timeripple: (fyeah curly redheaded heroines)
I’ve been meaning to write for weeks, but, you know, things happened: I read a picturebook about a highway-rat, complete with coat of claret velvet and lace at his little rat chin. I started reading I, Claudius because I picked it up off a dollar cart and got twenty percent off for identifying that week’s guess-the-quote (the Aeneid, Arma virumque cano etc). I finished watching Flower Boy Next Door and King of Dramas, and I was going to write last night, but then I thought, no, I’ll just check out the first episode of Answer Me, 1997, I probably won’t like it because I won’t get the ‘90s k-pop references but we’ll just see.

In retrospect, I should have known better. JUST TAKE MY HEART, I WASN’T USING IT ANYWAY.

Mind you, I said the same thing three days ago when I read Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell. (It’s Big News now that John Green reviewed it in the New York Times, and that review and my reaction are an excellent example of vastly differing reader communities. We both loved it, but wow, it’s like we read entirely different books. You should read it too: there’s an awkward, magnificent, Romeo-&-Juliet-hating curly redhead, an eyeliner-wearing comic-reading half-Korean, epic explosions of adorableness and angst, all set to a soundtrack of terrible parenting and the Smiths.)

Actually these two stories are very similar in certain ways: they so perfectly embody the awkwardness, the intensity of being a teenager in a not-so-long-ago age (Eleanor & Park takes place in 1986; Answer Me, 1997 takes place in, obviously, 1997). Both stories are about growing up—that long liminal moment between dependence and independence. They’re about family, first love (true love?), and—of course—music.

They’re about a time in life that—if we’ve had the privilege of experiencing it (and so many young people haven’t, or experience it differently than I did and the characters in these stories do)—we’re expected to leave behind. But that shouldn’t mean we ignore it completely, and I think a lot of people read YA partly because, on some level, teenagerhood informs the rest of our lives, and the things we start working through then don’t just disappear because we hit twenty. This doesn’t mean adult readers of YA are immature or incapable of handling adulthood. It means, perhaps, that we’re still in touch with our younger selves in a way that demands some level of engagement. That questions about identity, family, love, one’s place in the world—that these are universal and ageless, in narrative just as much as in non-narrative philosophy; in living YA just as much as in anything written by dead white dudes.

That’s not the only reason for adults to read or write or edit YA, of course. But it is one that I think deserves a little more credit than it generally gets. It’s more usually phrased as the self-deprecatory “Well, I guess I’m still a teenager at heart”—but I think it demands (and deserves) more examination than that.
timeripple: (pic#)
Looking back over 2011, it seems that my posting has been extremely irregular. (Like everything else in my life. Sigh.) Here's the year in review meme:

Copy the first sentence from your first entry for each month of the year.

January: Happy New Year!: Okay, so I'm not on my way out to a 2 am rock concert in JAPAN like I was at this time last year.
February: And I am a writer, writer of fictions: Finished this round of revisions, at last.
March: Perhaps for my children your surface will smile: For lack of any hilariously entertaining real-life incidents, I thought I might as well post a review that I've been sitting on for a while.
April: It's that time of year again: Yesterday during the rainstorm I was in the library to pick up a book, as I often am, and was browsing the poetry section looking for Pushkin.
May: Read All the Sequels: Between frantically reading stuff, steeling myself to work on That Damn Thing, crash-teaching myself tunes for the Fiddleheads spring ceili at high speeds, flailing at various authors and poets at the cash register, and having more shelving at work than anybody else in the world, I've been kind of busy.
June: And it feels like I'm home again: Happy Summer! It's been Update Fail City around here, mostly because I've been busy recovering from BEA and Reunion.
July: Hello Hello!: It is time to update the Monster Drama List!
August: Just to prove there once was magic: I've kind of been failing to update regularly, even with Ovid fixed and with his webcam mysteriously working again.
September: Ikemen desu ne ep. 8: ME: It's Jang Geun Suk! SQUEE! HI, JGS! ♥♥♥♥♥
October: Well, my first post of October is flocked, but have the next one: I'll try harder to speak: Autumn is here at last! Tis the season for leaves and apple cider and also, apparently, for single young gentlemen to attempt to score dates at bookstores.
November: I know your mind: I keep meaning to post!
December: What can I compare you to when everything looks like you?: Excuse me while I drop everything to read this advance copy of BITTERBLUE (Kristin Cashore, 2012) that I happen to have here.

