#253: Make the world
Yesterday I went without internet and TV for another long, painful 24 hours. (When I have a child, I plan to keep them from TV for at least two years. . . that should be HILARIOUS.)
I didn’t get that babysitting job I wanted, but I don’t think it was because she suspected I was a criminal mastermind.*
I have a headache from reading so darn much about bushrangers and early Australian manners (two different books, both fascinating).
I also amused myself making a giant world map for my “Food of the World” party next month. It’s now labelled (colour coded for appetiser, main meal, dessert, and drinks) and blue-tacked to the underside of our glass dining table.
I used pencil lines of latitude and longitude to divide it into a 150% copy of our wall map. There are some errors, but it DOES look pretty. If you do the same thing, I recommend you use a rectangular map rather than the semicurved version.
Here’s what our table usually looks like:
*In fact I think I can say that for certain.
#129: Buy a lemon tree
On Monday the second of May, 2010, I bought a lemon tree. This is what it looked like then:
One month later (I rigged a towel over our clothes horse to protect it from frost):
And on December 27th 2010, there were lemons growing:
Yay! I made food!
S#39: Learn Braille
Last night, some friends and I discussed what we’d give up in order to get what we want (which varied from world peace to superpowers). Most of us would give up a leg, but one person said they’d rather give up an arm. Most of us would hold on to sight even if it was the only sense we could keep – but one person is a linguist (and music is very important to him) so he’d rather keep hearing.
I wear contact lenses, but I doubt I’ll ever need braille in everyday life. And I’m grateful for that.
All the same, today I learnt the braille alphabet (and I learned that Mr Braille invented it in 1821, so who knows? It may well come up in the steampunk book). I used http://www.fakoo.info/braille-learn.html.
It was very peculiar to write out my name in braille, then look at it and say, “Yes. That looks right.” I’m very impressed with the simplicity and elegance of the system. At least now if I’m struck blind tomorrow, I can still read my own name (if it’s spelled out in letters rather than the more efficient additions to braille).
#262: Build a steam engine
One of the things that’s so wonderful about steampunk technology is that, given five minutes, anyone can understand how it all works. I took that five minutes yesterday, and felt so good about it that I decided to build one.
After some thought about which saucepans I wasn’t too fond of, and how I could weld something into a boiler shape, I decided to use paper instead of metal – which means no setting the house on fire this time *sigh*.
I messed around for a long while with paper, cardboard (from Lindt extreme orange packets, FYI), stickytape, paperclips, a metal skewer, and blue-tack (no time for glue! I’m inventing here!) and did make something capable of rolling (before I removed the back wheels, anyway).
You’ll notice I used our clock table as a workspace – it honestly just happened that way.
I realised I needed better wheels, so I started over – using a sliced toilet paper roll and several mangled cocktail umbrellas to great effect.
We had some friends drop by, who watched my “craft” with horrified fascination. It was quite embarrassing because I don’t know them all that well, and this was a VERY steep (and dodgy) learning curve.
But.
After learning a huge amount (particularly the importance of axle grease, and the joy of SCIENCE!!*), I had a semi-functional steam engine (minus the steam engine part, which is too heavy and too flammable – but I know where it goes, and what it would look like).
Basically, the steam engine sits on the back and blows steam onto the large cog, which turns the smaller cog at the front, which turns the front wheels (the back wheels are pulled along). To go forward, it blows steam downward onto the lower half of the big cog, and to go in reverse it blows steam up onto the higher part of the cog.
I expect I’ll build many more over the next few months.
In the meantime, here’s a general writerly-type interview I did for another blog:
http://www.katierunyon.com/phpBB3/myblog.php/2011/01/06/20-questions-louise-curtis/
*Those who read the Girl Genius graphic novels by Phil and Kaja Foglio will know what I mean. (Ditto for those who like cackling in basements while wearing welding goggles – which, if I’m not mistaken, is all of you.)
#261: Research
I am almost certainly going to write a young adult steampunk novel this year, set mainly in Australia. At the moment, I’m in the research stage – very carefully not writing the plot until I know the world. I’m reading up on convicts, bushrangers, crinolines, gold, shipwrecks, Victoria, Australia’s inland lake (which doesn’t exist), manners, steam trains, and so on.
Wikipedia is really useful for getting an overview, and showing up the areas of my greatest ignorance. TV tropes are good for getting more familiar with the genre (I am of course also reading steampunk fiction). Cracked is good for mad science. Here’s some of what I’ve discovered so far (much of it will need confirmation from more reliable sources):
Rollerskates were invented some time before 1743 and were mildly popular in Victorian times (inline ones, at that).
Approximately 20% of Australia’s transportees were women.
The “Welcome Stranger” was the name given to the largest alluvial gold nugget found in the world, which was too big for any scales.
In 1824, permission was granted to change the name of the continent from “New Holland” to “Australia”
Ned Kelly was hung in 1880, the same year as a major exhibition in Melbourne.
