Cherie Priest

Fine. Here’s that 25-Things-About-Me meme.

1. When I was a kid, I was fiercely allergic to cats — I’m talking swelling eyes, closing throat, whole nine yards. This crippling allergy evaporated somewhere around puberty, thank God.

2. Orange is my favorite color, sort of. I have a lot of favorite colors; they tend to rotate. But lately, it’s been orange. I don’t know why. Up until a few years ago, I hated it. It looks terrible on me, so I don’t have many orange clothes, but I tend to buy orange accents for my home.

3. I am an excellent parallel parker. It is my mutant power.

4. I really like bugs, but I really hate roaches. They’re the only insects I’ll squish or spray without a second thought; everything else gets a gentle capture and release, even spiders, bees, and Unidentified Antennaed Objects — but not roaches. Growing up in Florida (and coastal Texas) with the palm-sized mofos will do that to you.

5. I am an equal-opportunity animal lover. Not just all things four-footed and furry, but also reptiles, birds, fish, and everything else. Roadkill breaks my heart.

6. I wish I had a garden. I don’t have the greenest of all possible thumbs, but I like to grow things and I do all right with plants. During the spring here I try to grow some herbs and lavender and the like, but I have a hard time keeping them alive when the weather turns again.

7. I’ve become a little bit of a neat freak, which makes my parents laugh. But I absolutely don’t care if other people aren’t neat freaks. This is a neuroses that is limited to my own personal sphere of control. The fact that I’m thrilled to scramble around in filthy abandoned places underscores this.

8. I have never before had an eating disorder, nor do I have one now; but I’ve been “investigated” for one many times. I’m skinny. It runs in my family, that’s all. That’s all it’s ever been.

9. I can’t wear high heels anymore, at least not for more than a few minutes at a stretch. I’ve always had comically flat feet, but as I’ve gotten older, they’ve become a real problem when I want to wear trendy or sexy shoes.

10. I am fascinated by transformation of any kind. NBC’s “The Biggest Loser,” infomercials for cleaning products, architectural renovation, home makeover shows, you name it — I love a good Before-and-After. Even if it’s just my own bathtub.

11. I like old things better than new things.

12. I have never been outside the United States (though I’ve been all over the continental 48), and I don’t even have a passport. Yes, I plan to fix this.

13. At heart, I’m probably more of a country girl than a city girl. I’ve lived in plenty of cities, and plenty of rural places, so it’s not a matter of the grass being greener anywhere. There are many things I enjoy about living in a city; but the older I get, the more comfortable I am when I’m out in the boonies.

14. I have nerve damage in my mouth from a surgery performed on me as a teenager, and I can’t feel anything in my gums above my upper left teeth (all the way from front to back). One of my cuspids was lodged in my sinuses, and it was extracted the hard way.

15. Speaking of teeth — I’ve had a grand total of eleven pulled, with three rounds of oral surgery (between the sinus-lodged tooth and other things) and five years of braces. I now live in utter phobic fear of having anyone or anything touch my teeth. I haven’t been to a dentist in over ten years; nine of those years, I had no insurance and no money, so I had an excuse. Now, I have insurance — and no excuse except abject terror.

16. I do not play any musical instruments. I had piano and flute lessons as a child, but not a bit of it stuck.

17. I can’t whistle. Can’t sing, either. I am a total musical dud.

18. But I can draw a little.

19. And I’m a competent photographer, if not a great one. I love taking pictures of people, especially their faces; and I could die happy as a wildlife photographer.

20. I doubt I’ll ever feel like Seattle is home, but I’ve learned to find it interesting, at least — and I’ve made some wonderful friends who’ve made all the difference.

21. I own a frankly ludicrous number of novelty tee shirts. I blame my dad, whose collection is probably larger than mine. Granted, I keep feeding his collection with tees from science fiction conventions, but still…

22. Sometimes when I watch Antiques Roadshow, I am sad because I don’t own anything that will be worth anything to anyone in a hundred years. Then I remember I’ve got a bunch of signed books, and some signed artwork (prints, mostly), and I think … well … maybe some of my stuff is interesting enough to pass on. And then I hope that my brother or sister will hurry up and have some kids so I have someone to leave all this stuff to.

23. I put ketchup on vegetables. For that matter, I put ketchup on everything EXCEPT: That which is served cold, that which is sweet, anything Mexican, or anything Italian with red sauce. Don’t start pushing me/quizzing me, trying to find more exceptions. I’ll only disgust you.

