The Desert Mermaid

I got me some blogger’s block. Know what that means? A bullet entry!

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Went to Ed the Hairbender today so’s he could silly up my hair again! I’ll post pictures at some point, unless I don’t, but I’ll tell you now it’s my usual tortoiseshell swirls with a warmer twist—I look a bit tigerish. It was that or Xmas colors.

While I was waiting for the dye to set another lady saw my book—a juvie fantasy novel—and we started to talk about how awesome fantasy is. After a bit of book comparing (she liked The Name Of The Wind), Ed came back. “Oh,” I said. “Looks like it’s time go get this foil out of my hair and let the aliens hear my thoughts again.”

There was a pause.

“Okay,” the lady said, “maybe you read too much fantasy. “

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She wasn’t quite correct, though. It’s not so much the fantasy as the way I’ve been on a serious Fringe binge. Goddamn, y’all, THIS SHOW. I love every single character and am a total fangirl of Astrid. And as I said earlier, I get a huge kick out of the fact that the pale bald mystery dudes are called Observers. I really hope that’s a sign that some writer was an MST fan.

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So! My Thanksgiving weekend this year still had a few small adventures. First came an abortive trip to the mall on Black Friday (“Are you crazy, Mom?” “Oh, it can’t be that bad!” “I’d better come along. Let me get my old sparring pads and some safety goggles.”) After fifteen minutes we decided that it was too damn much trouble to find a parking space, so we came home and did our shopping online as I had suggested.

That was still a bit of a treasure hunt, though. I even had to go to the internet UK to track some stuff down, and enlist the aid of good buddy and great sport acrossthelake in the actual UK to finish the job.*

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But the good times did not last! That evening Dad came to find me.

DAD: Can you help me? It’s your mom. I was talking to her, and I went to the bathroom, and when I came back she had stopped making sense.

ME: Is she asking herself, “How did I get here?”

DAD: Just get over here. *to Mom* Hey, do you recognize this person?

MOM: … Yeah, I know who that is.

DAD: …
…
…
Who is she?

MOM: That's Amelia. ... I don’t feel good.

ME: What’s the matter?

MOM: Well, my clothes are all sticks and there’s a wax cat on my chest. Also my feet are tennis balls.

ME: Ah. Dad, I see what you mean.

DAD: You’re lucky I’m a doctor.

MOM: Why? Who needs a doctor?


So I spent the evening helping Dad do neurological tests. After some science and detectivery we ruled out “stroke,” “aneurysm,” “flu,” “space rays,” and “Pazuzu,” and decided it was a bad reaction to her new sleep medication. So after we escorted her to the bathroom for the old-fashioned DIY stomach pump, we figured we could let her sleep it off. Though we did keep checking to make sure she was breathing.

And the next day we teased her mercilessly about it. After all, she ddn’t remember, so we certainly had to remind her.

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Ocarina Xmas carols are happening! Which is great, except I am still indirectly allergic to my ocarina, in the sense that every time I play it I suddenly get facehugged by the cat. Either that, or I lock her out of my room—and she tries her damndedst to either batter down the door or crawl under it.

But it’s worth it to be able to play through “Jingle Bells.”

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I also owe y’all the story of Thanksgiving Weekend In Mombasa. I thought I’d written more about it before, but I suppose I hadn’t. It may take me a while to put it together, but I’m working on it!


*Also I got her address, so I can send her the awesome thing I found for her!

The first thing I found out about Disneyland was possibly the weirdest, too: I have never been there, and yet I knew my way around. No, it’s not some eerie “I’ve been here before” feeling, neither. It’s because I’ve freaking played Epic Mickey. Turns out the areas in that game weren’t just kind of inspired by Disneyland—they actually matched the layout of Main Street, New Orleans Square, Tomorrowland, etc.. It was … kinda strange, frankly.

ME: I have this overwhelming urge to squirt paint everywhere.

MY BROTHER: Me too. At least we aren’t trying to use thinner.

ME: Unless we get ambushed by that rocking Phineas and Ferb truck again. I am totally willing to melt them.

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My Favorite Spot, Unsuprisingly, Was Tomorrowland

ME: Innoventions! Dream House! I AM SO THERE!

MY BROTHER: Engineering stuff!

MY SISTER: *sad puppy eyes* Rides?

ME: THE FUTURE!

*we explore the carousel Dream House, brought to you by innovative companies of THE FUTURE buy their stuff!*

ME: Dig! Bedrooms! Of THE FUTURE!

MY BROTHER: Kitchen! Of THE FUTURE! … But where are the cake-baking robot hands?

ME: Impractical computer screen dining room table! Of THE FUTURE!

EXASPERATED CAST MEMBER: You guys realize that all this technology is available now, right?

ME: And you realize this means we’re LIVING in The Future, right?


Cast Guy was not amused. Fortunately, later we found an enthusiastic Cast Girl who was all over Living In THE FUTURE, so that’s okay.

