There are people right outside my bedroom door, loudly making cookies. They're keeping me awake, but they sound so happy that I don't want to make them stop.

Weird day. I started out by cleaning the bathroom, then ironing all of my neglected washing, then watching a NatGeo documentary about head shrinking. I now know everything there is about trapping one's soul within one's shrunken head. Fear me.

I don't remember if it was like this in PA, but it sure gets dark early here. It starts at around 4 pm and then is nearly completely black by 5. When I drive home from work, it's like I'm puttering around the city at midnight, which I most assuredly am not.

Blackberry again. Sorry!

I can be kind of impulsive with my money, esp if there is a sob story involved. Now I'm being a little free with my body-- I registered my DNA with the bone marrow registry today on a whim. I hope I can help someone out, but I'm kind of scared too.

If you would like a free registry kit, go to giveagift.com, discount code SAVEALAN.

And again

I worked until 10 PM tonight, so I have neither the time nor the energy to write anything of substance. I think I'm cheating on this Nablopomo thing.

Ugh, I can't be bothered

I have another review, but the title of this post says it all.

Dead Until Dark, by Charlaine Harris

When I went up to pay for this book at Borders, the cashier, an older woman decked out in Giants gear, glanced at the cover.

"Ah," she said, scanning the barcode. "The book is better than the TV show."

Stunned that a woman her age had HBO, much less the desire to read a book called Dead Until Dark, I mutter, "Is that so?"

"Yes. Too much sex in the show. I like my sex scenes kisskiss and fade to black."

I think this sort of strong feeling might exist in the people who have both read this book and watched the corresponding show, True Blood. Not necessarily about sex, but that one medium definitely has the edge over the other.

Upon opening the first page, we leap right into the world of Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic waitress from the backwoods of northern Louisiana. Vampires have just now gained the rights of legal American citizens, having "come out of the coffin" a few years previous, and humankind is struggling to accept this phenomenon. Sort of like the whole gay marriage debate, except the members of this misunderstood minority are likely to, you know, actually turn you into one of them. Sookie is content to live the lonely life of a person sentenced to listen to other people's disgusting thoughts for eternity when a vampire turns her world upside down.

Yeah, I'm going to stop right there-- this novel's writing wasn't spectacular enough to warrant more than a back cover blurb.

I bet you can guess what side of the TV/book debate I am on. Yep, the show is better. You'll rarely hear me say this, as I tend to be one of those snobs who burst people's bubbles with a well-timed "Well, the movie/TV show was good, but it certainly doesn't stand up to the source material." I'm one of those people. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those times.

The writers for True Blood changed the story a little, yes. They added characters, changed other characters' personalities slightly, or just plain made stuff up. But they did it so well. You care about the main players, connect with them and their world. It's a world that's very familiar-- vampires have a PR crisis and an undead spokeswoman has to smooth things over; a right-wing church pronounces damnation on human/vampire relationships; a small community demonstrates the closeness and familiarity breed contempt. Dead Until Dawn mentions these things, but is more concerned with moving the story forward as quickly as possible. The show, on the other hand, takes as much time as it need to in order to build characters in actual people who you care for and worry about. When Jason, Sookie's brother, is suspected of murder in True Blood, I fretted. In the book-- eh. Whatever. Just a guy, you know?

I wanted to like the book. I really did. And, to some extent, I could appreciate the creativity in the world that Charlaine Harris had created. However, I just can't shake the feeling that a committee of writers did a better job with Harris's world than Harris did. Or, at least, they saw more opportunity in it.

Would I read the next book in the series? Sure. Why not? Would I buy it? That I'm not sure about. If you want a better deal for your money, invest in HBO.

Final verdict: library

back home, but...

... Now I can't get on the internet normally. Blackberry posting is getting tiresome.

A short one...

Cracker Barrel is the most amazing thing known to man. No question.

crap!

I had a whole thing writtenAn but my blackberry lost it. Well, this still counts.

Bloggin' on the Road

Writing from a rural PA Cracker Barrel after an evening meal of french toast and hashbrown casserole. On my way to a Penn State game and typing from.my Blackberry.

Would you be disgusted with me if I said I was typing this in a bathroom? A case of mobile culture gone too far, you say? Well. Then I'll sign off here.

