I could probably help the balance of this piece by putting a bit more black in the white areas of the top right quarter, but for the moment I’m sick of looking at it, so I’m calling it done.

It’s taken some time, and a whole lot of therapy, but I think I’m finally ready to talk about what happened.

Everyone’s heard of the great “snowpocalypse” in DC a few months back, the snowstorm that covered the east cost this last February. Most people don’t realize that this story is a government hoax; hiding something much darker than snow.

It did snow that weekend. Matt and I drove carefully into town, eager to attend Shmoocon, DC’s annual hacker convention. We checked into the hotel and brought our bags to the room. We were disappointed with the view, but nothing could dampen our enthusiasm for the convention. We scampered downstairs to the convention center, innocent and happy as ripe strawberries. Matt’s Utilikilt flapped merrily, alarming the other guests. How could we have known that our carefree time would soon come to an end? No one could have predicted it.

We went to see the keynote speaker, not a thought in our heads beyond computer p0wnage and chocolate tastings. Caught a session on cyborgs, with a deeper look into modern brain surgery. I think it was this focus on brains, and all the busy brains at work, that brought them.

Hanging out in the hotel restaurant during lunch break, one of the hackers started acting strange. More strange than usual for computer geeks I mean. Reader be warned: consuming a few too many Great Lakes Beers may push you to try things that are not wise. Our friend Tom Eston was lucky to escape with his life.

Matt and I left the bar, only a little uneasy, but we quickly realized things at the convention were spiraling out of control.

The government run media didn’t make up the snowstorm entirely. When we got to the doors, snow surrounded the building like trigger happy Blackwater mercs. There was no way out. Inside, hotel doors were exploding with groaning, staggering hackers. At first I thought they were drunk, normal enough at ten AM on a convention weekend, but then Larry Pesce took a bite out of poor Paul Asadoorian and I realized it must be more than normal hacker hijinks.

A crash and a sprinkling of glass made me look up. Fists smashed through the skylights, mindless of the cuts. Snow thundered down along with several battered people. They fell three stories to the atrium below. Then they got back up. That’s when I knew something was very wrong.

We hid behind a malfunctioning ATM machine for a while. I rocked in place, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. Eventually I had to accept the truth. ZOMBIES. We made a break for it.

In the first conference room we met friends: Tom Eston– still shaken from his close call, and Chris Clymer– oddly mesmerized by the corpses slumped in the audience seats. Jack Nichelson and his wife Kim. But our entrance awakened new monsters. These were quickly dispatched with typical hacker ingenuity but time was running out.

We had to find a way out of the hotel, out of DC.

From one end of the hotel to the other we fled, meeting blocked doors and drooling ex-hackers. The floor was littered with body parts, blood splattered the walls. Each turn brought fresh foes, but finally we had a moment of peace to think.

Matt remembered our hotel room. Our lousy view.

Minds on escape, we rushed to the fire stairs. I fumbled with the hotel key, terrified that another zombie would find us exposed.

Luck was with us. We spilled into the hotel room, sped to the window. It was alright. No zombies had found the roof yet, and though the snow was quickly piling up, there was room to climb out. Just.

Fortunately, all hotels in DC have helipads, and the helicopter keys were in the ignition. Chris quickly read through the manual we found beneath a seat and Tom took the controls.

Hanging out the open doors, Kim and I got a great view of the city, but the ride didn’t last as long as we might have hoped. “We’re out of gas!” Matt screamed over the roar of the rotors. I thought we were going to crash, but Tom managed to bring us down safely inside the panda enclosure at the National Zoo.

A panda sunk its claws into Jack’s leg. Let me tell you, those things aren’t as cuddly as they look. We got him away from the panda, but the injury slowed him down a bit so we had to help him up the wall. Then we had to climb the outer fence as well because the zoo was closed “due to snow.” A likely story. Once we were outside it was obvious the zombies were not just in the hotel. Scenes of masacre lined the streets. Before we could run from the zoo gates, we saw several zombie orangutans gnawing on some poor sap’s severed arm. Seeing the infected animals made me hope the panda that got Jack wasn’t tainted as well, but I didn’t mention my fears.

We needed transportation. There were a few lost souls wandering the streets, but it was clear they wouldn’t last long. We wouldn’t last long. We kept low, hiding behind any cover we could find.

