Semi-Geek Girl

Comic-Con Costume #1

2009-06-04T22:15:00.000-07:00

New costume!

Almost done.

Well, sort of.

It's supposed to be this...

But still, it's a dress! I shall celebrate with ice cream!

Yes, I Know I Suck

2009-06-02T10:41:00.000-07:00

So, I came across my own blog just now and discovered that, hey, it's been a month, a week, and three days since I last updated it. (Not counting the pic and three sentences I added yesterday.) Which is a new low, I think - although I'm too lazy to scroll through the archive and actually figure out if it's a record. Therefore, I suck. I am aware of it, and comments should feel free to explore the magnitude of my suckiness, but for now I'm over it. Mostly.

It's especially ironic given that a) I started the micro-posts to allow myself to blog more often by requiring less words at a time; b) I just ponied up $80 to Yahoo! for hosting the site I eventually intend to post this blog on; and c) I sadly and with much reluctance succumbed to the pestilence that is Twitter. Yes, I Twitter! Well, about once a week anyway.

But self-flagellation aside (verbal only, thank you - while I theoretically understand that for some pain can be a fetish, it seems ridiculous to think you'd accomplish much by whipping yourself - wouldn't knowing when the blow would fall kind of ruin it?), I'm back. And just in time for the run-up to summer geekitude galore.

As usual, the centerpiece of the summer will be the annual pilgrimage to Comic-Con (July 22-26, http://www.comic-con.org/cci/). But July also includes Independence Day (meaning good food, good friends, and ridiculous amounts of fireworks) and the Labyrinth Masquerade.

And if you can't wait that long, head over to http://www.cantstoptheserenity.com/ to find a showing of Joss Whedon's Serenity on the big screen sometime in June. (Dates vary by location, and profits go to the excellent charity Equality Now.)

I'm working on several Comic-Con costumes, although they're for the floor and not the Masquerade. (The stars were not as aligned as I thought this year.) I'll keep you posted on those and other events, and attempt to figure out how to use Twitter and Flickr to improve this blog.

Wish me luck... or better yet, perseverance.

Teenage Princess Persecuted By Madwoman

2009-04-22T23:51:00.000-07:00

Micro-post #3.

Snow White

So I continued thinking about fairy-tale princesses, and what they might be like if they had been allowed to be strong women. Next on my list was Snow White. I started going through her tale, trying to make it real. Her mother died having her, and her father remarried a beautiful woman who probably ignored her most of the time. So... she would have been raised mostly by the servants, which would explain why a princess even knew how to cook and clean for a household of eight. She probably grew up sweet and well-mannered and completely ignorant. She would have been bewildered when the huntsman told her the Queen wanted her dead. The Queen had presumably not been interested in her at all until Snow White hit puberty, and then became instantly homicidally jealous (but was probably canny enough not to show that to Snow White). So you're Snow White, wandering around, making friends with servants and playing in the forest. Until one day a scary man tells you he was sent to kill you, and that he's not going to kill you, but your stepmother wants you dead and it will never be safe to go home again. So you run away and get taken in by seven bachelor miners who desperately need a housekeeper, and you're perfectly happy there. Despite the huntsman, you've never really been exposed to any danger, so when the dwarves tell you never to open the door to strangers, you promise without actually thinking about it. Of course you open the door to the nice old peddler woman and sample her apple. It doesn't actually make sense that your stepmother would be so enraged by your teenage beauty that she would not only throw you out and disown you, but then (upon finding out that her hitman had chickened out) stalk you for miles and miles, despite the fact that you clearly have no interest in deposing her, regaining your kingdom, or competing with her for the attention of men. This is because she's insane! And you, Snow White, are no heroine. Saving you doesn't actually save the world or even your kingdom. In fact, if you managed to save yourself, you'd be almost as bad a ruler as the insane Queen, because you have no training in anything but housework and are almost certainly hopelessly naive. So it's all for the best that you're going to marry the prince and let him add your kingdom to his, since it's probably the only thing keeping his father from invading already.

Sadly, Snow White is not a heroine. She's not even much of a fairy-tale princess. She's merely the final victim in a bizarre crime spree perpetrated by her stepmother. And as such, I can't really make her kick-ass. Although I'm open to suggestion if someone else can.

SemiGeekGirl really hates needlessly stripping the magic from things, as she's just done above. She realizes that she never really liked the Snow White fairy tale, but she knows that might not be true for everyone, and she apologizes.

Micro post - Labyrinth Masquerade

2009-04-22T16:20:00.000-07:00

For more on this topic, see last year's posts. As soon as I get around to updating the tagging, anyway...

I'll do a detailed post on the awesomeness of the masquerade and what we plan to do this year, but for now I'll just give a brief summary. In the absence of a better idea, we've decided (tentatively) to do a twisted/fractured fairy tales theme with our costumes, specifically focusing on princesses/heroines. I've been trying to brainstorm, but a lot of times I end up just going around on the same thing. I did, however, have an inspiration for one princess, so I'll note it here.

Cinderella

So what if you were Cinderella - but instead of being the kind of girl who wanted nothing more than to go to the ball and marry the prince, you were a more kick-ass sort of protagonist? What exactly would you do if you no longer had to cook and clean for the step-wenches? Wouldn't you be out for revenge? Or at least out to help other oppressed young women? And most importantly, how can I tell that story without actually telling it? How can I make it into a recognizable costume?

I'm thinking, Vigilante Cinderella. Her clothing - the tattered remnants of a ball gown. The shoes, unfortunately, will have to be glass slippers. They're her most recognizable attribute, so I can't ditch them. (It's mostly unfortunate because I think that means whoever wears this one will need to purchase clear heels. And really, where are you going to use those again? Although there have been an awful lot of news articles about 'fallback careers'. Hrm.) The makeup - soot, of course, but used as guerrilla face-paint/camouflage. The weapons? A fireplace-poker-cum-rapier, and - my favorite part - mini pumpkin grenades. And, on her shoulder, to complete the picture, a pair of evil-looking sparrows for sidekicks.

SemiGeekGirl would insert an evil laugh here, but it's a skill she hasn't yet mastered. Alas.

Micro post - Chase Bank update

2009-04-22T16:12:00.000-07:00

So I've now severed all non-checking account ties to Chase. Sadly, though, when I attempted to reorder checks online, I was informed my information was no longer on file. I assumed this was an artifact of the switchover, so I called the customer service number that popped up. After entering ALL of my information by touch-tone, I was once again informed that I wasn't on file. I hung up, called back, and proceeded to look for the magic menu option that would allow me to talk to a real human being. There wasn't one. I had to go to the bank anyway to deposit a check, so I went in Saturday morning. I asked the teller if she could order me checks, because if she couldn't, I literally had no idea how to get them. She put in the order. I then asked her to close all my non-checking accounts. She asked why. I told her, nicely, that they had terrible interest rates. She asked if I had spoken to anyone in customer service. I nearly cried.

I was proud of myself later for neither laughing in her face nor demolishing parts of the branch on my way out. There are days when it's a very good thing I am not an Adept-level mage...

Work Blogging

2009-04-09T15:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve just realized that my unproductive and irrational work habits are multiplying, which makes me feel guilty and a little sad. On the other hand, when I confront their ludicrousness head-on, I’m amused… for the ten seconds or so it takes me to realized how pathetically not-funny most of them are.

Just now, for instance, I got up from my desk, momentarily cheered by the thought of being away from my cubicle, and drifted toward the office supplies in my usual fog of depressed sleepy ennui. I needed window envelopes; there were fifteen or twenty in a sorter with a variety of other envelopes, but that didn’t seem like enough. (I just counted – I actually needed fourteen.) So I hunted through a couple of cabinets until I found the box holding the rest of the supply, and grabbed as many as I could hold in one hand. Looking at the pile I’d just snatched up, I thought, isn’t it funny that I seem to take more of these at a time whenever I run out? And then I followed that thought to its logical conclusion and realized that some primitive part of my back-brain seemed to believe that if I just took enough, someday I would never need to get window envelopes again. Which is obviously absurd, so I was amused. And then depressed again by what passes for amusement.

And now I’ve actually bored myself writing this, which is another excellent reason not to blog at work, beyond the possibility of getting caught and the questionable ethics of using time in which I am being paid to do something else. I am BORING at work. My complete and utter lack of interest in the job actually just translates into complete and utter disinterest (sometimes). If you could accidentally commit suicide simply by sinking into complete passivity, I’d’ve died a couple of years ago.

Well, maybe a good rant will get the blood flowing to my head again. Today’s topic? Let’s go with Chase Bank, N.A. (I believe the N.A. stands for North America, but I don’t care enough to Google it. I just added it because it looks official, and that’s how they refer to themselves in all their radio ads.) So in October or so of last year, Chase purchased my bank, Washington Mutual. At the time, WaMu held my checking account, my savings account, and my primary credit card. I had been fairly well satisfied, if not ecstatic, about the services provided for all of these accounts, and had been a loyal customer for eight years.

In February, I happened to be looking over my banking information to see if I needed to wait for a 1098 before filing my taxes, and I noticed that the amount of interest I’d accrued on my savings account seemed kind of low. In fact, when I added it up, I’d gotten a total of $8 for the entire year – on an average balance of $4,000. Digging a little deeper, I discovered that the interest rate (a pitiful 2.25% under the orginal WaMu terms) had, under the new Chase regime, been adjusted to 0.25%. That’s right – one-quarter of one percent. Let’s round that down so that we can more clearly see what it means. Zero point two five percent rounds down to – big surprise – zero! I could have made the same amount of money by stashing the cash under my bed, and then asking any one of my friends for eight dollars. And I would have saved the gas I spent getting to and from the bank. (Okay, usually I walk, but still.)

So I jumped ship. I did a little research, asked around, and moved my savings to ING Direct. (The interest rate there, in the interest of full disclosure, is not great at the moment. But it is over one percent, and, more importantly, it is guaranteed to adjust upward as the economy recovers, something I don’t trust Chase to do.) In the first month, ING gave me as much interest on $100 (my initial trial balance) as Chase gave me on the remaining $3600.

But honestly, I’d been meaning to switch my savings to a higher-yield account for a while, and the best ones are rarely at brick-and-mortar banks. I was disappointed in Chase – and a little insulted by the 0.25% interest rate – but not really bitter. Until last week.

I received my current credit card statement last Monday, and took until Thursday to get around to really looking at it. (I paid it online Wednesday, but that didn’t involve looking at the statement because I’d already budgeted how much I could afford to pay, and just transferred that amount. I’m trying to pay it down, so the amount I transfer is always more than the minimum.) When I did look, I was shocked. The interest rate was 2.25% higher than before – over ten percent.

I’ve never had a major credit card with an interest rate in double digits. Never. (I’m not counting store credit cards here – those always have terrible interest rates.) And my WaMu Visa had held steady for over five years. I called Chase to inquire. The girl on the phone was clearly of the opinion that I was wasting her valuable time. She first tried to make me feel stupid by telling me that Chase had sent me a letter informing me of the change a month ago. Which I’m sure they did. I try to read those “Terms and Conditions” pamphlets, but they’re practically indecipherable. I probably filed it without getting all the way through. I explained, politely, that I wasn’t denying I’d been properly informed, I was just wondering if there was any way Chase could review my account and see if I qualified for a lower interest rate. She informed me with irritation that Chase had already reviewed all the accounts they received from WaMu, and they would not take another look for at least six months, so that I could build up a “payment history”. I pointed out that my FICO score is almost 800, I’m using less than one-fourth of my available credit, and that I had a six-year “payment history” with WaMu, the last three years of which I had always paid more than the minimum. She informed me that Chase had “decided not to take that into account.” Then she tried to say goodbye so she could hang up on me. I interrupted and told her the next call Chase would receive from me would be to transfer my entire balance to a different bank. She told me to have a nice weekend in a tone that sounded like she would prefer it if I stepped in front of a city bus. I asked her to report my comments to her supervisor, wished her a nice weekend in a tone that implied I hoped she would spend it having a root canal with no anesthesia in a dentist’s office where “The Bird Is The Word” was stuck on endless repeat, and hung up, literally shaking with anger.

Half an hour later, I’d been approved for a Citi card with a rate almost as low as my old rate, and a promotional APR of zero percent. As soon as it comes in the mail, I’ll be transferring my balance. It’s not enough revenge on Chase, but at least it’s something. Since despite my love of the name I have not yet learned how to make a Molotov cocktail, it will have to do.

That, and denouncing Chase to my loyal circle of thousands (or at least, more than one) of blog readers. Ah, sweet revenge.

SemiGeekGirl refuses to apologize for her delusions of grandeur... but she will apologize for the lag between posts. She's sorry.

Volume 2.5

2009-03-28T23:21:00.000-07:00

So, right after the party I was exhausted.
Then it was my dad's birthday, which involved, among other things, a 200-mile round trip and something called "sky sailing". (It involves a small fiberglass aircraft, and a tow plane. Mildly terrifying but wholly exhilarating. Go Dad!)
Then, a week at work compressed into four days of random busy-ness. Why on earth would you call your accountant from Spain to ask why the logo of the carrier on your mobile phone did not match the one on your wife's? One - why would you care? Two - how the frak would I know? Three - you're in Spain! This call is costing you a dollar per minute!
Now I'm sick and head-coldy. New updates as I feel up to it.
Coming soon - the Renaissance Faire!

Volume II

2009-03-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

Some of the male guests.
Some of the female guests.
The trivia quiz winner! Her prize: the LAST tube of Tauron toothpaste in the universe!
The motherfrakkin' seal, on which I spent at least six hours, all told.
Many BSG-clad guests. Yay!
Wonderful party kitten. Greeted all the party guests politely, made no attempt to cozy up to the allergic few, and spent most of the episode on the back of this chair, quietly watching with everyone else. (His comrade, the other cat, spent the entire party under the bed, not even sneaking out to go to the bathroom.)

More decor.
The whole spread.
Just a chips-and-dips platter. But the chips are all hexagonal, and there's toast!
I needed something vaguely healthy. I called it "reconstituted algae".
Cylon raider crescent rolls, stuffed with ground turkey and chorizo. Adorable and, apparently, delicious - it was the one food item I had no leftovers of!
Scotch cake, in a vague dogtag replica style. And I stayed true to the spirit of the show - there was Scotch in the batter, Scotch in the glaze, and about half a cup of Scotch just poured directly onto the thing. Tasty but potent!
The food item I am proudest of: the Eye of Jupiter fruit tart. Behold its wonder. (And, miraculously, it tasted good too. Not bad for a first try.)

Some decor. I made signs for everything.

Cleaning for the party. (In my Battlestar workout clothes, of course! And it was a good thing too, as several party guests were distressingly prompt...)

Battlestar Galactica Frakkin' Finale Party, Vol. 1

2009-03-16T15:58:00.000-07:00

Volume One

Step 162 of 350. Or something like that. These posts will be quick and dirty, because it's about the content, and not the usual flights of writerly effervescence that I like to indulge in. Just for form's sake, I'll bring you up to speed: this Friday, March 20, 2009, the SciFi Channel will broadcast the two-hour series finale of the best show on television, Battlestar Galactica. As I did for the painfully long-ago series finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I will be throwing a party. A big, extremely geeked-out, wonderfully obscure party. (As with all my parties, it seems it will be somewhat less well-attended than I'd hoped. But that's what the internet is for, right? So that multitudes of people I've never met can appreciate my genius? Yeah, right. And I'll be joining the Evil League of Evil anyday now.)

I've been preparing to throw this party since the fourth season began in spring 2008, but beyond some brainstorming and setting aside money (I figured if I took $20 out of each paycheck, it would pay for itself by the time the finale came around. It almost worked, too. I'm only going to come up a little short after I buy all the booze. But you can't skimp on fun!), I didn't really get started until February. That's when I started buying BSG-related stuff, figuring out how to decorate my apartment, and putting together costumes.

There have been some setbacks and misses along the way, but with some help from my boyfriend, my geek friends (I'm looking at you, Piratical!), and my minions (did I say minions? I meant parents. Parents. I've got to say, being an only child is nice work if you can get it), it's really starting to come together. A brief rundown follows with pictures, and I'll update as the event gets closer. Good Hunting!

The decor:
While I flirted with the idea of trying to recreate one of the cooler sets in my living room, I was ultimately foiled by price, time, my lack of carpentry skills, and the basic shape of my apartment. So the interior of a basestar was out, as were most of the interiors from Galactica. I considered a sort of tent/quonset hut theme meant to evoke New Caprica, but the ease with which my apartment became that depressing was, well, depressing. So I settled upon the easiest theme locale to recreate - the large open area occupied by Baltar's hippy-dippy-slutty acolytes. They took a largely unappealing and stark space (hello, my apartment!) and draped it with blankets and curtains and cloths in rich colors to make it a faux-Eastern-meditation style retreat. They also had throw pillows and pictures of Baltar, and possibly some Christmas lights. I can do that!

That took care of the living room. The rest of the apartment will be more of a hodgepodge. The bathroom and kitchen are function rooms that are for obvious reasons hard to disguise. They'll just get signs in the BSG font ("head" and "Joe's Bar" respectively, although I need to rewatch an episode to see if there is a sign for Galactica's restrooms, and if so, what it says). The bedrooms I don't want people in will get "Munitions Locker - Authorized Personnel Only" signs. The hall, being a hall, will become the memorial wall from Galactica, with all the pictures I can find of characters who died throughout the series. And maybe some of those electric candles, if I can figure out how to stick them to the wall right side up.

The rest of the open space, which is not quite part of the living room but not quite not part of it either, will contain an army-green mess table with themed food, a blue-curtained wall with a seal meant to evoke Colonial One, and a games table for poker, pyramid cards, and trivia entries. Plus all the BSG posters, toys, magazines, and prints not included elsewhere. Oh, and the shadow box containing the costume I bought from the Propworx auction (I DO own a piece of Battlestar Galactica, thank you very much!). Hmm. That room seems a bit crowded now. Well, as the apartment needs to remain functional for two people and two cats until Friday, major decorating probably won't commence until Thursday. I guess we'll see then.

