Capclave 2013: Be There AND Be Square!

Portland posts are on hold while I wait for Rob to upload some more pictures to break up the massive text blocks of gushing appreciation for America's Hipster Heartland. Meanwhile, I'll be at Capclave this weekend (October 11-13), so come say hi if you are nice and cool and want to talk about crazy 1970s SF writing, bicycle rights, or fancy European board games. Not on any panels or doing a reading because you apparently need to register for panel gigs at SF cons five years in advance. I'm stoked about it since it's a con centered on short fiction (despite the fact that this year's GOH is George R.R. Martin), and that's kind of my thing. Getting in these East Coast cons while I can, I guess?

However, I was actually on my first (authorized) panels this year at the Baltimore Book Festival, talking about diversity and also about short fiction. It's weird, for someone who doesn't really enjoy speaking publicly, I loved being on panels, perhaps because you're not the center of attention, and also there's a lot more structure. Not doing a write up since Rob already did an excellent one which you can find here.

In writing news, finally dusting off the novel. Parts of it are much worse than I remembered. Parts of it are way better. They say the best thing you can do when you finish a novel is to put it in a drawer for at least six months before editing. Well, it's now been four years since I looked at it. For once I am following standard writing advice, if only accidentally.

A Typical Writing Day

I realize that reading about some writer's creative process, let alone a writer who's pretty much an amateur like myself, is probably the most boring thing in creation. But just for kicks, here's a typical writing day for me. Note that this is skewed both by the fact that Rob was up in NYC for the day and that it was spitting rain for most of the day. If those things wouldn't have been true, my day would have looked somewhat different.

9:30 a.m.: Get up. Putter around the house for a few hours. Clean. Realize the house doesn't actually look any cleaner and feel a little dejected. Watch a couple episodes of Portlandia. Yeah, I've watched these all a million times, but what's one more?

12:30 p.m.: Shower. Think about going out. Nope, still raining. Read Slate articles for about an hour.

4:00 p.m.: Shit, it's four already? Is it still raining? Yep, it sure is. Better read some more fucking Slate articles.

4:30 p.m.: Hm, this article is pretty interesting. Sorta reminds me of a certain stock SF conceit that I've wanted to base a story on. I should read more articles on the same topic.

5:15 p.m.: Damn it, I'm going outside.

5:45 p.m.: BRAINSTORM.

5:50 p.m.: Crap, rain's picking up.

7:00 p.m.: Eat. Watch some more Portlandia. Think about writing.

8:30 p.m.: Write 1700 words.

9:00 p.m.: Clean the kitchen, I guess?

I'm a sprinter, not a marathoner. The idea of "writing a little every day," while good in theory, hasn't ever worked for me. It didn't even work when writing the only novel I have ever written and likely will ever write. Some writers invested in "craft" joke about muses and such but honestly? I only write when the mood strikes me, although there are things I can do that will make the mood strike more often, though they're by no means foolproof.

For instance, I've learned that I can't -- absolutely can not -- write when I haven't gotten any exercise. Lately, that's mostly been bike rides (because I ride my bike to work), but walking is still the most reliable way to make the mood strike. Why does walking work the best? Maybe because I don't have to pay attention to traffic, and also because I can have more total control over my mp3 player (oh yeah, that's also an important component of "inspiration"). Don't get me wrong, cycling is still as wonderful as it was when I started doing it a year-and-change ago, but walking is where it's at. I need to start making more time for it.

Smoking also used to be one of the activities that I needed to do in order to get my writing to flow, but I've had to learn how to do without it. That can be hard to do in Hampden where literally everyone smokes all the time, but I think I've taught myself how to not want it so much. (And no, caffeine and especially alcohol are NOT acceptable substitutes for smoking.)

Sometimes I think that if I could write 1700 words so fast, what would it be like if I could keep up that pace for more than half an hour at a time? If I could do it every day? But I know I can't. Because writing isn't the only part of writing that's important. Writing may even be the least important part of writing. Reading the articles, taking the walks, smoking the cigarettes (if you are so inclined)... all of this is also part of writing. And even though I may be a speedy writer when I actually get around to the writing part, I can't speed the rest.

When you look at it that way, I didn't waste today at all! (Although, I kinda did.)

This Very Small Amount of Internet Fame Will Go Straight to My Head

In the past few days I've had almost four hundred hits. Four hundred! That's how much I get in a typical month, and what makes it a little frustrating is that I can't figure out where you people get here from. The keywords are not helping, the referral sites are the same ones that always refer my site (and the numbers there look the same), and the pages "hit" are a motley collection of bikey posts, writing posts, and posts way the hell from last year. So if you're on this site for the first time, my question to you is: why?