24. Against all genetic odds, I have really great blood. I have very low bad cholesterol and lots of healthy good cholesterol, and exceptionally good blood pressure. Quoth my GP, “You can’t buy this kind of bloodwork.” This, against the ominous backdrop of heart disease, high blood pressure, repeated heart attacks, and high cholesterol issues that plague my family. One of these days, I’ll die of something … but by the looks of things, maybe not that.

25. My blood type is A- , and the only other person I know who shares this type is my mother.

I spent most of my day at the Seattle Public Library — trying to navigate the peculiar (but interesting) architecture, and rifling through 120-year old maps. The “Seattle Room” is on the tenth floor; and there, I found a local history collection where I was assisted by a very competent librarian to whom I did not even need to explain “steampunk.” Indeed, we did verily converse about Bioshock and China Mieville, so score one for the library system and its damn fine hiring practices.

The point of this excursion was to acquire a close-view map of 19th century downtown Seattle — preferably one that was drawn before the fire in 1889. This map would then be totally deconstructed and given some of the place name highlights from Boneshaker; so I didn’t necessarily need to find absolute perfection or anything — just something from which to work.

A convoluted series of events followed, culminating in the aforementioned super-cool librarian emailing me some hard-to-reach PDFs … and finally, I had what I needed in an 1884 municipal survey. And there was great rejoicing! I’ll noodle around with it tomorrow and see if I can’t make the events of Boneshaker fit some kind of reasonable visual pattern.

God, I hope this works.*

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* And you never know — it might not. Anything can happen. But I’m really loving the idea of a cool little map in the start of the book.

This is the town where my dad and stepmom live, in Kentucky. I talked to Dad earlier today; they have a gas fireplace, so they have heat — and now they have a generator too, so there’s will be power in their future. By the sounds of things, half the neighborhood is camped out in their house.

If you’re in the area and you can lend a hand (or a generator, or gasoline, or a truck, or a chainsaw) … Leitchfield sure could use it.



Edited to add helpful phone numbers:
(Keep in mind, some phone lines are down; some places are operating on generators and have phone service.)

Leitchfield fire department: (270) 259-6376
Leitchfield city hall: (270) 259-4034
Leitchfield Police Department: (270)-259-3850
Grayson County Emergency Medical Center: (270) 259-9601
Twin Lakes Regional Medical Center: (270) 259-9400
Leitchfield Humane Society: (270) 230-8839 (You can bet they’re in trouble, too)

I awoke this morning feeling rattled, and listening to the cat whine in the living room. She scrambled around, claws and fur on a slick hardwood floor, then tore into the bedroom to fuss at me more directly. I gave up, got up, and wandered bleary-eyed to the bathroom — all the while trying to shake the distinct and unsettling sensation that I’d been interrupted from something, or that I’d awakened just after something important.

Come to find out, we had an earthquake.
Huh. Well, no harm, no foul.

• Ellen and I felt brave the other day, so we went to see The Spirit. The Spirit somehow achieves eyeball-punishing dullness using elements that would otherwise add up to a fascinating (if bizarre) cinematic experience. It’s vibrant and catchy visually, with excruciating pulp dialogue and a baffling mythos; but even the atomic-scale strangeness can’t make it interesting. This flick is weirder than a two-headed hamster with a peg leg; and it evokes roughly the same confusion, revulsion, and pity.

• Aric, Alex T. and I went to go see Underworld: Rise of the Lycans the other night, and I really enjoyed it. Yes, I know it’s kind of deeply terrible — but the whole franchise is hideously flawed in a manner that in no way interferes with my hand-flapping worship thereof. My fangirlish adoration of the worldsetting is bone-deep and unwavering, and this prequel did nothing to dim my glee. It’s unrelentingly bleak, unapologetically gothic, goofily romantic, and utterly vicious. Loved it, loved it, loved it.

• Today I had lunch with Psynde, who brought Spain the Cat a new toy: A laser pointer with rotating wheel of pictures. She can chase a butterfly, a star, a smiley face, or a mousie. At the moment, the butterfly is the big winner. I wore her out playing with this thing for over an hour; now she’s sacked out on top of her cat tree, snoring like a goose with a harmonica.
  

• Urban Fantasyland readers choice awards. Take a moment and go vote for some of my peeps — Richelle Mead gets many a mention, and Mario Acevedo, Caitlin Kittredge, and Mark Henry also get a nod or two. Go click around and help ‘em out!