Next was costumes, which to my shame are still in progress. The fact that they needed only minor alterations from army surplus wear caused me to leave them ridiculously late. One set of duty blues and one set of green BDUs still need pins, patches, shoulder suede, and pocket alterations. The workout clothes still need patches. (Note: I have all of those items, I just haven't attached them yet. I received my last BSG online orders last week - I never trust estimated ship dates.) Oh, and the blue curtain needs to be curtainized. At the moment it's just a big piece of fabric. Oh, well, that's tomorrow's task.

Then - the food.
I think this was the part I had the most fun with. A friend was kind enouigh to link me to some blogs where people had already created some amazing BSG food, and I copied some of their ideas, modified others, and came up with one or two of my own. The finalized menu follows tomorrow.

As do pictures, I hope...

So frustrated I nearly had to Twitter

2009-02-03T23:20:00.000-08:00

So today is the 3rd of February (speaking of which, I completely forgot that yesterday was Groundhog Day. Not that I celebrate it or anything, but you'd think with how bored I habitually am at work, it would have been five minutes' worth of entertainment). The 3rd of February is not a significant date by any measure, but it is just three days before the 6th of February.

Which, for the past three years, has been the date on which hotel reservations for Comic-Con International open (and sell out). Last year, Comic-Con posted a blog for attendees, which listed the hotels, answered frequently asked questions, and provided a space for Con goers to complain, offer suggestions, and otherwise comment on accommodations. The blog went up in late January, posted a list of official Con hotels on 1/31, and closed the week before Comic-Con 2008. It hasn't been updated since.

And this year, there's been no information. The "hotels" page on the official website says to check back for updates, or subscribe to their RSS feed. I've done both. Still nothing. Last year, and in years before, Comic-Con sent out a little save-the-date postcard with the day hotel reservations would go live. I think the postcard came sometime in January. This year, they seem to be doing all their communicating by email, but I've received multiple emails from them, and nothing about hotels. No postcard, either.

So I'm freaking out a little, mostly because that's just how I am. But I'm going to be really pissed if, suddenly, Friday morning at 8:30, the site tells me they're going live at 9am. I spent far too much time at work today inputting different combinations of "Comic-Con", "hotel", "reservations", "open", "2009", "discussion", and "news". I found nothing, except for a couple of blogs that confirmed they hadn't heard anything either. And several Tweets that said the same thing.

Which, for a moment, almost made me want to join Twitter. Most of the time, I find the idea of updating random followers on my life and thoughts in 140 character bursts to be both pointless and irritating, but today, being able to rant to the world in tiny, angry tirades seemed like it would alleviate my desire to scream. (Which I try to refrain from doing at work.) I resisted, however; mostly because as a new member, I'd have no followers, and would thus be ranting to no-one.

The ultimately fruitless research was oddly satisfying, though. I actually felt productive, tweaking the advanced Google search, learning how to sort results by date, and combing various blogs and discussion boards for information. I found a number of interesting things, including a pdf brochure for the San Diego Convention Center that acknowledged Comic-Con as their best-attended event (by an 80,000-person margin) but failed to list it in the top 5 conventions of the year. WTF? More on that in a later post. I also found a misogynistic, borderline wacko rant by Dirk Benedict (the actor who played Starbuck in the original BSG) trashing the new BSG. It made me extremely angry, until I read the first comment, which went something like, "Dirk, I'm sorry man, but your show sucked on toast." And then all was well again.

But the information blackout continues, as does my mounting frustration. And the uncomfortable sense that doing anything would be better than my current job. However, since nothing can be immediately done about any of this, I continue to haunt the web, and rant on the side.

Check back for updates, or subscribe to my RSS feed.

Aaargh.

Ummmm....

2009-01-29T16:34:00.001-08:00

On Tuesday, I read a New York Times article discussing a study that had shown that people who drank three or more cups of coffee a day were less likely to develop Alzheimer’s disease later in life. My grandpa has Alzheimer’s, so I was very interested. On Wednesday, I attempted to put this new information into practice. By noon, the world seemed to be vibrating and I had passed through “sharply focused” on my way to “so wired I might as well be drunk”. On Thursday I cut back to two cups of coffee and decided that the shaking of my hands was all in my imagination.

Not that any of this has much to do with anything. The ridiculous, wired sensation was at least a novel way to experience my job, which usually gives me the feeling I’m being slowly wrapped in grey cotton wool while white noise plays on the radio. It didn’t make my job more interesting, but it did elevate my illicit web-browsing guilt to a new level of paranoia. Think The Fugitive, except that instead of murdering his wife, he’s accused of browsing the Gold Box deals on Amazon.com. Oh, and poor Dr. Kimble was innocent. Never mind, bad example.

But at least I can use the ill-advised coffee buzz as an excuse for my complete lack of creativity lately. For the last thirty-six hours, anyway. Before that… well, I’m sure my brain was doing something very important. Like playing Lego Star Wars. Or driving.

Irregardless. Oops, tangent. A friend (and reader) of mine rails against this word, but I like the sound of it. Also, it escapes my main grammar-in-writing rule, because it’s near-impossible to misunderstand. Only the pickiest of readers will actually stop to consider whether I mean “without regard to” or “without without regard to” (as the etymology of the word suggests), and those who decide on the latter have made a decision to willfully misunderstand. Nevertheless, ten minutes’ worth of internet research has convinced me it falls into the same category as words like “ain’t” and “conversate”, so I will endeavor to stop using it in writing. Although not in conversation. Only idiots, foreigners, blowhards write exactly like they talk, and it’s never a good idea.

Regardless of caffeine adventures and video games, then, I’ve got to kick-start the creative juices into flowing. (Note: I made no promises regarding mixed metaphors.) While summer sees the fruition of many geek-related activities, preparation and planning must begin much earlier. And this spring sees a number of geek-fests of its own, including my local Renaissance Faire, the Paley Center Television Festival, and the series finale of Battlestar Galactica.

Which means it’s time to break out the sewing machine, the recipe books, the reams of scrap paper, and (sadly) the credit cards. I’ve already got a selection of Renaissance wear, and at this point I’m more likely to buy than try to create things from that period, at least for a while. And I don’t think anyone wears costumes to the PaleyFest. Wait, no – I just remembered. One girl did come as Buffy from the Prophecy Girl episode at last year’s Buffy reunion panel. The dress was perfect, but she was a brunette, which seemed puzzlingly half-assed. You’re willing to wander around the Arclight in costume when 95% of the die-hard fans – I’m talking people who spent the night on Sunset Blvd. to be first in line kind of fans, here – show up in street clothes, but you can’t commit to a wig? What’s the point, then?

But that still leaves the series finale of BSG. I’m throwing a party, and costumes will be mandatory. Anyone not wearing a costume will be forced to wear a sign labeling them a Cylon, and then tortured in other ways I haven’t settled upon yet. I’m willing to be somewhat lenient – guests can show up in drab, dirty clothes and claim to be colonists from New Caprica, or slutty, hippie-esque outfits and quote Baltar – but if they can’t even make that effort, they deserve ridicule. And of course I will be willing to help anyone who asks nicely.

So far, though, my efforts to outfit everyone I know as a member of the Colonial Fleet have hit several major snags. The first: undershirts. Anyone who watches the show will recognize the distinctively shaped, black-over-grey double undershirt that the characters seem to wear under every variation of the uniform. (Some people claim that the top shirt is actually a very dark olive-drab, but I've studied good pictures and I still think it's black. But color is less important than shape, in this case, since the shape is what you'll recognize from across a room.) Not only can I not find anything close to the black over-tank - which I understand, since it was obviously custom - but I can't even find sleeveless grey undershirts in the right shape. I may end up removing the sleeves from normal t-shirts and re-hemming the edges, but that seems like an obscene amount of work for the most basic piece of the whole outfit.

But considering my entire BSG costuming effort consists, at this moment, of a pile of undershirts, sports bras, and workout wear on my bedroom floor, and a little bag of patches bought much too dearly on eBay, I'm sure my trials have just begun. Stay tuned for seams and seething, accessories and aggravation, and the despair of dyeing!

Pictures to follow, but only in the event of success.

SemiGeekGirl congratulates everyone on surviving the first full month of 2009!

Boobs, boobs, boobs

2009-01-21T23:41:00.000-08:00

I figured that since this was probably the only time that title would be even remotely appropriate, it would be a shame not to use it.

About two weeks ago, I found a lump in my armpit, near my right breast. Now, if you're a guy or you've never seen a movie on Lifetime, that may not mean much to you. For the rest of us, it means breast cancer. It doesn't matter that I'm still eight years shy of the recommended screening age, or that there's no breast cancer in my family history. It still felt like there was a blinking neon sign over my head that said CANCER.

But don't worry - this isn't a cancer story. Twelve days later, I've seen two doctors, had bloodwork, ultrasounds, and a mammogram, and it turns out I'm fine. I have a swollen lymph node: my doctor said my options were to wait and see if it goes away in three months, or have something called a "needle biopsy". I'll be seeing him in April.

And before I begin my rant in earnest, I'd like to exempt my gynecologist from it. He saw me promptly, answered my questions, returned all my calls within 24 hours, and was quick to inform me of my reassuring test results. But that was the only bright spot in a twisty and depressing medical labyrinth.

I've never been a fan of socialized medicine. I'm a capitalist, and something in me rebelled at having to pay for other people's health care. But unfortunately, a capitalist health care system only works if the costs of health care are reasonable compared with a middle-class (or even lower-middle-class) income. And that just isn't the case. For my two doctor's visits, I paid $45 dollars each, my usual copay. It was ninety dollars I would rather have spent somewhere else, but nonetheless it was not a problem. But my insurance claim lists the actual cost of those two visits at $500. If I didn't have insurance, that's what I would pay.

Five hundred dollars? I don't have that kind of money to drop at a moment's notice. I could put it on a credit card, but what about the next time? And that's not even counting the ultrasound, mammogram, and bloodwork. I expect to pay about $200 for all of that, but going by the same formula, the full cost would be approximately $1000. So without insurance I would be out fifteen hundred dollars - all to find out nothing was wrong.

And the money isn't the only problem with the system. I had to visit three different offices (two of which required valet parking, but that's a Los Angeles problem, not a medical system problem). None of these places communicated with each other. I had to fill out nearly identical forms at each place. I was asked the same questions over and over, and occasionally, I was asked if this test had been requested by my doctor. No, I just do this for fun. It's not like his signature is on the requisition form or anything! Oh, wait, it is.

I think I was asked if I was pregnant seventeen times. I'm not, that I know of, but as I haven't taken a pregnancy test since the last time I had sex, I can't be one hundred percent sure. Birth control isn't perfect. I also explained that - to medical professionals - approximately seventeen times. I was also asked, rhetorically, if I could wait - for a test, for a reading, for a doctor, for a technician. Given that I was on time for every appointment, and that all of these places are open pretty much nine to five, Monday through Friday, my answer was usually, "I guess... do you know how long it will be?" This was often met by a supercilious stare, and the question, "Why? Do you have to be somewhere?" Yes! Work! You know, that thing you're doing RIGHT THIS MOMENT.

All in all, my experience wasn't terrible. Nothing was wrong, and no one charged what I couldn't afford to pay. But at this point I feel like both of those things were pure luck, and that terrifies me more than I can say. What if, next time, something is wrong? I had enough trouble getting through all of the forms and appointments and bureaucracy this time - and I am blessed with good insurance, decent income, and a job with flexible hours. I can't imagine navigating the system while ill, and worried about my job.

So I'm laying my capitalist principles by the wayside. Bring on universal health care. Because our system sucks, and I don't want to move to Sweden.

SemiGeekGirl wishes you all the best of health... and promises to return to geekdom in the next post. Hail to the new Commander-in-Chief!

All I want is a command center

2009-01-16T21:09:00.000-08:00

So I was combing the internet for any advance hint of the hotel list for this year's Comic-Con (fruitlessly, I might add - and as I searched back through archived blog posts from last year, I realized that there's not likely to be any news until the 31st or so. This despite the fact that reservations will almost certainly open on February 6th), and while I found pretty much zilch, I still built upon that in my OCD way.

I might not have mentioned that I do, at the moment, already have two hotel rooms reserved in San Diego for the entirety of that weekend. One is at a perfectly nice hotel that I have no desire to stay at, and the other is, well, somewhat out of my price range. As in, I could stay at this hotel for four nights, or I could take a round-trip flight to London and stay there for four nights. I'm actually vaguely appalled that I made that reservation... but I haven't yet decided to give it up, either. But the actual goal for this year's Con is to obtain a room at the convention rate. If I haven't made it clear why this is quite such a coup, let me spell it out: the difference between what I've agreed to pay for four nights and what the 2008 convention rate for four nights at the same hotel added up to is over a thousand dollars. The difference between how far my less-than-desirable hotel is from the convention center and this hotel is approximately three-quarters of a mile. It boggles the mind.

But it's also not the point. While I'm sure hotel drama will figure into this blog several more times, in this instance it was more about the process. As I sat there, comparing last year's rates with my Google map of all the downtown hotels, contrasting amenities and fees and quiet versus convenience, I started to sketch out my plan of attack for the morning that reservations open (and close. Last year, they had as many people logging on in the first five seconds as they had hotel rooms available).

I thought, okay, well, clearly what I did last year is not going to work. Me, sitting at work, trying to pretend to be working when my entire being is focused on getting through the most frustrating reservations process on earth, for an hour. Not really optimal for getting a room, or for working, funnily enough. So this year I've already decided to call in sick. Or call in with a doctor's appointment, maybe. If I feel like dragging myself in for half a day, afterward.

At first I thought I'd just do it alone. I can sit at my boyfriend's Mac, with my laptop on my lap, and my cell on my shoulder. But that might still not be enough. So then I decided to enlist my mom. Her eyes aren't great, so the internet is out, but I figured we could program the number into her phone, and I could write my credit card number out really big, and she could call too. But then I realized that since we would both be on the phone, a hundred miles apart, we'd be unable to communicate. If one of us got a room, we'd be unable to tell the other to give up. And what if they offered her options I hadn't prepared her for?

My next idea was my boyfriend. If he calls out sick too, then we can each be on a computer and on a phone. And we can talk, if we need to make decisions on the fly. But was that really enough? I thought, what if I get one of my friends who is between jobs right now to come over with her cell phone and laptop? I would have to make a big chart with the hotels and my order of preference, and another with my credit card number, expiration date, etc.

Which is when I realized that I need a command center. You know, your basic room, filled with screens and consoles and charts, shaped roughly like the bridge of a starship. I could hire all of my friends, and we would each have a phone line and a computer and some art supplies, and we would mobilize for each new project. Hotel reservations for Comic-Con? No sweat. A dinner party for ten next Saturday? Just pick a theme. Costumes for a Renaissance fair wedding? Let us know if you need peasants or gentry.

It's my ideal habitat. No wonder that stupid career assessment said I would do well in the military. I guess it wasn't just the snappy uniforms.

A Whole New World

2009-01-10T11:39:00.000-08:00

So, unforgivably, it's been almost three months since I updated this blog. And as it turns out, quite a bit has happened. Let's start with the big things.

First, there was Halloween. I spent eight hours at work in a fabulous 16th century cream brocade dress with boned stays and ten yards of skirt. The shoes pinched, my hair spent all day slowly escaping its updo, and the corset-style bodice was not conducive to sitting in an office chair for that long. I looked fabulous, and won nothing. The prize went to my coworker who came as a giant can of Red Bull. To add insult to injury, they forgot to send out an email when they began the luncheon/prize-giving, so a third of the office (including me) missed half of it. Not good form at all.

I then went home to change into my Rogue costume and head out to a party. Note to anyone else who likes dressing up - changing costumes halfway through a day is always a good idea. Sure, you might have to start over on the hair and makeup portions, but it's a basic truth that good costumes are almost never comfortable. Changing costumes halfway through is like trading shoes with a friend when you're walking around Europe: sure it still hurts, but in different places. It doesn't sound like much comfort, but trust me on this one. You'll be grateful.

Anyway, my boyfriend and I hopped in the car and drove over to pick up another friend who lived on our side of town, knowing that parking sucks in Hollywood. I was driving, since that meant it would be my bf's turn to drive back and I could drink. Now, normally, it takes half an hour or forty-five minutes to get to the apartment where the party was. On Halloween, it took two and a half hours to get there and find parking. We could have driven to San Diego. On Hollywood Boulevard (several miles from the famous, glitzy section of it, I might add), traffic was moving approximately ten feet every two minutes. Once we'd discovered how bad it was, we couldn't even give up and go home, because getting out was just as bad! Never again. Needless to say, we were in a foul mood by the time we arrived, and not even booze could fix it.

Luckily, the next night was another Halloween party, much closer to home. Someone came as Captain Hammer, which was awesome. (If you don't know who that is, shame on you.) Someone else came as Slash from GNR, but he looked more the the Guitar Hero version than the real thing, which I thought was hilarious. And I contributed Slayer Cake, which was super-cool, if I do say so myself. (Well, it looked super-cool anyway. It tasted disappointingly generic.)

After Halloween came my birthday. It contained nothing geek-tastic to report, except that we did play HeroQuest on the hotel room floor and D&D in bed later. I heart geeks!

Note: I just realized that "playing D&D in bed" might mean something different to some people. Just to clarify, I did mean the actual game, with character sheets and dice, etc. What went on afterward in the bed had nothing to do with D&D.

We got back to town on Tuesday the 4th, in time to watch the election results roll in. When CNN called it for Obama at 8:01 PST, I turned to FOX News to make sure they agreed. Then I switched back to CNN and cried. I know lots of people who said they cried tears of joy when it happened, but that wasn't me. I didn't expect to cry, and for a moment I couldn't figure out why I was. And then I realized it was relief. I had been so terrified that we as a country would continue in the same stupidity we'd espoused for eight years. I hadn't known how afraid of that I was until I didn't have to worry about it anymore. And so I cried. Then we opened a bottle of champagne.