Zombie packs roamed the streets, and a few times we were almost seen. The zombies were slow, but we knew their groaning would alert other groups. We saw the national guard through the trees, but we didn’t dare try to signal them, for fear of giving ourselves away to the hoards. Finally, we found hope:
An abandoned Bobcat with snow treads was idling a few blocks from the zoo. I tried not to think of what might have happened to the previous operator, it was enough that we had found our salvation.

It was difficult to fit all six of us in that little Bobcat, but we were so glad to see the last of DC (Doomed City) we didn’t care.

If only it really were the last. Like a bad Jerry Springer, the infernal city kept pulling us back in.

Every time we hit the highway, we found our Bobcat grinding back into the center of DC. On our third circuit, it was starting to get dark. Kim let the machine slow to a stop. “What are you doing?” I demanded. She ignored me.

“Tom!” Kim pointed through the Bobcat’s grill. “Isn’t that…” we looked up ahead to see a small figure crouched behind a statue of Nathan Hale. “It’s your wife!”

Before we could stop him, Tom jumped from the Bobcat and sprinted to the dark shape. We followed cautiously in the rising shadows, but as we got closer, I saw that it was indeed Tom’s wife, Jill. She didn’t move as we approached her, but clutched her arm. It oozed blood through the bandage she’d fashioned from a Smithsonian banner.

Tom stopped abruptly feet away from her, staring. “Are you bit?” he asked. She started to speak but couldn’t make noise. Tom wrenched forward, grabbing her about the shoulders and shaking her. “ARE YOU BIT?”

Jill cried out in pain as her arm shook. “No!” she managed. “I got cut climbing out of the basement of some building in Adams Morgan. Thank God I had a chainsaw to get through the glass.”

“Thank God!” said Tom, and held her tightly. They had a tenderly shmoo-pey scene which I’d prefer not to dwell on. Then Tom gently removed the Smithsonian banner and replaced it with a tourniquet made from his jacket sleeve. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling Jill to her feet.

I shook my head worriedly. “Just one problem,” I told him. “Bobcat won’t run with seven.”

“WE’LL MAKE IT RUN!” he said.

When we turned back to the Bobcat, we realized it didn’t matter how many it could hold. Two zombies, perhaps drawn by the sound of the engine, were stumbling around our faithful machine. Behind them, another zombie tried to claw its way into an abandoned car. At the sound of Tom’s yell, they all looked at us.

Matt said, “Run!” but Tom shook his head. I looked at Jill and Jack, both still bleeding from fresh wounds and realized he was right. We could never make it. The zombies lurched toward us.

“Good thing I have this,” said Tom, and he pulled a Molotov Cocktail from his coat pocket. “Who’s got a light?” Matt pulled a metal lighter from his kilt pocket and tossed it to Tom.

I stared at the Molotov Cocktail. “Where did you-”

“No time!” said Tom. He lit the rag and threw the bottle, not at the zombies as I expected, but at our trusty Bobcat. It exploded like the forth of July, and after a wave of heat and noise, the streets were blessedly empty.

For a time.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of the explosion brought others. We could see black forms walking jerkily in the snow at the end of each street. We stood in the snow, shivering, wondering what to do. Below his kilt, Matt’s knees got goosebumps.

“There!” said Jack, pointing.

I don’t know how we missed it before. An undamaged Humvee sitting right in the middle of Constitution Avenue. We ran to the car, looking nervously over our shoulders.

“I’m so glad I brought my double sided lockpicks,” said Matt, shoving his picks into the doorlocks.

“Hurry!” I urged him, but he had the door unlocked in seconds. Chris climbed into the driver’s seat and quickly hot-wired the Humvee while the rest of us tumbled in. We ran over four of the zombies with scarcely a bump.

Otherwise, leaving DC was no easier in the Humvee.

The roads were chaos. Cars drove in every direction and as before, we found ourselves irresistibly drawn back to the center.

“We’ll have to leave the main roads,” said Jill as we swerved down Pennsylvania Ave for the fifth time.

Chris nodded and smashed the Humvee through the cement fence. I winced at the noise, but the car rumbled on, unconcerned.

Zombies looked in at us stupidly as we ran them over. Their bodies were as slippery as the snow.

