The city absolutely needs to leave these:
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Steampunk meets Victorian London high society
Soulless by Gail CarrigerMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Alexia Tarabotti is one of the rare prenatural; born without a Soul. This serves her two functions; one is that she can nullify any supernatural being's abilities. The other is that she is a no nonsense, insatiably curious, intelligent, strong headed young women living in 19th century London when women have a very particularly role to play. Compounding to all this is her Italian heritage which makes her independent streak even stronger while giving her unconventional beauty perhaps a bit too sharp the time period.
In an alternative London much akin to a steampunk Victorian world, Vampires, Werewolves, and Ghost not only freely walk among humans but have been integrated into London's society and politics. Soulless focuses on Alexia Tarabotti's adventures of becoming entangled in an interesting struggle between the supernaturals, humans and those who are not so happy with the supernatural societal integration. Oh and we can't forget the werewolf romance!
I picked up this book on a lark. I'm hungry to read and it seemed to have an interesting premise. I wanted so hard to NOT like this book once I started reading it. The author's metaphors need work. Describing a dying vampire as "overcooked asparagus" was a bit much for my tastes. I'm also not one to like romance (spelled out in great detail) in my books. This book has the many moments of cheesy romance which at first seemed far to forced to have any hint of believability. Of course, my own personal reading taste has me staying as far away from cheesy romance as possible so it might strike such distaste with other readers.
Despite this I found myself deeply and immensely enjoying this book and the story within. Once I got past the first few chapters I couldn't put the book down. I found myself intrigued and interested in the life of Alex Tarabotti and those around her. I finished this book while on a research trip to Vegas and had to pick up the second one Changeless while there.
I'm looking forward to many more adventures of The Parasol Protectorate.
View all my reviews >>
Monday, August 2, 2010
Confessions of an Ethnographer part 3- Flying...it sucks
You would think that if you pick a career that requires world travel that you would like the main mode of travel to get you anywhere. I speak of course of flying.
When I think of flying I can only think about this:
This is of course an image from Lost and is no way real.
However, that's all I can think about. Planes to me are big metal boxes of doom. Every time it bumps or rocks or shakes I instantly panic and think we're falling out of the sky. I had one flight were I dug my nails into my arms to keep calm. I came off the plane with bloody arms and some nice welts.
As you can see, it really takes the enjoyment out of having to go somewhere when I have to fly. I've cancelled trips last minute because I just couldn't bring myself to get on a plane. My fear of flying is massively intense. If we were meant to fly, we'd have wings. Really...
I'm not so bad anymore. I used to cry for weeks prior to having to get on a plane. Now, I'm down to the night or so before.
I attribute my fear of flying to a few things:
1. My first flight ever was to Japan. I don't do things small. Nope, for me they have to be on a grand scale and flying 14 hours when I've never flown before was a really dumb idea. Of course, had I flown and known how terrified I'd be, I might have never actually gone to Japan. Not only did I go but I made that horrific flight to and from Japan twice. The first time I flew I was going over for an intensive Japanese language summer program. We all went as a group and while everyone ran around having fun I sat in my chair wanting to die.
2. This brings me to point number two. Not only was I afraid on that first flight but I was REALLY sick. I get horrible motion sickness on planes. I know now to take something for it but I had no idea the first time I flew and suffered every horrible minute of the 14 hour flight. My fellow university students kept bouncing around the plane (these were the days before you had to stay seated and belted at all times) and tried to get me to join in. I wanted nothing but for them to leave me alone. They thought I was a stuck up bitch. That stigma never quite went away... it's hard to explain to someone that you feel like your brain is going to explode and your stomach turn inside our from nausea and a headache.
