Rummage Sale!

They are just the best thing ever. Like a huge, chaotic yard sale, but cheaper and with more people.

My town is hosting one this weekend at the local equestrian center to benefit a local hospital. I drove down this morning and spent almost four hours walking around the two huge rooms of donated stuff. The two sections I scoured the hardest were Books and Women's Clothing.

Dozens of tables and boxes of books. Hardbacks for $1, paperbacks for fifty cents (even the large trade!), kids book for a quarter. After a full hour poking and pilfering, I had nine new books for my collection (a modest number when many people were filling up boxes!), including One Hundred Years of Solitude, A Canticle for Leibowitz, Stranger Than Fiction, and a collection of JD Salinger stories. I found a kids book called The Empty Grave that I remembered by the cover alone, but have no idea what it's about. Plus a copy of the film Sheena. All for six bucks.

Then I wandered some more before entering the fray around the Women's clothing. Talk about a free for all. In boxes, under tables, on top of tables. This is from where the term RUMMAGE sale was taken. I ended up at the T-shirt/blouse table for over an hour, sorting through tops from Old Navy, Gap, Abercrombie, Aeropostale, JCrew, Nine West, Liz Clairborne, and more. Name brands. I bought nine new shirts for three bucks. Three dollars!!!

Ecstatic over that one I kept going, ignoring my lunchtime hunger. I browsed other sections, such as Linens, Collectibles, Framed Art, Lamps, Holiday Items, and Toys with no luck. On my way out, I poked into a few boxes in the Housewares section and landed some new Tupperware containers for fifty cents each (sandwich size, small bowls, and butter stick holder). Another four bucks.

Not a bad haul for four hours and thirteen dollars. I'm tempted to go back tomorrow morning, since it's only a two day event. And my wallet definitely isn't cringing.

Deep Core Armageddon Day

Time for another round of the AW Chain. Number seven, to be precise. Previously, on Peregrinas, quidscribis wrote moving from Quebec to Sri Lanka. The differences in language, culture, landscape, and tradition. Things that make one human being seem so different from another, even though beneath those surface items, we are all the same.

The irony of writing this now is that while I read the previous post, the film Armageddon was playing on the TV behind me. The specific sequence of events was the launch of the shuttles into space, when the President gives a voice-over about saving ourselves from extinction, over half a dozen shots of men and women around the world, listening to translations of the speech. The eyes of the world are on the drillers, and we are all in it together.

Ever notice that it's always America that saves the world? We did it in The Core, Deep Impact (with a little Russian help), Armageddon (another token crazy Russian), and Independence Day (no Russians). Granted these films are made with an American audience in mind, but talk about self-aggrandizing. I want to see a movie where Tibet saves the world. Just because they haven't yet.

Let's share the wealth. Make someone else a hero for once. After all, every one of these movies make a point of showing just how similar Americans, French, Russian, Dutch, Japanese, and Egyptians are to each other. Prove it, Hollywood. Let Denmark save us all from a nuclear winter, or show how China blows the Boston-sized asteroid out of space.

I have only one request: no Ben Affleck.

Next up is Oswann at BCOM.

awchain

And the rest of the chain:

TaliaMana
Simran
Gillian
Bk_30
Peggy
Madderblue
Atomic Bear
Asorum
XThe NavigatorX
Cath
cesarcarlos
quidscribis
chaostitan
Oswann
razibahmed

In For It Now

It had to happen sooner or later.

I didn't want to, but felt I had no choice.

I turned on the heater. It's just too darn cold without it.

Oh the joys of autumn.

Huzzah Huh?

Robert Downey, Jr. as Iron Man? To be directed by Jon Favreau (Swingers)?

Did I miss something?

Cut Him Loose

What's the old saying? If you love someone, set them free?

A few days ago, I dove headfirst into a stalled WIP. I have written about 12,000 words since Monday evening, and still have a lot of steam left. I don't know where the energy is coming from. I just know that it's time to finish telling this story. These characters have something to say.

It's set in the same universe as "The Watchman Project," the book I'm querying to agents, only twenty-five years later. Several of the old characters are…well, older now. And there are two new characters that I adore. I can't get enough of them and their awkward love story (not Meredith/McDreamy awkward, but just as complicated).

They aren't the problem. The problem is one of the supporting characters. He's a nice guy with a nifty superpower, but he just doesn't have much to do. Even in the climax (God bless outlines), he serves mostly to feed information to the main protagonists. He doesn't affect the story enough to really justify his presence.

