First Birthday Party
The first birthday is always a curious thing, since the guest of honour is not going to remember it, doesn’t anticipate it, and is far more interested in wrapping paper than presents. But it means a great deal to everyone else.
At this particular party, we played pass the parcel, pin the spoon on the baby, musical chairs, and “guess the age in this photo”. Immaturity is rarely so appropriate.
Pass the parcel:
Baby Brain versus The Fuzz: Part Two
You may recall I was recently stopped by the police, and it turned out that although I had paid my car registration in full and on time (and marked it off in four different places – I know not to trust my memory), it had not gone through – so technically my car was unregistered.
Since then we have squared things with the RTA (with ease), but it turns out that the infringement notice I was given by the police officer at the time – the $1100 infringement order, which is more than I’ve earned in the last three months – still stands. The error was caused by an incorrect customer number – so I probably did screw up after all (this was just after we found out I was pregnant, and just before I became more ill and ended up in hospital on a drip because I was too sick to drink water).
To deal with the fine, I needed to email the police directly. I did so immediately, including the email from the RTA saying it was all cleared up at their end.
The police emailed back saying that the infringement notice stands.
. . .
Did I want to appeal to the Magistrate’s Court?
Yes, I did.
So that’s where we are now: waiting to hear back from the Magistrate’s Court. I’m hoping that this is simply a beaurocratic thing, and it won’t go any further. I’m particularly hoping we don’t need to front up to court somewhere, possibly pay legal fees, and end up paying the fine as well.
I THINK it’s a beaurocratic thing.
I think that, in Australia, you don’t get fined unless you’ve actually done something criminal, or harmed someone somehow, or failed to pay a fee (such as parking). Courtroom dramas are all very well in fiction – not so fun in real life.
I’ll let you know what happens.
Asian Steampunk
This is a seriously interesting article on real Asian history, and how awesomely it lends itself to a wide range of steampunk tropes and tales. Naturally, it’s from Tor.com.
This was an especially interesting read for me, because I haven’t stumbled across ANY Asian steampunk – the extent of my knowledge was knowing that steampunk is big in Japan (and that “Full Metal Alchemist” is very good).
The author is responding to a market he/she sees as limited to “samurai, geisha and ninja”. He/she gives numerous knowledgable and interesting examples of pirates, detectives, hard-boiled reporters and submarine captains. Here’s a delicious slice:
From the mid-17th century through the 1920s Chinese novels translated into Mongolian were in huge demand in Mongolia, and there was a flourishing trade in them. But the problem for the Mongolian bookbuyers and booksellers was not only the bidding wars which would break out with Russian, Mongolian, and Chinese buyers, but that getting the manuscripts back to Mongolia to sell was difficult because of the very real chance that those transporting the books would be attacked on the way back by bandits wanting to get the manuscripts and sell them for themselves. This resulted in decades of adventurous Mongolian book traders as skilled with sword and gun as they were at selling books.
I think the article could well have gone further – what about mad scientists, femme fatales, adventuring orphans, evil devices, and creepy clockwork (actually, I KNOW the latter existed)? I’m willing to bet Asia’s Victorian-era history is brimming with all of them.
I don’t currently have any plans to write Asian steampunk myself, but if you’re inclined that way, this article is a brilliant place to start your historical research.
Flow chart of speculative fiction
This is a rather beautiful map of book recommendations in the fantasy and scifi fields, based on personal preferences.
It’s such a good idea I plan to make one just for steampunk – make your recommendations now or forever hold your peace 🙂
“The Graveyard Book” by Neil Gaiman
I know, I know! I promised to review “Goliath” by Scott Westerfeld today. Sadly, it is late arriving in stores so I haven’t been able to get my pre-ordered copy yet. Fingers crossed for next week.
In the meantime: a treat.
Neil Gaiman (who, incidentally, is married to Amanda Palmer of “The Dresden Dolls” – they’re even touring together) is a brilliant writer – one of the world’s best. Sometimes he needs an edit, and sometimes he’s too dark for my taste. This is not one of those times.
