Hi, I'm Jennifer, and I'm a squealing fangirl...

AAAAAAAAND now I can die happy. Seriously.

When your first-ever openly lesbian fangirl crush Tweets back to you, that's a game-changing moment, people. Jeri Ryan, you are truly a class act. Who says Star Trek can't change lives?

A Wondrous Word

This has been a very busy week for me--I spent Monday with my little SuperPreschooler, yesterday chasing housing possibilities and doing some DIY around my friend's basement, where I'm staying right now, and today is about filling out endless paperwork for the government--so there's been virtually no reading. As I have no new words to offer for Wondrous Words Wednesday, I thought I would let you in on a little secret that you may not know about the very word "secret," as well as the word "secrete."

I discovered this fact several years ago, thanks to my obsessive Anglophile viewing habits, while watching the delightful little British comedy, The Thin Blue Line. Rowan Atkinson (of Mr. Bean fame) stars as the senior officer in a local British police constabulary, and in the episode entitled The Queen's Birthday Present, has the following exchange during a training exercise with one Constable Goody.

(Atkinson): Walk towards me. Oops, I do beg your pardon.
(Subordinate): - It's quite all right, sir.
Not all right for you, I fear, Goody, because I have relieved you of the contents of your pocket. In this case, a Mars bar. Constable Goody, a Mars bar is scarcely police equipment, is it?
- No, sir.
"No, sir," indeed, sir. Are there any other items of confectionery secreted about your person?
-No, sir. 
And by that you mean?
-I've got a Curly Wurly in my truncheon pouch.
In that case, get it out before it melts and soils the queen's trousers.
-It's not going to melt, is it? It's going to get eaten.
Great jangling jehovah, it is not! I've never heard of such a thing. I will not have my officers gorging themselves whilst on duty. Hand it over. Now sit down.

(Text courtesy of the site Springfield! Springfield!)

The implication of this dialog is as follows:

1. The word "secrete" has two completely unrelated meanings. The first is that we usually think of, i.e. an organism producing a chemical of some kind. For example, the human body secretes endorphins into the bloodstream when we experience pain, to help us cope with the discomfort. The second meaning, however, involves hiding something away in the hope that others won't discover it.

2. "Secret" is a very common noun--"I have a secret."--and we are all familiar with its adjectival form, as well, e.g. "We have a secret plan to give Bob a 40th birthday party." However, it also has a verb form, namely "to secrete," to hide something away. If you already knew that, forgive me for spending so much time on repeat information. But if you didn't, I think you'll agree with me that our wonderful language never ceases to surprise.

Happy wording!

Sister Fidelma Goes to Whitby

Absolution by Murder
by Peter Tremayne

Honestly, I have very mixed emotions about this little mystery novel. It is set at and during one of the most important events in the history of Christianity in the British Isles, a famous local council known as the Synod of Whitby.

St Hilda, shown holding
her abbey at Whitby

Some of my favorite saints in the early British church were involved in this synod, the subject of which was to determine whether or not the Christians of Britain would fall into line with liturgical and ecclesiastical practices promulgated by Rome. I especially admire St. Hilda of Whitby, abbess of a monastic establishment that housed both men and women; she was an amazing and formidable figure, as were many of the others who participated in the council.

Ruins of the Abbey of Whitby
Photo by Hugh Chappell

Indeed, this whole event is one of my favorites in British history (even though I can easily wax romantically nostalgic about the elements of Celtic Christianity that began to disappear as a direct result), which confirms my Geek status for life. So I loved reading this novel about it, but felt very ambivalent about some aspects of the author's handling of it, and especially his characterizations of some of the historical figures involved.

As a mystery, this book is acceptable, about average, but the starring sleuth, Sister Fidelma of Ireland, is quite an enjoyable character. She is an attorney, of all things, a legal expert recognized in the medieval Irish courts. Who knew that women could do such things in 7th-century Ireland? Sister Fidelma was a lot of fun; the rest of the book was readable, but not exemplary.

