The Blue Ey'd Hag

I dare you to read these posts from Stumptuous.com

www.stumptuous.com/rant-33-june-2006-choose-joy

http://www.stumptuous.com/rant-34-july-2006-but-out

The second one I"ve kept in mind ever since I"ve read it--it's been of great help to me whenever I felt timid about something.

At the parade, one woman approached me. “I’ve always wanted to try boxing,” she said shyly.

 “Well then come join us!” I responded warmly.

 And then it began: the process that seems to occur just about every time I talk to people about exercise. The buts.

 “I’m afraid,” she said.

 “You never have to hit a person, or have them hit you,” I said. “If you only ever want to hit an inanimate bag, that’s cool.”

 “I’m not in good enough shape,” she said.

 “Well, that’s how you get in shape!” I responded.

 “I don’t know… all those pushups…”

 And so it went. In two minutes flat she’d talked herself out of a kickass workout, physical and mental empowerment, meeting a welcoming community of cool chicks, and an opportunity to learn a new skill.

 I’m often asked how it’s possible for me to have so many interests and hobbies: photography, gardening, weight training, cooking, martial arts… Here’s my secret.

 Hold your breath.

 I just do it.

Hey!

I liked it!

My body liked it!

Go me!

Back and biceps today.

The nursery was closed, so I had to take the kids to swim for a bit--assed around in the shallow end, stretched, thought good thoughts about swimming laps (Except for OMG 35 laps for half a mile?  Yikes!)  My old swimming suit still works.

Biceps--I suck at bicep work.  I really do.

I did 6 setsof Alternate Incline Dumbell Curls.  My form sucked once I got past 10 lbs.  Let this be a lesson to me.

I started to do Barbell Curls, was chugging along quite happily at 20 pounds for a set of 12 reps.  Then I picked up the 30 pound barbell--and nothing budged.  Nope.  Nada.  Zilch.

Well, hell with that.  I was disappointed, but I went over to the Arm Curl Machine (which I share a cordial and mutual hatred) and did puss weights on it, and I actually said to it, out loud, "I hate you."  I have never said that to a machine.  I was saying plenty of other things in my head (I hate you, Alex, I hate you!) But that's the first time anything has made it out other than a Grrrr.

So it was a relief to me to go the lat pull downs, which I love love love.  My weights were lighter than they could've been, bt my form was fantastic and I could feel my lats just popping out wanting to play.  And then it was time to go, before I even got to the seated rows.

But that's okay.  Right now I am having a hard time holding the phone.  And I need two hands to pick up my can of diet Coke.

But I feel good.  Achy, but good.

Tomorrow?  Yoga WTF Sun Salutation.  Hey, any of you yoga types got any tips for me? 

When you realize that something horrible that recently happened to you can be used in a writing project to make the scene damn near bleed with authenticity, is this a form of solace or only more horrible?

Underslept, as usual.

The fact that it was Hemorrhage Week when I started my new workout program was probably the least of all the problems.

I am so frigging sore in my quads I cannot believe it.  I have to push up from my chair with my hands, for pete's sake.  Going down the stairs makes me consider yelling.

Today is back and biceps.

Tomorrow?  Well, that's a free day.  Free meaning yoga and pell work.

I'm either going to be the toughest bitch I know--or dead.

Okay--I know I'm griping a lot.  I don't mean it--it's just blowing off steam.  I think ultimately this is going to make me a happier, healthier person.  I appreciate the time people are taking with me.

So I didn't go to my morning workout yesterday--I'd stayed up too late and consequently let myself sleep in until 6:30.  Sluggard!  So I went ot the gym, hauling the girls, last night.

My, Thursday night certainly seems to attract a cluster of... walking orifices in the weight room.

Anyway.  I did 6 sets of Good Mornings, which I find not very easy at all to do.  My form was not good.  I have a hard time getting parallel to the floor.  I wish I"d had someone there to help.  (Will someone tell ym why it is that none of my male friends will lift weights with me?)  Plus, I think I had the bar too high up.  My neck hurts!  Not to mention that when I worked on the 40lbs set, in lifting the bar over my head, I miscalculated and hit myself in the forehead.  There is nothing like clocking yourself in the head with iron to bring about focus, let me tell you.

I did 6 sets on a machine that's sort of like a weighted donkey kick machine--I couldn't find the leg curl machine I wanted.  It still managed to get me into a sweat--the foot plate slipped and caught me on the back of my ankle, where I now I have a lovely bruise.

With some relief, I turned to the 45-degree leg press, which is easy peasy, but by the second set I was getting shaky,   I still managed to get all my sets bitched out.

I wanted to do dumb bell lunges, but after 12 reps with my right leg, I went for my left leg, and my body said OH HELL NO.

So this morning I have a nice knot on my forehead and everything below my waist is achy and shaky.

Which means--Go Me!
 

 

Well, if I can't have Gillian Michaels as my trainer, I might as well take a hot guy.


( Cut for slightly grossness. )
Wish me luck!

Okay--here is photographic evidence of what I've been up to this summer:

Fruitpie has announced that Optimus Prime is her boyfriend.

I know I've posted this before, but it cheers me up, and I can use some cheering up.

