Chicky Game of Thrones

 

I've been marathoning Game of Thrones and man, what a great variety of female characters.

When we talk about the representation of women in entertainment, we're not saying that women have to be represented in a positive way. This is the end goal: Characters as numerous and varied as the male ones. A scheming-s'mothering queen, a plucky-vengeful girl, an ugly supa skilled knight, a victimised princess, a good but tough wannabe queen, a couple kind ex-prostitutes, and so on.

It's not like most shows with a couple token chicks; there's almost as many featured women as men. Martin doesn't fall back on the excuse that when portraying war you're going to have mostly male characters cause they were the fighters and ones in power (in the medieval times most fantasy is set in). He shows all the different ways women were involved in power politics and daily survival.

I'm not recommending the show to just anyone, cause it's grim stuff. Very gorey, graphic sex scenes, rape and so on. But it's definitely one of the best shows I've ever seen in terms of representations of women.

Less so on other fronts--there's this whole storyline of blonde woman as savior of people of color that's only unobnoxious because the chick is so cool. And it isn't a hotbed of LGBT-a-tude. But I feel like finally FINALLY we're getting somewhere. (Plus the sexiest, coolest man in the series is a little person, so that's gotta count for something!)

 

 

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The singer in the club

I love songs set in clubs. Check out this new single, it's amazing.



Some Club Singer videos from the 80s, that made me love the songs:

Smooth Operator - Sade


Digging Your Scene - The Blow Monkeys


Would I Lie to You - Eurythmics (When I was 15 I thought Annie was The Shit.)

Hide your crazy

The song JJJ's into lately. Country does break ups real well.

Where the Hell is My

Stepmommy and I are trapped in a POW camp.

We're still camped out in a house we haven't finished moving into. Most of our things are still in a moving fan, as storage, while the house is renovated. Their RV is parked outside and my dad mostly lives there, but it's not really practical for two to sleep in. Like... climbing over the other person in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom? So my dad is snug as a bug in a rug--he loves being cozied up in there--while we rough it.

Roughing it with small appliances, of course. But our stuff is in piles on the floor (same stuff we'd brought to the chalet plus purchases for my place)

 

and we have one piece of furniture--my futon sofa. Sometimes I sleep on it, but it's our only communal space, it's where the bird penthouses are, and half our kitcheny things. (Note, the futon's previous owners clearly only used it as a sofa, so when I lay it flat, there's a giant mountain range diwn the middle. You have to choose which side of the range to sleep on.)

So other times, like if I want to sleep in, I sleep on a pile of camping mattresses in the next room (my suite).

But it's where the sink and fridge are, so even then she still needs to access it.

 

Meanwhile she's sleeping on an inflatable bed, which has to be regularly pumped up--having already been through one (two?) that died. (My stepmother is like a size 6.)

Both our beds are super uncomfortable, we wake up feeling like 80 year old women. Unhealthy 80 year old women. And we say "where is my..." so many times each day--spend so much time searching through our piles of crap--that we're bored with ourselves. Every few days we reach a breaking point. Too tired, too sore, too discouraged to do our part in the renovations.

There are hired hands doing the painting and floors and kitchen and garden and bathroom; but stepmommy had to paint her crusty old fireplace, manage the workers, and she's always cleaning up; and my suite needed de-wallpapering, degluing, bookcase painted, kitchen cabinets painted, and the new beadboard has to be painted.

My poor dad wanders in once in awhile, right into the firing line of our breakdowns. He tries to fix things, but there's nothing he can come up with that we haven't already tried or discussed and rejected. He has prostate cancer--don't think I've mentioned that yet?--so he's tired. He's doing a bunch of things to just work on his immune system for now, but whether it's the illness, or the meds, or the protocol etc whatever, he's even more tired than we are.

We hit another crash this morning, but seem to have rebounded. 8 more days til our stuff arrives. Hopefully that's enough motivation to get moving again. All I've done for two days is watch back to back Mad Men. (Besides my job, of course. Which involves being on my feet all day and schlepping furniture.)