Before being officially named Melbourne, the town had several interim names — including Batmania, Bearbrass, Bareport, Bareheep, Barehurp and Bareberp (in June 1835).
Modern scientists are working on making:
a) Mice that travel (and breed) at super speeds.
b) Monkeys that glow in the dark.
And then there’s this story:
The Loch Ard departed England on 2 March 1878, bound for Melbourne, commanded by Captain Gibbs and with a crew of 17 men. It was carrying 37 passengers and assorted cargo. On 1 June, the ship was approaching Melbourne and expecting to sight land when it encountered heavy fog. Unable to see the Cape Otway lighthouse, the captain was unaware how close he was running to the coast. The fog lifted around 4am, revealing breakers and cliff faces. Captain Gibbs quickly ordered sail to be set to come about and get clear of the coast, but they were unable to do so in time, and ran aground on a reef. The masts and rigging came crashing down, killing some people on deck and preventing the lifeboats from being launched effectively. The ship sank within 10 or 15 minutes of striking the reef.
The only two survivors of the wreck were Eva Carmichael, who survived by clinging to a spar for five hours, and Thomas (Tom) R. Pearce, an apprentice who clung to the overturned hull of a lifeboat. Tom Pearce came ashore first, then heard Eva’s shouts and went back into the ocean to rescue her. They came ashore at what is now known as Loch Ard Gorge and sheltered there before seeking assistance. Ironically, Tom Pearce was the son of James Pearce, captain of the ill-fated SS Gothenburg.[1]
And here’s a pretty pretty picture taken from http://brassbolts.blogspot.com/ today.
S#10: Trim
Today’s awesomeness was all about making boring clothes exciting. If you interpret clothes with holes in as “exciting” and interpret plain, functional clothing as “boring” then I precisely reversed today’s mission. Which is sort of like doing it, right?
I started the day with two basketfuls of miscellaneous sewing rubbish from under my desk.
I ended the day having reduced the useless rubbish in my home by one basket. I also discovered three items of clothing that don’t appear to have anything wrong with them; fixed a pair of long black gloves; donated a jacket to charity; and fixed one of my infamous ankle-length skirts (which I’m wearing right now).
Having accidentally deleted the “before” photo, here instead is a picture of an unrelated basket.
No, she’s not for sale. Not never.
#260: Blob
For the last month, I’ve had exactly one hour of paid work a week.
You know how holidays go – for the first few days it’s the best time ever. You see old friends, or do stuff you’ve been meaning to do for six months. Then the first few days are gone, and your level of maturity comes into play.
Child: Immediate boredom; begging for candy ensues.
Teenager: Immediate boredom; buying of candy ensues. The allure of candy soon wears off and you fall into a torpid half-life until school resumes.
Adult: You keep doing the stuff. . . for a while.
Today I stopped doing the stuff.
Which is, in its own way, awesome. But until I get off my sit-upon once more, here’s a random film review.
Moulin Rouge!
If you don’t already know all about this film, I’m stunned. It really is spectacular spectacular.
If you haven’t seen it – yes, the rumours are true; it’s a musical. But not the kind of musical where the plot stops and you have time to go the bathroom, buy some more candy, and catch up on your email before the movie gets good again. It’s the kind where (a) the songs are either short, intercut with action elsewhere, or both, and (b) the movie wouldn’t actually make sense without the songs. Also, the songs are good. You’ve heard all of them before, so if you must, you can just think of those sections as an especially well-done film clip.
This is a HIGH ENERGY movie!!! It’s frenetic and fast-moving and the visual style is manic. It is an epic, tragic romance set in sumptuous times with everything you could possibly want: comedic misunderstandings, eye candy of both genders, Moulin rouge dancers, life-and-death chase scenes, slimy villains, and death. When it first came out I predicted a slew of imitations. I was wrong – presumably because no-one dared try.
Nicole Kidman’s waist has never been so small, and Ewan Macgregor has a startlingly good voice – the sound track is behind compare. It is impossible not to watch this movie and fall in love at least a little bit. It is a story about Truth, Beauty, and above all, LOVE.
#259: Locked room mystery
I had a plan for today’s blog – a good one.
Today I had an interview for a job minding two small children one day a week. Since I’m planning to eventually have two small children of my own, this was enormously appealing – and it was also very good in terms of location and hours. That’s a rare combination.
I have an advantage in the tutoring/babysitting field, because it’s such badly-paid work that I’m much, much more experienced than the average applicant. (Yay?) I’ve always been good at getting people to trust and respect me almost instantly (I made hundreds of dollars selling fundraising chocolate as a kid, which I believe is ideal preparation for any writer who wants to someday promote their own books).
So today was going to be #259: Do something I’m good at.
Now the interview itself went fairly well. I really, REALLY liked the family, so I hope that means we have things in common and they liked me too. Who knows?
