which is this: it is, in the words of T.H. White, so fatally easy to make children believe they are horrible. To this I would add it is also easy to make people of religious fervor believe they are bad people--it's the understated mission of some churches. After all, if a person believes in themselves, believes they are neither fundamentally good nor fundamentally bad but completely, totally HUMAN and that is quite correct, what use does the church have? And once you know just exactly how bad you are, how carnal, how sinful, how futile and pointless and hopeless, how boring and wretched, you know there's no WAY any deity could ever love you.

This is the point of the Atonement, of course. Nothing you ever do can be good enough, so Jesus has to step in and make it all ok--the fact that in order to make it all ok he got to chill with some really huge nails, a spear, mocking soldiers, traitorous friends, and the sins of everyone who will ever live is just another burden of shame and guilt for you, the poor mortal, to carry (note: this God is an ASS HOLE).

Hating yourself pre-emptively, so that when you get to Heaven and realize God hates you too it doesn't hurt so bad, is a Skill.

I just

I can't

even

asdjdjfbshdjfhguyiFAPFAPFAP

Body Appreciation: ATTACK OF THE UTERUS

As you can probably tell by your tired eyeballs, sore feet and/or back, and urge for a gin and tonic, it's not Sunday. It is Monday. Yesterday was so fine and quiet and calm that I mostly didn't use my computer all day--I napped and cooked and read and watched a movie, and forgot that I normally use Sundays to heap love all over usually-unloveable body parts.

So. It's Monday. And I am putting off homework (as usual), so let's talk about uteri. Last month, I reviewed the reusable cloth pads I got from Party In My Pants; this month, I have more to report on! I picked up some GladRags brand cloth pads from the local hippie store and have been trying them out this week. They're definitely on par with the PIMP pads (gosh, and I do love these names. PIMP is a great acronym, and GladRags reminds me of Harry Potter :B): soft cotton flannellette in a variety of shades, lengths, and thicknesses. There is one major difference--the GladRags day and night pads come with absorbent inserts which you can change out without having to change the pad itself. Handy! I like the GladRags pads as well as the PIMP ones. I have been especially impressed with both brands' absorbency and the utter lack of odor issues. Both also feature a handy snap which keeps the pads in place and allows you to fold up and secure used pads if you're out and about and not near your hamper.

That said, let us move onto the uterus itself. Now, I don't have much use for my uterus as yet. I don't have plans to have any children and generally menstruation is a nuisance. During this month's bout of first-day cramps, I was considering the possibility of a uterus transplant. Surely some lady somewhere really wants to have a baby and needs a good sturdy uterus! Mine is nothing if not sturdy, although it is also somewhat capricious (Aunt Flo was a week late this month for no apparent reason). However, that doesn't seem quite viable and so I am left with no other choice but to revel in my baby-maker and its moods. Honestly, I'm in a much better place now with regard to my womb creature and its cycles than I used to be. A good chunk of that is derived from ditching the nas-tay plastic-and-cardboard of the patriarchy for my cute little Divacup and cozy cloth pads. I suppose I should have put a Dirty Hippie disclaimer on this post, shouldn't I? At any rate, there is much to be said for not forking over $15 a month to replace tampons and disposable pads--my equipment is happier and the earth is too.

I now spend most of That Week coming up with fun euphemisms. This time around I've been trying to formulate a proper Doctor Who reference (since I like to call my junk the "velvet TARDIS" anyway, it only seems fitting). The best I could figure is: "The Master's turned the TARDIS into a Paradox Machine."

So bleed away, uterus thing. I've got my snuggly clothes and durable cup, and I can outlast you even if the Dalek apocalypse comes.

Film Fantasy Friday: Anne of the Island

This Friday we're taking it back to Prince Edward Island--or rather Kingsport, N.S., where Anne and her awesome bitch posse go to college, unsuccessfully chloroform cats, occcupy the best cottage in the world, and fall in love. Hit it, Toofer!

Anne Shirley: played by Karen Gillan (you know I had to. MARRY ME KAREN), Anne is a lovely, witty, compassionate, generally awesome college co-ed going for her BA at Redmond College, where she keeps old friends and meets new ones.

Philippa Gordon: played by Emmy Rossum, Phil is the delish upperclass beauty of Bolingbroke and Anne's closest new friend at college. She is at first horrified to find herself falling in love with an ugly minister.

Gilbert Blythe: played by Ryan Gosling, Gilbert is one of Anne's childhood friends from Avonlea, who has been nursing an unrequited love for her since the day she cracked a slate over his head.

Roy Gardner: played by Henry Cavill, Roy is the ultimate ideal of Anne's dreams--or so she thinks.