So that's us. Not badly off, but sleep depraved.

...It'll be darn cute when done. Let's try to remember that.

...In other news, Philea's new word is garbage.

 

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This is me in grade 9, baby

Apparently I've been opinionated about my clothes since I was a wee thing. I know that from grade 6 onwards what I wore was very important to me, and I tried not to let my peers influence me.

I'd love to find you more pics of my high school styyyyle, but my photo albums are in Montreal, and my parents' are packed and deep deep DEEPly buried in storage. But I copied these ones from Swiss Girl's collection...

Grade 7--cropped hair with a rat tail; paisley scarf; gray blouse; turquoise capris. Looking back, I appear très new wave.


Grade 8? You see Prince is still on my locker. (That's Delyriam, who was later my roommate, later my brother's ex-wife.) And my friends and I kept a shared locked just for our dictionaries cause the schools made you buy Le Petit Larousse, about the size and heft of a Christmas fruitcake.


 

And with Swiss Girl who has crimped hair and probably her French Fry earrings. I am wearing a thin jersey sun dress with a loose print blouse, probably a hip belt, and chunky necklace/earrings to match. (I remember clothes better than I remember my life.) Hair still longer on one side, and permed. 

 

Grade 8 or 9, judging by my hair. This was a great outfit. Navy blouse, print wrap skirt, navy sash, perfectly matched multicolored leather sandals, and a big bag. I'd wear this today (if my hips could still pull it off...)

 

Picture on the right is older than the one on the left. The outfit on the right was a knee length, shiny coral blouse with an interesting print, with a long blue corduroy jacket and large navy stones in the ears, and a coral necklace.  On the left is a military jacket, I think my grandfather's (if not, then from a thrift store.) It was sharp, I tell you. Clearly a good year separates these, though my hair does grow fast. In grade 9 a bitch cut off my tail which might be why I abandoned the do.

 

Grade 10. I remember cause I noticed that suddenly people stopped making fun of how I dressed. Like, they all matured over the summer. That was it! I'd crossed the three year gauntlet and enjoyed fashion freedom from that grade onward. And became the one thing I dreamed of: Someone of whom other people say "She's so lucky, she can wear anything." 

This is another sleeveless jersey sun dress of taupe with black dots; a lighter dotted taupe shirt over it; a fake ivory elephant necklace, I think pearl clip ons, and my fingerless gloves (thrift store--chopped off the tips cause my fingers were too long.)

There's a smile drawn on my hand. Must be grade 11 when I had my teeth wired shut after a jaw operation. Just a t-shirt here, though a very cute one.

Sigh. I'm very proud of who I was as a teenager. Sadly working in retail slowly eroded my wardrobe. Man I hate dress codes. At my current job it's much more liberal, but I never know which department I'll be in, so jeans/slacks prevail. Don't want to step on my own skirt when hefting a sofa.

But I have begun to replenish my Weirdness Wardrobe. I have an amazing caftan that my co-worker was all "Don't buy it! What are you doing?!" (I told her I looked like a goddess in it.) And my cow coat which I didn't get fixed up in time to wear in the winter. And a satin robe. I haven't worn them anywhere yet... but it feels right just having them.

*****
BONUS MATERIAL: The "Grade 9" song by the Barenaked Ladies. (My humongous binder was turquoise.)

   

Review of Anna Cowan's Untamed (with some bla bla thrown in)

I see Regency-period romances in three sub-genres: (1) Jane Austen: No sex, realistic-ish, all about character and emotion and manners, and not much in the way of crazy! plots! twists! (Eg Edenbrooke)  (2) Georgette Heyer: No sex, funny. (Jude Morgan, almost.) And (3) historical romances set in the Regency period that break Regency conventions left, right and center, have insane premises, and sex scenes to the point of boredom.

As you can guess, the latter category is my least favorite. I have enjoyed many books--there are authors like Loretta Chase who are Category 3, but channeling Heyer. They're light hearted and funny. But the focus on sex throws me out of the story, because it's hard to imagine this many unmarried Regency ladies running around bonking, with no consequences. Downton Abbey does a good job of showing how serious that would be.