A Few Facts About Fibonacci

The Man of Numbers: Fibonacci's Arithmetic Revolution
by Keith Devlin

I will freely admit that before reading this book, the only thing I knew about its subject was the famous "Fibonacci sequence" or "Fibonacci numbers," but for the record, I would like it to be noted that I knew about them LONG before Dan Brown launched The Da Vinci Code against the defenseless public.

Fibonacci's numbers often express themselves
in nature in extraordinary ways.
Photo by Alvesgaspar and modified by RDBury

So I learned a great deal while reading this one, and actually found it very interesting. First off, the man's name was actually Leonardo Pisano filius Bonacci, "Leonardo of Pisa, son of Bonacci," and "Fibonacci" is a contraction of the final phrase.  Obviously, the brain adjusts quickly to the author consistently referring to his subject as "Leonardo," but for the first few pages, I frequently thought, "Who?!", and had to reset my mind.

Secondly, despite what the subtitle might suggest, Devlin is very clear about the fact that Leonardo Pisano did not invent modern arithmetic. In this work, we travel through an overview of the development of our basic numeral system, i.e. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, as it evolved in India, Persia, and the Arabic-speaking Middle East. We then encounter Leonardo, the son of a merchant from Pisa, whose father brought him along to a post in Islamic North Africa. There Leonardo first encountered the calculation systems that would evolve into algebra, geometry, and the four basic functions of modern arithmetic. Having finished his apprenticeship in mercantile trade, Leonardo brought these concepts back to Pisa, published them in a book designed to be accessible to other members of the merchant class, and quietly ignited a revolution in the mental structures of medieval Europe.

I felt that Keith Devlin overemphasized the need to prove his assertions about Leonardo a bit, but it was at least a refreshing change to read such a work from a scholar, who felt the need to offer some support for his work, rather than someone who provides enormous, fulsome statements as fact. I didn't understand every word of this book--anyone who knows me can testify that I am certainly no mathematician!--but I certainly came away with a knowledge of how much the Western world owes to one medieval thinker who became the conduit for math to countless generations.

I Actually Review a Book!

Reflections of Osiris: Lives from Ancient Egypt
by John Ray

Okay, I really enjoyed reading this book--as long-time followers will not be surprised to hear--so let me enumerate its weaknesses before I dive into any immoderate praise. The author attempted to tell the story of the history of ancient Egypt by making each new chapter a brief biography of an individual Egyptian--king, priest, or peasant--about whom we know something unusual, or the knowledge of whose existence has survived to modern times because an extraordinary document was discovered. As a result, the entire book feels somewhat disjointed, and the eponymous attempt to use Osiris (Egyptian god of the dead/underworld) as the common link for all those highlighted is weak, almost an afterthought in practice, though it works in principle if you already know a bit about the Egyptian theology of the afterlife.

Neith
(image by Jeff Dahl)

Now for the fun stuff. The scholarly author has an enjoyably readable style, and most importantly by far, I learned about a HOST of things of which I was previously unaware, and got much more detail about some things with which I was already familiar. So much so, in fact, that I lost a whole day researching Neith, patron goddess of the city of Sais, because of one passing reference in Ray's book that piqued my curiosity beyond endurance. Now that's MY kind of Egyptology read, especially since I've read enough on the subject by now that not just every book sparks a real quest for further detail like that anymore.

It's a lovely book, a quick read, and I can recommend it to those interested in the subject, from novices to armchair Egyptologists like me.

Coloring and Candy Corn

...because sometimes, they're the only things standing between you and sheer lunacy.

I'll Confess Mine If You Confess Yours

Fellow readers, I have a dirty little secret to admit to you today, and I wonder how many of you out there suffer from the same...well, addiction.  What is this horrible malady, this shameful weakness of which I speak?  I think the best, most descriptive title I can give it is Luxuriating.  Book Luxuriating, to be exact, and while it's not illegal or anything, it can certainly be hard on both your wallet and your available shelf space.  Yes, folks, I confess that I sometimes buy another copy of a book that I already own, because some other publisher has released their own edition of it with a gorgeous new cover, or additional appendices--what video afficianados call "better special features"--or has restored the original illustrations.  The list of reasons can be never-ending, really.  Let me give you an example of a book that I have not yet begun Luxuriating in, but am considering it very seriously.  (Obviously, if these books are being simultaneously released by multiple publishers, we know we're dealing with classics, books for which the original publishing copyright has expired.)  Exhibit A:

Jane Eyre



Collector's Library Edition
This is the one I currently own.



