Steamcon in Review!

So I've noted this blog is on something of a down note and so have decided to update on my day at Steamcon ahead of the wedding so as to somewhat lighten the tone around here, because Steamcon was a good freaking time.

Steamcon was, as you may be able to deduce from the name, was a convention for Steampunk held allegedly in Seattle but actually at Sea-Tac (which explains why I only went one day, do you have any idea how long it takes to get from a small burg north of the Seattle to Sea-Tac by bus?). Steampunk, for the unaware, is a sub-genre of sci-fi that posists what it would have been like if various advanced sci-fi-ish technologies had emerged in the age of the steam engine. Mainstream examples include Wild Wild West, Brisco County Jr., and Warehouse 13, despite this almost all Steampunk is set in Victorian England and tends to include goggles, zeppelins, and references to Tesla. This all makes steampunks some of the most entertaining history nerds around, for serious.

So I went to Steamcon on Friday, weekdays being when the buses are not completely stupid, and spent most of the day going to panels, because I'm a nerd like that. I had a pretty awesome time, some notably nerdy conversations, including a debate about weather the Russo-Japanese war was won mostly because Russia was incompetent or mostly because Japan was awesome, learned about some of the craziest discarded scientifical thingies, and most important learned how to use my fan to communicate to the help without having to speak to them. Actually the best part of the little class I went to on the language of fans was learning that there was a signal to one's friends and family that means "save me from this boorish oaf who will not leave me alone and is just not getting the signal". I think we should revive this practice, for serious. I also learned that in the language of flowers grass means "homosexual love", that's right, grass is the gayest of flowers.
I am kind of sad I didn't go back for the rest of the weekend but first, the buses from north of Seattle to Sea-Tac on the weekend are completely stupid and it would have been a four hour round trip and second and most important, that I had spent the day in stupid shoes and was functionally hobbled. In any case I am looking forward to the next one.

PS: GRE Update: I may totally fail the math part but I haven't missed a single question in the review for verbal and know all the words the Sparknotes expects no one to know (also by the way, Sparknotes' GRE review really is the best overall).

Brain Sucker!; or Studying for the GRE's

So I still have lots to write about, and I probably will get to it all, but these past few weeks most of my brain power has been consumed studying for the GRE's, which I take in about two weeks. More specifically, all my brain power has been consumed studying for the Math section, because ohmigod. I have two major problems, and the first at least is something everyone goes through which is that all the math in the GRE is stuff I haven't cared or thought about in at least six years, the hardest math is stuff I learned to do in Algebra 2, or sophomore year of High School so I am groping to remember all these equations and processes that I haven't used in forever, and not to mention all the little math facts, like how one isn't a prime number and crap about dividing fractions. I think practice will iron that out so I bought a workbook, which in the true spirit of test prep was heinously overpriced.