What Heyer did was invent a Regency England so complete and detailed, she was the Tolkien of romance novels. Most historical Regencies originate with her. So reading an historical that's all about the ton and Almack's and planting a facer, but where the heroine's getting screwed every night... it's like reading Tolkien fan fiction.

So tonight I feel like I've finally read a Category 3 romance that worked for me--Anna Cowan's Untamed. I'll try to distill what I loved:

* The sexual politics: The hero cross-dresses and is bisexual; there's a gay side couple; there's a role reversal in terms of the masculinity and femininity of the hero and heroine. There are some good critiques of this, and she may have not got it quite right, but since I'd like to see the conventions of the genre widened, I'm all for anyone doing the stretching. Regencies are so much about white rich straight unambiguously gendered people, I just want to see more variety. Maybe ebooks will help this along.

* She used the sex scenes to build tension, rather than letting it deflate 1/3rd into the book.

* I am so sick of Alpha heroes with Dark Pasts, because they all come out the same. The hero in Untamed is also gorgeous and broken, but in vulnerable and interesting ways. He's a bit sick. He felt like a real person. Like taking an Evanescence song and injecting it with Adele.

* This is a très intense romance, with everything deeply and violently felt. Which isn't what I always want to read, but again, it was just done well. Cowan writes poetically, without going purple. One reviewer called it a "literary romance." True, all the characters seem to turn their emotions up to 11 (as another reviewer said) but Cowan made me willing to buy in.

It didn't feel like a sham of Heyer's world, it felt like Cowan's. One where people are a bit more sexually open-minded, and where everyone Feels Things Deeply. Like an Alan Moore graphic novel. Violent and passionate. I enjoyed spending time in it.

* And as always, I loved the characters. That trumps everything else, always, for me.

I'll leave it at that. But if you like your romances serious and intense, this one fits the bill big time.
  
___

I will confess one problem I had. If you ask me to picture a modern day man dressed as a woman, who's sexy and attractive,I can do so easily--we have lots of examples. But whenever I tried to picture the hero going around pretending to be a woman, the ladies of Little Britain leapt unbidden into my mind:

Feet fail me not

Does anyone else use Eminem's "Lose Yourself" to pump themselves up? Not to mention it's excellent song writing. Every time I listen to it I'm awed by his talent--the vulnerability, the similes/metaphors, the rhymes, the flow, and the driving beat to match the narrator's drive.  I love the whole third verse. "Tear this motherfucking roof off like two dogs caged..." ...Maybe it's just cause "motherfucker" is my favorite swear word.



Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted. one moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
Yo

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs,
But he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down,
The whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
He's choking how, everybody's joking now
The clock's run out, time's up, over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked
He's so mad, but he won't give up that
Easy, no
He won't have it, he knows his whole back's to these ropes
It don't matter, he's dope
He knows that but he's broke
He's so stagnant, he knows
When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
Back to the lab again, yo
This whole rhapsody
He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him

[Hook:]
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
(You better)

The soul's escaping, through this hole that is gaping
This world is mine for the taking
Make me king, as we move toward a new world order
A normal life is boring, but superstardom's close to post mortem
It only grows harder, homie grows hotter
He blows. It's all over. These hoes is all on him
Coast to coast shows, he's known as the globetrotter
Lonely roads, God only knows
He's grown farther from home, he's no father
He goes home and barely knows his own daughter
But hold your nose 'cause here goes the cold water
His hoes don't want him no more, he's cold product
They moved on to the next schmoe who flows
He nose dove and sold nada
So the soap opera is told and unfolds
I suppose it's old partner but the beat goes on
Da da dum da dum da da

[Hook]

