Apr. 16th, 2010 05:13 pm
glvalentine: (nerd alert)
I went home last weekend to visit the family, and as usual, I tried to clean up a little of the driftwood of my young life that remains in the house, so that eventually it will stop looking like a teenager with no social skills lives in their house. (Now she lives in New York, where no one even notices social skills because they're too busy avoiding being hit by cars. Upgrade!)

There are some really telling things in that house, some of which indicate I had taste (a silk kimono owned by my great-grandmother) and some of which indicate I had, well, questionable taste. (Uh, no comment.)

The thing I took back from this trip was my box of comics.

When I was, oh, 11-ish, I got into the X-Men in a major way. I read up on Uncanny, I devoured X-Men, and my passion for them lasted until one of those impossible crossovers a few years later where I was trying to get hold of 15 books a week just to find out who won the Shi'ar gladiatorial games when some mutants were kidnapped and something something Savage Land something and Genosha whatever and five THOUSAND people got involved. I was young, and I had no money. Eventually you just cannot cross over one more time, you know? EVEN IF ROGUE IS INVOLVED. (Sorry, Rogue. Nobody loved you more than me, I promise!)

To be fair, though, my comic-book habit was greatly aided and abetted by my dad, who tended to swing by the comic shop on a regular basis and bring home a comic for me. (At the time I assumed it was because of my grades, but looking back on my childhood I think he just wanted to prevent me from going outside and hurting myself, which is also good parenting, so, well done Dad!)

He knew X-Men was my book, and he knew I loved Rogue, so he was always on the lookout for her. Unfortunately, he never quite grokked what exactly Rogue looked like (the ever-changing costumes probably did not help), so my white storage box is about 70% X-Men comics and other random comics featuring Rogue, and about 30% old X-Men reprints that featured Kitty Pryde, in whom I had no interest, but about whom I ended up knowing quite a bit, just by accident! (Brunette X-Men Unite, I guess!)

I had forgotten the Kitty Pryde books, but when I got home there they were, filed quietly in the back of the box, bearing the evidence of one read before they were taped back in their sleeves and hidden away. I saved them even then, because I thought my dad was pretty cool for supporting my comic book habit, and when I opened the box, it was confirmed.

Uh, in other news, I will be carving out time this weekend to slap some Roxette on the tape player, shove my hair into a scrunchie, and read some comics.
glvalentine: (nerd alert)
As the workload is heavy, blogging this week will be light. So here, have something fun!

I'm sure everyone in the world has seen this already, but still: for whatever reason, I like the Drunk History series. (Minus the ones that show barfing. Come on, people, there's no need.) My favorite is the Oney Judge episode below; there's something so earnest about it, and the hiccups are amazing.

But the best part of this is the hand-smacking "SHE. LIVED. IN. THE WOODS," because now my sister and I can use that whenever things are terrible, and no one around us knows what's going on. Except, now, all of you. Keep that under your hat, everyone.

glvalentine: (Default)
Nah, that would mean having feelings! My Christmas was uneventful. The vibe is always pajama-tastic and our gift-giving is minimal, since Christmas is mostly a chance to get together and watch Chanticleer and Band of Brothers and consume cookies in obscene quantities.

I watched an entire season of So You Think You Can Dance in a single night, which is really the way to go, because rooting for people for one evening is a lot less exhausting than doing it for eight weeks.(I am also beginning to think I am a jinx, because the dancer of my heart has never won, even though most of the time I understand who won and why. Hint: if you are a supertalented gay dancer, you will probably come in second. Have fun!)

Awesomely, I went to see Sherlock Holmes. Expect two articles on that sometime this week. Just so you all know, my mother is a bigger movie freak than I am (the film canister has not fallen far from the tree). She fell asleep during Sherlock Holmes. If I could, I'd make that my entire review; unfortunately, that only works if you know my mom. Damn you, frame of reference!

On the way home, a guy in a cord blazer and an Eddie Bauer suitcase cuts the bus line in front of me. He proceeds to ask me a series of questions like, "Will the porter take my bag?" clutching his copy of Self-Reliance fiercely to his chest. When he finally asks if he's in the right group, and is told he's actually supposed to be behind me, he declines to move with a smile and a patronizing, "Well, I've never taken a bus before. I'll just stay here."

He was corrected. [Okay, maybe this really is my version of a heartfelt holiday essay.]
glvalentine: (Default) I missed you!

I was gone for the weekend at a family shindig. It involved two flights in which Northwest Airlines showed all the business finesse of a waffle, a refrigerator that sounded like fireworks, and the creepiest thing I have ever seen in my life (and no, it's not a family member). I am awaiting photo evidence of the last thing, because it is otherwise impossible to describe. More on that later.

Also, there was no TV and no internet at any point. I managed to eke out four thousand words in between 'vegetarian dinners' of canned peas and carrots and boiled green beans, but one more day and I would have slit throats for a wireless signal.

I'm in the process of answering email and trying to cram an entire weekend of bad movies into one evening. It's not easy, but I'm a pro.
glvalentine: (kitty the typewriter girl)
I'll let you know after I'm done flipping through this puppy:

It will make interesting research reading on the plane tomorrow (family bidness), except that all the text is so crowded and microscopic I'll end up passing out from vertigo before I can mark more than one or two things for later. Still, thumbs-up for a lightweight paperback repro that I can shove around without feeling like a book heathen.
glvalentine: (Default)
So, I'm eligible for the Campbell.

I'm in superexcellent company, which Mary Robinette Kowal points out, so I have no expectations. I'm frankly excited just to be eligible.

In early 2007, I was working at a job I hated. I hadn't written anything in two years - the same two years I had been at my job, which didn't occur to me until later. (I was a genius.) I had one short story to my name; I figured it would never go anywhere, and when a friend made me submit it somewhere, I thought, "This is pointless."