"From both established talents like Nina Kiriki Hoffman and relative newcomers like Marguerite Reed, these stories offer a wide enough range to keep the reader fumbling to find some commonality other than editor Marin's excellent taste. Hoffman's contribution, the short and sweet "Seasonal Work," is the holiday retail season seen through a very strange lens--the kind of thing she does so well. Reed's gorgeous "Angels of a Desert Heaven" is the story of a musician and a Hopi seer and the ways the gods of their shared desert home adopt even the Anglo, if the need is great enough. Despite the book's title, the stories don't have any Texas connections, though several take place in various Western settings. Title and stories come from the Web zine Lone Star Stories, where the latter are electronically archived. At any rate, this selection suggests that LSS is a force to be reckoned with."--Booklist

For you writers who tend to think bad is good, squalor is more interesting than tidiness, and that evil characters are more interesting than moral ones, I sympathize--but go read an interesting piece in Slate, here:

New York in the 70's: The Grit wasn't So Splendid.

 

In other news, I have made a painful mistake, writing-wise.

If I may ask a rather numbnuts question--would someone suffering from multiple sclerosis be able to take a trip to the Caribbean?  (My concern is the heat.)  Thank you for your patience.

asim pointed it out.

I urge you to go find out for yourselves--don't ever, ever be apathetic about your power and your privilege to vote.



TehranLive.Org

This photo is going to be the iconic photo of this issue, just as the student facing down the tank was the icon for the Chinese government & human rights concern.

Watched Appaloosa last night with King DingDong.  I've wanted to see it ever since it came out, but me getting out to movies just does not happen very often any more.  We saw a preview for it yesterday on the pay per view channel, and I got all excited about it again.  So I ran off the the rental place and picked it up, and the spouse and I watched it after the kids were put to bed.

From the standpoint of someone who's an absolute geek for historical accuacy in set design, costume, and you know, thingies, it was just great.  There is a darling steam engine in it.  The dialogue was very good.  Acting was good too, except I just want to smack Renee Zellweger.  I won't say in what fashion, because my first words were really violent and inappropriate. 

The sound was really good, as well.  Made me wish I'd seen it in the theater, but oh well.  One aspect I appreciated was the gun and rifle sound f/x--not the pornographic BOOM(OOOOOOOM) one hears in cheesier films, but a more authentic bang or crack.

People were not galloping their horses every freaking where, thank you.  The prostitute did not wear what I call a "Little Joe Mancatcher."  In her non-bedroom scenes, she just wore regular clothes--not as nice as some of the other ladies', but nothing that especially marked her.

Jeremy Irons did an okay job, I guess, but I am not a fan.  So it was nice to see him get smacked around by Viggo Mortensen.  Every time I saw Ed Harris, I kept trying to remember other men of the period who had been clean shaven, and I wan't coming up with much.  Ed, facial hair, damnit!  Viggo, as a contrast, looked perfect.  He looked like he'd stepped out of a Charles Russell painting.

I'm putting this up there on the list of westerns I must have, along with Open Range.

Okay, I know this was posted over a year ago, but my brain has to wear a bib when I read this.  This is what gets me off in Science Land.  And to write a story using this knowledge?  Ecstasy.

How to Cyclops Rock

(And on an unpleasant note: For those of you who are wondering, yes, at the clinic we did occasionally run across pregnancies that were afflicted with cyclopia, one of the most extreme forms of holoprosencephaly.) 

I'm afraid I'm woefully behind in all the posts from WisCon, so I have some catching up to do. It sounds as if, as usual, there were the usual interesting and maddening topics.

I don't know if this post came about as a result of some of the outpourings after WisCon--if so, do let me kow. But I thought this from noveldevice, about attitudes towards rape in western culture, was plenty thought provoking.

They said, Be the change you wish to see. I said, You first.

Okay, gang--who takes spec fic clocking in at 8-10K?

Must write tonight.  I think I'll print out pictures of Ursula LeGuin and put them up all around my writing area to motivate me.

During a conversation with Sean Borst (why yes, I *am* a name dropper!), I learned about the cajon.

No, not cajun, as I thought for a moment, but the cajon. 

It's a box.

A box that is turned into a drum

So, read about it here, and then come back

Did you read about it?

Good.

So--this has me excited from a sociological/cultural point.

You guys, is there a specific term for the turning of found items into, well, into things they didn't start out as?  Like the cajon.  Like the washboard.  Like the manipulation of trash into toys by very poor children.  (And don't say 'recycling, either, or I'll smack you.)

Anyone up for a panel on this at WisCon?

On medical, ethical, etc., aspects of reproductive rights and science fiction? 

Holy cow.

This is amazing.

Too often abortion is shrouded in political, hypothetical arguments, and the personal stories of women who’ve had abortions, of people who perform abortion care, are lost. There are many resources for women to share their abortion experiences (such as Exhale, Backline, Our Truths, and Project Voice among many others)  but what about abortion providers?

A recent article on Slate.com asked the question, “is it wrong to murder an abortionist?” IAmDrTiller.com aims to point out the absurdity and morbidity of that question by asserting the obvious: ABORTION PROVIDERS ARE HUMAN BEINGS. Yes. It is wrong to murder an abortion provider. 

Share your story of how you’re involved in abortion care to help humanize the work of abortion providers. We need as many voices as we can get to show off our brave, diverse, talented, multi-faceted community.


I was dubious at first, as the last time a supposedly celebratory website turned into a means of stalking--but I saw 

( Ruth Arick )post on here, so I feel better.

iamdrtiller.com