Dear Netflix

Dear Netflix,
Please back your awesome community features; I miss them ... I have phantom pains. Lost are the days when I could stalk my Netflix Friends, judging them harshly by what they recently watched and how many stars they deemed each film worthy. (I mean, what kind of fool person gives a pooptastic movie like Pearl Harbor more than 1 star? The horror ...)

I took great delight in discovering (sometimes before they did) which DVDs my Friends would shortly be receiving in the mail. You have left me no choice but to communicate with these mortals people directly.

And lets not forget the reviews and notes every Netflix Member could post to aid one another through the vast landscapes of documentaries and series discs. Warnings like "Don't bother with the last one since it's just special features" or "I want my three hours back!" came in handy over and over again.

I do not appreciate being denied these daily interactive pleasures. *sniff* I told Blockbuster to lick a tree for you.  Member since 2002 - cha, you know - before anyone else knew about it. God alone knows how many souls I have won for you.

<3,
Netflix Devotee

P.S. – I know you already addressed the above issue in your blog, and I do forgive you – but this little vent on behalf of 2% of your users is a personal necessity.

P.S.S - I love you. Never leave me.

Adult Children

When I was but a wee thing, I believed kids and adults were wholly different types of beings. Sure, we had some similarities: both needed to eat, both liked hugs, and both liked to play games. (Though it seemed adults liked this far less than children.) In my developing mind, the tall world was an incredible place for it was free of rules and regulations, and everyone treated one another with respect and dignity.

I believed that adults were never petty, needy, or self centered like children. After all, that was what we were being groomed to become; it was why we were taught to learn our responses of “please”, “thank you”, and “excuse me” - so that someday we could magically morph into those super-human beings known as grown-ups.

When that day came, we could become self efficient, responsible, and never fret because we would always remember to look at the bigger life picture.

In elementary school I remember thinking high school kids were so old. They could drive, they could go on dates, and they could even get jobs. They must be so wise, I used to assume, and they must never worry about what other people think about them. They probably aren’t even scared of the dark anymore.

Needless to say, as time passed I was dismayed over and over again by the degree to which it became evident that these thoughts and assumptions were viciously untrue. To be honest, the shock of it still hits me from time to time.

Take this little instance for example:

A few weeks ago I was at the grocery store, minding own business. I was taking a long pause in the dairy section to scrutinize yogurt labels for a comprehensive comparison of sugar and protein contents. (A weekly battle.)

Suddenly, my Spidey senses began tingling as a woman approached the lit row of cultured bacteria in a huff, occupying the space beside me. I assumed at first that she had spotted the “10 for $10” sale on the useless and sugar laden Yoplait single servings, but then I noticed she was reared up before them with her arms crossed like a general before troops preparing to march into the climactic battle of an epic movie.

The rage was radiating off this woman, and my instincts ordered me to skedaddle ASAP. I had not yet, however, managed to decide if I was willing to sacrifice 4 grams of protein for the extra sugar that inevitably accompanies all vanilla flavoring, so I lingered.

A few seconds later, a discombobulated punk musician looking gent came to rage lady’s side.

“What the hell is your problem?” I heard him whisper.
“Don’t speak to me,” she seethed. I could smell the venom of her words wafting through the air. “You have no right to speak to me.”

Well, I sure wasn’t going anywhere now … awkward turtle.

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me,” he whined, oblivious to his imminent peril.
“It was my iced tea,” she hissed.
I schooled my features to neutrality.

“I was thirsty,” he shrugged, placing a daring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll buy you another one. Right now. Whatever you want.”
“Just stop talking,” she huffed, slapping his hand away.

That’s when the proverbial camel’s back broke, and musician guy transformed into a balrog.

“Gawd!” he roared. “You’re such a _________.”
(Blank line = slew of uncreative insults typically aimed at a female.)
As the volume went up and fellow shoppers began turning their heads, I hastily chose the extra sugar and got the heck outta there.

I know what you’re thinking – these two were probably 16, 17, right? Oooooh no. We’re talking late thirties, people. (Maybe you’re not surprised.) And yes, they likely had a sea of bigger, deeper issues over which they were actually fighting (I hope?), but still!

