I just turned thirty. I’m single, female, and have no kids. A generation ago, folks would have slapped me with the “old maid” label and made tart comments about how empty my house must feel without a husband and children crammed into it.
But I live in a time when I can tell anyone who tries that bullshit to stuff it right back in the hole it came out of. The only “Old Maid” I intend to associate myself with is the card game.
I’m still wiped from North American Discworld Convention. Terry Pratchett fans are a special kind of crazy. All who consider attempting to keep up with their consumption of scumble better be prepared for an epic hangover. (Which I didn’t experience because I may be crazy, but I’m no Bloody Stupid Johnson.)
The one brilliant thing they did though was they brought in two awesome therapists to offer massages for $1 per minute in the dealer’s room. ALL CONS ON EARTH SHOULD STEAL THIS BRILLIANCE AND COPY IT POST HASTE. Because having someone work the knots out of my loweerback after a whole day of walking and being a programming gopher is not just wicked awesome, it is BEYOND wicked awesome.
I will likely write a more detailed review later. In the mean time, I had a post on Faora, one of the most bad-ass Superman villains ever, go live on Searching for Super Women yesterday. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, please DO go check it out.
The only other thing I have to report is that I successfully wrote every day during the con. I wound up writing at 1 AM twice whilst still recuperating from drinks at the bar, so there’s a higher than average chance I’ll be throwing a good chunk of those words out. As long as they don’t breed like fruit flies in my trash can, I’m totally fine with that.
Okay, that’s all I got. Carry on with your business folks. Carry on.
I wrote a post earlier this week on acceptance, a virtue that I believe is a necessary facet of geekdom, the Golden Rule, the Prime Directive even. Yet I imagine there are some trolly geeks out there who are thinking that acceptance = you must listen my horrid bigotry disguised as “opinion” until I have worked up a lather and left a trail of boiling troll froth all over your blog.
Acceptance has more nuance than most people realize, and I think that it deserves further exploration if only so that I don’t have type the phrase “boiling troll froth” ever again.
I didn’t have high expectations when I went to see Iron Man 3. After polling my friends, about half really liked it and half just shrugged their shoulders and said, “Eh.”
Now I think I fall squarely in the “Eh” crowd, only I got a little peeved about Pepper Pott’s role in the story.
If you want to shield yourself from spoilers, now’s the time to summon your suit of armor, step inside it, and cut off all connection to the outside world. The ending of this film needs discussing.
If I lose NaNoWriMo, I’m totally blaming it on Tony Harris.
Probably not. But I can at least blame him for yesterday’s dismal word count.
You ask, who is this Tony Harris? And why is he diverting words away from Meagen’s future best-selling novel?
He’s the one perpetuating the sexist belief that women wearing revealing costumes are attending cons purely to taunt desperate fanboys.