Once we left the main roads, we were alone in the darkness and DC seemed to relinquish its hold. The trouble is, we didn’t know where we were going.

Matt looked for a way out on his Android, while I tried my iphone, but whatever way we took we seemed to keep hitting dead ends.

In the back, Jack groaned, and I glanced back at him. He looked a tad grey. I bit my lip, and met Matt’s worried look, but we didn’t say anything. Chris tightened his grip on the wheel and drove.

Slowly we got further from the city, and we saw fewer and fewer zombies the more we drove. We continued finding bad roads, but we just turned around and continued.

Around midnight, our road trailed off into a corn field. Chris pulled the car around sharply and we heard a sound like a shot. The car shuddered. My shoulder slammed into the side, painfully. “The tire,” said Kim. “We must have hit a nail.”

We looked at each other. “We haven’t seen a zombie for hours,” I said.

“I’ll get it,” said Jack.

“What about your leg?” asked Kim.

He shrugged her off. “I’m fine.” I think he knew already, what we all knew. More grey than ever, Jack hopped out of the car (really hopped, that leg wasn’t fine at all) while Kim watched fretfully. The tire came off easily and we all waited in silence while Jack jacked up the Humvee. He was just tightening the final nut when the zombies started out of the corn.

“Get back in the car!” said Kim. “Jack!” He looked at her and smiled, shrugged.

He hefted his tire iron. “Come on you bastards!” he yelled. “Let’s see who’s Left 4 Dead tonight!” Jack waded into the melee swinging. They must have finished him in the end, but not before he splattered a bundle of zombies in the snow. We drove off before it was over, knowing there was nothing else we could do.

We made it home eventually. Since that time, Matt, Tom and Chris have dedicated themselves to zombie research. After two months of hard studying Matt got his PhD and Chris finally earned his MD, while Tom spent his time stockpiling one of every weapon there is.

Next weekend, at Notacon 7, the three of them will give a presentation on Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse. Be there. Because believe me, whatever the government says to the contrary, it’s coming.

Please take a minute to appreciate the sacrifice off Jack Nichelson who surely lost his life while taking some of these photos, tire iron swinging. Also, a moment of silence is in order for Jess Rudolph of the Confused Greenies, an unwitting test subject.

Chyna is the cat with diabetes. We’ve got her on special food and we’re giving her insulin injections twice a day (which I mind much more than she does). The vet shaved a patch on her back to make it easier for us at first, so now she looks like she’s got a sunroof. We couldn’t help laughing at her for the first couple days.

The drawing below is of Tricky, the other cat (because she’s the one who was finally willing to look at my phone and give me a good face photo). She added to the sick cat confusion by puking all over (just hairballs) just as Chyna got her infection so we took the wrong cat to the vet at first.

This week’s Illustration Friday is “Rescue.” The first thing I thought of was rescue animals, cats and dogs. (And since I’ve been sick this week, drawing a cat was an easy option.) Chyna was a rescue cat, Matt got her from a foster program before I met him. Tricky was also I suppose, just not officially. She was a pregnant stray when she adopted us.

We’ll probably always go with rescue cats, I’ve never really understood why so many people pay hundreds from breeders when there are so many unwanted cats in shelters. My friend Kim got a beautiful kitten from a shelter last year (Olive is lovable, though bitey, but that’s cats for you).

I kind of get it more with dogs. Breed plays into personality quite a lot, plus, no matter how much the experts say dogs are never too old to be retrained, it’s obvious early habits make a much bigger difference with an animal that can rip your throat out if it gets too scared. Abuse and poor training can really screw up a dog, while with a cat the worse you’ll get is a nuisance.

Rescue dogs can be a bit of a gamble, though the rescue dogs I’ve met have been wonderful, including a shepherd mix that probably saved my niece from a coyote when she was three (nope, not exaggerating). When we went to get Kim’s kitten, she was thinking she might get a dog instead.

We found an absolutely sweet 9 month old dog, a Pharoah Hound mix (I’d never heard of them) that was quiet and friendly, and seemed like she’d be a great pet for Kim. We asked at the desk if they thought she would make a good first dog, and we were told, regretfully, No.