No more games, I'ma change what you call rage
Tear this motherfucking roof off like two dogs caged
I was playing in the beginning, the mood all changed
I've been chewed up and spit out and booed off stage
But I kept rhyming and stepped right into the next cypher
Best believe somebody's paying the pied piper
All the pain inside amplified by the fact
That I can't get by with my 9 to 5
And I can't provide the right type of life for my family
Cause man, these goddamn food stamps don't buy diapers
And it's no movie, there's no Mekhi Phifer, this is my life
And these times are so hard, and it's getting even harder
Trying to feed and water my seed, plus
Teeter totter caught up between being a father and a prima donna
Baby mama drama's screaming on and
Too much for me to wanna
Stay in one spot, another day of monotony
Has gotten me to the point, I'm like a snail
I've got to formulate a plot or I end up in jail or shot
Success is my only motherfucking option, failure's not
Mom, I love you, but this trailer's got to go
I cannot grow old in Salem's lot
So here I go it's my shot.
Feet fail me not, this may be the only opportunity that I got

[Hook]

You can do anything you set your mind to, man

Is green eyeshadow back?

(Let's hope so.)

Finally back to a wifi zone where I can download music. One of my current faves:

(live)

Why are romance writers getting screwed?

As I've said before, my favorite writing podcast is Writing Excuses. It's 15 minutes, it's once a week, and is hosted by four really funny, interesting writers. (And they don't believe in hard and fast rules that they harp on over and over like "no prologues!")*

Two of them were schooled by the successful science fiction author David Farland and they praise him all the time as a great teacher. So I signed up for his "Kick in the Pants" email.

The June 14th email said this:

What fields would I choose to go Indie for? Well, romance for one. A couple of years ago, I met a woman at a convention who told me that she had a romance novel that had won some writing contests, but the publishers felt that it couldn’t sell because it was set in the “wrong era.” I suggested that she self-publish, and she took it to heart. A year later she came and thanked me, saying, “I’ve made $5000 a month on that novel ever since it came out, and I’m getting ready to publish three more this year.”

Now, not everyone will have that experience, but advances for romance novels are often so low that she has probably made more money on that one book than she ever would have if she had gone with a traditional publisher. Over and over again, I see these kinds of results from self-published romance writers.

Here's the thing. For awhile now I've been getting the impression that the genre where writers are most taken advantage of, given the lowest advances and so forth, is romance. Which is largely written by women. And Farland's email kinda confirms that.

We know that in most professions where women dominate (service, teaching, nursing) the pay is crap. But how did this happen to us in fiction?! Did we get screwed again?

_____
* Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot from listening to the entire back catalog of Storywonk. But man... prologs are not the biggest problem in literature.
   

The Cat in Proxy

Sitting on the lawn with my proxy cat.

 

The neighbors to the left of the fence have a yappy little dog.

To the right are two cats. (Don't yet know what's behind the actual fence!)

 

The black and white one is a year old and loooves attention. She'd come in, if we let her. Whenever I come outside I look for her, and give her a big long pet. She looks a bit like Oliver.

 

Tonight I was upstairs and saw her cutting through the yard, so I made a mad dash for the door, and my step-mother said "I bet I know what she saaaw." And now we're sitting out here, playing around. Nowyou know what happens to your cat when she's away for hours. She's keeping the catless cat lady company.

See her little Hitler moustaches? Or Charlie Chaplin if you prefer.

 

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Knife love

Hey ho there... not much going on right now. I finished painting my cupboards, and I've been shopping for some things I haven't been able / wanted to buy second hand.

I got this lamp from Target:

And I did the unthinkable--I bought something new that I already had second hand! Months ago I bought a pack of never opened brightly colored steak knives; but today I was at Home Sense and saw these...



I'm so in love with them I may sleep with them under my pillow. It's the combination of sleek shape, beautiful pastels, and the horsefly (or bee--Laguiole tradition holds it could be either).





I also tried to find a pretty dish drainer, and cutting board, but nothing did it for me. I finally tried googling DIY solutions and found this!



What a great idea! I'm going to explore it. I have a big space over my sink.

I've also been collecting the pieces necessary to make one of these:



My suitcase looks like this:

So as you see, it's all about decor and DIY and shopping. Nothing too exciting. Well, not to anyone else, at all rates. Exciting for me.