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I kept getting drawn toward this thing. Not to ride it, just because it’s pretty. Hundertwassery, even!

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Now, since LucasArts and Disney are BFFs, there’s a harsh truth one must accept about the park: at some point, ( your ass WILL get whacked with a lightsaber. )

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( Halloween At Dizney: Beware Of Orange Thing )

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( The Haunted Mansion Manic Holiday )

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My sister wore this previously-acquired hat all week, making her darn easy to spot. There’s a sticker on the front with Peter Pan on it, which she touched up with a ballpoint pen at some point. The painstakingly written “FUCK YEAH” on it became a problem when we discovered that everyone in the universe wanted her hat. Guess they don’t make them anymore. They’d ask to examine it, and she always swept it off with a flourish so that her hand covered the sticker.

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My linguist powers tell me this is a pretty straightforward cipher. Hell, if you cross your eyes, you can read it.

This was part of the Indiana Jones ride, which my sister's buddy insisted we go on. Turns out she had good reason. Dang what a fun ride.

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ME: Say, what have we here? Looks like somebody went to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique.

SMALL PRINCESS: I did! And my fairy godmother helped me with my hair!

ME: That explains the sparkles, all right. Say, Dude, why don’t you go to the Boutique?

MY BROTHER: Because I’m wearing a hat.

ME: Nonsense. I for one completely support your transformation into Princess Sparklebeard.

MY BROTHER: Well, I would look good in a tiara.

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( These Are Definitely For Holding Toothpicks )

STORE GUY: You have a point. … I see you also bought a Mickey shirt.

ME: I couldn’t find an Oswald one.

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And, alas, that was my one regret for the trip. An Oswald shirt is even more elusive than a happy Donald shirt. But if that’s the one tragedy of the trip, then I’d say it was darn successful!

Well, this should be interesting. I just fell through the internet into a book club. Finally, somewhere in Salt Lake City, fantasy nerds are beginning to unite!

It is still a modest club; only three people RSVP’d for the first meeting tonight. The club may grow fast though, as evidenced by the exchange in the café at the beginning of the meeting:

GREEN SHIRT GUY: (to LONG-HAIRED DUDE) … Excuse me, are you here for the book club meeting?

LONG-HAIRED DUDE: No, sorry.

ME: The fantasy book club? I’m here for that!

LONG-HAIRED DUDE: Wait, you guys are in a fantasy book club?

GREEN SHIRT GUY: Well, possibly. We’re just getting started.

LONG-HAIRED DUDE: (eyes alight) That sounds … cool.

ME: So perhaps you are here for the book club after all!

LONG-HAIRED DUDE: Yes, it would seem that way.


Remember this moment, my friends. This may be the first time you’ve ever heard of a book club press gang.

Then when the other RSVP member showed up (bringing the tally to three late-twenties-early-thirties white guys and me--surprise), we talked for about forty-five minutes about our favorite books, and movies that ruined them, and what kind of other nerdly pursuits we liked. Then we remembered that we’re ostensibly a book club and decided maybe we should read a book to talk about for next time, unless we forget or don’t like it.

Definitely my kind of club.

I’m hoping it picks up steam. Even around these parts, there have got to be some geeks and nerds around to hang out with in a setting that doesn’t require polyhedral dice. * You never know!


*There is such a thing as a Mormon fantasy freak, actually—we have a surprisingly large number of spec fic authors here in Utah, many of whom aren’t Orson Scott Card, Colossal Douche, and Mormons embrace that. But none of said Mormon geeks seem interested in forming clubs outside of the ward. Why bother?

Mom brought home a whole pile of candy about two weeks ago.

“This is for Halloween,” she told me and Dad.

“Right, sure, Halloween, gotcha,” we said.

Mom brought home a replacement pile of candy today. Now taking bets on whether it lasts!

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Happy birthday, Liz! I swear, all my friends in the world were born in October. Except for acrossthelake, who was born in November.

Liz does not have a Livejournal, but you can see what she looks like in our three part tour of Utah.

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Speaking of Utah and that tour:


Hello, ladies.


Look at these rocks.


Now back to me.


Now back to the rocks.


Now back to me.

Say what you will about Utah, you can’t deny that it is fucking ORANGE.

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And now, a poll!

[Poll #1638195]

I am actually curious. Here in my neighborhood, the community always switches to Saturdays when it falls on a Sunday. I suppose you can argue that Sunday’s a School Night, but this doesn’t seem to carry over when Halloween falls on, say, a Tuesday. I’m not sure if this is standard, or if it is a Utah Thing. I know that Sundays tend to be Utah Things, but I am never sure to what extent.

Okay, I’d have to say that my favorite stage of grief so far is the one in which acrossthelake comes and bakes one a deliciously consoling cherry-chocolate cake.

I mean, is there anything cake can't make better?

All right! Got my pictures set up. I'm sure you're all dying to hear about the rest of my week, so let's start with the rest of the dinosaurs.

