Good things happened yesterday.

My girlfriend Lara emailed to say spouse losing his job wasn't a good enough excuse for me to miss our annual gathering and she would pay my share of the house rental. The news made me cry, and made me wonder what I ever did to deserve such wonderful friends.

My other girlfriend explodingalice, whom I must actually meet someday so I can hug her neck, sent a book I had coveted, Finding Serenity. I'm having difficulty not reading it right now! (I have two book group books to finish before reading something 'off list.') Thank you, Alice, from the bottom of my heart.

And the books that I ordered before spouse became unemployed arrived, all seven of them. My last indulgence for the time being. At least I won't be giving the postman any more excuses to hate me.

We should have seen it coming. But we didn't. And now we have lost a third of our income. Belt-tightening to ensue immediately. Drastic belt-tightening.

[sarcasm] Oh, and this is the perfect economic climate in which to begin a job search. [/end sarcasm]

Crap.

So this afternoon I stop at the grocery store to pick up some essentials, less than half a cartful. A nice young man bags my groceries, and then he tells me, "I'll help you out with these." No. He doesn't ask. He tells me. "No, thanks, I can get it," I reply. "Are you sure?" he insists rather insistently. "Yes, I'm quite able-bodied," I say with a smile, and push my cart away.

In the parking lot, I open the trunk of my car and pick up the first bag. Suddenly, a man who was about to hop in the pickup parked next to me hops back out again, rushes around the truckbed and grabs the bag. "I'll help you with these," he says and puts the bag in the trunk. "Thank you, but I can get it," I reply and pick up another bag. "Well, I was raised better than that," he says, and proceeds to unload the remaining bags into the trunk.

You know, I appreciate chivalry as well as the next gal, but color me puzzled. Do I need to dye my hair again and get rid of the grey? Or did I just run across two extraordinarily well-reared specimens of the male of the species?

We're back from my reunion. Still processing. Will post eventually. Yes, we had a great time.

So I went to my first Zumba class today. And lasted a grand total of 30 minutes.
*pant*pant*pant*

But I really like my gym. :-)

It's not any surprise there's rage from the right over Barack Obama being awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace. Considering these are the folks who applauded when the 2016 Olympics went to Rio de Janeiro rather than Chicago, total outrage at international recognition of the current President of the United States can only be expected.

The Nobel Committee states it awarded the prize to President Obama for "...his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples." In particular, they mentioned his "...work for a world without nuclear weapons..." and that, due to Obama's influence, the United States has re-engaged with the world on a multi-lateral front and "...is playing a more constructive role in meeting the great climactic challenges the world is confronting." (You can see the video of the announcement here.)

So, in essence, the Nobel Committee gave Obama the prize for his intentions. While I don't necessarily agree good intentions and lofty aspirations are valid basis for such an award, the Nobel Committee did. And if receiving such a prize gives Obama further incentive, encourages his further action, and increases support for his efforts to turn these intentions and aspirations into concrete reality, I'm okay with his selection.

And I'm certain he will give the prize money to charities that support these efforts.

Neil Gaiman sold me this book.

Okay, not literally, but Neil's cover blurb was endorsement enough for me to take a chance on an author unknown to me or anyone whose book judgment I trust.

I was not disappointed.

Judas Coyne is a faded metal god in his mid-50s -- think Ozzie, but articulate and still in possession of his faculties -- who leads a quiet life in rural upstate New York with his beloved Rottweilers* and a series of live-in Goth girlfriends less than half his age, who he calls by their state of origin because he can't be bothered to remember their real names. Jude's an ass, frankly, when it comes to women.

(*I don't recall the breed of these dogs actually being identified, but I pictured them as Rotts while reading. It fits perfectly.)

Jude has accumulated a collection of the weird and the macabre over the years, and when he receives an email notice about a ghost -- or more accurately, a haunted funeral suit -- being auctioned on the internet, he can't resist, even though he's sure it's a hoax.

It's not a hoax. It's a setup.

The suit arrives and Jude's prior history of ass-hood to women returns to haunt him, for the ghost is Craddock, Florida's stepfather, and Florida is the girlfriend who committed suicide shortly after Jude sent her packing.

