100 Percent, Doc

I have let this site lie fallow. I could, I suppose, mirror whatever I post on LJ over here (or post here and mirror to LJ, or...sheesh. I'm not sure what would be the advantage of either; I do know trying to write separate posts for both sites would almost certainly distract me from the Real stuff I'm supposed to be doing, like: writing.

Oh, that.

Meanwhile, I've been working to try to come up with websites, both for myself and for Sarah Tolerance. Most of the site-building software that bills itself as intuitive is, shall we say, NOT. If you want something more than a very basic site, but something less than Amazon.com, there are tools to develop it, but you have to learn them, and the learning curve is not shallow. And I can't help but feel that I should be doing the Real stuff: writing. I am deeply distractible when a book isn't cooperating, and the chance to spend six hours potching around in website-land is almost irresistible, and I can't believe that's good. (I'm in the middle of a free trial of Squarespace, about whose site-building software reviewers have been singing to the skies; if there was a simple "How Do I Do This?" manual rather than the video tutorials with a laconic guy zipping through fifteen steps while telling you how simple it is, I'd be better able to deal.) I dreamt of websites last night.

Anyway, they have a "Journal" option to add to your site. Which means I could then have three blogs, which is two too many. So should I keep a journal with my website and mirror to LJ and DW or bag something established in favor of the new journal or...

Maybe I should just go write my book.

I suppose that would be me.

Avocado's camp is closing for a week, on the advice of the Dept of Health. So either (depending on whether we can borrow a friend's pad in Brooklyn or not) I fly to Burlington and snatch up the kid and nurse her at a Motel 6, or I fly to NYC and meet the bus and pick the child up and stay at the apartment in Brooklyn.

Either way...movin', movin', movin.

Last year the camp had a flood. This year it's pestilence. Dare I hope that next year it will be famine? Jeez.

So there you are, a paleontologist from somewhere on the globe, in Cinncinnati for the North American Paleontological Convention. And one of your colleagues thoughtfully arranges an optional fieldtrip to the Creation Science Museum in nearby Petersburg, KY. And, because you're broadminded and a good scout, you go.

Even beyond the comments in the NY Times's article, I just keep writing scripts in my head for the repetitive brain-explosion moments these folk must have undergone. The girl feeding a carrot to a squirrel while watched by dinosaurs is particularly a lovely image--although in my head the girl wears a 1950s full-skirted dress, saddle shoes, and pig-tails, rather than the Biblical robes they've probably got her tricked out in. But maybe not. If you can have brachiosaurs watching squirrels, why not dress the humans in dirndls and saddle shoes?

These guys are good sports, I'll say that for them.

This morning, as I was trotting off to pick up the City-Car-Share car to take Avocado for her physical, she noted that I was a little crabby. Well, sure; the roads were full of more than the usual number of DWS (driving while stupid), plus I had various things to get done in two hours, by which time the car had to be returned. The kid's tires were kicked and her health declared excellent. This meant we could copy her health report and send it off to the camp (only a month late...what do you want from me?). Plus, I had to mail off a package and buy some food. Returned the car two minutes before it was due, so I rule.

By this time Emily was craving a walk in the worst way, but I had to set up a conference call with the Spouse and a business advisor about, like, business and stuff. So it was almost two before Emily the Anxious got to go chase balls for an hour. She was grateful. Then I packed the duffles. This has been, as noted earlier, an ongoing battle. The girl wants specific things, but doesn't want to interrupt her social schedule to organize them. Finally, yesterday, we got the piles of stuff set up, so today was basically just checking things off the list as they went into the duffles. Which meant we discovered a few things that hadn't gone into the piles, and there was some stress about that.

Meanwhile, I arranged for Emily's physical--is there a theme developing here?--and Avocado's gala birthday visit to Great Adventure tomorrow. Astute readers may recall that the girl's 13th birthday was on the same day as a friend's bar mitzvah, so we promised that at some future time there would be jollity. The bill has come due, jollity-wise, and tomorrow I'm driving A and two of her buddies down to Great America; I will stay within quick driving distance, but I'm going to let the three of them ride roller coasters and be giddy without me. Am searching for a coffee shop nearby, where I will establish myself and get lots of work done.

And Thursday the duffles go to UPS and Avocado and I head off to the East Coast.

It used to be that I packed the girls for camp--with some consultation. My theory about camp is that the clothes I send should be well used, so it's no tragedy if something gets torn or lost or dirty beyond repair. Sadly, Avocado is now fully engaged in packing for camp, which sounds like it should be the beginning of maturity and a great new world of self-sufficiency, but means, in fact, that she loses things (the top of her brand new bathing suit) and makes selections on the basis of what she wants to be wearing rather than utility. I do not want to force her to be wearing flared jeans when everyone is wearing skinny jeans (13 is hard enough without people sneering at your clothes). On the other hand, I don't particularly want to go out and spend money I don't need to spend, for clothes that will return home trashed. The kid interprets this as "Don't tell me your underwear is too tight because we can't afford to replace it," rather than "Jeez, kid, you should have told me about this when you first noticed, rather than when we have to go out and replace everything else."