Everyman's Library Edition
This is the current movie tie-in, as well.



Penguin Hardback Classics Edition
This whole series is so gorgeous,
and very reasonably priced if bought one or two at a time.
My secret ambition is to someday own them all.



Penguin Drop Caps Edition
To further torment me, Penguin is just getting ready to release
the first few volumes of this new, elegant series as well.

You see my predicament?  If you're thinking that it doesn't get much more "First World Problem" than this, you're absolutely right, and it is that very realization that makes this a problem.  It engenders guilt, you see; I mean, I don't really NEED all these different editions of one book, now do I?  What's a bibliomaniac to do?  Honestly, it's a fun problem to have, but I'd still be interested in hearing how all of you handle the issue, if you've come up with some creative solutions to the problem of Book Luxuriating.

Fountain Pen Day 2012

Oh, loyal readers, I'm so excited right now, I can barely remain conscious!  I just discovered that there is an annual celebration of my beloved favorite writing utensil--that's right, Fountain Pen Day approacheth!  It is apparently held on the first Friday of every November, which means that this year,

Fountain Pen Day is November 2, 2012!
 
My cup of joy really is overflowing at this point.  As long-time readers of this blog will remember, I dedicated an entire (lengthy) post once, just to rhapsodizing the only dignified way to communicate--the hand-written letter, crafted with a well-balanced, smoothly-flowing fountain pen.  (Feel free to take a moment and [re]-read that post now, Before All Things.  The title is a quote from the Qur'an: "Al-Qalam qabla kull shay" "The Pen was before all things.")

Photo by Michael de Silva

Still, one post hardly puts me in the same die-hard pen-blogger category as some of the people celebrating this event on their blogs.  The headquarters of this wonderful holiday, FountainPenDay.org, explains the event more fully, and has a list of those worthy pen bloggers who are taking part.  Be sure to pop over there and give them some love, too, especially if you're a true pen afficianado, as well.

Pathetic Fan Girl Dies Happy

And THIS is why I Tweet, people!  For all time, I now have documentary evidence that Richard Schiff, once "Toby Ziegler" of The West Wing, one of the members of my Crushes Hall of Fame, addressed me personally, even though he doesn't have a clue who I am and couldn't care less!  *gasp, scream, swoon, cue the closing credits*

Best Served Cold

This blog (and its blogger!) supports PBS and all our friends at Sesame Street, both morally and financially!

They helped me learn to read; they taught my daughter her whole alphabet and how to count to 20 by the time she turned 3 years old.  The legacy of Jim Henson, Frank Oz, and a host of other dedicated performers is a sacred trust, placed into the loving hands of delighted children for nearly 50 years now.  Even more importantly, PBS grows up with its youngest viewers, continuing to be the only trustworthy news source in this country today.  Mr. Romney, you drew the ire of the powerful Geek Community with your disrespect, and you MESSED WITH THE WRONG BIRD!

However, I appreciate the reminder that I needed to send in my payment for the pledge I made earlier this year, so thanks for that.  Meanwhile, fellow Geeks, book bloggers, concerned Americans, let us make the best response possible to this outrageous attack on our yellow-feathered friend--a MASSIVE donation to PBS!

Nebkheprure, Lord of the Two Lands

Oh, my dears, after a whole week spent resting and readjusting to the rhythm of everyday life, I can finally sit down and chronicle for you the famous Fabulous Birthday Surprise referenced in the last post.

I turned 35 last week, and my family conspired to give me one of the most wonderful birthday weekends since the Queen's Jubilee.  First, you need to know that my mother-in-law is the lord high mucky-muck of all gift-givers.  I mean, this woman could figure out the one thing that Oprah doesn't already own but would simply love to have and find some way to get it for her.  Add to that the delightful fact that my husband actually loves me, and puts a great deal of thought into what would make me happy, and you have one hell of a birthday.