• Realms of Fantasy, RIP. I never successfully sold anything to this market (and I haven’t tried in years, to be fair), but I’ll still be sorry to see another venue close its doors. Also, let the circumstances of the announcement serve as fair warning vis-a-vis what you can expect from the internet.

• Kitten Chaser. Live kitten feed. No sound, but that’s okay. You can insert your own sound effects as you wibble helplessly at the screen. I’m digging the little black-and-white fluffy jobbie, myself.

• Obama and Pelosi wimp out. But if you’d like to step away from the hysterical keyword over-simplification and read what that whole “OMGWTF 200BILLIONZY for CONTRACEPTION will give CONDOMS to ALL TEH BABIEZ” thing was actually about, well, here you go.

• Sneak Peek at concept art for World War Z movie. If you enjoyed the Max Brooks book (and I did), then this will likely rock your socks, whet your appetite, etcetera.

• 16th Century Designer’s Portfolio. Font-lovers, prepare to change your shorts. “Before black vinyl folders, and way before the website, the Mediaeval ancestors of today’s graphic designers produced ‘model’ or ‘pattern’ books to show their work to potential clients. Only a handful survive but the British Library has recently discovered a prime example – the so-called Macclesfield Alphabet Book.”
  

Why I love this building. Spotted down in the laundry room, by the light switches.

Rock me.
Rock me, sexy Jesus…

You asked for it! So here you go:

Mario Acevedo (Jailbait Zombie), Mark Henry (Road Trip of the Living Dead), Caitlin Kittredge (Second Skin), and Cherie Priest (Fathom) are cruising the west coast (Las Vegas, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Portland) for five evenings of witches, vamps, shapeshifters, zombies and all things weird. Just look for the classic Impala and listen for the questionable content, as the authors read choice selections from their latest works, bandy about prizes, and sign their new releases.

The Paranormal Bender Tour is for mature audiences only–though an immature sense of humor is welcome and even encouraged. So bring your fangs, your cauldrons, and your appetite for brains. This is a night for kindred spirits and killer stories, from the demented minds of four of the most twisted purveyors of paranormal fiction (and a few special guests).

Think you’re brave enough to attend the Paranormal Bender Tour? Mark, Cherie, Caitlin and Mario are terrorizing the population in the following urban areas:

March 11th: Las Vegas • Clark County Library, Jewel Box Theater @ 7 PM
March 13th: San Diego • Mysterious Galaxy @ 7 PM
March 14th: Los Angeles • Dark Delicacies @ 2 PM
March 15th: San Francisco • Borderlands @ 7 PM
March 16th: Portland • Powell’s Beaverton @ 7 PM

So here are three things about our new apartment:

• Toasty-warm toilet paper. The way the bathroom is set up (hodgepodge shelving, heating and plumbing amended over the decades), the toilet paper holder is affixed directly over the baseboard heater. This is comical and somewhat startling in the middle of the night when I’m making a bathroom run while only half-awake.

• Mad paranoia locks. Someone, some-when, lived in fear. We have four locks on our front door, all set into a pair of reinforcing metal plates — and only two of these locks can be opened from the exterior. The other two serve only to lock us inside. I suppose this makes me feel … secure? One of the locks is quite old but still works fine; it’s a quasi-deadbolt that screws open and closed. I’ve never seen anything like it before. But when the zombies come, I’ll be glad that the previous residents were thinking ahead.

• All hail the ancient radiators powered by a brand new boiler. We were “warned” that the building manager likes to leave the heat set at 72 degrees — and since we’re on the top floor, we’re likely to be warmer. Heh. Even with one of our living area radiators closed off, we’re averaging 76-78 degrees in here. DELIGHTFUL, YES.

If you live in western Washington then you may have already heard the story: Puppy mills raided, hundreds of dogs rescued from deplorable conditions, dogs being stashed at the fairgrounds because there’s no place to put them … yeah. It’s a mess of a tale, and it’s about to get messier.

Roughly 500 of the rescued dogs are pregnant. The average litter for a stressed dog is about three pups, and a little quick math will tell you that the Skagit County Fairgrounds and the Everett Animal Shelter are about to get a lot more crowded over the next few weeks.

