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A brand new look for a brand new year.
Thanks to all of you for sticking with me this far. I look forward to seeing you (and hearing from you) often in 2008!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Since I haven’t been blogging (among other things) as faithfully as I should, I thought I’d take a few minutes to suggest some other sites for you to visit. This is a small sampling of the book-reading-writing-publishing-related blogs that I check in with on a fairly regular basis. It is, in tech-speak, my own “literary blogroll.”
This is only a partial list, but it’s more than enough to get you started. Some of these sites are independent, some commercial, some very information-and-detail oriented, some rather casual, some quite witty, some just weird. But all of them help feed my addiction for reading about reading. They help me keep up with new releases, old favorites, industry trends, new and established writers, and different ideas.
Undoubtedly, not all of these will be your cup of tea. Like me, you might find a few that you only want to visit once a month or so (or never again), but there may be others that will make it to your daily surfing list or your RSS feeds. Best of all, most of them offer their own lists of links, so that you can drop in on one site, find a few good suggestions, and head off for hours of fascinating blog visits.
In no particular order:
And if you still need something else, I must once again recommend Neil Gaiman’s Journal, which is still the one blog I absolutely can’t live without, as I discussed in considerable detail earlier.
Some day, I might plow deeper into my bookmarks file and list even more blogs, but this should be enough for now. In the meantime, feel free to share your own literary blogroll by e-mail or in the comments.
Tags: Blog, Blogroll, Books, Literary Sites, Publishing, Reading, Recommended Reading, WritingLike many folks east of, say, the Rocky Mountains, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention when I first heard reports about the California fires. I think my initial response was, “Again?” And then I went back to whatever I was doing, disinclined to spend too much time worrying about the Golden State’s natural disaster du jour. But as conditions worsened and the fires spread, unchecked, I started to look a little closer. Then I started to worry about my old Horrorstruck colleague and very good friend, Sheila Merritt. Worry a little, then worry a lot.
With my sketchy knowledge of Southern California geography and the precise relationships between this area and that one, this town and another, it seemed to me that she lived way too close to one of the blazes that was getting a great deal of media attention, the Witch Fire near San Diego. But the more I poked around online, the more confused I got. There were conflicting reports, constantly changing maps. Rancho this and Santa that. Good news, bad news, terrible news and no news. Was Sheila actually as close to the fire as I thought? Was she in an area that had already been evacuated or, God forbid, destroyed?
Over the next few days we were able to swap a few e-mail messages, which helped a lot … but I didn’t relax completely until I got what amounted to an “all clear, all OK” message on Wednesday of last week. A few days after that, Sheila and I were back to discussing the flaws in the second act of Carousel and other bits of musical theatre trivia — exactly where we’d left off before the fire. But while Sheila and her husband, Phil, were luckier than many, I still wanted to hear more about what they went through. I thought some of you might like to hear it, too, so I asked her to write down her account of those uncertain and traumatic few days.
Here is what she sent:
by Sheila Merritt
The rude awakening call came at six in the morning. It was a reverse 911 recorded message from the city’s police department. A fire was raging north of us, and we should be prepared to evacuate, pending a second phone message. We quickly dressed, and started throwing things into a suitcase and briefcase. As light dawned, we saw that two large eucalyptus trees, which had existed in the open space just beyond our back yard, had blown down. It was a result of particularly nasty Santa Ana winds. Fortunately, the trees didn’t injure any one or any nearby structure. There was only about three percent humidity, it was very hot, and the smokey winds continued to whip and threaten.
We packed important documents, some heirlooms, jeans, tops, underwear, toiletries. No photo albums, memorabilia. As we were on notice for a possible second call, we busied ourselves with removing Halloween decorations from the windows. We didn’t want anything flammable in that area. Occasionally, we’d throw another article of clothing into the open suitcase; not really assessing what was most necessary. It was nervous energy at an extreme.
Around 10:30 that morning I took out some bread from the freezer to defrost for sandwiches. I left it on the counter when we evacuated, getting the second phone call sometime after 11.
We loaded the car, had a few words with neighbors, turned off the gas main, and headed north to my brother’s home an hour north of our house. Interstate I-5 that direction was mostly smooth sailing, as many evacuees were heading to evacuation centers in the south. The air was unhealthy, full of smoke, but we saw no flames during this part of the journey.
Elite Evacuees
My brother’s place is a duplex in a posh beach community. We resided in the upper half which is a complete unit: Kitchen, baths, living room, computer access, large screen TV. The TV coverage there was geared to the fires in the LA area, since that’s where the broadcast stations were located. We turned to the computer for news of our area, but the updates seemed absurdly slow. There were maps of evacuation areas, many very near the ocean, which was unusual for our area. Flames had jumped freeways, and made their random way through many communities. Our area was bordered by woodsy properties about five miles away. The map which showed the directions of the various fire offshoots, showed some pointing towards where our home is. Privileged evacuees that we were, we drank wine, waxed philosophical, and tried to pretend that our home and neighborhood was not in danger: The level of success varied by the minute.