(Photo by Charlie Phillips)

Unbeknownst to me, a significant portion of King Tutankhamun's grave collection, along with numerous other wondrous Egyptian artifacts, have been in Seattle for some months at the Pacific Science Center.  My amazing mother-in-law, however, always watchful around birthday times and aware of my absolutely consuming passion for all things ancient Egyptian, spotted the advertisement with her eagle eye and bought Michael and I two tickets to the exhibit.  Moreover, she booked us in for two nights at the only hotel within walking distance of the museum (which was a very nice place, I might add).

On the evening of my birthday, Michael, the SuperToddler and I joined his parents and brother at Olive Garden for a lovely dinner (for which they paid, God bless them), and we finally had the big reveal.

Michael and I would be heading off to Seattle to commune with the great kings and queens of The Two Lands (as the Egyptians knew their kingdom)!  Meanwhile, Brigid would be enjoying a long weekend with Grandma and Grandpa, beginning right after that dinner and lasting until we got back into town from our trip on Sunday evening.  Wasn't it helpful of me to schedule my birthday over the Labor Day weekend?

So, while the SuperToddler went to her favorite place in the world--Grandma's house--Michael and I came home, watched some Mock the Week, slept in a bit the next day, packed and started our road trip to Seattle.

[Mock the Week on YouTube--YOU NEED IT IN YOUR LIFE!! But if you're easily offended, for God's sake don't ever watch it.  (Sucks to be you.)]

 

We checked in on our first night and roamed around for a bit, rustling up the nearest installation of my husband's favorite restaurant, Chipotle, and generally getting a bit lost and annoying Seattle's Yellow Cab drivers and dispatchers before we found our way back to our hotel.  The big event of the first evening in the big city was when we stumbled upon a Dr. Marten's store, in a lovely old building that obviously dated from the turn of the 20th century or before.  As the daughter of a shoe repairman, I grew up with the smell of leather and shoe polish, so I was whisked back to my childhood the moment we stepped in the door.  While Michael shopped for a much- and long-needed pair of black shoes that could be worn to work or for dress, I was captivated by a beautiful, burgundy leather bag that I could tell would make an excellent over-the-shoulder messenger-type purse.  It was expensive, but the beautiful thing about anything Doc Marten's is that it's virtually guaranteed to last longer than its owner!  My lovely Good Man Michael generously made the bag my other birthday present, along with the delightful surprise of an iPod Touch that he'd given me earlier, and I was a very happy birthday girl, indeed.  (I told him that for Christmas, I'd LOVE to have the matching women's wing-tipped leather shoes.  Hint, hint.)  (Photo courtesy of Doc Marten's website--who else?)

 

The next morning, of course, was the main event--the Lord of the Two Lands, Ruler of the Land of the Bee and the Sedge, Nebkheprure Tutankhamun Hekaiunushema--and any number of his royal friends and family.  (Believe it or not, those are just a very few of his names; he had many, many more.)

 

(Photo by dalbera)

 

It was an amazing exhibition, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself in the gift shop, picking up a copy of the official catalogue, the DVD walk-through of the exhibit, and some lovely stationery.  The SuperToddler, who adores all things Egypt as regular readers certainly know, got a lovely blue glass scarab magnet as a souvenir, which thrilled her heart and provided her hours of playful enjoyment when I got it home to her.  (She LOVES all the beetles everywhere in Egyptian art; we haven't delved into the whole bizarre relationship they have with DUNG yet.)

 

(Photo by Rick Vaughn)

 

We also explored the famous Pike Place Market, with its extremely fresh fish, myriads of tiny, funky little shops that sell a bit of everything--including "herbal refreshment" in a few of them, I suspected as we shuffled quickly past!--and we stumbled upon an Egyptian shop keeper who was thrilled by my smattering of Arabic and small knowledge of classical hieroglyphs.  His souvenirs, by and large, were much more satisfying than those in the museum gift shop, because they were actually MADE IN EGYPT.  (I know, right?  o.O  He felt the same way--"Why they don't sell things made in Egypt?  The things they sell have no soul!")  I bought a sterling silver pendant from him, bearing the two primary names of the Boy King on it, and he was so impressed with my meager skills that he gave me one of the traditional, pressed-paste scarab beads "to protect you--we give them everywhere in Egypt."  I was quite pleased, actually.  Proof positive that we're all still at least a little pagan.