Most of the dogs in question are small breeds — chihuahuas, yorkies, pugs and the like. Those who aren’t healthy have been triaged and attended to by vets, and the rest are still being processed by the authorities and by volunteer groups from Snohomish and Skagit county. But the shelters and the volunteer groups are in desperate need of money, supplies, and more volunteers. Each dog is costing about twenty bucks a day to house, heal, groom and feed while they recover enough to become adoptable.

You can read a local news report on the subject right here, and if you’d like to lend a hand, then I’d like to point you at some more links.

• KOMO 4 Problem Solvers Donation Form. KOMO 4 is the local ABC affiliate, and their Problem Solvers program donates much-needed resources to a variety of local causes. Just designate your donation for “problem solvers” instead of “flood relief” in the drop-down menu, and leave a note in the comments field saying that your gift goes to the dogs.

• Saving Pets One at a Time. S.P.O.T. is a local volunteer rescue organization that’s been helping out with the dog deluge. If you scroll down just a click or two you’ll see their formal announcement, requests, and suggestions regarding the seized animals.
  

Anyway, feel free to pass this around and share it with interested parties. I got the info from my pals Mark and Caroline Henry, who have already sent helpful items and have put their names on the list to foster or adopt a pooch (when the dogs become available). If you can do likewise, then please consider it. Gather up some towels, scrounge up some dogfood coupons, or pull together some toys. Pass along some brushes or shampoo, or paper towels and blankets. You name it, these guys need it.

As some of you are already aware, my newest book from Subterranean Press has just begun to ship; so here is the post where I make an official announcement on the subject, and get my pimpin’ on.

Those Who Went Remain There Still was an oddly personal story for me, considering that it’s the tale of three men and a monster. If you order the special limited edition and read the accompanying chapbook, then you’ll come to understand why this is the case.

Those Who Went was inspired by a legend that’s been handed down in my grandmother’s family for over a hundred years; and it’s every bit as weird as the novella would suggest … though sadly, the real-life legend is bereft of monsters. You may rest assured that I have rectified this oversight in my version of events.

[If you’d like to know the whole sordid saga (which is frankly so strange that it might as well have come pre-loaded with monsters), then you’ll have to click the link above and nab the special limited edition. The chapbook explaining the details comes only with that limited edition, which is available only direct from the publisher.]

The Rocky Mountain News gave this story an A- and called it a “tightly constructed novel [that] qualifies as a “weird Western,” in the tradition of Joe Lansdale’s early work, Nancy Collins’ Walking Wolf, George R.R. Martin’s Fevre Dream and Emma Bull’s Territory.” Bookslut declared “For older teens and adults Priest is not to be missed and this is certainly one of her best pieces of work to date.”

And according to the Green Man Review, “In other hands, this could easily have devolved into a rote backwoods gore-fest. After all, all of the ingredients are there: a seemingly unkillable monster, angry hillbillies with guns who don’t much like each other, and a party of misfits trapped in a monster’s lair as they get picked off, one by one. Then again, that sort of SciFi Original Picture premise generally doesn’t account for characters like a gentle spiritualist, guided by ghosts through the beast’s domain while trying to make peace amongst his warring relations. It wouldn’t be able to handle the constantly shifting viewpoints and narratives, or the graceful characterization Priest imbues her rough-hewn backwoodsmen with. And, to be honest, it just wouldn’t have writing this damn good.”

In case I haven’t said so lately, I love the folks at the Green Man Review.

So. If you’d like to take a chance on a weird little hillbilly novel with family lore, monsters, and Daniel Boone’s ghost in a Bluegrass setting … then I’d be downright overjoyed. Here. Let me make it easy for you.

Special Edition - Signed hardback. Comes with the informative (and entertaining!) chapbook explaining the making of the book, with Bonus! family lore and at least one instance of my aunt making witchy finger gestures while saying, “MWOO HAH HAH HAH HAH!” Only available direct from the publisher.

Trade Edition. Fully cloth-bound hardback. Also available at the publisher’s site, if you’d prefer. Both editions are illustrated by Mark Geyer (who you may recall from the very fine artwork within Dreadful Skin.

And I thank you all for reading.

Yesterday I met up with a pair of cleaning women from a service recommended by Ellen; and for the first time in my life, I paid people to clean up after me. It’s not something I ordinarily do, but for a variety of reasons I wanted to make sure that our former apartment sparkled in our wake.* Now the place quite frankly looks better than it did when we moved in, and I am relieved to consider myself formally, officially moved.

We no longer have even a single packed box hanging around the new living room. Everything has been put away, and we absolutely live here in this beautiful building.