I also had a fantastic birthday party at the Edison, my favorite bar downtown. Everyone got very dressed up, and I got to have a little Cinderella moment as I descended the steps to the bar in a slinky black dress and a host of tuxedo-clad men looked up at me (we later discovered the British Embassy was having an office party there that night). Good times.

And that was November. The rest was work, and putting away the sewing stuff for a while. Our roommate moved out, so we redistributed all the furniture. On Thanksgiving, my car failed catastrophically on the way to dinner with my bf's family; I spent the majority of the day driving and riding around Southern California, getting my car towed, getting to my parents' house to borrow a car, getting back to dinner in Lake Elsinore, and getting home.

Car trouble proved to be a theme of the Christmas season. Once repaired, my car developed a mysterious ailment that caused it to die and strand me at stoplights for minutes at a time. Subsequent trips to several mechanics failed to address this tendency, and I've been borrowing my mom's car for three weeks now. Combined with all the usual Christmas activities and end-of-year craziness at my job, December passed in a long, stressed-out blur that I'm only now recovering from. It definitely had its bright spots, but sadly, they weren't enough to elevate my memory of the season.

All right, enough of this diary-style rambling. I sucked, I'm back, and we can return to business as usual - rants, geekdom, costumes, and absurdities. Did I mention that the other night I dreamed I was a Jedi, with the face and body of Mila Kunis, having an affair with Bale Organa from Episode III of Star Wars?

SemiGeekGirl wishes you all a belated Happy New Year and best of luck in 2009!

More pictures!

2008-10-23T23:02:00.001-07:00

Decent costumes, crappy pics. Bear with me.

Here's the underdress for my friend's costume - hemmed, trimmed, and finished.

And the overdress, also done. I think it's pretty. :)

Accessories for my costume. After much internal debate, I decided to be Rogue, from X-Men. (The comic, not the movie. I love Anna Paquin, but all that black leather was so boring.)

The undermost layer. I live in SoCal, so it's possible it will be overwarm even on October 31. If so, I can strip down to this at the party and still be decent.

Here's the jacket. It's supposed to be trimmed in fur, but fur was expensive and hard to work with, so I bought a really soft robe of fluffy terry cloth and used pieces of it. It was easier and cheaper, but it did have an unexpected side effect - a fuzzstorm. Tiny bits of white fuzz are still being picked off all of our clothing.

The cape. It's hooded, which you can't really see here.

So my costume and my friend's are completely, totally, 100% done! (Which is not to say I won't be bringing a needle and thread with me on Halloween; I'm jubilant, not stupid.) Now all that's left to do is finish my boyfriend's (he'll be Gambit to match my Rogue), and my work costume. When searching through my costumes, I came across a dress from four or five years ago, when I wanted to be Darla from Buffy, in the episode where it flashes back to 1762 and she sires Angelus. It never quite got finished (there's no hem, several parts are held together by safety pins, and inadequate pleating means the waist of the underskirt is approximately a foot too big), but I'm confident I can conquer that by next week. It was made by a friend (with my minimal help but complete financing... go, price out fourteen yards of brocade-like curtain fabric. I'll wait.), and even unfinished, it's pretty impressive. Hopefully, it will annhilate my colleagues.

More pictures to follow!

Boredom, Frustration, and Moral Outrage

2008-10-15T23:10:00.001-07:00

While I'm still geeking out over Halloween, my daily thought processes are steadily marching towards the unremittingly political. Especially because it's a lot more acceptable to be caught reading nytimes.com at work than trolling eBay listings for costume pieces. (Well, at least it is in my head. I'm sure my company would actually prefer me to be, you know, working.) Beyond browsing up-to-the-minute updates of CNN's electoral vote map, though, there's not a lot I can do about the presidential election. I'm registered to vote, I've signed up for my mail ballot, and I've made sure my boyfriend's all set as well. California's not a swing state, though, so unless there's an unforeseen catastrophe we'll go blue as usual.

Despite my mostly futile musings on the deeply important general election, though, I did come across two advertisements today that managed to morally offend me (and believe me, that takes some doing. Mostly I feel that everyone should be able to do anything they want as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else and isn't stupid. Unfortunately, there's a whole lot of stupid out there). The first, unsurprisingly, was an ad for Yes On Prop 8. For the uninitiated, California Proposition 8 would amend the California constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. The ad in favor of it shows a little girl coming in to show her mom what she learned at school that day. She's holding a storybook with two frogs on it, with a title I can't quite recall - "King Meets King" or something like that. She says to her mom, happily, "Today at school I learned that a prince can marry a prince. And someday I can marry a princess!" (That's not verbatim, just the best I can recall.) And her mom frowns sternly and takes the book, as an old white guy comes onscreen to tell us that if gays continue to be allowed to marry, gay marriage will be taught in schools, as part of California curriculum - just like what happened in Massachusetts.

There are a number of infuriating things about this ad. First of all, what's so bad about being like Massachusetts? It hasn't exploded or fallen off the continent. It isn't even holding giant orgies in fields. And it somehow managed to produce Mitt Romney (though admittedly, he was fully formed before they legalized gay marriage. Maybe it wouldn't be able to elect a governor like him now. Hmm... still not seeing the downside). Secondly, at what point do California schools teach about marriage? I attended twelve years of California public schools, and I don't remember marriage being mentioned more than once or twice. I certainly wasn't taught it was my responsibility as a good citizen to get married and pop out kids. I think it might have been mentioned in grade school social studies - as in, a married couple and their children make up a household, and a number of households make a neighborhood, neighborhoods make a town, etc. But it hardly matters what gender the couple is for that kind of thing. And then, third - using that cute little girl is so clearly a scare tactic. The evil gays will corrupt your children! If by "corrupt" you mean show them that not everyone lives by the same value set, then yes, they will. And it's going to happen whether they're allowed to get married or not. Unless you plan to homeschool your children until they die, or lock them in a closet, they're going to meet gay people. And bisexuals and transvestites and people who get off on dressing up as horses and whipping each other with riding crops. Either your value set is strong enough to withstand these temptations, or it's not. (Or it's fundamentally flawed, but that's a different discussion.) Every religion has prohibitions that aren't reflected in state law. Catholics don't eat meat on Fridays, but it's not illegal. Mormons don't drink caffeine at all, but it's legal even in Utah. The point is, there are many things we don't do because we think they're wrong, not because the penal code forbids them. Teach your kids right and wrong (however you define it - it's legal to make your kids bigots if you want to. See how great freedom is?), and they'll be fine. Don't depend on the state to raise your kids.

Weirdly, the other ad that enraged me wasn't even political. In fact, it was so odd that at first I thought it was a spoof. But the punchline never came. This morning on my way to work, I heard an ad for a website called ashleymadison.com. It's a dating site, like match.com or chemistry.com, but with a twist. It's specifically for people in committed relationships, looking to hook up with each other for no-strings-attached fun. Its trademarked tagline is "Life is short. Have an affair." I'm pretty liberal - see my philosophy above - but excuse me?!?! WTF?!? Sadly, I'm pretty sure this indicates the fall of the American Empire and possibly Western Civilization as we know it (we've already destroyed Iceland, people). But that's okay, we'll all be too busy watching the circuses (henceforth referred to as "TMZ") to notice.

Until next time,
Fuming in Futility
(a.k.a. The Girl, wearing an Uncle Sam top hat. She likes hats.)

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

2008-10-08T23:30:00.000-07:00

Brief and belated again, I'm afraid. But I promise that soon, very soon, I will post not only pictures of the many things I am working on but also details on how I created them. (Not so much to impress you as to force you all to smack yourselves in the forehead and say, "That's so simple! I could totally do that!" To be quickly followed by: "Why I am reading this blog again?")

My job is still overwhelming and unrewarding (except for the financial rewards, obviously; I wish to remind the relevant deities that I am grateful to have a job in these troubled times), but it's settled down a little, enough so that my brain regularly wanders off to do other things while my hands and eyes muddle though the routine. But everything else seems to be piling up. Fall, which has arrived in calendar if not in temperature, is a season of birthdays and parties and holidays. And all the plans and undertakings that arrive with that.

It's a lot to do, but most of it is stuff I really enjoy - shopping for the perfect birthday gift, whipping up something delicious to contribute to a party, making an elaborate costume, etc. And, with the exception of internet research, none of it can be done at work. But that can't keep my brain from working on it in the background, and it's starting to drive me crazy, as I think through every detailed step of the creative things I need to be doing - then sit in my cubicle doing none of them. It's like running in place while hitting yourself in the head with an inflatable bat. It doesn't hurt, really, but it does annoy the #@$% out of you.

I make detailed lists when I think of things, of course, but there's only so much satisfaction in making lists (even for a neurotic like me) when you can't cross things off those lists. It's gotten to the point where I'm blocking out my free time by the hour on my Google calendar. Not that I really pay attention to that once I'm actually home - it's more to relieve frustration while at work, by imagining myself at home doing things I care about. For instance, I've just remembered that I was supposed to do laundry tonight. Too late now.

But I am making progress, slowly but surely. For instance, my Halloween costume is now... wait for it... FINISHED!!!!! Well, except for 4 belt loops, 4 hook-and-eye closures, and some hand-sewing to make trim lay a little bit flatter. But I could wear it tomorrow if I wanted to, and only I would know it was missing those things.

And all that's missing from one of my party-contribution dishes (recipe and photos to be posted later; it has to be a surprise at the party or it won't be as spectacular) is an auction I'm currently winning on eBay. Well, and the actual food part - clearly making it this far in advance wouldn't really work out well.

Also, just today I added two new projects to my list... wait, no, make that three. Pictures and tutorials (if they turn out really well) to follow, yadda yadda yadda...

But of course that's the danger. Given free rein at work, my brain has infinite time to come up with new and cool things to work on... and my hands have zero time to work on them. By the end of the month, I'll have twenty projects, all of them one-quarter done.

Or not. I might not have mentioned that I have something of a tendency to start things and not finish them. (This usually only applies to my own private projects; I procrastinate on other people's things, but I almost never let them down.) So I say this time, the list stops here! All projects for October are now on the list. Anything not yet listed will be politely turned down.

Let's see how long I stick to it.

A Catalogue of Catastrophe

2008-10-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

Or: excuses, excuses...

I've fallen way behind with blogging lately, and work is once again my excuse. The Peter Principle is unfortunately still in play - the very nice woman my company terminated three weeks ago has left an untold wake of destruction behind her. I discovered last week that something we do on a monthly basis for each client had not been done since November 2007 for one of her clients. Thus a task that normally takes into account thirty days of activity now had to cover approximately THREE HUNDRED! One day's work became three, and four days of other work subsequently had to be squeezed into one. I've dreamed of work every day for a week, and all that keeps me going is the prospect of a weekend ahead.

And then the heat wave hit, further stifling creativity. Or at least my willingness to spend an hour with a hot laptop resting on my legs. But tonight, dear readers, I have made the sacrifice to bring my marvelous musings to the world! Sorry. When uninspired, I fall back on pomposity. You know, like the Republicans.

It's somewhat amusing that this is the "catastrophe" post in a week when the stock market had the sharpest decline since the Great Depression and Congress passed a $700-billion bailout plan. Amusing only in that I'm complaining that I still have a job, and about heat and lack of motivation for geeky projects. Not really the level of tragedy that some people are experiencing this week, and I don't mean to belittle them with my irreverence. But weighty topics aren't really what this blog is about (we'll see if I can stick to that as Election Day draws nearer... vote no on Prop. 8!), and I was slightly affected. At the height of work-related hopelessness last week, my bank failed, which seemed like an appropriate cap to my day. Rest in peace, WaMu. Your "woo-hoo" campaign was condescending and relentlessly irritating, but you were a pretty good bank overall. Except for the subprime mortgage lending practices, I guess.

Heat, heat, heat. All I want to do is think about fall and Halloween - crisp weather, candy, sweaters and tights and boots, pumpkin patches, and costumes. Instead Indian summer has hit with a vengeance (side note to the Buffy fans - doesn't that phrase make "his penis got diseases from a Chumash tribe" start playing in your head?), and even my daily walk at lunch feels like a trip to the sauna. I freeze in my cubicle, then parboil at home. This had better break soon.

Or else what, I don't know. I'll continue working on all my Halloween projects - I'm up to three costumes, several costume consultations, a side dish, a dessert, and a drink to craft. And I still have no idea what to wear to my work party... I'm determined to win that contest. But everything seems to be progressing, if at a snail's pace, and I plod along through the heat. If it would just cool down, I could find some joy in the proceedings.

But for now, all is catastrophe - at least in the overblown sixteen-year-old sense of the word. So, you know, minor inconvenience accompanied by outsize pouting. What can I say? It makes me feel young. :)

As does the use of emoticons. :P

SemiGeekGirl's sanity will return with cooler weather... or at least her boyfriend fervently hopes so.

To Make or Not to Make

2008-09-24T22:42:00.000-07:00

My work has finally done something cool, and it's causing me a dilemma.

We merged with another company late last year (which unfortunately eliminated the usual open-bar Christmas party, but I'm not bitter. Wait, I'm totally bitter. Never mind). But as it turns out, the new partner we acquired in the merge really likes Halloween. It's one of his favorite holidays. So this year, for the first time, we're having a Halloween party. Which would be cool, except that it's during lunch and it's a potluck. (It's still somewhat nice, because I'm sure we'll all take a really long lunch without being docked for it, but this company tends to pay for lunch at the drop of a hat. Why not for this? And, of course, there won't be alcohol. Oops... still bitter.)

And, as it's Halloween, we're supposed to wear costumes. Now, my company isn't cruel, so costumes aren't mandatory. Some people just don't enjoy dressing up, and that's fine. Others will probably dress up in things that will make everyone else wish they hadn't, but that's a whole different blog. In fact, I think I've done it already. They announced the party via email a couple of weeks ago, and I was mildly pleased. It's an excuse to dress up, obviously. But then in today's meeting, things really got interesting.

It turns out that the party will feature a costume contest, and the top prize is $200. Two hundred dollars! For something that I love doing anyway. I mean, who else at my company spends their weekends sketching and sewing costumes? (It's possible there are others, but I've pretty much scoped out everybody for geek potential, and I haven't found much.) So, needless to say, I want to win that contest. I want to annihilate them. Plus, my birthday is three days after Halloween, so winning would be an early birthday present for me.

Therein lies the dilemma. Or, actually, dilemmas. First of all, three-quarters of my costumes are simply not work-appropriate. I'm sure that normal standards of dress don't exactly apply to Halloween costumes, but there are still limits. Costumes for which I wear boots but no pants, for example. Also, costumes held on by two straps and four safety pins. Next - the titular dilemma. (And no, that's not what it sounds like - I've already covered that one. Read the title of the post, gutter-brain.) I was really looking forward to wearing something I had made with my own two hands. But I'm still a beginner, and my most impressive costumes were made either professionally or by other people. And then, the last dilemma - obscurity. Lots of my best costumes, including the one that won the prize at my friend's party last year, are from less-than-mainstream sci-fi/fantasy/comic references, and no one at my work will know who I am. I'm pretty sure, for instance, that no one will recognize Buffy the vampire slayer unless I bring my three-foot replica Slayer scythe, and I'm also pretty sure that bringing realistic-looking weapons (even unsharpened weapons) to work is not a good idea.

I've also got a sneaking suspicion that with the contest being judged by the four male partners (two of whom have gorgeous, twenty-years-younger trophy wives), showing just the right amount of skin and/or cleavage could get me the win. But that's... well, cheating, demeaning to women, and worst of all, fiendishly difficult. What is exactly the right amount? And you have to err on the side of caution, lest everyone think you're dressed as a hooker, or, worse yet, figure out that you're trying to cheat.

I haven't come to any conclusions yet, but I'll report them as soon as I do. It's a fun problem to have, anyway, and vastly more interesting than my actual work.

Coming soon - more costume pics, possibly with people in them!

The Peter Principle in Practice

2008-09-17T22:53:00.000-07:00

To incompetence... and beyond!

I try not to use this space to complain about my job. It's not the focus of this blog, it's not my job's fault that it's soul-shatteringly boring, and most crucially, I already spend seven and a half hours a day, five days a week, thinking about my job. Which is vastly more than it deserves. But sometimes it intrudes on the important parts of my life. Like this week.

Now, my job is (in my opinion) not that hard. It requires a lot of attention to detail, a great deal of organization, and some basic math and people skills. And, I have to admit, I don't do it all that well. I feel guilty about that, but the fact is I find the work so boring that I can't concentrate on it for more than an hour at a time, and I hate the basic point of what I do so much that if I examine it too closely I become consumed with anger and have to stop for a while. So I do not do my job well. I do it mediocrely. And I'm ashamed of that, but as I need a job, I continue to do this one.

But this week I learned that it is possible to be worse at my job, while at the same time trying harder. It's the Peter Principle (in a hierarchy, an individual will rise to the level of their incompetency) playing out in front of me. You see, my company fired someone last week who did the exact same job as me. They assigned me several of her clients. And despite the fact that she was constantly working, constantly doing something, everything I got from her is a mess.

So I don't know whether to be relieved or saddened. Clearly, I could be worse - much worse - at my job. But at the same time, doesn't this mean I could be doing something better, if people this incompetent can be doing my job? (Not that I want a promotion - more responsibility in the same field might drive me to postal-worker levels of rage.) And also, how did someone trying that hard let things get this bad? I'm a slacker, I admit it, but when I make a big mistake or forget something or can't figure something out, I throw myself on the mercy of my boss. Because in the end, I'm responsible for something, no matter how much I despise it.

I don't have any answers, and I apologize for this less-than-lighthearted break from the important business of geekdom. But this week the business of business is pervasive, and besides, I can't buy anymore supplies for my Halloween costumes until I get paid tomorrow.

Pictures!

2008-09-14T22:18:00.000-07:00

That was embarrassingly easy, actually.

One Renaissance chemise. Or approximation thereof.

Note the elastic. Please - it was remarkably difficult.

And the sleeves. Let's not talk about sleeves.

Here's the coat. It needs ironing. :)

Now I understand why the pictures on eBay always look so crappy.

