Well, we giggled quite a bit

thanks Santa!

High C

So, you know how sometimes you are singing, and you want to hold a note really long, just to keep up with the song you are mimicking or whatever, and you can feel the air depleting from your lungs, but you are stubborn and know you can just keep going if you stay calm and focus? And you go go go and the end is kinda wheezy, but you made it way further than you thought before your voice actually petered out?

That is how life has been these past few weeks, and not unpleasantly so. Hello holidays and your parties and baking and holiday charity shopping and oh, that thing called work... I have been spinning right round, complete with impromptu sleepovers (thanks T and Co!) and weekend guests (salud Mish and Crosby!) and not to forget airport pick-ups, drop-offs, and seeing 2012.

And then one night, picking up odds and ends at Ross to finish up the Adopt-a-Family project my work was doing, I felt the wheezing. The proverbial air was waning waning in my lungs, and I was running on fumes. This occurred to me in the jackets aisle. And so I pushed on, focusing intently, and finished what I was doing, put gas in the car, and came home...

... and now have the worst cold I have had in a long long time (it was, indeed, inevitable). In fact, my actual wheezing self managed to make it to my niece's Nutcracker performance today, but Tequila Night is a no go. No, no, it is not the swine... but holy hell, this is sucktastic.

And now, let me enlighten you with some pictorial representations of my path to said cold. Consider these photos my loooooooong drawn out note. Beyonce ain't got nuthin on me!

------ and go and yes and heart

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) ee cummings

right on, target

Think you're being funny do ya?

Love it. Embrace.

Extremities

This morning, I was at a field site at 9AM in Pacifica. The temperature was 39 degrees, and the wind was blowing blowing blowing. So not enthused about having to be there, the engineer and I sat in his big truck, waiting for the others. All together, we tried to stay in patches of sun as we walked through tall weeds, deluding ourselves that made a difference. The last huge wind storm toppled a Monterey Pine, which then crushed one of the abandoned buildings there. A shame really; the crushed side of the building had been home to one of the largest bee hives I have ever seen. Honeycomb was scattered everywhere, but there were no dead bees. By the end of the visit, I could not feel my hands. They were numb appendages, dry and cracked, that eventually began to burn in the car's warmer air.

Skip forward four more hours of work, laundry, and various phone calls, and you'll find me sitting in a leather cushion chair at the nail salon by my house. My arms and legs have been moisturized and massaged. My feet are up, toenails prettily painted. There is a pillow on my lap upon which my hands with pretty painted nails rest. Also on that pillow is a tiny heater, whose hum is soothing and who blows warm air on my hands.

I am asleep.

I wake and laugh with the ladies that work there. I kept emphasizing WARM. I asked if I could just sleep the night there. They laughed, shaking their heads.

Mt. Diablo, you vixen!

also? BRRRRRRR.

"..."

"It would be nice if morality were black and white, and sexuality were black and white, and right and wrong were clear as day and night, but they're simply not. Anybody who believes and experiences their life and doesn't have shades of gray in it doesn't live where I live and is simply not in touch with the reality of the human condition."

-Alexis Denisof

love moments in the past week or so...

her hair.

this photo.

their smit looks.

these people.

this boy.

So I says to meself

(scene? Target.
intent? A few random knick knacks for Christmas, a doily and some water.
conversation? See below.)

Me: Oooh, hey, that's a cute sweater. Pick that up.
Me: Oooh. Look at that notebook. It's recycled! Perfect for work. Get rid of those post-its. I'll get 2!
Me: Oooh hey, check this out. A red plaid flannel vest with a fur trim hood! Sure, it's a bit Forever 21, but whatevs. Put me in coach. I'm warm and COZY....
Me: I should try all this on. (time lapse) Sweet. Cuteness.

Me: Hmmmm...

Me: I didn't come in for any of this...I have a lot of sweaters and this one looks kind of young which makes sense since I picked it up in the kid's section. I should really stop doing that. Huh. $8. I don't really neeeeeed this..... (setting it down). Okay. Right. No go.
Me: And I definitely don't need TWO notebooks. $4? One is fine.

Me: Hmmmm....