You all probably have your own similar stories to this one; from people screaming at one another over parking spaces during Christmas, co-workers with emotional Richter scales, bosses who whine like babies, family or friends who are “no longer on speaking terms” for [insert pathetic reasoning], etc.

It’s not just that I’m amazed by how immature adults can be – I am dumb founded by how much more childish adults are than I ever was as a child! I was raised to do my very best to treat my elders and peers with sensible courtesy, good manners, and only the occasional glib remark. Yet even the wildest of toddler tantrums can hardly be compared to some of the shamelessly self-centered actions of the adult world. It certainly makes me wonder exactly what sort of depraved environments produced the squirrely nutters who apparently make up the bulk of my peers.

Yet, there is hope. As adults, we are never forced to shed the superior qualities and characteristics of children. I rejoice that like Peter Pan, I never have to grow up and am free to remain a “kid at heart” by continuing to be curious, silly, open minded, adventurous, and innocent in all the ways that distinguished childhood as awesome.

Down with big babies. Long live big kids!

How to Vlog

What the frak, yo? A vlog blog? Yeah, that’s what I thought too … at first.

I'm no expert, however when I got the inkling to start my vlog, I wanted to do some research first. I found several videos that offered tips and tricks on what to do and what not to do as a vlogger, but I didn’t find anything written out. This was not surprising, but I found it a bit irritating since I love lists.  (Grocery lists, to do lists, best dressed lists, you name it...)  I love that they can be referenced and kept in mind as opposed to watching some college kid ramble on with “So, like – uhm, yeah … remember to have good lighting and stuff…”

Ugh.

So this post is for you daring souls who are considering making your own vlog, (or maybe some thoughts for veterans) who love lists as much as me. I decided to make it a nice round list of 10. Here we go!

10 Tips for Creating a Sweet Vlog:

   1. Determine your audience.
Who will likely be watching you? Are you staying connected with friends and family? Do you want to become an internationally recognized internet personality? Are you gearing your topics towards people with a specific hobby or interest? These are very important questions to answer before you begin. Not only will it help keep you focused (or not focused), I find it to be helpful to imagine who I’m addressing while filming. By keeping your audience in mind, you will likely feel more confident in what you are saying and how you choose to edit.

   2. Keep the crappy stuff.
When I shot my first couple of segments with my new camera, I deleted nearly all of them immediately. Upon first review, I would realize with horror that I had a booger in my nose, my hair was a mess, my face was off-center, etc. Other times I just couldn’t tolerate staring at myself – it was bizarre to face my own image as it rambled on about … me! Is that really what I look like? What I sound like? I would automatically assume everything was trash and dump it, only to later wonder why I only had a few minutes of film to work with.

Remember that whenever you record even the most embarrassing of sequences, you ultimately don’t have to publish anything you don’t want to, and you just never know what could turn out to be a little gem in the future. In the end, the video is going to be entirely in your control, so any slips can be easily removed later. (Not to mention that bloopers can be some of the most charming moments in your entire video.)

   3. Never say you’re not interesting!
This more than anything else has become my pet peeve when I watch random vlogs peppered around the internet. The moment someone says “So, I don’t think this is going to be very interesting” or “This will probably be super lame” I stop watching. If you don’t even think you’re interesting, why should I waste my time trying to figure out if you’re right or not? Keep in mind that though your life may seem boring to you (because you live it every day) it’s likely going to be new and interesting to your audience. People love stories of all shapes, sizes, and varieties; you never know what will spark someone’s interest.

For example, I can’t believe how many people have told me how much they loved the fact that I revealed how many shoes I keep under my desk at work. (I never would have thought that would be so entertaining since it’s just something I do and never think about.)

   4. Keep a list of ideas.
If you get a spontaneous idea, make sure you write it down. I have a Google doc dedicated to “Vlog Storming” where I can throw little bits of inspiration for future reference when I don’t have a muse to consult. There is nothing more frustrating than getting a fun idea and forgetting it only a day or two later

   5. Write out your thoughts before filming.
Coat tailing off #4, I am not suggesting that you write a full length script (thought that is certainly an option). I am saying that can be useful to first get your thoughts organized. Sometimes when inspiration hits, you can ramble some great stuff off the cuff, but in my experience my favorite videos tend to be the ones that were obviously organized beforehand. They are easy to follow along, they don’t drag on in the middle, and the pacing doesn’t bottom out.