So I might as well take advantage of my sudden Internet fame to update you with some important life news:

• I got a new job! My last job, as I think I might have mentioned here at some point (or maybe it was on Dreamwidth), was at this deli, and while it definitely gave me fodder for a potential writing project, it wasn't the job for me. Even "in this economy." I'm not going to say anything specific about the new job because hi, separating Internet life from work life is always a solid plan but it's the best job I've had since 2007. Looking forward to staying the course, racking up experience points, and learning much more about the profession I work in.
• I've been re-reading a lot of my favorite books this month, because that always gets me more into the groove of writing my own stuff. First I re-read Amnesia Moon by Jonathan Lethem, which might be the book I've read more often than any other. Now I'm onto the Light/Nova Swing duology by M. John Harrison, which was groundbreaking when I first read it (I still hadn't read all that much SF by that point despite writing it... the fact that I only got into SF as an adult and how that's influenced my reading/writing/thoughts about "fandom" should really be its own blog post at some point) and is still amazing now. Up next: probably some Philip K. Dick, since I'm getting the Exegesis for Giftmas and I want to get in the mood.
• Sparkle Season isn't annoying me this year as much as it has in the past. I still don't like the semi-compulsory participation in a holiday I have no religious connection to, I still really don't like giving or receiving presents, but this season I've managed to be more Andy Rooney than Lewis Black about the whole thing.
• My new work commute is over twice as long as my old commute, which would make most people groan but not me, because I'm insane. Or a bike commuter, same difference really. Maybe I'll write about it on the bikey blog but I update there even less frequently than here. I'm learning how to ride safely with one earbud in which makes the commute all the more sweet. (And will hopefully get me back into music. I've only listened to ONE album released this year, I used to care so much more about new music. Of course, I am also 30, and I gather that one's enjoyment of new music tends to wither after you hit your third decade.)
• Working on stories, same old, same old. The revised story I thought about self-publishing as a social experiment is actually turning out to be good, so I may attempt to publish it for real after all. I've come to the conclusion that blogging about writing is sort of boring because it's pretty much a one-woman enterprise and anything that isn't "hey I finished something" or "hey I published something" (and dudes I totally did publish something this year) is frankly kind of dull, don't you think? Being a short story writer and zinester, I hit this "finishing point" more often than novelists but still, it's not climbing Everest, exactly. Maybe taking "action shots" of my netbook in various exotic locations will help, it certainly works for bike bloggers.

And... that's it! Bye for now, my hundreds upon hundreds of mystery readers.

BikeyLinks

Hey, so, I've read some interesting stuff in the bikeosphere this week, so how about I let other people do my work for me and just link to them? /lazy

First off, if you like bikes and you like comics and you like humor, you need to put Another Bike on your RSS feed, like, yesterday. Even if you only like one or two of those things, still read it. How can you not love a girl who treats her new bike to a bath by candlelight?

Credit to Lulu @ Another Bike

Second, Sam at Brown Girl in the Lane perfectly sums up how I often feel when I think about people I know taking preventable car trips (FYI, most car trips are preventable), and how hard it can be to support them in their decision:

When I see a friend is a car, I immediately think of studies I've read, about the toxins the very existence of car creates, about the number of lives lost....for no good reason.
It is at times like this I wish I could get a lobotomy and just put myself out of this misery. I wish I could just forget everything I've read, everything I've seen, and everything I've smelled and just be happy and enjoy the fact that I'm lucky to live in a world where so many people are privileged to have such an abundance of luxury. [....]
But I can't forget it, and I'm not being honest when I say that I can really, truly appreciate this gift.

Thirdical, a recent only-tangentially-related-to-bikes article at NY Times caught my eye: Keeping (Weaker) Eyes on the Road. Apparently, people seeking license renewal in New York will no longer have to take eye retests. I didn't know that any state required retests, so I did a little digging and found out that most states don't require a retest if you renew by mail (Maryland is one of the few exceptions, although you can have eyes as bad as 20/100 and still drive here with a doctor's note). I do sympathize with sucky-eyed folks who are in danger of losing their licenses, since I know first hand that not being able to drive and living somewhere that isn't transit or bike friendly is a major handicap when it comes to employment, social life, education... well, everything! It's incredibly isolating. However, that pain just doesn't compare to the thousands of people who die every year in car accidents, many of them caused by people who should not be driving. (P.S. I include myself in this. I don't believe my optometrist should have written me an exemption, because I don't believe there should be vision exemptions. I'm still planning on taking my driver's road test because I've put a lot of money into this thing, but I also think a truly safe driver vision policy would be one that excludes me and people whose eyes are even worse than mine. And I don't plan to actually drive.)

