I'm only here a little bit when I remember anyway, so this probably won't be big news to you. I'll be closing down all my livejournals (I have lots of older, dormant journals). As soon as I can figure a way to archive the meaningful stuff for myself, I'll do that and then permanently delete everything.

No, don't tell me about LJArchive - I know of it, I have it, I've used it. I want something more reliably permanent, like PDF files. I have no patience for systems that require their own special software.

Why, you ask?  Server move to Russia, I reply.

I'm not leaving the internet though, that'd be silly.  If you would like to friend up with me in other places, here's where I am.  And no, I'm not in Twitter. I deleted those accounts earlier this week. Why, you ask? No return on my time investment, and Trump, I reply.

Expect a blank space where this journal used to be in a week or two!

Foodie:  BBQ Girl


Been binging this weekend on Julia and Jacques Cooking At Home (On Amazon at no additional cost for Prime members right now). It's adorable. I love them both dearly (and much of my cooking style is Jacques fault), but it's the little moments in this series that make it SUCH FUN. Just finished the turkey episode, and damn if Julia didn't admonish us all to not overlook the giblets (remember the vintage SNL skit?) She's never yet turned down a glass of wine, took a vicious stab at American vermouth, and scolds Jacque for firing up a flambe while holding the bottle over the pan, because the flames may shoot up the bottle, make it explode and then you will be BLIND. She's awesome.

I haven't seen this episode yet but can't wait to see Julia brandishing a gun.

Vintage gorgeous

I took an intergalactic cruise in my office, to quote Douglas Adams

Miss me?

I sorta kinda lost my little mind on November 8th and crawled under a rock. After a few days of wondering what planet I'd been flung to, i canceled out on the family Thanksgiving (And yes, they are probably all still mad at me) and took an 11 day vacation.

I'm back amongst society now, such as it is. While I was hiding, I completed a Nanowrimo project (yay winner, is me.)  It's a private project, fitting since I was feeling very private, writing my memories from the hazy days of toddlerhood up to age 18. It was quite a revealing journey, as memories begat more memories and i crawled around in the old pipelines in my brain.

So anyway... that all happened.
Vintage Girl Pirate

Slowest Blood Moon Ever

Who remembers when I was a background extra for a local horror film three years ago? It's finally premiering! Betcha I have about 1.0003 seconds in it, if that! But it did get me my IMDB cred. And I had SO MUCH FUN during the filming. And learned a lot about making magic out of nothing.

PS: I am Extra Not Appearing In This Trailer

Vintage gorgeous

Now I Can Breathe

After an energetic, often loud, mostly fun but kinda taxing week (so much interaction can be draining for an introvert), I'm enjoying a day of editing the last 90 pages of a sci-fi novel (editor-for-hire, not my own book) and looking forward to baking some brownies and drafting up an outline for this year's NaNoWriMo project. All quietly, and alone. Bliss!
Vintage two women reading

Field Guide to the End of the World (A Book Review)

This seems to be my month for reading new-old books. “S” by Doug Dorst and J.J. Abrams looks precisely like a 1949 well-worn library book and is filled with… well we don’t have time for that now. I’m setting it aside for the time being in favor of a new old favorite.

The end of the world is coming—ack, it’s here, and Jeannine Hall Gailey wants to help us find our way, via what looks to be a well-worn atomic age textbooky field guide.

Field Guide To The End Of The World Cover Art
Poet Jeannine Hall GaileyField Guide to the End of the World is Ms. Gailey’s fifth poetry book. I have read The Robot Scientist’s Daughter, and thought I knew what I was getting into with her newest (oldest?) book. Ah, but while there are similarities, the author has let her playful side out to romp through the debris of our final days.

The book sorts poems into groupings, which is nice for slipping into a frame of mind and lingering there a while. My favorite section, and I am pretty sure many readers will agree with this, is “Cultural Anthropology”.  It’s a bit like reading the literary version of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, while watching the Food Channel on the side and sneaking peeks over to Netflix. The name that pops out of the poetry listings immediately, is, of course, Wile E. Coyote (super genius), who’s been living in a post-apocalypse world since most of us wore footed jammies. Who better to enlist than this ill-fed quasi-predator to be one of the guides on our journey? As it turns out, that guide is as lost as the rest of us, but we can take comfort in wandering in circles together.

My personal favorite is “Letter to John Cusack, Piloting a Plane in an Apocalypse Movie”. Take some time to linger on each phrase, and remember. As the saying goes, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it will become a part of you. Actually, it already was, you just needed open eyes to see it.

But I didn’t simply hunker down (though hunkering down during the end days certainly has its merit) in the ‘funny’ chapter.  Emotionally, I am still returning often to the “End Times Eschatology” chapter to re-read and re-experience how the end of the world will feel for others. The practical ones, the romantics, the selfless and the selfish, the god-fearers, mistake makers, job hunters. As humanity shares a singular ultimate fate, we approach it from so many diverse roads. There are as many ways to face the end as there are quirks and differences between one person and the next.

I highly recommend you take a field guide with you on your own personal journey.  Buy your beat-up old-new copy at or theUniversity of Arkansas Press.

Learn more about Jeannine Hall Gailey and her poetry at her website

Foodie:  BBQ Girl

Decompressing Weekend Cooking

First rise underway. In my sense of priorities, I decided on chewy, crusty baguettes BEFORE figuring out the rest of the dinner menu. I still have no clue what's for dinner, but we shall have lovely baguettes with it, by cog.

The workweek was ten hour days spent working at 300 miles an hour. We're doing good things, but we are all so tired now. September at a very large university is like that.  And so I cook, and read good books this weekend.
Vintage gorgeous

Mandatory Memories Of The Day

On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I was going about the routine business of balancing fund ledgers at my desk at Michigan State University. After a while, I started hearing confusing conversations in our reception area, not far from my desk. "Some private plane crashed in New York City." "One of the World Trade towers caught on fire." It was a muddle, and I was confused. We had a television in our executive conference room, and someone thought to go turn it on. When I wandered over and peered in, I got my first notion of what hell looked like. Back at my desk, my phone was ringing off the hook. Ken Holuta was calling. I turned into a whirlwind of confusion, listening to him talking about what was happening, wanting to run back to the conference room and see it, but scared to go see it, and simply talked with Ken until the towers fell. Can't recall how it went after that, but when we hung up, I crept towards the conference room, already crying. Totally scared to see what it looked like. And they were running the fall of the towers, over and over and over and it was AWFUL.

Then I heard that all air traffic was grounded. I needed to get out of that conference room, so left the building to go walk in the garden. Everything felt surreal. I looked up at clear blue skies, and marveled at the weird fact that I wouldn't see any planes heading for the Lansing airport. A few students wandered out too, trying to get some fresh air and find answers. We didn't have any. But we stayed close together, not talking, because who had the words?

I still sit at that same desk at MSU, and every September 11th I go out to the garden and look at the sky. And feel awful. I can't even imagine how those who served us to save and protect victims feel on this day. Or those who lost family and friends. I can't. What I CAN do is assure them that I will never, ever forget. And I don't think I'll lose that strange prickly-creepy feeling I get when I look to the skies on every September 11th.