And pockets. Did I mention pockets?

I don't usually think about household appliances...

2008-09-14T21:25:00.000-07:00

... until I need one, and we don't have it.

For instance, an iron. I know that not having an iron (and beyond that, not noticing its absence for, oh, just over two years now) probably says terrifying things about my housekeeping in general and the state of my clothes in particular, but let's face it, that's not really much of a surprise. My clothes do better than you'd think - while I wasn't aware that my apartment did not boast an iron, I was cognizant of the fact that I haven't used an iron in several years - so I bought clothes with that in mind. I've never ironed pants in my life, so that wasn't an issue, and on top I tend to favor sweaters and other slightly stretchy fabrics as opposed to crisp cotton button-downs. And even those come mostly unwrinkled if you hang them in the bathroom when you shower and then toss them in the dryer to fluff.

So I don't iron. In fact, the last time I remember doing it was in high school, when I threw a sixties-themed party and lit fifty or sixty candles in my parents' living room. Here's a tip: don't set a shallow candleholder on top of a hand-knit doily and let it burn for six hours. Here's another: after you've ignored that first tip, the only way to remove the wax from the doily will be to press the doily between two layers of paper (lunch bags work well; they're absorbent but not so much so that they stick, like paper towels) and use a warm iron to melt the wax out. Change the paper when it becomes saturated with wax. Ironing for ironing's sake - or, you know for the sake of professional polishedness - just seems like OCD to me.

But it is, for better or worse, a part of making costumes (or any clothes, really). You press seams so that they lay flat. You iron interfacing to fuse things to stiffness. You press collars so they look like collars and not lumpy misshapen... well, never mind that now. I've been faking it so far, but this weekend I really dove headfirst into the costume crafting. And it turns out, you really need an iron.

And, weirdly enough, sometimes you also need a skewer with a hole in the end of it. Now, I'm relatively certain that's not actually the proper technique for inserting elastic, but sometimes you just have to improvise. Actually, I'm completely certain - the pattern instructions said "after sewing on casing for elastic, insert elastic using a safety pin." Here endeth the lesson. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that means, or what you're supposed to use the safety pin for. I had just attached a half-inch wide strip of bias tape all around the inside of the neckline of the chemise I was sewing, and I needed to thread a length of quarter-inch wide elastic through all three feet of it. I tried just pushing it in, but about three inches in it balked, so I pulled it out. Then what? That's where the skewer came in. Tip the third (although if you have a better way, by all means, use it instead): Take a cooking skewer. Strip off any visible splinters. Poke a hole through the non-pointy end with a needle, and thread the skewer. Tie one end of the thread around the skewer securely. Sew the other end of the thread to the elastic. Push the skewer (carefully, especially if you happen to be working with paper-thin, extraordinarily cheap silk essence) through the tube you've made for the elastic. The elastic will be pulled along by the skewer. Now, before the trailing end of the elastic disappears into its tube, pin it to something. Anything. The fabric is a good place to start, but if not that, pin it to the couch, your knee, anything. Trust me. Because when the end of that elastic disappears into the casing, it will be lost forever. You will then have to curse, jump up and down, and maybe throw things. Then you get to pull the skewer all the way through and start over.

This is the weekend I learned about elastic. Also about lapels, the meaning of the word "facing" in sewing jargon, and that throwing your already-cut-out pattern pieces onto the rag pile is not a good idea. Ah, the progress continues to amaze me.

Actually, though, it sort of does. In two days I made a gambler's coat and a Renaissance chemise. They're costume quality, not clothing quality, but I'm still proud of them. And if the next thing I learn is how to post pictures on Blogger, you can see them too.

I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you.

Geeks and Ghouls and Ghosts, Oh My!

2008-09-09T22:23:00.000-07:00

Every year at about this time, Halloween sneaks up behind me and hits me over the head with a two by four. Or possibly a baseball bat (since it comes from behind, I never get a really good look at it, obviously). Labor Day passes, the summer is ending, I'm just starting to relax and look forward to a really boring month, and then something reminds me. Halloween.

More specifically, Halloween costumes. I like Halloween and all - ghosts and vampires and creepy crawlies - but it's not my favorite holiday. It is, however, the best excuse all year to dress up in a costume. For some sad, deprived people, it's the only excuse. Luckily, at least one of my friends throws an awesome Halloween party every year, so I have somewhere to go in my costume. (Without that, I might be forced to dress up and just go grocery shopping or something. Lack of venue wouldn't actually translate to lack of costume.)

But being costumically inclined also means that I usually end up in charge of several costumes besides my own. Last year I did four costumes from the ground up and consulted on three more. This year, since I can actually sew a little, I'm looking at five. Admittedly, my sewing skills are still limited, so some pieces from each costume will be bought, not made. My parents' costumes, for the annual 'Witches and Warlocks' party, probably won't take any sewing at all: I've already got the dress my mom will wear as Endora from Bewitched, and we'll just buy the robes my dad will wear as a Hogwarts professor. We'll add a couple of touches to make it clear exactly who they are, like last year when my mom was Minerva McGonagall - a wreath of thistles for her hat, a tartan wrap, Gryffindor ribbons on her broom. But they're basically done.

The other three, though, will be considerably more work. As usual, I'm doing mine and my boyfriend's, and I think this year I'll take over one of my friend's, though I haven't told her yet. Last year her costume was pretty last minute, and I have a great idea for her this year, so I'm thinking I'll just do hers. Especially because I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing for my own yet. I have a couple of ideas, but nothing really inspired me this year like Yvaine from Stardust did last year.

At least this year if I don't come up with anything, I have things to fall back on. My Comic-Con costumes, the Masquerade Ball outfit, or my outfit for the Edwardian Ball will all do in a pinch. The same is not true of my boyfriend. Our friends have seen all of his costumes before, and with the exception of Severus Snape (made by a costumer friend of his years ago), they weren't really made well enough for multiple wearings. (I made them, often without using a sewing machine... sometimes without patterns or measurements... it's fairly miraculous they stayed on.) But this year I'm confident in my ability to make things that actually qualify as clothes. Whether or not they look like what they're supposed to is an entirely different question.

I think this year I might go old school. A lot of things are up in the air right now, and I think next year won't be the same. (Which seems profound, but upon reflection is just obvious. Oh well.) So instead of trying to do something uber-sexy and up-to-the-moment, I think this year I might go with a costume that's been rattling around in my head for a couple of years. I've got the hair for it right now, and there's a great companion costume for my boyfriend. It'll involve some purchasing, some sewing, and possibly some foam molding and shellacking.

It will be fantastic. It will be time-consuming. It will be revealed... in a later post.

Next year, can someone remind me about Halloween in August?

Fall of twilight

2008-09-03T23:04:00.000-07:00

It's not me, it's you. Really.

I read twilight on a four-hour layover in Atlanta this weekend, and I liked it. Period. I know I'm damning it with faint praise, but that's about all I can say for it. It's decently written and enjoyable and worth a read if you've got some time to kill. It is not, however, life-changing, profound, or in any way a rival to the Harry Potter series.

I'm sorry, Twilighters. I'm just not destined to become one of you. There are a number of reasons for this, and they're not necessarily the ones you'd expect. While I had admittedly already found the twilight fanbase overly rabid and annoying, and expressed some misgivings over the religious pedigree of the author, I was determined to go into it with an open mind, which I believe I managed for the most part. I was also at a slight disadvantage, having read spoiler-filled reviews of each of the books, which obviously diminished the suspense, but this wasn't a major handicap, as most authors are reluctant to kill their main characters anyway, so you already expect everyone to survive.

But it just didn't grab me by the throat, as it were. I honestly like Bella, the main character, and I want her to get what she wants. Which is, of course, Edward. Who is also likable enough, I suppose. He's very courtly, very protective, very beautiful, very rich... very everything. And that makes sense, given that he's had over a hundred years to become all of those things. But he's a little... boring. He has no humanizing flaws, no fascinating quirks. And again, that makes sense - he's not human. But I have to say I don't understand the appeal. Sure, if he's that beautiful I'm sure I'd stare at him too. Then what? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you could watch The Simpsons with, or play Rock Band with, or have a tickle fight with. I know those are my own personal hobbies, but he doesn't really seem compatible with any casual pursuits. All he and Bella seem to do together is walk around and sit around, talking about how in love they are and how much danger she's in. Which is lovely and deeply romantic. For about five minutes. Then I'm bored. And then what do you do?

I do realize that the brooding, Byronic hero is just not my cup of tea. I wasn't all that captivated by the Buffy/Angel thing, either. But at least they had a shared mission - they could slay together. And while Buffy was definitely near-obsessed with Angel, she at least had other friends. She spent time with other people, did other things. Occasionally she even resented Angel for being a part of the supernatural part of her world, being part of what kept her from normal. She was torn between being a Slayer and being a teenager. None of this is true of Bella. I know she doesn't have the convenience of being a Slayer - a defined destiny, a duty - but she doesn't seem to have any wants or needs that are not fulfilled by Edward.

In fact, she doesn't really have anything that isn't somehow connected to Edward (except for her family, which she's willing to give up to be with him). She doesn't have likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends, anything. At the beginning of the book, she misses the sunny weather of Phoenix, but when she realizes why Edward and his family live in rainy Forks, Washington, she stops minding the grey days. As she and Edward start dating, he asks her endless questions about herself - but very few of the answers actually make it into the book, leaving her as much a cipher as she was before. Her only distinguishing trait is that she is extremely accident-prone. All this makes her easy to identify with, but hard to know. I could understand a teenage (or pre-teen) girl wanting to BE Bella, to live out her romantic story, but I can't imagine wanting to be LIKE her. How? The answer to the question "what would Bella do?" always references Edward. If you don't have an Edward, you don't have an answer.

Bella isn't a person, she's a reflection. A pale imitation of the real thing - just as Edward isn't so much a person as a marble statue come to life. They're very pretty, and they're very devoted, but their passion is a pallid thing compared to reality. Give me a guy who gets a little dirty, who sweats and laughs and trips over his own feet and misspells words like "cereal", and I can love him in the passionate messy silly way a real guy deserves. Give me Edward, and I can hang his picture on the wall.

Did I mention how bored I am in museums of art?

Leavin' on a jet plane

2008-08-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

I love flying. I know that's not a majority opinion these days, what with the ever-increasing ticket prices, ridiculously nitpicky rules for fares, baggage, and security, and overbooked, delayed flights, but I still love it. I love getting to the gate (I'm going to skip everything before that, as I do NOT love check-in lines and security screenings; they're simply mostly-necessary evils) and settling into a little spot where I can keep an eye on my luggage and curl up with my book and maybe a cup of coffee. (Speaking of watching my luggage, who on earth came up with the baggage-security questions? "Have your bags been out of your control at any time since you packed them?" The woman in line ahead of me actually paused to think about this one once, and I wanted to slap her. The answer to this question is ALWAYS irrelevant. If it's no, you're going to say no. If it's yes, you're still going to say no, because either you have something illegal in your bag you don't want the authorities to know about, or you just happened to let your bags out of sight for a bit but you still intend to get on your flight, which might not happen if you say yes. Only idiots and children would say yes, and they shouldn't be flying alone anyway! The question is a waste of everyone's time.)

So I find my spot and camp out for an hour or more (I'm always early; I don't understand how it's possible to miss a non-connecting flight, barring emergency. Plan ahead. Don't be late. It's not hard. Except for some people it is, I guess. Oh, well. I don't understand that either.), reading, listening to music, making a couple of phone calls. I don't like to fly with my laptop - besides being bulky and a security hassle, it's the second-most expensive thing I own, and if I'm staying with friends I can always use their computers to check email - so this is pure unstructured time where I can do almost nothing productive. I can't blog or sew or research or clean or any of the other things I need to do. I can write, and sometimes I do, but since I don't bring along the unfinished projects that live on my computer, all I can work on are short, stand-alone pieces that happen to inspire me at the moment. Waiting for my plane to board is the true beginning of my vacation. (I've never traveled on business, so my perspective may be more positive than otherwise.)

Then, the actual plane ride. Boarding sucks, of course - screaming children and overpacked travelers hogging the overhead bins and those few people who invariably manage to misread their seat numbers. And then there's the droning safety lecture and interminable wait on the tarmac. Then takeoff, which is the only part that scares me. I close my eyes and chew my gum and mentally recite all the physics equations I can remember to prove to myself that this giant metal tube actually has good reasons for remaining aloft. But once we're in the air, it's like a road trip when someone else is driving: I turn up the music, snuggle into my seat (I candidly admit that being 5'2" enhances the experience of flying coach - on most airlines, I can actually curl up in my seat, especially if I have the window), open my book, and after a few minutes drift off to sleep. I'm usually woken at some point by turbulence, but as long as it's not the bounce-your-head-on-the-ceiling variety I think it's kind of fun. It feels like a roller coaster to me. Then back to sleep, or more reading until we join the landing pattern.

Landing is my favorite part. I love the ever-steeper, slower circles when you can see the city approaching below, then the bounce and catch feeling as you actually land. And then, taxiing to the terminal, I'm excited - either because I've reached my vacation destination, or because I'm home, and someone is waiting for me. Then there's multiple periods of waiting - to deplane, for baggage to reach the carousel, etc., and then I'm there, stepping out of an airport into a place with the wrong time of day and the wrong weather, and it's wonderful. Flight over.

I love flying, too, because it makes me feel important and cosmopolitan. I know that's not really the case - anyone can fly, and they do - and I know too that flying has lost a lot of its romance since the days when dress codes were strictly enforced and airplanes had onboard lounges. But I still love getting into that metal tube, speeding through the clouds, and disembarking somewhere else entirely.

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe I hate to go...

I grew up with that song by Peter, Paul, and Mary (John Denver originally, I know), but I have to admit when it gets stuck in my head - as it always does when I'm flying somewhere - the version I see is the guys from Armageddon, Ben Affleck and Michael Clarke Duncan and Steve Buscemi, singing it to Liv Tyler who's laughing through her tears. And while I don't have time today to defend that movie, I do love that scene, and I'm not sorry it's playing in my head today. It's certainly better than the last movie clip that got stuck in my head, which happened to be the ad for Hamlet 2 ("rock me, rock me, rock me sexy Jesus").

So kiss me and smile for me; while nobody likes goodbyes, know that I don't really hate to go.

SemiGeekGirl will return Wednesday, September 3. Or possibly later if she needs to recover from her vacation.

SemiGeekGirl's Guide to Fall TV

2008-08-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

A brief and by no means objective look at the dreck the networks are trying to pass off as "must-see TV" this year.

I'm spending Labor Day weekend on the East Coast, so you're lucky this is not simply a laundry list of all the things I need to accomplish before my flight leaves tomorrow night. Although I will take a moment to ponder where exactly the term "laundry list" came from. Did anyone, ever, actually have to make a list of the things they needed to launder? Could they not remember by looking at them, smelling them, or just picking up the laundry basket? Granted, not everyone has laundry baskets, and some things are easy to forget to wash (they're sheets. They live on the bed. Who remembers that they should be removed just because? Also, this is why I am not in charge of the laundry at my house), so I can see having "wash towels" or "do laundry" on your to-do list. But a laundry list? Really? Who has time to individually list each garment to be washed? And if you're just listing the types of laundry, are there really enough to forget? As in wash lights, darks, whites, and reds? Maybe if you have Alzheimer's. Which is, of course, a debilitating and particularly unhumorous condition. But also almost certainly not the source of the phrase.

Anyhow, I can't finish packing until my unlisted laundry finishes drying, so Fall TV it is. Sadly, this will be brief, as nowadays I use my television mainly as a radio - on in the background for friendly noise - or a screen for the DVD player. By the end of last season, the only show I watched faithfully in its proper timeslot was Top Chef, and that only because I wanted to talk about it with my mom the next day. I know that last season isn't quite representative, what with the (completely justified) writer's strike. But the season before wasn't much better. At this writing, there are no sitcoms I watch on a regular basis (except The Simpsons and South Park, but I'm not sure they count. I watch them almost exclusively in reruns anyway, so in terms of ratings they might as well be M*A*S*H). There are two hour-long dramas I follow religiously: Heroes and Battlestar Galactica (and if season 3 of Heroes isn't better than season 2, it will fall off my list), and three more dramedies I usually intend to watch but only remember about half the time. I also watch Top Chef, Project Runway, and occasionally So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing with the Stars (although I despise shows where America gets to vote. After we elected George W. Bush the SECOND time, my respect for the American electorate went from tentative to nonexistent. We, as a country, have proven that we are morons. I can only hope we start the long path back the other way this November).

So this fall I'm not looking forward to much. Battlestar Galactica doesn't return until January at least. I will watch the premiere of Heroes, but my hopes are only moderate. (Mostly I hope to see less of the Cheerleader.) I caught up with some of what I missed last season on House over the summer, and I'll be glad to see it return. I've also come to enjoy Bones in repeats, which was a pleasant surprise - David Boreanaz had worn out his welcome with me in the final season of Angel, so I didn't give this show a chance. That was a mistake. I'm happy to see Pushing Daisies return, and I'm interested to find out if Chuck and Reaper can stop seeming like fraternal twins (one sci-fi, one supernatural) and become distinct from each other. I'll give Sarah Connor Chronicles another chance. It didn't wow me the first time around, but the cast is excellent and the premise is solid, so I'll try it again.

And that's it for returning shows. The potential in the new shows is even thinner on the ground. I'm moderately enthused about Fringe, the new X-Files type thriller on Fox. (I'm glad to see Joshua Jackson working again, anyway.) The only drawback is that it's created by J.J. Abrams, the mastermind behind such masterpieces as Alias and Cloverfield. And Lost, which I've never enjoyed but will refrain from bashing here, since my boyfriend reads this blog. I'm also waiting impatiently for Dollhouse, the new drama from Joss Whedon, starring Faith from Buffy and Helo from Battlestar, but it doesn't premiere until midseason.