 

(Photo by Frank Rytell)

 

Michael and I rounded out the evening with a lovely meal at P. F. Chang's and a brief saunter through the mall, where we stumbled upon a great little Japanese store in which I bought some adorable stationery with "English" sayings printed on them that make ABSOLUTELY no sense whatsoever.  (This is roughly akin to how we pick a new Chinese restaurant to try; if the name has been "translated" into English, and is utter gibberish, the food is pretty much guaranteed to be authentic Chinese cuisine, and therefore delicious.  Our all-time favorite was called "Rice Star," although "Pig Miracle Barbeque" certainly won honorable mention.)

 

And there you have it, dear readers.  The next day, Michael and I made our way back home, stopping in one of the towns along the way whose primary industry was tourism to visit a lovely bar and grill, enjoy an old-fashioned malted in their vintage 1950's ice cream stand, and take a brief ride on the remains of the historical railroad, now preserved in miniature as an excursion train for railroad enthusiasts.  My dad would have loved it.  I brought Brigid home a wooden Percy locomotive to add to her wooden Thomas the Tank Engine set; she was thrilled.

 

Snoqualmie Depot
(Photo by Max Richards)

 

All in all, I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful birthday weekend.  My health issues even behaved themselves.  I am a blessed woman.

A Small, Sweet Pearl

" 'After all,' Anne had said to Marilla once, 'I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.' "

--Anne of Avonlea

by L. M. Montgomery

(photo by Tanakawho)

 

Today was not a grand adventure or a major event.  That will come tomorrow; I'm turning 35, and thus far, all that's been revealed to me about the big surprise coming up is that Michael, Brigid and I will be dining with my in-laws tomorrow night, Brigid will be staying there at Grandma's house, and Friday morning, Michael and I will be setting off to some "major metropolitan area" to do something that I am assured I will be "thrilled about" that will take up most of the holiday weekened approaching.  My family knows my tastes pretty well, so I have no doubt the surprise will live up to their promises, but for tonight, I remain in suspense.

 

(The only picture I have easily available of the vehicle in question [see below]
is from our wedding day five years ago--hence the snow.)

 

However, I got another lovely birthday present yesterday evening, in the form of my little Ford Focus resurrected from its coma and breathing new life thanks to a new transmission.  (In case you're wondering, yes, everything you've ever heard about how expensive it is to replace a transmission is perfectly true.  "Somewhere between 'Ouch!' and 'Boing!' ")  Sweet little SuperToddler Brigid loves my car almost as much as I do, so we were both deeply excited to hear that "Blue Car is fixed!"  In celebration, she and I spent the day simply enjoying our re-established freedom, i.e. our ability to leave the house even when Papa is at work and has taken "Green Car" with him.

 

We went to her favorite restaurant, The Olive Garden--expensive tastes, my child--where we BOTH ordered off the children's menu.  It's cheaper, it's actually less food, and it's pretty much the only guaranteed way in that particular establishment to order garlic-free food.  Thus, a meal without IBS pain for Mama, allowing her and SuperToddler to continue their day out together.  I'm learning as quickly as I can how to manage this thing.

 

 

Naturally, at some point in the day we had to make a stop at the bank, which is never really fun but unavoidably necessary.  The nice lady behind the counter gave us a pretty blue balloon, which brightened up the proceedings immeasurably!  Still, we were both much more pleased with our next port of call, one of favorite places in the whole world.

 

THE LIBRARY!  Brigid gets excited the moment we pull into the parking lot.  It's funny, because we spend most of our time playing with the toys in the Children's Department; we looked through a book or two briefly, but took much longer creating a "perfect tower," as my budding architect deemed it, with Duplo blocks.  Still, we're building positive associations with books, reading, and the public library system, and I always consider that time well spent.