Soon Jude, his dogs, and his current girlfriend, Georgia, are on a desperate roadtrip south to rid themselves of Craddock and save their lives. Not coincidentally, they must also face their own demons and somehow make peace with their own pasts.

Joe Hill has written a heart-pounding thriller of a ghost story, absolutely gripping and nearly impossible to put down. Character development is virtually flawless and the story itself is fresh and original. Jude and Georgia are far more than rocker/Goth cliches: they have unplumbed depths to their souls, and unexpected strengths crucial to their survival. Craddock oozes a creeping malevolence, and his ever-growing influence over the minds and actions of Jude and Georgia is truly frightening and unpredictable. And the dogs...oh how I loved those dogs.

I don't read horror much these days. Joe Hill will go on the shortlist of horror authors to watch, though, right next to Neil Gaiman and Robert McCammon. He's in excellent company, and he deserves it.

This science fiction thriller takes a page or two from Michael Crichton and asks the question: "What happens to the evolutionary path if a tiny island were isolated from all other land masses for the last 500 million years?" The answer is Warren Fahy's FRAGMENT.

In response to a distress beacon, a seafaring American reality TV show sets its sights on Henders Island, a tiny speck of land in the South Pacific a thousand miles away from anywhere. Upon arrival, the ship's crew and its team of photogenic scientists discover an amazing array of life forms so alien, the only answer to their existence is an alternate evolutionary path. But not only are these creatures unbelievably strange, they're unbelievably deadly, having evolved into killing machines of startling efficiency, with a phenomenally accelerated reproductive cycle to compensate for their extremely short life expectancy. Said reproductive cycle is the most frightening thing about these creatures: if they were ever to leave their island, they would overrun the rest of the planet's ecosystem within weeks.

As the scientists race against time to learn as much as they can about these murderous creatures and their strange and wonderful alternate ecology, the US military and its allies prepare to bomb the island out of existence. Petty scientific infighting, conflicting ecological worldviews, and the hilarious effort to make TV ratings history move the story along at a breakneck pace.

Although his character development is barely two-dimensional -- one or two characters are so unpleasant I was actively hoping they'd get eaten -- Fahy tells an entertaining plot-driven story. The pacing is lightning fast: so fast, in fact, that the reader tends to barely notice the somewhat improbable leaps of logic. There's too much gore for my taste, and the constant name-dropping of various brands of equipment or apparel can be annoying. And, while I'm not a scientist by any means, I expect Fahy has stretched the suspension of disbelief for this premise to its breaking point.

This isn't to say I didn't enjoy the novel. I did, very much, even through the "ewww" moments, and even though I saw the major plot twist coming a mile away. FRAGMENT is a good summer vacation novel: fast, fun, and even somewhat thought-provoking.

I believe genre novels just like this are necessary in any literate society. If a "literary" novel such as...umm, Mistry's A FINE BALANCE, let's say...is a box of Godiva dark chocolate, FRAGMENT is a Milky Way bar, and sometimes a Milky Way bar is the perfect choice. If the reader is looking for the next great American novel, he needs to keep looking, but I'd recommend this to anyone looking to kill a few hours in the airport and on the plane.

I've been uploading new userpics like mad, and still have space for at least 75 more. Oh, the pressure!

Spouse and I had a fabulous time over the weekend. Friday morning bright and early we threw the suitcase and the dog in the back of the car and sped away to the coast, arriving in Seaside just in time for lunch. After checking in at the motel, we found our way to the wharf and had a good old time watching the harbor seals play and taking an old-fashioned romantic walk along the beach.

( Cut because this is where the photos start )

( Saturday, and the Aquarium )

Back to the motel again for a nap (hey, we're middle-aged; we get tired!) and then down the coast a bit to Pebble Beach and a cruise along 17 Mile Drive, which is arguably California's most famous stretch of road and home to arguably California's most famous tree, the Lone Cypress.