Ever read/see the stage play version of "The Outsiders" by SE Hinton? The character of Steve Randle is removed completely, and his lines are distributed to other characters. At first I was annoyed. Then I thought about it, and I realized that Steve served little purpose in the story, other than to be a counterpoint to Sodapop. The story works just fine without him (as staged, because I think the novel gave him a little more to do).

Well, my character reminds me of Steve. His lines could be reassigned, and his character removed completely without really hurting the narrative.

I just hate gutting a character. Especially when, in my mind's eye, he looks like David Wenham.

Stop! Or the Kindergarten Nanny Will Pacify You!

awchain

I nudged my way into the AW Blog Chain Round 6 pretty quickly this time. It's the closest I've ever been to the top of the list. My posts tend to end up in the bottom five (makes me sound like a contestant on American Idol).

Over at Mad Scientist Matt's blog, he wrote about Vin Diesel as inspiration.

Stop laughing.

I admit it. I am a Vin Diesel fan. So what if he can't act his way around a brick wall? The man his seventeen-inch biceps and a deep, sexy voice! What more does a girl need?

A couple of days ago, I watched The Pacifier. Definitely not an award winner, but clever enough. Who didn't laugh at the sight of a muscular man dipping a naked, poop-covered baby into a toilet? Or doing the Peter Panda dance? It's a new take on an old concept that I've enjoyed for a long time: action hero forced to look after children.

Stop laughing. XXX and A Man Apart were no worse than some of Ah-nold's early stuff.

Anyway, The Pacifier is just the last entry into this sub-genre of the family comedy. Way back in 1993, we got to see Hulk Hogan dance around in a tutu in Mr. Nanny. It's been a long time since I've seen this one, but I seem to remember the kids causing Hogan to fall down the stairs (a tried and true staple of the genre, so what is it with kids and stairs?). And in a shocking twist….okay, kidding. Typical ending: kids melt his heart, and he saves the day.

Let's go back a few more years to 1990's Kindergarten Cop. There's just something hilarious about a former body-builder-turned-governor who makes a room full of five year-olds cry. Granted, I was ten when I first saw this one, so some of the more adult humor was completely lost on me (kind of like watching Spaceballs at age nine, I just didn't understand what it meant to "give good helmet").

So we've got Schwarzenegger, Hogan, Diesel.... Hey, how did Stallone manage to avoid falling into this genre? Oh yeah, he got Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. Never mind.

Next up is At Home, Writing
Enjoy the Chain!


TaliaMana.com
Peregrinas
IndianRaj
Just a Small Town Girl
A View From the Waterfront
Southern Expressions
Mad Scientist Matt
Organized Chaos
At Home, Writing
Writing From Within
Pass the Torch
BCOM
Fireflies in the Cloud
Sounds of Serenity
Kappa no He
Infinite Vanity
Gillian Polack
Of Chapters and Reels
Curiouser and curiouser
The Road Less Traveled
Livien

Done, Done and Done!

Most writers have that Dreaded Trunk Novel, the one they started but can't seem to get quite right. It haunts them, remaining on the fringes of our subconscious, never letting us forget of its existence. Because one day, dammit, it will be good enough.

Maybe.

I pulled my trunk novel out its virtual trunk (the dreaded Idle Ficion Ideas folder) a few weeks ago, and began a total re-structure and polish. Scenes were moved, deleted and added. I added a frame to the existing story that encapsulates a major theme of the novel. I removed every "suddenly" from the manuscript, and removed some erronious moments of telling.

I think my baby is ready to present to the world. I just can't tell for sure. My beta has read two different incarnations of this story, so (as much as I love her) it's difficult to judge its improvement by her (always welcome) opinion.

(see how I suck up?)

I suppose finding a second beta is the way to go. Someone who can read a contemporary novel with fresh eyes, and give an honest opinion of the story. Is there a hotline I can call? Something like 1-900-RENT-A-BETA?

Hmmm...sounds like tropical fish store.

Happy September...Kinda

It seems somewhat ominous that a new month should begin so gray and rainy, as the remnants of Tropical Storm Ernesto crawl up the eastern seaboard toward my location. Certainly makes for a wet Labor Day Weekend.