I've cheated a bit, as you can see, because a lot of my first sentences are things like "Autumn is here!" or "Happy Summer!" or "Quid novi, amicis? Multi mihi!" (Hey, I think I just figured out the double dative! Did I really just figure out the double dative? THAT WOULD BE AWESOME.) My first post of the new year will probably say something similar. *sigh*

But for now I'm going to get some more cake (nom nom cake. Turns out it IS much better with frosting! Who knew? Um, EVERYONE. HELLO FIONA THAT IS WHY FROSTING WAS INVENTED) and spend some more quality time with the galley of the novel that I have dubbed THE ILIAD: GAY PREQUEL EDITION. And then beta things. Yes.

Happy New Year!
timeripple: (intellectual dilettante)
I have at last finished reading Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis on the T.

I feel rather smug about this, as you can probably tell because a) I'm posting about it, and b) the subject line says, "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home".

The translation seems pretty accessible as far as I can tell, although certain things are a bit odd. For example, Blaise Zabini is a girl, and phrases like "Malfoy draconem viderat" tend to take on new and mildly hilarious dimensions.
timeripple: (intellectual dilettante)
I have at last finished reading Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis on the T.

I feel rather smug about this, as you can probably tell because a) I'm posting about it, and b) the subject line says, "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home".

The translation seems pretty accessible as far as I can tell, although certain things are a bit odd. For example, Blaise Zabini is a girl, and phrases like "Malfoy draconem viderat" tend to take on new and mildly hilarious dimensions.
timeripple: (intellectual dilettante)
Oh my sweet laughing Democritus.

In the Latin edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone, page 99, Blaise Zabini IS A GIRL.

HEE!!!!
timeripple: (intellectual dilettante)
Oh my sweet laughing Democritus.

In the Latin edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone, page 99, Blaise Zabini IS A GIRL.

HEE!!!!
timeripple: (Default)
Only I could fall on my head and have my first worry be not “Do I have a concussion?!” but “Did my nose just break?! Please don’t let my nose be broken!!!”

On second thought, I’m willing to bet that at least 50% of the US female population would have gone that route too. (I'm no Anne Shirley, but I've sort of gotten used to my nose the way it is.) And I was pretty worried about the concussion aspect immediately after that. Am I redeemed?

...Okay, how about this: Only I would worry about getting a concussion from falling headfirst onto my bed.

Let us take a moment to reflect upon my total and utter fail.

I think I’m okay. My neck muscles are stiff and I feel like I'm wearing Cardassian neck prosthetics. My head feels kind of thick and achy, especially at the base of the skull, but it’s not a sharp pain. And my nose doesn’t actually hurt anymore, so I don’t think it’s broken. It looks normal. The bit at the tip is normally kind of red and knobby and wiggly anyway.

Um. I just seem to be having mobility issues lately. I slip on things in the subway. I trip on the stairs (although I blame this on my too-large flip-flops). I have trouble navigating around people everywhere. Look, body, I’ve seen half of One Litre of Tears and I DO NOT NEED THIS RIGHT NOW. OR EVER. *cries*

If Ryo were around to help me bear the pain, that would be a different matter.

CLEARLY I HAVE GONE INSANE. PLEASE SEND HELP. RACHEL, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.


In other news, I’ve just reached Caput V: Angiportum Diagonion in Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis. The book continues to be hilarious and fantastic for being in Latin. I continue to be pretentious and absurd for reading Latin on the subway.
timeripple: (Default)
Only I could fall on my head and have my first worry be not “Do I have a concussion?!” but “Did my nose just break?! Please don’t let my nose be broken!!!”

On second thought, I’m willing to bet that at least 50% of the US female population would have gone that route too. (I'm no Anne Shirley, but I've sort of gotten used to my nose the way it is.) And I was pretty worried about the concussion aspect immediately after that. Am I redeemed?

...Okay, how about this: Only I would worry about getting a concussion from falling headfirst onto my bed.

Let us take a moment to reflect upon my total and utter fail.

I think I’m okay. My neck muscles are stiff and I feel like I'm wearing Cardassian neck prosthetics. My head feels kind of thick and achy, especially at the base of the skull, but it’s not a sharp pain. And my nose doesn’t actually hurt anymore, so I don’t think it’s broken. It looks normal. The bit at the tip is normally kind of red and knobby and wiggly anyway.

Um. I just seem to be having mobility issues lately. I slip on things in the subway. I trip on the stairs (although I blame this on my too-large flip-flops). I have trouble navigating around people everywhere. Look, body, I’ve seen half of One Litre of Tears and I DO NOT NEED THIS RIGHT NOW. OR EVER. *cries*

If Ryo were around to help me bear the pain, that would be a different matter.

CLEARLY I HAVE GONE INSANE. PLEASE SEND HELP. RACHEL, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.


