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Kilbia
09 January 2014 @ 12:29 pm
I have literally peed myself with excitement over this game, even though I haven't yet had a chance to play. (Sadly, it wasn't as spectacular as all that - I just got so into reading and fiddling with character sheets that I didn't notice I had to go until it was too late to maintain full control.)
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Kilbia
31 October 2013 @ 12:05 pm
It's a good day for letting go of stuff, in the pagan calendar.

I'll be re-homing some water I collected on vacation, possibly writing a couple of letters, and looking through my music collection for any good breakup songs.
 
 
Kilbia
21 October 2013 @ 08:38 am
I am not a good teacher or trainer.

People have argued with me about this on occasion, and I always go back to the same assertion: "Just because I understand something doesn't mean I can make it so you understand it too."

Since I am occasionally successful at that latter bit, folks sometimes continue to argue the point. And in a way they're right, because my occasional failures to communicate aren't the real problem; it's that I'm introverted. I am not shy, mind you, except perhaps by some extreme stretches of the imagination. And I don't mind crowds as long as all I have to do is navigate through them to get where I want to go (or perhaps just sit and peoplewatch). But unless you are on my wavelength or one of the nearby overtones, interacting with you is going to be a drain on me. And teaching is by necessity something that requires a lot of interaction.

So okay, I will concede that I can teach. But I am still very much not a teacher.
 
 
Kilbia
10 October 2013 @ 03:43 pm
Local radio station is hosting a costume contest, *and* I need to go fabric shopping on someone else's behalf tomorrow.

Time to reforge the Nyan Cat costume!
 
 
Kilbia
17 September 2013 @ 02:27 pm
I just realized my last post was three weeks ago, and it was friends-locked and super emo anyway.

Peredur is an awesome guy and I hope he finds his dream girl soon so I can stop crushing on him.
 
 
Kilbia
05 August 2013 @ 08:18 am
Back when I was still at Willamette University (so, mid-90's or thereabouts), I met a guy named Ryan via an online game we both played. In between the nigh-inevitable salacious chats, we actually got to connect and learn about each other.

As personal audio was not yet the infinitely customizable luxury it is today, Ryan often listened to the radio in his dorm room while we were online together. And every once in a while, this one song would come on that was painful for him to hear because of a traumatic memory he had associated with it, and I would do the best I could to send him comfort via words on a screen.

I hadn't thought about this for at least a decade. Then this morning, the opening guitar riff came out of my truck's speakers, and I felt my gut clench the way it had every time Ryan admitted to me that he was hurting.

I don't know if I'm supposed to take away any sort of meaning from this experience, but I don't think it's a coincidence that it happened shortly after I finished re-reading The Sacred and the Profane, which among other things talks about ritual time that is infinitely repeatable and recoverable. For a moment, none of the last eighteen years had passed.
 
 
Current Mood: thoughtfulthoughtful
Current Music: The Eagles - "Hotel California"
 
 
 
Kilbia
03 June 2013 @ 12:55 pm
When I was somewhere between 8 and 9 years old, my family got cable TV for the first time. My brother and I gravitated to Nickelodeon, and thus I was introduced to The Monkees thanks to the magic of syndicated reruns.

Peter Tork rapidly became my favorite of the four, partly because he was the clown of the group and partly because I utterly failed to realize that fact. I'm still not very good at spotting satire unless I know to be actively looking for it, and even some hyperbole gets past me. Back then, I witnessed what were probably intended to be yet more "jokes" and "gags" for the show (maybe I'd recognize them as such if I watched the show again now), and my heart went out to the guy who'd been stuck in the role of Guy Who Gets Dumped On For Laughs.

(I was never so deluded as to think the show was reality. But at the same time, it *was* real in the sense of "these are the things happening to the characters, and we're supposed to think it's funny even though one of them is crying, because it's overexaggerated crying".)

--

A couple of months ago, my husband forwarded me an email alert that Peter Tork was currently making a solo tour and would be coming to the Granada Theater. It happened to be during the weekend of A-Kon, where I often volunteer with the programming staff, but I simply told my "recruiting officer" that I'd not be available that Saturday after 6 pm, no exceptions, and then I immediately bought myself a front-row ticket.

The first thing I did after getting my ticket and wristband was open a tab at the bar with a Coke and three of the brisket tacos which were the only food being sold on site. They rivaled the State Fair of Texas in terms of quality and price, but I wanted to support the venue and I wanted to not miss the opening act. The first thing I did after *that* was scope the merchandise table, where I learned that buying one or more of the "Peter Tork and Shoe Suede Blues" albums would get me a spot in the autograph line after the show. I would *like* to think that I would have bought at least one of the CDs even if I hadn't just found out about an autograph line, but that cinched it for me and I picked up both.

