Amnesia

I wrote a thank you note to Mr. Rothfuss this evening after finishing the 662 page fantasy novel. While I may have mentioned to a few authors in passing how much I like their books, I don’t think I’ve ever written a thank you note before.

Coming off my Harry Potter high during the summer, I dreaded going back to fantasy for awhile. In fact, while I picked up the novel back in early September, I didn’t start reading until Christmas Day. I had even sent a note of congratulations to Pat right as he received his first award for the first in the Kingkiller trilogy; telling him earnestly that I hadn’t opened the cover.

I’ve since been banging my head against the nearest piece of wood asking myself the terrible question, “WHY? Why did I wait so long to read this?”

If you’re thinking about picking up this novel for a future read, I would actually encourage you to drop anything you’re doing at the moment and go buy this book. As I mentioned in my note of gratitude, there is a wisdom in this story that you don’t necessarily find in fantasy these days. There are a couple of passages that I wish I had discovered before dropping money on therapy. As I stated to Pat, some of the lessons and anecdotes in the book read better than any factual self-help book out there and we’re talking of a mythical land with fictional characters.

I don’t know from where Mr. Rothfuss pulled the tragedy, love and insight, but all I can tell you is that this book gets my vote for best of the year. While it’s size might be daunting, it will easily suck you in and all you can do is put your hands in the air as the roller coaster starts.

Well done.

To any peeps in the Boston area that are reading this: Patrick will be at a signing at Pandemonium in Boston at 7:00 p.m. on January 3rd. I will be there with bells on.

After cleaning up the ripped wrapping paper this morning, something caught my eye. The clickety click of tiny claws across my desk was quite disturbing. As luck would have it, my camera was near and I rushed to grab a picture!

It’s beady red eyes stared up at me as it jumped from the desk, ran into the living room and maneuvered itself to the coffee table where we had laid out some treats for the resident feline. As you can imagine, the cat took a sincere interest.

I was afraid Chloe might eat the mouse, and I jostled the camera abit, hence the blurry pic. After some more scampering however, I was able to grab the mouse by it’s tail and it met it’s grizzly end.

The poor little guy. He tasted so good.

Uh, no. No you can’t.

Allyson’s a funny character.

She didn’t want to have anything to do with the Santa Claus who was making the rounds in our local mall…

…until he pulled out the lollipop. While I must drill into that little head never to accept candy from strangers in the future, I’m beginning to think that her shyness is all a ruse to make me feel useful.

I’ve been told time and time again, that as soon as I leave the room, she stops crying and resumes her cheery personality. 

Lexie on the other hand is sometimes too trusting. It’s rather blush-inducing to be standing in line at the supermarket as she rattles off that I’m single and giving out the digits to our phone number Mind you, I stop her before any real damage is caused, but its usually too late for my dignity.

Regardless, here are the two lovely little girls wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

As the Holidays approach, I figured I’d share the two songs that pick me up when the stress of the season gets to be too much. Take an old classic, throw in some cool beats and you have a contemporary classic!

 Kay Starr - “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm” Stuhr Remix

Bing Crosby - “Holiday Inn” (Beef Wellington Remix)

Yes, I know this is a real oldie, but man, I love this.

It’s up! You must go see. This year, they have a whole section dedicated to space pictures!

30 Paces to Wellingham

We follow a warrior through the heat of battle as he focuses on both the enemies directly before him, and those ahead that he must face.

“30 Paces to Wellingham”
Story by Peter Hodges
Dramatic Reading by Kate Baker
Music: “Final Battle” by Alan Silvestri

*giggles*

Some clever youtubers gave us their translation of what the kitty conversation actually was.

A few flashy points if you can come up with your own snappy dialogue!

Not saying I’m a bowl of better with 2 percent milk, but atleast I’m half-way readable.

Taken from an old live journal entry in 2004:

The major ‘classic’ networks are guilty of the commercial packed ratings events and it’s sometimes a pain. Especially cause as lackluster as some athletes may be in some events compared to the glory stories, the whole heart and soul of the Olympics, has been the will to try and succeed. I wish they’d show more of those.

WTF. It’s nice to know that as time goes by, you tend to improve in the craft. I’m still trying to figure out why I thought the words, “Especially cause” sounded good together.

Take my recent BSG review:

…Aside from being a wood-inducing notion for most of the male population, it makes a lot of sense in how we see the Admiral evolve throughout the 2 hours. We see the proud warrior progress from a militaristic yet notably human woman, into the very calculating machine she is hell bent on destroying.

That’s better right?

Right?

My Dearest Mother Nature,

As you are well aware, I have been a resident of New England for 30 years, which incidentally happens to be the same amount of time that I’ve been alive. As you may also know, I’ve recently bought a house in my old home town. I must thank you for the lush green grass and beautiful leaves that had adorned the trees upon my first inspection of the property. Honestly, I think your touches at ‘curb appeal’ were quite lovely.

As I signed the stack of paperwork at my closing and handed over every single dime that I had saved in the bank; I folded my hands against the back of my head and leaned back, content. Happy thoughts worthy of fairy dust ran through my brain; ‘I will not have to walk to my front door in the rain. I won’t have to clean off my car. I won’t have to deal with the over-driven Indian Rap music coming through the ceiling. I won’t have to worry about cleaning up someone else’s garbage….’

The list went on and on.

Moving day was stressful but we accomplished alot with the help of some very good friends and family. As I rooted through unnamed and mislabeled boxes trying to get my life sorted out and settled, nothing could bring me down.

Until last Thursday.

Honestly, I still don’t understand why you did it. Did you know that I didn’t have a snow blower? That between the five people now residing at this address we had one shovel between us? That I hadn’t made it to the store in the short time of moving-in to get ice melt? That really, I’m the only physically able person that is adept at snow removal? That I am grossly out of shape?

I can’t remember any December where we would receive 12 inches of snow in a 10 hour period. Yet it took me 2 hours during the storm and two hours after the last snow flake had fallen to clear the driveway and the small path to the door.

I hope you know that I cursed myself with every push and lift of the poorly designed (ergonomically correct, my ass) plastic piece of… ”Oh Kate, there you were thinking to yourself so smug, that you wouldn’t have to clean off your car any longer. Lest we forget you must clean off an entire f’in driveway.”

To make matters worse, as I soaked in a hot bath to soothe my aching back, the news forecasted even more of the fluffy stuff for today. How I long for the days of inaccurate reporting.

So really Mom, I don’t get it. I’ve always been a conscientious person when it came to taking care of you. I pick up all my garbage and reuse things to save on disposal and have always been “green”. I’ve even stuck up for you in light of press reports that you’re getting feeble in your golden years.

It hurts me, (both literally and metaphysically) that you would take out your wrath on such a caring child. The least you could do is raise the temps enough to melt the mess you dumped on my new driveway.

Most Sincerely,

Kate