   6. Glance in the mirror.
Initially walking down the vlog road I thought “I just want to be realistic” and didn’t take any time to primp before I began recording. (Most were promptly deleted simply because I looked laughably sleepy.) I don’t exactly do any excessive primping now, but a quick mirror check to make sure I’m not going to make myself cringe later pays off every now and then.

   7. Watch other vlogs.
In the same way that being a reader makes you a better writer, watching vlogs is a great way to get ideas as well as an excellent way to develop your own list of what does and does not work. Watching a video you enjoyed and analyzing it into parts can be incredibly helpful. Was it the subject matter? The setting? The tone? Was the speaker just really hot? These are all interesting facts to consider which enable you to enhance your own work.

   8. Don’t be scared.
As many of you know, I am a pretty confident individual. That said, putting up my first video online was terrifying. You’re just so “out there” for anyone and everyone to watch, judge, and react to, and you rarely get to see live reactions. In many ways the first few hours after a new vlog is posted are torture. Do people like it? Do they hate it? Do they think it’s stupid or boring? In the end, if you like what you did, then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Take courage, and don’t worry about the trolls. That said …

   9. Just DO IT.

Yup, like Nike. Dive in and just see what happens.

   10. Have fun.
Ultimately, you have to make sure you enjoy what you’re doing. You can tell when someone is having fun, especially when you’re looking right at them! Chances are if you are engaged and excited about what you’re saying, your viewers will respond in kind.

In conclusion, I would just like to say I have been blessed and delighted by how many friends I have reconnected with because of my vlogs. I am lucky to have kind and generous friends who have given me rewarding and delightful feedback – even some video responses that simply make my week. Vlogs also have the unexpected side effect of gaining quick friends. For example, a few of the people I paddle with have watched my vlogs and immediately felt like they knew me afterwards. It has been an incredible and surprising way to get over that “initial hump” of discovering the inner workings of new people.

Feeling inspired? Hurray! Now go get your vlog on!

Slow Cooker Chicken Taco Soup

This week has been unusually chilly for the month of May in lovely Santa Barbara, and my daily craving for a warm bowl of soup has amped up - especially after a long afternoon of paddling. 

Generally, I don't think recipe posts will be a common thing here (unless you, dear readers, want it to be), but this little mix was a big hit so I figure there is no harm in sharing.  (The can of beer is the key.) I usually refer to my slow cooker as "the magic pot" because, well, it is!  There is nothing better than coming home to the sweet greeting of hot food ready for me to nom nom nom.

Enjoy!

Slow Cooker Chicken Taco Soup

Ingredients
1 onion, chopped
3 whole skinless, boneless chicken breasts
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
1 (16 ounce) can chili beans
1 (15 ounce) can black beans
1 bag frozen whole kernel corn
1 (12 fluid ounce) can or bottle beer
2 cups spicey V-8
2 (10 ounce) cans diced tomatoes with green chilies, undrained
1 package taco seasoning
shredded Cheddar cheese (optional)
crushed tortilla chips (optional)
jalepenos (optional)

Directions
1. Toss the onion, chili beans, black beans, corn, beer, V-8 and diced tomatoes in your "magic pot." Add taco seasoning, and stir. Lay chicken breasts on top of the mixture, pressing down until they are just covered by the other ingredients. Set slow cooker for low heat, cover, and cook for 5 hours. 
(If you prefer it to be even more soupy, add more V-8.)

2.Remove chicken breasts from the soup and allow to cool long enough to be handled. Stir the shredded chicken back into the soup, and continue cooking for 2 hours. Serve topped with shredded Cheddar cheese, cilantro, and crushed tortilla chips, as desired.
 
3. Play this fun game: start watching a scary movie and try not to spill any hot soup on yourself.

The Tale of the Rig Run

I ignored/forgot about my video camera yesterday at my outrigger race, but realized the tale of it all would make an excellent story and follow-up to my last post, so I'm going to blog about the event instead.