Finally, is bicycle commuting really catching on? Well, it depends on where you live, but I'm pleased:

Credit: The Atlantic Cities. Boo on you, Newark!

Who's that at the largest increase in the Northeast US? Why, it's my old hometown, Pittsburgh! And coming in at #2? You guessed it, Baltimore! As I've never ridden in any area other than Baltimore City and County, I don't know how our cycle facilities stack up against more world-class places like NYC or Boston. I do know, however, that in general I feel very, very safe riding in the city, and while I can imagine things being better (as can anyone who doesn't live in Amsterdam or Copenhagen), I'm ridiculously pleased with the amount of lanes and sharrows we have already. Also, 1% ride share seems kind of low, I'd say the ratio of bikes to cars is more like 1:20 or even 1:10 on the Avenue or around JHU. But if they're only counting people commuting to jobs, that changes things, I don't even commute to a job (because I don't yet have one).

Pittsburgh being at #1 is a surprise, because it's just so ridiculously hilly everywhere. You'd have to be pretty athletic already to tackle Pittsburgh as a transportation cyclist. I also don't remember many lanes, although I wasn't looking for them when I lived there. I'm going back in two weeks and I'll look for bike infrastructure then! I would definitely continue riding if I moved back to Pittsburgh, although I'd have to get a bike with more than seven speeds. More like thirty-seven.

The biggest increases, though, came from the Midwest, although the overall percentages there are pretty tiny, except for Minneapolis (which I gather is a lot like Portland, only with snow, so, worse than Portland). If you live in the Southeast or certain parts of the Southwest, sorry guys, better luck next time.

The Room: The Play

Sunday was my 30th birthday. I'm not a big birthday person, and haven't been since the age of twelve (nothing is more tedious than adults who make a big fuckin' deal out of their birthday, just saying), and prefer not to do anything special for the day aside from going out (or calling in) for a nice meal. I am certainly not the kind of person who goes to the theatre for my birthday. But, as luck would have it, His Roomliness Sir Tommy Wiseau was appearing the day before at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Spring, MD for a special live version of "The Room." No amount of emphatic typography can accurately capture the joy I felt at learning of this event.

For those not in the know, The Room is an epic saga of infidelity, betrayal, football, lies, and covert recording techniques, brought to you by the ambiguously European auteur Tommy Wiseau, who really did wear these pants:

Only $29.99 at Hot Topic!

I've seen The Room: The Movie about four times now, I think, which is four more times than any sane person, but I'm not a sane person. I'm a bad movie aficionado. And while I was basically expecting -- and would have been happy with -- a staged version of The Room, the play was way different, being more of a broad comedy (instead of a "quirky black comedy"... what T.W. called his masterpiece when people didn't appreciate its dramatic aspirations) with a fair amount of improv, caused by Tommy purposely throwing off the rest of the cast. He may not have been in on the joke before, but he is now.

There were also a number of changes to the cast and plot, although all the best scenes and lines are still there. Relatively minor character Scott was a main player, and was the main foil for the actor playing Denny (who did the best job in this aside from the Wiseauminator). A new character, Travis, added a musical flourish:

Yeah baby, open your hard to me.

In closing, go see this if you're a fan of The Room. Or even if you're not, what the hell. I gather that the Silver Spring theater puts on live showings every few months, although this was the first with The Tommy Himself. I'll miss his leather pants and surprisingly sculpted upper body when I see it next time, but he's so busy with publishing The Room: The Book, converting his film to 3-D, and in general milking this puppy* for all it's worth. A full touring schedule would tear him apart.

(These pictures were taken by Rob, who has a way better cell phone camera than me.)

* Hi, doggie!

Hampden, hon!

Over the weekend, I moved to Baltimore. The general sequence of events:

Saturday, 9:00 AM: Pick up truck. Find out Rob is awesome at driving truck as long as I don't talk too much about the questionable racial politics implied in The Jetsons. Talk about it anyway because that's what I do.

Saturday, 10:00 AM: My parents and sister arrive from Uniontown, PA. My dad immediately made himself useful by managing to Tetris almost all of our belongings into a 16' Budget moving truck. Considering that we couldn't even manage to get everything into a 24' truck when we moved to Towson from Pittsburgh, that represents both an incredible downsizing of stuff on both our parts as well as some first-rate packing on my dad's part.

Saturday, 1:00 PM: Break for lunch. I ribbed my parents for a while about having to drive less than a mile to the nearest restaurant, but these are the ideological sacrifices that you make for people who are helping you out. Although I still maintain I could have biked there faster.

