juushika

I went down to Corvallis over Christmas (Dee decided to go up to see her family immediately after Christmas, so it was lovely no-stress scheduling), and it was okay, I guess. Every few Christmases, the holiday comes during a depressive episode and I just want to wish the whole thing away because I lack the spirit to begin with and all the holiday responsibilities and events serve to exacerbate my mental state; at least once I've effectively defaulted on Christmas, even failing to buy gifts. This would have been one of those years, there but for the grace of Devon—he saw it coming, and so he researched wishlists and gifts and made it stupidly easy for me to pick presents for others. And everyone loved them! and that surprised me. Buying for my family is hard; my parents have a lot of art in the house and I've had good luck getting new pieces for their collection, but that grows predictable year after year; my sister and I have radically different tastes, and I never know what on her wishlist reads as "something you actually really want but may still have sentimental value." Considering where I started, with a deep unwillingness to do anything and an utter dearth of Christmas spirit, coming out the other side having given successful gifts feels awesome.

( Christmas gifts given. )

( Christmas gifts received. )

As always, I record this stuff because my memory is horrible and they're things I don't want to forget.

My father's birthday was December 21st, so we did a family dinner in and a family dinner out, and I went to the house to decorate the family tree, and then decorated Devon's grandparents's tree; Christmas Eve was blessedly quiet, but I went to both Devon's grandparents's family Christmas (a dozen people were there) and had traditional Christmas homemade pizza dinner with my family; Devon and I drove up to Portland on boxing day so that he could transport and set up the new monitor and Dee could leave to see her family the next day. In other words: exhausted, utterly exhausted, and while there were highlights and the homemade pizza continues to be the best pizza, I am mostly just exhausted. And exhausted.

But the days have been silver gray and heavily fogged; skeleton trees against cashmere skies; cold weather, scarf and overcoat weather, hot coffee weather; distinctly winter.

Devon came up a few days before Christmas. Dee and Odi were out of town, with her family up in Washington (honestly an awesome mini-gift to an incredible introvert like me); Devon brought with him a van full of things: 1) A TV to replace the living room TV; it's bigger and has a better screen, and Halo 4 thanks me. Devon just replaced his TV with one that's better suited to function as a monitor, so his castoff is my gain. 2) A new harddrive for the PS3, which had a near-unusable 40 gig drive; it's now 120, so there's breathing room for games. This one is explicitly a gift for Dee, because the PS3 is her primary console; now every install won't require an equal and opposite uninstall. 3) One of the big black bookshelves which was in his room, so the books that were in the corner of my room piled to near my height (the last of my books in storage in Devon's parents's garage) are now instead crowding a bookshelf. I also sorted more of my boxes-that-needed-sorting while he was here, and my room—while not perfect—now feels remarkably less crowded and much more me, bless.

Awaiting Devon when he got here was 4) My new computer case, a SilverStone Fortress in titanium. I've had my old case for about a decade, and while the guts are up to date the case was old and dented and ugly and had small and exceedingly noisy fans; this one is tall and clean and quiet. Also 5) A new keyboard to (finally) replace the one that August broke.

August used to love to sit on my old computer tower; the new one has vertical ventilation, so the entire top is a vent and can't have a cat butt upon it. Because she is my cat, August has shown zero interest in sitting on the new tower; I have, instead, found her on the new bookcase at two in the morning, walking on top of a row of mass-market paperbacks and occasionally, intentionally, knocking one of them to the ground.

These were a lot of big things, not surprises (I need some of my gifts to be surprises in order for me to get into a holiday spirit, but my Hanukkah gift was so that was sorted), but sorely needed. Everything they replace met a bare minimum of functionality, but the bare minimum was not horribly satisfying.

Also awaiting Devon was his Christmas gift, Beats Pro in black. Not a surprise (his gifts rarely are, as it's his money that buys them p.s. wouldn't you love to have me as a partner), but he likes them. They sound awesome.

