underwood no5

Finding Ada: Fourth Planet On The Left

2009-03-24T16:23:00.000-07:00

Today is Finding Ada day, a day to celebrate and recognise women in technology. And this year, my heroine in technology is Veronica McGregor.

Now you may not recognise this name, and I'd be very surprised if you did. Veronica is the head of the news office for JPL, and she is also the voice behind the Shorty Award Winner for Science, the Mars Phoenix Lander on Twitter.

Veronica is doubly my heroine, because she managed to bring a very important scientific mission into the light and she did it by giving a far distant exploration robot a first person voice. She told the story of humanity finding water on Mars.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. She was the voice of humanity as we touched the face of another planet. How freakin' cool is that.

I can't tell you how many of my friends tuned into the Mars Phoenix twitter feed, every day, waiting with bated breath to hear if the sun had come up yet on another planet. To see if the heaters had come on or if the robotic arm had thawed enough to scoop a bit of Martian soil into an oven for analysis. We clicked the links to see a glimpse of this distant world. We cheered aloud when the little robot found evidence of ice. The building block for life, on another planet. It was literally science fiction made fact.

I was enraptured by the story this little robot told me of her experiences.

And I literally cried when she went dark. As the Martian winter took over, and wind (we got pictures of wind on another planet) kicked up dust that covered the solar panels, every day MarsPhoenix would try valiantly to power up and do another little bit of exploring. Until the day came when she could no longer do so, and she sent her final tweet in binary code:

01010100 01110010 01101001 01110101 01101101 01110000 01101000 <3

Triumph. With a less than three heart at the end.

Veronica, I can't thank you enough for the gift of that little robot. You gave us science in a powerful and passionate form. You made our hearts soar with possibilities. You are a true heroine of technology.

MarsPhoenix epitaphs were chosen from over a thousand submissions, and one of the final three was this:

It is enough for me. But for you, I plead: go farther, still. ~Fernando Rojas

YES. Go farther, still. Read about Cassini and the Mars Rovers landers. Read about science that is expanding humanity's understanding of our solar system. Tell stories that sweep us off our feet and out into the vast reaches of space, like the true explorers of old.

Veronica, thank you for leading the way. We are eternally in your debt.

ETA: My friend Eilidh works at JPL and forwarded my post to Veronica McGregor. Her response is below:

Oh my gosh! Thank you so so much for sending this to me. I’m absolutely honored that your friend would think of me on this day. This blog post, on this day, means more to me than any Shorty Award :-)

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to find a hanky.

A Zombie Story: 140 Characters At A Time

2009-01-29T19:09:00.000-08:00

A Zombie Story: 140 Characters At A Time
Originally published on Twitter, 1/28/2009

ACT ONE: Babes In Manger

You know that place out on the edge of the High Desert, where the big cargo planes come in loud and low over the hard pan? Yeah, you know it.

It's the bitter edge of nowhere.Where they bring back the war dead from distant lands,coffins draped with flags we're never supposed to see.

We were sitting in the diner, mouthful of cold eggs and black coffee, when we heard the dull roar resolve into sputtering engines. Not good.

Gotta hand it to the pilot. Laid it down like a babe in a manger. Well, you all know how that story ended.

When the dust cleared, all we could see was a tangle of brush and barbed wire wrapped around a grey green fuselage. Engines dead. Silence.

Jace was the first one to open the door. I saw him cover his face and grimace. Then the stench hit me. Part slaughterhouse, part roadkill.

It was like watching a bad B movie. He disappeared into darkness and all I heard was the screaming. And the crunching of flesh and bone.

ACT TWO: Potter's Field

We fell back in horror just as the sun crested the ridge. Daybreak in Mojave is hard & cold. Backlit through dust & smoke, the dead emerged.

Grady muttered something about the 12 gauge in his pickup. Magda crossed herself. I dug out my cell and tried to focus enough to dial 911.

The field between the wreckage and the diner was pockmarked with gopher holes and rusted out hulks of old metal. Chevy, Kubota, Evinrude.

Grady had the right idea. The rest of us stood like dumb cattle waiting for the hammer. The blast from his shotgun woke us from our stupor.

The air rushed back in and sound with it. Someone was still screaming but the sound was muted by the grating chorus of their rotted throats.

We fell back, stumbling and crawling, thinking, like Custer must have, only of the safety of retreat. The diner. Phones. The myth of sanity.

My ears were ringing. Almost there when I heard Grady curse a blue streak. The shuck shuck of the shotgun was followed by a hollow click.

I could see them. Burnt flesh, shattered ends of ribs sticking out through their BDUs. Morning light glinting off their gore slicked skulls.

The doors wouldn't lock. It's a 24hr diner. The doors NEVER lock. Grady braced them with a chair. A hand broke the glass, tore out his throat.

ACT THREE: Battle of Grady's Griddle

Someone grabbed my shoulders, pulled me back behind the counter. Gus, the cook, said something about helicopters. They'd seen the smoke. Help.

Fading tempera painted reindeers on the diner's front windows only distorted the shadows of their forms as they battered against the glass.

"Three wisemen," Magda pointed. Three black Apache choppers coming in low and fast. She was feeding rounds down the throat of the 12 gauge.

Gus shrieked, pounding his shoulder into the back door. No lock there. Skeletal hands, flesh hanging like spanish moss, clawed at his face.

I watched transfixed as a finger fish-hooked him.I saw him scream.Eyeless sockets over a lipless grin, teeth crushing the back of his skull.

Dead weight was the only thing holding the door. I ripped the gas line away from the wall and sparked it. My flesh cooked slower than theirs

Magda was behind me, scattergun thundering in concert with the guttural roar of the flame."There's too many of them!" "I hear the choppers!"

3 wisemen followed their phosphorus white star down to our personal hell. Whatever it was hit the propane tank outside like God's own fist.

Can't tell you what hppnd next.We fell back to the freezer, praying the thick steel door held.I touched my ear and my hand came away bloody.

Light seeped in every gap in the rickety old freezer. Light so bright it burned my skin. The metal began to glow red. Magda kept praying.

Piadosa Virgen María de Guadalupe, dale clemencia, amor y compasión a aquellos que te quieren. Like the sweet fragrance of roses, pleasegod

Check the papers. They call it a training accident. The town of Mojave, population 2000, wiped off the map by an ill-fated dummy nuke.

Go out at dawn and watch the planes come in, low and slow over the hard pan. You watch the fighter escorts and ask yourself why.

END ACT THREE, A ZOMBIE STORY TOLD IN TWITTER SIZE BITES. Thank you and remember, keep your powder dry and always aim for the brain stem.

Going Grey

2009-01-09T13:38:00.000-08:00

Those of you who know me in meat space know that I wear my hair pulled up and back pretty much all the time. And I am completely utilitarian when it comes to my hair. Oy, just get it out of my face! Anyway, this look can be severe, but I really don't have a lot of hair to begin with, and I have to work with what I have.

So to soften my face a bit, I discovered that I can dampen the wisps at my temples and get pin curls, no curling iron required. Just wet, futz*, and go. Now some days, it's a hit or miss thing. Some days one side is more curly than the other. Somedays it's not humid enough to get the effect at all. Some days, like today, I get mad awesome pin curls. If I didn't do the pin curl thing, I'd have to coat my head in hair spray, because my hair has serious Mad Scientist tendencies.

Today? My inner Einstein showed up. I go to the loo and while I'm washing my hands, I glance at my reflection and think, "Wow, nice hair today. Wait, what the..."

Sticking out of the side of my head at right angles is this grey wire, screaming "MAD SCIENTIST!"

"No no no. Victorian librarian." I futz with it.

"ALBERT EINSTEIN!" Adamant hair is adamant.

"NO. Rachel Weisz in the Mummy!" I dampen my fingertips and try to tame it. Nothing doing.

"SAMUEL CLEMENS BETTER KNOWN AS MARK TWAIN!"

"Okay, can I have the brilliance without the...."

"CARROT TOP AND GANDALF'S LOVE CHILD!!!"  ~SPROING~

"Fine. I didn't want to have to do this but if that's how it has to be?"  ~PLUCK~

I swear it screamed all the way to the end. "INVISIBLE TESLA COIL!  PHIL SPECTER! BEN FRANKLIN'S KITE AND KEY!   NOOOOOooooooooooooooo!"

I would have flushed the damn thing but I don't want to be responsible for some urban legend about an albino python in the sewers.

*Futz, technical term, meaning to trifle or fool around. Origin, Yiddish for Fart, I kid you not.

[link] Louis vs. Rick

2008-12-09T15:25:00.001-08:00

the saga of a man who taught his cat how to use instant messaging.

I ROFLMAO'd. Honestly and for true.

Fathom

2008-12-09T15:15:00.000-08:00

My copy of Fathom, Cherie Priest's latest release, shipped two days ago. I envy you folks who get to buy it in the store.

Read about it here: Let the waters beneath heaven be gathered in one place...

An ageless water witch schemes to bring old gods back to glory, but awakening the Leviathan is no small feat–and it’s none too compatible with the survival of humanity. Nevertheless, a handful of ambitious villains are open to recruitment and the ranks of darkness fill with surprising speed. Aided by an eighteenth-century Spanish pirate and his deranged young lover, the witch strives to bring about the end of the world.

But between the cracks hide forgotten old things. Ignored–but far from powerless–they claim a hero of their own. The soul they salvage was destined for a watery grave, but the timing is right and the lingering elementals have better ideas.