Saturday, 3:00 PM: Commence unpacking. Find that almost everything fits, and that unpacking is way easier when you don't have to move heavy oak pieces up and down narrow row-house stairs. Come to the conclusion with your significant other that stairs, while a useful invention of mankind, are best avoided in any apartments we may rent in the future.

Saturday, 8:00 PM: Break for dinner. Retrieve cats from old house. Are slightly amused that the cat that reacted the worst to moving last time (her behavior earned her the title "Queen of the Rafters") is apparently unfazed, and that old cranky cat is reacting the worst. He's still hissing and swiping at legs. Make a crack about how this will be the last place he ever lives and feel bad about it because that means he might die here and that's morbid, but REALLY, it's just that we hope to be here at least five or six years and he's already ten and cats don't live THAT long. Except for this cat. If Oxford turns out to be the feline Jeanne Calment he's gonna have to suck it up.

Sunday: Let's just not talk about Sunday, okay?

The apartment looks like this, except that there's all kinds of stuff in it now which makes it look like a hoarder house but we're totally not hoarders. Except of LOVE. And canned goods.

The many colors of our new apartment. Just add boxes.

So far Hampden is pretty awesome although we haven't really done anything here yet because we had to go back out to the suburbs for irony and necessary house supplies. I also haven't been able to do any exploring on my bike but SOON, hon, soon. Thanks to Rob (who will read this post) for agreeing to the move and being awesome at driving the truck, and my parents and sister (who probably won't), for being a major help! Even if they do hate to walk.

Also, I have a new zine! Well, I have a new zine PRINTED but not yet collated because of the move, and I don't know when it will be collated. By next week, definitely! It's all about bikes, suburbia, how to start cycling for transportation, fucking drivers, pet peeves, and more. Okay, not really that much more. It's forty pages, which is the longest zine I've ever written and it's even longer than that because for the first time I wrote it on a computer, not a typewriter, which means the words are smaller and closer together. Figures that when I decide to write a 24-hour zine, it actually turns into a week-long project.

In lieu of cover image, please accept this similar concept.

If you want one, it's $1.50 Paypalled to blacklightdiner at gmail dot com, or a trade. Trades are awesome! I haven't been reading very many zines lately besides the ones submitted to me for distro consideration. You can email for my address. That needs to change.

The Cat Days of Summer

Bikey news: One of the bike blogs I read, Let's Go Ride a Bike, is sponsoring a Summer Games for those of us non-athletic-type riders who nevertheless enjoy a bit of friendly competition. The challenges, intended to push one out of their transportation cycling comfort zone. Some examples of activities you too can participate in: ride on a bike path you've never been on before, ride somewhere new in your city, commute to work if you don't already, go on a group ride. As I'm moving into an essentially new-to-me area in six days (!), and plan to explore the hell out of things during the first week of August, I figure I'll have this one in the bag!

Not that I've been doing a lot of riding lately. Today's temperature clocked in at 102 degrees, and I don't know what a heat index is but it can't be helping anything. I am, in general, a huge fan of hot temperature; my ideal temp is around eighty degrees, with just a slight breeze. But this triple-digit crap that's been going on for the entire past week is a different animal. It's not as bad as winter because nothing is as bad as winter. Yet it's still weather that keeps me indoors when I'd prefer not to be, which is crazy-making even without all the white shit on the ground. But it's supposed to be down into the nineties next week in Maryland, which will be a relative relief.

Non-bikey news: As previously alluded, Rob and I are moving from the suburban college town of Towson to the neighborhood of Hampden in Baltimore, to a lovely first-floor apartment with multicolored walls and a tree in the backyard, and from which I will have non-trivial access to public transportation, independent non-chain businesses, and other things that make life worth living. But before the moving comes the packing, and wow, I really hope we stay at this new apartment for years and years because the process of packing to move is one of the most miserable things of all time.

We have a lot of books. I mean, a LOT of books. Lots and lots of books. So far, we're up to a mighty thirty-four boxes and while mostly done there are a few stragglers which I'll just throw into crates or something because we're out of damn moving boxes. I'm pretty sure that if I piled all the moving boxes on top of one another and jumped off the pile that would be a stupid idea. In addition, there's the furniture and clothing and such to deal with, but those aren't beyond what most "normal people" have in their houses. And no, an e-reader wouldn't really help matters, since 80% of the books are comics. At least the situation is improved from the last move, though, when we had probably over fifty moving boxes for books alone and also a dozen long boxes of single-issue comics. The latter is gone almost completely, and there's a significant dent in the former. We're also both becoming a lot pickier about what we bring into the house, too, which is going to cut down on the accumulation while we continue to chip away at what's already there.