Me: (holding red plaid vest with furry hood, face a little sad but contemplative) and I HAVE two vests already, and one IS red, although definitely not that cozy. Huh. $15. K. Um. Well. Shoot. (Puts down on random rack and runs away) (really).
Me: Phew. Away from temptation. I win! None of those were very expensive though.... but wait. (mental math) Dude. I just saved myself like $25! By not purchasing!

Me:.....


Me: So that's how that works.

hekyll and jyde

"Cancer Strength (Ace of Pentacles) To affect change in the world, we must first make that change in ourselves. It’s easy to profess what’s right and wrong, but not so easy to be an example of these convictions. There are periods in life when you must account for your behavior, and, even more importantly, your contradictions. A frustrating situation is currently offering you this opportunity. Refrain from controlling things and you’ll uncover an area of vulnerability. This area is asking to be developed, so “walk your talk” and be proactive in your efforts to change."

My initial response to this horoscope was "screw you!" followed by "sigh" and then a memory. When I was at summer camp, I tie-dyed this shirt I had that was old and tattered, a real favorite. The shirt said, written every which way in the funky early nineties fashion, "To really make change, you must first change your mind." At the time, 8th grade me considered myself enlightened and profound, thoughtful and deep. Now, in photos, it just looks like a slightly idealistic baggy tshirt.

That summer at camp, we would sneak through the fence to the creek, and Teddy would have his guitar (he played so incredibly well). A group of us would hang out by the barely flowing water, not really doing anything aside from being together, and I lay there, staring up at the waving leaves of cottonwood. The sound of the leaves, all blowing and rustling, was poignant and drifted in and out of the guitar sound. Me to myself: "Remember this."

(remembering)

Update:

and so he's gone to Austin

(but he'll be back)

Secret Identities

by dayby night

Years create more beauty and swoon

Seriously.

dead arms! but also, sad.

boo.
Joss comments, teases here.

I had a moment this morning, but then crosby sent me this, and everything was better.

Harry Potterama

Pumpkin pasties and Cauldron cakes. Gryffindor banners. The errant Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Yes.

Shiny covers with horseys and moons

About nineteen years ago, my sister handed eleven-year old me a book called Eye of the World, by Robert Jordan. She had read it, and knowing I was a blossoming sci-fi nerd, she figured that I would enjoy the epic adventure. And I did. The Wheel of Time series promised longevity (a series! exciting for the young reader...) and entertainment in the form of magic, evil and good (and messy lines between the two), and just enough romance to add a softer side. Days and Years pass, and we kept on reading through book five, through book nine, through book....every book was between 500-1,000 pages and really, how far is this going to go?

The eleventh book, Knife of Dreams was published in 2005 --- and then silence. Alas, Robert Jordan died of illness in 2007, and along with the sadness of his passing was the curiosity of what now? The last battle approaches... but who will write it? What if we have invested all these years only to never know what happens to Rand and Mat and Perrin and Egwene and Nynaeve? (insert head spinning)..... and sigh, oh rest easy, Brandon Sanderson, another sci-fi fantasy author, has gathered all of Jordan's notes and blurbs and pieced together the final novel, which is actually a trilogy now (of course, why be brief?), due to be released 2009-2011.

And so, I am rereading the entire freaking series because after four years of silence, I cannot remember details and plot lines, and frankly, wikipedia plot summaries just don't do it for me. I have a vested interest in this series, and owe it to the 12 year old leslie, the 17 year old leslie, and now, the thirty year old leslie, to be thorough in my commitment and enjoyment. And Really? I totally feel like I'm hiding up in my pre-teen room, avoiding chores like picking up walnuts or washing the dog, reading reading reading curled up on my daybed with photos and poems and tietyed banners hanging up on my walls. I can almost hear my mom calling me to dinner for the umpteenth time and my sister in the next room listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Back to my literary roots I go, with banners held high, all the way up to now, a literal time warp. Who knew, eleven year old taking book from older sister's hands, that the story would follow me, only to be finished over twenty years later?