3. I'm claustrophobic and being on a plane heightens my anxiety and fear of being trapped. I'm okay until they close the door and then I start breathing fast. I'm trapped. I can't get out. I'm in it for the long haul. What is something goes wrong and I need medical attention? What if I just need some fresh air? I have no choice at that point. I'm stuck for the duration. I find some solace in sitting in an aisle. If I have to use the restroom I can easily get out. However, I'm flying out for a trip on Wednesday and booked my trip late. Yup, I got a window seat for both legs of my trip. I can feel my heart beating faster already. Even in a movie theater or when I was in college I had to sit by the door at the end of the aisle. I may never need to get up or to leave, but the comfort of knowing I can always relaxed me. No go on an airplane, at all, and especially a no go when I'm by a window seat.
4. I'm not in control. Yes...okay...so I have some control issues. I make a horrible passenger in the car...just ask my husband. On a plane, not only do I have zero control but I have zero idea of what's even going on. It doesn't sit well with me.
When I fly I can't eat. It sucks for short term flights too and from somewhere. It typically means no eating for an entire day. Luckily my upcoming trip is 4 days.
So... what's a gal to do? I hate flying. Love traveling. I love research. I love going new places. The "loves" far out weight the hate (although it's a really, really strong hatred). So, I fly. I swallow the terror I have and get on the big metal box of doom. I know all the statistics about how flying is safer than driving and what not, but that doesn't help. It's what folks call an "irrational fear". It doesn't make it any less real to me.
Funny how these things work out. It's kinda like someone decides to become an expert in spiders but finds out that close up spiders scare the shit out of them (well...okay, not quiet the same but close in my world). I kinda thought that the more I flew the more I'd get used to it. Nope. Nadda. Not happening. I'll probably always be terrified. I guess that's the price I pay for doing what I do.
Oh. And if you're even a tiny bit afraid of flying, it's never a good idea to look at pictures of plane crashes for your blog a few days before you're going to fly. Not one of my brighter moments... /sigh
When I think of flying I can only think about this:
This is of course an image from Lost and is no way real.
However, that's all I can think about. Planes to me are big metal boxes of doom. Every time it bumps or rocks or shakes I instantly panic and think we're falling out of the sky. I had one flight were I dug my nails into my arms to keep calm. I came off the plane with bloody arms and some nice welts.
As you can see, it really takes the enjoyment out of having to go somewhere when I have to fly. I've cancelled trips last minute because I just couldn't bring myself to get on a plane. My fear of flying is massively intense. If we were meant to fly, we'd have wings. Really...
I'm not so bad anymore. I used to cry for weeks prior to having to get on a plane. Now, I'm down to the night or so before.
I attribute my fear of flying to a few things:
1. My first flight ever was to Japan. I don't do things small. Nope, for me they have to be on a grand scale and flying 14 hours when I've never flown before was a really dumb idea. Of course, had I flown and known how terrified I'd be, I might have never actually gone to Japan. Not only did I go but I made that horrific flight to and from Japan twice. The first time I flew I was going over for an intensive Japanese language summer program. We all went as a group and while everyone ran around having fun I sat in my chair wanting to die.
2. This brings me to point number two. Not only was I afraid on that first flight but I was REALLY sick. I get horrible motion sickness on planes. I know now to take something for it but I had no idea the first time I flew and suffered every horrible minute of the 14 hour flight. My fellow university students kept bouncing around the plane (these were the days before you had to stay seated and belted at all times) and tried to get me to join in. I wanted nothing but for them to leave me alone. They thought I was a stuck up bitch. That stigma never quite went away... it's hard to explain to someone that you feel like your brain is going to explode and your stomach turn inside our from nausea and a headache.
3. I'm claustrophobic and being on a plane heightens my anxiety and fear of being trapped. I'm okay until they close the door and then I start breathing fast. I'm trapped. I can't get out. I'm in it for the long haul. What is something goes wrong and I need medical attention? What if I just need some fresh air? I have no choice at that point. I'm stuck for the duration. I find some solace in sitting in an aisle. If I have to use the restroom I can easily get out. However, I'm flying out for a trip on Wednesday and booked my trip late. Yup, I got a window seat for both legs of my trip. I can feel my heart beating faster already. Even in a movie theater or when I was in college I had to sit by the door at the end of the aisle. I may never need to get up or to leave, but the comfort of knowing I can always relaxed me. No go on an airplane, at all, and especially a no go when I'm by a window seat.