And I'm done. Oh, there a couple more moderately interesting shows, especially on NBC, which has a couple titled Crusoe (you can guess the premise) and Kings (a modern-day take on the life of King David, who was apparently quite the Biblical badass). But not much to look forward to. The rest of the lineup seems to consist of desperate pandering (the 90210 remake, anyone?), ideas that were kind of stupid the first time around (Knight Rider), and painfully unfunny comedies (check out the ads for Kath & Kim. Molly Shannon lost my sympathies long ago, but I can't help but cringe for poor Selma Blair, squeezed into neon and whining like a thirteen-year-old deprived of Twilight).

I was contemplating getting DVR, but at this point I'll be using it to avoid primetime, not to manage its conflicts.

Slightly backward...

2008-08-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

Help Wanted:

Seeking a project-based, fast-paced, preferably creative work environment with a variety of tasks. Workplace must be well-organized with an abundance of natural light.

Duties may include, but are not limited to, writing both internal and external communications, assisting with marketing and promotional material, running errands, organizing vendors, keeping track of disparate project-related tasks, internet and physical research, script coverage, taking notes at meetings, and occasional creative input. Filing, data entry, and answering phones should be kept to a minimum. Positions in the accounting and retail fields need not inquire.

Position must be full-time with basic health and vacation benefits. Salary may be dependent on experience but should include the possiblity of increases over time and for excellence in performance of job duties. Special consideration will be awarded to positions related to costuming, science fiction, fantasy, or Aaron Sorkin.

Poster has a Bachelor of Science in Chemistry and experience in retail, accounting, and script coverage; she also possesses years of experience in an office environment and the ability to roll calls. Poster has experience working with highly confidential information and is discreet, loyal, and resourceful. She is a motivated self-starter who enjoys working with others on larger projects while reserving some tasks as hers alone, and always adheres to both hard and soft deadlines.The employer that succeeds in acquiring the poster shall receive a hard-working, smart, and articulate employee willing to go above and beyond to contribute to a great working environment and a fulfilling, exceptional product or service.

Interested parties may email: semigeekgirl@gmail.com

Well, it's worth a try, right?

Taking it to the mattresses

2008-08-15T12:35:00.000-07:00

I hate blogging from work, but my new discovery prompted me to need to blog immediately. (Which, according to Lewis Black, makes me the root of all evil. The sad thing is, I kind of agree with him. I do not Twitter, and I'm vaguely appalled at the amount of texting I've been doing lately... but these are issues for another post.)

In between actual work, I cruised over to the Hilton website to try getting a room yet again. They have to release the extras sometime, and while I know that time is likely to be June - WAY too late to appease my OCD - I live in hope. (Also anger, anxiety, and increasing frustration.) As usual, I plugged in the dates for next year's Con and got no availability. Below the "we're sorry, yada yada yada" message that always appears, there was another familiar link. "Flexible dates?" it asks.

Despite the fact that my dates are in no way flexible (they're set in adamantium), I clicked on it. It took me to the "availability calendar", which showed that my dates were booked up, and that about two days after the Convention ended, 4-night stays would open up again. But all the dates before the Convention were greyed out, which was odd. Was there no availability for all of July 2009? So I clicked on July 21st to check. A little green check-box appeared, indicating that a 4-night stay beginning the 21st was available. WTF? Three of those four nights were most of the nights I need. So I thought, oh, that makes sense. Saturday is always the most heavily attended day of the Con - either they really are booked for Saturday, or Saturday is the night they know they can sell at any price, so they're holding it. (I then briefly considered changing hotels just for Saturday, then realized that A) Saturday is the night of the masquerade and the entire point of staying this close, and B) I would have to spend at least two hours on Saturday moving, which would be a huge waste of very expensive time. No.)

But then I thought, what if they're not holding Saturday? Let's check, just for the hell of it. So I changed my 4-night stay to a 5-night stay, still beginning the 21st. And, lo and behold - IT WAS AVAILABLE. Now, here's the thing: I can't afford an extra night. No way, no how. I can't actually afford the four nights I need. (We'll discuss the concept of "afford" later. What I mean is that while I can find the money it is semi-irresponsible for me to spend it on this. I'm not getting it from loan sharks or falling behind on my rent, though.) So I can't afford five nights, but I click on the reservation button anyway. (Obviously my credit card will not be charged, as I haven't given it to them yet. Why do some websites insist on telling you that on every screen?) It allows me to choose a room type from the quoted prices and advance another screen. So here I am on the final price, give us your credit card information, etc. screen. And it's a shocker.

I look at the total, perplexed. I punch the quoted room rate into my calculator and multiply by five. It's not particularly close to the number on screen. I add the 10% (@#$##$^^&*) hotel tax. Still doesn't match. So I search the screen for something to explain it. There it is! "Note: room prices vary during the length of your stay." Do they ever! The first night - the 21st, before the Con begins - is $110 dollars cheaper than the other nights. Wow.

The part of my brain that doesn't consult reality is still trying to make this work. The fifth (unnecessary) night is the cheapest night, after all. And, I thought, what if I reserve the room for all five nights, and then, in a couple of months, call the Hilton and explain that I'll only be needing four of them? Then I'll have the room! The tragic part is that at this point I actually felt guilty for gaming the Hilton reservation system. I felt that I wasn't being fair to the hotel. Don't worry, scrolling down cured me of this misplaced compassion real fast.

I'm not (usually) stupid, so I scrolled down and started reading all the caveats to the reservation. The first blow was financial - the entire cost of the reservation would be charged to my credit card today, despite the fact that I specifically hadn't selected the "prepaid" rate. All right, fine. I was blathering on about cash on the barrel; looks like I'll be putting my money where my mouth is. The second blow was also financial - valet parking (no self park available) at $32/night. Ouch.

But the third blow was the coup de grâce. "If you cancel for any reason, attempt to modify this reservation, or do not arrive on your specified check-in date, your payment is non-refundable." I'm honestly still a little speechless. You're telling me that if I book a room with you, and give you more than two thousand dollars today, you still have the right to not give me a room - and keep all my money - if my plans change at all? So, even if I was willing to just take the hit and pay for all five nights, without asking for any changes, if I couldn't get there the first night you'd have the right to give my room away? That's insane.

It's just wrong. I can't even articulate how wrong it is. I know that this is not the only time and place that hotels pull crap like this, but I can't believe we let them get away with it. I'm not even sure it's legal. (Although it probably is. I will be calling the Better Business Bureau to check, though.) The Hilton has earned my eternal contempt. They have rooms available on the nights I need - I've proven it - yet they won't rent one to me. If I do get one, by paying extra for nights I don't need, they'll give it away when I can't claim it.

And I'm sure the other hotels are all doing the same thing. They just have better-programmed reservation systems that don't have this loophole, so I can't prove it. Well, good for them. If you're in the service industry and you're going to be evil, at least have the decency to lie about it.

Comic-Con Hangover

2008-08-12T21:52:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought it was safe...

I mentioned in a previous post that if I didn't have a hotel room lined up for next year's Con before I left this year's, I'd consider myself a failure. Well, get ready to stamp "loser" on my forehead, because I don't. Although it's not for lack of trying.

I decided this year that, despite the fact that I can't really afford it, the Marriott Marina (otherwise known as the hotel that actually shares a wall with the Convention Center - it's that close) was the place I wanted to stay next year. I figured it would be worth it in terms of convenience and lack of exhaustion (Consider the possibilities: 20 pounds of swag carving a groove in your shoulder? Just run over to the hotel and stash it! 4-inch costume heels slowly carving your feet into bloody fragments? Run (hobble) back to the hotel and throw on sneakers! Tired of trying to have a nice, sit-down dinner while dressed as a Klingon? Stop by the hotel on your way out and change!), if not in actual value. Also, I told myself, if I'm going to participate in the Masquerade, this is the year to do it. My sewing skills are improving, my friends who might be willing to dress up number more than the fingers on one hand, I have a boyfriend who understands lighting tech and a friend who can choreograph - the planets are in alignment! What better excuse for staying at the Marriott than realizing that you're going to be hauling trunks of makeup and costumes - above and beyond all your own crap - down to the Convention Center. I decided to bite the bullet.

But I'm not a Con rookie. I knew that waiting for the convention-rate rooms to go live in February would leave me with approximately a 1 in 125,000 chance of scoring a (deeply discounted) room at the lovely Marriott Marina. So I was already planning on paying (gulp) full price, or something close to it. I was hoping there might be a tiny discount for booking a full year in advance, and even considering prepaying (I hadn't yet calculated what the interest accruing on my credit card from that charge would cost me). So when I walked over to the Marriott to donate blood on Friday, I stopped by the front desk on my way out to see if I could make a reservation. The lady there informed me that they did not take any advance reservations in person, but only through the reservation line. She then gave me a pen with the phone number on it. Slightly annoyed but resigned, I took the pen and walked back over to the Convention Center, where I found a semi-quiet spot to sit and call the reservation number. The lady on the phone informed me that they could not take reservations so far in advance. I inquired if she would check to make sure there was no exception because of the Convention. She checked. Nope. I then asked her is she could tell me when they would be accepting reservations. She said that she wasn't certain, but to try back in a week.

I waited a week and a half, then called again. The lady on the phone said that my check-out date (7/26/09) was still past the dates they were booking. Again I asked when that might change; again I was told to try back in a week. (In the meantime, you understand, I checked three or four major travel sites, AAA, and the websites for the big hotel chains. No joy.) So this Monday I called again. I gave my dates and my preferred hotel to the lady on the phone. She plugged it into her computer. Pause. "I'm sorry, the hotel you've requested has no rooms available. It's fully booked." Ever polite (because, pissed as I am, the lady in the call center is not to blame. She probably doesn't even know what Comic-Con is), I inquired if she could tell me when the rooms had filled up, as reservations had been unavailable up until less than a week previously. Her system did not have that information. I thanked her and hung up.

And proceeded to repeat the entire rigamarole at with the Hilton (2nd closest hotel) and their reservation line. It too is fully booked, more than eleven months before the convention. The nice lady on this call, sensing the oddity of this, asked me if there was a convention or event that weekend. I replied that there was. She then informed me sweetly that that must be why so many rooms were blocked out, since most people would book their rooms later, through the convention. I didn't bother trying to tell her that the San Diego hotels reserve at most 30% of their rooms to sell at the convention rate, and that the rest would eventually be sold at astronomical rates. I just thanked her politely and hung up.

I went back to the travel sites. Hotels.com still tells me that no rooms are available in the entire city that weekend, which I take to mean that they won't search that far out. Another site - I think it was Travelocity, but I've lost track - offered me rooms at several hotels, all for the identical bargain price of $8999.99 per night. For my sanity, I'm assuming that's a system glitch. The Automobile Club (after mysteriously losing my membership information and forcing me to create a new login) informs me that they will not coordinate travel more than 330 days in advance.

At this point, I'm at a loss. My only advantage in this sort of thing is that I'm organized and I remember to do things early. But the hotels have negated this, and I'm not quite sure why. I do not believe that all of the rooms at the five closest hotels to the Convention Center are already booked. Which means that the hotels are holding them for some reason. Sure, some of them are for the discounted Convention rate, but not that many of them - given that they can charge more than their everyday rates that weekend, they don't want to allocate very many rooms at less than the everyday rate. So what are they holding them for? Are they expecting the Hollywood studios to book all of them? Or do they just think they'll be able to charge more later when people are desperate? I don't know, but I'm starting to get angry.

I don't expect to get what I want all the time, but I hate it when I've done everything right and yet, for unknown reasons, I'm still screwed. I'm willing to put cash on the table eleven months in advance. What more can hotels ask for? And if I can't get a room right now with that attitude, what hope do the morons trying to get a room in June have? I've been a San Diego loyalist - I'm practically a native, after all - but when this sort of thing becomes common, when you need contacts just to get a decent hotel room... that's when I start to think the Con has outgrown the city.

Not that I'm giving up, of course. The Holiday Inn a mile from the Convention Center offered rooms for a little less than I paid this year, so I booked one. In three weeks, when AAA deigns to help me, I'm hoping they'll offer me the hotel I've stayed at the past two years. (For some reason, this particular hotel always claims to be a long-term-stay facility on its own website, and refuses to accept reservations shorter than 20 days. But when I book through AAA they accept my four day stay.) If they do, I'll take a room there, because I'm used to it and my boyfriend likes it. I'll cancel my Holiday Inn room, which is about the same price and distance. Then I'll wait for the Convention lottery. If I get a room at one of my top four hotels, I'll let the AAA room go.

And I have a couple of other ideas. But I'm still annoyed to be this angry, this soon. Comic-Con is supposed to be my vacation. But when do I get a vacation from Comic-Con?

(Somewhat belated) Comic-Con Wrap-up

2008-08-09T22:10:00.000-07:00

We went, we saw, we were exhausted.

Actually, we did pretty well this year. Having had several years' experience to learn what is and is not possible at Comic-Con, my boyfriend and I managed to maintain some Zen over the weekend. Which is to say I freaked out over non-essentials only three times, my boyfriend only expressed the wish to kill about ten people with his bare hands, and we managed to settle our one major quarrel with a solution acceptable to all of us (he stayed in room 6CDEF to watch Mutant Wars, and I trekked up Fifth Street to meet our friends at an Irish pub; everyone was happier that way).

As usual, the Convention Center was filled to capacity; walking from room to room was often the most frustrating part, unless you tried to walk around on the exhibition floor, which was worse. I still got into every panel I actually stood in line for, though I did give up on Heroes before I even got to the Convention Center that morning, and we skipped the screening of Doctor Horrible's Singalong Blog when we heard that they'd closed the line for it three hours before it started (in retrospect, I'm not sure that was true, but we'd already seen it anyway and we were tired after watching The Next Avengers movie, so we headed back to the hotel).

Of the panels I did see, the Dr. Horrible one - featuring Joss Whedon, Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion, Felicia Day, Simon Helberg, Jed and Zach Whedon, and Melissa Tancharoen - was definitely the highlight of the convention. It was pretty much a "you had to be there" kind of thing, although I will say that NPH and Nathan Fillion were unremittingly hilarious. I laughed almost the entire time. I think somebody posted the whole thing on YouTube if you want to look for it, but really - you had to be there. And I will never think about Twittering the same way again.

The lowlight would have to be the Twilight panel. I admit that I haven't read the books, but several of my friends enjoyed them, and the excerpt I read on Amazon seemed intriguing. Also, the movie has been getting a decent amount of buzz in geek circles, and I wanted to get in on the ground floor. So I got in line about an hour before the panel started, with a few thousand fans. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd make it in, but it didn't turn out to be a problem. Once in, I found myself surrounded by tween girls and middle-aged women, all of whom seemed to labor under the misapprehension that this was the first time anyone had ever been so devoted a fan of anything. (Harry Potter, anyone? Lord of the Rings? The original fandom - Trekkies? Wearing a "Team Edward" t-shirt does not require the same level of commitment as joining Vader's Fist, little girl. I don't care how much you loved the books.) Sadly, the fans were not the low point. That honor belonged to the panelists. Catherine Hardwicke, erstwhile director of such hard-edged fare as Thirteen, giggled nearly as much as her cast. Kristen Stewart, playing Bella, was more interested in speaking sotto voce to her castmates than in answering questions into the microphone. Robert Pattinson, playing Edward, appeared tongue-tied for most of it, stalling for time by running his hand through his absurdly cut, longish hair. Every time he did this (ten at least), eighty percent of the room screamed and swooned. When there was a brief lull in audience questions, the moderator said "Any more questions?" and a woman in the row behind me muttered, "Yes. Are you all drunk?" It was the wittiest sentence spoken in the panel. They showed footage (the climactic vampire battle in a dance studio, a fourteen-year-old girl told me later); it was slow and uninspired. All in all - thumbs down. I know the tweens will vilify me (the fourteen-year-old did; I placated her with my free double-sided Twilight poster), but honestly, it looked like schlock. And I hear that the final book, which came out a week later, has disappointed many with its decidedly unfeminist conclusion. I hate to appear (openly) prejudiced, but I have to say I always had my doubts about a vampire series written by a Mormon housewife. Go watch some Buffy, little girls. Or at least read Interview with a Vampire. It may be schlock, but at least it's intricate, philosophical schlock.

I also saw the panel for Dollhouse panel, in which Eliza Dushku flirted shamelessly with Tahmoh Penikett and talked about hunting. Funny, but not as funny as Dr. Horrible. Battlestar Galactica showed some kickass footage and also boasted a good-natured, intelligent cast (best line, James Callis: "I had to think, is it possible for someone to be a deeply spiritual person and at the same time a raging nymphomaniac? And the answer is, yes.") Sadly, Jamie Bamber is the only man I've ever seen made LESS sexy by an English accent. Weird, huh? The Watchmen panel was thoughtful and interesting, with each of the actors talking expressively about the motivations for their characters - I have high hopes. The Spirit panel managed to be informative and intelligent without actually telling me what the plot is, which was confusing. Although Samuel L. Jackson was unsurprisingly brilliant (best line: "When I was growing up, Nick Fury was a white guy. It just goes to show that in America you CAN be anything you want to be. You too can grow up to be a black man").

And there was more. We missed the Masquerade (third year in a row. Damnit, I am going to that next year!), but I caught most of the replay the next day. More on that in a later post. We managed not to eat dinner in the convention hall at all - turns out there's a restaurant in the Marriott next door. Only a couple of bucks more expensive, and way better food. I donated blood as usual, and was excited to find out my blood type (weirdly, none of my doctors ever mentioned it). I am the deeply rare AB negative, which I think is cool, although I can't really explain why. I guess I just like feeling special. I got swag and more swag. (I've now consolidated it to one small corner of my bedroom. Anyone desperate for a limited-edition Chief Tyrol BSG action figure that looks uncannily like Forrest DeWitt should make me an offer.)

And then we returned to our non-insane real lives. I want to go back now. Two weeks of living in the real world (and attending my real job) have depressed me. But I forge on nonetheless.

Next task: finding a hotel for next year!

(All quotes are from the best of my memory and should not be considered verbatim. I took a notebook, but I mostly doodled in it. So sue me. You want news, try CNN.)