Dee came back early on the 26th; my family came up for an early dinner and more gifts that evening; Devon left that night. My sister gave me a beautiful burnt orange knit throw which I am pleased to claim as For Personal Use Only (No Cats Allowed), which is nice because August has coopted every other soft thing in the entire house); my parents gave me a number of indulgent consumables and some baking supplies and significant monies. My mother's parents sent me The Dark Wife and Moonwise, both of which I'm happy to have but never expected to get—normally people read the blurbs of my wishlist books and go nope, too weird, not buying; one of these is a lesbian Greek myth retelling so guesses are Grandpa didn't read any blurbs at all but you know, I will take it. And from Dee, alongside the fingerless gloves for Hannukah: my favorite socks in three new colors yaaaay, a copy of The Night Circus which I shall immediately lend to her, and a number of new cat toys, immediately coopted by Gillian.

A good holiday all in all—busier than I like, but a quiet New Year's will balance it out. I know all of this is about material goods, but that's partially for my records and also because I am deeply material in the sense that I love stuff, I love stuff I want and love, which makes my living space usable and comfortable; I rarely if ever buy stuff, so gifts are why I have socks I want to wear and a computer I want to use. Devon likes to give gifts, not receive them, and that's a totally valid approach; I had a fantastic run of gifts-given this year, but at my heart I am a recipient, and gifts to me mean love and holidays and family. And this year, I had all of that.

Last weekend was fantastic and hugely busy. On Saturday, Dee and I made a day trip down to Corvallis. We brought Odi to board the day in grandparents's outdoor dog kennel, and went with Devon and my family (parents and sister) to the Fall Festival, an outdoor fair of local artists. I usually go just with my father, or sometimes with my sister as well; having such a large group was a bit like herding cats (oh, the yelled cell phone conversations), but it was also lovely. The weather held at mostly sunny but not hot, my parents bought some metal work for the garden, and I got to show off one of my favorite artists, Cameron Kaseberg. When we were done with the booths, we split up and Devon, Dee, and I went across the street to the library book sale, where everything was half price for the end of the day; I am absolutely drowning in books over here, but I still managed to find Dracula, some Atwood and Woolf, and a Southern Gothic novel of questionable potential for $6, and who can say no to that. Then we went out to a delightful dinner.

Back at Devon's grandparents's house we discovered that—true story—as soon as we'd left, Odi had managed to pull up the chain link sides to the kennel, wriggle underneath, and follow Devon's scent trail across the yard and back to Devon's house, where he had found Devon's father and invited himself inside and spent the day gorging on found bags of cat food and playing. We're exceedingly lucky that he wasn't hurt in the escape and that he immediately found a safe place to go (as a one-eyed dog he's pretty identifiable, so Devon's folks recognized him), but: WHUT.

On Sunday, Dee and I took the bus to Hawthorne—one of my old Portland stomping grounds out in SE—for the Under Wildwood release party. The Wildwood Chronicles take place in St. Johns (our neighborhood here in Portland) and the vast park visible from the neighborhood; at the release party we got a pre-release signed copy of the second book in the series, and the author and illustrator did a joint talk which was all about the book as a collaboration—their joint approach to creating its world, and then exploring it in their respective mediums as author and illustrator. Afterward, we went to an early dinner at Chez Machin—I'd never had savory crêpes, and they make theirs with chewy robust buckwheat; mine was filled with mozzarella, mushrooms, and tomatoes, and topped with a pesto sauce. I'm an extremely picky eater, mostly in regards to texture and new foods, so it was a bit of a risk but a complete success: A+, would love to eat again.