But let's celebrate some good things about September. Cooler weather is on the way, after a summer of humidity and oppressive heat. The leaves will begin turning in a couple of weeks. Christmas is inching closer and closer. School starts, so there will be fewer children in my store, running amok with inattentive parents, breaking merchandise and being a general nuisance.

My longest-running PBEM is relaunching today, and I am excited about that. We have a new home, new forums, and lots of great plots waiting. I had hoped for more new players before we started, but I'm sure they'll come along soon enough.

I even submitted my Watchman Project query to Miss Snark's Crap-O-Meter. Suddenly I am very nervous.

It has also been a solid week since I found out my dad has cancer. Follicular lymphoma, to be exact, a non-Hodgkin's form. I got very drunk last Friday night and cried for a long time. But the doctors are optimistic, and gave him 70/30 odds. They're good, but I wish they were better. He had his first round of chemotherapy on Wednesday (first of three 3-week treatments), and had a bone marrow biopsy to make sure it isn't anywhere else. We'll get the results next Thursday. Arg!

I've written about my dad on this blog before, and I don't know what I'd do if....nah, positive thoughts.

I just wish I would stop dreaming about my grandmother (my dad's mother). She died in June, and I've dreamed about her two nights in a row. Do you think she knows I'm worried about her son?

AW Blog Chain, Round Four

I should have saved my previous post for the Blog Chain, as the subject of parents came up in Simon's post at The Hal Spacejock Series. Alas, I shall endeavor to write something new for my entry into Chain #4.

His mention of Australia jogged my memory a bit. I still keep in touch with a small group of friends from high school, mostly guys my own age (I was always the girl that guys were friends with, but never dated). For the last few years, we've been tossing around plans for a trip to Australia one summer. Go over for a week, hang out and see the lovely country. I'm not sure why we picked Australia, but I'd love to go. I've always wanted to go.

The trouble is that I am poor. I work in retail, and I'm lucky if I net $20 grand a year. I have student loans, credit card bills, car insurance, rent, and utilities every month, which leaves very little grocery and fun money. That last few times I tried to save some money up, my car broke. So I'm not tempting fate again.

One of my best friends called me a few weeks ago, and he mentioned the Australia trip.

Did I still want to go?
Of course!

But they are thinking next year or the year after, and I don't know if I can save that much. And I tell him that.

What if money wasn't an issue?
Um, Eric, my friend, money will always be an
issue.
But what if it isn't?
Then I guess I'd be in.

He offered to pay for me. Out of the blue and like it wasn't even a big deal. Eric and I have known each other since the first grade. Twenty years, next month. Even if I don't end up taking his offer (I teeter very close to that "too proud to accept charity" line), I am amazed at his generosity in offering.

It's a wonderful feeling, to know that I have friends like that.

The next link in the chain is Of Chapters and Reels.


Also, here is the entire Round 4 Line-Up.

Peregrinas
Pass the Torch
The Road Less Travelled
Fireflies in the Cloud
Even in a Little Thing
The Secret Government Eggo Project
Curiouser and Curiouser
At Home, Writing
Mad Scientist Matt's Lair
I, Misanthrope - The Dairy of a Dyslexic Writer
Beyond the Great Chimney Production Log
Flying Shoes
Everything Indian
The Hal Spacejock Series
Organized Chaos
Of Chapters and Reels
Just a Small town girl
Midnight Muse
Kappa no He

Parental Protection Rights

I love my parents. I really do. But one of these days I will smack them both upside the head with something hard.

They have a bad habit of not telling me when something medical is happening with my dad. He has high blood pressure and a history of clogged arteries in and around his heart. Two angioplasties (I'm too lazy to look up the proper spelling) in the past seven years, plus a handful of operations to relieve numbness in his leg. Nine times out of ten, I find out about these surgeries AFTER they have taken place. I hated it when I was in college, and I hate it now.

I've lived on my own (as on my own as I can be with a roomie and two cats) for the last three and a half years. I'm twenty-six years old. I'm not a child, and I don't want them to continue to protect me from my dad's medical problems. They've worried about me my entire life. I think I have earned the right to worry about them once in a while.

I called my dad last Friday night to tell him I'd be visiting for two days. Here's the conversation...

Dad: When will you be here?
Me: I'll drive in Sunday morning, and leave early Tuesday, because I have to work that night.
Dad: I--hold on.....{muffled sounds, speaking to my mom}...going into...hospital.... {more muttering and mumbling} Okay, never mind.
Me: What about the hospital?
Dad: Oh, she heard me. I'm going in Wednesday for some test.
Me: For the thing that was wrong with your foot?
Dad: No, I've just been having some backpain.