Speaking of the building itself — this is the oldest joint I’ve ever called home,** and it’s been an adjustment filled with wonders and new considerations.

For example, our bathroom sink has two faucets … one for hot, one for cold, in the tradition of plumbing that followed closely on the heels of simple basins without running water. This means that if you want any water other than FREEZING COLD or BURNING HOT, you have to plug the sink and mix the water therein (as was the original intent); or if you cup your hands tightly, you can swing them back and forth to collect a good temperature blend. This is working just fine for me. Likewise, I’m growing accustomed to the sound of hissing steam and the occasional din of banging pipes (which is never really very bad).

[The average temperature in here is about 75 degrees — as opposed to 63 degrees in our previous abode. I don’t care if the pipes harmonize and howl like a barbershop quartet every hour on the hour, so long as they continue to keep me this comfortable.]

The cat is terribly torn by the radiators. On the one hand, they’re so warm … and on the other hand, they sound so angry. Yesterday I watched her sit beside one, staring it down, for about half an hour before she decided that the scary factor outweighed the warm factor. She then wandered back into the bedroom to hang out on the windowsill.

Speaking of the pets, Howard the Fish scored himself a cool new set-up. We have less counter-space in this kitchen and I wanted to bring him out into the living area; so I found a small, unfinished wood table at a swap shop and took a pretty red stain to it. Now his tank sits atop it, out of immediate sunlight and back where he can watch all the household goings-on.

If you don’t believe that a fish can sulk, then I would suggest that you put a sociable little betta into an out-of-the-way kitchen area where he can’t watch people all day. Then, I promise, you would see sulks.





Next time I clean his tank, I’ll move the heater so that the cord hangs alongside the bookcase for camouflage purposes. I’d do it now, but I figure I’ve traumatized the poor dude enough for one
week.

Anyway. If you’d like to see a few more pictures of the new apartment — feel free to go poking through my Flickr page. And if you’d like to take a gander at a brand new LOLSPAINY, just click the jump below and you shall be indulged.

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God bless America — hell yeah.

What a day, folks.
What a day.

• Free reads for blogging maniacs. My buddy Caitlin Kittredge has gotten the go-ahead from St. Martin’s to offer advance advance reader copies of her upcoming novel STREET MAGIC to interested bloggers. Are you an interested blogger? I ask not just because the author is a friend of mine, but because I’m a fan of this author. I was lucky enough to read a draft of this particular manuscript a few months ago, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s wicked cool. Click the link above (and scroll down a little) for details.

• Synergy at Bookspot Central. BookSpotCentral kicks off the first of a new monthly feature called Synergy. Basically, one of their contributors offers a single question for other contributors to answer. I submitted a a few thoughts on the subject, “Can you share something interesting about how you read fiction, the elements of story that you focus on that you’ve noticed others may not — ideally providing a few examples — and why you do so (if you know)?” Scroll down a bit or run a search on my name to find me.

• “Dogtown.” As featured on National Geographic’s hit television show “Dogtown,” 145 dogs were left orphaned at a desert ranch near Gabbs, Nevada when their owner died. Through a collaborative effort on the part of Best Friends Animal Society, United Animal Nations, The Humane Society of the United States, the Nevada Humane Society, and Nevada groups B.A.R.K. and Dog Town Canine Rescue, all the dogs were rescued from the ranch on January 23, 2008. The big truck came and the final dogs were taken from the ranch and placed with shelters and rescue groups across Nevada and California. One year later, many of the Gabbs dogs are still waiting for their forever homes. The complete story is here.

• Because I am an utter goober. (I’m not being paid to pimp this stuff; I’m just obscenely impressed that it works as well as it says it does, that’s all.) I’ve mentioned Zap! Professional Restorer on this page before, here and there — but I haven’t mentioned it in awhile because I ran out, and I couldn’t find any more. But then I scored some from Amazon.com, and although this stuff smells like pickled pig’s ass with a sprig of mint, there is nothing on earth that cleans half so well. Would you like to see how fabulously it performed on a 100-year-old claw-foot tub with a century’s worth of funky gunk on the bottom? Would you? Then click the jump below for pictures.
  

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So we’re in. The new building is lovely, and our stuff is still everywhere — though it’s gradually starting to look like a real home where civilized people reside.