On one hand this is exactly what I want of autumn: more to do, more desire to do it, the delicious exhaustion and enthusiastic downtime that follows having done it. That said, we noticed this week that Kuzco has been having some troubles eating: he lost a top incisor a bit ago, which is totally normal, but I think he lost this one way down at the root and the root got infected. It's just broken through, so he's probably fine, but he's lost a bit of weight in the meantime and the infection may still linger. He has a vet appointment tomorrow just to make sure he's fine, but here's the thing: Kuz is 7 years old, and guinea pigs live between 5 and 8 years. He's developed a cataract in one eye; when he's eating well (which is usually) he gets rotund but the weight is all in his tummy—he's never been a very plump pig, but he's on the bonier side now. What I'm saying is that he's an old man, the last of his herd. This tooth issue is probably unrelated to aging, but it sort of makes his mortality hit home. I'm not dreading or even anticipating his death—Kuzco has had a good life, and he can stick around for as much more of it as fate determines—but this comes while we have a cat in limbo and while I just feel ... exhausted.

It's money issues (even if Devon doesn't seem to think there ... are any), it's fear of commitment and responsibility, it's general exhaustion and the need for some downtime. Two weeks ago I was exhausted and went to escape in Corvallis, and spent the whole time having an extended nervous breakdown. Then there was cat, then there was social stuff, now Kuzco, and I haven't showered in a couple of days and when I'm not surfeited with distraction (making stars while watching a show, reading a book while watching video games) I'm on the verge of a crying jag.

Gillian is fine! He managed to groom the section that he had groomed to the skin, so that's still healing, but most all of his scabs have flaked off and he's no longer vibrating with itchy frustration. No other health problems, he's on the second half of his preventative medication course, and really the only thing he hates is being trapped in one room. I'm just having a hard time bonding, because right now I don't see "cat I love"—I see "ongoing responsibility and monetary investment." That's selfish, and it doesn't mean I don't love him, but it's a connotation I can't shake right now.

If sleep were easier (not having nightmares, just sleeping restlessly), I'd want to sleep for a week. Devon wants me to come back to Corvallis for another try at downtime, but it depends on what Kuzco's vet visit turns up. I just wish there were an off button for the world, or for me.

Every year it goes like this: We procure a tree (sometimes my parents have it when Allie and I come home for the holidays, sometimes Allie and I go with to get it—this year it was the former). Papa drags boxes down from the attic, wraps the tree in lights, and then wraps the tree in wooden cranberry garlands because they're my favorite Christmas decoration. I sort out ornaments and decorate the entire tree. When it's 95% finished, Allie puts her birth ornament in a special spot, Mum decides where her birth ornament should go and either Papa or I hang it, and then I put on finishing touches and fill in gaps. The end.

This year, Mum managed to sort all the Christmas stuff while I decorated, and we got rid of a few big boxes worth of the sort of kitschy stuff we don't like but have managed to collect—I hope it made someone at the local Goodwill happy. Last year I leaned red and gold with the decorations; this year, motley red, relying less on the sets of ornaments I love (the piles of wooden mushrooms and brass bells) to mix in more of the unique ornaments in our collection. It's a little more folksy than my usual taste, but I like the chance of pace. The tree this year is a Nordmann Fir, which was a joy to decorate.

So nothing special I guess but: hey look, a Christmas tree. (Fun game: count the Starbucks ornaments. There are more than a dozen.)

( Jamie we are trying to take a picture of the tree. )

( A close-up shot. )

Driving into town on Saturday—after my parents found the house, and met my cat, and briefly met Dee; after we picked up my sister and went out to Thai and got coffee; after we made the drive home—as we were reaching that point where you feel like you could almost walk home from here if you weren't so tired, we passed a side street and Papa and I glanced out the window and both did a "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT WE ARE MAKING A LOOP TO SEE IT AGAIN."


That was this.
This is the sort of light display that makes the house across the street light up, too. And it animated. And it was set to music. Multiple songs worth of music. It was somewhere between awesome and horrifying, so one night when Devon and I were driving back from errands and dinner we went down the same road and I had him look down the same side street, and we did the same loop and then he got a video. Unfortunately we didn't get really audio, and it's blurry, ( and you should still watch it. )

( Meanwhile, this is for Dee: Wizards in Winter. )

There's a newer, clearer version out there now, and I honestly do not care. The Wizards in Winter Christmas light display is my favorite YouTube video perhaps of all time, I watch it every year, and now so can you.