Now the End of Days is challenged by a strange and powerful new creature, distilled from stone by a servant of the earth who refuses to surrender his green fields and muddy plains. Not yet. Add to his arsenal a hapless insurance inspector and the irate priest of a fire god, and suddenly rural Florida doesn’t seem quite so sleepy anymore.

Undesirable

2008-11-12T08:35:00.000-08:00

I just got done reading an article linked to me by trillsie yesterday. trillsie is a veteran of the USAF and yesterday, for that one day, I thanked her and all like her for their service. Truth is, I thank you everyday, because you and your predecessors have given me something I completely take for granted, something so precious, so deeply rooted in my being, it's like breathing. I can put pen to paper and speak my mind about politics and religion without fear of retribution. (There was a few months there, living under the Bush Administration, when I wasn't so sure, but we have HopeChange™ coming, and voters everywhere reminded me that we are Of The People, By The People, For The People.)

The article trillsie linked was was about Anthony Acevedo, a US Army medic who served in WWII, and who was among a small group of POWs who were taken to Buchenwald during the final days of the war. You can read it here. This story seems unequivocally knitted with today's headlines, as protesters of Prop 8 continue to spread their fight right to the steps of the churches that supported that heinous screed.

We hold these truths to be self-evident...

The government is not in the business of deciding who is desirable and who is undesirable. We do not separate citizens according to race, ethnicity, religion, gender, ability, sexual preference or political beliefs. We do not govern along lines of skull shape or skin color, hair color or eye color, For every new way in which our evolutionarily hard-wired brain can come up with to divide "Us" from "Them", we have a doctrine that wipes away that difference.

...that all l men are created equal...

The moment you give the government the right to sort us into buckets of "Acceptable" vs "Unacceptable", you begin handing out armbands. The moment you let one religion drive policy, and use its standards to decide our "morality", you begin laying the rail. The moment you let rage and pain and fear become your guiding influence, that's the day you start stoking the ovens.

...that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights...

I am one hundred percent serious folks. I do not dispute your right to your religious beliefs. I would protect you just as vehemently if your rights were threatened. But you need to remember, the moment you start labelling people as "Undesirable", you step on a path. And there may be a day when that path arrives at your door.

...that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Life. Liberty. The Pursuit of Happiness. There is nothing about being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered that makes a person sub-human. And if you do not believe these people should share the same rights and responsibilities that you have, the same rights and responsibilities that come with marriage and family, you are defining them as sub-human. If you do not fight for their right to stand beside you on the platform that is American Freedom, the platform that so many good men and women have died defending, you are defining them as sub-human.

And if you dare define them as sub-human, remember, you leave open the possibility that someone will define you or your children as sub-human, according to their own dictates.

Martin Luther King, Jr.
Harvey Milk
Kareem Rashad Sultan Khan
Anthony Acevedo, may he live a long healthy life.

I invite you to add a name to the list of people we should never forget, for the struggle, for the sacrifice, for the lesson to our basic decent humanity they have given us.

Sitting on DG's CoverItLive Blog as a "Producer"

2008-11-04T13:29:00.001-08:00

Election 2008

2008-11-04T08:53:00.001-08:00

Testing One Two

2008-10-28T15:34:00.001-07:00

Obama

2008-09-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

Since I became aware of the senator from Illinois back in 2004, when he made headlines for his speech opening the Democratic National Convention, I have believed that he is the John F. Kennedy of my generation. There is a subtle poise, a grace and humility about the man that bespeaks the kind of character I have hungered to see in a national leader. I have also wondered if it's possible that America Herself would recognize that leader when he or she came along, having been force fed a diet of sound bites and petty schoolyard taunts and gibes.

I think I saw that leader in the debate last night. Obama treated his opponent with respect and gentility, even as his opponent refused to acknowledge him with even a glance. Even as his opponent spun lie after lie after lie about Obama's voting record and his position on the issues. He comported himself with dignity.

And here is an example, thanks to my dear friend Janice, of precisely why I want this man to take up the task of rebuilding America and restoring our good name in the global community:

Greenrose2 @ DailyKos wrote:

It came when Senator McCain was stumbling with Ahmadinejad's name. He was stumbling hard, almost unable to get the name or any semblance of it pronounced. Very quietly, but audibly Senator Obama can be heard saying something. In the first viewing, I knew he had said something there, but was unable to decipher exactly what he had said. In listening to the replay it's easy to hear his comment.

He quietly acknowledged to Senator McCain "That's a tough one." When I heard his remark, his gracious nod to the Senator's struggle to pronounce a very difficult name, his compassion for the man, I choked up. It humbled me. It made me briefly look inward, and feel lesser for originally maybe hoping that it was some cutting barb. And it showed him as a man greater than politics, greater for inspiring empathy and compassion for a fellow man.

When was the last time you had an intense, emotionally satisfying conversation with someone? When you felt as if someone was truly present and listening to your words, instead of merely waiting for you to stop talking so they can have their turn?

Can you imagine the power of making the leaders of Iran or from North Korea feel like they are truly being heard? Can you see now the true power of diplomacy and the absolutely vital necessity of meeting with these so-called "rogue" nations without pre-conditions? This isn't negotiating with terrorists. It's making the person across the table from you understand that you see them as a person. And that you have far more in common with them than the sum of all your differences.

Sen. Obama doesn't need to sneer at his opponent's missteps, as much as we might like to see him do what we might do. He understands that while Sen. McCain may not be qualified to be hold the Executive Office, he is a human being. He deserves to be treated with respect.

Imagine having a president who can not only lead, but who we can hold up to our children as a true role model.

Attack Of The Cute

2008-08-07T21:58:00.001-07:00

Stirling
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

DED
OF
CUTE

Test post from go.blogger.com

2008-05-16T10:49:00.000-07:00

Say No To Truncation

2008-03-28T10:16:00.001-07:00

Do you know if your rss feed is truncated or not? I read all of my blogs in a feed aggregator, specifically Google Reader. This allows me to browse all my blogs in one window. I read blogs from all over the world. Tech blogs, art blogs, culture blogs, you name it. It's also great way to catch up on some of you most prolific people (wordpress, typepad, journalscape, blogger, etc). But every day I find new and interesting blogs that I just, well, I have to confess -- I don't get the most out of your blog.

Why you ask? Because your feed is truncated. I get the first 255 characters or so and then a link to click to read more.

Now, if you're getting ad revenue by me clicking through, by all means, truncate away. But please -- be riveting those first 255 characters. Or else I'm on to the next new shiny.

Also, another reason not to truncate your posts, and I only just learned this, if you're using Wordpress.com? The only way for anyone in China to read your post is via an rss aggregator. If your posts are truncated, your international readers may never get to read what happened to you when the BBQ exploded. And you don't want to leave them in suspense, now, do you?

Here's how to set your feed settings in Blogger.

Elevating the discourse

2008-03-19T09:34:00.000-07:00

I am not a political animal. Especially for the past few years, any level of emotional investment seemed to be a waste of time. I won't hesitate to say that critical thinking was a rare beast that made unicorns look as common as Central Park pigeons. It's deeply disheartening.

But this morning, I can't get Obama's speech out of my head.

Vanmojo put it quite succinctly. It's like it came out of an episode of West Wing, it's that good. We're going to be talking about this speech for the next fifty years, regardless of whether Obama wins or not, because he has raised the level of political discourse. He has refused to reduce incredibly complex issues down to a sound bite. He respects our ability to know the difference between a thousand shades of gray. He asks us to believe that we are capable of changing the way things are.

One of the things I have learned over the passed year is that if you believe in someone, they will rise to the occasion. If you tell someone that you believe in them, if you give them your heart and your soul and show them that you have faith in them, and if that someone respects you and cares about your opinion of them, that person will go on to do amazing things. They will dig deep within themselves and find the person you believe them to be. They will exceed their own expectations, and sometimes the belief itself. Because we all want to do good. I firmly believe that of most people. We want to make the world a better place. We want to be gracious and kind and respectful. We want to be gentle and caring when it's called for, and we want to be fierce and courageous when we are called to. We want to work hard and have something to show for it at the end of the day. And yes, we have our weak moments, when we indulge our petty selves, because we are only human. But for the most part, we want tomorrow to be better than today.

It'd be so very nice to have someone in the White House who not only wants that, but asks it of us as well. Someone who inspires us to be the better person. At first I was sceptical -- no, that's wrong. I was extremely cynical. But now I'm starting to feel it. I'm starting to feel like Obama is the Kennedy of our generation. It's a frightening feeling, to have hope again.

If you haven't seen or read his speech from Philadelphia yet, please take a moment to do so.

Surkatri Updated

2008-02-16T23:30:00.000-08:00

Vela Supernova Remnant

2007-12-20T14:20:00.000-08:00

Amazing, interactive, one billion pixel image, easily navigated.

Wow, that'll make a body feel insignificant.

For Siren 1991-2007

2007-12-01T10:21:00.000-08:00

There is something to be said for digging a grave with your own two hands, on a crystal clear blustery day on a hill overlooking the mouth of the river and the cold blue Pacific in the distance.

There is something to be said for cutting your soft palms open with the wood of an ancient spade that has dug a hundred graves like this before and knows exactly what angle and what depth to cut the hard clay.

There is something to be said for a muddy wheelbarrow and a worn and faded blanket wrapped around a figure that should be sleeping but isn't, and seeing the sad eyes and stooped shoulders of the ones you love who help you dig the hole, knowing that the body that will fill it isn't the dog you loved, it's something else, something that needs taking care of with love and respect all the same.

