thorvalson.net : babble ether

The three years it's taken for me to be able to take these photos is nothing compared to the twelve years it took for the family members to create them. I love all of you. 'Specially you, G Dub.

That's Uncle Ollie at the head of the table. He's mostly deaf and blind, but don't let that fool you. He'll cut you up big time with the two Packers Superbowl rings he sports on each hand.
Editor's note: Correction - that's Ollie at the right head of the table.

It's so nice to see gay couples out with their kids.

I wrote that caption for you, Scott. Couldn't resist, sorry.

Last but not least, the much anticipated sequel... Maddie Larsh, (New and Improved) Toothless Wonder:

And I can't help but share this one:

Tales of a 15th Grade Nothing.

Alright, here I am, wearily skulking back to the internets to face the music. I have completely dropped the ball. Well, not completely. Mostly. Almost entirely. Enough that the prospect of catching up would require me to take off work for the rest of the month, an impossibility in my claustrophobic financial sphere. It's official: I suck. Yep. That's me.

In my defense, I do have some strong reasons why I could not keep up with NaNoWriMo: 1) laundry, 2) dishes, 3) Maddie, 4) grocery shopping, 5) impending holidays, 6) chaos in the workplace requiring additional hours of service. All of which add up to the actual Number One reason, which is sanity. Mine and Greg's. His lifestyle changes require the little details of life - the laundry, the dishes - to be if not "normal" for us, then at least manageable, or at the very least, in a state which does not require intervention by the Health Department. The slackitude on my part has been egregious since the beginning of NaNoWriMo, and while I hate the idea of - yet again! - leaving a creative project unfinished, I hate the idea of losing my boyfriend even more.

I DID IT TO SAVE THE CHILDREN, OKAY?

So I'm not quitting, per se. I'm just... extending the deadline. And you know what? I'm the boss of me, so I can do that. True, I won't be showered with the flowers and the signs in the yard and the apocalyptic congratulations party at the end of the month thrown by the millions of supporters worldwide chanting my name in unison, but... Woe, the grief...

Two things: a) I write the best when I am allowed to do so at my own pace, at times in which I feel truly inspired. b) Trying to write outside of those parameters equals guaranteed boredom, not only for myself, who yawns at the drollness of my own mediocrity, but for anyone who has the misfortune of reading such drivel. Again, I DID IT TO SAVE THE CHILDREN.

And one more thing: This gives me time to unleash the inner editor, so dutifully repressed for the last few weeks, and allow her full access to edit and perhaps develop a few of the ideas I'd only touched upon during the vomitous purging that is NaNo. Perhaps something will come of this after all.

In the meantime, I have exactly 2 1/2 hours to do the grocery shopping and the Xmas basket-creating for the upcoming holiday extravaganza we are hosting for Greg's family on Sunday.

This, people, is where I truly shine.

Sharing.

My friend Bruno.

Rich Lewis, an old friend, years ago.

I just saw this movie for the first time last week.

Malachi Ritscher's suicide letter can be found here, along with galleries of his photographs and references to his other work. We honor the dead in remembering their lives: "I was here" is ultimately our most foundational commonality as human beings. I encourage everyone to read his letter. Consider it. Let's do our best to educate ourselves and continue making choices. He made his, whether you agree with it or not. My heart goes out to his friends and family.

I can't help but think that if he'd only waited until after the election, until after Rumsfeld's resignation, maybe he would have made a different choice. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

Good, Bad, and Ugly meets Fast and Furious

Word count total as of Day Nine (four days ago): 14,914.
Total number of words written in last three days: 0.

So I bumped into a bit of the Week Two obstacles I'd been warned about. So what? There's this thing called life happening around me in my household, and I got a bit caught up in it for a minute. Greg's quitting smoking, which is producing a domino affect on other lifestyle issues as well - all of them good - but which have had me feeling a bit like a fish out of water (you don't smoke? you exercise control over your drinking habits? Who Are You?), not knowing what to expect, for two main reasons. One: When a pattern has been established consistently over a three year period, it's a bit unsettling to have that pattern suddenly change without warning. Two: It's a bit like knowing you're going on a road trip. Previous to departure, you can envision the traffic lines, the backaches, the countless questionable gas station meals you will be ingesting, the good times, the quiet moments looking out the window, and the displeasing gastrointestinal smells which arise as a result of the gas station meals, smells that the producers are now too old to withhold from innocent passengers.