4. I'm not in control. Yes...okay...so I have some control issues. I make a horrible passenger in the car...just ask my husband. On a plane, not only do I have zero control but I have zero idea of what's even going on. It doesn't sit well with me.
When I fly I can't eat. It sucks for short term flights too and from somewhere. It typically means no eating for an entire day. Luckily my upcoming trip is 4 days.
So... what's a gal to do? I hate flying. Love traveling. I love research. I love going new places. The "loves" far out weight the hate (although it's a really, really strong hatred). So, I fly. I swallow the terror I have and get on the big metal box of doom. I know all the statistics about how flying is safer than driving and what not, but that doesn't help. It's what folks call an "irrational fear". It doesn't make it any less real to me.
Funny how these things work out. It's kinda like someone decides to become an expert in spiders but finds out that close up spiders scare the shit out of them (well...okay, not quiet the same but close in my world). I kinda thought that the more I flew the more I'd get used to it. Nope. Nadda. Not happening. I'll probably always be terrified. I guess that's the price I pay for doing what I do.
Oh. And if you're even a tiny bit afraid of flying, it's never a good idea to look at pictures of plane crashes for your blog a few days before you're going to fly. Not one of my brighter moments... /sigh
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Confessions of an Ethnographer part 2- Always a Researcher
There's something to be said about having passion for what you do. It makes getting up in the mornings bearable and sometimes it makes getting up in the mornings a downright joy. Sometimes though that passion overrides everything you do in life. It's not a bad thing; I think it is just another step in the process of becoming very good at what you love to do. After all you can love something but not very good at it. Likewise, you can be very good at something and not love it. Luckily, I fall into the camp of loving what I do and being good at (at least I think I'm good at it and for me that means something).
However, I can't turn off being a researcher. It may not always show but my brain is always whirling with the wonderment of meaning and connections. I have to make a conscious effort to turn it off which I honestly don't do very often. I carry a notebook with me at all times to jot thoughts down because they are many and fleeting. I'm constantly buying notebooks (it's become as much as an obsession and love for research as anything else) knowing I'll eventually fill the blank pages. My biggest problem is that I'm a perfectionist and sometimes I just write stuff on post it notes or scraps of paper so I can organize it perfectly later. That hurts me as I often end of losing those notes. Sometimes it's okay to let go (perfectionism...another topic for another day). If you want to be my best friend, buy me some awesome notebooks and I'll love you for life.
I remember when the movie Silent Hill came out. I went to the theater with a bunch of PhD students in Anthropology to watch it. Not only was it a joy to be at the theater on an opening night with so many friends but also made me downright giddy watching a movie for my all-time favorite video game series. I loved the movie (and series) so much that I bought a prop from the movie; a small thing but it holds so much meaning to me. While I loved the movie, my favorite part of the entire night was as we all stood outside the theater talking. We stepped out into the cool night, an appropriately it was raining. Everyone turned to me and said, "Well, what did you think?" I couldn't help but gush with my thoughts on the movie, the cultural connections to Japanese and American culture and the overall theories I had as it related to larger issues of violence and media. It was the same feeling I had when I went and saw Hostel. The concept of "justified violence" rolled around my head and took hold so strong I thought I would explode. This time though, I wasn't with a group of academics and the party I was with didn't quiet share my enthusiasm or get the constant bubble of brain activity spewing out of my mouth. Such is life and I've learned to deal with it since then by writing, a lot...