There is something to be said for holding the entire span of a life in your head and in your heart, from the moment that shiny red penny of a pup came out of her mother with one ear on one side and two on the other, and the day she had to be taken to the vet to have that extra ear removed, which left the remaining ear droopy, so her head looked perpetually cocked in that, "What the hell are you talking about?" look, to the day she shredded the stack of important bills and strewed maraschino cherries on the white futon, to the moment she can't get comfortable and food tastes like ash in her mouth and she tells you it's time, and you know she's right.

There's something to be said for the heavy paving stones that have to be laid over the blanket and the earth to make the work of the coyotes harder and longer and maybe too much, but it's never enough and in six months or a year, you'll come back and have to collect the bones, because that's just the way it is.

There's something to be said for the steaming hot cup of coffee and the giggling of the baby and the warm company of family who have lived this day a hundred times and it never gets any easier, but it's right and good and the way of things.

(With apologies to Williams Carlos Williams)

Silk Hankies

2007-11-30T18:43:00.001-08:00

Silk Hankies
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

The final product. Annatto Seeds on the left, Yellow Onion Skins on the right.

Dyeing with Annatto Seeds & Onion Skins

2007-11-25T22:29:00.001-08:00

Dyeing with Annatto Seeds & Onion Skins
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

How to make a mess with natural dyes.

Stitch Markers

2007-11-25T22:19:00.001-08:00

Stitch Markers
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Using the round end of a toggle clasp for knitting stitch markers and the straight end for crochet stitch markers.

Squirrels In Leather

2007-11-18T22:32:00.001-08:00

Overall
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Still have to set the pearl acorns, dye it, figure out how to put in expansion panels at the seam in the back, and line it.

Also, the center back needs a design as yet to be determined.

Faeries & Mushrooms

2007-11-13T22:37:00.001-08:00

If you like faery art (Brian Froud, Labyrinth, etc) and amazingly magical handmade books, you must -- right this very instant -- stop what you're doing and go to kelfae.com.

And if you love what you see, and you can afford it, BUY SOMETHING. I can not begin to tell you how magical and wonderful her stuff really is. Seriously, you will be purchasing an amazing piece of art that will be in your collection for a life time. And you'll give an amazingly talented artist a very needed boost right now.

Shush, Kel. I'm pimping you and you'll just have to deal with it.

Oh and she does commissions!

kelfae.com. Make with the clicky already.

Spool Knitting With Copper Wire

2007-11-08T18:32:00.001-08:00

Spool Knitting With Copper Wire
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Hello In There

2007-11-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

I've got a headache, and it feels like it's going to be one of those headaches. The headaches that come with cheery monikers like, "Hell, Day One" and "Where's My Home Trepanning Kit When I Need It?"

Mom came out of surgery fine and her blood pressure is back up. She's still compensating, but she was in ICU last night and is still there today, not so much because she's in critical condition, but because they want to be able to get to her quickly if things do turn to shit.

Insert standard: "I feel like a horrible daughter for not sitting by her bedside but there's nothing I can do there that I can't do here."

I finished Fetching (fingerless gloves); they're now blocked and drying. I'm happy with the way they came out. I might make a pair or myself. Or I might make a pair of these, in my House Colours. (Go 'Claws!) Of course, that means finishing everything for everyone else first. Hmm.

I am determined to finish a pair of socks, though. The yarn is so wee, and the needles! It's like knitting with doll things. I love it. Socks!

Work is a real trial right now. I have a really low threshold for tolerating idiots. And it's even worse when the idiot is higher paid than you are, even though trained monkeys could do his job. (Oh, look! Yarn! Nice yarn! ~~Maybe I could knit a hangman's noose!~~ )

And the new fur kid is having real issues with itchies. She got a bath again last night, with special shampoo just to help her skin. She's scratching holes in herself, poor thing. But happy otherwise. It's nice to have a young cat around again.

And yeah... See, this is why I don't post more. Wow, the excitement. I think I need to go have a lie down...

And in other news...

2007-10-31T08:48:00.000-07:00

Mom is going back into surgery this morning. (She had her second knee replacement surgery on Monday morning.) The wound wouldn't stop bleeding yesterday and apparently, last night too. They've given her four units of blood so far. So, back in to find out what the heck's going on. It doesn't seem life threatening but still, one thing after another. She had enough gumption to be bitchy on the phone yesterday, which was a good thing, my father assured me. Only my mother could be in a foul mood while on Morphine.

Y'all, ~points at my lovely readers~ have my permission to SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD if I ever get that bad, mkay? Seriously.

I'm not dressed up at work today, which feels strange. It's a whole ~handwaves~ contractor/not-FTE thing that I don't really care to get into. Plus there's actual work to get done, and that's hard to do when you have to stop every ten minutes and demonstrate how the wings work. (Something I'd normally get a huge kick out of.)

To top it off, I had to walk passed a bowl full of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups this morning on my way out the door. Damn that man for being oh so prepared. But I resisted. (Maybe there'll be some left over, y'think?)

Post pics of your costumes if you have them. Post pics of Halloweens long since passed to dust. I'd much rather be flitting about with you lot than counting mustard seeds and worrying about things I have no control over.

Hell's Angel with Wings v1.0

2007-10-31T08:31:00.000-07:00

This was version 1.0 of the wings (circa 2003?). Way different outline, same infrastructure. Also, many pounds ago.

Steampunk Aviatrix

2007-10-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

FRIDAY, 8PM, 10/27:
Leather? Check
Canvas? Check
Metal wire, armature strength? Check
Spare altimiter? Hmm.
Rare earth magnets? Check
Copper paint? Check
Goggles? Check
Lineman's boots? Check
Chalkboard and chalk? Check
Charcoal? Check
Estes rocket? Check
Mad gleam in my eye? CHECK!

SATURDAY, 8PM, 10/28/2007

There's a ton of things I would still like to do to it, including dye and age the wing harness; tea stain, patch & repatch the wings (my canvas shrunk in the wash. ~DOH~ I knew that!), and go with all white or brown under costume. The black didn't go well at all with the outfit, but it's what I had. And I didn't have time to hit the local military surplus shop.

Also, the pics don't show the uber-kick ass HUGAMOUS dinged-all-to-hell lineman's boots I was wearing. They're five sizes too big and go all the way up to my knees.

All in all, I'm really happy with the way it came out, considering the turnaround time from conception to execution*. I may have to put this on again and get some better "action shots". HEE.

* And yes, mine is the kind of house where we happen to have laying around: lineman's boots, leather helmet, goggles (that's just one pair), leather gauntlets, and 60" wide canvas. Things we bought: copper pipe, copper strapping tape, copper paint.

Fetching

2007-10-24T20:30:00.001-07:00

Fetching
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Work in progress. I don't like the picot bind off and will probably make the next one without it and then decide how to make the third glove.

Leather Pirate Belt for Sale

2007-10-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

Bill & White Bengal Tiger Cub

2007-10-11T08:45:00.001-07:00

Bill & White Bengal Tiger Cub
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Bill needed cheering up after his grandfather's funeral. Kittens make everything better. Tiger kittens even more so. This is the same park Bill took his nieces and nephews to after his mom passed in 1997, so it's kind of a tradition now.

Roosevelt Elk

2007-10-11T08:42:00.001-07:00

Roosevelt Elk
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Roadside, 101 Freeway, Northern California

What's up Wallaby?

2007-10-11T08:37:00.001-07:00

Wallaby Nose
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Noro Kureyon Colourways

2007-09-28T08:52:00.001-07:00

Noro Kureyon Colourways [1] [2]

Strange Bedfellows, Foxen Winery

2007-09-09T21:12:00.001-07:00

Strange Bedfellows, Foxen Winery
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

My second favourite shot from this weekend. Foxen Winery tasting room.

Foxen's office, grape leaves in cement

2007-09-09T21:09:00.001-07:00

Foxen's office, grape leaves in cement
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

My favourite pic from this weekend's wine tasting extravaganza.

Stockinette knitted with energized single (S-twist)

2007-09-09T20:38:00.001-07:00

Stockinette knitted with energized single (S-twist)
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Knitted directly off the bobbin

Stockinette knitted with energized single (S-twist)

2007-09-09T20:25:00.001-07:00

Stockinette knitted with energized single (S-twist)
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Knitted directly from the bobbin.

New Glass Fronted Cabinets

2007-09-03T22:33:00.001-07:00

New Glass Fronted Cabinets
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

And these were billed as "video cabinets". We have turned them into curio cabinets... I think it works quite nicely.

New Mission Style Chair

2007-09-03T22:32:00.001-07:00

New Mission Style Chair
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Picked this one up for less than $40 at an oak place that was going out of business.

Spinning Silk

2007-09-03T22:31:00.001-07:00

Spinning Silk
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

What's on the wheel. Notice the WooLee Winder. I'm so buying one of these, because day-um. It's so much nicer than leaning forward every few yards and moving the pig tail. I can really focus on drafting. Highly recommended.

Lizard Ridge block (184)

2007-09-03T22:29:00.001-07:00

Lizard Ridge block (184)
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Finished this weekend. These go fast.

Images from Sunday's Demo

2007-08-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

The 13th Page

2007-08-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

I was awfully fond of the last 13th Page that I did. So here we go. Pick an item, and I'll tell you the story behind it. Said story may or may not make sense. The author makes no guarantee.