On Wednesday as we sat around trying to figure out what we could do before I went to work, Liz found a suggestion on the internet: the Museum of Ancient Life, a place I’ve always wanted to go to, but which just doesn’t register on my radar. So we got to be tourists together!


The lobby of the Museum of Look At These Fucking Dinosaurs Ancient Life.

The first thing was a travelin’ exhibit on light that would have been pretty cool to spend some time messing with. Unfortunately, it was overrun with kids—and while I’m glad kids are learning Science, it did make it hard to really get around.

After that was a long pointless black tunnel with blue Christmas lights on that wavelength that my glasses apparently refract so that they look 3-D. It was supposed to suggest The Beginning Of The Universe, but I admit I was a little worried that at the end of the tunnel John Cleese would request my liver.


There was a lot to see, but goddamn this is petrified lightning. (Okay, so it’s sand fused by a lightning strike. THE POINT STANDS.)


There were tons of fossil displays and plastic replicas of what those fossils looked like pre-fossil.

This may help explain why I am suspicious of seafood. In my experience, ocean life is something you find embedded in the middle of a rock, and it hasn’t technically been life for quite a while.


I want whoever made this exhibit to do my room.


I really love leaf impressions in rocks.


Boy, that ichthyosaurus sure makes an impression! WAHAHAHAHA I crack myself up.

But despite all this ancient life, we all know what the real theme of this museum is, right?

( LOOK AT THESE FUCKING DINOSAURS )

Well, I’ll be. Thanks to Liz, I am actually finding myself interested in Utah history as Pioneer Day approaches.

Of course, here I am thinking more of the kind of history that our ancestors did not record because, for one thing, they did not have opposable thumbs.

Yes. Tuesday was the Utah Museum of Natural History. Today was the follow-up, the Utah Museum of Look At These Fucking Dinosaurs. I had forgotten that we had this museum because I am a complete idiot and also because for some unfathomable reason I had never been there before.

I HAVE NOW. And I have pictures, but they will have to wait until perhaps this weekend, because tomorrow we are headed off the grid to Moab for a few days. I’m going to try for a hat trick while we’re down there—if it’s not hotter than an atom bomb, I will take her out to Klondike Bluffs and we can look around for the dinosaur footprint I crashed the front wheel of my bike into once. See y’all later!

Damn. Trying to look up nice cheap hotels in Moab because MY BUDDY LIZ IS COMING TO VISIT and she deserves to see more of Utah than the Great Tub o’ Sea Monkeys Salt Lake. The internet, however, is not cooperating, so perhaps I’ll do that tomorrow.

But at least I got a few days off from work already!* I can at least hang out with her.

I’m kind of ridiculously excited. I haven’t seen Liz since we graduated from college, though before that we spent four years as the best of pals. It’s strange how that works, innit? And it’s not like we stopped being friends after that—hell, I’m ridiculously excited that she’s coming. We’re just sort of … geographically separated.

But! Now she’s coming and I get to act like a little kid and show her all the things I like about this place! My brother even wants to come hang out if we do our mini road trip. Granted, if the internet doesn’t work we may have to camp out in Moab, but by god no matter what it’s gonna be fun.


*And got descent upon by another coworker who smells days off like a shark smells blood. She seemed to feel that 6:45 this morning was a good time to call me and ramblingly tried to negotiate a trade in hours. Yes, that coworker. At this point I’ve decided it is worth losing hours if I don’t have to deal with her.

Hey everyone! It's kadharonon's birthday! Yay!

Last night I managed to get my buddy Heather—you may remember my buddy Heather, the nicest person in the world—completely addicted to Avatar: The Last Airbender. After I assured her that there was no questionable content in it and in fact it’s a kids’ show, we spent a good three hours watching through it.

We’re still on season one, so I have yet to convince her that Uncle General Iroh is a god damn badass GQ motherfucker,* and she’s still dubious of my claim that Zuko’s character arc through the series is, in my conservative opinion, one of the greatest ever written.** Right now they’re just a goofy old fat guy and a bratty wounded teenage antagonist.

BUT SOON SHE WILL SEE THE LIGHT. She’ll be going back to school in Southern Utah in a couple of days, but she has asked if she can come over when I’m done with work tomorrow to finish the first season.

She is a little worried that she’s making me watch something I’ve seen before. “You have no idea how happy I am to have an excuse to,” I told her.

So I’m hoping Saturday will be Avatar Party 2: The Writers Realize How Cool This Show Can Be, And So Does Heather. And if she doesn’t make it, don’t tell anyone, but I may have to just watch it again. For … completeness. Yes. That’s right.


*Partly because one does not use such tawdry language around Heather. Hell, even “Iroh is a gosh darn cool GQ mothereffer” may be too saucy for her, but cleaning it up completely sort of loses something.

**No, really. Redemption, finding one’s own path, coming of age—they’re old tropes, but never have I seen it executed better.