lists beget lists

Bookherd posted her 2010 book list! I also got lists from my dad, my sister, and Sanguinity, and I want to read books from all of them in 2011. Not just because I can snag good book recommendations from all of them, but because I like the idea of creating little pieces of common ground. If everyone reads completely different sets of books, that’s as unsatisfying as if everyone reads exactly the same books, you know?

So to add to my to-read list:
From my dad, T.C. Boyle’s When the Killing’s Done
From my sister, Lavany Sankaran’s The Red Carpet: Bangalore Stories and Colleen McCullough’s The Independence of Miss Mary Bennett
From Bookherd, Carl Wilson’s Celine Dion’s Let’s Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste and Hope Larson’s Chiggers
From Sanguinity, Raj Patel’s The Value of Nothing, Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death, N.K. Jemisin’s The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, and Nicola Griffith’s Slow River. Also Peter Watts’ Blindsight, from a previous year.

Plus eventually I will move on to O and letters beyond in my alphabet reading. I usually read 75 to 100 books each year… my dance card is filling up fast!

Maybe I should find a better way to organize the queue than my current haphazard combination of desktop stickies, unsent email to myself, holds list at the public library, and wishlists at Amazon and Powells.com. But maybe not. Maybe some haphazard should be preserved.

I like my Friday nights quiet

I had my last visit with the kitties this evening. Phew, I did not forget them for too long at a time and no one died including the fish. Loaner Kitty was under the bed for the duration of all my visits, and Hermi-1 had short, focused snuggles (with me or with Sang if she came with me) and then was done.

I’m thinking of jettisoning any plans and schedules for Friday evening and Saturday morning, as a rule. Let that be my time to stay up late, sleep in, read the internets, drink coffee. At least until hiking season revs up.

Tonight I’m reading Leaving Atlanta, by Tayari Jones. It’s set durng the Atlanta child murders between 1979 and 1981. I have a dim memory of hearing about them on the TV news; I would have been nine to eleven years old. I don’t remember feeling scared for myself; Atlanta was a long way away.

I found out about the book in a circuitous, internet-fueled way: I was reading the author’s blog (don’t remember how I found that, probably through another kidlit blog), then saw there was a Kickstart campaign for an independent movie being made from the book. I chipped in five bucks, and then I really had to read the book, right? The campaign is a go and apparently I will get an autographed postcard from Tayari Jones for helping! I like the book so far. There’s one event that I’m not sure I buy, but I like the kids. (One is named Tayari Jones, on the fringes so far, spilling stuff in the school cafeteria or bringing in a poster for the school contest. Heh.) Because of the whole Kickstarter thing, I can’t help but try to figure out as I read how the book would translate to a movie. A lot of it is pretty interior.

I keep forgetting and then remembering that this is a three-day weekend we’re headed into! I hope to cast on my second sock, get some revision underway, cook a big pot of pinto beans, and see my friends as schedules allow. Sweet.

The Anti-IPRC. Oh, and ramen.

Sanguinity alerted me to this photo of the laminator and workspace for making signs at the Westboro Baptist Church. “They have their own IPRC!” she said. I’m obscurely pleased by the idea of an anti-IPRC out there. Competitive laminating. Makes me want to make some zines.

(I should say that although Mr. Fred Phelps himself creeps me out, the WBC does not bother me. I don’t fear the group, and from my perspective it has served as training wheels for many, many embryonic activists who get outraged and can agree that being that mean to gays is a horrible thing. I am actually strangely fond of the WBC and wish the family well, though I am not sure what that looks like.)

On twitter today I mentioned that I like George Winston’s music, so maybe today is my day for unpopular opinions.

Sang and I split the last packet of our FuBonn ramen– Ve Wong Vegetarian Flavor. I didn’t have high expectations, so when I cut open the nondescript oil packet and found it was fragrant sesame oil, I perked up fast. The noodles were yellow and not too thick; the broth had seaweed scraps, my favorite. It also had carrot chunks, which make me think of Lipton Cup-a-Soup, and crumbs of fake-hamburger-style TVP, which Sang found gross. It’s not the One True Ramen, but the sesame and seaweed appealed to me enough that I’d include it in future assortments.

Today felt like a Friday, but tomorrow really is Friday. And the roof people expect to be done with our house tomorrow! I expect to be broke but happy.

Ramen: Paldo Stir-Fried Kimchi Noodles

I didn’t do a price-check of which ramen varieties cost how much at FuBonn– the trip was a Christmas present, after all. But I’ll be curious to see if Paldo Stir-Fried Kimchi Noodles charge a premium. It’s a big packet, and get this: there’s an inner pouch of not-dried kimchi! In liquid, I mean: it doesn’t seem right to call kimchi “fresh.”