The dog was “trained” on puppy pads, which means it had learned to go to the bathroom right on the floor, which is, you know, fantabulous. Also, the dog had chewed up every bit of wooden furniture in the house, while left alone all day as the owner woked.

That’s the tragedy of rescue animals. You get a fair number of animals like Chyna and Tricky, born strays from stray parents. You’ll find animals that are left behind when an owner dies, or becomes homeless, or just gets too old to care for it. Too often though, the pets you find in shelters are animals that are abandoned, or returned, because the ownder simply doesn’t want them anymore.

The cat isn’t as cute as it was when it was a kitten and it scratches up the couches, pees on the carpet. The dog is too much work, and it hasn’t been trained, so now it’s unmanagable, even dangerous. Sure, those that are abused or starved, those animals are far sadder. It’s so easy to justify taking back a “bad” animal. We forget that animals are living beings and not toys. Someone else will take them.

I have been a bad pet owner. Now Matt and I have cats that are such prizes it makes me cringe with regret. The drawing I did of tricky doesn’t express what a sniffy cat she is. If you’ve ever had a sniffy cat, you know what I mean. When we first got her she couldn’t figure out how to sit on a lap and now she’ll run to curl up with you as soon as you sit down. When I pick her up, she meows and struggles in complaint, but the whole time she purrs so loudly you can hear her across a room.

Chyna does everything timidly, primly, as though she’s made of glass, and you feel a bit like she is when you pick her up. When she’s upset she hides her face against you. At night when I brush my teeth, she likes to attack my socks. She is always utterly happy to be in the same room with us. It takes my breath away.

Frozen, a post I wrote back in October, was nominated as one of the best “Just Posts” of 2009 in the category of Political/Legal Social Justice related to Sexuality. The post is about a woman who was kept from the deathbed of her life partner (along with the couple’s children), and more broadly, about same sex marriage. It’s one of the more difficult things I’ve written, only because I wanted to write something that might actually speak to people who were against gay marriage, rather than just preaching to the choir. That means pulling back from many of the things I was tempted to say. Biting comments feel good, but don’t encourage dialogue. In the end I’m not sure it mattered, since I doubt anyone who was against same sex marriage made it to my blog to read it, but I’m pleased and honored that people who have read it found it worthwhile.

If you’d like to vote for it you can do so here:

Cold Spaghetti

or here:

Collecting Tokens

My post is “Frozen” (a certain lack of focus) by Meagan, in the 3rd category. There are lots of great posts over there, so it’s worth the trip even if you don’t feel like voting.

Resignation. I ran a gloved hand around the frame of my car door, relieved when the snow flaked off, no coat of ice lurking beneath. At least it would clear off easily. I sat down, legs outside, put my keys in the ignition. And looked up as my snow-cave car brightened in sunlight.

The man from the other car had wiped his snow-brush, the size of a janitor’s broom, across my front window. Another quick stroke cleared the snow from my back window and that awkward triangle back back window. I grinned at him. In five seconds he had spared me five minutes cold work. “Thanks!” I yelled through the glass.

He gestured with the brush. “Close your door!” Then he quickly cleared off the rest of my car while I sat comfortable and happily bemused. When he finished, he opened the passenger door, peered in, and said, “You have a NICE day.”

Undoubtedly.

Weeks or months ago: just before the downpour started I realized my front tire was flat. Found my jack missing, called AAA, got the spare on. The spare was also flat, but fortunately, not all the way.

I drove slowly and neurotically to the gas station and realized I wasn’t sure how to use the air pump. I pulled out my phone and texted my husband for advice.

Meanwhile I climbed out of the car and compared the air tube to my tire with some puzzlement. I noticed the tag on my tire with psi recommendations just before Matt texted me to look on my tire for psi recommendations.

Perhaps 45 seconds had passed from the time I parked my car when another car drove toward me. Before he even came to a stop, he leaned on the horn.

At first I thought he must be honking at someone else. I made the universal “what?” sign with my hands and shoulders. I glanced back at at the air tube, almost defensively. I wasn’t sure how to use the psi recommendation since I didn’t have a tire pressure gauge.

The man climbed out of his car. He was redfaced and breathless with rage. “Are you going to use it or talk on your phone!?”

Anger prompted anger, but I did my best to stay calm. “Well I’m trying to figure out how to use this,” I tried to explain. “I’ve never had a flat tire before.”