In other news, I’ve just reached Caput V: Angiportum Diagonion in Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis. The book continues to be hilarious and fantastic for being in Latin. I continue to be pretentious and absurd for reading Latin on the subway.
timeripple: (pyramids)
Bought yet another butterfly-patterned shirt from H&M. This is my third. But, in my defense, it is strawberry milkshake pink, and was clearly the color they had in mind when originally designing the shirt. I feel very proud- haven’t bought a black v-neck in months.

Friday I engaged in much brain-killing creative algebra trying to find out nonexistent statistics. Then I had an extremely uneventful bus ride to Boston and fell into the arms of the famed futon once more.

Throughout the weekend, I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I only realized mine was an abridged edition when I was on page 200, so I thought I might as well finish it as not. But it did explain a lot of gaping plot and character jumps that were bothering me. Sigh. I should have made sure before I got it out of the library. But the cover matched my shirt so perfectly, I didn’t think to check.

Saturday I looked at a bunch of hideous apartments, ate burritos, walked around a lot, and happily marathoned R and S’s The Office DVDs. I do love that show, although sometimes I have to look away lest the facepalm overwhelm me. Poor, poor Jim! So adorable! I also have a strange and twisted love for Dwight. In the episode where he and Michael get into a fight (yes, the one where Jim proves his overwhelming awesome by snapping his fingers a la West Side Story), Dwight says “arigatou gozaimashita”, and I nearly died laughing- he had the worst Japanese accent I’ve ever heard. BWA-HAHAHAHA! Oh, Dwight. I understood your Darth Sidious costume.

Sunday I watched a few more episodes, bringing me up to halfway through the second season, then on a whim and a prayer I looked at a couple more apartments. One of them was perfect, so I started rental procedures. About which key parties are being kind of asses, btw, but I think it’s going to work out. I hope. PLEASE LET IT WORK OUT.

Sunday evening I headed back to NY. And you know a trip cannot happen without Peter Pan Bus shenanigans. Prepare yourselves... Shenanigans. Intern angst. Spoilery movie reviews: Brideshead Revisited, The Dark Knight. Immaturity about my own anatomy. Embarrassing sunburns ahoy! )

On the subway I read a total of 18 pages of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis, which is pretty damn hilarious. And I don’t even need a dictionary. :)
timeripple: (pyramids)
Bought yet another butterfly-patterned shirt from H&M. This is my third. But, in my defense, it is strawberry milkshake pink, and was clearly the color they had in mind when originally designing the shirt. I feel very proud- haven’t bought a black v-neck in months.

Friday I engaged in much brain-killing creative algebra trying to find out nonexistent statistics. Then I had an extremely uneventful bus ride to Boston and fell into the arms of the famed futon once more.

Throughout the weekend, I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I only realized mine was an abridged edition when I was on page 200, so I thought I might as well finish it as not. But it did explain a lot of gaping plot and character jumps that were bothering me. Sigh. I should have made sure before I got it out of the library. But the cover matched my shirt so perfectly, I didn’t think to check.

Saturday I looked at a bunch of hideous apartments, ate burritos, walked around a lot, and happily marathoned R and S’s The Office DVDs. I do love that show, although sometimes I have to look away lest the facepalm overwhelm me. Poor, poor Jim! So adorable! I also have a strange and twisted love for Dwight. In the episode where he and Michael get into a fight (yes, the one where Jim proves his overwhelming awesome by snapping his fingers a la West Side Story), Dwight says “arigatou gozaimashita”, and I nearly died laughing- he had the worst Japanese accent I’ve ever heard. BWA-HAHAHAHA! Oh, Dwight. I understood your Darth Sidious costume.

Sunday I watched a few more episodes, bringing me up to halfway through the second season, then on a whim and a prayer I looked at a couple more apartments. One of them was perfect, so I started rental procedures. About which key parties are being kind of asses, btw, but I think it’s going to work out. I hope. PLEASE LET IT WORK OUT.

Sunday evening I headed back to NY. And you know a trip cannot happen without Peter Pan Bus shenanigans. Prepare yourselves... Shenanigans. Intern angst. Spoilery movie reviews: Brideshead Revisited, The Dark Knight. Immaturity about my own anatomy. Embarrassing sunburns ahoy! )

On the subway I read a total of 18 pages of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis, which is pretty damn hilarious. And I don’t even need a dictionary. :)
timeripple: (dulac fiddle)
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The library won’t let me renew Ovid’s Metamorphoses any more. *grumble* I’ve only renewed it a paltry six times since February; what’s wrong with them?

My cheap Venice, CA flip-flops died today. In the office. So I had to flop around like an ungainly Cinderella, until I fixed them with giant rubber bands. Woe, now I have no tacky bronze-strapped bamboo-soled flip-flops to wear with my purple shirts. All mourn.