THIS book (as you may have guessed from the title) has a wonderful macabre quality, but is nonetheless a great book for children. It never stops being fantastical (most of the characters are dead, for example) but it FEELS as down-to-earth as common sense. The main character is Bod, who we follow from the age of 18 months to adolescence (only Neil Gaiman could break the “keep your main character a similar age to the audience” and “use a short time span” rules so brilliantly; don’t try that at home). He is observant, intelligent, and good. I’d love to meet him.
There are other characters, too, who are instantly recognisable as the kind of people (not that that’s the right word for what they are) that will be remembered forever – Silas, Miss Lupescu, and the witch.
The story has a deceptively rambling quality, but the menace to Bod is clear from the first scene, and it never lets up. The climax shows that not a single scene was wasted. The theme is growing up – being alive – and it is perfectly developed.
Gaiman’s writing is exquisite. I hesitate to call it “literary” because that’s a by-word for “boring” to so many readers (including me) but when someone writes like Gaiman, you fall in love with the language without ever losing sight of the story. (Ursula leGuin and Sandy Fussell can pull it off, and very few others.)
It’s also beautifully (and eerily) illustrated.
Free sample (the beginning):
There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife. The knife had a handle of polished black bone, and a blade finer and sharper than any razor. If it sliced you, you might not even know you had been cut, not immediately.
The knife had done almost everything it was brought to that house to do, and both the blade and the handle were wet.
The street door was still open, just a little, where the knife and the man who held it had slipped in, and wisps of night-time mist slithered and twined into the house through the open door.
The man Jack paused on the landing. With his left hand he pulled a large white handkerchief from the pocket of his black coat, and with it he wiped off the knife and his gloved right hand which had been holding it; then he put the handkerchief away. The hunt was almost over. He had left the woman in her bed, the man on the bedroom floor, the older child in her brightly coloured bedroom, surrounded by toys and half-finished models. That only left the little one, a baby barely a toddler, to take care of.
Rating: PG, since it may scare some under-12 children.
Gifts for the apocalypse
As you are no doubt aware, Canberra will shortly be inundated by zombies. Is anyone even surprised?
By way of preparation for the coming apocalypse, my mother gave me a gift:
It’s not a weapon – it’s Aloe Vera, a living medicine. It’s good for minor burns (so VERY good for me – in fact I burned my thumb within days of getting this particular plant), is a mild antiseptic, and if all else fails it’s non-toxic (which, as everyone who ate crayons as a child already knows, is a synonym for “edible”).
To use an aloe vera plant, just cut off and/or slice open one of the leaves, and smear it directly onto the burn. For those curious about the taste, it is almost completely tasteless. (Sidebar: many many years ago, as a child, I overheard my grandmother talking to my mum about the many good properties of aloe vera, and she used the word “semisweet”. Thrilled at the idea of a new junk food, I immediately ran out to her greenhouse and ate a bit. It was extremely disappointing. Such is life.)
Another great zombie-ready plant is the willow tree. The bark is, literally, where aspirin comes from. Women chewed on the bark thousands of years ago to ease the pain of childbirth (it tastes awful, but at least you’d have pain relief options after getting a nasty bite in your arm from your zombified room-mate).
My long-term anti-zombie plan is to grow a variety of fruits and vegetables in my yard, and thus cover many of my important dietary needs (so far I have olives, lemons, and mint). I’d keep chickens for protein, but they smell – so I’ll have to turn cannibal*. Oh well.
This Christmas, don’t forget to analyse your gifts in the light of the coming zombie apocalypse. Tinned goods, edible plants, and weapons are the gifts most likely to keep your loved ones alive.
How are your own zombie preparations coming along?
*Obviously I wouldn’t dream of eating the cats. That would be wrong.
Baby sign language
I’m fascinated by languages in general, so I love the idea of teaching a four or five-month old baby a few useful signs to help them communicate when their hands are more coordinated than their tongues. Here are the signs I’ve learnt so far:
I am now twenty-five weeks pregnant, which means there are just two weeks left of second trimester. I’ve gained 1.5 kilos altogether 🙂 Thanks to that and to my height, my belly is pretty modest (considering), which means I’m not having any real problems with size.