My second problem is deeper and more vexing, which is that the GRE doesn't allow the use of even the simplest calculator and I never learned my multiplication tables past three (well, I learned five), and even that mostly involves me doing some of addition in my head. I don't know if I've mentioned it but I am actually extremely dyslexic. I wasn't actually expected to learn how to read at all, but I did, well below grade level until fifth grade when they had this book contest in school where you got points for every book you read and take a little quiz on, and harder books were worth more. My smug little neighbor boy used to come over and taunt me about what books he was reading and how he was going to win the thirty dollar gift certificate to Book Stop that I so coveted. I read every book he did plus one at the same level for each and ended up getting three times as many points as he, my nearest competitor in the school, did and by the end of it I could read at a tenth grade level. My brain had somewhere along the way rewired itself so as to compensate for the dyslexia and now I probably wouldn't be able to test as dyslexic if I tried (inconvenient as the GRE is the first reason I've ever had to want to). The result of this is that during elementary school I couldn't do Math. I was lucky in some schools to have teachers and principals who understood and one year I was even put in the gifted math program where they were working with non-written math systems like Sumerian clay tablets and abacuses (maybe I should ask the GRE people if I could bring in an abacus). Since the problem was writing I did really well at that. Third grade however was terrible, like always, I was in a new school and the previous year I had been in gifted math and I was failing math in my new teacher's class and for some reason she was rather convinced I was doing it just to spite her, since I could obviously do math if I was in the gifted program. The way she taught us multiplication tables was to get us to memorize them then we had one minute to work out a sheet of multiplication problems, first all the ones times table, then two, then three. We only got a new number when we finished the previous one and I spent two months on three and never passed four. I only finished three when I learned I could add three to the previous number (so I got 2*3=6, then added 3 for the answer nine to the next slot and eventually I figured out how to do all that addition in under a minute). So I wasn't even exposed to the multiplication tables above four, five is easy so I quickly learned that one, and somewhere along the line someone explained to me that any number times nine is that number times ten minus itself so I usually get those right but for most numbers I just have to add them up. So to figure out 8*8 for instance I will remember that 8*5=40, then add 8 to that 3 more times, or 6*7 has me thinking, 3*7 is 21 and 2*3 is six, so 21 plus 21 is forty two. Which is the sort of lateral math thinking that the GRE, in theory, rewards. As should be no real surprise with multistep problems that require lots of multiplication and division, all I have to do is make one simple mistake and I am sunk on a problem I completely understand and know how to do. It's like being in third grade all over again, where I understand the math, I know what it means and how to do it, but the numbers mess me up and so I worry that I am going to get a terrible score and not be able to get into a grad school for Library Science where I will only ever need to do the simplest of math and never be denied a pocket calculator (with which I am perfectly capable of doing really hard, tricky, complex math because the sad and horrible fact is that I am actually very good at math, but terrible with numbers). Maybe I should just give up this Library thing and become a street busker.

Not an Update

I was planning on posting this long update about the wedding, Steamcon, and other thoughts on life, but then my computer crashed, as I try to turn it on but it says there is no hard drive. I can not even load a live CD, because it starts to give me error messages about not being able to find the boot scripts. It is still under warranty, but I doubt that will help since I had the teremity to buy it pre-loaded with Linux, and despite the fact that Dell will sell laptops that way they will not support it and I am pretty sure this is a software issue. Now, if I dropped it off a balcony they would replace it, of it was stolen they would replace it, but they can't be fixing any software problems.

Lock and Load.

I have not blogged in awhile. I was extremely sick for a week or so. It turns out you can only fail to do anything sanitizing to an outdoor jacuzzi for about 5 months before it is no longer a good idea to use it, and I had an infection in both ears, which feels far worse than it seems like it should. I spent a week hoping it would get better on it's own, then woke up in pain at three in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. This lead to some desperate early morning research wherein I discovered that there is a local clinic where one can get treatment for a not unreasonable amount of money. Can I just take a moment to say how much it sucks to not have insurance. I mean, if I had insurance I would have gone to the doctor a day or two after I became ill, because it was obvious to me I had an ear infection and required medication, but instead I spent a week doing precisely nothing but laying around watching TV on Hulu and reading Jane Austen novels, which is not good for employment and getting insurance.
Anyway, since then I have been busy. My brother is getting married this weekend, not in December as I originally thought, and I apparently volunteered to cater the thing. I have no recollection of this. I also had to make my dress for the reception. So I've been doing that, and all the things I put off doing in a week. and I clearly am about to snap.
Okay, not really, but I think this picture makes me look like it, sort of a pre-Carrie moment. I feel like I should have a sawed off shotgun packed under that wide skirt.
Also, I'm being stalked.
I got a letter from the LDS "member location" service. Doesn't that sound like it should involve a lot more crazy search-and-rescue type stuff? Anyway, apparently my records got bounced to Mormon HQ and they tracked me down. I got a letter asking if I am in fact myself and if I am to please send it back and say so. The best part of this* is the options you are given: 1)I am this person, 2)I am this person but at a different adress (in which case how did you get the letter) 3)I am not this person, I am their relative, here allow me to rat them out 4) I am not this person, what are you talking about?
I love the relative ratting you out option, at least partially because this is why I think I was stalked and not told on my one of my siblings. Apparently they take your relatives word for it without needing to consult you, so if it was them, I wouldn't be getting this letter. I am going to send it back, and you know, own up to being me. I will feel slightly guilty because I will suddenly become some bishop's statistical problem, and I will be the problem that lives across the freaking street, which means someone will probably come by to bother me. However, if I get lost in administrative record limbo my chances of getting excommunicated go down to zero, and I've always wanted to be excommunicated. I have no idea what it says about me that this is my actual motivation.