He shouted over me. “Are you going to use that? So why are you playing on your phone!?”

“I’m talking to my husband, he’s helping me-”

“Why are you blocking the air pump while you talk on your phone!”

Finally I gave up and yelled back. “My husband is telling me how to use the air through the phone! Why don’t you back off so I can use it?”

He glared at me, purple now. “A PHONE won’t help you do that!” He drove off.

My car was in front of the air pump for a total of five minutes. Most of that was yelling: once the man left I took about a minute to figure out how to insert the air tube and took a guess at tire pressure. After I saw the flat, it took me 20 minutes (in the rain) to admit I couldn’t find the jack, 45 minutes for AAA to get there, and another 15 minutes (in the POURING rain) to get the spare on.

I missed a doctor’s appointment, hoped I wouldn’t need to cancel my hair cut, and stressed about having to buy new tires, but even damp and rushed, I wasn’t in a bad mood until that self important jerk started screaming at me.

Small gestures, kind or mean, can have an incredible impact. When I was a kid in a Catholic school we had “Random Acts of Kindness” week. It was beyond lame. An obvious shortcoming was that orchestrating something like that sort of negates the whole “random” aspect. The suggestions were stupid and forced, the whole process brought with it a cumbersome self consciousness.

I can see now though, the hopeful mind behind it. When I feel the flush of happiness caused by something so simple, (or the fury caused by a minute of thoughtlessness) it’s easy to believe the world can be changed in small, slow pushes. I remember the movie “Pay it Forward.” It was an interesting concept, but honestly a bit unbelievable. The problem with “pay it forward” as the Sixth Sense kid imagined it is that it depends on such large acts. The movie implied that you have to give an awful lot to get anywhere, but I don’t think that’s true.

Maybe the things we do for (and to) people, the things that could change the world, can be so tiny we hardly realize we’re doing them. As small as yelling, as brushing off some snow, a snide comment or a compliment. Maybe the cascade will be so slow we won’t see the effects in our lifetimes, but that doesn’t mean they go nowhere. Every day we change the world.

*domino photo from Malkav

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?

Got my MFA degree! Finished (really finished) a novel! Spent an entire year married.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I don’t remember what my resolutions were (or if I had any), but I’m happy with my progress on various goals. Next year I hope to find a publisher and get some illustration work.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

No, but a close friend did get pregnant, so, next year.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Matt’s Granddad died in the spring. I only met him a couple times but he seemed like a wonderful guy, and he had the most kicking wake I’ve ever been to. I mean, whole room singing joyfully for life celebration type a thing. It was sad but not depressing if that makes any sense.

5. What countries did you visit?

Didn’t get out of the country this year, but I did get to visit my parents in Oregon, and a couple good trips out to DC.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?

A publishing contract. Work that pays in money (free books and video games are nice but…). A house. I can dream, right?

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Er… I can’t think of any big dates. Sorry.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Finished novel revisions. Graduation.

9. What was your biggest failure?

I can’t think of anything I feel I failed hugely at. Probably biggest issue is setting too many goals at once, but I’m getting better at that.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Probably got a couple bad colds, as per usual, but nothing major.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

IPHONE. Love it. Also, related, “Things” app for iPhone. Productivity has soared. Or at least, you know, moved. Forward.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My big brother took a risk and quit a job he hated, to do what he really wanted to do (coaching at the fencing club), with less money and less security. Related: Walt Dragonetti, this year’s Veteran WORLD champion in Men’s Epee. My friend Kim started Med School, my friend Amy started a new grad program and my sister-in-law went back to school AND started to learn Reiki. Oh, hell. All the people in my life are amazing.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Repeat from last year: If I can’t say something nice, I’m definitely not going to type it on the internet.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Coffee and books.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Just living… I’m having a good time.

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?

I’m on a Mother %#@& Boat!

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder?

Happier!

b) thinner or fatter?

Probably about the same.

c) richer or poorer?

No idea.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Getting my name (and portfolio) out. Drawing.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Staying up till all hours and getting up far too late.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

With family in PA. Finally saw Christmas Vacation, which is apparently where 99% of Matt’s Christmas jokes come from. Oh who am I kidding, make it a round 100.

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?

