Blogging Elsewhere

I feel accomplished.

I might get back to substantial writing on this blog again eventually.

I would read this comic.

From Chris Sims' Twitter:

Project Merle Thunder is the project to give Merle Haggard sole possession of Mjolnir. We'll see who gets on his fightin' side NOW

My Day

Before I begin this anecdote I have two requests.

1)  I'd like for my father to stop reading for long enough to set up a webcam.  I want him to record his reaction to this post for me.

2)  I want the first person (and that includes you, Dad) to make a woman driver joke to be on the next flight to Europe so that I can personally beat him/her over the head repeatedly with a German cuckoo clock.

Why the special requests?  Because today I learned to drive a car with a manual transmission.

It started with my leaving my cellphone at work.  Being that my cellphone is my major way of anyone getting ahold of me, I needed to get it.  Unfortunately, I only noticed it was missing from my purse on Saturday morning when most of the people I know in this country are hung over.  Also, I was tired of scamming, begging and bumming rides from eveyrone at work.  The lack of transportation was getting to me, and it even went so far as to make getting regular transportation even more difficult to obtain.  The problem was compounded by my antisocial nature.  I wanted to see some of Germany--Hel, I just wanted to see a movie--but not if it meant I had to talk to people.

So I got out my little book, borrowed a neighbors telephone and called the rental place.  I'd have a week of independance if nothing else.  They set me up that afternoon with some temporary transportation, that could get me to work, to the store, to the movie theater, and most importantly, to the used car lot.  The day would have all worked out perfectly but for one slight problem.  That being the manual transmission.  But I was prepared for that, sort of.

I'd read about it on the internet.

And I got a... briefing from the car rental guy.

Nevertheless, when I got into the car and tested it out, I found I couldn't move in reverse to get out of the parking spot.  I did everything as I'd been told, I didn't panic when the car started moving when I released the clutch.  I shifted the gearshift towards the R, but it wouldn't go backwards.  So I glanced around the partking lot, and accosted some random guy as he was exiting his car.

"Hey, you drive manual?"

"Yeah."

"Umm.. help?"

He nodded and came over, said he knew exactly the problem.  "European gearshift.  You have to shove it all the way over until it clicks, then up."

I did so.  The car still stubbornly insisted on moving forward.  This wouldn't have been a problem, if not for the other car parked in front of it.  The car I was getting just a bit closer to each time I tried to move.  So I had the random stranger sit in the car and try it himself.

(Dad, you had better be filming your reaction to this story.)

And what do you know, it wasn't my fault.  He couldn't get it go backwards either.  We had no choice but to go forward past the other car (we had enough room between the bumpers to slip a few pieces of paper by) and sure enough, as soon as we cleared the other car and switched drivers again the damned reverse started working.

No, I didn't back into anything.  But I swear, I put it in the exact same position each fucking time.

Still, I was doing fairly well.  Within a half hour, I got it moving around the parking lot smoothly--after stalling a few dozen times in the first 20 minutes--and felt comfortable enough to go to the street to get to work and look for my phone.  The street was an uphill street.  And of course, the damnable thing stalled at the top.  And of course, the next car--an ugly boxy yellow thing--pulls right up behind me.

So here I am, still adjusting to the clutch and the slight rocking backwards because the parking lot didn't have enough hills to get used to that, and a line forms.  The woman in the yellow car behind me couldn't back up due to the black car that was right behind her, and I couldn't get any further up the hill.  She was fortunately very amused by the situation.  She and her entire line of cars eventually passed me.  Then another line formed, this one smart enough to back away.

After providing a total of 20 minutes entertainment to the base population, a pedestrian stopped to help me figure out the right combination of accelerator and clutch motion (he advised thinking of it as a teetertotter).  I didn't have another problem until work, where I discovered that my phone was not left at the office.

But don't worry, I think I know where it is.

I focused on my next errand, because by heaven's frosty gate I was going to get something accomplished this day.  The building for the next errand happened to be up a large hill.  But I wasn't worried, I'd discovered the secret to hills.  I wasn't quite sure about the speed limit, but I'd discovered the secret to hills.

Well, I thought I had.  I was still getting used to the clutch, though, so I stalled when I got up the hill and tried to turn into the parking lot.  So I restarted the engine, and stalled again.  I got a bit frustrated with it, particularly the car's desire to slip backwards on the hill as I tried to get it to start forward.  Took maybe ten minutes to park because of that.  But after that I ran smoothly around base, from the store to the other store, to the first store when the other store told me they didn't have what I wanted.  I obtained some potentially valuable advice about diesel engines at the last stop.  Sure, I overshot the movie time, I'm afraid.  But I remembered the way home.