Yesterday night I made these:


Pumpkin chocolate chunk espresso muffins

I riffed off my family's pumpkin bread recipe with Handle the Heat's Banana Espresso Chocolate Chip Espresso Muffins and some simple experimentation, with an approximate resulting recipe of:

( Pumpkin chocolate chunk espresso muffins recipe. )

If I did it again, I'd either cut down on the sugar (which I'd already decreased from the family recipe), or omit the chocolate or use darker chocolate (this was 68%); as it is, they're a little sweet. Chocolate chips may be better than chocolate chunks, for better distribution and so that they don't all sink into the heart of the muffin, which tastes fine but looks boring. I went heavy on the spices, which is lovely; it could probably use even more espresso powder, however, so that that flavor is more distinct. I might also increase the pumpkin and decrease the oil just a touch.

I'm heading down to Corvallis this evening to spend a few days there, and I'll bring about a dozen of these to spread around. It's good timing: I can show Mum how my first version of our pumpkin bread recipe turned out, and with others to help us eat these Dee and I won't drown in dessert. This weekend is also the Fall Festival, an unintended and delightful coincidence—I was thinking of going to the farmer's market with Papa, and now we can do both, and I can't wait. The weather has been a bit warmer these last few days, but the young maple one house down is going gold, and so help me autumn is here.

(In fact, I made pumpkin muffins because we had extra pumpkin puree after Dee made a simple, fantastic pumpkin soup. We had it with grilled (fake) chicken/havarti/arugula/kalamata sandwiches that night, and the next day we had it with toasted crusty bread with topped cream cheese. Both were fantastic, and you wish you had been there to have some.)

The good news is that August missed me, and would like to celebrate my return with cuddles. It's not frantic behavior, she's just a little velcro'd and very fuIl of purrs. I was worried that she wouldn't care that I had left or returned, because I'm paranoid like that, and so I'm beyond relieved and it feels even better to come back to this home, to my city, to my babycat. The bad news is that it's about a thousand degrees outside, as summer would like to go out with a bang this year. But touching the black long-haired cat is still worth it.

I was gone because it was my birthday! I'm now 26. I went down to Corvallis last Tuesday evening. My sister is living with my parents for a few weeks before her semester abroad (in Italy) begins, so I was able to go home on my birthday, Thursday the 18th, and see everyone for homemade pizza and flourless chocolate torte. (I also renewed my driver's license on my birthday, the day it expired.) On Friday I went home for a briefer day visit, and picked out a few of my mum's quilts to hang in the Portland house. On Saturday Devon and I ran errands in the blistering heat, but now I have bedding and shoes on their way to me. I'm ridiculously excited for them, because they're a long time coming. The bedding is a birthday gift from my parents (and, depending on how much of it they decide to buy, the rest will be purchased with birthday money from my paternal grandfather and his wife), and it'll be a huge step towards pulling my Portland room together. The shoes are a longtime wish finally fulfilled (and none too soon, as my current shoes are dying)—they're Sketcher's Parties - Mate, and I sure hope I love them. I also came back with some BPAL, Boy's on-the-day birthday gift (as the big gift was August, who came just a bit early), a few books from Border's funeral party, and some chocolate that will probably be used for baking because by my lofty standards it's not fit to eat. On Saturday evening, Devon's family stuffed me full of chocolate cake. On Sunday morning, I took the train back to Portland.

( This is my birthday torte. )

And this is what happened to the candles in the 90 seconds they were lit.
It was pretty ridiculous, but hilarious. It's a good thing the wax came off easily once it had dried.

( Also, Jamie says hi. )

I saw Jamie, and Woof, and Dude and Madison (and so help me if Madison isn't the size of a grapefruit—that cat is so small). I saw everyone, really, and went everywhere, and felt like I was doing nothing but eating celebratory food but I suppose there are worse evils than that. It was an unexpectedly busy trip, and a fantastic one, and I am just as glad to be back.