 

Finally, we found our way to Wal-Mart--surprise, surprise--where we picked up a few household supplies, but it was mostly an excuse to extend our day just a bit longer.  Besides, we enjoy toy shopping together, believe it or not.  It allows me to have a direct say in what comes home with us (or at least to try), and at times, I'm as excited about our new finds as she is!  Tonight was DEFINITELY one of those times.  Remember THESE little beauties?!

 

Ah, the View-Master!  How my heart lept with joy when I caught sight of one on Wal-Mart's Toy Department shelves tonight!  How I mentally kicked myself for ever letting my precious childhood friend and its little film reels get away from me!  The SuperToddler wasn't interested at first--too busy with more tangible-looking treasures--but when she figured out that I was really enjoying viewing something she wasn't seeing, human curiosity reeled her in, and the magic of those tiny "3-D" images did the rest, like with every other kid since the thing was first invented.  We had at least an hour of fun with them when we got home, and I'm already fondly imagining shopping for new cards on Amazon or even for vintage cards on E-Bay.  So THIS is why people have kids!  It's the only way to have this much fun again once you've gotten old and boring!  It was a lovely day, just a day out for me and my girl.

 



Old Hufflepuffian

Hello, loyal followers!  The more eagle-eyed among you may have noticed that my blog has recently begun sporting a new badge of honor--a House banner which proudly declares that I have been "Pottermore sorted" into Hufflepuff.  (Those badges, by-the-way, are available here.  God bless the lovely people who created them.)  And those of you who just REALLY have too much time on your hands, and also have photographic memories, may be asking yourselves (and me), "Wait! Didn't she say a few months ago that she had been officially sorted by Pottermore into RAVENCLAW? Somebody's playing fast and loose with their facts here!"

Well, in point of fact, I've been sorted twice, you see.  "Cheater!" you now cry in righteous indignation.  "You have TWO accounts, while I'm still waiting to get the confirmation e-mail for my FIRST ONE?!"  A very understandable reaction, but I swear I haven't just been gathering extra Pottermore identities for shits and giggles.  No, I was sorted into Ravenclaw during the Beta (i.e. trial) period of the site's existence, but now that they have opened up to everyone, I had to go through the sorting again, like everybody else, and the Sorting Hat apparently found different stuff in my brain this time.  Considering the adventures I've lived through in the past few months, I can't say that I'm too surprised.

For ten house points, can anyone recite for us Rowena Ravenclaw's famous motto?  Very good, Miss Granger!  Indeed, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."  And once upon a time, when I was garnering Master's degrees as if they were wild flowers waiting to be plucked in a field, and dreaming lofty dreams about proceeding straight on to a Ph.D., I think I actually believed that.  Now, don't anyone panic; I haven't had a complete personality transplant.  Still reading 950-page non-fiction books for fun, still teaching my daughter the names of ancient Egyptian deities as fast as her interest permits, still a Geek, die-hard and proud.  But I also suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and one of its effects is that it plays havoc with your thoughts.  Lack of concentration, loss of interest in research or writing projects that once enthralled you (or anything else, for that matter, except playing video games until 4:00 a.m. to avoid the nightmares you know are coming as soon as your head hits the pillow)--these are all classic symptoms, as are the famous flashbacks, of course, my first of which I finally experienced last week.  Hell-a not fun, by-the-by.  In other words, your "wit" can easily be knocked off-center by this disorder.  You don't get dumber or anything, you just find it more difficult to marshal the resources at your disposal.  Thank God it hasn't damaged my interest in reading, and I am devouring books as quickly as ever, even if I occasionally have to read a sentence several times in order to fully take it in.  My friend and comrade in arms in all this, Dorothy L. Sayers' famous detective creation, Lord Peter Wimsey, also suffers from PTSD (though in his day it was called "shell-shock"), and reading about him and his fellow WWI vets is a little like doing group therapy for me.