*Excepting of course the last paragraph which passive-aggressively explains how to find your ward, because obviously the reason for your non-attendance is not eing able to find a ward, yep, no other possible reason.

Required Reading for Femmes: The Lingerie Handbook

Now, I'm not necessarily making an organized or coherent list of required reading for femmes, but if I was The Lingerie Handbook, which I just finished reading, would definitely have to be on there, for several simple reasons. First, it's pink and about frilly underthings. Duh. Second, it is a really and truly excellent guide to all things lingerie, including a thorough and very sensible guide to bra fitting. For instance, I learned that cup size is not truly standardized beyond a D cup, which explains so much about my personal bra fitting woes, seriously. She also explains that while there is certainly a standard size chart for bras, it's only effective for getting you into a size ball park and you must try on every bra you buy (okay, you can buy two different colors of the same style from the same manufacturer and only try on the one color, unless the manufacturer is freaking weird, a possibility I wouldn't discount outright). It also includes instructions for the care and storage of lingerie, complete guides to different styles of different types of items, and sensible explanations of various lingerie quandaries.

However where this book truly shines is in terms of inspiration and writing style. First, the writing style is freaking adorable. Rebecca Aspen alternates just the right use of frankness and discretion, honesty and coquettishness, in such a way as to be a marker of great writing and great lingerie alike. Aspen also inspires her reader to break out the nice stuff more often and to say goodbye to ugly panties. She makes the excellent point that nice underwear just makes the day feel more special, makes you feel more confident, and means that should the oppurtunity for showing your undies come around, you needn't refuse because you're wearing stretched out faded cotton boyshorts. In fact reading this inspired me a)to buy a few new bras and get rid of the ones that had seen better days and b)organize my undie carryon suitcase*. This led me to the shocking realization that I actually have quite a few very cute sets of undies, in fact I have a whole wardrobe of be-frilled and laced panties yet most days see me wearing cheap, poorly fitting cotton boyshorts bought in packs of four from Target. In fact, I realized I had panties as old as two years that I had scarecly worn twice, which is a stupid waste, especially since I genuinely enjoy having nice underthings on. Now I just need to make myself more cute slips (I have one or two), camisoles, and maybe a pair of tap pants and I will genuinely have a respectable collection of lingerie.
Anyway, enough about me and my personal underpants related nerouses, some other reasons to get this book:
1. The models are freaking adorable. Seriously every picture in this book makes me think that that girl is having so much fun, sort of the attitudinal opposite of the smoldering Victoria Secret model, we have the truly fun and happy lingerie models (of varying shapes, sizes, and, notably, ethnicities) here.
This was the best shot from the book excerpt on Google books, but far from the best in the book, does she not look like she's having fun, and it takes some serious skillz to rock shapewear.
2. You may have someone in your life interested in buying you lingerie and they may or may not have any idea what the're doing. Keep this around to explain the difference between a balconette and a demi-cup, or french knickers and tap pants (subtle, that one).
3. Did I mention that it's pink and about frilly underthings?

*I don't have a dresser. My clothes are in shelves on the closet and my socks and undies are in my carry-on suitcase, folded open on the floor of the closet.

The Windows to Your Soul

They say eyes are the windows to one's soul, but personally I find the contents of one's handbag to be far more revelatory. For instance did you know that all Queen Elizabeth II carries in that enormous handbag is sugar cubes for her ,children horses? Not even a wallet, keys, or checkbook. That my friends is privilege. Personally I carry around basically my whole life in an overburdened shoulder bag. Many people I meet wonder what I could possibly need and Mary Poppins jokes are frequent (although as a nanny I carried around way more stuff since I needed a mini first-aid kit, pocket tissues, and books to amuse the children as an additional minimum). So in the interest of the sort of full disclosure on which blogs thrive, here is my life in a handbag.

