(no subject)

So I got a call yesterday for an Eliea. Well, that's about what it sounded like. I must have made the guy repeat it about 4 times, till he finally spelled it out. E-L-I-A-S. I'd figured out he'd meant that brother by the third time or so, but I'd been thinking he'd just seen Eli. We used to have people now and then who'd think it was pronounced "Ellie." THis was a new one for me.

Now, I try to avoid stereotyping. But the guy on the phone was black. And as soon as he spelled it out for me, I was like, "but that's a perfectly normal name." And then the implications of his skin color sunk in. I hate stereotypes. But there seems to be more leeway for creative spelling among black populations. I'm sure he read it and thought "Elias? No, that's too simple."

this is why my mother argues for the standardization of spelling for names. I mean, look at the name "Duane." Do you have any idea how many ways you can spell that? I mean, even disallowing apostrophes, there are more than enough ways to spell it. One. that's all there should be. maybe two for a little variety now and then.

(no subject)

I've been mugged by an Amish SF story. There was this boy on the bus today--pretty much a hottie, albeit one with a bad haircut. Lovely long lashes. and he was single. I think it's nice when people are easily identified even at first glance as being available. (And not because they're very unattractive and still shopping at walmart with their mother at age 30-something.)

Oh, sorry, I was telling you about the story idea. Anyway, I noted to myself the deplorable lack of Amish SF stories. And I started figuring out how to write one. And I've got the basics for it figured out. The hardest part was figuring out how to make it need the speculative element, but I think I've got that got down, and it's just a matter of figuring out the characters a little more and letting it simmer a bit before I start writing it. I do have the benefit of having grown up in an area with a very strong Old Order Mennonite population, so I'm pretty up cool with Amish details. Not to mention learning about them to explain why Quakers are different. (Have I told you lot about the Catholic boys in Rome? I could have been from a different planet as far as they could tell with the whole Quaker bit. One asked me if it was true we couldn't ride in cars. Never mind that I'd come across town on the bus with him. Had he forgotten the whole plane thing? Did he think I'd swum there? Still, he was nothing compared to the boy who wanted to know if it was true that Quakers couldn't have sex for fun. "No, only for money," I said. "Why, you interested?" ) So I should be able to avoid the major problems without research, or without much research, or without having to do more than call my mom and ask her.

So that's my current story to work on. Stay tuned, I'll let you know if I decided to name the characters after the Strange Horizon's fiction editors. Maybe for my working draft. But you have to admit that Jedidiah makes a good Amish name. ;)

(no subject)

I am making a list. Things I must do to move home by April. Places to look for a job, things that I need to take into account, what the frick to tell my roommate and my job.

(no subject)

So this morning I got up, showered, got dressed, looked for my keys and checked my coat pockets for my purse. Huh. Checked the couch for my purse. Checked my suitcase, and my backpack, and all the places that I'd unpacked stuff into for my purse. Checked the kitchen for my purse. Decided I'd probably hidden it someplace safe, and since I had cash, I could wait till after work to find it. It wasn't on my door handle (dropped in the hallway.) It wasn't in the lobby (dropped at the mailbox). It was hanging on the front door. Whee! It's a pretty purse--it's little and black with red cloth with a gold metalic design on the front. It was soaked and gritty--I must have dropped it getting out of the taxi the night before.

Now, see, much as I love the little purse, I had a bigger reason to worry about it's loss. I made it my portable purse--my bigger bag was agravating my neck, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle everything I needed to with a little bitty purse. So said little bitty purse had in it my credit card, my bank card (which is also a credit card), my metro card, my ID and my insurance card (which, yes, has my SS number on the back). So, basically that's about all anyone needs to do to set themselves up as me. But they were *all* in the bag. Now, this could just mean they were sneaky and copied down the numbers. But at least as far as matters now, I'm fine. which is unbelievably cool. People can be so nice sometimes.

(no subject)

Email from my father:
The skiing was appalling ... like slogging in deep Marshmallow Fluff. And
I was having chest pains, deep in the woods. (Cracked rib, but still...).

But beeeeautiful.

B

My reply:

Well, it sounds like it's time for the mountain biker's equivalent of a living will. If you don't come back from skiing do we say, "well, it's what he would have wanted," or do we call the rescue teams?

(no subject)

there are 4 foot high piles of snow in the street. There are 6 foot swaths of untouched snow from the curb out into the street. there are cars with a good three feet of snow on the other side of them--I hope those people didn't have plans for this weekend. They need to come to terms with being a not-southern city and learn how to handle snow removal.

In other news, my pocket has a crush on Andrea. It called her twice today.