Unfortunately, it was late late afternoon by the time we arrived; most of the light had gone and the fog was coming in, so very few of the shots I took were any good. But I took this weekend's favorite shot of Phoebe and spouse at one of the overlooks.



( Sunday, and Santa Cruz )

This was a thoroughly lovely spontaneous getaway. We may even make this trip our Labor Day Weekend tradition.




More pics on Flickr. They might even be organized in a day or two.

I heard about something called the "Raw Food Diet" on Talk of the Nation yesterday, which intrigued me enough to dig a little deeper. Excerpt from the interview:

This is an experiment in which rats were given their regular chow pellets in two different forms. One was the ordinary pellet, and the other was with air added. They were puffed up. It's as if you took a grain of wheat and then puffed it off into puffed wheat.

RAEBURN: No nutrients added or subtracted, just air.

Dr. WRANGHAM: That's the only thing, air. And the experimenters were very careful. They gave exactly the same number of calories as measured - you know, the same weight of food to two groups of rats. And they measured how much locomotion they expended, and it was the same. So, same number of calories, same locomotor expenditure - you'd think that they would grow at the same rates. But the ones that ate the softer food grew faster, ended up heavier and had 30 percent more body fat.

RAEBURN: It can't be true.

Dr. WRANGHAM: So they grew obese.

RAEBURN: It can't be.

(Soundbite of laughter)

RAEBURN: It can't be true.

(Soundbite of laughter)

Dr. WRANGHAM: Well, you see, this is where the costs of digestion come in. It's so important, because they could actually show where the difference was. And the difference is this: that after a meal, the rats that ate the softer food had a lower rise in body temperature than those that ate the harder food. Their metabolic rate was lower because their bodies were working less hard, because there was less to do. They didn't have to soften their food.

And this is a wonderful little model, I think, for all sorts of examples in the human case. When we turn our beef into ground beef - just like hunters and gatherers who cook their meat and then pound it, what we're doing is making it easier for our bodies to digest the food and therefore sparing our bodies the need to waste energy, calories, on digesting the food. And the result is that the net caloric gain is greater when we eat food that has been more highly processed.

As the name implies, one gives up eating cooked food and instead eats only raw foods. By virtue of necessity, this turns out to be a vegetarian diet and can even be vegan if one gives up dairy products as well. The pros seem to be quick weight loss and a reduction in sodium and cholesterol levels. The cons are a lack of certain essential nutrients obtained almost solely through animal products, such as certain proteins and fats; the need to eat a whole lot more than one ordinarily eats to maintain weight rather than lose it; and a whole lot of prep time to make juices or otherwise prepare the raw foods in a pleasing palatable fashion.

The focus of yesterday's interview itself was "how cooking made us human", and the raw food diet issue was addressed specifically in answer to a caller's question. The general impression I got from the interview and from the subsequent internet research was that a diet of strictly raw food would not be a good idea over an extended period of time, or as a way of life. But for brief stretches of time, it might be good as a cleansing or detoxing regimen. So I'm considering giving it a go during the week that spouse is gone, albeit in a modified fashion. I can eat big salads for lunch and dinner; oats or other cereal and a boiled egg for breakfast; raw veggies such as carrots and cucumber for snackies, as well as fresh fruit; and my usual (store-bought) fruit juices and dairy products like milk or cheese tossed in there for good measure. JuicePlus should keep me from losing out on most nutrients.


Articles:

From WebMD.
From about.com.
From LiveScience.
From Steve Pavlina's blog.
From the Diet Library.

Cake Wrecks, or "When professional cakes go horribly, hilariously wrong."

You gotta see this.

Many thanks (in a manner of speaking) to explodingalice for pointing me to this timesuck.

35 minutes on the phone with the division head. I think the interview went well for the most part, although perhaps I bobbled one or two questions -- I really hate interviews. They make me extremely nervous....Anyway, Mr. Department Head said they expect to make a decision within the next few days, so either I'll get a phone call with a job offer sometime in the next week or so, or I won't.

I'm hoping the phone rings.

I hope you all haven't run out of vibes, because my interview got rescheduled for tomorrow morning, same Bat time, same Bat channel.