Yup. Still. Always I think.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

I saw this “Mystery Diagnosis” program a couple times while in Chicago that seemed pretty interesting, though likely to cause acute paranoia.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Hate might be a strong word. Some fresh disappointment.

24. What was the best book you read?

Escaping the Endless Adolescence (though I’ve still got a little bit to go, since I’ve pretty much just been reading it between Borders trips). I’ll get around to buying it at some point. Anyway, I think it’s brilliant.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Jonathan Coulton. Awesome.

26. What did you want and get?

Time to focus on creative things.

27. What did you want and not get?

Nothing important.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

Coraline.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

Spent a leisurely day with Matt. I think we went to Chilli’s and Kim made me an awesome Coraline card. I turned 28.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Hmm… it would have been nice to have made more progress on the whole converting creative efforts into income front… but I think I’ll get there.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?

I spent most of the year trying to fit into the jeans that I fit into at the end of 2008, and finally succeeded about a month ago, since which time I’ve been trying to fend off the holiday spirits which are determined to make them shrink again. Otherwise I’ve been wearing all the same stuff I’ve been wearing since (or before) college, until I visited Oregon and Mom bought me a whole bunch of new clothes. Thanks Mom! I can finally throw out my dress pants that were once black but are now the color of pilled.

32. What kept you sane?

Error. Question is based on incorrect parameters.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

John Stewart.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

Local issues and Energy. GAY RIGHTS.

35. Who did you miss?

Sheila. Both my thesis defense and reading were a tad bittersweet.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Not sure. I’m antisocial.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.

I’m more capable than I think. A lousy job can make you completely miserable.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I might be able to do this if I ever remembered song lyrics.

*images all created using iPhone app “SpawnLite”

The holidays are always hectic, and even though Thanksgiving is less than a week away, I’m not quite mentally there. Last year I did holidailies during December, and it was a lot of fun, but I’ve decided not to do it this year. I met some cool bloggers through it, but I can do that just as easily by visiting the site without contributing. Forcing myself to put out a post each day spread the quality a bit thin, and maybe more importantly, made me not want to blog for quite a while after, which sort of defeats the purpose of frequent posting.

I did hope to get my webcomic up and running (yes! I really have one… sort of) by December, but now that December is looming surprisingly close, that’s seeming less likely. I’m aiming for the beginning of the year instead, since that seems like a good starting point anyway.

And as long as we’re talking about signing up for more things than I’m really prepared to do, I’ve started writing for Technorati and Blogcritics. I thought I’d write two or three times a week, and then I thought maybe just once a week, and then I CAME TO MY SENSES and decided I’d write for them whenever I got a blog idea that fit better on one of those two sites than my own. I’m hoping to start doing book reviews for Blogcritics which I may or may not repost here depending on my whims at the time. Anyway, most posts so far have just been review-y media style articles (and a republished piece from this blog for blogcritics) but I did a satirical review of Tweetie and TweetDeck that you might enjoy if you use or understand twitter. If you aren’t familiar with twitter, it probably won’t make as much sense, but the tone might be entertaining anyway. Check it out, and if you hate it, you can throw virtual tomatoes at me on Facebook, which I won’t accept, because what

I haven’t forgotten about my novel or my other priorities. My novel is currently with readers, once I hear back from them I’ll start looking for publishing opportunities, with any luck in January. I’m also still plugging away at the overall website design, trying to get my portfolio updated so I can start sending out feelers for illustration work without hanging my head in shame for showing nothing but 5-year-old work (that’s art that’s 5 years old, not art by a 5-year-old). Wish me luck and energy.*Tomato photo by The Ewan. Other images by me.

I brought my friend Kim a sampling of my favorite breakfast teas.

I enjoyed playing with her kitten for a while…

Then headed to the pet store to get cat food for MY cats.

I saw some ferrets that looked dead, but I promise, they were still breathing.

Actually, I know you don’t care. My being stuck in traffic is of no interest to anyone unless it provides useful information, say about a badly designed intersection. I am writing this from my cell phone, to illustrate a point.