Okay, so I accepted that. Sunday night, it's dinner with the 'rents, plus my older sister. She hadn't a clue about the hospital tests until I told her, so we both attacked after dinner was over.

Turns out that the backpain is a lump, situated between his kidney, liver and pancreas. The Docs are doing a biopsy on Wednesday (TESTS???? Gee, thanks for downplaying it, Dad). So far blood tests are normal, and he doesn't have any other symptoms, so the Docs are pretty sure it's not malignant.

So I throw the whammy question: If I hadn't overheard you on the phone the other night, when would you have told us about this biopsy? The day after, or when you got the results back?

Mom and Dad share a look. "When we got the results back."

I almost threw my corncob at his head. I know they want to protect us, but I want to know these things! I don't want to find out that not only did he have the biopsy without telling us, but that it's cancer (but pray it's not). I've told them, but it never sinks in. Ever since, I have had two lines from The Patriot stuck in my head.

Heath Ledger: I'm not a child!
Mel Gibson: You're my child!

But Mom called last night, and the biopsy went well. Dad will be home tonight or tomorrow, I think. Now it's just waiting until his appointment next Thursday....

And now to end this rant on the immortal words of Inego Montoya: I hate waiting.

Gee, How Original.....

I love the idea of Alexander Siddig(Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) guest starring on 24. The man needs more work, and more exposure. Julian Bashir was one of my favorite characters on DS9. Did I mention the accent?

My problem with Alexander Siddig guest starring on 24 next season? He's a recurring baddie. Siddig is of Middle-Eastern descent, so it leaves no question about who the big bads are. Again. ::sigh::

On the upside of casting news, Eric Balfour is back as techie Milo, reprising the role he played way back in season one. Someone new for Chloe to torture. I love continuity.

I just love spreading good news. One of my favorite actors is coming back to TV. For a few episodes, anyway. But I'll take what I can get. I don't normally watch House, but for David Morse, I'll make an exception.

House Exclusive: David Morse Joins Cast!
Here's some fresh House prattle for you kids: The show has recruited former Hackster David Morse for a multi-episode arc. According to exec producer Katie Jacobs, Morse's character — a cop named Michael Tritter — will face off with Hugh Laurie in a battle of egos. "House is going to piss off the wrong guy, and
that guy just happens to be a cop," Jacobs reveals. "[Tritter's] really going to hold House accountable. We're going to have some fun with that."

Productivity

I have to give myself and my co-author a huge pat on the back. I don't think I've ever had such a productive writing day. Between the two of us (over both MSN and Yahoo Messenger), we managed to write 7900 words of our novel (31 pages). The novel now stands at just over 55,000 words. It's difficult to project a final word count, but I'd guess somewhere in the neighborhood of 90,000.

Time to listen to some Chevelle and go to bed. My butt needs a rest from this desk chair.

JLo A Psychic?

She must be, since she saw the obvious failure-in-the-making that is the big-screen Dallas movie, and dropped out of playing Sue Ellen.

Now the question on my mind is this: When will Shirley MacLaine come to her senses?

More Eighties Remakes?

You know, I think Hollywood is in trouble. And the first sign of trouble is the lack of creativity spewing forth from the local cineplex. And perhaps the most troubling sign of all is the proliferation of remakes. Not just TV show-turned movie. I'm talking about remaking a movie that's less than twenty years old.

The two most recent (and horrifying) examples? Revenge of the Nerds and Adventures in Babysitting. I kid you not.

How do you top Anthony Edwards, Robert Carradine, Timothy Busfield, Curtis Armstrong, and Brian Tochi? Seriously. How???? You don't. If this becomes another Ben Stiller/Vince Vaughn vehicle, I think I'm going to vomit. Nevermind the fact that they are too old for the parts....

And AiB? Starring Raven-Symone? I think my heart just stopped as I typed those words. Um, anyone remember the story? Suburban white kids lost in the bad streets of Chicago? Elisabeth Shue singing in a black jazz club? Can you really see Disney allowing Raven to utter the infamous line, "Don't f*ck with the babysitter"?

I mentioned remakes to my roommate last night, lamenting to her: "Why do they have to keep remaking the classics?" I paused, thought about it, and then deadpanned, "I guess it wouldn't make sense to remake a bad movie."