No, it wasn't my fault. The department head's assistant called me at 7:30 to say he had an emergency, wouldn't be able to keep the 8:30 appointment, and could we please reschedule? Being the flexible and resilient person that I am (and one who is desperate to get the hell out of Dodge), I said, "No problem, just tell me when and I'll be available."

And so, tomorrow. 8:30 AM Pacific Time. Let's try it again.

And maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight.....

Getting a SECOND interview!

Tomorrow, 8:30 AM, Pacific Time, vibes please....this is for a position on the Quality Review Team in the Seattle Regional office.

Yipe!

Today marks the 18th anniversary of the day I quit drinking. 18 years ago today, I walked into a 30-day lockdown treatment facility, clutching a pillow and the shreds of my dignity. 30 days later, I walked out, a free woman.

Normally I'd write some sort of insightful pithy reflection on sobriety (because I'm all insightful and reflective and pithy like that), but today I'm dealing with multiple ant bites and swollen itchy legs and I just don't feel like it.

Instead, I'll sit over here on the sofa with my legs wrapped in witch hazel soaked towels and be grateful to be alive and sober.

What happens when a wickedly intelligent 11 year old girl whose interests lean to the macabre literally stumbles over a dead body in the garden?

Flavia de Luce, the young lady in question, is the youngest daughter of an aristocratic family in decline. Her two older sisters, Daphne and Ophelia, alternate between tormenting her and ignoring her. Her mother, Harriet, died when she was an infant. Her father, Colonel de Luce, spends the majority of his time locked in his study alone. Thus, and except for the servants, young Flavia is essentially without supervision, and therefore free to indulge her hobby: chemistry, with a special interest in and predilection for poison.

Early one morning a dead snipe mysteriously appears on the door step. A peculiar postage stamp is perched on its bill, the sight of which causes the Colonel to blanch. Flavia's curiosity is piqued -- the Colonel never speaks of his past, and this stamp must mean something very important. Late that night, Flavia overhears her father arguing in his study with an unknown man; Early the next morning, while strolling through the garden, she trips over a nearly dead stranger who, with his last oddly-scented breath, utters a Latin word, "Vale."

Flavia is on a mission now: She almost recognized that scent. Who is the stranger? Why was he at her home? Why is he dead? Was it murder? Who killed him? And what is the significance of "Vale"?

With determination, perseverance, and a logical thought process that would do Sherlock Holmes proud, Flavia sets forth to solve the mystery. Along the way, she confounds the local constabulary, annoys the local librarian, investigates the goings-on at the local inn, and generally makes a nuisance of herself all over town. Bless her little heart, she's absolutely adorable, if more than a little terrifying: Scout Finch with a Bunsen burner and access to controlled substances.

Told entirely from Flavia's perspective, Alan Bradley's novel is sheer joy to read: captivating, charming, and utterly original from the first word to the last.

I sincerely hope this is not the last we see of Flavia de Luce.

Detective Rob Ryan and his partner Cassie Maddox are called to an archaeological site in the Dublin neighborhood of Knocknaree because the body of a young neighborhood girl, apparently murdered and raped, has been found on the ancient sacrificial altar.

Rob was once very familiar with this neighborhood and the wooded area of the archaeological dig: twenty years earlier, and then known as Adam, he lived here, went to school here, played in the woods and fields with his best friends Jamie and Peter...and, at the age of 12, was discovered alone, terrified, covered in blood, and clinging to a tree with no memory of what happened to him or his friends. Peter and Jamie were never found, the mystery was never solved, and shortly afterward, Rob's parents sent him away to school and left the area. No one outside of Rob's immediate family is aware he is that surviving child, and Rob himself still has no memory of the events of the fateful afternoon nor of any events of childhood prior to that day.

Until beginning the investigation into the murder of Katie Devlin, Rob hadn't given much thought to his missing childhood. But as he and Cassie delve deeper into Katie's case -- interviewing suspects, ferreting out possible motives, gathering forensic evidence -- memories begin to surface. And Rob begins to fall apart.