It seems like every form of new media has gone through a phase of self absorbtion, where the primary thing it was used for was self description, rather than self expression. In its infancy, the web was made up of government pages and countless personal websites saying “this is who I am!” Twitter has been accused of being a format that encourages drivel, “at the store,” “in the can,” and while there is still some of that around, it is now finding a unique niche for microblogging in the communication age. I don’t Twitter that I’m having dinner, but I might send out a twitpic of a beautifully presented plate or a restaraunt’s funky lights.

Mobile blogging could emerge as “this is what I’m doing now, how bout now?” The inane use however does not mean that mobile blogging doesn’t have real uses, like quick thoughts about a craft or cooking project at a friend’s house or photos on the scene of a breaking event.

I use mobile blogging when I’m travling too far or often to sit down and write a real post. News bloggers can use mobile blogging to give more instantaneous reports than a computer allows, because even a laptop requires setup and space to think. Meanwhile the mobile journalist has the room for more in depth reactions then you’ll find in 140 characters.

Part of the reason for this is that it gave me a great excuse to dye my hair blue. For as long as I can remember, Halloween has been my favorite holiday, and that’s half because I love the spooky and half because I just love costumes. I take my costumes very seriously. When I ordered my yellow rain boots online, Amazon gave me this screen:

So it’s clear I’m not the only one who had the idea to dress as Coraline. But wigs are for the weak!

Anyway, I’ve dyed my hair blue before, and it did not go well. I followed online instructions rather than what was on the bottle, and ended up with crappy looking blue hair for about a day and a half… and seaweed green hair for another 6 months. In spite of past experience I ended up choosing the same dye (Raw Colors’ True Blue from Hot Topic) and this time I followed the instructions on the bottle.

It seems to have worked much better, but the dye gets everywhere.

I have a blue tub and a blue pillow case (inside out fortunately) and the only reason my face is no longer blue is because I scrubbed it off with Gojo. Note: when dying your hair, don’t bother using Vaseline on the outside of your ear, because they’re going to get dyed no matter how much you use. Put the Vaseline INSIDE your ears. This color seems to be fading to a dark teal color, and though I’m sure it will eventually get to that unlovely seaweed hue, I’m a bit more optimistic about the fading. We’ll see.*

Costumes are all about details, so I replayed the movie over and over to figure out what I needed. I was surprised at the lack of dragonfly barrettes (I found only a really crappy one, for $10 and decided it wasn’t worth it), so I thought I’d use the costume as an excuse to try my hand at some wire jewelry. Then I ran out of time.

Instead I dug through some of my old jewelry and found a dragonfly necklace from who knows when, and pinned it over a plain white barrette and called it close enough. I did manage to find a small purple messenger bag like the one Coraline carries when she’s outside. It’s not exactly the same color, and it’s got more to it then the one from the movie, but I liked it, and it looked like something Coraline would pick out if she had the option.

Of course the ultimate Coraline detail would be the spy-doll.

I don’t really sew, but this seemed like a good chance to try. I don’t think the doll appears at all in the book Coraline, but I’m all about costume details, and I thought the Coraline doll would add just the right bit of creepy.

I started off well enough, but once I stuffed it, the whole thing fell apart (not literally). The shape was completely wrong, and when I added in fabric paint it looked creepy… but in entirely the wrong ways. I also just didn’t leave enough time, so finally the night before Halloween I had to call the doll a fail. I left it on the table to dry, where it completely freaked out Matt when he got home from work, so, you know, I got SOME Halloween satisfaction from it.

This year was the first time I’ve been in town to celebrate Halloween with my friends in about five years. While I worked for the Vindicator, I ended up going to a student media conference every year and then last year, I was of course on our honeymoon. I wore my ceramic horns and Matt and I went reverse trick-or-treating on the train (we gave out candy) so that was lots of fun, but it’s not the full-costume Halloween I’ve missed. Overall I think Coraline was probably one of my more successful costumes, probably because it was extremely simple. It was also one of my more economical costumes since most of the elements were either something I could reuse, or things I already owned.

Plus, I still have blue hair, so OBVIOUSLY it’s a costume winner.

*The background in this photo comes from one of the tunnel scenes in Coraline. It is owned by whoever owns it (Henry Selick? Neil Gaiman? Not sure, but certainly not ME) and I have no idea whether it’s legal to use it in this context. If someone from Coraline land (no I don’t mean the OTHER world, I mean author, director, frothing lawyers etc.) wishes me to take it down, I will do so.