Naturally, this may have called another question to your mind: "Wait a minute? You've never been in the military, have you?  Besides everything else, your profile picture would seem to suggest that you...uh...don't have the physique for it."  And you're quite right.  However, PTSD is not just a problem for the poor men caught in the idiocy that was Trench Warfare, or the idiocy that was Vietnam, or the idiocy that IS Iraq and Afghanistan.  (By-the-way, does anyone see a pattern forming here?  Almost as if, 9 times out of 10, war is just a really stupid way for a government to abuse its own citizens by giving them PTSD and other irreparable injuries?  Sorry, slipped onto my soapbox for a minute.  *climbs ponderously down from soapbox*)

ANYWAY, victims of natural disasters, or long-term abuse, or terminal illnesses, or those who have seen loved ones suffer through prolonged terminal illness, all are prone to develop PTSD in the aftermath of those events.  There's been no abuse in my history, thank God, but as to the others...

(This isn't actually a picture of MY flood, but I will post one as soon as I can find one.)

English, Indiana--June 7, 1990

Police knocked on our door in the middle of the night, informing my parents that the flash flood would soon reach our street.  My parents, in turn, woke me, we grabbed a few things and went up the enormous hill above to spend the next few hours with our neighbors in their trailer, because if the waters had reached them, we would have been watching for Noah shortly thereafter.  The waters did NOT reach that trailer, but we did watch people drive boats down Main Street the next day--or just hitch a ride on a passing refrigerator.

Besides this little life event, my parents tried as often as possible to die throughout my childhood--from pleurisy, from lupus, from heart attacks.  Of course, they actually tried NOT to die, but as Eric Idle of Monty Python fame has pointed out, "Life will get you in the end."  You may wonder why, if this shit started in my childhood, I'm only just now developing all these symptoms.  Well, I haven't, first of all; I've had them off and on for years, but they've finally reached a whole new plateau, I'm afraid.  Secondly, they've done so because it's called "POST-Traumatic Stress Disorder" for a reason.  Until the trauma ends, you don't fully develop the disorder, because your mind and body believe that you don't have time to do so--clearly, life-threatening things are happening around you.  Your body just keeps pouring on the adrenaline to get you through whatever the next crisis will be until the crises finally stop.  When you do that more or less on-going for twenty-some years, you've got one hell of a debt to pay to your poor body and mind when they finally figure out that the trauma is over.  My grandmother, presumably the last person I'll have to worry about for a LITTLE while, anyway, (PLEASE, JESUS!), died this past December.  Ladies and gentlemen, let the mental games begin.

IN OTHER WORDS, I've been having one hell of a time of it lately, gang!  I found a local counseling center at which I start therapy in two weeks *fingers crossed that these people know what they're doing*.  Last night, I actually got a break from the horrifying, heart-rending dreams that have left me dreading sleep.  Many nights, I sit up to obscene hours, watching BBC comedy on YouTube or playing on Pottermore, until exhaustion finally claims me and I find out for another day that I can't avoid the dreams by just not ever sleeping again.

On one of these marathon nights recently, I received word from Pottermore that my "real" account was ready, and I could come get sorted like everybody else.  This is done, of course, by answering personality-quiz type questions about yourself, and unless you're an idiot, you can tell which way the wind is blowing on these questions.  When it asks you things like, "Do you want to be thought of as ambitious?", little green signal flares ignite that spell out "Slytherin!", you know?  And while I was answering these questions, I reached a moment where I answered, trying to be truthful, that I wanted to be thought of as trust-worthy.  When I reached the end and discovered that I'd been bunged into Helga Hufflepuff's House, for one second, I was bitterly disappointed.  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I'm a Ravenclaw, dammit!  Everyone knows that!"  Then I calmed down, thought for a moment, and realized something: I no longer believe in Ravenclaw's motto.  Intelligence is very important to me, and education is very nearly ALL-important to me, but in my current situation, one thing matters more.  I don't need people to blind me with science, or show off their intelligence.  I need them to be kind to me.  Moreover, I want to be kind, as well, because there are a lot of people in this world who are just as broken as I am, and our only hope is to all be in this together.

"Shell-shock" in the trenches

Do I now think intelligent people are pretentious snobs?  Of course not, especially since judging people is wrong and judging people as a group is just a recipe for disaster.  Furthermore, I haven't suddenly become dumb; I've recently become...unwell.  I value my intelligence.  I'm just learning to value my humanity most.