The shine on remembering the way home was dulled when I stalled twice on the way home.  Both times entering traffic circles, which just sucks because there is someone moving in a little circle in front of you and invariably there is someone behind you.  That just makes recovering from the stall worse because there's suddenly this sense of urgency.

To top off the day, I stalled entering my freaking driveway, because guess who lives on the side of an uphill road! (And some jackass blasted his horn at me, which is illegal withing city limits, and startled me into releasing the clutch too soon as stalling a second time while I was trying to recovering from the first stall!)

But all in all it was a fairly productive day.  I'm now confident I can get to work and back (though I'm not touching the autobahn yet, I don't care what stupid souvenirs people want from other parts of Germany), and I've expanded my options for permanent transportation.  (There aren't many automatics for sale where I'm at, so this is a big thing.)  For this I'd like to thank my AWOL cellphone, my three impromptu teachers, the road-gods of Germany, and the cops who pointed and laughed as I banged my head against the steering wheel in frustration.

(And Dad?  Upload the video to Youtube, so I can watch it at my leisure.)

Tales from the Chatroom

Kalinara's been reading back issues of Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos today, and has treated me to a running commentary on the plot.

This includes her opinion on Nick's love interest Pamela.

An excerpt:

Kalinara (12:16:06 AM): Oh no, he's buying her a ring

Kalinara (12:16:09 AM): She's going to die.

Kalinara (12:16:10 AM): ...

Kalinara (12:16:12 AM): YAY

Then how can you call them good guys?

Lebovitz's Limit: Do the good guys torture? (Via)

Webfighting falls under this blog, doesn't it?

I've been a bit quiet due to finally finding a permanent residence, then waiting on Internet access, then losing internet access for a weekend. Yeah, I'm out in the sticks here.  (I did manage to finish a few good books like the last couple Hellboy trades, Small Favor and Livewires -- Good god, why did no one tell me how awesome Livewires was?)

Anyway, during the brief period I had net access last week I wrote a column. Now that I have it again, I went to check the column and found I was being called out by one Mark "My Underwear is Two Sizes Too Tight and That's What's Up My Ass" Engblom, who feels a feminist should be unquestioningly supportive of any female candidate:

Simply this: Lisa’s blog-life revolves around the advancement of women…but now that one’s knocking on the door to the vice presidency…well, I guess that’s not the RIGHT kind of woman for Lisa and the rest of the snarling lefty feminists out there who can’t stand the fact that a conservative women might just beat the “acceptable” feminists to that role. The Palin nomination has cause quite a few masks to fall, one of them being the hypocrisy of so-called feminists who are now rallying to stifle and push down a fellow woman on the verge of making history, yet doesn’t fit their narrow ideological spectrum.

Now, I consider Engblom's assumption that feminists should support a markedly antifeminist candidate just because she's a woman to be sexist so I came up with a long response. Then I decided against posting it on the actual thread of a post, because it's too damned long,Blog@Newsarama's comments were fucking up and it will just encourage the idiot to keep arguing with me in a place that is not my webspace.  I prefer to fight in my own backyard, at my leisure. So I'm giving it to you guys and if Engblom wants to come over and run his mouth in my territory rather than Matt Brady's he can:

Actually, I'd consider it a feminist act to vote against a female candidate who stands against your beliefs, just as it is a feminist act to vote for a female candidate who stands for your beliefs. It breaks down one of the fundamental constraints on women in our society, mainly that we are all considered a single demographic.

Here's an example: I just had a mild disagreement with a coworker who was kind enough to drive me to the store. I promised him it would be quick because I had a list. He laughed and said that no female could stick to a shopping list.

I raised my eyebrow, and--almost forgetting he was doing a nice thing for me--told him he was wrong.

"Look," he said, "I have a sister and a wife--"

"And I have 7 items on my list, and that's all I'm walking out of this store with."

I walked out of that store with 7 items. All on my list, no more, no less. He may think it's just because we argued or he may think I'm simply an oddity but the simple fact of the matter is he was wrong to make an assumption about all women based on just the two he knew. It simply wouldn't have been feminist to let the attitude go unchallenged.

