I spent most of my weekend UNDER THE DOME (with Stephen King, dontcha know).
I bought the book on Wednesday and held off from reading it, ignoring its siren call, until Friday night.
It's a biggun: over 1,000 pages and chock full of characters. I had a little trouble keeping track of them- due to my own shortcomings, not King's.
What a great read. Not as disconcerting as DUMA KEY or LISEY'S STORY, but still upsetting and frustrating and holy shit in a good way.
I could tell he had fun with setting the stage in the beginning of the book (a big dome falls over a town- what are the physical ramifications when it goes into place?) and making me fall in love or develop affection for characters when he'd hold them hostage to fate and circumstance later in the book.
I got through most of it without crying, but "Cow-kid" did me in and made me shaky.
A tremendous way to spend the weekend. I finished the book satisfied and saddened, and had to turn to some Mercedes Lackey for comfort.
Monday, November 16, 2009
A new love
I'm in love with the handyman at school.
For the past week or so, I've run into him early in the morning. Seeing as we're both there before everyone else, conversation was natural- even if it's only a drive-by while he mounts his ladder and I mount the stairs to my room.
I like his cheery good mornings and his comments about how I'm so early. I like that I can hear him whistle as I walk down the hall.
We play the roles of cameos or extras in many other people's lives. How wonderful when someone in a small part, with barely any interaction, fills that space to the limit. A chance word, a smile, or even a whistled tune to accompany my steps, and all of a sudden my life is a little brighter and richer.
For the past week or so, I've run into him early in the morning. Seeing as we're both there before everyone else, conversation was natural- even if it's only a drive-by while he mounts his ladder and I mount the stairs to my room.
I like his cheery good mornings and his comments about how I'm so early. I like that I can hear him whistle as I walk down the hall.
We play the roles of cameos or extras in many other people's lives. How wonderful when someone in a small part, with barely any interaction, fills that space to the limit. A chance word, a smile, or even a whistled tune to accompany my steps, and all of a sudden my life is a little brighter and richer.
I don't fancy reality shows
Tattoo Queen and I had a satisfying chat on Saturday. We're both on an upswing in moods, which is always good because we didn't have to spend time saying, "Come down off the ledge."
She's a huge fan of SURVIVOR and THE AMAZING RACE. Me? Not so much.
Tangent: I used to love reality shows. Lived for THE REAL WORLD (up until Las Vegas). When Steve slapped Irene? I was on tenterhooks until the next week. It's a bit of irony (or incredible intuition on the part of the Lyme-diseased-addled Irene) that the remark that pushed Steven over the edge into physical assault- "You're a homosexual"- did turn out to be true.
TQ was disturbed over the recent ep of THE AMAZING RACE. Christian newly daters Canaan and Mica faced the challenge of a water slide in Dubai, and Mica, afraid of heights and water, couldn't go down the slide. TQ hated that Canaan wasn't kind during Mica's full blown panic attack.
After seeing the clip, I disagreed. Coaxing someone out of a panic attack tries the kindest soul. Major Ex use to get them, and it was hard to guide him out of the anxiety.
Two things put me squarely in Canaan's court: 1. They were up on the slide for 45 minutes and each passing minute meant the million dollars and the chance to continue were slipping by- like water down a slide; 2. He stopped and blew up one of her floaties.
A guy who can put aside his anger and blow up a floaty can't be all bad. In fact, I'd say that man is rather rare.
In his place, I don't think I'd've done differently even with experience in all sorts of panics, mine and those closest to me. I think 45 minutes would've seen me without a shred of compassion. And the temptation to push her down the freaking slide would have been powerful.
She's a huge fan of SURVIVOR and THE AMAZING RACE. Me? Not so much.
Tangent: I used to love reality shows. Lived for THE REAL WORLD (up until Las Vegas). When Steve slapped Irene? I was on tenterhooks until the next week. It's a bit of irony (or incredible intuition on the part of the Lyme-diseased-addled Irene) that the remark that pushed Steven over the edge into physical assault- "You're a homosexual"- did turn out to be true.
TQ was disturbed over the recent ep of THE AMAZING RACE. Christian newly daters Canaan and Mica faced the challenge of a water slide in Dubai, and Mica, afraid of heights and water, couldn't go down the slide. TQ hated that Canaan wasn't kind during Mica's full blown panic attack.
After seeing the clip, I disagreed. Coaxing someone out of a panic attack tries the kindest soul. Major Ex use to get them, and it was hard to guide him out of the anxiety.
Two things put me squarely in Canaan's court: 1. They were up on the slide for 45 minutes and each passing minute meant the million dollars and the chance to continue were slipping by- like water down a slide; 2. He stopped and blew up one of her floaties.
A guy who can put aside his anger and blow up a floaty can't be all bad. In fact, I'd say that man is rather rare.
In his place, I don't think I'd've done differently even with experience in all sorts of panics, mine and those closest to me. I think 45 minutes would've seen me without a shred of compassion. And the temptation to push her down the freaking slide would have been powerful.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Is this normal?
Last night I saw an ad for Thomas Tank Engine and started crying.
My tears came from the fact that my little nephew, who used to be an absolute nut about Thomas, has now outgrown the trains, and I never got around to taking him to see the real Thomas.
Our first real connection was over putting together the train tracks and scooting the little trains on the wooden rails. At two, he would tell me how he wanted the tracks. By four, he could lay them on his own and I helped him by fishing the segments out of the huge toy bin.
He always claimed Thomas and James. I liked running Diesel because I got to say "I'm Diesel" in a growly English accent.
He hasn't watched the Thomas movies in a long time, and I kind of miss hearing Alec Baldwin narrate (still sexy, even when he puts on a Paul McCartney accent for the trains).
I try to make every moment with my nephew count, but I can't help feeling an opportunity was missed.
My tears came from the fact that my little nephew, who used to be an absolute nut about Thomas, has now outgrown the trains, and I never got around to taking him to see the real Thomas.
Our first real connection was over putting together the train tracks and scooting the little trains on the wooden rails. At two, he would tell me how he wanted the tracks. By four, he could lay them on his own and I helped him by fishing the segments out of the huge toy bin.
He always claimed Thomas and James. I liked running Diesel because I got to say "I'm Diesel" in a growly English accent.
He hasn't watched the Thomas movies in a long time, and I kind of miss hearing Alec Baldwin narrate (still sexy, even when he puts on a Paul McCartney accent for the trains).
I try to make every moment with my nephew count, but I can't help feeling an opportunity was missed.
As I pondered weak and weary
This year is kicking my ass as bad as my first year of teaching.
One of my classes is being held hostage by little suburban thugs. Eight of them hold sway over the rest of us.
I want to thank their enabling parents and the misguidance counselor who made this BS possible.
I don't expect to be riding on rainbows every day; it is work, after all. But I don't expect to have a ball of leaden dread in my stomach on the mornings I have the class.
Jerks in the classroom have the ability to sap every ion of energy. I know I need to get used to it and not give them the power, but damn, it's hard not to.
One of my classes is being held hostage by little suburban thugs. Eight of them hold sway over the rest of us.
I want to thank their enabling parents and the misguidance counselor who made this BS possible.
I don't expect to be riding on rainbows every day; it is work, after all. But I don't expect to have a ball of leaden dread in my stomach on the mornings I have the class.
Jerks in the classroom have the ability to sap every ion of energy. I know I need to get used to it and not give them the power, but damn, it's hard not to.
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