Miss Patty: played by Helena Bonham Carter, Miss Patty is the eccentric owner of Patty's Place, the gold-standard of a cottage that Anne and Co. rent for their years at Redmond.

Stella Maynard: played by Ellen Page, Stella is one of Anne's friends from Queens College.

Priscilla Grant: played by Laura Vandervoort, Pris is another of Anne's friends from Queens.

Charlie Sloane: played by Lee Ingleby, Charlie is another old friend from Avonlea, also in love with Anne. He has ridiculous ears.

Aunt Jamesina: played by Olympia Dukakis, Stella's Aunt Jimsie lives with the girls at Patty's Place and keeps house for them, and is the coolest aunt ever.

And that's how Diana casts it! All images pulled from Google and Wikipedia.

Things a nerd must do before she dies

Via the awesome Jill the Nerdy Bird, I have decided it is now time to make my very own Nerd Bucket List. Here's my top five so far (I fully expect that this list will grow and change as my life as a nerd goes on):

5. Get a STAR WARS tattoo. I have a whole slew of nerdy tattoo ideas in my noggin (Yggdrasil, a lioness rampant, a Willendorf Venus, among others), but the crowning glory will be a STAR WARS themed one. Perhaps the Rebel Alliance insignia? Perhaps a Death Star? I don't know yet, but it will be awesome.

4. Create and carry out my own literary traveling tour. Think the UK by way of The Dark Is Rising--that would be Cornwall, Buckinghamshire, Wales, and the Salisbury Plain, in that order.

3. Step inside the TARDIS. Of course it would Most Best to get inside the one they film with, but I'll take a replica. Of course, this would necessarily include a photo of me grabbing the dashboard and leaning to one side like they do when in transit.

2. Get Neil Gaiman to reply to me on Twitter. I'd probably start crying. So hopefully if when it happens, I won't be illicitly reading my feed at work.

1. Meet Tamora Pierce. Honestly? It might not be that nerdy and it will almost certainly never happen, but if there is one celebrity I'd do a lot of illegal things to meet, it's her. I've been sticking money in a "Meet Tammy!" jar since I was twelve.

Note: Jill, my posin'-with-Spike pic would be that one too. :B

Body Appreciation Sunday: Dat Ass

That's right, it's Sunday and it's time to love my tail end. Butts are something that women are SUPPOSED to hate and deride and make fun of, it seems--when I hear my female friends talk aboutbody parts they'd like to change, the bottom is usually at the top of the list.

Sometimes I am one of those people. Sometimes I really, really dislike my butt. It is not bootylicious, for certain, but neither is it perky and cute. It just kind of...is. There's not much There there. But no matter! It serves its purposes--providing a cushion for me to sit on and something to shake when I dance. Actually, going dancing last night in my awesome lace shorts was the impetus for this post. I like dancing and my butt does too, evidenced by its general muscular discomfort today, and I have to say, it did look AWESOME in those lace shorts.

It isn't Kim Kardashian's and it isn't Natalie Portman's and it isn't Keira Knightley's, but it's mine and I like it. Dance away, butt.

Film Fantasy Friday: Shiver

OH YEAH. See, I read on Maggie Stiefvater's journal that someone has the movie rights to Shiver, so I figured I better get my kicks in before someone else does it for me. So. Shiver is about a girl and a werewolf, but it's light-years better than Twilight, even though Sam, the werewolf boy, is slightly emo. By the author's own admission.

That's right, she Tweeted at me. Which is a whole 'nother post. Onto the fun stuff!

Grace: played by Jennifer Lawrence, Grace is a teenage girl who has been fascinated with the wolves in her backyard ever since being savaged by them as a child. One wolf in particular, with haunting golden eyes, has captured her interest.

Sam: played by Andrew Garfield, Sam is that wolf--a boy during the warm months and a wolf during winter, Sam is also a talented guitarist and sensitive emo werewolf poet type.

Jack: played by Nicholas Hoult, Jack is bitten by one of the werewolves, leading to his change--and seeming death. He develops a crazed idea for a cure that may work...and may kill him for good.

Isabel: played by Amanda Seyfried, Isabel is Jack's sister, a hardass popular girl who gets dragged into the werewolf business after Jack's apparent death.

Beck: played by Hugh Jackman, Beck is the leader of Sam's pack and his surrogate father. He owns a house where the wolves of the pack stay during the summer when they are human.

Olivia: played by Anna Kendrick, Olivia is one of Grace's close friends and an avid photographer of the wolves. She too is bitten, but cannot bring herself to try Jack's cure.

And that's how Diana casts it! All images pulled from Google and Wikipedia.