First off, a junk drawer is a collection of seemingly disassociated items. We all have this drawer in our house. It's the drawer were 'everything else' ends up. Old tools, things that are broken but can't seem to be parted with, ticket stubs, washers, rubber bands, wet naps*. But as we all know, each of these items has it's own story to tell. I highly encourage any of my fellow writers, if you're stuck and wondering about a character, write a junk drawer for them. All their bus passes, their take away menus, their old Playbills and receipts. You can learn a lot just by going through the detritus of their every day life.

I typically write these when I'm feeling creative but directionless. They seem to craft their own stories. It's an amazing thing to watch. Or it could be like watching paint dry. You be the judge.

~~~

One red lacquered wooden chest, carven with the images of two cranes, intertwined, dimensions 12"w x 8"d x 6"h. Sealed all around with pitch. White granular residue in the bottom appears to be mineral salts.
One silver fork, crane pattern, tines bent, two forward, two backward, so that it might stand as if on four legs.
One small leather bag, brown, containing a set of six-sided dice, hand carved, square pips, one die chipped.
One aged paper label, pale ivory with black text, bearing the name Château Lafitte and the date 1787.
One ivory-handled straight razor, rusted.
One small handblown glass bottle, sealed with wax, containing an amber liquid, now gone murky with age.
One bird skull, raven, delicately wrapped in a piece of white silk.
One lead sphere, slightly larger than a pea, ,etched with the letter 'R', wrapped in a piece of oilskin.
One deck of ivory playing cards, suits without numbers, diamonds and hearts representing the House of Lancaster, spades & clubs representing House of York. The face cards have all had the faces erased.
One waxed paper packet containing one length of silk thread, white, ten yards, and one coin, ancient, origin undetermined.
Seven black beetles, threaded in order by size on a length of silk.
One dried poppy seed husk, pierced through with bone needle.
One silk square, white, folded in quarters, all four layers soaked through and encrusted with a dark brown stain.

Please, make your selection and step to the front of the line. Please have exact change ready and please mind the gap.

*Wet naps are a requirement in certain circles. The lack of wet naps has brought down entire regimes much to the chagrin of the super power with sticky hands at the wrong moment.

Exhibit 13

2007-08-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

I love this song and it tears my heart out all over again, every time I listen to it.

For all the playful, silly, rocking things the Blueman Group have done, I thank them for Exhibit 13 the most.

And I feel fine.

2007-08-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

Fire: check.

Flood: check.

Hurricane: check.

Earthquake: check.

Riot: check.

~starts hanging decorations for the apocalypse party~

Twitter?

2007-08-07T11:59:00.000-07:00

Twitter?

From the garden

2007-08-05T20:29:00.000-07:00

And the wheel goes round...

2007-08-03T20:39:00.000-07:00

I spent today with the Handweavers and Spinners Guild doing a Sheep To Shawl event at the Ventura County Fair. Pics here.

The last thing I expected to see...

2007-08-03T18:49:00.000-07:00

This was the last thing I expected to see in the middle of the garden center @ Home Depot tonight.

The 13th Page

2007-07-28T19:35:00.000-07:00

The 13th Page, revealed.

~ One carven image of the goddess Sekmet, seated on her throne, two inches high, carved in soapstone, caked with an iron rich clay, oxidized to a deep blood red.

He'd walked for hours over sand hot enough to roast chestnuts on. He had no idea how slick the bottoms of his boots had grown when he reached the cliffs. The wind had worn the edges of the stone to soft, undulating curves, making each shadow sharp as obsidian. He had paused to blot the sweat from his eyes when he spotted the figurine, deep in the cool black. Not thinking, he bent to reach for it. It was just beyond the tips of his fingers. He stretched and felt the world lurch as his footing gave way.

The stone met his ribs with the force of a boxer's punch, knocking the wind out of him. He scrabbled madly to catch the lip of stone and felt it bite into his palms, his feet kicking at empty air. A stream of grit and dust poured over the lip into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He let loose a stream of curses that would make the quartermaster proud, but he did not let go. Bloody handprints marked the stone, the moisture evaporating almost immediately. One foot and then another found purchase in the niches between the rocks. His fingers dug into the crevices, the hot stone searing his skin.

Dangling on the edge of the cliff, he could see the curve of her body, the regal tilt of her chin and the imperial line of her nose. He was a hundred miles from any city so there was little chance that she was a souvenir, carved in some Cairo back alley to amuse the white man. No, she was perhaps two thousand years old.

He levered his weight up, sucking hot air into his lungs, and groped in the space for it. His hand closed around her and darted back before the sand-coloured scorpion could bury its barb in his flesh. A part of him thought that was only to be expected. He'd have lashed out had someone disturbed his midday escape from the heat.

He took a moment to let his fingertips catalog the lines and planes of her form. The blood of his wound marked the soapstone, painting the line of her jaws with crimson, as was only befitting a goddess.

He squeezed the figurine tight in his fist, tucked it in his breast pocket and began the arduous climb back over the lip, praying to whatever deity watched over this place that he hadn't spilled his canteen.

Or worse, scattered the pages of his journal. Again.

~ One glass phial with cork stopper, filled with thumbnail sized fish scales, grey-blue, each bearing an inked number in Roman numerals. I-XXIII.

He'd been drunk on arak, and in danger of making an embarassment of himself. He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and leaned closer over the table.

The dice were easily recognizable as knuckle bones, yellowed with age and polished to a glass finish from the years of handling. Someone nudged his arm and pressed the stem of the pipe into his hands. He only took a small puff of the cool smoke, but it went straight to his head.

He peered down at the table again, watching as coins and paper exchanged hands. The dice clattered on the brass table top again, and somewhere, he heard a fat-bellied lute being strummed.

They were gambling, he knew, but using very small discs of some material he could not identify, each hand numbered. A man would select a few and arrange them beneath a tea glass. There would be much arguing and exchanging of coins. Someone would flip the glass over, and the discs would scatter over the table top. A roar would arise from the crowd, making his head throb.

He watched for hours and never precisely determined what it was they were doing. He tried to speak to his host, but the man was too engaged in the sport to be of much assistance.

He scooped a few of them into a phial, promising himself he would catalog these strange artefacts, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.

~ One rusted rations tin, contents twenty three sea shells, the largest the size of a grown man's first thumb joint. Colours vary from white to charcoal, purple to grey green, to browns and reds.

Though he was grateful for the opportunity to linger, he'd enjoyed the hospitality of the local governor for far too many days.

Or for far too few, he thought, rattling the tin.

She'd been so beautiful, her hair long and dark, her voice unlike any he'd heard before. He'd been enamoured of her from the very first moment he'd seen her standing beneath the jasmine vines. But he was just a scholar, and she, betrothed to another, much richer and older man. It did not trouble her, for that was the way of things.

They had had only had a few weeks together, walking from her father's walled gardens, through the winding streets, passed the market place and down to the strand of beach that marked the city's edge. Each day, she'd given him a shell, to mark their day's journey.

He slipped the tin back into his pack. Days in paradise could only be counted, not kept.

~ One white, kid leather glove, female, folded in tissue paper.

It was hard to hold on to the memory of green here. Here where the heat never seemed to relent, only to retreat for the night, seceding its oppressive reign to the blight of frigid darkness.

It was difficult to remember rolling fields and stone fences. Difficult to remember riding out behind the baying pack, difficult to remember the deep shaded embrace of the ancestral grove. Here, sand undulated for mile upon mile, giving way only to stone or sea, equally barren.

Here he wore linen and sipped tepid water, longing for a night spent tucked up by the fire, wrapped in woolen blankets and sipping a proper cup of tea.

He refolded his mother's gift. Her favour, she'd called it. To help him remember grey skies and the smell of rain.

~ One strand of red silk, knotted, with ninety nine small wooden beads, bearing the sheen of hand oil.

Rahmanir Rahim
I commence with the name of God, The Compassionate and the Merciful.

The imam had pressed the strand of beads into his hand and patted him on the head, muttering something about the hand of Fatima. The next thing he knew he had been bundled onto the back of a horse like a roll of rugs.

Al-hamdu lillahi rabbil 'alamin.
Praise Be to God, the Sustainer of all Creation.

He'd showed them the map and asked if they knew where the ruins were. That had been his first mistake, he thought, ducking as the rifle rounds zinged over his head, richocheting off the sandstone brick behind them.

Arrahmanir Rahim
The Compassionate, The Merciful

The beads clicked in his hands as he ducked even lower in the trench. Horse thieves. Of course they would know about the only oasis in a day's ride. That it was a tomb only made the locals stay away, ensuring their need for privacy. Beside him a man shouted his defiance, waving his curved blade over his head.

Iyyaka na’budu wa iyyaka nasta’in
You alone we worship, and to You alone we pray for help.

The scholar cringed as the man crumpled, an English bullet in his heart. He tossed away the scrap of goatskin that held the map and prayed the regimental commander would believe his extraordinary bad turn of luck.

One linen scrap folded neatly around a stack of five Widow's head pennies and one golden Mohur coin. The linen scrap bears the faded emblem of the Honourable East India Company.