K.

It works!

I'm going to be away from the computer, so I had to test posting with my Blackberry. And, by G-d, it works!

I won't have anything interesting or meaningful to say, but how is that a change?

K.

Maybe someone on the interwebs can help me here. What is the name of this print and who is it by? I've had it as my picture up on Nablopomo for about two years, but I can't remember where I got it from. Tineye.com says that I'm the only one who has it on the whole internet.

I just want to purchase it. :(

K.

Rush Hour

Driving home today, I got on entrance ramp for the west-bound Grand Central Expressway, which is normally just a short road cutting through a little woodsy area. Today, I must have hit it at exactly the right time to take my breath away.

The sky was at that weird twilight stage when it's dark, but the fissures in the clouds are an odd electric blue. While entering the ramp, I passed through the woodsy area where the tree branches formed an arching canopy, framing the street lights. Then the wind funneled the fallen yellow leaves in my direction. The overall effect was of driving through a school of goldfish at a depth where the sun was only just reaching through the water. For a few seconds, I was somewhere other than NYC rush hour traffic.

I don't think I'm describing this all that well, but I'll see if I can't take that route home again tomorrow.

K.

It's that time again!

And by that time, I mean NaBloPoMo! Yay! And I'm only a day late in announcing it.

Quick story: there's a senior singles group at my agency that always complains that they don't get enough people to come to their events. Who do they blame? Me. Listen, the newspaper industry is dying and the last thing they want to put in their failing rags is a singles event for the 65+. Plus, you're bitter and angry.

Sometimes there's a reason why you're single. And it doesn't always have to do with PR.

Whine, whine, bitch, bitch.

K.

Thank you, America

You have proven that we can stand up to our written promises-- our Declaration, our Constitution, and our Bill of Rights-- that all men (and women) are created equal.

We're not there yet. We still see crushing poverty in the streets and racism in our halls of government. We are not all equal-- not nearly.

But, damn, we are getting closer. What's next? Women in the White House that step out of the high heels of First Lady-hood and into the power suits of the presidency? Jews standing behind the presidential seal with confidence? Dear Lord, if only.

If only.

K.

PS. Senator McCain, I have to respect you for your concession speech. You had a tough road to follow throughout this race-- your supporters had to battle the accusations of racism when really they simply differed in opinion from Obama supporters. There is no winning in that situation. You were gracious and calming to a clearly unhappy crowd. You recognized the historical implications of this night. I have often disliked you (though a year ago, I would have voted for you), but you are a true American that only deserves my respect.

Hey, Pennsylvania...

...thanks.

K.

A dumb story

My dad brought home a quiche from Panera today and we sampled a bit over our leftover tacos.

Mom took a bite.

Dad took a bite.

I took a bite... and shrieked.

"THIS TASTES LIKE BACON!!!!" I picked up a pink of something and brandished it to the table. "BACON!"

Dumb story, I know, but of all the things for Dad to bring home from Panera...

K.

PS. Don't forget to vote tomorrow, people. I don't care who it's for, but if you don't do it, you have no right to complain for the next four years. Seriously.

Why?

Could someone please explain to me how a Pop Tart that starts off perfectly straight can come out of the toaster wiggly? What is it about heat that makes them arch like that? Any chemists wish to explain?

This is a cop-out post, obviously.

K.

Circle game

I staggered in from work and threw myself down in a chair, my eyes inching such as I considered the various merits of doing laundry versus leaving it until the next day, when... suddenly...

Holy crap... it's NaBloPoMo!

Yes, it's that stick that prods me back to my blog to type inanities for a month in an attempt to satisfy a random missive on a random month. It's incredible to me, in fact, that a year has even gone by since the last NaBloPoMo, but looking back, I can see the milestones of 2007/2008 that suddenly make the last 360 days seem very long.

I sat at every family celebration, wondering whether it would be my last as a member of the household. I realized that graduation wasn't a forgone conclusion-- that would need to take extra steps to guarantee a diploma. I went to China. I went to Israel. I graduated, finally. I started at NDS. I despaired a little. Now I may in the process of getting my first career-type job. That's quite a bit in one year.

And now one end of the circle is touching the other and I begin another go-around. Wonder what will happen next.

Happy NaBloPoMo, y'all!

K.