( For my own records, my birthday gifts. )

And now it has grown too warm to be sitting here at the computer. Happy belated birthday to all my fellow Leos! For about as long as I can remember, about half my friends have been born in this fire time of the year, and we all get a bit swamped by the concurrance. But I had a great birthday—and I hope you did too.

So I saw Wicked over the weekend.

I went in with reservations fostered by my experience with the book, which was promising but underwhelming and made me think that maybe there was just something here I wasn't getting. I worried that maybe this wasn't my story.

I needn't've. It is.

It's a fantastic adaptation, too—good adaptations are rare enough; superior ones are half a miracle. What makes it a success, I think, is that where the book is a constant combination of subtlety and stylization, one that makes for strong character and intense detail but also makes the story fragmented and, eventually, stylistically repetitive, the musical begins with overblown, comical generalization and then develops intense subtlety and ambiguity, a combination that finds the same depth but does so in a more cohesive, concise, more effective fashion. I also agree with you, tabular_rasa: the links between retelling and source material were a little bit more clever in this version.

So it was a delight to watch. It was also—though I'm hesitant to say—a little life-changing. I think it's telling that I know so many people that identify with this story; telling too that I'm hesitant to do so: alienation and reclamation are powerful things, and I don't want to co-opt them, to lessen them by equating them with my underwhelming life. My sister and mother and I were all in tears, and between us we cover a wide spectrum between normal and weird, good and wicked. But then I can't speak for all of them, and I don't know if it was emotion roused by a story well-told or by...

Oh, I don't know. I'm still recovering from being too social and I shouldn't try to tackle words. Even if I were doing awesometastic, I don't know how I would express this. I am not Elphaba, not in the good or the bad: she had it worse, she does more, I can't hold a candle to that.

But I collect women, girls—fictional females with whom I identify, or something close enough to that. The Evil Queen from The 10th Kingdom. Maria, from Umineko no Naku Koro ni. GLaDOS, from Portal (and Dev is playing Portal 2 right now, and it's a little life-changing too, for different reasons). ETA: Rip van Winkle, from Hellsing. And yes these character are cruel and fantastic and delightfully evil (even in name!) and what that says about me I don't know. Elphaba is one of them, now: women who I am, sorta; who I want to be, maybe; who I admire for doing what they do, because of, despite, who they are, who we are.

It's hard to talk about that sort of thing without equating yourself to some evil queen (and I'm many things, but not that) or trying to put yourself on the level of an immensely talented, criminally neglected little girl (and I have no pretensions of being either of these things). But fiction uses lies to tell the truth. I'm not green but I'm different; I'm not an incredible witch but I have my talents; I understand tragic ends and I'm still trying to wrap my head around a happy ending. I understand Animals losing the ability to speak. I understand "Of course does, she just pretends not to."

And I know that I'm not the only one. It's not alien to feel alienated. That's telling, too.

Oh dear sweet world, and the wonderful people in it—

Today I opened the mail to find my tickets for the train ride to visit century_eyes (why Amtrack mails you physical printed tickets I don't know, but who cares—they're here! and hardly a moment too soon) and a box of black-on-black Tachi Ears which I will admit I have already opened and cooed over. Whoever sent the latter, speak up that I may properly heap praise upon you! For they are glorious, and I love them, and shall commence finding many ways to wear them. You have made this kitten very happy.

In a few minutes I'll finish getting ready and then go visit my parents to light candles on the last night of Hanukkah*. I think we're opening presents then too (look at me, scrambling last minutes for dates), but whenever it is there will be dark skies and candles, there will be gifts. This year I find myself quietly content with what I've gotten everyone—I hope they will be too.

And then after candles, after gifts, (and after another day has passed because wow has my schedule gone screwy!) I wake up early and set off towards century_eyes, and perhaps sisterite as well (and even if not, I shall wave in her general direction from not-so-afar), and to meet other good folks while I'm there.