Silent and alone, a hundred feet beneath the floor of the jungle, covered in muck and filth from wading through the underground river, holding only a gas torch above his head, he couldn't be more pleased with himself. A thousand years ago, the Maharaja had set the counterweight of this particular door to the equivalent of one coin. One very special coin minted in his court. One coin that the scholar had spent months locating, weeks convincing the curator to let him weigh and measure it, and hours trying to duplicate that weight and diameter. He'd been contemplating creating a slug out of lead when the barkeep had shown him a trick involving a stack of pennies and the end of his elbow.

So it was that he came here to the entrance to this underground temple complex, with five pennies and a mohur. He gently laid the linen wrapped packet into the cylindrical receptacle. Something groaned and creaked.

Much later, when he came to on the pitch black shores of some underground river, coughing up a lungful of slime and water, he'd thought to himself, "Perhaps I should have factored in the weight of the fabric..."

One water-stained, dog-eared, heavy paper tag indicating Mellivora capensis, Kandahar, Baluchistan. One mammalian scientific specimen, a dessicated, grey and black furred paw, bearing four long claws. Bone structure intact.

"It will rid you of all your enemies."

"What if I have no enemies?"

"No man walks this earth who can claim to have no enemies."

He winced as the one-eyed man pressed the bony artefact into his palm. "How much?"

One wild grey eye peered at him before a gnarled finger pointed across narrow aisle of the bazaar.

The scholar looked. "A loaf of bread?"

The man nodded once sharply.

Within a week, he'd received a telegram calling him home to England. Apparently, there had been an accident. Three of his colleagues had been killed when a tiger had escaped from Chipperfield's and savaged them in the middle of Tottenham Court Road.

It wasn't precisely the manner in which he'd hoped to attain tenure, but under the circumstances, he was loathe to look a gift badger in the mouth.

He'd tried to throw the thing in the river, and it had reappeared in his jacket pocket in less than a day. He'd thrown it into the coal furnace, and within the hour, he found it tucked in the case with his glasses. He'd stood on the prow of the steamer at midnight and hurled it into black of the Indian Ocean. He found it waiting for him on the pillow of his bunk.

In a fit of inspiration, he sold it to a man named Jacobs for the measly sum of 10 shillings and a pint of stout. He didn't bother recounting its history. What difference would it make, he thought?

[ 1 ]

And if you're still reading, I challenge you to write your own junk drawer and take request for details from your readers.

The 13th Page

2007-07-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

Found in a junk sale*, one well-used wooden box of indeterminate age, three times as long as it is wide and tall, currently painted black. Contents as follows: A rolled sheaf of parchment pages, oxidized and slightly singed at one end. One cylindrical brass trench lighter, working flint but empty of fuel, with pale blue green patina, bearing the initials HMS. One water-stained, dog-eared, heavy paper tag indicating Mellivora capensis, Kandahar, Baluchistan. One mammalian scientific specimen, a dessicated, grey and black furred paw, bearing four long claws. Bone structure intact. One glass phial with cork stopper, filled with thumbnail sized fish scales, grey-blue, each bearing an inked number in Roman numerals. I-XXIII. One linen scrap folded neatly around a stack of five Widow's head pennies and one golden Mohur coin. The linen scrap bears the faded emblem of the Honourable East India Company. One carven image of the goddess Sekmet, seated on her throne, two inches high, carved in soapstone, caked with an iron rich clay, oxidized to a deep blood red. One page, torn on one side, folded in quarters, blank, the size of a standard passport. Five rifle rounds, Mk VII, Enfield .303, four bearing the dark patina of age and one shining and bright as the day it was made. One strand of red silk, knotted, with ninety nine small wooden beads, bearing the sheen of hand oil. One rusted rations tin, contents twenty three sea shells, the largest the size of a grown man's first thumb joint. Colours vary from white to charcoal, purple to grey green, to browns and reds. One white, kid leather glove, female, folded in tissue paper.

Pick one and I'll give you a brief story.

* A junk drawer is an exercise outlining the items one might find in a junk drawer, trunk, chest, shoe box o' crap, that has been discarded or forgotten. Often the container itself is as interesting as the contents. They contain everything from tin soldiers to forgotten pizza coupons to back stage passes to wet naps. If you ever want to know more about your characters, envision what you might find in their junk drawer.

Pics from the Backyard

2007-07-11T15:03:00.000-07:00

I finally figured out the macro function on my camera. Please view full for maximum wow.

And one from UCSB on Saturday.

8 Things

2007-06-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

Dayle tagged me, and since this is my second tag (first one only got posted to lj), I'll do another eight things. And I don't tag, but please feel free if you haven't done this meme. Please comment with a link if you decide to do it.

The Rules:

We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
~~People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.~~
~~At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.~~
~~Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.~~

1. Both of my tattoos are writing related, however tangentially.

2. I collect handmade Middle Eastern rugs. Right now I have pieces from Iran, Afghanistan, Palestine, Chechnya, Pakistan and Turkey, including a 3' x 3' rug that is a bridal piece. It was made to show the weaver's worth to her family when she married. It starts out kinda wonky but it gets better. It's also my favourite piece. I also have a piece that has very tasteful missiles worked into the design.

3. I've rehearsed and conducted a 32 piece orchestra. I've also directed a 75 person marching band. Somewhere there are trophies. I also play five instruments with some passing degree of competency, and I sing. Sometimes in funny languages.

4. I once drove from Baltimore, MD to Santa Barbara, CA in three and a half days.

5. I once petted a snow leopard kitten, a caracal kitten, and a Siberian lynx kitten, all in one hour.

6. I am mechanically inclined. I once took a vacuum cleaner apart and disassembled the motor, replaced the broken part, and reassembled it to a working state in one afternoon, with no manual, all on a bet.

7. It's not that I can't cook. I can. I just have other things I'd rather be doing. I much prefer to bake, and now that I have a proper kitchen, I hope to do more of that.

8. I tend to prefer non-fiction to fiction, just because truth really is stranger than fiction. People fascinate me. Mostly because I really don't understand them at all. Science and art, I get. People confound me.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer

2007-06-26T19:35:00.000-07:00

Please watch this and pass it along. I had never heard of inflammatory breast cancer before watching this piece from Seattle, Washington's ABC affliate, KOMO Channel 4.

A prayer for the journey

2007-06-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,

pray that the road is long,

full of adventure, full of knowledge.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:

You will never find such as these on your path,

if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine

emotion touches your spirit and your body.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,

if you do not carry them within your soul,

if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.

That the summer mornings are many, when,

with such pleasure, with such joy

you will enter ports seen for the first time;

stop at Phoenician markets,

and purchase fine merchandise,

mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

and sensual perfumes of all kinds,

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

visit many Egyptian cities,

to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.

To arrive there is your ultimate goal.

But do not hurry the voyage at all.

It is better to let it last for many years;

and to anchor at the island when you are old,

rich with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.

Without her you would have never set out on the road.

She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.

Wise as you have become, with so much experience,

you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

~Constantine P. Cavafy

via MoonRiver

Name Dropper

2007-06-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

Musecrack just got a mention in one of my favourite blogs, Le Divan Fumoir Bohémien.

Thank you Florizelle!

Storytelling

2007-06-15T14:16:00.001-07:00

Ira Glass, host of NPR's This American Life, talks about story telling:

Part 1: A story, at its simplest form, is the retelling of a sequence of events (YouTube)

Part 2: Cull mercilessly. (You Tube)

Part 3: You'll make a lot of crap before you make good work. So make it. It's normal to suck. Don't worry. You'll get better.. Just don't quit. (You Tube)

Part 4: Ira is talking to people who want to be on video, but I really think these two common mistakes apply equally to writing: Be aware of your voice. Also, make sure your personality doesn't get in the way of the story. (You Tube)

We now return you to reality, already in progress.

2007-06-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

I had an absolute blast yesterday. So. Much. Fun.

But now? Mimes!?

My Sioux Name is "Plays With Data"

2007-06-14T09:31:00.000-07:00

Pirates vs Ninjas vs Cowboys
Slytherin vs Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff
Voldemort vs Dumbledore
Astrology vs Astronomy
Google vs Yahoo vs MSN
Mac vs PC
Planes vs Trains vs Automobiles
Coca Cola vs Pepsi
Coffee vs Tea
Beer vs Wine

salvation

2007-06-13T16:23:00.000-07:00

sweet relief.

nothing in this world quite like the sight of a yellow landrover jumping the curb and tearing great gashes in the expanse of lawn between my bldg and the parking lot. nothing except maybe a yellow landrover flanked by three humvees with sixties and a bradley. i just made it out of the bldg with the mob right behind me. he pressed an AR15 into my hands and showed me where the magazine release and the safety were. i think he said something about hugs and kisses later, tactical retreat now.

i am reunited with my beloved and nothing else matters.

and i'm pretty sure all this blood is someone else's.

just be there

2007-06-13T15:44:00.000-07:00

stupid stupid stupid.

there's a reason i tend to be a loner. it's because other people never cease to astound me with their stupidity.