Side note: indisputable evidence I am truly getting older: inability (sometimes, but getting progressively harder) to withhold gas, and inability (sometimes - see previous parenthetical) to sneeze without... I'm goign to do you all a favor by not finishing that sentence, knowing any mother out there will know what I'm talking about.

Point being, there's a difference between looking forward to the road trip and actually being on the road with other travelers both in and out of the vehicle in question. I feel a bit like somebody had to tell me the gun's already gone off, the race has already started, and it's time to play catch up. Good motivation, all good stuff, but it took me a few days to catch on to what's really happening, which is that he is changing his lifestyle - seriously - and hopefully for good. Which is a good thing, because he really scared the shit out of me with that cold a few months ago that wouldn't go away, a "cold that wouldn't go away" being precisely how we found out my father had cancer. And my dad's gone now.

Needless to say, I am relieved.

Speaking of playing catch up...

Word Count Goal, Day 13: 21,658.

Ho. Ly. Bazookas. 6,774 to go.

Day Eight Goal: 13,328

Day Eight Word Count: 11,923.

Poo.

Tomorrow's forecast: morning will be clear and focused, caffeinated, full of creative juices and definitely lacking in yesterday and today's diversions of work (shmurk!) and household duties.

Good Morning, Honey! We're Screwed.

How depressing to wake up and find out that the majority - not of Wisconsin's citizens, necessarily, but of those who took the time to show up at the polls - think that marriage needs to be redefined, or that the current definition of marriage needs to be reiterated (lest I remind people that gay marriages were already unrecognized legally in Wisconsin). The bulk of this debate has rested largely - and too much, I think - on the issue of homosexual marriage, while the ACTUAL WORDING of the proposed amendment affects a much broader spectrum of the population, a cross-section of both homosexual and heterosexual couples, including my own relationship. Maybe we should have done a better job at educating people on the full implications of the amendment. Or maybe we did a great job, we just needed to do it LOUDER.

I heard a Republican congressman - not sure who it was - say on the radio this morning that he hopes homosexual couples "wouldn't take it personally." He even pulled the "Hey, I Have Friends Who Are Gay!" card. Having a friend who is gay does not necessarily entail being symapthetic to their fundamental human rights - like the right to care for the sick and dying - apparently. By his standards, perhaps the state of Wisconsin should legislate and redefine "friendship."

"Different, But Separate!" Where have I heard this notion before...

Since when is it moral or decent to say, "My love is more valid than your love." "I love better than you." Since when is love a quantifiable term?

And the death penalty passed, too. At least Wisconsin can still keep making those, "You're Among Fiends," t-shirts.

Maybe they'll stop hiding the bodies in Marinette County now?

Silver lining, still looking for it...

That was yesterday, and yesterday's gone.

Four and Five kind of slipped by. Yesterday I stared at the computer screen for close to half an hour before tearing up and crawling away to the couch to commence emotional exhaustion freakout - but Day Six (today!) proved miraculous, when I played catch-up and pulled off the amazing feat of writing 3,743 words in one morning. In one sitting, actually. Did I mention I was chewing gum, making breakfast, playing piano, and saving the solar system at the same time?

I also went into work for three hours and caught up on some paperwork.
And I went to the bank.
And the grocery store.
And I made supper (okay, out of a box, but still).
And now it's bedtime.

I would tone down the bravado a bit here and say that it's just a rough draft, it's not like it's a crafted project, but it says RIGHT THERE in the NaNoWriMo Noveling Affidavit on the fridge that gross exaggerations of the trials and tribulations involved with said project that will wreak on every other aspect of my life are COMPLETELY ADMISSABLE, while any form of self-bullying, -deprecation, -censorship, or -abuse are COMPLETELY FORBIDDEN.