See, one of the points of feminism is making the culture learn that woman are not interchangeable. This goes from the shitty characterization of and the comparison of any and all notable women to Wonder Woman, to the idea that I'm going to shop in the same way my coworker's sister, to the idea that Hillary Clinton's voters are going to be attracted by the addition of Sarah Palin to the ticket.

Sarah Palin is not Hillary Clinton. Sarah Palin never will be Hillary Clinton. The two are the opposite on just about every issue that matters. In fact, I have to say I respect Sarah Palin for not pretending that she is Hillary Clinton.

But anyone who voted for Hillary Clinton would be an idiot to vote for Sarah Palin, just as anyone who wants to vote for Sarah Palin would be an idiot to vote for Hillary Clinton.

Because these women are different.

Because--and say it with me--women are not all the same.

And that's one of the points of feminism, getting rid of these stereotypes. Destroying these assumptions. Making it so women can be judged on their own merits rather than assumptions made about their gender.

And this is what we're doing, judging Clinton and Palin on their merits, not their gender. Which means some people is going to love Palin and hate Clinton, while others going to love Clinton and hate Palin.

That's the way it would be with male candidates. That's the way it should be with female candidates.

This is not bitterness. This is not jealousy. This is taking what's best for you and the country into careful consideration before you pull the lever. This is listening to what the candidate says about the issues that affect rather than looking at their race/gender/religion and seeing how it matches to yours and assuming that their policies will benefit you somehow. This is taking your civic responsibility seriously. This is taking your rights seriously.

This is called thinking, Engblom. You might want to try it sometime.

It all reminds of my mother excitedly telling me that McCain had chosen a female running mate. I grinned, and laughed and informed her this wouldn't get me to vote for McCain unless it was someone really awesome.

"She's a conservative woman," Mom said proudly. (Mom is a conservative woman.)

"Oh, then I definitely won't vote for him. I liked Clinton because she was a liberal woman--well, an acceptably centrist woman. I'm not going to vote for just anyone because their running mate has the same parts as me." And for a few moments, I was happy, because it meant that I wouldn't vote for someone just because she was a woman. I felt rather satisfied with my enlightened viewpoint. And Mom, who I don't give enough credit in political discussions, was smart enough to understand that.

Then I researched Sarah Palin and started to get pissed off at her views, but this isn't really the blog for complaining about that. This is the blog for culture shock chronicles, comic books, and laughing at idiots in the online superhero fan community.

Congratulations, Mr. Sulu

George Takei marries longtime partner Brad Altman

The Ormes Society needs a leader.

Cheryl Lynn Eaton: Ah, I see that it is time to flex my muscles and get my Doctor Doom on! Unfortunately, Cheryl Lynn Eaton will be abdicating her positions in both the Ormes Society and Torchbearers to pursue goals unrelated to the field of comics. She has had an absolute blast meeting all sorts of wonderful creative people during her time in both communities as well as the larger comics community and will cherish the friendships she has fostered. Interested in taking the reins at Ormes or Torchbearers? Please contact Cheryl Lynn via e-mail!

--Digital Femme Online

The email's webmaster @ digitalfemme.com without the spaces.

Recommended Reading

In Defense of the Man of Steel

Great Guardians!

Mogo's a girl? (Last bit of audio at the end.)

August 29th

It's the little things that bring on the biggest culture shock sometimes.  Like the windows over here.  They are awesome and can be configured to be open at the top or opened by the side.   They just seem neat until you see there are no screens, which is weird.

And the toilets.  Rather than a latch there's a little paddle built into the wall or the back of the toilet that you press on.  The toilet in the hotel flushes by way of pressing a little oval right above the seat.  (It's perfectly situated to reach back and hit with your elbow while sitting on the toilet, so I suspect it was designed by a woman.)  Still, it's just this odd little difference between here and the US.

And then there's the train station newstand.  We took the train into Trier to see the Porta Nigra today, and the train station newstand had comic books.  Not Archie comics mind you, but All-Star Superman and X-Men issues and Captain America trades.  And the one in the Market Square had an entire rack of Manga, like you'd see at a bookstore.

Now, maybe I've just been unlucky but when was the last time you saw comics at a train station or airport newstand in US?

This is going to take some adjustment.

It's been about a week since my last update, so let me fill you in on the move.  Germany looks remarkably like Lackawanna County in Pennsylvania.  There are a lot of trees and gentle mountains and the little living areas are very spaced out.  Lots of farmland and wilderness too.  My coworker told me this area is known as the "Black Forest."  Yes, of Frau Totenkinder fame.  I like the climate, it's cold and rainy.  Haven't dealt with too many Germans yet--potential landladies excluded--but I can see my work's cut out with me in the new office with all the other transplanted Americans.