they left the flamethrower i'd built behind, and they don't want to take a risk of someone getting burned! what, you'd rather be eaten? and i don't mean to be contrary, and yes, i'm not much of a team player, as you well knew, but dude, i think your comm skills leave a bit to be desired. let me spell it out for you: if you were bitten, it probably would have been a good idea to mention it BEFORE we all huddled up in a conference room and you went all bitey on us!

fuck.

man, he was such a nice guy. that file cabinet popped his skull like a grape. paperless age my ass.

wolf called. he's less than a mile away. there's a lot of them still between us. and in here too. i can hear them upstairs. i don't want to get cornered inside, but i don't have much of a choice. at least i can see the parking lot from here. i'm balled up under a desk. the others. i don't know where they went and i don't care.

idiots.

c'mon, it'll be fun!

2007-06-13T14:47:00.001-07:00

my head is killing me. i... uh... startled some folks from work. they thought i was one of the walking dead. jeezus when you write it out it sounds so banal. anyway, my boss. good man, don't get me wrong. he meant well. anyway, he hit me in the face with a shovel. i think my nose is broken.

now, you ask yourself, why on earth are you blogging this. you're injured, you're bleeding, you're surrounded by a very good impression of the end of days, and you're thumb typing?

i don't have to think when i'm typing. i'm an addict my friends. and this little box is better than morphine right now.

fuck i'd kill for some morphine right now. ah. my front teeth are loose too. great.

anyway, they brought me back to the office with them. the building emptied out pretty quick and all of the dead are heading downhill for the town. which means i'm back where i started. wolf said that's okay, he'll find me. he sounds like he's actually having fun. gods i love my husband. he gives me hope and makes it easy to be afraid and still do what has to be done.

some people are talking about taking a boat. maybe the islands are safe. and me without my sunscreen.

hey socal. could you at least have the decency to be overcast on the day of the apocalypse? ~glares at cloudless sky~

run spot run

2007-06-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

my lungs are burning. i hate running at the best of times. it's amazing how motivated you can get when they're making that ... sound.

no runners yet. only shamblers. they can move quick when they have to. i saw a few dodge a car. the rest got mucked up under the wheels, so many the driver couldn't get through them. they dragged him out and ... gods, i'll never get the sound of his screams out of my head.

fuck fuck fuck.

i broke into the bakery here. the power's out and there's no one here. there's vats of cooking oil. oil burns. gods bless donuts. plus, y'know. carbs. for the running.

Wolf's cell died, but he got another. i didn't ask how. he got sidetracked he says. coming as soon as he can. he's picked up a few people. a guy from his work whose also ex-military. and a crew. he said they're all scared kids that thought they'd been passed over for iraq. thought they'd never see action. well, today's your lucky day kids. they're in good hands with him. 11 yrs in the guard as an mp.

he'll get me out. i know he will. i just have to be in one piece when he gets here. i had the idea to sneak over to the grocery store. looks like i missed the fun part. if you keep your head down, they barely notice you. i picked up some bbq lighter fluid and a supersoaker. and a tube of bathroom caulk. and some red bull. and one of those wand lighters. and almonds. i love almonds. anyway. caulk the supersoaker. mix 3 pts veg oil w 1pt lighterfluid. rig the lighter to the trigger. hahaha. instant flamethrower.

okay use judiciously. that was close. they really don't like flame tho. awesome. zombie flambe anyone?

also, the battery on this bberry 8100 is awesome. still at 70%.

fire is your friend

2007-06-13T12:54:00.001-07:00

i'm crouched behind a dumpster in the alley behind taco bell. gods i thought they stank.

they smelled me in the car. i heard them before i saw them. i crawled through the back seat to the trunk and found a tireiron and some road flares. i was head down in the dark when the car started rocking. i had to go out through the moon roof. i lit the flares and threw them into the grass. the brush lit up like flash paper. turns out they burn fast too. and the smell, ugh. the car started to catch too, so i didn't have any choice but to abandon it. i have my cell, a tire iron, and two flares left. Wolf called, said he's almost here, but the freeway looks post-nuclear. the bodies only stay down for a few minutes before they get back up.

Wolf says to make sure you go for the mechanical disable. hips are good. shoot em in the head from up close. don't waste your ammo.

and torch them if you can.

my mind is strangely clear. i'm already thinking about who we need to catch up with, and where we'll go. we'll need water and food. and medical supplies. and more ammo. banzai inst is pretty defensible for an interim.

oh. that must have been the gas tank going. wow. maybe he can find me from the smoke column.

shit=>fan

2007-06-13T10:41:00.001-07:00

posting via bberry. the freeway is a mass of hulking twisted smoking metal. they're evrywhere.

someone had crashed into the back of my car. i had to. i had to take her car. she...i couldn't do anything to help her.

i'm here at the tree. i just drove off the road and into the high brush. i called Wolf and he answered, thank gods, said he was delayed and to stay put. happy tears, laughter. he found a gunstore and helped himself. also, a landrover. that's our joke. if the apocalypse comes, i get a yellow landrover.

gods, i wonder if its yellow.

they're in the taco bell across the street. i can hear them. sounds like wet meat in a blender with a bad porno playing in the background.

flist, spare me some mojo. i know you're probably as bad off as me, but mojo grows as you share it.

mojo
mojo
mojo

Because I'm evil. That's Why.

2007-06-13T09:58:00.001-07:00

I just didn't want to freak anyone out for reals. Sorry if that was the case.
We now return you to your zombie apocalypse, already in progress.

It starts

2007-06-13T09:36:00.001-07:00

I just got a call from my husband. He tried to sound all calm, but he told me to meet him at the old oak tree* in half an hour. There was shouting in the background and he told me he loved me. Then I heard gun shots and his line went dead.

He's not answering his phone now.

Guys, I'm scared...

*Where we're supposed to meet if there's an earthquake or riots or something -- what? This is LA. It happens.

Another Day In Paradise

2007-06-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

Foggy as hell coming into work this morning, which only added to the ambience of weird that continues today. The commute was strangely light, and I saw a few cars on the side of the road that looked like they'd just been abandoned. Starting to feel like it did after the riots. There wasn't anything on the news about the stuff in the harbor last night, but then, there wouldn't be, would there?

Wolf called to say he saw a convoy of tanks, and armored personnel carriers on the freeway this morning. There was a gal manning the sixty on the lead humvee. On the freakin' 101 freeway. He said to make sure to keep my cellphone handy, in case there really is something going on.

Also, file under "Some People's Children."

ETA: Okay, this is starting to creep me out.

Ha ha, it is to laughth

2007-06-12T22:32:00.000-07:00

That sense of weird? Ongoing ... Had a nice evening at the textile guild, learning how to make bezants.

But on the way home, I took the way down by the harbor, because there was something going on. Some kind of training exercise or something, because the Navy had like six helicopters, the big Hueys, out over the water. It looked like they were doing training on an old oil derelict.

It had to be training, right? Why else would they bring something that huge in that close to shore? Anyway, I saw all kinds of activity on the beach coming home. Police cars and such, even a few National Guard vehicles. Yay Homeland Security.

And to top it off, I almost hit this homeless guy in the middle of the damned freeway off ramp. He was just standing in traffic in this ratty old coat, staring into the oncoming headlights. I almost lost control of the damned car! My heart's still pounding.

Seriously, people. Is it full moon already?

I can't put my finger on it.

2007-06-12T14:11:00.000-07:00

Today started out really great. So great, in fact, that I didn't really want to go to work. I wanted to stay home and work on the house. It felt like a really good place to wake up to, y'know? A Very Good Thing (TM).

Got to work, sat down and proceeded to just vegetate my way through my work. Blah. Double blah. Makes me want to pull fire alarms just to wake some people up around here. Can we get some peppy tunes in here? Something? Anything!? I felt like I'd got a head full of Benadryl and an ass full of lead. Shuffling around like the freakin' undead.

And this afternoon. This afternoon is just shaping up pear-shaped. I can't shake the feeling that something's not right. Just this sense of foreboding in the air, I suppose. I can't put my finger on it, but it feels like this is all about to come crashing down. All the common everyday hassles that I take for granted, the commute, the boring little data munching job, all of it. It just feels strangely precious...and fragile. Just odd.

Sunday Spin-a-long

2007-06-06T15:17:00.000-07:00

Sunday Spin-A-Long: SSAL#1 Crinkle Cut

This sounds cool. I think I want to try this one.

Not Dead.

2007-06-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

Wow... ~blows dust off underwood no5~ Poor neglected journal.

Absolutely nothing remarkable has happened. Work on the new place proceeds apace.

Cat: Went back in for his recheck on his hyperthyroid, which is, after medication, at the high end of normal, but normal. Now there's this glucose thing going on. Cats have the ability to spike their bloodsugar when they're stressed. But his glucose was 100 points above normal... This is cause for concern. And cause for plastic pellets and a little paper tester strip. Yes, I have to get a single drop of cat pee to test his glucose levels... Hilarity ensues.

Baby watch 2007: My nephew is being fickle and toying with his mother's head, and he's not even born yet. I haven't even met him and I think I like him. She's due the 16th, but y'know, any minute now! {insert keystone cops impersonation here}

Work: I am actually in a conference call with Austria, Sweden and England this morning... o_0

Patio: Bought a table and chairs for the back patio. Which is interesting, considering we still don't have a proper dining room table. ~shrugs~ It's summer. We'll eat outside, yes? ~pulls on sweater against the fog~ Summer. Definitely. Table needs a coat of tung oil before it can go into service.