SemiGeekGirl's Guide to Comic-Con, Part III

2008-07-19T13:03:00.000-07:00

Down the Rabbit-Hole

Ah, Comic-Con: the coolest place on Earth to get the migraine of your life. Don't get me wrong - the Con is one of my favorite times of year. But the exhibit floor alone is 575,701 square feet of insanity. That's about ten football fields. And that's not even counting the upstairs areas where the panels are held. Do yourself a favor and save yourself at least a little stress.

Tip #3: The Programming schedule is your Bible.

As usual, the Con schedule for this year went up barely two weeks before the event, leaving precious little time to plan - especially if you could only manage to attend for one day. (In that case, you were screwed, because all passes for Friday and Saturday - the most glittering, celeb-friendly, panel-heavy days - were already sold out.) It used to be that you could look up the schedule a couple of days in advance, figure out what you felt like attending, and wander in fifteen or twenty minutes before the panel started. As recently as 2003, I drove down to San Diego around eleven, stood in line for an hour, hour and a half max, to get a badge, then meandered upstairs to get a seat for Joss Whedon's post-Buffy panel (which was awesome, by the way). By contrast, last year I got in line for Ballroom 20 an hour before the Heroes panel, didn't make it in, stayed in line to catch the Battlestar panel and then stayed through the intervening two panels before Joss Whedon because I was afraid I wouldn't get back in if I left.

You don't necessarily have to plan where you'll be every moment - chances are it won't go exactly as you plan anyway - but you should look through the schedule and mark anything you'd be absolutely heartbroken about missing. If it's in Ballroom 20 or Hall H, plan on being there two hours early. At least. The good news is that the San Diego Convention Center reached fire-code capacity (125,000 people) last year, so it literally can't get any more crowded. The bad news is that 125,000 people is still pretty damn crowded.

A lot of the smaller panels will be less well-attended, so you might be able to just walk in a couple of minutes before they start. But in any case, know what you want to see, and - almost as importantly - know where it is. It takes a lot longer to walk from one end of the Convention Center than you think it does, and for crowd-control purposes some hallways will be one-way. There are maps posted on the Comic-Con website - they'll pass them out in the hall too, but I suggest at least scanning it before you get to San Diego.

Also, know where and when you'll meet the people you're going with. You probably won't all be in the same panels - and DON'T count on being able to save seats - but you'll want to be able to find each other afterwards, and if you don't plan ahead it could be very difficult. Don't plan to meet on the exhibit floor if you can help it - it's huge and crowded and almost impossible to navigate quickly. Better spots to meet are upstairs in the Sails Pavilion, where there are tables to sit and eat and compare swag, or upstairs on the patios/smoking areas. They have benches and usually aren't that crowded. If you do lose track of your party, make sure everyone has a phone that can send and receive text messages - cell phone calls are a huge no-no in panels, but a discreet text (with your phone on vibrate, obviously) can usually pass unnoticed.

Tip #4: The Convention is an Endurance Sport - For Spectators

It seems obvious, but I'll take a moment to go over the basics. Wear comfortable shoes. The convention floor is (as I've mentioned) huge. Your feet will hurt by the end of the convention, but you can decide how much. (Incidentally, this is one piece of advice I never follow; costumes rarely lend themselves to comfy footwear. Ah, what I sacrifice for my passionate yet useless hobby!) Other than that, you can wear pretty much anything and still not be guaranteed not to be unique. If you're not in costume, dress casually and maybe bring a jacket; the Convention Center is ferociously well air-conditioned.

Bring some water. It's always good to have some, and you can take it everywhere in the Convention Center. You might also want to carry some food. The food in the exhibit hall is basic (pizza, hamburgers, chips, and Starbucks), expensive, and not that great. It's not bad, certainly, and I always end up eating there at least once, but you might as well save your money for souvenirs. Bring things that travel well - jerky, granola bars, fruit, candy. You don't want to bring too much to carry - the swag will take care of that, but it's good to have a snack for when you're waiting in yet another line.

Bring a book or a portable video game system. There will be lines, and more lines, and while it's fun to strike up a conversation and get to know your fellow geeks, it's also nice to have something surefire to amuse yourself with.

Well, that's all for now. I am, of course, currently running around like a madwoman, finishing the last touches of costumes, doing laundry, baking brownies (not that kind), and finding all my confirmation numbers. Speaking of which, one last tip: bring your registration barcode. You do not want to get stuck in the line of people who don't have theirs and need to be looked up by hand. And pick up your badge on Wednesday (4-day passes only) if you can. There's nothing more frustrating than starting your convention experience with a two-hour wait in the hot sun (the line starts inside, but where it ends, nobody knows...), missing the first panel you wanted to see.

Good luck, fellow geeks. See you on the floor!

Switching Sides

2008-07-18T22:20:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before that I don't read comics, but that hasn't stopped me from choosing a side in the eternal clash of the titans that is Marvel vs. DC. I've always been a Marvel girl. Ever since I was little, exposed mostly to the cartoons, I always liked Marvel best. The X-Men, with their fascinating spectrum of powers and endlessly tragic romances (Rogue/Gambit and Wolverine/Jean Grey/Cyclops) were always fun to watch, while the Justice League lagged behind. It wasn't so much the particular storylines as the characters themselves that failed to impress me. Even as a kid I had a hard time believing that putting on a pair of glasses was really an effective disguise for Superman. Not having the backstory, I couldn't quite figure out what the Green Lantern's deal was, or why he kept making giant umbrellas and hammers come out of his magic ring. And Wonder Woman's invisble plane? You've got to be kidding me.

But my favorite superheroes (coincidentally, one from each company) were always Spider-Man and Batman. (Remember The New Adventures of Batman and Superman? I used to watch it on Batman days but change it immediately if it turned out to be a Superman episode.) I loved Spider-Man for his sarcastic take on pretty much everything. Nothing ever went right for Peter Parker, but he never lost his sense of humor. He could make quips and throw punches at the same time, and sometimes the bad guys seemed to be defeated more by their confusion than by the violence. And he was still trying to live a normal life - with classes, a job, and sometimes a girlfirend, which made it all the more tragic when he saved the world only to miss the final/graduation/party that he desperately wanted to attend.

Batman was different. He certainly wasn't trying to live a normal life; he had no family and his friends were all to a greater or lesser degree his accomplices. But he was also the only purely human superhero out there: he had no superpowers or mutant abilities or magic spells. He was just a guy with a lot of gadgets and a lot of money and a lot of anger. Although I'm not sure I quite got all the anger when I was little. But he was always intriguing, because he alone of all the heroes had made it all up himself.

I watched Spider-Man and Batman through several iterations of cartoon series (I particularly liked the MTV Spider-Man series and the WB's Batman Beyond), every now and then revisiting the X-Men or the Justice League. And then they made the movies.

I'm not talking about the first four Batman movies. I was too young to see the first two in theaters (my parents are very liberal, but Michelle Pfeiffer's S&M Catwoman outfit was a little much for an eleven-year-old), and I didn't bother to catch the second two, as I was a Band Geek, not a Geek Girl, in high school. I've seen them now, of course, and the first two are minor camp masterpieces, anchored by Michael Keaton's vaguely sarcastic gravitas. The latter two feature leads who only grasped one side of the character (Kilmer - Batman; Clooney - Bruce Wayne) and are mostly memorable for the stunt casting of the villains.

No, I'm talking about the new movies: Spider-Man 1,2, & 3 and Batman Begins/The Dark Knight. When they announced they were making Spider-Man I was deeply excited. I had finals the week it came out, but I was determined to see it as soon as I could manage it. I stayed up until three in the morning the night before my last final, but as soon as it was over I drove to the movie theater (alone) and saw it. And I hated it.

Where was the snarky, sarcastic Peter Parker I'd fallen in love with? Instead we got Tobey Maguire, looking approximately as sexy as someone's bratty little brother and playing Spider-Man as Harry Potter learning to be Superman (apologies to J.K. Rowling). His Spider-Man was angsty and pious and annoyed the crap out of me. Not to mention the endless repetition of the earnest, boring aphorism: "with great power comes great responsibility." No s***, Sam Raimi. You write that or find it in your fortune cookie? Plus the strangely orchestral score and the effects so pretty I felt like I was playing Final Fantasy. I know, I know - millions of people loved it. I just don't know why.

(I liked the second one better, although not a lot better. I wasn't allowed to see the third one in the theater with my boyfriend because he was afraid that the negativity exuding from my pores would lessen his enjoyment of it. He was probably right.)

And then there was Batman Begins. They did a number of things right from the beginning, starting with casting Christian Bale, the thinking woman's action hero (see also: Iron Man). They added a tight, clever script; a dark, slick, and slightly gritty aesthetic; and a willingness to engage with the moral questions inherent in the idea of superheroes. While not perfect - among other things, they chose the ever-popular origin story framework, which tends to drag in places as they provide the necessary exposition - it was nevertheless smart and layered and fun to watch.

So of course last night we went out to see The Dark Knight at 12:01am. We got to the theater two hours early; there were at least eighty people ahead of us in line. It wasn't all geeks, either - memorably, there was the group of twenty-something guys six rows behind us who whiled away the time hooting at any girl wearing something skimpier than jeans and then shouting "penis" over and over again. Those weren't geeks - they were a**h****s. There were actually fewer hardcore fans than I expected. I saw a lot of Batman t-shirts, and even some cool vintage ones, but only one guy in costume. (It was a great costume, though - a dark purple suit and ascot, with the full smeary-insane makeup. Very Heath Ledger, and very well done.) The crowd was up-to-date on their comic book adaptations, though - the Watchmen preview got immediate recognition.

The movie itself, though, was amazing. I won't include spoilers here (although if you're really worried about it, stop reading now... and go out and see the movie already!), but it surprised me more than once and had several moments that took my breath away. It also made me cry (although I'm pretty easy on that score) and, more important, made me think. I spent this morning thinking about the cost of vigilantism and the definition of terrorism. And even during the movie, at one point, when Batman rides off on the Bat-pod, his cape flying behind him, I thought about how apt it is that he's nicknamed "the Caped Crusader". Because the crusaders weren't all good either. They scoured the Middle East in the name of Faith - but only their definition of Faith counted. Batman patrols Gotham dispensing Justice, but his definition of Justice isn't governed by law. And they both do it because it's Right.

Which is not to say I'm not on Batman's side. In fact, in this case, I'm switching sides. I read on imdb.com this morning that The Dark Knight's opening weekend is expected to make more than Iron Man's opeing weekend ($102.1 million) but less than the record-holding Spider-Man 3 ($151.1 million). Well, here's hoping that for once DC kicks some Marvel butt.

See ya, Spidey!

SemiGeekGirl’s Guide to Comic-Con, Part II

2008-07-14T23:30:00.000-07:00

San Diego Summer

Tip #2 – Planes, Trains, and oh-so-many Automobiles
So, you’ve bought your passes, booked your hotel room (or your sleeping bag space on your buddy’s hotel room, whatever), and decided on your mode of transportation into America’s Finest City (as it has ever-so-modestly dubbed itself). I can’t really recommend modes of transportation, as I’ve lived within a hundred miles of San Diego for most of my life. I drive there.

Next, assuming you’re not one of the lucky bastards with a hotel on the Comic-Con shuttle route, is parking. While there is a limited amount of parking at the Convention Center itself, if you’re not planning on getting there at 5 or 6am, you’re probably out of luck. There are various other parking options around Downtown; many of them are mapped out on the Comic-Con website. If you’re staying at a hotel that has parking, I would advocate leaving your car there from check-in through check-out (and possibly later, if they let you). San Diego has a decent amount of reasonably-priced and convenient forms of public transportation, which I’ll explore briefly below, and if you can’t bring yourself to share personal space with that many of your fellow geeks, there are always taxis (more convenient, and only slightly more expensive than multiple parking adventures) or the somewhat creepy yet incomparably environmentally-friendly pedicabs.

Or – I know this is a radical idea for many geeks – you could always walk. San Diego’s Downtown area, which encompasses the Convention Center, Horton Plaza, the Gaslamp Quarter, and Petco Park, is actually pretty small in terms of surface area – maybe a two-mile-diameter circle. That’s two miles if you start on one edge and walk to the other. Start or end anywhere in the middle and it’s less. True, it’s a little hilly – as with most coastal cities, it slopes down to the sea – but it’s also surprisingly pretty and clean for a major city, with lots of fun restaurants and bars to pop into. And that’s before you take into account the major cheat factor that happens the weekend of Comic-Con – the wonderful, crazily convenient, absolutely free Comic-Con shuttle.

Merely wearing the current day’s badge allows all Comic-Con attendees to board any of these shuttles in any direction, for any reason. Take it from the Convention Center to your hotel, or from your hotel to your friend’s hotel, from Petco Park to Ralph’s – no one cares. True, the stops are fixed and the loops only run in one direction, but the shuttles run until midnight and can get you within a couple of blocks of almost anywhere worth going in the downtown area. It’s the ultimate shortcut; if you’re in town all weekend, it’s almost criminal stupidity not to take advantage of it. (Especially at eleven pm, after fourteen hours of carrying around ten pounds of swag in three-inch heels: it just might be the difference between a good night’s sleep and a tiny, pathetic manga fairy trading free t-shirts for a box to sleep in on the marina.)

But if the shuttle doesn’t get you quite where you need to go (its absolute radius is admittedly pretty small – if you’re not staying downtown, you’ll probably need something else to get you to your destination), San Diego also has the requisite bus system and something better – the Trolley.

Not only is the Trolley cuter and less smelly than a bus, it also goes to a number of very useful places. It's also under ten bucks for a day pass, which is definitely cheaper than a taxi, and probably cheaper than parking. Parking is free at many of the outlying (i.e., not downtown) stations. And it adjusts its routes for the weekend of Comic-Con so that more trolleys take you straight in to the Convention Center stop (directly across the street from the Center itself). More detailed information - since I'm too lazy to type it all out - can be found at their website: http://www.sdmts.com/Trolley/Comiccon.asp.

But I have costumes to work on and lists, glorious lists to make, so I'll sign off for now. The Programming schedule is finally up in its entirety, so there's a good chance part three of this guide will actually reference things that occur inside the Convention Center. Until then, geeks and geekettes!

The Party at the End of the World

2008-07-13T22:49:00.001-07:00

Last night was the second and final night of the 2008 Labyrinth of Jareth Masquerade Ball, and it was incredible. As usual, the people from Sypher Art Studios (the organizers) outdid themselves to decorate the Henry Fonda Music Box in Hollywood and to hire amazing, otherworldly dance and music acts to grace the main stage. But the really amazing thing was the costumes people created to wear to the ball.

In this case, a picture really is worth a thousand words, so if you don't want to rely on my descriptions, you can go to Flickr.com and type in "labyrinth masquerade" for over a hundred pictures taken by various guests. But if you haven't got that kind of time, I'll list a few of the ones I liked best.

I think my personal favorites were the team of guys who were calling themselves the Ghostbusters from 1884. They had reimagined the outfits - and more impressively, the equipment - of the Ghostbusters from a steampunk point of view, and it was flawlessly done. Each guy had a detailed and bulky contraption on his back that actually did something. One flipped a switch and displayed trapped lightning in a glass tube; another continuously emitted little puffs of steam. It was original, innovative, and well-executed. Wonderful.

I was also impressed by the couple who had only a very small budget for this years costumes, and were forced to become extremely creative with the contents of their closet. (Admittedly, it was a costumer's closet, so they had some stuff to play with.) But her quasi-fantasy duchess (a hoop skirt minus the skirt - just bare hoops covered in masses of silk flowers) and his six-foot green giant (complete with fuzzy aubergine tie and greenery-covered busby) were a testament to absolute creativity (as well as the insanity of people who like to dress up).

There were also, of course, legions of gorgeous fairies, several stellar aliens, at least a shipful of pirates, and any number of creatures that defied description. Thanks to the incredible creativity of a friend of mine, we wore intricately beautiful wire-and-crystal masks colored to match our costumes, which garnered a fair amount of attention. But all in all, I was humbled by the incredible display of effort and talent everywhere I looked. I immediately vowed to start earlier and come up with something spectacular for next year.

Sadly, among all the lovely pageantry, there were a few missteps. A number of otherwise superlative costumes were diminished by their wearers' eyeglasses. I'm sorry, but if you're going to put in that kind of time and effort on a costume - especially if this is something you do even semi-regularly - you need to bite the bullet and upgrade to contacts. Maybe even just for when you're dressed up. Nothing sticks out quicker (especially at a MASKED ball) than a pair of utterly mundane spectacles. And if you can't give them up (although I really do recommend them - I've worn contacts for nine years now and the difference is amazing; no more accidentally looking around your frames), then at least work them into your costume. Steampunk is very in right now, and the Victorians had eyeglasses.

The other tragic misstep was the one that always seems to occur at events like this. I'm a big proponent of "if you've got it, flaunt it", but I'm an equally big believer in its corollary: if you don't have it, know it! There was one girl last night, who is probably quite pretty and not at all overweight in street clothes, who looked quite simply atrocious. She wore a skintight bodysuit of flesh-colored mesh, and accessorized it with a wide, tight belt that sat, unfortunately, just across her hips, cutting into her stomach and giving her a rather prominent potbelly. It was painful to look at her. It was even sadder when you consider that she could have been pretty - possibly even wildly sexy - in an outfit that flattered her assets. Instead, her outfit said "I'm deeply unattractive, and I don't have any friends to stop me from walking out of the house like this."

But tragedy aside, the ball was a rockin' good time. Toward the end, standing off to the side of the dance floor, ignoring my unhappy feet and watching the dancers, I was struck by the idea that this was what a party at the end of the world would look like. People from all different times, worlds, alternate universes, and magical places, pulled out of time and space, brought together in one room to dance and drink and party the night away until the countdown to apocalypse. And if that's anything what the end of the world looks like, I hope I'm invited.

(SemiGeekGirl's Guide to Comic-Con will continue in the next post.)