Because Geek Girls Do It Best

Okay, everybody, I had a mind-bending, life-altering experience a few evenings ago--and no, it's NOT what you're thinking based on the title of this post!--that I just have to share with everyone.  Up to this past Tuesday night, I had never bothered to watch any on-the-internet-only "tv" shows.  Hell, I don't even watch actual tv unless it's available on Netflix, is a DVD or Blu-Ray that I bought, or can be streamed from PBS. (DOWNTON ABBEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!  *Ahem*  That is all.)

But Tuesday night, I made a new friend on Twitter, one @geekyjessica.  All right, "friend" might be a bit of a stretch, since she's quite a bit more famous/popular in the Geek world than I am and doesn't know me from Adam, "but in this [pseudo-anonymous, internet-driven] world in which we're livin'," Twitter conversations practically equal life-long friendship.  I once got a Tweet response from Wil Wheaton, for Heaven's sake!  You know? Wil Wheaton?  Here, memory refresher.  (Sorry, Wil, I know you hate being equated with your character, but they don't recognize you without the uniform.  Some of them aren't true Trek believers.)

Photo Courtesy of Memory Alpha

If the name STILL doesn't ring any bells, I'm afraid I can't help you, but I really like you as a person, and we can still be friends.  :)

Sorry.  Nothing sidetracks me like a Star Trek: The Next Generation (ST:TNG) reference.  So anyway, Ms. Jessica Mills, aka @geekyjessica, writes, produces, and co-stars in an internet show called Awkward Embraces, which is SERIOUSLY entertaining and hilarious and maybe the best thing that's ever happened to Geek girls since Ron admitted that he and Harry would die very quick and painful deaths if they didn't have Hermione to bail them out all the time.  *Deep breath*  Also easily sidetracked by thoughts of Harry Potter.  Moving on.

Photo Courtesy of the Berry

Does the fact that I now find most of the cast of Harry Potter extremely hot make me a dirty old woman?  *nervously biting nails*  Okay, Jennifer!  Writing a post here.  FOCUS.

SO, Jessica Mills plays, well basically, herself in this show (except that since she WRITES the show, I'm seriously doubting she's as sexually naive as her character).  She's a Geek girl--actually, Princess Geek Girl, second only to our beloved Queen Jen of Cake Wrecks--trying to find love and, well, get laid in the 21st century.  Not everyone understands her obsession with Star fill-in-the-blank: Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate, BattleSTAR Galactica.  Her two best friends, for example, continually remind her that she's a Geek--as if that's a bad thing!--but they love and support her, anyway, and all we fellow Geeks think her Geekery is a gift to us straight from God, I swear.  I watched all of Season 1 and nearly all of Season 2 IN ONE NIGHT, finally succumbing to the inconvenient need to sleep.

Wherefore, I hereby declare that if you are a Geek girl, or if you simply have a sense of humor, you need this show in your life, and having watched one episode, you will be eternally grateful to me for clueing you in about it.  I swear.  By Grabthar's Hammer.  By the Suns of Warvan.  You haven't seen Galaxy Quest, either?!  Okay, we seriously have to talk about that in ANOTHER post.  Meanwhile, you will be hearing more from me about Jessica Mills and Geek girls in general soon.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

Positronic Words

I have been absent from Wondrous Words Wednesday for a couple of weeks, and I must admit, I missed all of you and your weird and wonderful words.  Honestly, I was in a bit of a reading slump there for a week or two, and only undertook to read one YA novel that really didn't contain any words that challenged me, hence my brief vanishing act.  But, I found an unexpected source this week in a Star Trek novel, of all places!  See if you knew these before I defined them for you; they were certainly new to me.

1.  integument--basically, whatever protects the outside: a shell, skin, or fur on an animate creature, the shell of an egg, or the surface of a plant.

2.  rictus--The sort of creepy, awful, seeming smile that people have on their face when their in the last death throes of something like the nastier poisons.  Ergo, it can also be a painfully, horribly fake smile.  I believe "grimace" would also work here.

3.  brio--pretty much this is just another way of saying gusto.

So, there you go.  Happy word hunting!