Gardening: Laid in roma tomatoes seedlings, green and gold bell peppers seedlings. In the ground, which is so cool. There was much slaying of weeds and augmenting of soil beforehand, and I've still got 5/6ths of the bed to go. Container garden now has Catnip, Spearmint, Lemon Balm, Pineapple Mint, Lemon Thyme, English Thyme, Oregano, Sage, French & English Lavender. The Canna Indica continues to bloom, although it's clearly been neglected. One of the two daisy monsters has been slain. The other wants for heavy equipment*, or perhaps an axe to take it down. Also, the compost bin is proceeding apace. I've yet to buy worms for it, but I need to build a shelter, both for the seedlings and so the compost doesn't roast in the sun. Bought a bunch of seeds (see above reference to shelter), since our growing season is so long.

Herbs: Bought stuff to make our herbal guild's famous bruise juice recipe. When you hang out with fighter types, who like to hit on each other with sticks, invariably bruises occur. This is an olive oil based infusion of herbs supplemented with essential oils and it's the most wonderful stuff. It clears up really ugly bruises in a fraction of the normal healing time. It's also excellent for stiff muscles.

It saved my ass a week ago when I finally realized that neck spasms were actually a pulled muscle. Judicious application of stretches, heat and bruise juice did wonders on the healing front. Thanks to strangestgirl@lj for sending me yoga for necks and shoulders. They help. A lot.

Craftroom: Getting a new bedroom set meant having extra chest of drawers, so one of them is being repurposed for herb storage. It got a stain and a coat of linseed oil on Saturday and Sunday, and a coat of bowling alley paste wax yesterday. (Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?) Next thing I need to find is the fittings. (Pics forthcoming) Assembled bookshelves.

Sun jar: Have all the pieces parts, just need to assemble them. Solar lights @ Harbor Freight - dissected for guts, Fido glass canning jar, need to get the glass frosting yet, but it looks like it's going to work quite nicely. I do so wish I could justify the cost of the cobalt blue glasses because those would be so pretty. I'm not sure the solar panel would charge through the darker glass, so I'm sticking with the clear glass. Ideas to supplement the jar include filling it with sea glass (superbright LED light is REALLY superbright).

Spinning: Plied off two bobbins. Wow did I learn my lesson. Ply as soon as you get done spinning the bobbin. Letting it rest on the bobbin for three months made plying a nightmare. Whoops.

Also in the fiber end of things, my sister "arranged" (trans. Foisted on me) four bags of Suffolk, which is full of shit and second cuts and is going to be a real pain in the ass, but best to practice on free fleece before ordering that merino I was ogling. But going out to see sheep in the fields was fun. The sheep dogs were Great Pyrenees and were the most affectionate, smelly wonderful dogs ever. Hell, even the barn cat thought we were pretty cool.

Also, new processing steps means I need new tools... Anyone have a drum carder they'd like taken off their hands? No? Hmm.

Writing: ~shifty eyes~ Haven't been writing as much as I'd like. Haven't been musecracking as much as I'd like either. ~makes note to remedy both situations~

* SCA/Gardening joke du jour: This is a bec de corbin. This is a bec de Howard.

Darach Bruise Juice (Recipe refined by Eleyn of Darach/Hope Martin)

Step 1: Infuse the base oil*

6 bay leaves
1/2 cup lavender
1/4 cup sage (or wormwood)
1/4 cup calendula
1/4 cup mugwort
1/4 cup rosemary
Olive Oil to cover

Combine herbs and oil in a pot and simmer on the stove for approximately two hours. You could also use an old crock pot or potpourri pot and simmer it overnight. Just remember to stir.

Step 2: make up the essential oil base.

Camphor oil 2 1/2 t
Eucalyptus oil 3/4t
Lavender Oil 1/2t
Peppermint oil 1T + 2t
Ginger Oil 2T
Castor Oil 3 1/2t

Step 3: take 3 1/2 oz of the oil from step 1, and add to it 3 1/2t of the oil from step 2. This will give you Bruise Juice. To make Bruise Balm, add beeswax to the still warm infused oil at the rate of 1.5:1 (base oil to beeswax) or use your preferred ratio.

* I use EVOO, with enough grapeseed oil to get it to my desired viscosity.

Henna Hands

2007-04-26T22:46:00.001-07:00

Henna Hands
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Again, circa 1997. I would love to get my hands henna'd like this again. I had this done in a boutique down in Artesia (Little India), and I remember being peeved because my ex didn't drive. So I had to drive myself, which meant I couldn't get my palms done...

Anyway, it's gorgeous and I'd love to get it done again.

Death & Destruction

2007-04-26T22:42:00.001-07:00

Death & Destruction
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Yeah. Finding old pics makes me want to work out like you wouldn't believe.

This is Lady Mayken and myself, circa 1997. We were known as Death & Destruction. She always got to be Destruction... so not fair.

Fizgig on the right

2007-04-26T22:39:00.001-07:00

Fizgig on the right
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Other things were smaller in 1998. She's all growed up now.

Sword Dancing

2007-04-26T22:35:00.001-07:00

Sword Dancing
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

You find the most interesting pictures when you're packing. This is me, circa 1997. I would almost trade my entire jewellery collection to have this figure again. Nope, no almost about it.

Pardon the dust. It was a hasty scan....

Home again.

2007-04-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

Home again home again jiggedy jig. Pictures downloading now. Bouchon is a little slice of heaven. Absente (with the sugar and the flame) is well and truly divine. And drinking Charbay Meyer Lemon Vodka whilst wearing sable and mocking Lenin is just damned fun.

Also, the butterflies were transcedent. And I bought shoes (in black, of course).

More later, when I can see straight.

Feeding the addiction

2007-03-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

Musecrack: Get your fix

Musecrack [myooz-krak] (n) - 1. Powerful images to feed the Muse's addiction for all things outre, savage, beautiful, subversive, etc.
2. Artwork and news articles suitable for use in feeding the Muse
3. Information designed to stimulate the creative processes

"We seek an enlargement of our being. We want to be more than ourselves . . . We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own . . . We demand windows." ~C.S. Lewis

Maintained by cavalaxis, quietselkie, & lilithsaintcrow

Click here to add it to your rss/atom reader.

/shameless plug

detente

2007-02-05T20:12:00.001-08:00

detente
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

A peaceful moment.

Mosaic for Death Valley 1919 box

2006-12-25T19:07:00.000-08:00

Mosaic for Death Valley 1919 box
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

A friend's Xmas gift. Hours of mythos research fun.

Bone Angel

2006-12-25T18:41:00.000-08:00

Bone Angel
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

We went for a drive on Christmas day and stopped to take a few pics. Mmmm. Pretty pretty dead things.

Tentacles in vodka

2006-12-17T21:25:00.000-08:00

Tentacles in vodka
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Merry tentacl'mas, my fellow cultists.

Character names taken from spam.

2006-11-12T20:05:00.000-08:00

Character names taken from spam:

Siddhartha Malkin ~
Clearly a character in God Crossing. Sid Malkin discovered enlightenment, but left it behind in a crosstown cab on his way to an off-Broadway production of Guys and Dolls.

Lowery Wilbert ~
Low, as his friends call him, is an ex-carnie who got his criminal law degree from Uncle Samael's Internet University. He now bills one cool gee an hour and has a side gig working as a consultant for CSI.

Minnie Cartwright ~
Clearly an aging Bonanza fangirl who had her name legally changed.

Fern Bassett ~
Retired porn actress, expert on Love and Money, now sells crystals, pyramids, holistic remedies and dime bags, all by phone. Call now for a Free Reading!

Josephine Holloway ~
If I ever publish erotica, this would be a perfect pen name.

Faustus Chaffin ~
If I ever publish gay erotica, this would be a perfect pen name.

Shahzad Villareal ~
Typical Angeleno.

Baby camel/Merino 50/50 Blend

2006-11-11T17:49:00.000-08:00

Camel/Merino 50/50 Blend
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

This is about 2oz worth of yarn. I bought 8 oz all together to make a scarf for my mom. I'm thinking Knitty's Branching Out, which I'm test driving in a cheap acrylic right now, just so I can know I have the stitches down, and then I'll see if it looks good in this yarn. We'll see how it turns out.

Fixing plying errors

2006-11-11T17:40:00.000-08:00

Fixing plying errors
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

50/50 baby camel/merino blend, plied from a center pull ball on my Majacraft Little Gem II.

I suck at plying so far, but I'm getting better. I decided to use my drop spindle to fix the plying errors and it worked beautifully. I only added twist where it was needed and simply wound the rest on. Problem fixed!

Another year older...

2006-10-30T18:32:00.000-08:00

Friday night: Bill bought me the Goblins of the Labyrinth book! Yay! Dinner @ Pomodora, shopping for an outfit to wear to dinner on Saturday. Came away with this gorgeous scarlet red, silky, crocheted, beaded sweater from Macy's. The lining only comes halfway down the sleeve, so there's this cool filigree effect over my wrists. Yeah! And perfect for every Yule party. (Also, bought new underthings, which are for raving about in another post. OMG Cacique. All I'm sayin'.)

Left town by 9:30, arrived in Vegas by 2am only to discover that our hotel reservation had been screwed up. Well fuck. One quick phone call to Travelocity and we're staying in the big Pyramid. Yay! (I think I may have hexed this into happening. Be careful what you wish for folks.) In bed by 3:30am.

Saturday: Oy, I'm too old to stay up that late. Slept in and then got up and moved rooms (a foible of the last minute booking). Walked through the fake castle to the fake metropolis. The permanent 9/11 memorial they have is really beautifully done. Poked around there for awhile before crossing to the Emerald City. OMG BABY LION CUBS! SO CUTE! I got to rub noses with baby lion clubs through the glass. They were fantastic! I ate ice cream and we found out where our theatre and restaurant were. Came back to the hotel and took a couple hours nap before dressing.