I had a pretty big weekend last weekend (Thursday I had two whole hours of work, Friday I had people for dinner AND then we went to a movie, Saturday I was at Conflux for *gasp* two hours, and Sunday I had a family afternoon tea – all of which were apparently too much for me, faugh!) and crashed badly on Sunday night. So on Monday I cancelled everything and focused on just one thing: drinking water. Over the course of the day I watched TV, read books, watched CJ do chores, and drank as much as I could stand. That meant constantly updating my nausea (every time I felt okay, I drank more water and ruined it). Altogether I drank a litre and a bit of water, and maybe 600mL of milk. That really was the best I could do – and I was much sicker on Tuesday as a result. My body HATES water. Also, it made me so nauseous that I haven’t brushed my teeth since Sunday.
I would probably have been fine today, except I’m desperate to try and skip four ondansetron pills this fortnight (it comes in packs of ten, so if I succeed it means we only have to buy the $80 pack once per pay period), so I skipped it last night – which meant another do-nothing day today. It wasn’t fun, but it was fine.
I’m now getting a cramp or two each day, which may be a return of earlier ondansetron side effects – or the beginning of Braxton Hicks contractions (basically, fake labour). Either way, I have three and a half months more to look forward to. Awesome.
My left leg and the left side of my hips have been painful for four weeks now (as if I’ve overexercised, which I assure you is not the case). It hurts worst at night, which means gritting my teeth in pain every time I turn over (to the peculiar sound of clicking bones). On my 1-2 nightly loo visits the first few steps are a painful shuffle (as I clutch onto the bedside table for support). My right leg and the right side of my hip have just caught on and started to hurt as well.
This is caused by the hormone relaxin (which makes muscles go all loose and unsupportive in preparation for labour), and hip bones moving around (ditto). Which at least makes logical sense.
Pregnancy: the first two weeks are perfectly nice.
I remember saying, long ago, that my anxiety disorder was good preparation for pregnancy (because I’m used to chemical wackiness), and it actually is. I have seven years of practice of being helpless and housebound, and although I can rationally say that it sucks, in psychological terms I’m in great shape.
Strange but true. Despite all the physical and financial stuff, I’m still infinitely happier than I was last year. I can honestly say that life is good.
Tomorrow I’ll be brushing my teeth (and hair), seeing a friend (here), and teaching one student (here). It will be a nice day.
Picnic at Floriade
Every year, Canberra explodes into colour for the Spring flower festival, Floriade. CJ and I borrowed my photogenic nephew and lounged about on the grass just outside the gates (it is free and extremely popular) before going inside.
Floriade is on until 15 October.
Canberra Zombie Walk
Spring has sprung and the time is ripe for the dead to rise (who, coincidentally, are also ripe).
If you’ve ever thought, “Why aren’t there more zombies in Canberra?” it’s time to take your place in the shuffling masses.
When: Saturday October 29
Meet at: The Civic chess pit (Garema Place) at 4:30pm
We’ll stagger along en masse until the shrieks of the public don’t thrill us any more, and then disperse.
YES you may invite your undead friends, family and partners (and give them my email address fellissimo at hotmail dot com).
YES you may mention the civic meeting place & time in psychotic-filled public forums such as facebook.
If you need assistance with makeup, let me know. I have an expert on hand, but you will need to book a spot with her and pay for materials.
Australian Steampunk
Yesterday’s steampunk panel was loads of fun. Myself, Dawn Meredith and Jane Virgo discussed the definitions of steampunk, why we love steampunk, and the little Australian steampunk that is now available (namely, Richard Harland’s “Worldshaker” series, James Roy’s “Ichabod Hart and the Lighthouse Mystery”, Margo Lanagan’s short story “Machine Maid” and a new book none of us have read yet which is called “Wanted: One Scoundrel, Jenny Schwartz”).
An audience member pointed out that no single work of steampunk has truly hit the mainstream in a recognisable way, and we agreed. Which means the market is still a living, vibrant thing – and there for the taking.
Unable to wear my corset, I went for more of a dieselpunk look – and grabbed the best-dressed audience member for this photo:
The audience member happened to be the renowned fantasy artist Marilyn Pride.
Felicity Banks 
