Pure As the Driven Slush: Heather Corinna's Journal and Diary, Online since 1999

Archive for the 'apropos of nothing' Category

Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007

I always forget that really high fevers seriously fry your brains to shite. The entriety of yesterday is utterly lost to me.

Somehow this weekend — I’m guessing while spending a couple hours sharing steam with a pile of women at the Olympus this weekend in between photo shoots — I picked up one helluva bug, resulting in my spiking a 103 fever yesterday afternoon. As of today, I seem to be getting on the mend, but one shouldn’t expect to be hearing from me for a few days more.

I swear, it’s always something.

Tuesday, March 13th, 2007

Ah, redesign.

So, while my father is still sleeping — and why he always insists on sleeping on the couch when I set up a room for him, I will never know — with my pug curled on his legs, I’m sitting in the office here downstrairs working on the redesign for Scarleteen.

Because in a month or so, the site revamp really should be finished so that when the book rolls out, the site looks its best and also has the supports needed to help sell and promote the book.

Umm, eek.

My end of the work isn’t huge, really: the users have always liked our design scheme and vibe, so I’m not making ginormous changes, just some sprucing up, and some work to create a layout that will both work in Drupal and be more useable overall. We also need some text design upgrades. Thank christ the users like the yellow jammie stripes we’ve had for years, because I couldn’t bear to part with them: they’re just so cozy. In fact, without even realizing I was doing it, I like them so much I unconsciously painted the upstairs studio in the exact same stripes.

(My poor AGA blogger and also longtime Scarleteen user who visited me a couple weeks ago had to feel like she was sleeping inside the site. Thankfully, most of our houseguests aren’t Scarleteen users, so they just find the stripes fresh and charming, rather than a little disturbing. Maybe the stripes are the issue with my Dad, though. Hmm.)

Truth be told, I miss design work. Back in the day, when I first started all the sites, I did a lot of freelance web and ad design to keep me afloat, and it was one of those things I rarely got tired of doing. It always feels a bit like rearranging your room, when you’ve got an existing design, with existing limits and contraints, but you get to freshen it up a bit so — ideally — you get that fine combination of the comfort and familiarity of your old room with the feeling that you’ve inherited a new one.

I wish I could donate every minute of the next couple of weeks to doing this, because fiddling with colors and text, moving things around to see how they fit, fashioning patterns and such is just a seriously good time. It’s the kind of work you can very easily lose hours and hours in without knowing they passed, and any work that has that effect is always my favorite.

Of course, we’ll see if I still feel this way about it once I get it done to the point where Garrett and I start trying to fit it into Drupal and make everything work. It’s always the functionality stuff that bursts my happy-play-with-the-pretty-colors bubble.

* * *
While I’m doing this, I’m also talking IM with Becca about Montessori and such for her in-utero kid. It’s awesome to be able to talk to her about this stuff, but it’s also a really big bummer not to be there with her for all of this. Moving here has had a lot of perks, but there have been some very real losses, and not being able to see the closest friend I’ve ever had, especially right now, is absolutely one of them.

Thankfully, she has a visit here scheduled for a few weeks from now, too. Here’s hoping that when she leaves I don’t end up with a reenactment of the night before I moved from Minneapolis, when I had a cry about leaving her and Briana that I — and poor Mark — wasn’t sure would ever end. I’ve had some hard, hard breakups in my life, but it’s been really rare for me to end up upset to that level, where breathing was difficult, where I didn’t think I would ever stop drying, and where your stomach muscles hurt from sobbing so hard. Over the first couple months I lived here, I’d have to make myself just not think about Becca and Bri, because when I did, I’d end up a big, weepy mess all over again.

Anyone who supports the cultural mandate that romantic relationships are by default somehow the most important, more important and bigger than any other, has never had a cry like that over having to part with friends.

And now I’m missing teaching in the classroom, to boot. Best get back to designing to chase the impending blues away, and to, you know, get it done.

Friday, March 2nd, 2007

Just back from running a few errands in the drizzle, and within a mere four blocks I enjoyed one very fine sight and one very fine sound.

First, I see a little old woman and her little old dog on a walk. BOTH are wrapped up to the nines in utterly ridiculous sweaters, the likes of which I have not seen since 1985 (actually, I think combined, they both may have been wearing nearly as many sweaters as were made in 1985). BOTH are taking tiny, cautious but very determined steps as they walked. BOTH are literally smiling at each other.

My insulin levels went through the roof. Oh, for technology to advance to the point where there can be a camera simply installed in my head.

Just a few blocks later, I turn unto my street and am BLASTED with loud Mariachi music from one of the building under construction. For starters, anyone who is truly an expert in Heather-trivia knows I am kookoo for Mariachi. So kookoo, that when I had my On Our Backs spread a few years back, when asked the best way to woo me out of my mind, I replied that a full Mariachi band just below my window would easily do the trick. Alas, it has yet to happen. Clearly, no one really loves me.

But here’s the best part — Seattle? Not exactly a diverse city. Growing up in Chicago, especially in Rogers Park off Clark St., I obviously was very spoiled with diversity, so I’ll give you that my standards are high (the notion of which is, of course, ridiculous). But by pretty much any standard, much of Seattle is the Unbearable Whiteness of Being. And a decently sized Chicano population we very much do not have, particularly in Ballard.

So, turning the corner to my place on a grey, rainy day — far, far away from the things that feel most like home to me — and not only hearing the wild violins, trumpets, guitars make sounds that I love and miss hearing all over the place, but hearing them loud as FUCK, as they’re meant to be? Melodioso.

P.S. Because it’s too exciting not to gloat about, Dr. Lynn Ponton (whose work I think it sheer genius, and who I admire like nobody’s business), Lisa Jervis, Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards gave us such awesome blurbs for my books this week, it totally spun my head. A happy, happy author I be.