(no subject)
For all you fellow bitches: Andi Zeisler of Bitch Magazine talks about That Word. (Via Salon Broadsheet.)
Pretty good weekend -- surprisingly productive, now I look back on it. I did laundry and changed my sheets and helped order siding and went to a party and to choir practice and played Kill Dr. Lucky and bought groceries and cooked chicken stock and chicken chili and sewed more ornaments. And I had another stab at clearing extraneous Stuff, this time out of the third floor. Much of it is now strewn around the second floor, which is not ideal, but at least it's getting more concentrated.
Something rather appalling happened to a friend of mine, though -- she got home from work Friday to discover that her boyfriend, who'd been living with her for about a year, had decamped with all his stuff. No note, no message. They'd had a nice birthday dinner for her the night before. Who does that? It's making me seriously question my judgement, because I thought he was a really nice, standup kind of guy -- as did she, obviously. I'm having trouble knowing what to think.
Books read this week:
Girl at Sea, Maureen Johnson
Magic's Child, Justine Larbalestier
A Stranger at Green Knowe, Lucy M. Boston (life_on_queen! Gorilla alert!)
Working for the Devil, Lilith Saintcrow (I had some issues -- such as, if she told me one more time that Secondary Character E was large, blond and shaggy, I was going to have to scream -- but not bad for a first novel)
Voices, Ursula K. Le Guin
Pants on Fire, Meg Cabot
[Edited November 20 to add links and the following] After finishing the last -- which, btw, I really enjoyed, so this is not a slam -- I realized that another reason I have come to adore Cecil Castellucci as much as I do is that she doesn't write romances. There is a limited range of happy endings for women in fiction, and I'm all in favour of those who expand them at every opportunity. Not, you understand, that I'm against romances -- I love 'em -- but it's nice to come across a happy ending once in a while that doesn't involve True Love.
Pretty good weekend -- surprisingly productive, now I look back on it. I did laundry and changed my sheets and helped order siding and went to a party and to choir practice and played Kill Dr. Lucky and bought groceries and cooked chicken stock and chicken chili and sewed more ornaments. And I had another stab at clearing extraneous Stuff, this time out of the third floor. Much of it is now strewn around the second floor, which is not ideal, but at least it's getting more concentrated.
Something rather appalling happened to a friend of mine, though -- she got home from work Friday to discover that her boyfriend, who'd been living with her for about a year, had decamped with all his stuff. No note, no message. They'd had a nice birthday dinner for her the night before. Who does that? It's making me seriously question my judgement, because I thought he was a really nice, standup kind of guy -- as did she, obviously. I'm having trouble knowing what to think.
Books read this week:
Girl at Sea, Maureen Johnson
Magic's Child, Justine Larbalestier
A Stranger at Green Knowe, Lucy M. Boston (life_on_queen! Gorilla alert!)
Working for the Devil, Lilith Saintcrow (I had some issues -- such as, if she told me one more time that Secondary Character E was large, blond and shaggy, I was going to have to scream -- but not bad for a first novel)
Voices, Ursula K. Le Guin
Pants on Fire, Meg Cabot
[Edited November 20 to add links and the following] After finishing the last -- which, btw, I really enjoyed, so this is not a slam -- I realized that another reason I have come to adore Cecil Castellucci as much as I do is that she doesn't write romances. There is a limited range of happy endings for women in fiction, and I'm all in favour of those who expand them at every opportunity. Not, you understand, that I'm against romances -- I love 'em -- but it's nice to come across a happy ending once in a while that doesn't involve True Love.