The Show: Amazing. Just plain stunning. They took a stage and made it rotate through three dimensions. In perfect silence! It was a beach, complete with sand. It was a cliff face. It sank from view of the audience. The whole set was a mouth watering steam punk piece of brilliance. Martial arts displays! Capoeira! Wheel of Death! The story line left a bit to be desired, but all in all, a fantastic Cirque show. (Yes, only Cirque would stick a shadow puppet act in the middle of a multi-million show. And make it WORK.) I was astounded at the audience, who didn't seem to realize they were witnessing live theater and not watching something on teevee. Damn it people, it's called applause, not "work".

The Dinner: My husband did his research. All you folks who watch and enjoy Top Chef know who Tom Colicchio is. Tom owns a little steakhouse in the Emerald City called Craft Steak. Dress is business casual. The physical space of the restaurant was elegant and understated. Delicious leather and copper, bare lightbulbs with glowing warm filaments, muted greys and browns and greens. A feast for the eyes. The wait staff was incomparable. More on the staff in a moment. The food was To. Die. For. I have been SPOILED.

First Course: Arugula salad, Hawaiian Prawns, Kobe Beef Tartare served in the classic style with a raw egg garnish. I think I could have had a bowl of the tartare and a spoon. It was like mouth sex. Wine: Conundrum White Table Wine. What's in it? We don't know! We just know it's good! Drink up! I will definitely be searching this one out again.

Second Course: Kobe Beef New York Strip, Kobe Beef Filet Mignon, Roasted Chantrelles, Asparagus & Yukon Gold Potato Puree. Steak like I have never had steak in my life. Wolf was opining over the chantrelles when we were looking over the menu and even though they weren't a part of the tasting menu, the waiter made sure they were included. Wine: Hall Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon 2003 Glorious big cab taste. Perfect for the steak. And the waiter really liked me because he filled the glass up way past when I said "Plenty!" Unfortunately, I couldn't finish it!

Third Course: Dessert was two sorbets: Burgundy Pear & Nectarine; two ice creams: Butter Pecan & Caramel; Cinnamon Monkey Bread with white honey; and sometime during the second course, the wait staff heard me say, "It's my birthday, I'll eat as slow as I want!" and they brought me Liquid Chocolate Cake with a wee little candle and Happy Birthday written in chocolate on the rim of the plate. And by "they" I mean three waiters and two bus boys who had been serving us all evening. Sadly, I was informed that the Mariachis had been given the night off. If they had known I was coming, they would have certainly been there... Ah well, you can't win them all. Wine: Dante Rivetti's Moscato d'Asti. My eyes rolled back in my head. It's a muscat AND an asti. ALL IN ONE GLASS. I asked the gentleman to please write down the name of this wine for me.

Now, the wait staff: I was so very impressed with their front of house. They were a well-oiled machine, pleasant and serene. There were no problems. There was no pressure to eat and get gone. In fact, I think they appreciated the fact that we were actually savoring the meal. The tables on either side of us turned over once each while we were there. Some people just eat too damned fast. Anyway, I compliment the hostess on the front of house, and then later, said the same thing to our primary waiter. That the front of house staff was a joy to watch. Their attitude and their professionalism made the meal come together, and I appreciate that so much.

Well, apparently, no one seems to notice these things or if they do notice, they never say thank you. Because the waiters got together and rather than write down the name of the Moscato, they bought me a bottle of it to take home. I was gobsmacked. Seriously. Jaw on floor. It doesn't get any better than that.

I really wish I had put a straw in it and drank it on the way back to the hotel room, but I was too full at that point. Alas. We staggered back to the hotel room and collapsed, well fed and happy.

Sunday: Out of Vegas by noon. Moseyed our way back across the desert. Stopped in at Baker and then at Calico Ghost Town. Pics at my flickr account. MMMmmm, Fresh Alien Jerky. I love my wacky desert people. Didn't realize we'd forgotten the time change until sunset. Which meant we were really making good time. So we came home and crashed. It was a wonderful, romantic weekend and I am so lucky to have had the Wolf to spend it with. He's the real gift.

So yeah. Stuffed and tired and happy.

Windfarm

2006-10-29T21:48:00.000-08:00

Windfarm
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Mojave, CA

House of Stone

2006-10-29T21:45:00.000-08:00

House of Stone
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Calico Ghost Town, CA

Chipmunk

2006-10-29T21:42:00.000-08:00

Chipmunk
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Calico Ghost Town, CA

Desert Chukar

2006-10-29T21:39:00.000-08:00

Desert Chukar
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Like a quail only larger.

Taken in Calico Ghost Town, CA

Sleeping Pye

2006-10-17T22:08:00.000-07:00

Sleeping Pye
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

That one little fang could rip your heart out. Unless you have tuna. And then you're safe for the moment.

Fabric for bags

2006-10-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

Fabric for bags
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

I'm making bags to take to the fiber retreat. To help "defer the costs", so to speak.

First Rainstorm of the Season

2006-10-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

Clouds
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

Taken last Friday, at the mall of all places. The sun was setting and hitting the clouds just right.

Ecopad for Senseo

2006-10-04T22:10:00.000-07:00

Ecopad for Senseo
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

These are my favorite new gadget. No more disposable coffee pods! These are dishwasher safe. I paid 15$USD for all four + shipping. (eBay) I grind the coffee to not quite espresso blend. They're a bit tricky to wash, but I understand they're dishwasher-safe. And yay! Single serve kona coffee!

Old Bones

2006-09-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

Courtesy Bibliodyssey

Finished Skein

2006-09-15T23:00:00.000-07:00

Finished Skein
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

~150 yards from 2oz
Bombyx Silk/Merino Wool blend
25 WPI

Where there's smoke...

2006-09-13T22:58:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write about the Sespe fire for the last week. It started on Labor Day in Los Padres National Forest and it's burned all the way to the 5 Freeway. That's 39 square miles of brush. It amazes me how little news coverage there is over something that huge. It's becoming too common, too expected, and that in itself frightens me.

Now, I love a good thunderstorm. I love the oppressive feel of the humidity in the air, the tingle in your skin, the pure lizard brain thrill that comes from watching black clouds roil and undulate, from listening to the sky rumble, thunder grinding like huge boulders in the surf. The crack of lightning splitting the air. And then the roar of the rain coming down, a thousand snares drumming on every surface. Damn but I miss the rain.

But a brush fire is a different beast altogether. Even when she's far out of sight, she makes her presence known. She bleeds into the air, smoke blowing for miles across the valley, outlining every air current, dusting the entire landscape with a coating of fine ash. Skies that should be clear and bright and blue are stained, tinged muddy red brown and gray. The early morning sunlight thinks that its twilight, casting an eerie golden glow on everything. The moon is literally dipped in blood, a baleful reptillan eye hanging low on the horizon. The sunsets are spectacular. Maxfield Parrish meets H.R. Giger. Ominous.

Every morning this week has found my car powdered with specks of ash. As I drive off, they leave perfect parallel streaks on my windshield. I pretend I'm driving some kind of interplanetary fighter craft, and the dust is the result of having fought a dogfight in the tail of a comet. The color of the sky is all wrong, so I pretend I'm on a different planet, and if I wait long enough, the second moon will rise to join her sister. If my commute took me past the alien landscape of Stoney Point, only a few miles away, the illusion would be complete.

As much as I bitch about the Valley, there is beauty here. And I'll miss it when I go. I should really just take a weekend and document the hell out of this little corner of the world.

And I just read that Ann Richards died. Damn. Maybe she can put in a good word with the folks upstairs. Have them do something about the mess.

Sun, moon & rising

2006-09-12T22:23:00.000-07:00

Thanks to siodchan for this formula. And thanks to Rob Brezny for being, well, Rob Brezny. (Click here for a free full chart.)

Sun sign, Scorpio:
Recently, less than five percent of the world's astronomers voted to demote Pluto from a planet to a "dwarf planet." Some Scorpios were alarmed, since Pluto is the heavenly body that traditionally rules your sign. My opinion? Don't worry. I agree with mythologist Roxanna Bikadoroff, who says there's poetic justice in calling Pluto a dwarf planet. In fairy tales, dwarves are often magicians who possess hidden storehouses of riches and act as agents of creative transformation. They typically live beneath bridges, which are symbols of transitional thresholds, and are masters of in-between states. They bestow blessings on anyone who is able to pass their demanding tests. This is an apt symbolic description of you at your most potent, which I expect you to be during the coming weeks.

Moon sign, Gemini:
This week I highly recommend that you NOT sit on a photocopier to create images of your buttocks. For reasons too complex to go into here, doing so would put you out of alignment with the cosmic flow. However, now is an excellent time for you to make other strong statements that involve your backside, at least metaphorically. For instance, you will attract fate's favors whenever you get your ass in gear to get to the bottom of things. Luck will also flow your way in direct proportion to how earnestly and rigorously you kick your own butt.

Rising Sign, Pisces:
"There is nothing worse than a brilliant image of a fuzzy concept," said photographer Ansel Adams. That advice should be uppermost in your mind as you follow your bliss to the next fork in the road. Although you've got good intuitions about the hopeful scenario that's fueling you, the fantasy still needs to be fleshed out a lot more. Unless you make it more specific and detailed, it will eventually fizzle. Here's your assignment: By the equinox, create a vivid image of a well-crafted, intricately imagined goal.

I love it.

2006-09-12T12:31:00.000-07:00

Bombyx Merino Handspun Pt II

2006-09-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

Bombyx Merino Handspun
Originally uploaded by cavalaxis.

This one is taking forever to spin up because it's so fine. It should make a lace weight. Maybe enough for a scarf?