Wednesday, July 23, 3008
I had to fill in an Intern Profile form today, having done the obligatory week-long procrastination thing. Mostly I spent the morning trying to make my photo look semi-normal, then stared blankly at the actual form for half an hour. What does one do with questions like “Tell us about yourself. Be creative!” and “Tell us about your experience this summer- what did you do, like, dislike?” and “What’s your favorite children’s book?” I eventually listed The Grey King and wrote something insipid for the other stuff.

I was sorely tempted to put the first two lines of Ovid's Ars Amatoria in the “Anything else?” section, because they could be loosely interpreted to be about books. Or a particular book to inspire a love of reading.

Siquis in hoc artem populo non novit amandi,
Hoc legat et lecto carmine doctus amet.


If there be any among this company who knows not the art of loving,
Let him read this book, and once it has been read, let him love as an expert.*

I took it out, though, on grounds of unnecessary pretentiousness.

Ooh, thunderstorm. *distracted*

I also pioneered dummy book construction this afternoon. This entailed cutting lots of paper, using double-stick tape, and bossing the part-time intern around. NB: dummy book making is much easier if the page images are all the same size. They really did turn out beautifully. These are probably the best-constructed, sturdiest, sleekest dummy books ever produced. The spreads even lined up across the center fold and lay beautifully flat. *proud*

It’s nice to do a good job once in a while.

Crooked Still and Boston )

*I know, I know. Tweaking my translation to fit an agenda = Bad Scholarship.

...but it's so much fun!
timeripple: (dulac fiddle)
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The library won’t let me renew Ovid’s Metamorphoses any more. *grumble* I’ve only renewed it a paltry six times since February; what’s wrong with them?

My cheap Venice, CA flip-flops died today. In the office. So I had to flop around like an ungainly Cinderella, until I fixed them with giant rubber bands. Woe, now I have no tacky bronze-strapped bamboo-soled flip-flops to wear with my purple shirts. All mourn.

Wednesday, July 23, 3008
I had to fill in an Intern Profile form today, having done the obligatory week-long procrastination thing. Mostly I spent the morning trying to make my photo look semi-normal, then stared blankly at the actual form for half an hour. What does one do with questions like “Tell us about yourself. Be creative!” and “Tell us about your experience this summer- what did you do, like, dislike?” and “What’s your favorite children’s book?” I eventually listed The Grey King and wrote something insipid for the other stuff.

I was sorely tempted to put the first two lines of Ovid's Ars Amatoria in the “Anything else?” section, because they could be loosely interpreted to be about books. Or a particular book to inspire a love of reading.

Siquis in hoc artem populo non novit amandi,
Hoc legat et lecto carmine doctus amet.


If there be any among this company who knows not the art of loving,
Let him read this book, and once it has been read, let him love as an expert.*

I took it out, though, on grounds of unnecessary pretentiousness.

Ooh, thunderstorm. *distracted*

I also pioneered dummy book construction this afternoon. This entailed cutting lots of paper, using double-stick tape, and bossing the part-time intern around. NB: dummy book making is much easier if the page images are all the same size. They really did turn out beautifully. These are probably the best-constructed, sturdiest, sleekest dummy books ever produced. The spreads even lined up across the center fold and lay beautifully flat. *proud*

It’s nice to do a good job once in a while.

Crooked Still and Boston )

*I know, I know. Tweaking my translation to fit an agenda = Bad Scholarship.

...but it's so much fun!
timeripple: (attir'd with stars)
Oh sweet, sweet Internet!

I am at last moved into my Very Own Totally Mismatched Basement Cave of Awesome. There will need to be pictures; it is indeed that awesome. I have a kitchen/living room, bathroom, hall room, bedroom, closet/room full of pipes, laundry room, and music room. (The last is a music room simply because it has a hardwood floor and I have no furniture to put in it other than a carved Mexican chair with no armrests. Hence, music room!)

Round and round they go. Watch closely, but remember: the plot glitch is faster than the eye! )
timeripple: (attir'd with stars)
Oh sweet, sweet Internet!

I am at last moved into my Very Own Totally Mismatched Basement Cave of Awesome. There will need to be pictures; it is indeed that awesome. I have a kitchen/living room, bathroom, hall room, bedroom, closet/room full of pipes, laundry room, and music room. (The last is a music room simply because it has a hardwood floor and I have no furniture to put in it other than a carved Mexican chair with no armrests. Hence, music room!)

Round and round they go. Watch closely, but remember: the plot glitch is faster than the eye! )

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