The day 29 Union Leaders Can't Be Wrong ran in Strange Horizons, I gave notice at my job.

Things have since improved.

When I realized I was eligible this year, I called my mom to tell her. I explained what the eligibility meant, so she didn't confuse it with a nomination, and reminded her which story it was (she only knows this one by name; everything else I have ever written is named "That Weird One").

She said, "That's great! Under your real name?"
glvalentine: (omg no)
Earlier this week we had to go to The Mall to pick up a holiday gift item. While we were there, we passed Hot Topic, and there was no way I wasn't going in there.

You guys, it was awfultastic. I lasted about forty-five seconds, and that was all I needed to see.

The good news is: if you didn't think Christmas was good the first time, it's never too late for a do-over as long as it's Twilight stuff!

For The Special Girl in Your Viewfinder: a tee that tells her why you care enough to rent that cherry picker all the time.

For The Man You'll Regret Marrying by the Time You're Twenty: a pair of rings that reminds you of your place any time you feel like having an opinion.

For Your Child Who's Probably Going to Resent You Anyway: might as well!

Yes, these are actual items. I don't know what to tell you.

In better news, what I actually got for Christmas:

* A pair of loafers. They're orthopedic. (What? Your arches aren't gonna support themselves! See you when I'm eighty, suckers!)

My family is super pragmatic and tends to give totally unsurprising and useful gifts. My sister got a wind-up radio/flashing help signal for her trunk. It's awesome.
glvalentine: (nerd alert)
So, it's Halloween! I do not really participate in Halloween these days, since I subscribe to the "Go Big or Go Home" philosophy, and I am too lazy to go big, so I end up going home. ('Big' in this case meaning 'actually clever' or 'well-made'. Inflatable Sumo-wrestler suits are neither of these things, dude from my office.)

However, I had some fun costumes back in the day! I think. I only remember four. Memory like a sieve, me.

Enjoy this handy guide! None of these costumes makes any sense. )
glvalentine: (Default)
I have spent this entire weekend mired in word count or trying to be chill around the family, who are lovely people but who, let's face it, are not adding to my word count.

I do sort of love that they are not food people, and we grabbed Whole Foods salad bar stuff two nights in a row because everyone wanted something different and nobody wanted to spend over 9 bucks. I come by it honestly, you guys. (I had the Event Planner Special, which was what I used to get from the salad bar on my 10-minute lunch break - tofu with guacamole on top, and quinoa with tomatoes and artichoke hearts. I accidentally ordered three hundred yards of organza in the middle of the meal, it brought me back that much.)

Next week should be better, since I'll have more time to myself to get some things done. And watch Legend again; haters to the left, that's a great movie. If he hadn't cast Tom Cruise I think the movie would hold up 143% better - mistake, Ridley. Seriously.
glvalentine: (Default)
This week:

Today: movie screening, go home, do work, 4 hours sleep scheduled.
Tuesday: go home, do work, 4 hours sleep scheduled.
Wednesday: work a tango event until 1am, go home, do work, 3 hours sleep scheduled.
Thursday: family in town! Go to opera, come home, do work, 4 hours sleep scheduled.
Friday: dinner with family, touristy stuff with family, go home, do work, 4 hours sleep scheduled.
Saturday: early breakfast with family, go home, fall into a coma [tentative].

So that'll be fun!

All I want is to talk about this movie I saw over the weekend, you guys. It's sad.
glvalentine: (Default)
Actual conversation over the phone. All parties are played by themselves except me; I am played by Walter Matthau.

Me: Hey, Mom! I placed a story!
Mom: Oh my god, is it a horror story?
Me: No.
Dad: [mumbled]
Mom: Your father wants to know if it's too weird.
Mom: Well, can Grandma read it?
Me: ...I guess.
Mom: Well, then that's great, honey!

I guess that's a temporary pass on changing my name.

Hit it.

Mar. 31st, 2008 03:52 pm
glvalentine: (Default)
Wordcount accomplished. Late, but there. And a nice chapter ending to boot.

This weekend I got a call from my parents, who are sufficiently proud of my lit-zine story that they want to photocopy it to send to family members; they made no further mention of name-changing, so I guess that's on the back-burner for now. Samantha Bustier, your day is coming, but it is not today!

In other news, whose idea was it to invent the cucumber? What a disgusting food. Seriously. On Pern, they serve it next to the redroots as slime-in-a-crust.

(Above interlude brought to you by a lunch salad that contained approximately eight million slices of cucumber, unannounced. StealthCumber!)
glvalentine: (Default)
The Bus Gods were kind, and it was a short bus trip with a nice seatmate who slept the whole time. Now I bgin my offerings to the Plane Gods that my seatmate on the plane to WisCon is as nice.

Spent the weekend thus:

1. Parents ask me to tell them what I'm writing these days.
2. I tell them in vague terms.
2. They ask me to change my name.

So, either I wait for that little furor to die down, or I'll have to change this blog title to Samantha Bustier. Stay tuned!


Jan. 9th, 2008 01:07 pm
glvalentine: (Default)
Ellen Datlow is asking for heartwarming mom-stories. This was mine:

My mom has always been very supportive of my writing, in a distant way: she's told me since I was little that if I was applying myself to it, then that was great, end of story.

The first time she read something of mine was a dark-sci-fi short story from my freshman year of high school [I was 14]. She found it on the dining table where I'd forgotten it; when she handed it back she said calmly, "I found your story. It's very nicely written. And if you ever want to talk to a counselor or anything, you just tell me."

Gotta love a mom who covers every angle.


glvalentine: (Default)
Genevieve Valentine

September 2010

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