Just in case there's anyone who reads this blog and also orders from Black Light Diner Distro, I'll be boxing up zines (both my personal collection and distro zines) around mid-week, and unboxing whenever I get around to it, so if you want to order anything (and help me lighten my load) then do it now, now, now! Also in zine news, I'm seriously thinking about doing a 24-hour zine for International Zine Month, since I've never done one, aside from a comic flipbook in 2008 that I promptly put out of print because I didn't like it. I have so much packing/moving-related stuff to do, though. It will probably come down to whether I feel like I can justify squandering a few hours to work on a zine. But as I've already spent most of this afternoon sitting in a blissfully air-conditioned Panera doing nothing... maybe my time isn't as precious as I think it is.

And--out!

What I've Been Doing

So, I've been pretty busy for someone without any real responsibilities, so here's a list of some of the shit I've been up to.

• We are moving into Baltimore City! Not only that, it's to the best apartment in the world! This apartment is really huge, at least 1.5 times bigger than everything else we saw. The living room is painted the exact same color of mint green that I would have painted it, if I'd chosen the colors of my walls. The dining room is bright blue, and the bedroom is reddish fuchsia! The kitchen is a yellow which I can only describe as "kitcheny," which is apropos. There is a dogwood tree in the backyard (yes! in the city!) and a small plot of land which I might use for a garden. There are tomato cages which I'd like to use because tomatoes are one of the few vegetables I actually like and the only one that would grow well in a backyard garden. There is a basement where I can park my bike and where we can store excess books. We are almost certainly inheriting a fourth cat from our landlord for convoluted reasons to be explained later.

Needless to say, I am stoked. The last year has taught me a very valuable lesson: don't live in the suburbs. As a non-driver (and one who is increasingly uninterested in getting her license), I can't handle it: the monotony of only being able to shop at chain stores and eat at chain restaurants, the utter meanness of townies who assume you're a student, the impossibility of getting a job because interviewers assume you're unreliable simply because you don't drive. (I've never had to call into work because I had to take my legs into the shop. Just sayin'.) When we moved to Towson, we thought it would be a lot like State College, PA, which is also a college town of approximately 50,000 people. Except that it's a lot easier to get to a big city from Towson vs. State College. But State College is very walkable/bikeable, and to some extent so are smaller PA college towns like Indiana or, hell, even California (which is where I went to college), and I don't think I would have had a lot of problems making friends or getting a job there. Towson is more like Monroeville, except with two colleges lodged in its bowels like nuclear bombs in a mixed-metaphor word salad. Also that reference will not make sense to you if you're not from Pennsylvania. Sorry about that.

• Working on short stories! I have two in the pipeline right now: one about evil cars, the other a Machine of Death story. I had been working on a novel in progress, but sort of abandoned it when my computer crashed and I lost the last five pages of writing. Maybe that doesn't sound too tragic, but it was only eleven pages overall. Perhaps it's for the best, I don't really have the attention span for novels. I've said it before: if I only ever write one novel in my life, that is totally fine with me.

• One of our cats was turned into a lamp by an evil sorcerer:

Rob wouldn't let me put the sweater on her. "It's too hot, she'll roast."
So you can blame him for this picture not being as awesome as it
might have been. It would have been on for ONE MINUTE
and cats are hardy little critters. Simply elucidatin'.

• Selling shit on Amazon. Now, it will be no surprise to people who have been to our house that we own A LOT OF BOOKS. (Although not an alot made out of books.) But we've been practicing Discardia, which means getting rid of many hundreds of our books. In the past, we'd always take the books to a used bookstore, which would maybe give us thirty bucks for four bags of books, if we were lucky. But then I had a brainstorm: why not Amazon? I've bought things off Amazon Marketplace in the past, because used CDs are usually much cheaper than new or digital download. Probably because hardly anyone keeps CDs anymore (although I do!). And yes, putting up hundreds of superfluous books is sometimes tedious, and sending them out is definitely tedious, but I've made several hundred dollars on there already, including over a hundred bucks for an out-of-print expansion board for Arkham Horror, the game of mind-numbingly banal Lovecraftian terror. While I don't want to bad-mouth my "customers," it constantly shocks me what people will buy, and for what prices. Granted, I am not into the mangas that the kids are reading right now, but $40 for a comic book? However, as this is the closest thing I have to a paying job right now, I am going to continue doing it until all the books are sold, or I get a real job doing something exactly as tedious for slightly more money.

(Aside: before beginning my extended period of unemployment, I don't think I realized how utterly useless I'd feel. I am someone who crashes and burns without a schedule, and while I do try to write lists to structure my days, it's easier to follow a schedule when it's imposed from without by someone who's paying you. I feel guilty for doing things that I don't consider my "job," i.e. putting items up on Amazon, going shopping for basic necessities, cleaning the house like a motherfuckin' adult. I don't consider writing my job even though I've been paid for it. It's hard for me to talk about this because it's such a first world problem; we can get along fine on Rob's income and I don't NEED to work. But I've realized that I WANT to, especially if I can get back into the only jobby thing I've ever been good at, medical research. Hello, Johns Hopkins University, soon to be within my reach/clutches.)