There was just one teensy problem.
Crime.
The family lives in a secure apartment block, and I had some difficulty finding a park. To be honest, I had trouble finding the apartment block. At last I found what was almost certainly the right driveway, and drove down it.
It had a roller door. A locked roller door. As I stared at it stupidly, someone pulled in behind me. From that instant I was trapped; I was lost; I was going to be late – and I still really wanted this job.
I wound down my window and made a gesture of, “Look, I’m an idiot and I don’t know where I am and please don’t ram me but just back up and let me out of this semi-hysterical nightmare.”
Nothing happened. Perhaps I should have made a different kind of gesture.
The driveway was steep, and in my efforts to evade the 4WD behind me I’d driven right smack-bang up to the locked door. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to reverse upward again without smashing something.
Then a miracle happened. The door rolled slowly open.
I told myself it was on a sensor, and it was just slow-moving. I told myself all was well.
I drove into the secure carpark, and casually stole the spot of someone who could arrive at any moment (and then call the fuzz to drag me and/or my car away).
Carefully turning off my phone (I’d hate to be impolite), I walked through a door I’d never seen before, up some stairs, and into a large shared courtyard featuring a swimming pool.
Careful not to think about what I’d done, I found the right apartment number and knocked on the door – hoping I hadn’t just broken into the wrong apartment block.
“Louise?” said the nice lady.
“Yes!”
“Was the front door open?”
“I. . . uh. . . followed someone in.”
And so our interview began.
It ended outside, with the charming three-year old showing me the pool. The mum saw me walk off towards the stairs that had let me in, and corrected me so I walked out the pedestrian front door (which was large, clearly labelled, and virtually unmissable by anyone who isn’t me).
I found myself on the street. It was at this point that I realised the entire length of the street is designated parking. It would have been so handy to notice that earlier.
I wandered along the footpath and found myself at the next number along. Oops. I walked back the other way, desperately hoping the nice lady wasn’t looking out her window.
I re-discovered the steep driveway entrance to the carpark, and walked down it. There was no handy person-sized side door. Uh-oh.
I walked back to the front door to the courtyard, and discovered it was locked. Of course it was – that would be the “locked front door” the lady had mentioned. And the last person to automatically lock it was me.
Brilliant.
It was at roughly this point I realised that I’d locked my car inside a secure facility, and myself outside. And, in other news, I had a ten-year old student coming to my house in less than an hour.
Hmm.
I could call the nice lady, explain myself, and make her let me out – probably waking her baby in the process, and making things awkward with the 3-year old (who isn’t good at goodbyes).
I could call my existing employer, and explain that I would be rather late for the lesson in my home due to the fact that, when under pressure, my first instincts always turn to crime.
Or I could break back in – on purpose this time.
I cased the joint more thoroughly, looking for a weakness – and I found one.
I smiled sweetly at a man taking out his rubbish, and slid past him through a side gate (as all fantasy writers know, there’s ALWAYS a side gate). I walked the long way around the flats, looking innocent as I passed through a whole lot of backyards. Having successfully found the original staircase, I tried the door to get back into the carpark.
It was locked.
Arg!!
So now my car and I were both locked in, but in distinct sections -different cells of the dungeon, if you like.
Luckily, a nice lady passed by and I confessed everything. She let me into the carpark, and then out into the sweet expanse of blessed escape.
And then I drove home.
I hope, dear reader, that you do not live in a secure apartment. And I leave you now with a question for further reflection:
Would YOU trust this face?
I’ll let you know (probably in a week or two) if I got the job.
S#80: Sparklers
My Indonesian uncle had never seen sparklers before, so he had another new experience (24 hours after his introduction to sushi). You can hear and see him oohing, ahing and laughing.
#258: Cake and Chopsticks
This was so cool!
Inspired by being told that Chinese people eat cake with chopsticks, reader W suggested that I do the same. Since I ended up with a decent bunch of people at my house last night (my Indonesian uncle had sushi for the first time), I ordered them all to obey yet another peculiar whim “for the internet” (my aunt took photos and giggled).
The “Before” shot:
The moment we all dived in:
Matters devolved more or less instantly:
The Gentleman On The Left (or GOTL) was evidently not someone who had chosen to use chopsticks often in his life. He more than made up for the lack of experience, however, by choosing to believe he could invent better chopstick techniques than those favoured by hundreds of years of tradition.
When the cake was largely vanished (ie, after a few moments), the GOTL realised that he had made rather more of a mess than the rest of us.
It was at that moment he discoved that a single chopstick is super handy for flicking chunks of cake to other parts of the table.
Battle commenced at once.
At last it was all over, and time for the “After” shot.
“Quick everyone,” I said, “look innocent.”
You can judge our success for yourself.
The event was also blogged about at http://sorryihaveaheadache.blogspot.com/2011/01/cake-and-chopsticks.html
Felicity Banks 