Our Town
After two nights away, it was announced that the evacuation had been lifted for our area. Again, the freeway traffic was exceedingly light as I-5 south had only recently reopened, and northbound was closed. This was due to fires in Camp Pendleton, and coming home we could see bursts of flames on the sides of the interstate. Blown embers would ignite into new flames, causing these puffs to occur.
Around noon, we stopped at a local market to pick up sandwiches for lunch. The normally busy parking lot had loads of spaces. The market itself was so unpopulated that one could roller skate through it. The cashiers and shoppers all spoke in hushed tones, and seemed to be operating on automatic pilot. The odd thing was, that the moment of taking our exit off the freeway, the visuals would not have indicated that anything out of the norm had occurred. There were scattered tree limbs and branches, but the sky wasn’t very murky. To look at the place, it seemed as though no threat ever existed.
The air quality was still considered unhealthy, so staying indoors was advised. I threw away the stale bread on the counter, which I had left in our haste, made phone calls, sent e-mails, and put Halloween decorations back in the windows. There was a striving for a return to normalcy, but everything was subdued, and sober. We nodded and smiled wanly at neighbors, many who had elected not to evacuate. They all had their reasons.
The Excitement of the Mundane
Today [Monday 10/29], a week since we evacuated, I did my morning workout for the first time since the fires. I figured that if our Chargers football team could play a game yesterday, in what had been used as a center for evacuees during the crisis, I was safe. There had been earlier warnings about limiting exertion due to poor air conditions. It feels exhilarating to return to routine. Our adrenaline levels had fluctuated so much; as well as our metabolisms. I seemed, excuse the pun, to be literally “burning” off calories. The hummingbirds have come back to work the lavender, and other birds are back foraging on the grass. I need to feed the plants and palms, and I need to pot some thyme to place in the bay window. Life goes on, despite moments of the equivalent of “survivor’s guilt.” We were unscathed by the inferno, but not untouched by it.
Flashback
All this reminded me of another encounter with fires, one in which I went to face a harsh reality, instead of fleeing from it. It was 1993, around this time of year. The day before Halloween, my sister suffered a debilitating stroke, and I flew down from Northern California to L.A. It was totally surreal, as the flight check-in staff was in Halloween costume. The grim reaper greeted me as I checked in for the flight.
Once at the hospital, I addressed the situation, and looked forward to going outside for a break. The problem was that the fires that had hit Los Angeles in a major way made the air quality horrible. Ash was in constant descent, and my idea of being given a reprieve from the reality of my sister’s condition was necessarily denied. The cruelty of illness versus the cruelty of nature: It was a no-win situation.
Now, as we emerge from the shell shock of the evacuation, I remember a time that was even more challenging. It didn’t promote a mass exodus, or a sense of losing one’s home. It did, however, make me feel trapped by circumstance. I am grateful that this latest crisis did not place me in that situation again.
*Apologies to Stephen Sondheim
Tags: California Fires, Long Distance Worry, Sheila Merritt, Stephen Sondheim Predicts An EvacuationI’m in mourning this week, feeling a sense of loss, because the first season of the remarkable AMC series Mad Men has come to an end. Yes, the show has been renewed, but we’ll have to wait until next summer to see it. That’s far too long.
Over the past few years, I have all but given up on standard episodic television. I like Heroes well enough, but strangely, I don’t really mind when it hits a stretch of reruns or goes on hiatus. I was hooked on Lost for part of the first season but gradually drifted away. I think The Sopranos had pretty much run its course. I enjoy that other HBO dysfunctional family saga, Big Love, and do kind of miss it when it’s not around. And I still grieve for Deadwood, which was probably my favorite TV series of all time … at least until Mad Men came along.
Other than that, my TV viewing has been characterized by hit and miss frustration. I pretty much stick to a few shows on the Discovery Channel and a few on the Food Network, filling in the gaps with a limited selection of reality shows and reruns and a rapid-fire, devil may care trigger finger on the remote.
Then Mad Men arrived.
The first few episodes interested me in a somewhat haphazard way. I liked what I was seeing a lot, but I hadn’t yet succumbed. By episode three or four I was feeling the magic. And by mid-season the series had restored my belief that perfection is possible in television. Perfection in writing. Perfection in casting. Perfection in acting. Perfection in directing. Perfection in character development. Perfection in set design and costumes, lighting, props, music. Perfection in every choice made by the people on screen and behind it. Over the last half of the season, Thursday nights couldn’t get here fast enough for me, even during the final few weeks when I knew I was running out of time and would soon be bereft, suffering through eight months without any new stories to anticipate.