When I get back we celebrate my father's birthday. And then, of course, the cruise from hell—but never mind that.

Because usually, for so many reasons, the spirit of this season has to be forced upon me, by myself or others, coming late and only begrudgingly. This year, my darlings, I feel it. It doesn't matter the hows or whys or even the timing. I'm happy, and cheerful, and warm, against the long nights and constant creeping rain. I love it. I love all of you.

* Dear Hanukkah— Why is your time so difficult to figure out,even after all these years? Love anyway, me.

I went to Ashland and came back and barely said a word about it. The weekend was rocky and exhausting, and so I came home with little energy and enthusiasm to say much at all. There were, however, things worth saying. These are a few of them.

We were in Ashland on October 11th, National Coming Out Day, and so we were also there for a gay pride parade that went down Main Street and ended in a big gathering at the park. The parade was short—I think it began about the time we drove into downtown, and ended about the time we finally found a parking space. But even if we didn't see the big event, we did see men in dresses and fantastic towering high heels in the park, we saw dozens of rainbows on all sorts of people walking along Main later that day, and we saw same sex couples all day long, holding hands and wrapping arms around waists and going through downtown together.

Hardly the biggest, loudest, or most colorful parade you can imagine, gay pride or otherwise. But you must remember that I come from quiet little Corvallis, which is surprisingly liberal in its upper middle class way but also pretty damn subdued and I don't know if we've ever even had a parade. And, needless to say, I don't get out much. So this little day of rainbows and sparkles and glorious individuals was a delight.

And I'd be lying to say that half the joy wasn't watching what happened when my parents were confronted with a gay pride parade that shut down half of downtown. In part because it was amusing: they're the pretty damn subdued surprisingly liberal upper middle class types, and all they wanted was a parking space. In part because it was wonderful: Papa and I left Mum with the car, we went walking down Main and into the park, and he was interested—probably as nonplussed by the sparkly drag as you'd imagine, but interested and alert and looking at the displays, and not awkward, and not judgmental. Pretty damn subdued surprisingly liberal upper middle class is not as liberal or as educated as it should be, there's a lot that folks from Corvallis, my parents and doubtless even myself, haven't been exposed to and need to learn to accept, but my family doesn't bat an eye at a gay pride parade and you know, that gives me a bit of faith in the world.

Walking down Main, we also saw a living statue—a pair of bronze women straddling the line between Victorian goth and steampunk. One carried a parasol, one sat on a leather trunk. They had a sign that (I think) read "Faerie Con or bust." When tipped they made bows in thanks, graceful bows but as perfectly choreographed and synchronized that they looked like beautiful automatons, but the rest of the time they stood so perfectly still, so perfectly posed, that my brain parsed them as statues. Not once, but almost every time—I walked past the same street corner just an hour later and didn't see them at first, we drove by them on our way to the plays the next day and I wasn't able to find them before they were out of sight. Here in Corvallis we have a couple of statues downtown, some wonderful, some ... lacking (century_eyes may remember the water phalli). One of the best is a bronze Labrador, sitting lovely and alert on a street corner. Papa says that some dogs get excited and bark at it from a distance, when they're too far away to notice that they can't smell another dog—it looks that much like a real dog.

These were women who looked that much like statues. It was breathtaking—such detail, such patience, incredible skill. I've watched living statues as far away as London, but these were the best by far that I've ever seen. I hope they make it to Faerie Con.

And not the only wonderful piece of performance art that we saw. At the right time of year, OSF has a free Green Show in the courtyard before the evening performance. When we were walking up to the square for the first play, I heard loud and beautiful music—and wandered ahead and found the Green Show underway with Pyrate Technics performing. The next day we came a bit earlier and I caught the whole Green Show, with Liquid Fire Mantra performing a rainbow-bedecked, New Age (and oh, what I would not give for representations of powerful goddesses that aren't rendered as sex objects), faux-belly dance and unimpressive fire-dancing performance which was rather a letdown with the exception of one performer—she was a hooper and a joy to watch, an enthusiastic and skilled performer who blossomed under the attention of a crowd and spun a flaming hoop into a beautiful ring of fire.