The morning began well; especially since I didn't sleep through my alarm. I felt rested and had plenty of time to lather myself in sunscreen, triple check that I had my paddle in my car, and ate a small bowl of Cheerios. It was still dark outside as I left the house around 5 AM, picking up a teammate on the way to Ledbetter Beach, where the second race of our season was about to take place. My club, Ka Nai'a, was hosting this race so we all had to arrive early enough to help set up the food, raffle, and t-shirt booths. I was happy to see that despite the chill of the thick morning fog, there was no wind.

This was going to be a good day.

Time ran away quickly as I helped tear apart raffle tickets, because suddenly it was time to get in the boats to warm up. I was told that instead of racing with the novice women (like the week prior), I would be a part of the co-ed boat, something we didn't have last time since not enough team members had made it to Mission Bay. 3 girls, 3 guys. We had not worked together before as a boat, but I was delighted by who was on the team: all strong, hard workers.

Then everything went wrong.

And yes, I mean everything. We pushed off over the mild shore break to assume our positions, getting ready to line up for the start. At first we were alone, but as other boats joined us the water became crowded. We were having to dodge canoes left and right and after a while a collision seemed inevitable. We hooked left sharply to avoid an incoming team, but they bumped us hard in the back and broke off a chunk of our tail.

Growling, our steersman stopped quickly and one of the officials sped over to check the integrity of our hull. With a roll of duct tape, they patched our now stubby backside up, saying "You should be okay as long as you don't huli."

The wind went out of our sails as we imagined the things we'd soon be hearing out of our coach's mouth. "It just means that now we have to win!" we said to one another jokingly. "You know, to temper the inevitable storm."

No worse for the wear, we joined the mens team on the start line. There were some jabs and semi-hostile remarks exchanged with nearby boats, as well as a few zingers for our club from the line supervisor with the megaphone. (I think he was making fun of our shirts, but I don't remember exactly.)

They announced 30 seconds, and everything turned serious. We assumed our positions, and when the horn blasted we took off strong. At least, the first couple seconds were strong. Almost immediately, we found ourselves in a tight spot. To our right, our mens team began drifting left, and to our left, another team was drifting right. Our amma was up against the right side team, and soon we were pinched in with nowhere to go. I didn't see what happened next, but eye witnesses report that the team to our left not only touched our amma, but hoisted it up and over.

We never had a chance.

With our amma up, we flipped and were cast into the frigid ocean. I had never huli'd before, and boy what a place to have it happen! The adrenaline from the race start and the shock of the cold water had me gasping for air, and a rock of despair hung in my stomach; this was the last way I expected this race to go. I was still holding onto my paddle, and the rest of my team members were quick to action. We gathered floating equipment and assumed our needed positions for righting the canoe. After we had it up, we clambered in and I started bailing. I somehow managed to pull a muscle in my lower back as I hoisted buckets of water out of our boat. (Doh.) Thankfully it didn't bother me much when I was paddling. We managed to get most of the water out quickly, though we still had 6 or so miles to go before we would be done.

"Let's get this over with," our steersman called. The fog was so dense we could hardly see the rest of the boats up ahead of us.

To say we were "upset" would be a vicious understatement.

We set to work, digging hard and steadily gaining on the stragglers ahead as the passion of pride, fury, and will coursed through our veins. Before we knew it, we were passing boats - lots of them. My heart was thundering as I realized this race was far from over. One after another after another, we were catching up to the pack. The adrenaline kicked in again, and this time it was good. We were tearing the field up from behind! We continued to negotiate our way through the masses, aiming for a visible bulk ahead of us. Again with the fog, we couldn't see the turn around buoy until we were nearly on top of it.

In my previous post, I mentioned "the glide" and how crucial it is to the speed of a team. Folks, we were flying. If Luke Skywalker ever made a hover craft for the water, I think it would feel like we did as we came around the turn and began working with the current.

Before long, I heard one of my teammates cry out, "There's the boat that flipped us!"