• Riding my bike, natch. As cycling has turned out to be the loose focus of this blog, I feel obligated to mention that, yeah, still at it. Last night I abandoned my old, broken BSO in my front yard for the first taker, because even though I did have plans to fix it up and teach Rob to ride on it, we all know I wasn't going to do that before moving and it would have just become more moving clutter. Also, it would have been way too small for him, and also a girl's bike. I feel guilty about this, even though I know that's dumb. I'll probably feel better when I see a lady riding around on my old bike, all fixed up shiny and newish. But right now I feel like a consumerist jerk.

Stumbling Into Baltimore

Yesterday, with Rob away at Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con I decided to haul ass to Starbucks and force myself to either finish the first edit on one of my short stories, or the first draft of another, so that I can finally have something for writing group this following week. But when I got to the Starbucks, I just didn't feel like getting off my bike. So, I didn't. Instead I went "exploring," which as previously noted is not usually a good idea for me. But this time, it paid off, as I found a safe route (as in, no highways) into Baltimore and was able to do some city riding for the first time ever.

And it is so much better, you guys. I didn't get sworn at, cut off, sideswiped, or told to get on the sidewalk once. It was almost surreal, how much better it is to bike in Baltimore City vs. BalCo/Towson. I rode on bike lanes for the first time. Saying it that way makes me sound like a hick, which, maybe I am. But I'm also a badass for daring to ride in the suburbs, so it evens out. You city riders have it so easy. And what's interesting is, Baltimore isn't considered a bike friendly city by most. I don't know where it falls in the rankings, but it's never spoken of in the same breathless tones as PDX or Boston or Minneapolis. Yet, I don't know what a city could possibly do to be better. Like, if this is just a "normal" or even "bike unfriendly" city, what the hell are they doing in Portland that's so great? (Then again, maybe I was just there at a really good time. It was Saturday afternoon after all, not rush hour.)

I'm growing to realize that one of the reasons I hate Baltimore County so very much is that, unless you have a car, there is no possible way to explore. There are parts of the county that are beautiful and would be biker/walker friendly, but they are separated by many miles of interstate highway. Yes, this is true for most places, including my old home of Pittsburgh. Once you get out of the city, if you don't have a car, forget it. But I haven't lived in a place like this since 2005, and I forgot how depressing it is, how constrained it makes me feel to only be able to visit the same half-dozen places over and over again (and yeah, I usually wind up only having a half-dozen "haunts" but at least I get to pick them!). I don't ever want to feel this way again. And in two months, I won't have to, because we're moving!

I forgot to take pictures, but I will rectify that on my next trip in (and there will be a next trip in, oh yes).

The moral of today's story is: I will do anything to avoid writing. Or maybe oh my god, is it August yet?!

A Typical Conversation Around These Parts

Conversation at the Baltimore County Pioneer Walk "park":

Me: Do you think they let you put just anyone's name on these markers? (The floor of the "park" has a lot of commemorative stones with names of organizations or individuals.)
Rob: What do you mean?
Me:  Like if you asked them to, would they say this park was partially made possible through the generosity of The Hamburglar?
Rob: I don't think so.
Me: But I paid for the stone, they should let me say whatever I want.
Rob: Maybe they would.
Me: It should also say "Robble Robble." Underneath the name.
Rob: That's just silly.
Me: What about if I asked them to put it in the name of Samuel L. Jackson?
Rob: They definitely wouldn't allow that.
Me: But it's not a cause that Samuel L. Jackson is opposed to! And he would never even have to know!
Rob: Why would you do that? Oh, wait, it's you.
Me: The Samuel L. Jackson stone would also have "Robble Robble" engraved on it.

New goal: to make this happen.

Adorabletown, USA

I've been getting some Bulgarian spam on this blog lately, which probably means that it's time for an update, lest my fallow blog serve as a fertile crossroads for Balkan insurrectionists, counter-insurrectionists, counter-counter-insurrectionists, and people selling discount Tramadol at low low prices (protip: it's really Tums).

The week before last, Rob and I went to Virginia for our second anniversary. We started by going to some Civil War sites around Richmond, and then Richmond itself. As previously stated, Richmond is one of my favorite cities, but as I have already spoken of my love for it I don't need to talk about it again. AND THEN we drove down the Blue Ridge Parkway, which I had never been to. And it is fucking gorgeous.