It was the real stuff, and only cemented my fondness for Paldo. Sanguinity also approved. Or perhaps I should say, “My companion also approved.” This random bit from The Accidental Tourist pops into my head whenever I add someone else’s opinion to my review:

Next they went to a place that a reader had suggested, and Susan had walnut waffles. She said they were excellent. “Are you going to quote me on this?” she asked. “Will you put my name in your book and say I recommend the waffles?”

“It’s not that kind of a book,” he told her.

“Call me your companion. That’s what restaurant critics do. ‘My companion, Susan Leary, pronounced the waffles remarkable.'”

Macon laughed and signaled for their bill.

As I walked the dog after supper, I wondered idly why Paldo called the ramen flavor Stir-Fried Kimchi. Maybe to emphasize that there’s oil in it? Or to make it sound like more work went into it? But a comment on Journey Into the World of Ramen said this:

the sour, bitter taste of the soup is on purpose. that is because when korean people (such as myself) stir-fry their kimci, it’s the usually leftover kimchi that’s been sitting in the fridge for a while. many people (at least 1/3 of korean, as far as i know.) prefer this type of sour, slightly bitter tasting kimchi over the fresh kimchi.

I liked it; it’s going on the shortlist to buy again. Sometime. I have one more ramen packet to try, but I won’t make another shopping trip right away. Apparently when left to my own devices I’ll eat ramen almost every day, and I’m not running the mileage to soak up so many calories and salt mg!

the cash cache

Our house is getting a new roof! Like, this week! We were hoping it would be a limited repair job, but once they got in there it was clear that wouldn’t do. The roofer takes lots of photos and prints them out in his van so we can see all the damage. Roofers must have been delighted when digital photography came along and they didn’t have to take clients up on the roof anymore.

If I have to be spending a large chunk of the emergency fund, I’m happy that it’s on something that’s supposed to last 30 years, and that it’s not on any medical emergencies or funerals or anything. Still– car, furnace, and roof replaced by necessity in a six-month period. (Loose sense of “necessity” for the car, but boy do I love having a family car.) With Sang and I both working part-time, replenishing the funds is likely to feel slow.

On the first night of class at the IPRC, we were sitting around the table talking about our goals, and one of mine was to make a little money. I wasn’t audacious enough to say so out loud, but wouldn’t it be cool if, within a year after graduating from the program, I’d sold enough work to cover my tuition money? But even a hundred bucks on the spreadsheet would be exciting. Placing zines on consignment, or selling stories for a few bucks to magazines, or winning contests, whatever– it would just tickle me to see the tiny beginnings of an income.

Step one: make stuff.

Memmmorry!! (you know…CATS)

At about eleven this morning I sat bolt upright on the couch. “I have to go to Ken’s and take care of the cats today!” I said to Sanguinity.

Now, Ken and Dale only left on Friday afternoon, so yesterday would have been the soonest I’d go over there. It’s fine to wait til today because they are cats. But, I did not think of Loaner Kitty and Hermi-1 once yesterday! I mean, what if they just hadn’t popped up in my brain for several more days? It seems unreal, and not like me.

I’m going over there when Sang comes home from work, with the car.

Not a lot to salvage from this day, but I did complete my first long run of the year. Six miles, for a Week One total mileage of fourteen. It was fine. I ran around the college track and listened to Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me. It ended just when it was time to head home through the canyon.

I’ve walked through the canyon four times since the turn of the year, starting on New Year’s Day. I half wish I had an internet project going, posting photos every x interval and so on, but 1) I don’t need another internet project, and 2) maybe I want my acquaintance with the canyon to be more quiet than that, a gradual accretion of knowledge and familiarity. Oh, and 3) my camera is kind of big and I’ve never been that diligent at carrying and using it.

But here’s a photo from New Year’s that shows the general look of the canyon this time of year. For today, add a pair of diving ducks and the sound of Canada geese overhead, then the cawing of crows.

good reading that I make myself do

An update: I am very happy with my subscription to One Story. I’ve gotten three issues now. The typography and layout is the same for all the stories, except for the title and author’s name on the front. They’re pretty, pretty little booklets, and the stories have been good too. There are author interviews on the blog. There’s nothing I don’t like so far.

Despite all this, and despite the little thrill I feel when I see the One Story envelope in the mail, I can tell it’s the sort of thing that I could easily let pile up on my desk. (When is the perfect time to read an 8,000-word story?) But I think I solved this inadvertently: I got my dad a subscription for Christmas! It’s fun to think we’re reading each story at more or less the same time, and I’ll have to stay caught up so we can compare notes.

In another instance of slightly-forced reading, I signed up with Daily Lit to have Moby Dick sent to my email in 260 installments, one per day. It’s a sweet service, and free for the classics: you can choose email or RSS delivery, skip weekends if you want, change the length of the installments, and so on. I’ve read 17 now and they haven’t started piling up. Maybe I’ll finally redeem myself as an English major and finish Moby Dick!