I am the only woman in the shop, which isn't too surprising.  Depressingly few women go for my career field, I'm only accidentally in it myself.   I'm actually one of four women in the building, which is a tad bit disconcerting.  That my shop hasn't had a female technician assigned to it for almost three years prior to my arrival is downright infuriating.  Something needs to be done about the lack of women in technical career fields.

In the meantime, a shop that is very set in its ways tries to adjust to mixed company.   The ground rules about profanity have been laid, but two incidents display the difficulty that still exists here. Last week I found myself without anything to do and so I tried to sort a particularly annoying pile of junk.  The boss was quickly disturbed by this and insisted that disorder and chaos were the proper way of the world.  For my part I fell into the stereotypical role of the only woman in a small group and continued to arrange things as I saw fit.  The rest of the shop was very amused, and started taking bets on what week I'd lose my sanity.

Today in the office they were rearranging the notices and bulletin boards on the wall to accommodate a very large whiteboard.  The men were asking each other if it might fit the spot on the wall they'd cleared for it.  Now, everyone in this shop carries personal tools attached to their belt depending on what they need the most so this was a perfectly logical thought on my part.  I asked if any of them were carrying a tape measure so that we could see before they lifted the heavy thing up.

My boss turned to me and said--and don't get me wrong here, he said it with good humor--"We're GUYS!"  because to him maleness implies a lack of logic, organizational skill and good sense.  Personally, I think they're using sexism as a excuse not to do their jobs correctly.  This was a problem in my last office, but getting put in charge of the shift let me teach some of them not to give in to antimasculine stereotypes and just do the fucking job.  I don't have that luxury here, it's the boss who needs the training.

On top of that, they insulted my technical abilities.  The rest of the shop joked that I'd be telling them to read the directions next.    How on earth did they get the idea that using the proper tool to make their job easier was on the same level as consulting the idiot manual?

That aside, I do like the people there.  Very relaxed and full of joking, like a good maintenance shop should be.

And I may have found a place to live.  It has a balcony, a landlady who can't pronounce my name, and the option of DSL so the comics community won't be rid of me just because I'm in German Appalachia now.

August 24th, 2008

I have to confess to having written off Girl-wonder.org since they got their mascot back a few months ago.  I'd had hopes for Project Girl Wonder as a test run to see how much influence they could gain over the Powers That Be but rather than move on from their victory to other projects most Spoiler-advocates seemed to take the resurrection as a malicious way to circumvent giving them exactly what they wanted (it was a way of avoiding giving them exactly what they wanted, but I don't believe it was malicious).  Rather than realize the pull they had they took it as Dan Didio laughing at them and collectively sulked.

As a Green Lantern fan who watched them lobby for ten years to get a major character morally cleared I was actually pretty disgusted with the organization.  As I saw it this was a major victory and they were going to squander it because it wasn't precisely what they wanted!  They didn't realize how vicious an enemy Perfect was when it came to Good.  I think if I hadn't had real life issues to distract myself with I'd have lost my temper and alienated the whole lot.

But rather than take the wind from the organization's sails as it initially appeared, the move by DC has managed to give them a chance to refocus their efforts on more substantial projects.

And no, that's not a swing at Steph-fans.  I understand the point of Project Girl Wonder, but it was a quest for an entirely symbolic gesture.  You have to admit that despite working in graphic literature and being buried in symbolism from it's customers to its CEOs the comics industry doesn't seem to understand the abstract very well.  That's most likely why DC went and one-upped the request.  They probably figured it would make these fans happy without giving them exact creative control (because giving masses of fans exact creative control would be disastrous in this industry).  Concrete efforts are what get you the respect.

But Friday, when we were all bickering and whining over John's call to action, the Board at Girl-wonder.org were acting and building a resource for anyone who wants to make their local convention as well as SDCC safer.

And today they've unveiled a map for locating female-friendly comic book stores, which for me personally may prove to be an invaluable resource if its kept current.  (I imagine some shops are going to gain and lose status a few times, but when you move to a new area or even have lived in an area for a while with little luck it really helps to have a place to start.)

I can't say I ever got behind the initial project, as I'm not much of a Batman fan and I despised the Spoiler character to begin with.  I mostly hoped they'd use it as a jumping off point for bigger and better things, which they have.  That makes me enormously happy, and I may even break down and buy a tee-shirt.