Unfortunately, what tends to happens is that remakes of good movies become bad movies.

Another vicious cycle.

Fat Attack!

I usually check out the news articles posted on the MSN homepage. They are there when I log on, so why not? One in particular caught my attention this evening, and I linked to an article about the worst fast food offerings out there.

You can read the entire article here. I've quoted a few sections that just made my stomach churn and my toes curl.

McDonald’s Deluxe Breakfast is a smorgasbord of bad-for-you foods—including eggs, sausage, pancakes smothered in syrup and margarine, hash browns and a biscuit. In moderation, any of these items could be an OK (if occasional) breakfast, but add them together and you’re looking at a grand total of 1,220 calories, 550 of them from fat, including 17 grams of saturated fat.

Burger King’s Triple Whopper With Cheese is a perfect example of why more is not better. A regular Whopper With Cheese already delivers 760 calories, 47 grams of total fat including 16
grams of saturated fat. But when you triple it up, this meal tips the scales at 1,230 calories and 82 grams of fat including 32 grams of saturated fat. (And that’s before you order a side of fries!)

Popping into Cinnabon for a Caramel Pecanbon isn’t exactly a breakfast of champions. This gooey pastry packs 1,100 calories and 56 grams of fat, while providing virtually no worthwhile nutrients.

The fried chicken seems like an obviously unhealthy choice at KFC, but it’s actually not the fattiest item on the menu. The Mashed Potato Bowl With Gravy contains 690 calories and 31 grams of fat, nine of them saturated.

Makes me want to go eat an apple.

The New Picture In Town

I feel the need to explain a bit about my new Profile pic (and to continue spreading Connor yumminess).

At Shore Leave this year, I plunked down the extra fee for a Photo Op with Connor Trinneer (Enterprise, Stargate: Atlantis). I have loved the character he played on Enterprise since the moment he appeared on-screen. There's just something about wholesome southern good-boy-ness that makes me melt.

Anywho, here's the photo in all its colored glory, plus autograph. We actually chatted for a moment about the merits of drinking Pedialyte while suffering from a cold (we both had one that weekend), as he signed this photo. Anyone who sits at a table and autographs for four hours, and then does an hour long Q&A is okay in my book.

And it doesn't hurt that the man is adorable.

Snobbery

You can thank my friend Shelly for this post. During an IRC chat last night, we started talking about the different things we liked to write. I recalled how much fun I had writing essays in college, and that some of them were quite humorous. She asked if we would ever see them posted on my blog.

Your wish is my command. I found my little plastic file box full of multi-colored floppy disks shoved under the nether regions of my desk, the whole thing covered in dust. And cat hair. Gross.

Disks perfectly preserved, the relics of a by-gone day (so by-gone that the computer I use now didn't even come with an A-Drive when I bought it three years ago). I found the essay I had mentioned, written in the spring of 2002. As I reread those words, I found my fingers inching toward the delete key, the space bar, and various other editing tools.

I refrained, and instead, present this essay in its final grade glory (I don't remember what the grade was, but this is the draft I turned in). Minor caveat: the Christian references are not meant as any sort of bashing against Christians or non-Christians. I attended a private Christian college, so most of our papers had this theme.

Kelly M.

ENG 304W

Final Draft

The Snob in All of Us

Everyone has been accused or accused someone else of being a snob at one time or another. If you're shaking your head and thinking "not me," you are either a shut-in or in denial. Snobbery affects all of us, even when we don't realize it. While we all think of that Barbie girl from high school who made fun of our faded sweaters and holey jeans, the word "snob" has not always carried a direct negative connotation. Let's take a closer look at what this word really means.

According to my tiny, desk-sized Webster's dictionary, a snob is "a person who considers himself better than anyone else and who looks down on those he considers to be his inferiors." I know a lot of Christians like that. Unsatisfied with this definition, I turned to that from which great knowledge comes: The Internet. After scrolling down past the ample "Try your search for snob at" listings, Dictionary.Com provided me with a number of satisfying definitions from, among other sources, Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary. My little desk-size will now retire to its shelf in shame to gather dust.

So what is a snob? According to the internet--which is never wrong--a snob is, 1) a townsman, 2) a journeyman shoemaker, and 3) a workman who accepts lower than the usual wages, or who refuses to strike when his fellows do. Certainly not the definitions we think of today. If they were answers on Jeopardy, we would likely come up with the questions, 1) What is a citizen? 2) What is a traveling cobbler? and 3) What is a scab?