(I do have to remark on the opening act - Jason Elmore is a pretty damned amazing blues guitarist. I will have to check with my bass instructor tonight about whether this is possible or if it was special effects, but I am pretty sure I heard him throw out chords composed entirely of overtones.)

Tork's show was a retrospective of his musical life leading up to his career with the Monkees, and one of the things he talks about in the show is just how fabricated the band was (and how that frustrated him as an actual musician), so it was really appropriate that only three of the eight or so songs he played to punctuate his stories were Monkees tunes. Though my inner twelve-year-old did start jumping up and down a BUNCH when I figured out one of those songs was one which I had always really liked from the show but never been able to find on tape. My inner twelve-year-old also felt very smug as she and I found out together that Peter really is every bit the sweet and witty guy she had always believed him to be.

I think fewer than a dozen people left after the show - the rest of us were queueing up for autographs. That was an experience in and of itself, especially the part where I encountered a young lady who owned a banjo and DIDN'T know how to play any of the phrases from "Dueling Banjos". Eventually, a (to me) clarification filtered down the line - people who had bought things off the merchandise table got a spot at the *front* of the autograph line. So I dutifully jumped to the front to be placed correctly in the queue.

There were several things I thought I wanted to say to him while he was writing his name on a couple of cardboard covers, but on top of my rampant self-censor (OMG how could he possibly care about something like that?), I was very tired, and I had to focus everything I had on the one thing that I felt I needed to say to him:

"If you're willing, I would take a hug instead of the autographs."

And if you remember a couple of paragraphs ago where I mentioned how much of a sweetheart he is, you'll not be surprised that his answer was that he could do both. Or that he did. It's probably for the best that my inner twelve-year-old went into glee-induced cardiac arrest at that moment, so that my grown-up self could appreciate the moment for us.

I don't have any delusion that there is a great and deep and abiding connection between myself and this famous guy who didn't know my name and probably already doesn't remember this particular moment. But there *was* a connection for those few seconds. He was there and engaged, and it really felt like hugging a friend. It wasn't until afterward, when I was telling other people that I'd gotten to hug him, that I even started to build up those thoughts of "OMG OMG OMG I actually got to hug him!".

Though I have done one thing I don't normally do. I'm not washing the shirt I was wearing when I got that hug. Not retiring it forever, mind you; I intend to pack and take it with me when I go to Oregon next month, and be wearing it at my mom's house so I can hug her with it on and she can enjoy the residual hug still on it.

--

On a mostly unrelated note, my having come to the show right from having worked A-Kon led me to think "God damn, the people in charge of line-wrangling here are a bunch of n00bs compared to my peeps".
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Kilbia
03 April 2013 @ 10:35 am
Perhaps it's not a surprise, but one of my favorite parts of a holiday is going in and scooping up clearance merchandise in the days after. (It *may* be a surprise that candy is *not* one of the things I often scoop up. Or it may not - I happen to know myself well enough that if it's there, I will eat it, so I prefer to only make it available to myself in reasonable serving sizes at a time.)

This year, I was specifically on the hunt for egg wrappers. I don't know why I thought of it this year and not others, but one memory I have of early childhood and Easter is when my brother and I colored a batch of eggs the day before Easter (and Sesame Street stickers were involved - I don't know why a blue egg with an Ernie sticker remains so ingrained in my memory, but it does). On that Sunday morning, the eggs had been replaced with some that had been left uncolored, but decorated with stained-glass-looking wrappers. They were goddamn gorgeous.

My life now has indirect contact with several small children, and it's occurred to me that their parents might be amenable to my helping with a similar stunt. While I didn't find any egg wrappers, I did find kits for "24k eggs" - golden metallic egg dyes. So those will be stashed away for next year.

Or, if parents are concerned about the food safety of such eggs, I also grabbed two dozen glitterbomb eggs at 75% off. Heh heh heh.
 
 
Kilbia
08 March 2013 @ 05:43 pm
I collect Tarot and other oracular decks. One popular and recommended exercise is to just draw a single card from the deck and study it - look at the artwork and see what kind of symbolism reverberates with you. After all, ultimately you're using these things to talk to yourself, so anything written about a given card in the guidebook takes a back seat to what the card personally means to you.

The first card I drew from this new deck spoke to my very immediate situation, and my thoughts ran something like this. They weren't QUITE this floriloquent, given it was morning, but not that far off.Collapse )