This would have never happened quite so smoothly or swiftly without the helpful assistance of friends, who rallied to help us tote everything this past Saturday; so let me take this moment to publicly thank (in no particular order) Alex, Ellen, Psynde, Caitlin, Suezie, Kat and her husband Jim. They were 100% awesome, brave, steadfast, sturdy, and true from lunchtime to sundown, and we totally owe them.

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Since I awoke this morning to half a dozen emails asking how the cat had survived the move, let me assure you that she is just dandy. At the moment she’s sitting on her cat tree above a radiator, lounging in a seasonally unexpected sunbeam. How she hasn’t cooked herself down to jerky by now, I don’t know; but she seems pretty happy.

Likewise Howard made the move without much incident, though he’s presently ensconced in the kitchen — and I plan to relocate him later today. We’re making a spot for him in the dining area, I think. No untoward implications intended.

Anyway. It’s time for me to log off and return to the business of reestablishing my home base. We desperately need groceries, the walls are still naked, the bedroom remains to be fully established and unpacked, and my “office area” is in shambles. But I hope you all are having a most excellent MLK Day, and I’ll be back online perhaps tonight in order to play internet catch-up.

In preparation for Saturday’s big moving extravaganza, I’ve spent the day performing pre-moving activities. I set up a storage unit down in the basement and filled it with half a dozen boxes of author copies; I nabbed all the small, displayable breakables and carefully toted them a la carte to the new abode; and I’ve stripped almost everything off our walls (we have a LOT of art and miscellany on our walls), and moved the bulk of it to a quiet corner of my future bedroom. I also checked the meter settings, recorded them, and sent the results off to the electric company — thereby declaring that we’re willing to assume responsibility for all further electrical usage in the unit; and then I stood in what is not quite yet my kitchen and wondered what the hell I ought to do next.

All this, after spending an hour around lunch hanging out at the doctor’s office for The Annual Unpleasantness. It’s been a day that could best be described as “Brisk.”

Tomorrow, I’ll likely move all of our foodstuffs and most of my clothes, as well as my “office peripherals” (that is, hanging files, rolling cart with drawers, and printer/scanner).* It is my goal to have That Which Must Be Moved set up in such a fashion that our beautiful, wonderful, helpful friends will have the easiest experience possible.

All boxes are labeled with the room where they can be deposited in the new digs. And everything that can possibly be boxed, is boxed.

In my experience, helpful friends find it easier to just grab a box and take off rather than stare around wondering which things are ready to be toted and which things are not. A closed box says, “I’m ready to go, dude. Pick me up and move me.” A stack of personal belongings piled in a corner says, “Maybe someone is still sorting through me, or deciding what to throw away. Maybe this is stuff that’s bound for Goodwill. Who knows? It’s unclear. None of this is in a box.”

Speaking of boxes, mad freakin’ props to Psynde, who has been a life-saver. Day after day, she’s been providing me with clean, sturdy, conveniently sized boxes from Barnes & Noble by the dozens. She is excessively awesome.

Anyway. Aric will be home from work soon, and that means supper — and probably another trip over to the new apartment with the last of our wall items (large, fragile pieces that I saved for last) and maybe another box or two of books. I’m worn out and very, very hungry, so meanwhile I’m going to lounge around and catch my breath for a few minutes.

Have a good evening, everyone.

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* It’s easy to move my car back and forth between the apartments during the day, because there’s plenty of street parking. After 5:00 or so, things get sticky up here on the hill. I might as well make hay while the sun shines, or whatever.

Ordinarily I don’t do this kind of thing (and no one is paying or urging me to do so now), but today I’m going to recommend a product — this steam mop, the Bissell 1867-7 Hard-Floor Cleaner. I ordered the steam mop via Amazon.com after noting that the old-school linoleum in our future apartment’s kitchen/bathroom (a). is supposed to be white with black accents, and (b). will require some tough love to keep bright and shiny … and furthermore (c). the hardwoods in the new place are also much nicer, and will likewise benefit from a little steam-lovin’.

I’ve spent the last 2-1/2 years in an apartment with a floor that looked permanently filthy, and it’s driven me nuts; I refuse to subject myself to the same in our lovely new place — which, not altogether unrelatedly, has considerably more floor space to manage. Ergo, after asking around and doing some research, I purchased the above-linked steam mop in the hue of “Green Tea” (because it was cheaper; perhaps they’re discontinuing the color or something).

It arrived today.

Curious, and with a disgusting floor just lurking right over there … I decided to take this baby for a test drive. I assembled it according to the handy-dandy instructions, pulled everything out of the kitchen, swept it out, and fired up the mop.