Look at this fucking mountain.

I drove most of the way, and even though I hate driving, it was a good experience to have. Along the way, we passed a group of like thirty people on mountain bikes, which gave me the idea to bike on the Blue Ridge Parkway myself someday, although I probably won't be able to do it on a fifty-pound Raleigh comfort bike. But even through the windshield of a car, the majesty of the Blue Ridge shines through. It was like spending three or four hours in a postcard. And everyone we talked to along the way was really, really fucking nice, the kind of nice where you don't know if they are actually sincere. But they are. They do the same Pittsburgh "make a little bit of eye contact, wave and smile" thing that I've had to train myself out of doing here, because on the coasts eye contact is considered a threat resolvable only by mashing one's forehead into the aggressor, antelope-style. I don't think I realized how much a very slight amount of eye contact with strangers meant to me until I was back in the Appalachian corridor.

AND THEN we visited Roanoke, which is the most adorable city I have ever been to. Among the cute things we saw there:

One of Roanoke's many, many adorable storefronts.

• Tons and tons of old-timey advertisements, including an original Muffler Man, these giant coffee and Dr. Pepper ads on the top of buildings, and "gas" lamps lining the main downtown streets. Oh, and their buses look like old trolley cars. Even the chain restaurants and stores in town (and there aren't many, I only saw a defunct Subway) are made to look old-fashioned. And all these old-fashioned buildings are still functional. It's like stepping into a time machine, except the people aren't horrible, like real old-timey people are.

The only thing that would
make this better is a
squirrel in the saddle.

• Everything is themed around trains because Roanoke used to be an important railroading hub and even though it's not as important now we still saw at least 37 trains come through while we were there. Okay, more like five. But, still, more than you expect to see on a daily basis. Rob is a big railroad geek and even though I'm not as super into it I still thought all the train stuff was awesome. The trainy highlight was a visit to the Virginia Museum of Transportation, which houses over sixty old train engines, a few dozen cars, and three bikes!

• Bike riding is a thing there, which is surprising as Roanoke isn't that much bigger than Towson, but it's way less suburbanized and sprawley. There is even a Roanoke pedicab service. I saw over a dozen people on bikes while I was there, and since we were only in the town itself for like three hours... that is a lot. And even the bike-related stuff is cute; see the bike rack at right.

Roanoke is the kind of place I could see feeling comfortable in for a long time, and while I'm not about to up and move there (I can't imagine their employment situation is great), I felt instantly comfortable there, which is a lot more than I can say for Baltimore. It's no secret that I haven't been very happy here. Although, things might be changing for the better now that we're maybe definitely probably likely possibly moving to Hampden in August. I came to this we have to move NOW realization after my relaxing ride on Easter Monday afternoon turned into a near-disaster when a fratboy (who are to Towson as trains are to Roanoke -- huge, loud, and ubiquitous) reached out of his passenger-side window and grabbed my handlebars while his crony slammed on the horn. Even if it weren't for the hostility toward bikes, there would still be the un-walkability, the crush of chains (hey, I like Target as much as any Walmart-hating hypocrite, but not when it's the only place I can shop), the townies who don't like me* because they think I'm a student, the students I don't have anything in common with because I'm not one... the list goes on. I realize that I haven't really given Baltimore a chance because I don't LIVE in Baltimore. It's like living in Monroeville and hating on Pittsburgh; yeah, maybe you have a taste of what the city is like, but you don't really know, man. I doubt Baltimore will be our forever home, but maybe it can be more than our two-year home. And at least we'll have given it a fair shot.


* An example: I was riding in Rodgers Forge and this tiny shriveled-up white lady in a nightgown cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled "you don't live here!" It was actually kind of cute, but not as cute as Roanoke.

Don't worry, ma'am, that meth you ordered is right on schedule.

The Way I Live

J.G. Ballard's High Rise is a cautionary tale of an opulent apartment complex which goes haywire when the power fails. Before long, this closed system complex (boasting pools, a shopping mall, and a school) descends into madness and decay, until before you know it, the main character is eating roast Pomeranian while watching his co-tenants die miserably. It is a truly horrifying tale of what happens when you rely on technology to take the place of human connection and a real community. When me and my husband Rob moved to Baltimore, we very narrowly missed befalling the same kind of misfortune, and now I will tell our tale of warning to you, dear reader. Be forewarned!