But I urge everyone to look at, use, and add to these resources as they can.  Keep them strong because whatever you may think of the initial Project Girl Wonder and symbolic efforts, these are concrete resources that have enormous potential to do good in the industry.

Anyway, that's my attempt at an apology. Sorry for doubting you, Girl Wonders, I was wrong.

It wasn't even one of my funnier statements.

To distract myself from having to wait on the latest issue of Captain America (if you spoil this before my comics package arrives in the mail, I'll make you pay) I chose to spend my sparse spare time this evening being a dick in Kalinara's comment section.

I know, I know, but I had to say something.  It started out as a good idea but I couldn't wrap it up properly. It was a weak insult, so was I surprised when I managed to get an entire country of Germany insulted as a response.

Have fun in Germany. Considering the foul and hateful-minded person you are, you ought to fit right in with the cournty that helped to spawn a certain other well-known loud-mouthed and hateful jerk.

Ahh, the sweet smell of Godwin in the morning. It smells like a fool who doesn't have a point left to argue.

ARRGHHH!!

I am on the plane in less than two hours, and I have neglected to buy one comic from my pull list before leaving the fucking continent.  And it's one I wanted to read.  :(

Now I'll have to wait.

Recommended Reading

Here.

I STILL aten't dead.

Even though it's been long enough to realize that absolutely nobody is still checking this blog (I double-checked the stats, flatlined at zero for at least a month), that's no excuse not to use it.  I have, of course, had many other excuses not to use it in the past few months but it's nearing four in the morning, I've nothing planned in the morning and I'm unable to sleep anyway.

It hasn't been the greatest week for sleep.  After several months of professionally and personally preparing for an extended stay overseas, packing up every bit of my life in Oklahoma and sending it to the boat, dragging that furry bastard on a plane ride to Pennsylvania so that my sister can feed him (I can't bring myself to trust anyone in Oklahoma City to care for a cat, there are too many stray cats wandering around.  Someone is letting them loose), I came home to discover that my mother has decided to drown me in the best aspects of American Culture before I cross the Atlantic and forget everything here.

Or perhaps she's trying to make me feel better about leaving the country.

You need to understand what I mean by American Culture to truly get what sort of week this has been.  When people ask where I'm from, I like to say "Scranton."  I say that so that it'll sound like I'm actually from somewhere.  I'm not.  I'm not even from a town.  I grew up in a township.  I could never name the mayor of this township, because I wasn't sure (and still aren't sure) that there was one.  The most well-known person in the township seemed to be my father.  I suspect this was because he was a policeman.  Near as I can figure, there were only five policemen in the entire county, and they worked part time for the different municipalities.  There are a lot of trees here.  And some hills.  And on certain nights growing up all of my father's relatives (who lived within two miles of the house) would gather together at dinner and it would end with my parents strumming old country hymns such as "Green Green Grass of Home" and "In the Garden" on ukuleles and forcing the kids to sing along.  I went to a school district where, if you were late for school one morning and went to sign in with your excuse it wasn't uncommon to see "Horses got loose" in a previous spot on the sheet.  My coworkers at my first job asked if I rode a donkey to school when they found out where I was being taught.

The woods all around where I lived where posted "No Trespassing" signs, and I used to sneak lightly around them worried about some old hillbilly with a shotgun aiming for anyone who crosses his land.  I thought I was lucky to not be under fire when I wandered those woods.  It was my mother's comparatively upscale upstate New York relatives who finally clued me in that the old hillbilly with the shotgun was my own father, and that the "No Trespassing" signs were to keep hunters from wandering in and mistaking the little brown-haired girl in the brown coat for a deer wandering those woods.

Now, I suppose you could attribute my reluctance to name my home"town" right off when someone asks where I'm from to shame, but really it's just weariness.  After so many times of explaining what a township is and just where in the larger-than-it-seems state of Pennsylvania mine might be I just settled on the nearest city as a workable location.  I couldn't honestly say I was from Philadelphia or New York, but if asked I could say that Scranton was somewhere in between and leave it at that without too many people trying to find out what a township is.