Ah, but hidden amongst numerous pop-up ads, I found a much more satisfactory definition of a snob. "One who tends to patronize, rebuff or ignore people regarded as social inferiors." Sound like anyone you know? If I listed names, there would be no room for the remainder of my essay, so we'll leave that as a rhetorical question. Combined with Webster's previous definition, we can now define snobbery as the act of looking down on someone because you feel they are inferior to you. Yet snobbery is not only limited to looking down on people. The things you can patronize, rebuff or ignore are limitless. A snob resides in all of us.

Now don't confuse snobbery with personal preference. "I like GAP clothing because it fits me better" is a personal preference. All well and good. "I can't believe you buy your clothes at Wal-Mart. Lerner New York is the ONLY place to shop." That is snobbery at its capitalist best. I knew a girl like that my first year of college. The idea of wearing the Kathy Ireland K-Mart collection made her break out in hives.

I've already succeeded in weeding out the clothing snobs amongst us (you know who you are). I was recently clued-in to the existence of fish snobs. Really. A student here on campus--we'll call him Jarod--said he will not waste his time with fish that do not hold his attention. Jarod is very careful about the fish he allows to live in his tank. Strange? Perhaps. I suppose there is a moral lesson here about discrimination, but I'll leave that to the philosophers out there.

In the art world, there exists what I will call the Thomas Kincade snobs. You see, there is a belief in the art world that you cannot be truly appreciated as an artist until after you are dead. For examples, please type "Picasso, Pablo" or "Van Gogh, Vincent" into your favorite net browser and hit Search. Among this sect of artists, it was once commented that there is only so much oxygen in the art world and people such as Kincade and Christian Reese Lassen suck it all up. I suppose it would do me well not to tell them I am a big Lassen fan. I even have one of his calendars.

The truly amazing thing about snobbery is that it does not discriminate. The word "snob" can be applied to anyone, regardless of gender, race, horoscope or shoe size. Especially Christians. And if that offends you, don't read further, because I can assure you it doesn't get any nicer. And if you're waiting for lightning to strike me dead, you're out of luck. Yes, Christians are snobs. Some Christians are culture snobs. I speak specifically of those people who will not go see a movie/read a book/watch a TV show, but declare it moral garbage on the grounds that it "isn't Christian." After I clue them into the fact that Christian is a noun and not an adjective, I will ask if being a snob is considered "Christian?" If Aunt Bessie and Uncle Remus condemn "Lord of the Rings" as supernatural filth unworthy of their attention (or the three hours it takes to watch the entire thing), are they not rebuffing what they consider inferior? Snob.

This element of snobbery is most readily found in the ever-present argument between pre- and post-millennialists, fundamentalists and liberals. Should we engage culture? Post-millennial liberals will nod, give a hearty YES, and then show scripturally supported reasons why we should. Pre-millennial fundamentalists will shudder, cast you from their inner circle for uttering such nonsense, and then show scripturally supported reasons why we should not. Enaging culture? Puh-lease. As if Jesus ever went out onto the street to converse with average folk or eat dinner with his Gentile neighbors.

Perhaps what irks these Christian snobs the most is popular culture's ability to flourish no matter how much they denounce, rebuff, patronize, or ignore it. Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the Christian Culture Snob Sect, Harry Potter is here to stay. But I suppose it is the duty of the snob to hold their ground and never give in to that which is inferior.

Unfortunately, with snobbery always comes those discriminated against, rising up in anger and/or defense. For every Evangelical Weekly article telling us why our children should not read Harry Potter, thirty more elementary age kids are rediscovering their love of reading in the land of Quidditch and Hogwart's Academy (that's in England for those of you who don't care to read Harry, but quickly enough offer up your opinion that it is garbage). Some artists hate Thomas Kincade, yet thousands of average folk collect his paintings, calendars, throws and greeting cards. You may love shopping at DKNY, but I find the prices at Wal-Mart much more appealing. And once, if you are lucky enough, the high school Barbie will trip over her trendy shoes and fall on her perfectly painted face.

