Sorry you asked?

I am TAGGED, says Mr. O'Toole, and must obey. For the record, I sympathize with Miss Orr in that I did do this once already for the benefit of non-SL friends- this time it's somewhat easier, since... they know me, and you, whomever you are, do not. Unless you've been stalking me. Which is highly unlikely, but just in case:

1) In real life, I am a krav maga master. My favorite weapon is a sterling silver cheese grater.




...fine, if you're going to be like that, I'll start over.

First, since it relates to my tagger... Within my extended family, I seem to have inherited the rare gene that designates one as the next keeper of the family histories, the recipient of the genealogical bug, as it were. I enjoy placing things in context, I suppose. I'm also something of a Shakespeare enthusiast. So it was with great amusement that, last year, I traced one of my lines quite unexpectedly back to this fellow (and his ally, incidentally, but that's another story...) Obviously, the amusement was renewed when I met Mr. O'Toole.

Second, in spite of the occasional bewilderment of my parents and pretty modest resources, I did somehow manage to come by a stereotypical Southern girl's upbringing in many respects- cotillions, etiquette lessons, riding in shows and all of that, culminating (after a move up north) in a debut at two traditional deb balls when I was seventeen. I'm not much for waiting for anyone to make my life romantic; I'd rather arrange it myself, and so far, it's working out well.

Third, when asked as a prekindergartener by a school yearbook reporter what I intended to be when I grew up, my reply was, "I haven't really decided yet whether I want to be a princess, or a zookeeper." Almost two decades later, I still can't choose between the two.

Fourth, my cat Spaulding has the build and weight of a good-sized terrier and can pretty much pwn you, and your dog. He's been my companion for almost half my life.

Fifth, I've sold portrait sketches, despite the fact that I never intended to sell any. I gave one as a wedding gift to a friend who happened to have friends who happened to like it. But it's a very personal thing; I draw my entire understanding of a person when I attempt their portrait, and that's not something I'd want to do with strangers. It's too bad, because the money would be nice. I don't have to worry about selling any paintings- I have a few dozen canvases, and have never finished one.

Sixth, I listen to classical music almost exclusively. Oh, there are exceptions, but I rarely seek out modern music I like because it usually does so little for me. Beautiful music is probably the only unadulterated joy in my life- both listening to it, and creating it as a singer in various choirs, and cellist. People on SL have been wonderful about exposing me to music I wouldn't otherwise hear, though I have to admit that often I'll turn the sound off at raves and the like. Not because I dislike it per se, but because I cannot follow the conversations if when my mind is also trying to process lyrics, due to the fact that...

Seventh, I have severe ADHD, de-emphasis on the H. The absolute best part of it, I have to say, is encountering people who either a) think it doesn't exist except as an excuse for laziness or stupidity, or b) think that you're one of the people who claim to have it without ever having been actually diagnosed by competent evaluators, or at all. For the most part, I don't tell people, because it's less demoralizing to be thought of as unwilling than unable. There is no area of my life that this has failed to affect in some significant, negative manner. I guess, then, if you ever wonder where my mind is... I'm looking for it too.

Eighth, I have about 100,000 words of a historical novel written, and probably about as many left to write. There are several others in lesser stages of completion, and their existence enables me to write the main one... I'll manage to put down a page or perhaps two at a time, and then have to set it aside and pick up another because that's all my concentration will allow. It's tempting to weave them all together into a Dickensian morass, but I have pity on my future readers. Oddly, I really don't like short stories, though I've written them for practice (and publishing in magazines). Gloire, incidentally, has an extensive history, but I probably won't write it apart from the disjointed mutterings on my other blog. She and I have a little too much in common.

I don't think there's anyone left to tag at this point, so bye-bye, meme!

A smallish note of thanks

I didn't know what to expect from my first rezday party. It felt a little odd to celebrate it, in the first place, since I didn't start to log in regularly until almost the middle of March. And to be completely honest, I didn't expect anyone to really show up- things are always busy in Caledon, and... "What poster?" asked my friend, only a few hours before the party when I asked him if he'd be dropping by. I was hoping some would for Gnarli's sake more than mine, since he went to the trouble of arranging everything. For whatever reason, people did, and what resulted was a lovely evening of the sort I favor in RL. Between the darling gifts (a cello! from Mr. Abel, a buoy with bells! from Mr. O'Toole, a tea-table from Lady Christine with scoooooones- just to name a few), the perfect music thanks to Sir Edward, the laughter, and good company from everyone who came, I really felt quite blessed and touched by everybody's kindness. Thank you all so much. :)

LULZ, and such

First, if you can't tell, I give up (I really do) on making the blog look like something. Wrestled with the blasted thing for hours and after much swearing, reverted back to... well, it's very brown, isn't it? But nicely mellow, so it'll do for now. Perhaps the next time I'm feeling masochistic, I'll give it another whirl, but not just at present.

Second... how cheated do I feel by the fact that I completely missed out on Middlesea getting shut down by griefers the other day. By the time I woke up from my restful nap, our GGLS and two vigilant Lindens had come and gone, and the sim was purring along like nothing at all had happened. Take a moment to imagine my disappointment, if you can, as I surveyed the utter lack of destruction and noted the dismayingly lagless performance. Where were the 50m banners of Trotsky? Where were the thousands of self-replicating clock spiders? Where were my lulz? Am I not furry enough for these people? Who do I have to click around here to get buried under a mountain of flying phalli?

These griefers have no respect.