Here is the bag itself, or anyway this is my usual bag. It has enough room to hold anything I may want to carry, up to and including occasionally needed things, such as up to six novels that need to be returned to/ have just been checked out from the library, a few small purchases, or my current knitting.My basic nessecities which all of us (save European royalty) basically need. My cell phone, wallet, current house and bike lock keys, my Puget Sound mass transit card, and a notebook for shopping lists, fabric swatches (when I need to buy matching notions), bus and/or walking directions, and quick nessacary notes of such a sort.
Necessities for the well-bred lady or secret assassin: passport (for any short notice trips to Canada or further, but normally used to prove I really was an undocumented guest worker in a minor European country), swiss army knife, bobby pins (for McGyvering small and large, I wouldn't use them in my hair, As we all learned from Burn Notice a bobby pin may be the world's most useful tool, for everything from picking a lock to disabling a weapon), hairpins for emergency buns, a fan (useful for everything from cooling off, creating a small island of shade, to, if House of Flying Daggers is secretly a documentary, stopping a sword), handkerchief, Jane Austen themed address book, and reading glasses.
Small grooming needs: mints (apparently ram-flavored),a least three kinds of lip gloss, lip laquer being my favorite, collapsible hairbrush with mirror, matchbook nail files, mini deodorant, and powder foundation.
Reading for me and thee. My current bus reading is the latest issue of piecework magazine, recently though I've been reading though the trades of Fables, good stuff. I also keep a couple of current mark catalog for selling to people or leaving discreetly in public locations.
I have no idea why I keep lugging these around: including a map of Bainbridge island, various other flyers, a list of environmentally friendly seafood, a mineral makeup compact which I don't use any more as I find it clumply, messy to use, and chalky looking, every student id, loyalty card, gift card, appointment card, etc I have ever recieved. I am always thinking, ah but I may need this one day. It's a sickness.

So what's in your bag? I considered making this a meme but realized I could not predict who would find it interesting a fun and who would find it tedious, so I invite you to post you purse contents and track back*.

*Which you do by posting a link to this post within your own post, mom.
Cross-posted at Varina's Costume Shop and Haberdashery.

WFD: Wendsday

In this case WFD stands for "What's for desert?" which happens to be Blackberry cobbler.
Okay you caught me. I actually ate this for breakfast. Anyway.
Monday I went out to pick blackberries, which I had been meaning to do for a few weeks. I was hoping to get one last batch of jam in, but it simply wasn't happening. The season is almost over and all I could get was about two cups of good berries, which means cobbler. Cobbler is simple and delicious, especially if you aren't terribly picky. My dough is 1 cup of flour mixed with a half teaspoon salt and a third of a cup sugar, then cut in a quarter of a cup of cold butter (I use my fingers to mix it) until it's well incorporated and the dough looks like clumpy sand. Then I like to add liquor, at least 80 proof. It doesn't bind with flour so you can add a lot of liquid for a super easy to work with dough but still have it turn out light and flaky. Ideally the liquor is either neutral or complementary. This was a bit of a problem since I don't have vodka (making pie crust is probably the only thing I would ever use it for...maybe I should get one of those half bottles), gin would be weird, and I felt the smoky oaky flavor of bourbon would be too much so I went with the most neutral spirit I have... Candian Club whiskey, about a third-1/2 a cup of it. The flavor was in fact just neutral enough to mostly cook out. Anyway, then wrap the crust in plastic and park it in fridge for at least twenty minutes. I just tossed my berries in the bottom of a pie pan, gave them a bare sprinkling of sugar and a heavy splash of cassis. Then pre-heat the oven to 450, roll out the dough and cover the berries with it, throw in the oven and turn it down to 425 and cook about 35 minutes, or until crust is golden brown and non-alcoholic. Then let it cool a few minutes before eating with a spoon while reading comic books and drinking soy milk, or whatever your personal breakfast routine is.