SemiGeekGirl's Guide to Comic-Con, Part I

2008-07-10T20:16:00.000-07:00

Adventures in Obsessive Planning

So I knew I had a problem today when I found myself fervently wishing that Comic-Con was next week (instead of two weeks from yesterday). While that might sound normal enough, I realized that the reason I wished it was next week was not so that I could go to it sooner, but instead because that would mean that the Con programming schedule would be posted on the web already. That's right - I was not looking forward to the convention itself as much as I was looking forward to planning my schedule. (I should probably be more concerned about this obvious slide toward insanity, but that would mean taking time from the preparation lists I'm making for Comic-Con. I'll worry about it later.)

I've been haunting the CCI website all week, waiting for the schedule, since the site promised it would be up "ten days to two weeks" before the event. Well, two weeks was technically yesterday, but nothing is up yet. (Update: even as I was writing this, the schedule for Thursday 7/24 was posted. Which is great but also odd, as I can't remember them ever posting the schedules in a piecemeal fashion before. Maybe they're just trying to spread out web traffic so us geeks don't crash their site.) I've even lowered myself to searching out rumor sites and gossip blogs, with some decent results - a couple places had leaked schedules for Thursday AND Friday. But this was something of a fruitless enterprise for me, as the leaked information was of course "unconfirmed", which is too uncertain for me to build rock-solid plans on. Obsessive compulsiveness aside, it seemed like the perfect time to start my unofficial, deeply biased, guide to Comic-Con. Because how else can I distract myself until the schedule goes up?

Tip #1: An Amalgamation of Quite Useless Advice

Unfortunately, most of the best, most common-sense advice I have to dispense about the Con is already out of date. This is because a great deal of it can be summed up in two obvious words: PLAN AHEAD. Buy your passes to the Con as far in advance as possible. I bought my 4-day pass at last year's Con for the bargain price of $50. Online, 4-day passes went for $75. If you missed getting one before they sold out, you could still buy a pass for each individual day (though you missed out on the bonus time of Preview Night), for a combined total of $110. At this point, individual passes for both Saturday 7/26 and Friday 7/25 are also sold out, so if you still desperately need a pass, eBay is pretty much your only hope. Last I checked, 4-day passes were going for up to $455, which is NINE TIMES as much as I paid. So buy your passes early if you want to get in. As of this year they were still transferrable by notifying the Con, so even if by some chance you couldn't use it, you could give it to a friend (or, clearly, scalp it on eBay). This is the first year where selling out has been this much of a problem, so I'm not sure the transfer-policy will remain so generous. On the other hand, CCI is a non-profit organization, so maybe it will.

A corollary to this tip is: book your hotel room early. As in, possibly a year in advance and certainly before Christmas. While Comic-Con does negotiate with area hotels to provide a block of surprisingly reasonably-priced rooms for convention attendees, there are only approximately 6,100 of them. For 125,000 attendees. You do the math. Hotel occupancy for the weekend of Comic-Con is 94% for the City of San Diego, and most hotels raise their rates accordingly. You have a better chance of getting a lower rate the sooner you make a reservation. Many people make their reservations while attending the convention the year before. This year, I was foolish enough to try and wait to get a room through the Con. Their room block opened up on February 9 at 9am PST. The site stalled/crashed almost immediately, as more people than there were rooms available logged on within the first five seconds. Needless to say, I did not get a room. By the time I was offered one, the only ones left were either very far from the convention center or out of my price range. After a week of frantic searching, I got a room through AAA, at the same hotel I stayed at last year. For twice the price. This year, I will consider myself a failure if I don't have a room by September. The only good part about it is that most hotels will let you cancel without penalty until just a couple of days before your reservation, so if you find something better, or decide not to go at all, you won't be out any money.

Well, I'm sorry this tip wasn't more helpful, but it was important. I had thought to include more than one tip per post, but this one dragged on for a very long time, and the costumes beckon. Stay tuned tomorrow for updates on the programming schedule, my descent into neurotic madness befitting a Woody Allen movie, and tips you might actually appreciate for Comic-Con 2008!

Fireworks Frenzy

2008-07-07T19:09:00.000-07:00

I spent the 4th of July as I always do. In the morning I arrived at my grandparents' house and proceeded to bicker with my dad about what still needed to be done. My boyfriend retreated to a corner with his book and tried to ignore my loving yet lunatic family. Around noon, a couple of my cousins came over to hang out and ignore the heat and all the setting up that still needed to be done. After they left, I remembered that people would be arriving in mere hours and returned to pestering my dad to work faster. When he finished the things he promised my mom he'd do, we jumped in his truck to go buy fireworks.

To buy the rest of the fireworks, that is. We already had a couple hundred dollars' worth, left over from last year and brought back from various trips, but it's a tradition that we buy new fireworks on the 4th every year. Also, another one of my cousins was on a softball team that was running one of the stands; we had to go support them. So we drove around town for an hour and a half, stopping at three fireworks stands, the bank, a liquor store, and a grocery store.

When we returned it was really crunch time. My dad went to set up the barbecue, and I rousted my long-suffering boyfriend out of his peaceful corner to help me sort and put up the three boxes of red white and blue decorations. He's used to the insanity that overtakes me on the 4th (did I mention the red-white-and-blue bejeweled tiara I wore all day to top off my firework-patterned sundress?), so he was accepting if not enthusiastic. Bunting and paper bells and pinwheel garlands on the porch, bows on stakes in the garden, a miniature flag for one of the gnomes. Banners around the portable canopy, patriotic tablecloths, star-spray centerpieces, flag-patterned plates and napkins. An hour later, the house was festooned in decorations and I was covered in sweat, shoving all the extra crap into a box in the guest room. My mom and grandma had put out tasty snacks, and (miracle of miracles) my perpetually late friend arrived early, ahead of all the other guests.

Soon, everyone had arrived, and I snuck out with a friend to obtain the traditional surprise finale firework. (Every year, I run out without my dad to buy one big-ass firework, which I then hide until just before the end. Then I present it to him and he lights the finale. He knows I'm doing it, of course, but, like gifts labeled "Santa" in my dad's handwriting, we pretend it's a mystery.) When we got back the delicious food was ready, and everyone stuffed themselves on hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, corn on the cob, green salad, chips and dip, and cheesecake bars. My dad made strawberry daiquiris and I whipped up my lemonade punch (4 ingredients - three are alcohol and one is lemonade). After dinner, I left everyone chatting and slipped inside to prep all the fuses before it got dark.

Then, finally, it was showtime. We started with the traditional round of sparklers. We were lucky enough to have some of the old, no longer sold, metal sparklers left, as well as the new "safer" variety. Interestingly, the metal ones proved not only prettier but also less dangerous than the new ones, as they were more predictable and went out promptly when their sparks were used up, rather than smoldering ominously. "Safe and sane" my butt! Then we lit the Friendship Pagoda, which we keep as a souvenir all year. After that it was a free-for-all. Pink Diamonds, Killer Bees, Crackling Cactus, Purple Rain, The Sizzler, Pharaoh's Treasure, Monster Parade. My friend busied herself braiding long thin fireworks called Crack the Whip and filling the interstices with Ground Blooms and Crazy Eyeballs. Her husband threw Jumping Jacks until one whizzed past my ear and I noticed. I explained that only COMPLETE MORONS throw lit fireworks, and he stopped. For a while.

I ran in and out of the house, fetching new fireworks and marshaling people to light them. I missed some and watched others. I danced in the middle of the street holding a 3-foot giant sparkler in each hand. Throughout, I worried about whether everyone else was having enough fun even as I enjoyed myself. And then it was time for the finale. I retrieved the final firework - a half-kilogram monstrosity called 3 Ring Circus - and presented it to my dad. I looked at the audience gathered in lawn chairs on the lawn. Miraculously, a seat was open in the very center of the front row. I dropped into it and watched the finale live up to its name.

And for about two minutes I ceased to worry about anything.

I love the 4th of July.

I'm too sexy for my hat... maybe?

2008-07-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

Since the 4th of July is my favorite holiday of the year, I try to schedule myself some downtime the day before to relax and get into the blowing-stuff-up mood. (I know guys are always in the mood for explosions, but, as with other things, it takes a little more for us girls.) I usually get a manicure/pedicure, sometimes an eyebrow wax, and often a haircut. This year, I saved a portion of my Christmas bonus just for this day, and I got through the last interminably boring hours of Wednesday at work trying to decide upon the exact shade of red to color my hair.

And then, last night, my boyfriend and I went out to see a late showing of Wanted, and I learned a very important lesson.

NEVER go to see an Angelina Jolie movie the night before a day when you will want to feel sexy. Give it a week at least. In fact, for optimum self-esteem, you should probably give up all movies featuring Angelina Jolie entirely. There is one scene in Wanted in which she climbs out of a bath, her back to the camera, her hair piled artlessly atop her head, and glances back over her shoulder.

Did part of me enjoy the moment? Absolutely yes. Ms. Jolie is quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the world, and the purely aesthetic pleasure that anyone sighted gains from her face and form are undeniable. But another part of me in that moment realized with absolute certainty that I will never, ever, under any circumstance, as the result of surgery or magic spell, look that good.

It wasn't quite as depressing as it sounds. On some level, it's like realizing you're never going to be as flexible as an Olympic gymnast from Belarus. It's okay, because you never really thought you were, and how would being able to put your ankles behind your head improve your life anyway? (I know what you're thinking, but that's really more attractive in the abstract than in practice. If you need a gimmick to attract a guy that badly, just bribe a girlfriend to make out with you - at least that doesn't require years of practice.)

But it does kind of make all my girly primping rituals feel useless. I mean sure, I'm now a fairly hot redhead wearing my traditional 3rd of July outfit, a barely-decent white miniskirt and spaghetti-strap blue tank top with red white and blue star earrings, and sure, migrant workers honked at me and one guy driving next to me stared so hard that he forgot to go when his light turned green, but what does that matter when I'll never be Angelina Jolie?

I tried to snap myself out of it by reminding myself that she's currently pregnant with twins and thus not quite as shapely as she was onscreen. Alas, my brain ruthlessly reminded me that she is sexier than me even while pregnant, and also the twins were fathered by Brad Pitt, which I'm pretty sure gives her some sort of bonus points.

But I went and had my hair done today anyway, and I'm not planning on renouncing makeup anytime soon. So far, general public reaction has been favorable, and my self-esteem is slowly recovering. I can guarantee you this, though - if I ever get married, I'm hiding every Angelina Jolie movie in the house.

Just until after the wedding.

Apparently, a post without a name

2008-06-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

I have to apologize for getting horribly behind on blogging this week. It's a terrible paradox - when I'm not doing anything, I have nothing to blog about, but when I'm busy... well, obviously, I'm busy. No time to sit down and type out my impressions of everything.

As I've mentioned before, summer is best time of year for a Geek Girl like me. Especially July - it starts with a bang and ends with a pilgrimage to Geek Mecca, Comic-Con International. But besides my Geek Girl credentials, I also happen to be a card-carrying member of the Obsessive Planning and List-Making Guild. (Just ask my boyfriend.) So not only can I tell you what I will be doing each night next week, I can tell you what I'll be doing each weekend in August. And there's a Christmas present for my boyfriend hidden deep in the linen closet.

Which can all combine for a minor meltdown around the end of June, as I consult with my mom on the annual Independence Day jamboree, finalize plans for the Labyrinth Masquerade, and work on costumes for each day of Comic-Con. As well, my job inexplicably also expects me to come to work on a regular basis during these crucial weeks, and pay attention while I'm there, despite the fact that I clearly have more interesting things to be doing.

So yesterday I ran out to look for 4th of July decorations (patriotic, but not even remotely military. I love my country but I wouldn't want anyone to think I had anything in common with our current President. I won't even buy fireworks with bellicose names. Bring on the Purple Rain, but leave the Tank Salute at the store), tried to find new horns for a costume (the ones we ordered online looked nothing like their picture), did all the grocery shopping (including $40 worth of liquor for my killer 4th of July lemonade punch), then came home and sewed costumes for six hours. Which is not nearly as impressive as it sounds. I did manage to shorten a dress, cut out all the pieces of a showgirl-style skirt, create a harness for a pair of wings, and hem and add fastenings to another dress.

Well, actually I was impressed. But I don't really count, and besides, I know people who can actually sew who could have completed all those projects in about a third of the time. It takes me half an hour just to wind a bobbin and thread the machine, and that dress that I hemmed is listed on the pattern envelope as a "1 hour dress". I've put in approximately six hours on it so far. But it is the first whole garment I've ever made and it does (miraculously) fit, so it is something of an accomplishment.

However, it's an accomplishment I'm going to need to replicate often over the next couple of weeks. I still have a lot to do. At the moment, all of my costumes are balanced on the edge: they're a little too weird to be street clothes, but they're not obviously costumes of a particular thing yet. Except for my American McGee's Alice, I guess. I cheated on that one by buying the Alice dress ready-made at Disneyland (I'm little, which is a disadvantage when I want to be anyone with boobs, but comes in handy for things like this because I can usually wear the largest size in children's clothes), and I have the wig and the boots.

But my costuming break has already dragged on too long. It's back to the sewing machine for me now. Wish me luck, and forgive my blogging distraction.

Call me in October

2008-06-24T19:01:00.000-07:00

Ah, summer in Los Angeles. The sweltering heat, the vast majority of apartments without central air conditioning, the endless traffic and $4.60 per gallon gasoline... it's my favorite season.

Not, of course, for any of the reasons above. Summer in Los Angeles in my particular habitat consists of evenings and weekends in my stuffy apartment, wishing for air conditioning, and weekday mornings and afternoons in my subzero office cubicle, wishing air conditioning had never been invented. But since I try to block out all aspects of my job when I'm not actually doing it, and since I like my apartment well enough when I don't hate it, the weather doesn't really figure into my seasonal rankings. (Especially because, as I mentioned, I live in southern California... I've heard of seasons, but I believe they're a myth.)

But summer is heaven for geeks all across the country. I don't really understand why, actually. You'd think that people whose favorite activities almost all involve being indoors would do better in another season. Hrm... come to think of it, maybe that's exactly why - with everyone else glorying in the availability of water sports, geeks need to find new and creative reasons to stay inside. Whatever. Anyway, there are a veritable galaxy of exciting geek events in the summer. I don't have space to list them all, but I will add links to a few of the coolest... and a few I'll be attending.

http://www.renfair.com/bristol/
One of the largest Renaissance fairs in the country, the Bristol Faire runs from the Fourth of July weekend through Labor Day on the Illinois/Wisconsin border. Scotsmen, pirates, princesses and the fae mingle for your amusement, and all sorts of awesome weaponry, masks, and trinkets are for sale. Even non-geeks can have fun swilling ale and gnawing on turkey legs while marveling at the endless parade of sunburnt cleavage on display. Fun for the whole family!

http://www.bsvscenariogame.com/
This is the most fantastic idea I've heard in a long time, and only the price of jet fuel and my complete ineptitude at sports are keeping me from participating. A bunch of hardcore Firefly fans in the Midwest have decided to stage the Battle of Serenity Valley as a giant paintball game. I thought I was a Whedon freak, but clearly these people have me beat. The Browncoats might still end up the losing side, but we all know they aren't the wrong one.

http://www.labyrinthmasquerade.com/
This geek event is based on the David Bowie/Jennifer Connelly movie Labyrinth, but it's expanded into a massive geek party where everyone is required to attend in costume - or at least in formalwear and a mask. Even if you can't attend, hit the site to check out the photo galleries from the last couple years. Some people spend months creating their costumes, and it shows.

http://www.comic-con.org/cci/
Comic-Con International. I think Tom Spurgeon at The Comics Reporter sums it up pretty well in his article "Welcome to Nerd Vegas":
(http://www.comicsreporter.com/index.php/welcome_to_nerd_vegas_a_guide_to_visiting_and_enjoying_comic_con_internatio/),
but if you need more tips I intend to outline my own personal strategy (and numerous pet peeves) in a later post.

http://www.denvention3.org/
The annual Worldcon is in Denver this year, and it promises to be a great time. The guest of honor is one of my favorite authors, Lois McMaster Bujold (stop reading this blog immediately and pick up the Vorkosigan saga if you haven't already), and next year the convention is in Canada, so get there while you can.

http://www.dragoncon.org/
Admittedly, I've never been to DragonCon, but let's face it, it has an awesome name, and if I ever become independently wealthy, I'm attending every Con on the planet. This one is definitely on my list... even if I'm not sure I want to spend Labor Day weekend in Atlanta.

http://www.gencon.com/2008/indy/
It's not called "the best four days in gaming" for nothing. Every year in Indianapolis, geeks come from all over the world to buy books, cards, miniatures, and everything else associated with fanstasy games like D&D and Magic: The Gathering. It's not quite as picturesque as when it was still in Milwaukee, but if you're into RPGs it's practically a national holiday.

And there are, of course, a number of fun things to do that don't require you to get in touch with your inner geek. If you're in southern California, you might check out these:
http://www.sdfair.com/
http://www.sawdustartfestival.org/
http://www.ocfair.com/

In the meantime, celebrate the Fourth of July. Food, fun, and most importantly FIREWORKS make this my favorite holiday of the year. If it's not geeky enough for you, try holding a roman candle in each hand, and pretending you're a wizard.

Of Ends and Endlessness

2008-06-20T11:10:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking a lot lately about the last episode of Buffy. (Now, while I firmly believe that Buffy is the greatest television show of all time, this is not the post where I will defend that point. I don't have that kind of time today.) I'm not actually a fan of the final episode. I can kind of see where they were trying to go with it, but I thought that it fell really short when compared with the rest of the series, and ultimately it left me sad not only that the series had ended, but also that this episode was the last experience I would ever have of it.

Here isn't really the place to go into full detail on that either. Although I will say that the lack of mourning for Spike, the compression of mourning for Anya into one tossed-off "That's my girl" from Xander, the complete waste of time on an in-joke so obscure that all the dedicated fans I know missed it (the Trogdor joke - the only non-fan in the room for the finale had to explain it to us) - suffice it to say that the only thing that kept me from hiding in my room and bawling inconsolably afterward was the fact that I had thrown a party to watch it and my guests were still in attendance.

