Friday, October 12, 2007

Kitchen Sink

Ahem. Chapterhouse has been nominated for Best Blog About Stuff in the Bloggers' Choice Awards. We don't know what to say. Oh wait. Yes, we do.

Hot damn!

If you wish to vote and/or comment, please go here. We thank you very kindly.

The writers' conference is this weekend, and for those of you dying to know which page I chose to submit, with your help, it's Sample #2, the one where Isoko and Koji are in the garden discussing the wife who's been selected for Koji.

Tonight is the hospitality costume party, and people will dress up as their favorite character from a children's book - either their own or someone else's. Tomcat and I are going as Isoko's aunt and uncle. I made kimono for both of us and ordered the zori and tabi (shoes and socks) on the Internets. I'll get some pics and post them for ya.

Yesterday I went to the salon for an estimate. While there, I was subjected to the Maury Povitch show. You know how you might come upon a horrible accident and you want to turn away, but you can't? It was just like that, so I watched. The show's topic seemed to be, "Who's Your Daddy?" complete with a DNA reveal.

Three different women each had a daughter, and each claimed that one guy was the father. He denied it. Then Maury dramatically produces the results of the DNA test (May I have the envelop, please?) and The Truth is revealed. Yep, the guy is the daddy of all three little girls. One mother points to her derrière and says, "Kiss it, M-F-er" (at least, I think that's what she said - not only was the sound bleeped, but everyone's mouths were pixelated - that happened a lot.) Then the show's director, I presume, ordered the crew to try to get a shot of daddy holding all three girls. He could only hold two, but it was touching nonetheless.

Another woman claims her daughter was fathered by an ex, um, liaison, but nope, he's not the daddy. This guy jumps up and starts laughing and pointing at the woman, then proceeds to hop around the stage shimmying his shoulders in a celebratory dance, during which the woman and the guy's current liaison have a pixelated discussion.

The heartbreaker was the 10th grader who wanted to find out which of two boys was the father of her child. Neither was.

What in the name of all gods and goddesses are these people doing having unprotected sex? More importantly, what about the children in all this? They were brought out for show. Their pictures were shown on a large screen, side-by-side with the alleged fathers prior to the reveal, so audience members could see if there was a resemblance. I watched all this, yes I did, and wondered what we have come to, that this is afternoon entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, a couple of nights ago I went to a Loreena McKennitt concert on her An Ancient Muse Tour. It was a thing of beauty, people. She had nine musicians, including a man who played the hurdy gurdy. There was also a sexpot cellist, and this, my friends, is almost certainly the first time in the history of the English language that those two words have ever been written together. Sexpot cellist. Yes, she was - long blond hair, charismas busting out of a tight black top, black stockings and stilettos. But I digress. Loreena herself plays the harp, piano, and accordian, plus of course, she sings divinely. The violinist was spectacularly talented. The percussion section rocked. The audience was filled with aging hippies. I thought of it as the anti-Meyerson (the Dallas Symphony Centre is called "the Meyerson" after a former mayor, and former friend of H. Ross Perot, who funded the hall on the condition that it be named after his friend. They're no longer friends, I hear, so there ya go - be careful who you name a multi-million dollar facility for.) Anyway, the whole experience was wonderful.

After all this Celtic music, I was in the mood to read more Diana Gabaldon, but does she have a new Outlander book coming out? No she does not. She's torturing us by taking time out to write other books outside the series. The nerve. J.K. Rowling got her series finished, so what's the problem, Diana? What if you get run over by a bus? What are we supposed to do then, huh? So anyway, I decided to reread the whole series while waiting for her to get her act together. (Jeebus, I hope she never Googles and finds this post. If so, Diana: you know I adore you, right? I'm just kidding. Really.)

Any Outlander fans out there who want to commiserate?
Well, that's it from Chapterhouse today. I'll get back with you prolly early next week, with pics.

Rock on.