Sure enough, a familiar combination of colors was just ahead. I like to think they could feel all 12 of our searing eyes of vengeance on their faces as we passed them. (Since any sort of appropriate hand gesture would have interrupted our paddling.) As coach has told us before, there really are no two sweeter words in outrigger than "See ya!!"

Up and up the ranks we continued to climb, passing club after club, the shore drawing up on us quickly.

I heard our steersman whisper in amazement, "No way ..." Taking a brief glance forward, I realized what he was looking at: our men's crew, dead ahead.  "We caught the guys!" I gasped.

I couldn't believe it.

How many boats had we passed? Were we in the lead after all that? I tried not to think about it, and kicked myself into a new gear.  Our steersman rounded the final corner splendidly, cutting off a couple boats who had not managed to line themselves up correctly. Heading into the final straight away parallel to the shoreline, we were an arms length behind our mens team. Their steersman spotted us and we ran a delightfully sportsmanlike finish to the end.

What an incredible feeling.

After getting our boat safely ashore, my heart was in my throat and I wore an enormously stupid grin for the rest of the day. I wanted to hug anyone - everyone! Somewhere deep inside all of us, we knew we had done something awesome.

That inkling was confirmed later when the results were printed:

Ka Nai'a - FIRST PLACE COED.

Hell yeah!

(To the left here are Alli, Me, Christy, Bruno, Ari, and Kamika.)

Our spirits continued to soar throughout the day, and I'm guessing the thrill is still with them (because it's still with me) today.

Our coaches were beaming with pride. 

At practice the next morning, our head coach Mike pulled me aside and showed me the Ka Nai's "motto" (which I had never noticed before) posted on our gear box.

NEVER QUIT, NEVER GIVE UP.

"You guys lived it out on that course.  Way to go." (Fuzzy warm feelings ensued.)

Later on in the raffle give away, a ton of my co-workers took home a pile of the prizes, including the grand prize, a stand-up paddle board! I strapped it to the top of my Wrangler and drove it to my office so I could lay it across the desk of the winner: Rafael.

He was chuffed to bits all morning.

One heck of a fun day!

The Art of the Blend – Thoughts on Conformity

No, this isn’t going to be a post about my ongoing infatuation with smoothies. It’s actually going to reference something that struck me during outrigger practice on Tuesday.

“I’ve just had an apostrophe!” “I think you mean an epiphany …” (Name that movie?)

For those of you who are unfamiliar with outrigger canoeing, it’s one of those “simple yet so complicated” type things. The basic building blocks of a successful team are stroke form, power, and timing. Paddlers need these when entering and exiting their blade from the water; pulling hard and together.

It’s that third element that struck me the other day – what is sometimes called “the blend.” When a team is pulling water at the exact same time and way, the canoe actually lifts out of the water and skims the surface; giving it a natural glide that propels it magically forward. You can feel it happen, and it’s an exhilarating sensation.

That elusive glide, however, is also easy to lose.

The moment your focus on the seat ahead of you shifts, or if your mind wanders to check out a baby seal lounging adorably on a nearby dock, the entire house of cards is in jeopardy. It’s kind of mind boggling exactly how much intentional concentration you need to maintain in order to achieve “the blend.”

I have been guilty of being early in my stroke since day one. That is, my paddle tends to enter the water before the paddler in front of me, throwing off the timing. (What can I say? I’ve always been a little bit of a eager beaver - I like to go fast!) I actually nicknamed one steersperson the “Timing Nazi” because she never failed to call me out about it – sometimes by name. I would usually grit my teeth and mumble something like “yeah, yeah” in my mind, but her constant reminders proved invaluable since they forced me to learn to pay attention and conform.

I finally realized that in order to go faster, I had to slow down. (Doesn’t that sound a little profound in a Sphinx kind of way?) Not only did I need to pay attention to what was happening in front of me, I had to respond accordingly and be ready when things changed - regardless of how fast I want to go.

I don’t know about all of you, but this kind of submission does not come naturally to me; it fights against my innate subliminal instinct to not be “just another face in the crowd.” That pull to be special, intriguing, and independent - to go above and beyond the call of duty. This pressure isn’t from any outside source; it simply springs from an inner cry for attention, spurred by a desire for that precious sensation of believing I have something unique to offer the world.