(Added note: I'm curious to see how I feel about this series this go around. Most of the books I read before I was out of high school, when Jordan was more prolific and hadn't yet decided to drag the series on without end. Since that time, I have read a ton more within this genre, including Tolkien. I can already tell they pull from the same Nordic folklore influences, although perhaps Jordan in a bit more clunky fashion. Anyway. Now I am REALLY displaying my geekdom for all to see and should probably reserve this topic for a later date when I can give it it's proper due)

'bout to head out [to the TC show]

Cheers and Happy Halloween! loveleslie

smashed pumpkin [sans wine bottle]

Happy Halloween and we are all now running for the Golden Gate Bridge so that we are not stuck in the North Bay. Again. Zoom zoom!

furthermore [a comparison]

The larger photo was taken of the emergency bridge repair while I was on a tour of the Bay Bridge (new and old) a few weeks ago. Andrew (also on the tour) juxtaposed it with an AP photo of the repair piece after it fell onto the upper deck. You can see the damaged truck in the background; thank goodness no one was seriously hurt.

7:10 AM [bay bridge closed]

From Diamond Heights, San Francisco, Ca. It was too beautiful not to stop.

[the best show] you aren't watching.

There is a show and it is good. There is a show that is good and no one is watching. There is a show that is good that no one is watching except for some die-hard fans. There is a show that is good that no one except hardcore geeks are watching and I want you to know that it is quality television, wedged onto a crappy Friday night spot so people don't even know they are missing it.

Do I sit at home and watch this rad show on Fridays? Not usually. But I do watch it on Saturday on Hulu.com, which also counts to their ratings.

Show? Show? What show. Dollhouse.

It's smart. It's witty. It's chock full of moral dilemmas and fun banter and oh so pretty people. Watching it makes me want to work out and be my best. Watching it also makes me want to get super smart and learn how to wipe people's brains clean and insert other personalities and abilities like kung fu or how to make creme brulee. Or both. Who knows when you need a specific skill. I'm just saying.

Why do people watch? Check out why here: Why I watch

Why are people skeptical? Check out a critics bittersweet parable journey here: Cry Wolf

see? pretty.
(Fridays 9pm, Fox)

neil says hi [by the way]

Found this here along with a slough of other cool Neil Gaiman genre stuff. Art begets art.

spider (in my window)

(NOTE: I tried resizing, but it may take a moment to buffer....)

Small spiders spinning webs on the outside of my window. I watch them eat gnats and flies and marvel at their grace and efficiency. So fast! So succinct! And then this [insert name of rather large beetle yet to be identified] lands in the web of this [insert name of medium sized steadily growing because he/she is eating so well spider]. I was like, hey little spider dude, that guy is way bigger than you and looks like he could impale you with his antennae and such. But little spider dude was like, Leslie, you doubt me? Don't you know how super strong my web is? This web I weave is wicked.

And I'm sure it is. Large [yet to be identified crazy antennae beetle] eventually works his way free, free-falling and flying or whatever, but not before some serious tete a tete. Poor spider dude. That was dinner fo a year.

Mystery (one [postal])

Three-wheeled Mail Collection Motorcycle; Unidentified photographer; c. 1912: USA
National Postal Museum; U.S. Mail Trucks; Image ID: A.2006-74

One day, a couple years ago, I mailed a letter. Not an important letter, just a note to my sister about something or other with possibly a mail clipping. We occasionally still do that, internet/email bedamned. So, I was in a hurry when I sent this letter, signing it quickly in the return address area "lel." Just "lel." Nothing else. I dropped it in the blue mailbox on the corner near my house, and went on my merry, hurried way to work.

Jump forward a month. I open my mailbox in the foyer of my apartment building. Junk mail, weeklys, junk mail, credit card.... what's this? Oh, the letter to my sister. Crap, I'm an idiot and forgot to put a stamp on it. Pfffft. I wandered up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, mentally sorting recycling, and formulating a plan to give the letter to my sister that weekend when I saw her... when it struck me.

I looked at the letter again. Sure, no stamp, but also? No Return Address. No Return Address!!! The letter said "lel." Not my full name, or even just my last name. LEL! K. Thinking. Hm. Maybe they traced to my....no. I dropped in it the general blue mailbox on the corner outside the dry cleaners. How did it end up back in my mailbox? How did they know? Um. Huh.

I have never figured this out. To this day, baffled. I give my mystery to you. If anyone has any idea how this amazing feat of postalness happened, I would love to know. Otherwise, I will just conclude the postal service employs wizards.

writing wenches

Joyce moved to South Carolina. So now, our writing group involves skype. Shenanigans ensue.

we meet in random cities [portland]