Tomorrow morning we go off to Target to replenish the building blocks of human fashion. More than I want to spend, but less than the girl would like. And Goodwill is going to get a whole load of tween's clothing, to gladden the heart of some other fashionista.

With no children in the house, the Spouse and I decided we needed to see a movie, so we went to see The Taking of Pelham 123. There are a few geographic bobbles, as there always are in movies set somewhere you know. It drove the Spouse (aka Mr Ears) nuts that the train whistle they use is not an NYC Transit whistle--it's more like a diesel train whistle (hey, I caught that too). And the music was deeply irritating.

OTOH, it moves too fast for you to really worry about the preposterousness of it all. John Travolta sports a moustache which is the epitome of Evil, and Denzel Washington's character is just slightly tarnished--but he resists bringing out the big charisma guns until the very end of the movie, which is very good of him. It's fun.

I have been using my morning pages (aka journaling) to resolve questions and get out-of-sequence scenes sketched out for the WIP. This morning it didn't want to do that. It wanted to do something else.

Understand, I am not one of those people who talks about her muse lofting her along somewhere. But sometimes you don't want to write what you thought you were going to write, so you write something else. And this morning I found myself writing what looks like another Meviel story--this one involving pirates, of all things. Since I am already half way through a story I'd planned to submit for the next Lace and Blade anthology, I don't need to be writing Meviel stories, or stories about pirates for that matter. And yet. This one has a chamber pot as a plot point; what's not to love?

Still, I do wish my brain would warn me about these impending story showers.

Today was the bridging ceremony for Avocado's massive Girl Scout troop. Bridging, for those of you not in the GS know, is the process whereby a scout ascends from one level of being, Girl-Scout-wise, to the next: Daisy to Brownie, Brownie to Junior, Junior to Cadette, etc. (technically Brownies don't ascend, they "fly up." Yes, this will be on the test). Because we loves us a metaphor, the troop traditionally holds its ceremony in the Japanese Tea Garden at Golden Gate Park. Cause they've got the second best bridge in town:



The deal is, they cluster by level on different sides of the bridge: Daisies, Juniors and Seniors on one side, Brownies, Cadettes and Ambassadors on the other. First the bridging Daisies climb over the bridge: on the side they came from everyone sings "Good Bye Daisies!" and on the other side the assembled group yells, "Welcome to Brownies!" Then the Brownies cross over to Junior-hood, and the Juniors there welcome them, and on and on. Afterward, there's the Court of Awards, in which each girl is given the various badges, patches and pins she has earned since the last court. Finally, the friendship circle and dismissal. Very picturesque, not a dry eye in the house. This year they also honored various volunteer grownups--I, as Cookie Cupboard Mistress, got a cool GS mug, a pair of GS kneehigh socks (as if), and a bejeweled Tshirt that says "Girls Rock!" Avocado says I am never to wear the shirt out of the house.

And then there was a new wrinkle. In the past the Council has held a big "Hall of Fame" event--a day at Waterworld--for the girls who sold over 1000 boxes. This year, no. So our Fabulous Leader arranged for a trackless cable car to drive us down to a highly chaotic Asian buffet restaurant in Daly City for a special dinner: the Hall of Famers got sprigs of fake roses, ribbons proclaiming them Hall of Famers, and little visors with (no lie) gilded cookies on them. She had also provided a banner to afix to the side of the cable car: "Miss Nancy's Troops Cookie Sale 2009 Hall of Fame!" This (and the noise makers she had thoughtfully provided for the girls) made the cable car a festive, very noisy, sight. As it happened, the Spouse was driving home from work and saw us. I think he was glad he wasn't on the cable car (my hearing may never recover). It was a lovely event, in the rough n' ready chaotic nature of such events; I ate too much and talked and laughed with other parents, while the girls stayed at other tables and pretended they didn't know us.

And then Avocado brought one of her fellow scouts home for a sleepover, and they stayed up until 2 am. And Scouting, at least for us, is over until the fall. Now to pack for summer camp.

The SFUSD School Board voted unanimously last night to change the 2010-2011 school schedule so that school starts the first week in August and ends in May.

Aside from my (well documented) personal dismay about this...I just hate it. I can't even articulate why it bothers me so much; it just bothers me so much.

Avocado's Wii (her prize for selling 1300+ boxes of Girl Scout Cookies) showed up about half an hour ago. It has been set up. We have created Miis (avatars for the Wii. I don't expect to get a civil word out of the girl until she heads for camp--except during meals, and maybe the odd nap.

I would never have bought the thing for her myself, but she earned it fair and square, and is entitled to revel in it.