In a canoe, there is simply no place for the overachiever.  Your speed lives and dies together, and the ability to work and blend as one will determine your success.  I haven't played on an organized team sport since high school basketball, and had almost forgotten that indescribable bond you develope as a team when you know you just couldn't have done it alone.

I suppose I was reflecting on this because of a few situations I have been in recently at work and on other projects where we started with a cohesive vision: something achievable, neat and tidy.  Then someone (everyone probably has a "someone" like this in their lives) comes along and decides they can make it bigger, better, awesomer!  And what ends up happening?

A befuddled mess.

It was just a good and humbling reminder that life isn’t a one man show, and it's wise to never deny the power of folks working toward common goals.  (Even if it means you don't get to be the hero.)

Ode to My D20

To my little twenty sided die,
Oh, the power that you hold,
The strength over life and death alike,
Through you my story will unfold.

You cost so little yet give so much,
Your worth’s not in your weight,
So smooth and light you are to touch,
Please have mercy on my fate!

One cannot fight on stats alone,
Unless you are a fool,
All power lies in dice and wrist,
You ca be a cruel and fickle tool.

As you toss and bounce across the table top,
My heart begins to beat,
On 2? On 10? Your playful dance
Will determine my next feat.

Be kind to me this day I pray,
For there is much at stake,
The world is full of nasty things,
Of my head, a fine helmet they might make!

Clink, clink, I hear you tumble,
My heart begins swell,
Until I see that horrid number,
Which has doomed me straight hell.

Curse you, plastic Judas!
Single digits burn my eyes.
My hopes are crushed and shattered,
Body slumps and teammates sigh.

Praise be to my party members,
Who can keep me on the track,
They’ll pick me up and dust me off,
Don’t worry, I’ll bounce back!

A Love Affair with Fantasy Novels

As many of you know, I am a fantasy novel junkie. Wait, actually that’s a lie. Let me rephrase: I like to believe I’m a fantasy novel junkie. But in truth, I know a few of those, and as I ponder the label, I don’t think I qualify to as one of them.

Let me explain.

For starters, it takes me a long time (relatively speaking) to actually finish a book. (It’s sad, it’s pathetic, I know.) This is largely due to the fact that my free reading time is squeezed into that precious pre-sleep twilight of evening or perhaps the rare lazy weekend. My “Reading List” shelf is in a constant state of growth, like an untamable fungus, infusing my heart with guilt every time I glance its way. I sometimes find myself forced to select only books which hold an above average promise of greatness, or a twinge of personal obligation a la high recommendations. (Though I hope to never repeat my Twilight mistake… co-workers “favorite books” have now been black listed.)

Sometimes it feels as though fantasy has a tainted reputation among the reading community in general. I often receive quizzical stares from clients who enter my office as I guard the front desk, enjoying The Magicians to pass the time. “Is that any good?” they sometimes ask with a none-too-subtle hint of condescension.

Look buddy, it’s not just for kids!

It is a sad fact that there is an endless smorgasbord of bad fantasy available in the world, peppered amongst the gems, and readers of the genre often learn to become mine field negotiators. We readers arm ourselves against the perils of poorly written fiction by becoming incredibly fickle in our reading selection, save the brave few who can mow a story down in a matter of hours regardless of its quality. (These talented folks are whom I think of when I originally used the term “fantasy junkie.”)

So, why am I so drawn to the genre of science fiction and fantasy in the first place? First, let me quote one of the most talented writers in the business:

“In many ways, science fiction and fantasy readers are the best audience in the world to write for. They’re open-minded and intelligent. They want to think as well as feel, understand as well as dream. Above all, they want to be led into places that no one has ever visited before. It’s a privilege to tell stories to these readers, and an honor when they applaud the tales you tell.”
- Orson Scott Card, How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy

Reading that just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. (Did you feel it?) Mr. Card, please have my blog babies.

Yes, I enjoy fantasy partly because I simply never grew out of a childish love of dragons, magic, and flawed heroes in leather jerkins. I relish large battles, political intrigue, and the idea of being called to something greater than myself. In many ways I also find spiritual renewal in many of the themes, since at its core fantasy is usually about the ongoing struggle between good and evil. The stakes are always high, and the reward is usually paramount.