It'll be over soon, folks.

Day Six Total Cumulative Word Count: 10,105.

Sweet.

NaNoWriMo Day Three

Word count: 6,284.

How you like me now, bitch. I CAN'T HEAR YOU.

Let the Procrastination Begin!

Yes, already. It's about noon, and I have to work in three hours. I need to go to the bank, our refrigerator is so desperate that I'm actually considering drinking one of Greg's Diet Pepsis for breakfast (saccharine! cancer! egads!), and I won't even mention (okay, I will) how late I stayed up last night getting a head start on today's word count so that I wouldn't fall behind schedule (3 a.m.), because I knew that today would prove challenging. Last but not least, I have paperwork waiting for me at my job that will have to be done on one of my intended days off. Boo hoo, cry me a river.

I. Am. So. Tired.

Reason Number 7,312 why I'm with Greg Steffke: Because as part of the NaNoWriMo festivities, I have been provided with a packet of Onerosity Coupons. These coupons, to be filled out and signed by myself, basically entitle the recipient of said coupon to bestow upon me an undesirable chore should I fail to meet agreed upon deadlines/word counts, i.e., "I, Stephanie Thorvalson hereby promise to render (chore) unto (recipient) should I fail to write (x) words of prose by (date)." (Credit to Chris Baty, founder of NaNoWriMo for coupon wording.)
Chores I've successfully avoided so far: Washing the basement floor, naked.
Washing all 1st floor windows with my buttocks (okay, I have until midnight tonight to avoid that one).

For being the one who complains about my habit of ironing half-clad in the kitchen, Greg's proposal of this second chore has a certain lack of modesty that I happen to find exciting.

Alright, back to work.

NaNoWriMo Day Two

Well, I haven't fallen off the wagon yet, despite being thrown off course this morning by a series of phone calls that registered on my caller ID: Mom, Dick (Mom's partner), Jenny (my sister), followed by Jan (family friend). I was mentally going through the list of Most Likely Candidates for Hospitalization and/or Sudden Death, trying to figure out why all the midwestern members of my immediate family would be calling me at once, getting pretty worried, when I finally got to a message on the voice mail from my mother, slightly intoxicated and sounding weepy, saying, "I didn't want to tell you this on a message, but...."

Spit it out. Who's dead. Don't do this to me, just tell me. The keys are already in the ignition.

"...Dick and I got married yesterday."

Jesus Christ. Thank you for the happy ending, congratulations, I love you, and if you people ever call me in such rapid succession again, somebody'd better be in the hospital because if you're not, you will be once I get a hold of you.

So Congratulations to Mom and Dick, happily honeymooning it in Aruba (like the Beach Boys song)! Maddie has been notified, and we are in the process of picking out the proper appellation for Dick. "Papa Dick" sounded obscene to me, "Grampa" sounds old and reminds me of Grampa Thorvalson who was a fine ol' gramps but nothing like Dick, and "Boppa" conjures images (don't ask - I have no idea - "The Big Bopper"?) of Chubby Checker and black and white tile flooring and a disco ball and what's his name, the black piano guy, "Tutti Frutti..." and Dick just doesn't look good in blackface with a curly wig... so the current favorite is "Papa Wheelie."

NaNoWriMo has effectively, for the moment, suppressed my inner editor, which I am very grateful for, but which may, for the readers of this blog, prove potentially damaging. My apologies for the ridiculosity to follow in this post and in those to come.

Word count so far: 3,545

Number of words in Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues," which was included NOT as filler or padding, mind you, but to create an atmosphere in which I felt my protagonist could be further developed as a character (okay, I'm lying, I was desperate and so is my laundry pile): 327

Which means that 3,218 of those words are my own, which STILL puts me right around the 1,666 words/day goal, (alright, 114 shy... does blogging count? I think so).

Ratio of profanity thus far: 2/3,545 = 1 swear word for every 1,772.5 words. Hey! I'm growing!

Number of appearances of the word "spooge": 1. Okay, maybe "growing" wasn't the right word.