I'm not entirely sure how my husband puts up with me. God love him. I talk and talk and talk at him trying to bounce ideas off him or to see if a particular train of thought makes sense. He usually looks at me blankly - he never lies though, he'll tell me that he doesn't understand but it sounds good. I've increasingly become more withdrawn into my brain and research. He'll talk to me and I just don't listen. I've become good at just nodding and agreeing because my brain is 500 miles away from the actual conversation. I need to get grounded though...the research will always be there to focus on. Too bad I don't have a shut-down switch for the research part of my brain. Of course, it's become such an ingrained part of who I am I fear if I shut that down I would completely blink out.
I think I'm beginning to understand how he feels though. The other day he talked to me about his NET+ training and about the difference of iPV4 vs iPV6 and the conversion to hexidecimals. My eyes glazed over and all I could think to say back to him was, "Soooo, basically the internet is run by magical little gnomes that are really good at math." He was miffed at me because he thought I wasn't listening (but I was... I really was). The worst he's done to me is tell me that if I could study video games in anthropology then he could study the culture of dust bunnies. We still jab at each other over dust bunnies and gnomes. I guess this is what happens when you can't ever turn your mind off... you do go stupid sometimes. :)
Image from Deviant Odd13
However, I can't turn off being a researcher. It may not always show but my brain is always whirling with the wonderment of meaning and connections. I have to make a conscious effort to turn it off which I honestly don't do very often. I carry a notebook with me at all times to jot thoughts down because they are many and fleeting. I'm constantly buying notebooks (it's become as much as an obsession and love for research as anything else) knowing I'll eventually fill the blank pages. My biggest problem is that I'm a perfectionist and sometimes I just write stuff on post it notes or scraps of paper so I can organize it perfectly later. That hurts me as I often end of losing those notes. Sometimes it's okay to let go (perfectionism...another topic for another day). If you want to be my best friend, buy me some awesome notebooks and I'll love you for life.
I remember when the movie Silent Hill came out. I went to the theater with a bunch of PhD students in Anthropology to watch it. Not only was it a joy to be at the theater on an opening night with so many friends but also made me downright giddy watching a movie for my all-time favorite video game series. I loved the movie (and series) so much that I bought a prop from the movie; a small thing but it holds so much meaning to me. While I loved the movie, my favorite part of the entire night was as we all stood outside the theater talking. We stepped out into the cool night, an appropriately it was raining. Everyone turned to me and said, "Well, what did you think?" I couldn't help but gush with my thoughts on the movie, the cultural connections to Japanese and American culture and the overall theories I had as it related to larger issues of violence and media. It was the same feeling I had when I went and saw Hostel. The concept of "justified violence" rolled around my head and took hold so strong I thought I would explode. This time though, I wasn't with a group of academics and the party I was with didn't quiet share my enthusiasm or get the constant bubble of brain activity spewing out of my mouth. Such is life and I've learned to deal with it since then by writing, a lot...
I'm not entirely sure how my husband puts up with me. God love him. I talk and talk and talk at him trying to bounce ideas off him or to see if a particular train of thought makes sense. He usually looks at me blankly - he never lies though, he'll tell me that he doesn't understand but it sounds good. I've increasingly become more withdrawn into my brain and research. He'll talk to me and I just don't listen. I've become good at just nodding and agreeing because my brain is 500 miles away from the actual conversation. I need to get grounded though...the research will always be there to focus on. Too bad I don't have a shut-down switch for the research part of my brain. Of course, it's become such an ingrained part of who I am I fear if I shut that down I would completely blink out.
I think I'm beginning to understand how he feels though. The other day he talked to me about his NET+ training and about the difference of iPV4 vs iPV6 and the conversion to hexidecimals. My eyes glazed over and all I could think to say back to him was, "Soooo, basically the internet is run by magical little gnomes that are really good at math." He was miffed at me because he thought I wasn't listening (but I was... I really was). The worst he's done to me is tell me that if I could study video games in anthropology then he could study the culture of dust bunnies. We still jab at each other over dust bunnies and gnomes. I guess this is what happens when you can't ever turn your mind off... you do go stupid sometimes. :)
Image from Deviant Odd13
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