For me, the hardest part about reading a complete flop is the feeling of betrayal. Sometimes, as I crack open a new novel, I become like a small child; timidly stepping into an unfamiliar house, eyes full of wonder. I have come so far already; I have read the teaser on the back, admired the cover art, studied the map, and bravely taken that first cautious step into the waters of the opening paragraph. By now this is almost a guarantee that I will at least finish the novel, no matter how bad. In my heart of hearts, no matter how rough things get, I will cling to the hope that something in the end will reward me for all my hard work, my tenacity to stick with the protagonist through thick and thin, and my willingness to believe that in the end it will have been worth the time and energy.

Needless to say, when I feel an author has betrayed me, I don’t forget the crime easily.  The well that holds my devout love of lore, elves, funny names, and all things mythical does indeed have a bottom. There are several peeves I have that will most likely doom a book (and an author?) to my “rejected” pile forever.

Here are two biggies:

1. Don’t be depressing predictable. Yes, the good guys are likely to triumph in the end, but the journey to the finale should be littered with unique twists and turns full of adventure. The best way to get my heart beating is to make sure I don’t already know what is going to happen. Authors are free to do literally anything in this genre, so there is really no excuse for being flat out boring.

2. Don’t let me believe that everyone is safe. Sure, a handful of characters aren’t likely to bite it because it would kill the story, but seriously – at least pretend that they are facing true danger. (Hats off to George R.R. Martin for his authorial brass balls in this regard.)

A common feature of the fantasy landscape, the epic series, presents me with a unique dilemma. I already have a lengthy track record for impatiently dropping out of several long, tedious, frustrating series’ because first off, they are just too fraking long. Even worse, there are times when a book may be longer than the Great Wall of China and yet the author manages to do nothing with it. (I’m looking at you, Mr. Jordan.) Books generally, upon completion, should leave me feeling as though something has been accomplished. I have no issues with long books or many long books as long as something happens. My poor little sound-bite loving mind is not willing to stick with something for the long haul unless I am rewarded along the way for my efforts.

In many ways, fantasy reading is like pearl diving. You sometimes have to slog through a couple of stories that are “just okay” before you find one that speaks to you from the primordial ooze and carries you to a mythical land of rapture. A diamond in the rough.

Orson Scott Card rambled off a “author reading list” to folks who wanted to experience the buffet table of science fiction and fantasy: Adliss, Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke, Ellison, LeGuin, Norton. Alfred Bester, James Blish, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert Heinlein, Robert Howard, E.E. “Doc” Smith, J.R.R. Tolkien. Larry Niven, Anne McCaffrey, Jack Chalker, C.J. Cherryh, David Drake, Octavia Butler, and Roger Zelazny.

He then aptly added, “Some of the books you won’t care for a bit. Some you’ll admire. Some you’ll love. Some will transform you.”

So here’s a little toast, to my fellow readers: continue seeking out stories worthy of admiration, love, and transformation - no matter what genre you may find them in.

Reading gem I highly recommend:
Kushiel’s Dart (series) by Jacqueline Carey

A Tribute to Xanga

A recent addition to my friendship circle made a comment a little while back about how it was "adorably old school" that I still blogged on the once popular site known as Xanga. I realized in that moment that indeed, many have left the once fertile land for greener pastures, and I have wondered if my own lack in motivation to blog was greatly due to this fact.

So here I am - moving on.

Hello, new blog!

So why "Geeky Bliss and Sunshine"? Well, I wanted my title to include two things that didn't seem to go together, because that's often the way I see myself. I am in many ways a walking paradox: a loud and confident introvert, a gym addict with little to no vanity, a decently liberal Christian, a female gamer.

I'm inevitably going to be talking about super geeky things like video games and sword fighting, but I also plan on talking about my life, which is inexplicably ungeeky if you were to only peek at it from the outside. Thus, I spliced two opposites together, playing off the idea that you most likely know: all geeks hiss and smoke when they are forced to exit their little caves of safety during the day.

Xanga, you were so good to me and to many. You were my first, and thus will never be forgotten.