Snobbery is not always easy to pinpoint. For the easy-going individual, nothing appears out of the ordinary. Ce la vi, to each his own, and all that jazz. But beneath that casual exterior, faded jeans, and Salvation Army T-shirt is a firey intolerance for brand labels. A lover of poetry may have the deeply hidden hatred for that insidious, five-line gremlin called the limerick. Snobbery is harder to pinpoint in some people, but everyone has something to hide. Even if they won't admit it.

AW Blogger Chain, Round Three

I stepped out of the Second Round of the AW Blog Chain because of personal reasons, but here I am for Round Three. Previously, on Southern Expressions, Andrea wrote a little about technology.

One piece of technology in particular caught my attention: cellular phones. Nowadays we have cameras on our phones, internet on our phones, and some can even record video. And here I thought that a phone was for making a call to someone. Silly me.

I have a small Nokia phone. It's text message capable, but I don't use it. I don't even have my voice mail set up. It's mostly for emergencies, or if I need to call someone while I'm out (at the store, stranded on the side of the road, that sort of thing). It's not attached to my ear or my hip. I don't talk on it while I'm in line at the grocery store, and I think those Nextel walkie talkie things are the work of the Devil. I have a camera for taking pictures and internet on my computer.

This morning I watched a few minutes of an E.R. rerun from way back in season two or three (ah, the George Clooney days). A patient used a cell phone the size of a paperback novel (although not quite as wide), with a pull-out antenna and a flip-out cover. You remember the type. Just like you remember the brick-sized phone that Zack Morris carried around on Saved by the Bell, circa 1993.

As cell phones get smaller and smaller, they become more noticeable in TV reruns and movies. For me, at any rate.

24 is a great example of modern cell phone technology. In season one, Jack Bauer and Company had small flip phones that they actually held up to their ears. By season three, they had those hands-free cords that connects a little earpiece to a mike that hangs by your mouth. Season five (this year) gave Jack the little cordless earpiece. In two years his phone will be the size of a hearing aid, with no handset required. Just wait. I'm calling it now.

And I can't believe I just googled this, but About.com has a long entry about the history of cell phones. In case you're interested.

Next up in the chain, Kappa no He.

Catching up

Golly, it feels like weeks since I last posted here. Life has taken quite a few sharp turns lately, keeping me away from my little corner of the blogosphere.

My grandmother passed away on June 22. She was eighty-eight years old, and she had been battling uterine cancer for almost two years. It spread to her bones, but she fought as long as she could. Grandma was a fighter, and I loved her strength. My half-brother Tim was with her when she died, and I'm glad of that. She wasn't alone.

I went home to my parents' house in Delaware. My father, sister and her boyfriend, and I finished cleaning out Grandma's apartment on June 24th. My birthday. It was a surreal thing, to give away furniture that she had owned for as long as I can remember, to go through old photographs and her jewelry box, to throw away shoes and slips and stained shirts.

We thought that the insane thunderstorms that weekend would prevent us from having the funeral on Tuesday 27th. Seaford was flooded in several places, a dam had broken near Nanticoke Hospital, and the Wal-Mart parking lot was under water. But water recedes, and the sun was shining by the time we reached the cemetary. It was a nice service, but trying so hard to block tears was exhausting.

I returned to work that Wednesday, and a sore throat crept up on me during the evening. My Friday, it was a full blown head-cold, complete with fever, sore throat, coughing, and chest congestion. I never felt awful enough to call in sick (not that I could have, with two of the four managers on vacation this week), but work was miserable.

I did manage to see Superman Returns this past Sunday. I had to give it 3/5 stars. It lost a whole star because of Kate Bosworth. I just DO NOT like her as Lois Lane. She is too young to be an experienced, award-winning reporter and a five-year old son. She doesn't have the screen presence for such a strong, confident character. It ruined what probably would have been a great movie. For me, at least. Brandon Routh was fantastic. Kevin Spacey and Parker Posey were priceless ("Gee, that's really something Lex." "Wait for it." ::waits:: "Gee, that's really something, Lex.") James Marsden more than makes up for his lack of X3 screentime here, and we get to see his eyes!

Now I am poised to head for Shore Leave, still sporting a cough and runny nose. ::insert sarcastic snort of choice:: Oh joy.

My roommates at the convention may stick me in the hallway if my coughing keeps them up, but no matter. Connor Trinneer will be there!! As will Jamie Bamber. My best friend will tell you all about my Connor and Jamie obsessions. They rank right up there with my Patrick Dempsey obsession. Hopefully I'll return with fun autographs, some great pictures, and more cool memories.