If you missed Mad Men or deliberately gave it a pass, I encourage you to correct that situation as soon as possible. There seem to be a lot of options for those who want to catch up: encore airings, On Demand for those whose cable or satellite systems provide it, iTunes downloads, and I imagine a DVD release in the offing.
Let this show, this amazing fictional world, slowly sink its hooks into you, draw you in, envelop you. It’s a show that demands much of its viewers but repays with generous interest. Give it a chance. Like me, you may even find something you’d been missing far too long, that heady sense of joy that comes from settling down in your favorite chair, turning on the TV, and being transported to a different universe, some place familiar but new, disturbing but heartwarming, bright but melancholy, unbelievable but always utterly real and altogether absolutely wonderful.
Tags: Faith Restored, Mad Men, Perfection is Possible, TelevisionA while back, I wrote this post about an eye-popping modification that turned an ordinary computer keyboard into a phantasmagorical typing machine.
A few months after that, I came across this monitor modification from the same amazing craftsman. I should have posted it at the time, but for one reason or other never got around to it. Take a look, and even if you don’t want to read through all the nitty-gritty, be sure to scroll to the bottom of the page for some snapshots of the flatscreen monitor paired with the earlier magic keyboard. Wow.
When I was a senior in high school, I took a psychology class where the teacher taught us to meditate. I doubt it was part of the official state of Michigan curriculum, but it was fun, and hey, it was the ’70s.
I still remember all the steps of his meditation process, which drew on various colors to relax your physical body, mind, emotions, and so forth, even if I don’t recall specifically what each particular color was supposed to do.
In a darkened classroom with soft music playing, we would all close our eyes and put our heads down on our desks, while he talked us through a journey from a bright green meadow, through a deep green forest to a warm sand beach, then into a boat and across a crystal blue lake to an island. On the island was a building, and in the building was a room. That was where the detailed descriptions ended and we were left on our own. Each person was supposed to “design” or “decorate” his or her own room. We were, in effect, creating our own private mental space where we could retreat in a relaxed state to think about things, get creative, solve problems, or just take a refreshing break.
Talking about it afterward, I learned that some of the kids came up with bare, undecorated, unfurnished rooms. I’m not sure what that said about them, if it was good, bad, or a little frightening. Others had rooms that looked like their bedrooms at home or a favorite relative’s house or a place stuffed full of toys and knickknacks and other private, personal things.
My room wasn’t quite like anyone else’s. It was, as I recall, like some kind of wizard’s chambers in a high castle tower — small and cramped with rough stone walls, overflowing with leatherbound books and maps on parchment, gigantic globes and big brass telescopes, crystal balls and hissing gas lamps and weird bubbling potions in beakers. There were also a lot of devices like the marvelous keyboard and monitor. Not exactly like them, of course, since we were still a few years away from the PC revolution at that point and I wasn’t visionary enough to imagine a personal desktop computer. But similar. I specifically remember a large brass typing sort of device with an oversized keyboard and ornate knobs and a long scroll of paper spilling out the back.
We did the meditation thing probably five or six times before moving on to the next item in the syllabus, but those sessions were the highlight of the year for most of us. We talked about them endlessly, and some of us tried to recreate the magic in small groups. It worked, sort of, but was never quite as effective without a skilled leader.
I returned to my island room off and on over the years, but again, it was never the same. Still, I remember the bewitching wonder of those first visits and the childlike awe I felt seeing all those strange devices, those impossible machines that I had created in the recesses of my very own mind, machines that could occasionally be used for some kind of practical work but whose true purpose was hidden from human sight and could never be fully divined.
I guess I was steampunk before steampunk was cool. Or before it was even invented, for that matter.
Tags: Computers, Cool Stuff, High School Memories, Keyboard, Magic Monitor, Meditation, SteampunkOkay, I’m fairly comfortable in officially announcing this as “the new look” for the site. I like it, the comments you’ve sent me have been favorable, and all in all it seems to be working well.
I owe a huge hug to my sister for finding an odd problem on the comment form, one I never would have found myself since … well, I generally don’t make a habit of commenting on my own posts. It seems the button to submit comments was trying to send them somewhere else, somewhere way out on the dark side of cyberspace. But that’s all fixed now. Needless to say, if anyone comes across any other glitches, be sure to let me know.
I’m sure I’ll be doing some more tinkering behind the scenes in the coming days, but the big, noticeable changes should be done. So we can now return you to your regular programming.
And just for the record: this is what my “Plan B” design would have looked like. Did I make the right choice?
Tags: Blog, Changing Designs