We went into The Promenade totally blind and without an appointment, knowing only that it was an apartment building, and sort of a fancy one, at least based on the exterior and the name. But we were running out of potential places to live in Baltimore, and figured that a building would likely have openings. To set the scene, Rob was wearing a suit that day (he had a job interview later in the day), but I was wearing my usual late spring get-up of a T-shirt, hoodie, and a denim skirt, with all my leg tattoos on display. Also, my hair was a little messed up because I hadn't showered that morning. I was also wearing sneakers. I certainly was not dressed up enough for the front lobby of The Promenade and its two crystal chandeliers, not to mention the Oriental rugs. At that point, I wanted to leave, but a concierge had already spotted us and at that point, it was easier to continue with the tour than to back out. After all, if this was just the lobby, imagine what the rooms must look like!

We got to see them shortly, choosing on the "Plan B" model, a one-bedroom/one-bath apartment that also includes a study. Rental price: $1600. Cost of living is higher in Baltimore than in Pittsburgh, but not that high! I might have had my first clue that I was out of my depth when I tried to argue the price with the concierge. Protip: If your apartment building even HAS a concierge, consider all rental prices non-negotiable.

The apartment seemed nice, if a little smallish, but there was something about it that was... off. I couldn't put my finger on it, until we got to the bathroom and I realized: this apartment has no doors! Not to the bedroom, not to the bathroom, not anywhere! I think I did say something about this design feature to the concierge, but I forget her response. Through all of this, Rob played the straight man, nodding and keeping absolutely silent. He said later that he only did that because otherwise he would have spent the entire time laughing, and they definitely would have thrown him out then, suit or no suit.

Some other things the apartment had instead of doors:
• Wine cabinet, for your Mountain Dew and Coke Zero
• Exposed brickwork and plumbing for that "bohemian" feel
• A balcony you couldn't actually sit on
• Your choice of wall paint: muted green, muted blue, or muted gray. What a selection!

I don't think it's really a good trade-off for complete lack of protection from zombie hordes, but to each their own.

Then she showed us the amenities. First off was the gym. I have already made my feelings about gyms clear, but in case you don't remember: I think they're kinda dumb. Except in the winter, why would you ever go to a gym to get exercise? Granted, sometimes I wish I had a gym membership in the winter because I tend to get pretty depressed then due to the lack of exercise, but the rest of the time? Unless your exercise drug of choice is swimming and you don't live near a clean lake, everything you do in a gym can be replicated outside, and it's free. And also, Vitamin D. Just my opinion, folks. But anyway, it was your typical gym for high-powered executives, right down to the kidney-shaped pools. It looked like it hadn't been touched in months.

We moved on to the TV room, and at that point she asked if we had any questions. I had two, namely: Do any children live here?, and, Do any students live here? Because even though I am neither a parent nor a student, I would much, MUCH rather live with young kids and college kids than in some sterile execu-suite. But I think she misunderstood the way in which I asked my question, because she reassured me that the building was inhabited almost solely by young professionals. No fear, future inhabitants of the Promenade at Towson! You won't have to suffer a whiff of anyone that isn't exactly like you. (I should have asked about the paper bag test.) She concluded the grand tour by taking us back into the lush lobby and saying that when people come to see you at the Promenade, you can greet them in the lobby, so that they can quote-unquote "see the way you live."

We thank her, both of us sort of shaky: Rob from holding in his laughter, me from wondering why Rob was being so quiet, and hoping that he wasn't infected with some kind of ultra-contagious yuppie flu that would delude him into thinking this place was a good idea. We stumble to the car and as soon as we're in we both burst out laughing, and shortly after found our current place, which isn't perfect (it's way too big, and I'd rather live closer to the city), but is at least not evil. Seriously, every time I pass the Promenade at Towson I get chills. Although that could be because it's April.

I know that some people would really enjoy living at a place like the Promenade, where you don't ever have to leave your lush suite except to go to your high-powered investment banking job, but I was reminded not only of High-Rise but also of the character Jack Bohlen in Martian Time-Slip, whose schizophrenia only starts manifesting itself after he starts living in a self-contained co-op. I think there was an episode of the new Outer Limits about this, too. Clearly, I watch/read far too much science fiction. If you need me, I'll be behind a locked door in my nice safe robot-proof house, reloading the rifle, when the metal ones rise to destroy us all.


(Addendum: as online reviews of the Promenade reveal, it is not really this swanky and Stepfordish. Residents complain about dog poop in the hall, "low life people"--gee, wonder what they mean by THAT--coming in and using their amenities, the hot water turning off, appliances breaking, etc. So it really isn't any different from a "normal" apartment complex except that it's about $500 more than average. I think we'll stick to living in houses; it's not like there's a lack of free-standing rental houses in Baltimore.

Also, I wish I would have kept the brochure they gave us when we took the tour; it featured a guy in a tux dipping a woman in a ball gown, and she had a red rose between her teeth. That is a great, on-target advertisement for an apartment building.)