Pyrate Technics, on the other hand, was an unequivocal joy. They were pounding, compelling music to drive a powerful, compelling dance. They were poles and poi and fans, variety not for the sake of variety but because the performers knew and rocked their tools. I'd never seen fire fans before, but I would love, I'd love so much, to see them wielded that well again. They were dance, including belly dance, that was more than shimmied hips and cultural appropriation. They were spins and tosses, they were arcs and rings of fire in the night. They were beautiful, bare skin and flame, movement and light, dreadlocked and tattooed, such wonderful individuals. They were a performance of sight and sound and honestly, as I sit here trying, I know I can't describe them in words. Were they the best fire dancers the world has to offer? Probably not. Again I am small and sheltered and I don't get out much—I hardly have much to compare them to.

But in that night, that flame-lit night, they were breathtaking. Each dancer lit and extinguished their own blaze, and while the fires were lit they made such beautiful light.

My family comes to Ashland for the plays, but we've been coming a couple of times a year for longer than I've been alive. You get to see something of a city, in that time: the lovely galleries, the artsy fartsy tourist-entrapping stores, the wonderful restaurants (we went to Thai Pepper again while we were there, and my garlic tofu with broccoli will never not delight me), the beautiful park, old homes, greenery, college campus, quieter suburbs. We've seen wonderful art there and incredible performances—and many of those were the plays, but sometimes its the rest of it, the people, what goes on at street corners or in the courtyard at nightfall, that I love the most.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures
I would post a different lolcat, because this is the same one I used last year—but I used it then, and use it now, because it's my favorite. Perhaps it's a tradition now, too? (I still don't even like cake.)

Today's my birthday! I'm 25.

My birthday is, this year, as low key as always—and I prefer it that way. Yesterday I finished rereading To Charles Fort, With Love (my reveiw), which Dee (century_eyes) gave me—and it is a perfect gift because I love it more each time I reread it, and now I can stop borrowing the library's copy over and over again in an attempt to pretend it is mine own. (Ironically, my copy is a used library copy.) I started reading one of the four books I bought at Powell's during the Portland trip, which, while not explicitly a birthday gift, fall close enough to the date to feel like one—and I am throughly enjoying this book so far. This morning I caught my dear Bart (aep) on IM, and the chance to talk to him was a gift in itself. Devon gave me the ultimate edition of The Fifth Element, because I wanted a copy of the film with special features, and were thinking of BPAL for my big birthday present, because the Halloween update is, as always, glorious*—but I'll wait to see what I get from my parents before we make an order. And tonight my parents are taking Devon and me to dinner at Nirvana, one of my favorite local restaurants. It will be a good day.

ETA: And indeed it was—if a bit tiring. We had a lovely dinner with my family, and then went to New Morning Bakery where I had a flourless chocolate and cinnamon torte (interesting and enjoyable, but not quite as dense and flavorful as my preferred Chocolate Sin). My parents gave me a modal body pillow cover, which I'm very grateful to receive, and Travel Fresh Sleep Sack, which will be something of an experiment—I tend to take a modal sheet with me when I travel because I'm a picky little sleeping princess, so this may be an easier alternative. They also gave me some spending money which will probably go to BPAL, and some blue cheese stuffed green olives, which are my current favorite food in the whole wide world. Devon's family also gave me edible indulgences, which is never a bad choice: a chocolate torte to try when I'm not full on a different chocolate torte, some bree, and three varieties of dark chocolate bars (60-90%)—two of which I know I love. The festivities are done now, and I'm full and exhausted and it's time to curl up in quiet with a book—but yes, it was a lovely day. Thanks to everyone for the well wishes!

So happy birthday to me!

* For the curious: ( My tentative BPAL Halloween 2010 order. )