Tana French's story is told completely in first person: we see through Rob's eyes, we suffer along with him from his ever-more-frequent migraine headaches. And we feel his increasing tension and bewilderment as he struggles to maintain his professional cop demeanor throughout an investigation that jangles every nerve and threatens every relationship he holds dear. Still, Rob's inner dialogue is almost clinically detached, even as he realizes his world is about to come undone.

The story is extraordinarily well-told: taut, clear, precise, and completely without melodrama. The steps the detectives follow to get to the truth are logically presented and completely credible. There is no deux ex machina here, and plenty of uncertainty right through to the last word on the last page.

Truly, this is one of the best crime thrillers I've read in years. I have absolutely no hesitation in telling you, "Read it. Now. Really."

Ms. French's new novel, The Likeness, will be published soon in hardcover. As soon as it's available in trade paperback, I'll be at the front of the line to plunk down my $15 or $16 for the privilege of taking it home with me. Tana French, you have a new fan.

The latest happenings here in Avantaland:

A couple of weeks ago, Marysville started holding a farmer's market every Friday evening downtown on D Street. This past Friday, I finally remembered to get some cash from the ATM after work so I could go. I came home with three pints of blackberries, six pounds of nectarines and apricots, a couple of pounds of cherries, and three zucchini. For $20. *beam* I also sampled some locally grown olive oil. Not bad, but not the kind of olive oil spouse and I prefer. The local oil is pressed from Spanish olives, and doesn't have enough peppery bite to it to please me. Too bad: I like to support local growers, but why buy something I won't use?

While downtown, I stopped in at The Sew-So Shop, which, despite the name, also carries knitting and crochet supplies. My favorite clerk was manning the store, so we had a nice meow-y gossip. Somehow I managed not to buy any yarn. (I kept thinking of the mountains of it at home in the yarn closet.)

Yesterday morning, at 7:00 AM, I discovered we had no coffee. We usually only make coffee at home on weekends, and spouse neglected to tell me he used the last of it last week. He narrowly escaped being murdered in his sleep. Thank heavens we now have a Walgreens less than two miles from us, and we no longer need to drive 17 miles into Marysville when we run out of essentials like milk or bread. Or coffee.

After getting home from the store, while waiting for the coffee to brew, I took advantage of the lack of caffeine in spouse's system and...How do I say this without it sounding like spouse has major money control issues? Not "got permission". How about "obtained consent"? "Reached agreement"? The deal is: if either of us wants to buy some non-essential something with a purchase price of over $100, we discuss it first. I wanted to buy a new sewing machine -- my 30-year-old Kenmore gave up the ghost a month or so ago -- and I'd found one on sale that suited my needs. Spouse perused the ad through bleary eyes and said "It sounds like a car lot come-on, but if that's what you want, go ahead."

So I did.

It's not a dream machine (which would come from Husqvarna Viking, Bernina, or Pfaff, AND cost nearly as much as a used car), but it's a decent basic sewing machine, all mechanical, no electronics, made by Necchi, and should serve me well for the limited amount of sewing I do these days. It will probably last about as long as that workhorse Kenmore.

Yesterday, I watched In Cold Blood, with Scott Wilson, Robert Blake, and John Forsythe. It was more than a little weird watching this film knowing that some 40 years later, Blake was convicted of murdering his wife. Still, it's a beautiful movie: the black & white cinematography, the perfectly composed shots, the chilling musical contrast between the harsh experimental jazz in scenes featuring the killers and the gentle orchestral pieces in scenes of their victims. The book has been sitting on Mt. TBR for a while now. I'll read it soon, I think.

This morning I saw Bringing Out the Dead, with Nicolas Cage, Patricia Arquette, and Ving Rhames. Not nearly as impressed with this feature. It wasn't awful but if, as I suspect, director Martin Scorsese was going for Taxi Driver in an ambulance, he missed the mark. But it served to interest me in reading Joe Connelly's novel.

Plans for the rest of the day include turning in these discs at Blockbuster and coming home with something new, some light grocery shopping, and a load or two of laundry. And the first items on that list require going out in public, so I guess I ought to get dressed.