On the contrary, rather than shame I've encountered more often a strain of that irritating hillbilly pride--irritating because the hillbilly/redneck/hic/yokel/etc pride turns out to be just as judgmental and snobbish as the upper class city stereotype it rails against for being snobbish and judgmental and hypocrisy is just fucking annoying no matter where you find it--in me.  This is due to the exact position of where I'm from.  With Philadelphia to the south and New York to the north, I never labored under the impression that Scranton was the proverbial "Big City."  I knew exactly what a big city looked like and San Antonio, Oklahoma City, New Orleans, Chicago, St Louis--none of them impressed me like people figured they would a sheltered hillbilly girl who just joined the military.  Indeed, my friend Liz from Wyoming insisted that I was from a city and just didn't know what real country looked like when I wasn't impressed by San Antonio.

But on the other hand, San Antonio is no slouch.  Neither are any of the other cities I've seen New Yorker and Los Angelino Airmen turn their noses up at.  The idea that San Antonio is a small town or has a small town feel is fucking ridiculous and the expression of that idea only proved to me that a certain Airman's Chicago apartment was just as sheltered as any Wyoming ranch.  After the fourth of fifth idiotic Airman from either side, I realized that growing up in the wilderness meat of a megalopolis sandwich had given me a sense of perspective that many people lacked.  And to this day I use that sense of perspective to feel superior to country folk and city folk alike.

But I'm rambling again, the point was to illustrate what my mother meant by "American Culture."  In the past week and a half I have been to the Pocono Speedway (I got to watch the cars go round and round and round), Gettysburg (which was actually pretty fucking cool and I would advise anyone who sets foot in the United States to visit that town), New York (People where I grew up tend to consider this city something of a large shopping center with a good theater attached, so we made a conscious effort to sightsee this time), Hershey (where we forgot to buy chocolate for my father), and a Toby Keith/Montgomery Gentry concert and I haven't gotten my comics for a few weeks.  I've had some fun in all that but I'm pretty fucking tired and I've been pretty fucking busy, and I still have a transatlantic flight to look forward to.  And a foreign country.  Which I strongly suspect will throw that finely tuned sense of perspective out of whack.

I'm going to Germany, and while I've been both excited and freaked out I find myself with just two main thoughts:

1) I'm so glad my high school didn't offer German lessons.  Four years of sleeping through Spanish left me with the embarrassing tendency to nod off whenever I heard the language, which was just plain awkward in San Antonio.

2) The scene in Frankenstein with all the villagers carrying torches and pitchforks.  But I'm not sure if that's a sign of prejudice or anxiety.

So, if anyone was wondering why this and my other online projects are so dead this summer, it's because I had bigger and more annoying things going on and it might continue for a bit.

Robert Downey Jr to play Sherlock Holmes for Guy Ritchie

July 1, 2008

I was chatting with Kalinara today when she asked for advice on her blogpost.  She wanted to know if she should keep or jetison a paragraph.

It reminded me of when I lived in San Antonio when I was 19, and I had a 24-year old friend named Liz.  Liz and I would go shopping and see movies and generally hang out, and I almost always turned to her when I couldn't decide between two options.  She always had a clear and confident choice when I asked her.  I think it had something to do with the fact that Liz had an opinion on everything; she informed me of the difference between Tex-Mex and Mexican food, that skinny cowboys with freckles are hot, and that only sluts wear red.

She also informed me that I was both deceptive and straightforward, which still makes my brain hurt a little to process.

One day, Liz asked me why I always asked her to make my decisions for me.  I hadn't even realized that was what had been happening.  She informed me that I did it all that time, that she knew I'd decide on whatever she said, and that she sometimes just chose the option that was the most amusing option.  Usually, she didn't give a shit and just randomly picked one and inwardly rolled her eyes at my sheepyness.

I suspect that was what prompted me to go into my red clothing phase (Kalinara would like to add "For the record, I'm not letting you pick out my clothes" to this part of the post) , but I'm not sure.  I do know that this wasn't the only time Liz's casual dickishness taught me a valuable lesson, and for that I'm grateful.  Even if she did have really shitty taste in food.

And men.

And comics.  She only bought Meridian, Tarot and Witchblade, for heaven's sake!

Nevertheless, I miss Liz.  She was my Wednesday comic-book buddy for over a year.  I think she went back to Wyoming after she left the service.  I hope she got the job and family she wanted.

I ended up giving Kalinara a completely random choice, because Kali picks whatever the fuck she wants anyway.  I'm not sure whether that's indicative of the influence Liz had on me or the influence Kalinara has on me.

Checking in.

I have a feeling this one will attract a fight.

In other news, I saw an idiot when I poked my head out of my subterranean cave this morning, so 6 more days without Ragnell.