What happens when the nerd brain takes over

Here is a true story for you: today whilst shelving nonfiction items at my internship, I caught sight of a book entitled Hot Words for the SAT*I. However, so immersed in Tammy Pierce books is my brain that for a moment I thought it read Hot Words for the Sati. For those not so immersed, sati is a Trader term from the Circle of Magic universe for a heart's friend.

So I thought, Well, my sati does deserve some hot words. So here are some hot words for my sati, DR SHE BLOGGO, in honor of her as a female writer on International Women's Day and in honor of her as an awesome person.

DR SHE BLOGGO and I have been best friends for seventeen years. It stands to reason that we will keep on being best friends, even though there's about to be a lot more geography between us (that's why Al Gore God invented the Internet). We decided recently, based on a chat conversation in which we said the same thing at the same time three times, that we share a brain and that if a zombie were to bite one of us, the other would become zombified as well. Ahhhh, so many good times. Scraped Spanish tar off our feet in a French bathtub? CHECK! Stood in line for Revenge of the Sith at midnight? CHECK! Eaten chicken off the floor of a restaurant in London? Well...I have and she recorded me doing it. Written a story about dinosaurs and Pangaea? CHECK!

DR SHE BLOGGO is funny. She is compassionate. She works harder than anyone I know. She helped me with my math homework on my sixteenth birthday. She is a talented writer and moviemaker. She lends me DVDs and burns me CDs of the Glee music. She is an excellent daughter, sister, and friend. Her presence in my life is one of my greatest blessings.

Body Appreciation: Belly

During my second year of undergrad, I grew a belly. For the first 19 years of my life, I was a beanpole, seriously skinny, with no hips or boobs. When I started taking oral contraceptives, I sprouted the hips that my mom and aunt have and a modest set of Bs. A belly also emerged! WOOTSTOCK. I was not particularly appreciative at first of my new protruding stomach; it boiled over when I sat down, it made finding jeans that fit properly a bit more difficult. Everyone wants washboard abs, right? Everyone wants abs like Gwen Stefani's.

Well. Gwen's abs are very nice. I think she could zest lemons on them. But not everyone can maintain a flat stomach even if they do one hundred crunches a day and live on bunny feed. I am coming around on my stomach. Part of my gentler feelings toward it come from the fact that my manfriend likes it. He likes, as he says, something to lay his head on. Sometimes what is needed is to be able to see yourself through someone else's eyes. So my belly and I are better friends now. It's there, creating a dip between it and my hipbones. It will probably never be completely flat again. But that's all right. Curve on, belly!

It's Friday?

That's right, it's Friday. Oh goodness, the weekend is one of humanity's great inventions. And right now, I have a hideous pile of homework sitting in front of me that absolutely must be completed by tonight, so that tomorrow and Sunday I can let my mother and grandmother ferret around in my apartment and tell me that I don't know how to clean properly!

Ergo, no indulgent fantasy films today. Just this.

Hairs and the cutting thereof

Some of you may know that I am extremely fond of getting my hair cut. Given that, allow me to relate an anecdote.

Last weekend I took my manfriend to the Paul Mitchell school to get our hairs trimmed. Now, I LOVE the Paul Mitchell school. Someday when humans are allowed to marry corporations, the Paul Mitchell school will be welcome to join my fabulous poly commune of raspberry leaf tea, mashed potatoes, five-grain wheat bread, watermelon, various books, and Michael Fassbender (you can see where my priorities are). It's very inexpensive, the students do a good job, and best of all, since they're students, they take twice as long as a regular hairdresser because they're being careful and want to do well. This is AWESOME! Typically my visits to the Paul Mitchell school go something like this:

1. Arrive and check in
2. Meet my student hairdresser and tell him or her what I would like done (shorter! Shorter, student! Don't be afraid!)
3. Get the awesome five-minute scalp massage and shampoo. Here begins a state of near-comatosity.
4. Remain in a virtual coma for as long as the student takes to cut my hair (usually about an hour and a half).

Well, this past haircutting experience was a leetle different. It was due to my student hairstylist --a flighty lady and apparently consumptive, based on her pallor and coughing. Put frankly, it was like getting my hair cut by John Keats. She would snip a few strands, then waft off to find her supervisor to make sure she was doing it right. Her hands weren't on my scalp long enough for comatosity to set in. I was a sad Diana. That is, until her supervisor took over at the end to shape things up and mix in some of that awesome Super-Skinny Serum.

And I swear to you, I almost fell asleep in the chair. The only thing keeping me awake was the knowledge that if I nodded off, my head would jerk forward and I would probably lose an ear to the supervisor's scissors.

Uncanny, I tell you. The bliss of getting your hair cut.