Click the following jump to see some [utterly unretouched] before and after shots, as well as product observations and notes.

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The latest in my ongoing series:

Regular blogging to resume before long, I promise. But for now, this is pretty much all I have to talk about …

How I spent my snowy New Year’s Eve, as captured by Suezie, who rocks.

Left to right that’s Psynde, Ellen, Aric (who later shaved, I promise), yours truly, and Keith (Suezie’s significant other).

I have a long-standing soft spot in my heart for Weird Tales — that epic and venerable periodical — and I don’t just say that because I’m excessively fond of its editor, or because (full disclosure) I’ve been published there in the past.

Ergo, I’d like to take a moment to direct your attention to this link, beneath which you can find a most excellent Year In Review and general breakdown of Awesome.

And since it’s award season, please allow me to point out that the fiction published by Weird Tales is eligible for a Hugo award in the “Best Semiprozine” category (which will be eliminated after this year) … and likewise, its uncommonly brilliant fiction-wrangler Anne VanderMeer could use a nod or two.

To the best of my knowledge, Weird Tales has never before won a Hugo — not in 85 years of operation (give or take). That kind of blows my mind. Maybe this is their year, eh?

• I logged on this morning to find a note from the Seattle Humane Society (re: a post I made pimping their Free Cats! drive), informing me that December was their second-best adoption month ever. They placed 534 animals, including 281 adult cats, which is absolutely wonderful! But there are still many more animals who need good homes; so if you’re thinking about expanding your family in a furry, four-footed way, then jaunt on down to the Seattle Humane Society and scritch a few ears.

• I just got back from visiting our new apartment, picking up keys, dropping off rent, etcetera — and I return to you with pictures! A few disclaimers: (1). No, I won’t post shots of the building’s exterior, because I don’t care if the whole world knows what neighborhood I live in — but I’m not going to pin it down any closer than that, (2). the unit is in the process of being painted and cleaned, and will be fully spiffy by the time we occupy it in another week or two. So if you’re curious, click the jump and behold …
  

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When I was a wee young sproglette and new to the work force, I spent several years working as a “Sandwich Artist” at Subway. Was it a glorious occupation? No. But it was by no means the most miserable job I ever had; and as far as food service goes, you could really do worse. The work is easy, the place smells great, it pays better than minimum wage, and you get free food.**

Anyway. We have a Subway a couple blocks away from our apartment, and sometimes I’m overcome with a craving; so I tootle on down to ye old sammich shop, and — depending on who’s working — I usually get a perfectly serviceable sandwich. But once in awhile I’m wholly uninspired by the folks behind the counter. Like today.

Sandwich-making isn’t rocket science; I know this first-hand. It’s easy as can be; and especially when the restaurant is not very busy, it’s not asking too much for the employees to accommodate simple requests — since it is, in fact, part of the business plan that I get to tell them what I want on my sandwich.

I’m not a picky bitch. I’m specific and clear — and polite. But when the kid behind the counter just ignores me, doesn’t listen, screws things up, and doesn’t want to fix any of her screw-ups … okay, fine. I get a smidge pissy.

Ergo, I propose the following: When an employee is certified as a Sandwich Artist, he or she ought to receive a little card identifying him or her as such; and this little card ought to authorize the holder to jaunt behind the counter at any Subway location, so that the bearer can make his or her own damn sandwich with impunity (even after that person’s term of employment has ended).

There would be restrictions, of course. People who have been fired, who are wearing inappropriate shoes, or are maintaining unsatisfactory levels of personal hygiene ought to be refused this privilege — and specific permissions should to be left to on-site manager (or senior employee) discretion. Perhaps there could be some sort of “continuing education” program in which former employees must participate every now and again, to make sure they still understand chain standards and inspection-passing matters of cleanliness.

I would totally be game to attend a one-hour class once a year in order to maintain that kind of card-holder status. I’m just sayin’.

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* This is actually a tweak of an idea my husband once shared regarding coffee drinks.
** Your “working for Subway” results may vary. It makes a huge difference how large the franchise is (most Subways are independently owned and operated), and/or who you’re working for.

Despite a press release to the contrary, I will not be participating in the Hugo House’s “InPrint” series panel on the 29th of this month. I shouldn’t be listed for it. Hugo House is aware of the situation, and I’m sure they’re working to correct it.

See also …
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