But all of those minor annoyances aside, I still had a major problem with the big spell. You know the one - Willow sits on the floor with the legendary Slayer scythe in her lap and pulls all the power she can handle to modify the ancient spell that creates and activates Slayers. Connected through the scythe, she holds on long enough to activate every potential Slayer currently on the planet - girls as young as eight or nine up through teenagers. As the show puts it, every girl who might have been a Slayer now is a Slayer. (The show's mythology was always a little vague on Slayer creation - it's hard to say what the earliest age it's possible to identify a Potential is, and there's also no information on at what point you presumably age out of the possibility. I'm assuming the spell did not also activate women in their thirties and beyond, who might have been Slayers if the current Slayer when they were fifteen, say, had died.)

To be honest, I wasn't initially that bothered by the spell. I thought the episode spent a little too much visual time on it (there was one recurring shot in particular, of a girl batting in a softball game - please, just hit the damned ball already!), but in general it seemed a fairly ingenious solution to the hordes of demons the Scooby Gang was facing. What bothered me came later, when a friend told me that Joss Whedon had explained that the spell was supposed to symbolize the final step in Buffy's journey to adulthood - the realization that she is not the only Chosen One, simply one of many, and that her life, no matter how heroic and dramatic, is not the center of the universe.

Which, let's face it, is hugely depressing. The idea that the final step to growing up is, essentially, realizing that you just aren't all that special, horrifies me. I agree that the life-or-death self-centeredness that is the hallmark of adolescence must eventually give way to a more nuanced and inclusive view of the world, of course. And I do occasionally marvel at how little time I spent thinking of others as a teenager. But that ending still seems to take it a step too far. Because if you're not the star of your own life - if you don't get to be the Slayer or the Princess or the Jedi Knight - then you're just a number, living out your tiny life alongside the billions of other tiny lives, lost forever in the vastness of the universe. If that's adulthood, I decline.

But what got me thinking about this was the endless go-round of everyday adulthood. The constant cycle of bill paying and grocery shopping and laundry and everything else. Especially lately, as I've had to deal with getting slightly older on all fronts: socially, where many of my friends are getting married and one pair even managed to buy a house; financially, where I've discovered that saving for retirement is what you get to look forward to even before you've paid off your student loans; and biologically, where I'm having to start taking into account things like maybe I should start wearing sunscreen every day if I don't want to look like my grandmother by the time I'm forty. Which is all pretty depressing in its own right. And I got to thinking that maybe Joss was right after all, that you do grow up and settle down and settle for what you've got.

So I was depressed by my tiny life and the tiny events that could eventually be expected to parade through it (if I could ever scrape together the funds to finance any of them): wedding, house purchase, children, vacations, etc. Until, thankfully, I remembered something that happened on another Joss Whedon show, when Angel had an epiphany.

"If there is no great glorious end to all this, if nothing we do matters... then all that matters is what we do. Cause that's all there is. What we do, now, today."
Angel, Epiphany (2:16)

Angel was both an adult and a hero, and this sounds like a pretty good philosophy to me. What you do every day matters, at least to you and the people around you. It matters a lot, in fact, even if all you do is all you can do in your tiny life, even if you're not a Slayer or a vampire or a Jedi Knight. And if that doesn't make you the hero of your own story, then I don't know what does.

I grew up with Buffy - went to high school in Southern California the same years she did and graduated college a week before the final episode aired. But it looks like I can't follow her to adulthood (a metaphor which actually works really well, as her story continues in comic book form, which I don't read as I can't seem to connect to the medium). I've graduated to Angel instead. Guess now I know why I moved to Los Angeles.

Dressing Up for Grown-Ups

2008-06-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

Buffy: It's come as you aren't night. The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.
Willow: Oh, I don't get wild. Wild on me equals spaz.
Buffy: Don't underestimate yourself. You've got it in you.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer 2:6, "Halloween"

They're talking about Halloween, of course, but I've always found that little exchange to be a pretty good summation of why adults put on costumes. Or at least, why I do. Come-as-you-aren't night - doesn't it sound wonderful? A chance to be a princess or an elf or a superhero, or your favorite character from television or the movies. More importantly, a chance to be somebody besides who you have to be every other day.

It's not that being me sucks so much, really. I've got great friends and good family and fun hobbies and gadgets. But I work in a cubicle in an office, Monday through Friday every week, and I go home to my sweet, stable boyfriend of almost three years. On holidays I visit my normal, still-married parents. It's a good deal: believe me, I know it. But it's hardly epic, you know?

And for the most part, that's how I like it. Epic is more often than not a synonym for tragic, and as Chris Rock puts it, the only exciting relationships are the bad ones. I tried being sexy and wild once for a couple of months, and I admit, parts of it were fun - but a lot of it seemed to consist of being broke and hungover. Plus, as much as I always wanted to be Buffy, I have to side with Willow on this one, because I'm pretty sure that wild on me does equal spaz. At least until I've had enough alcohol to relax into it.

So sometimes it's incredibly freeing to be somebody else for a while. Especially when that somebody else comes with a ready-made persona that you'd never be able to pull off in real life. I've been Buffy, Raven, Black Canary, Yvaine from Stardust, Queen Gorgo from 300, Inara from Firefly, and Darla from BtVS. Except for Yvaine (her dress was just so pretty; if only I had a gay pirate stylist!), they're all kick-ass heroines (or villains) - sarcastic and sexy with great wardrobes full of things I could never wear in real life.

Red leather pants just aren't me... except when I'm Buffy. That linen toga/shift thing Queen Gorgo wears requires more social courage than I possess (and some double-sided tape). But I pulled it off all day at Comic-Con. Because when I wear the costume, I get to channel the character, and that's a thrill I don't get every day.

So look for me at the next masquerade ball, and on the convention floor at Comic-Con. I'll be the girl with the attitude and the leather corset.

Why BSG is (currently) the best show on television

2008-06-14T00:13:00.000-07:00

So I've just watched the last episode of the first half of the final Battlestar Galactica season, and it was amazing. For anyone who hasn't seen it yet (4:10, Revelations), I won't include any spoilers here. I just want to take a moment to appreciate the many wonderful things about this intelligent, superlative show.

For the many people who mistakenly believe that a "genre" show is somehow lesser than a reality-based narrative, I'd like to point out that this show is built around a series of core questions that are deeper and more insoluble than any brought up by Law and Order or ER. The nature of humanity - always a slippery definition - becomes even more so when faced with a species that looks, feels, and bleeds as we do, yet is somehow separate. The Cylons, in their endless struggle to understand humans, force the humans to try to understand themselves. And while the first question is seemingly obvious: what constitutes humanity? The second question is definitely not: can you choose to be human? And the third is even more unsettling: can you choose NOT to be?

The answer to the latter questions seems, so far, to be in the affirmative. Cylon characters have made sacrifices as wrenching as any of the humans; humans have betrayed their own as they have been doing for centuries, in times and places when literally everything was at stake. Many of the characters have acknowledged this, while others refuse to face it, clinging to their own in the face of all evidence and opposition. The parallels with America's current situation in the global community are obvious, but the implications go beyond that. If peace broke out everywhere tomorrow, it wouldn't last precisely because we haven't answered these questions.

It's true that Battlestar Galactica is set far in the future, in a time of routine faster-than-light space travel and ship-mounted energy weapons. But nowadays that seems hardly more fanciful than The West Wing's benevolent, responsible Bartlet Administration. The people of the Colonial Fleet may live in more extreme conditions than the average American, but they have the same range of choices. Violence vs. peace. Trust vs. betrayal. Self-interest vs. the greater good. The choices they make are sometimes right, and sometimes not, but perhaps that, too, is an indicator of humanity.

I'll reserve my accolades for the acting and specific accomplishments in writing for another post, but I will say that I have more in common with Dee or Cally or Tory any day of the week than I ever had with Carrie Bradshaw or Meadow Soprano. And I'm proud of that, not just as a Geek Girl, but as a human being.

I think that the main reason most people dismiss "genre" shows is a failure of imagination. After all, anyone who thinks Farmer Needs A Wife and The Bachelorette are reality-based is clearly incapable of separating fantasy and reality. And we should all feel sorry for them.

A (Gentle) Note on Geek Hygiene

2008-06-10T23:59:00.000-07:00

I love geek guys. That's not to say that my head isn't turned by the occasional golden boy jock or exotic Persian man's man, but for the most part the guys I hang out with, the guys I date, are geeks. They can discuss the difference between DC and Marvel for hours, find immediate common ground on the Evil Dead movies, and advise me on all the finer points of Magic: The Gathering strategy.

This, of course, has its ups and its downs. While it means that I spend lazy Saturdays with the Sci-Fi channel playing atrocious, so-bad-they're-still-not-good-but-damn-they're-funny movies in the background instead of being forced to watch sports or endless repetitions of the same news on MSNBC, it also means that I am responsible for dressing everyone in the house for occasions requiring anything more formal than a Thundercats T-shirt. It means that I always have someone to play Mario Kart with, but that if I want to go dancing I'm on my own. In general, though, geek guys make good boyfriends. For the most part, they tend to be caring, attentive, funny, smart guys without a lot of ego (except when it comes to their Halo achievements and Warcraft levels, of course). Which is what makes it sad that such a large percentage of them don't have girlfriends to share their geekdom with.

It's a stereotype that geeks are pasty, overweight guys with greasy hair and a certain - less than pleasant - smell. This has been referred to gently, as well as more bluntly, on numerous blogs and even the official Comic-Con website. Sadly, as a longtime veteran of Comic-Con, I can attest to the fact that it's true oftener than I'd like. Every year, thousands of geeks converge into some very small (but extremely well air-conditioned) rooms, and as you sit in those rooms, you do notice an aroma that owes less to aftershave and deodorant than it does to sweat and stale food.

So this year, I'm making a plea to all the lonely geeks out there. Comic-Con is an endurance game, and it's unrealistic to expect that you won't sweat, or that anyone has time to run back to their hotel room and brush their teeth after meals. But please, please, please. Shower every morning (and depending on your sweat glands, possibly also every night). Put on deodorant - lots of it. (You can skip the aftershave and cologne, unless you already have a favorite scent you didn't buy at the drugstore. The last thing anyone needs is two thousand geeks in Ballroom 20 all wearing Axe body spray. The panelists would all pass out.) Bring along some breath mints, and pop one every time you even think you might be less than fresh. Honestly, guys. Don't do it for me; do it for yourselves.

Let me tell you why.

Because besides being a gathering place for comic book dealers, artists, artisans, writers, actors, and Hollywood stars, Comic-Con has what is probably the largest concentration of girls who love geeks in the entire world. And many of them are hot. This is the one place where you can pick up a girl by quoting a movie based on a video game. That babe in the chainmail would probably welcome a conversation about Warcraft. The one in the ripped neon tights and purple fairy wings almost certainly knows a lot about anime. And these girls are used to geeks in their natural habitat. They understand that a brand-new Twilight Princess t-shirt with the triforce symbol picked out in gold foil contstitutes business casual for you. They're okay with that.

And they're on vacation! While Girls Gone Wild is another unflattering stereotype, it too has its grain of truth. Hot girls away from home, on vacation, do things (and people) they might not usually consider. You could be one of those things.

The bottom line is that with very minimal effort on your part, you could drastically increase your chance of finding a girl who enjoys dressing up as your favorite superheroine/elf/Star Wars character. In bed.

Think about it.

Boots, boots, everywhere, but never the ones I need

2008-06-09T22:54:00.000-07:00

Compared to my non-geek friends, I'm really not that into shoes. Admittedly, I probably have 30 or 35 pairs of them, but that stems more from my pathological inability to throw away things that might someday be useful for a costume than it does from any great love of shoes. (I'm not joking: just last weekend I salvaged an atrocious linen jacket from my mom's castoffs and stuck it in my boyfriend's closet, just in case someone we know ever happens to throw a Miami Vice themed party.) So I believe that my shoe collection is quite moderate, considering.

But I do, at last count, own eight pairs of boots. I ordered another pair online just now, which will bring the total to nine. The problem is that no matter how many I acquire, I never seem to have quite the style required to imitate the character I'm creating a costume of. Take the first pair, for instance. Knee-high black leather with a side zip and three-inch chunky heels, I begged my mom for them when I was seventeen and desperate to be Buffy. (If memory serves, I used to wear them with a black mini and a spaghetti-strap tank top with appliqued butterflies. Shudder.) The next two pairs didn't actually have a lot to do with costuming - apparently at nineteen I though pain was sexy. There's certainly no other excuse for the stiletto-heeled torture chambers I bought (in black leather and camel suede both, just to cover all possible outfits). But I still have them, just in case. Next came knee-high slouchy brown suede boots with stacked heels, then Italian leather boots in a rich chocolate that were secondhand and impossible to resist. Then last year I decided to dress up as Raven from Teen Titans at Comic-Con, which required low-heeled ankle boots that I found at Hot Topic. And then I found a perfect pair of Resident Evil Alice boots and decided to make a costume to go with them. The last pair (before today) were tall black leather creations wrapped in more scraps of black leather and studded. I don't know what they're for, but it's probably post-apocalyptic. Does Daryl Hannah wear boots in Blade Runner?

Despite this seemingly comprehensive collection, I still end up needing a new pair for almost every kick-ass heroine I want to dress up as. I did use the Buffy boots to be Black Canary two Halloweens ago, but that costume was basically a cop-out. (If you want to try it, all you need is boots, fishnets, a good black swimsuit, and a bolero. True, only hardcore DC fans will know who you are, but everyone will be impressed by your willingness to walk around in the outfit I've just described.) All of my other boots have yet to be reused for costume purposes.

The lack of versatility would bother me less if it wasn't for one thing: men. My boyfriend owns two pairs of boots: one black leather and medieval-style, the other brown suede and Indian-style. With just those boots, he's been Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet, an evil pirate named Rodrigo, a noble (generic) cavalier, a random masked warrior, an elemental Earth spirit, and Madmartigan from Willow. The only reason he's considering a new pair is that the sole is coming off one of the black ones, and electrical tape can only get you so far.

But today I started working on my American McGee's Alice costume, and as I looked at the images pulled up on Google, I realized with a sinking heart that her boots lace or buckle all the way up to the knee. All of mine are either too short, or zip-fastened. Pair number nine, here I come. Let's just hope I can hold off on number ten until I throw that party for the last episode of Battlestar Galactica.

Until then, I'll be working on my wig collection.

Tribulations of a Semi-Geek Girl

2008-06-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

Or, why guys I’d never sleep with tell me I’m the perfect woman.

Seriously. It happened for the second time on Saturday night, when I was somewhat inebriated at a friend’s party, and when I sobered up Sunday I had to wonder what kind of things that said about me. It’s not like I don’t know why he said it – and before you judge, it’s not because I’m ridiculously hot. I figure most days I’m anywhere between a six and an eight on a scale of ten, and I’m pretty sure that drops all the way down to three or so when I’m sick or you know, really not trying. But anyway, I’m probably cute enough, depending on your particular preferences. Since I live in L.A., slightly-prettier-than-average doesn't usually get me too far.

But the reason my friend’s semi-harmless new subletter called me the perfect woman was only about fifty percent based on my appearance. (I hope; obviously, I can’t read his mind, and my blouse was semi-sheer that night.) It was mostly because I’m a Geek Girl.

Now, I’m hardly the poster girl for the category: I’m only an indifferent gamer and my knowledge of anime is nearly nonexistent. But I can nevertheless discuss the finer points of the Xbox 360, PS3, Wii, and DS, kick some koopa butt at Mario Kart Wii, and reel off some of the incredibly complicated plots of the Metal Gear Solid franchise. I was in fact kicking butt at Mario Kart and discussing the relative merits of Rock Band on the different platforms simultaneously when he hung the epithet on me. (This multi-tasking undoubtedly seemed more impressive at the time, as the rest of the party was several drinks ahead of me.)

So anyway, I happened to mention that I was considering blowing my entire economic stimulus payment on an Xbox 360 and Rock Band package, and he suddenly looked both amused and raptly interested. I shrugged off both as I went on to win the kart race. After everyone gave up on video games to concentrate on more serious drinking, he continued to follow me around telling me how pretty I was and asking for my number despite the umpteen times I'd mentioned my boyfriend. (If that sounds endearing, it wasn't - I'm pretty sure that without alcohol it would have been beyond irritating.) Eventually I ditched him, called my boyfriend for a ride, and went home.

But the next morning I remembered him, looking goofy and vaguely mulish, saying, "Wow. You might just be the perfect woman." Leaving aside the relative laxity of his standards (he'd known me for all of twenty-five minutes at that point), I was struck by it because nearly the exact same thing had happened to me a couple of years before, when I picked up on a Venture Bros. reference dropped into conversation by the assistant manager at the bookstore I worked for. (He might actually have thought I was perfect for him; unfortunately, his pop culture qualifications were the most attractive thing about him. I ran into him last year at Comic-Con, setting out water for a panel that included Joss Whedon, and for a moment almost wished I'd dated him so he could introduce me.)

It seems that enjoying comic books, science fiction, video games, and being a reasonably attractive (or possibly just recognizably female) girl will get you your pick of a wide swath of geeks these days. Which is not a bad thing, of course. I love geeks (disclaimer: I live with one), and I'm happy to say that they're coming up in the world. Movie studios and television networks seem to finally be catching on to the fact that geeks are people too - better yet, they tend to be college-educated, literate people. Or, as media executives see it, people with disposable income.

But for the moment, Geek Girls still seem to be a rare and almost mythical breed, widely rumored but rarely seen in person. Several of my friends still shudder at being called "science fiction fans", and the rest would still rather go bar hopping than spend a long evening playing D&D. I'm afraid that this scarcity won't last, though - every year I see more girls at Comic-Con, and shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the new Battlestar Galactica are steadily reeling in new female fans. All I can say is, enjoy it while it lasts, Geek Girls. Soon, just wandering into a comic book store and striking up a conversation about the latest Uncanny X-Men won't be enough to get you a date.

Wearing those thigh-high leather boots might help, though.