Further bulletins as events warrant. ;)

there’s nothing simple and easy about being a child

I’m thinking about a four-year-old today. He’s the son of a friend we had coffee with today– he was at preschool during our visit, but we got to meet his beautiful baby sister for the first time. She’s still in eat-and-sleep mode mostly, though I think she appreciated Sang’s funny faces. It was wonderful to meet her and to see her mom for the first time in a few months!

My four-year-old friend (can I call him my friend if we visited when he wasn’t there and probably no one will tell him? On purpose?) is having a hard time. His family changed, and he didn’t have a choice about it. His mom– his mom!— can’t play with him as much as she did before. He loves the baby (sometimes?) and definitely wants the baby to interact with him, but the baby is not so interactive yet, so that mostly means making the baby cry.

Even just hearing about it second-hand, I can feel what big emotions he’s having. So when his mom explains to him that he can mess with the baby and end up with the baby crying, OR he can leave the baby alone and Mom can then play with him because the baby is still asleep? And he messes with the baby? Well, a lot of adults don’t handle their relationships much better, honestly. It is really hard to accept a loss and eschew drama and take the way that’s better for everyone considering the new circumstances. I feel kind of wrung-out and teary just thinking about it. (Sang said in the car afterwards, “But if he lets the baby sleep, the baby has won.”)

That, plus watching the baby devote her entire, serious energy to growing at a rate that would be like my putting on ten or fifteen pounds a week, plus wiring up vast numbers of brain cells… well, when people talk about childhood as simple and innocent and carefree, I wonder why their minds are misleading them so.

Ramen! Yesterday I had something called “snack noodle soup,” a mildly spicy Korean packet. I think I’m developing a brand fondness for Paldo (they also made the green ramen) noodles: they’re chewier and more golden than Maruchan.

Today I tried Unif Tung-I Instant Rice Noodles: Chinese Onion Flavor. I was excited to see this flavor at FuBonn, but didn’t eat them right away because I usually prefer ramen noodles to rice noodles. I opened the oil packet, which was half white fat and half reddish-brown onion paste, and was scared. You know that fried onion smell, like the cans of french-fried onions you sprinkle on top of green bean casserole? It smelled like that. Like the onion smell that’s hard to wash off my hands sometimes. I like it and then soon I can’t stand it.

I liked it in the rice noodles, as it turns out. I suspect that if I had this a few more times, I’d get kind of hooked on it, as happens sometimes with scary chip seasonings. But I don’t think I’ll go out of my way to make that happen.

one-mile runs

I was so incredibly lazy the last few months and hardly ran at all. My commuter walks with friends were the bulk of my exercise. Now with my Nu Skedyool I’m running once in the morning before work, once on a weekday after work, and once (longer) over the weekend. Once a week for each of these timeslots, I can handle it, right? With additional walking two mornings and one afternoon during the week, and a hike on the non-running weekend day. But those aren’t the hard parts. The hard parts are the ones where I have to change clothes, and then move fast enough to stay warm.

Both weekday runs are going to be one mile, this week. One. Mile. But if that one mile feels good when I’m doing it, then fine. And it does. Hello, running! I maybe kind of missed you, in a weird sort of way. Okay, I did. I missed you.

Seven miles for my long run this week. That’s my basic starter run, to Mt. Tabor or through Eastmoreland and over the railyards. Or down to the college track and around a half dozen times and back. I wonder how that will feel.

I have what I always wanted

First of all, I concur entirely with Cheaper Than Food on the qualities of Nissin curry-flavored ramen. The powder was just a powder. I wouldn’t turn down a stash of this one, but won’t be seeking it out.

I have this very complicated schedule for the new year. On weekday mornings I walk to work with friends (2x per week), go running and catch the late bus (1x per week), read the internet and catch the medium bus (1x per week), or catch the early bus and do some writing downtown (1x per week). I map it all out in my moleskine planner. Maybe no routine will seem onerous if I have to execute it only once or twice a week. And I even have an internet-reading goof-off morning!

Afternoons are similar. And on two of them each week, I go to the university library after work for a generous hour’s writing.

This week is the first week of the term, and students are everywhere with their bags from the bookstore and their cell phones and their bikes and backpacks. They study mostly in groups, it seems like, at the wooden tables along the curved glass face of the library building, on the second floor. Yesterday I snagged the end table and could look down at the greenery and all the people walking from building to building and across the park blocks. There was a low buzz of students talking, but I had room to spread out my notebook and the book I was reading and a copy of the story I was revising, and work in peace. I went back and forth between reading and writing, revising and taking dictation of new sentences that came into my head.

It occurred to me that when I was a college student, I was always wishing that I had time just to read and write. To work on what I felt like working on, instead of miserably cramming down books and dredging up papers. Well, that time has come. Maybe only a few hours a week, but I love sitting in the university library and not being a university student. It is the perfect disguise, better than sitting in a coffee shop. The people at the other tables are doing stuff they have to do (99 percent of them, anyway), but I get to work at my own pace, to my own standards, work on four different things if I want. I love those hours.