Grandma’s kitchen was magic. No matter how late we arrived after driving all day from Wisconsin to Pennsylvania, there would always be sandwich materials (or similar “easy” foods) laid out on the table for us, and Grandma would sit with us while we ate at 1 or 2 in the morning.

The kitchen freezer was the magical epicenter, forever stocked with Klondikes. (What would we do for a Klondike bar? Drive more than 12 hours, of course!) Even after we children and grandkids were certain we’d eaten the absolute last Klondike in the house, more would materialize the next time someone opened the freezer.

Much entertainment was found in the main stairs’ banister. The supporting posts were wrought iron, alternating some pattern of straight and twisted bars. We cousins would always spend at least some time sitting on the stairs, pulling up the bases of the posts and watching them either slide straight down (thunk!) or rattle through the multiple twists.

Grandpa, her husband of more than 60 years, had a reading chair at the base of the stairs and could often be found there in the evening. But every night, he performed a ritual. Before bed, he’d walk over to the grandfather clock in the living room and fiddle about with the innards. I can’t remember how old I was when I finally realized he was pulling the chains to wind the clock’s works, but his ritual and the sound of that clock’s pendulum and hour chimes are inexorably linked to Grandpa and Grandma’s house in my memory.

Most evenings, we visitors and Grandma would settle around the kitchen table for games. One was well advised not to challenge Grandma to Scrabble unless one was prepared to lose; she was a self-effacing force to be reckoned with. Or we might get out a deck of cards for a round of King’s Corners.

Grandma introduced me to Shirley Temple’s version of A Little Princess; it may have been the first black-and-white film I saw. She let me play with “ancient” games she’d kept for years, as well as the old stereoscope; but I don’t remember her ever cautioning me to “Oh, be careful with that! It’s ever so old.” I don’t remember her ever being too busy to listen to her grandchildren or spend an evening with us in the backyard as we chased down the lightning bugs. And she adored stuffed animals, with several scattered around the house.

Grandma is also the reason I’m writing this post at 1am. (I come by my night owl tendencies honestly, you see.)

Funny how a simple thing like walking into a bathroom and seeing a puzzle book can end up here…

I miss my grandma.

She was born exactly 70 years and 16 days before I was (to the best of my knowledge, which is admittedly incomplete, we are the family’s only two January babies from her generation to present). She died at the ripe old age of 99 and a half. But the woman – the personality – that I knew and loved as my grandma passed away several years before that; though I firmly believe crosswords and Scrabble kept her mind healthy much longer than we should have been able to expect.

I’ve realized tonight that my emotions about Grandma’s death are twisted up with the anger and frustration inspired by my then-boss. The way he (in my opinion) misunderstood and mishandled the concept of bereavement leave ended up being the camel-breaking straw in a year-long string of stress and frustrations; I gave my notice shortly after returning from Grandma’s funeral. And if I’m honest, there’s some guilt wrapped up in there too, for the way I started avoiding Grandma (emotionally if not physically) once her mind started slipping away; the woman my parents took me to visit wasn’t Grandma anymore, and I pulled away. Looking back on it, I’m not proud of that.

But I am proud – and I think Grandma would be, too – that a new generation is filling in an elder relative’s crossword books left in the bathroom.

You know, I don’t have any firm thoughts/beliefs on what happens after we die, but I’d much rather believe in reincarnation than Heaven. It wouldn’t be fair to deny other families the chance to have the wonderful spirit that was Grandma in their lives.

(After I hit “Post”, WordPress informed me this is my 100th post. That…seems fitting, somehow.)

Wow. Look at that. Can you believe my pilot made me live in that cold? I'm a desert car, y'know! It's so great to be back home!

HI! This is the CARDIS (stands for Chronology And Relative Dimension In Space). I understand at least one person was disappointed that there wasn’t a picture of me in the call for help posted by ButMadNNW, so I thought I’d take a moment to thank you personally.

My pilot and I are both positively gobsmacked at the generosity of the donors who commissioned knitting or gave without expecting anything in return in order to keep us together. In just over a day and a half, you’ve exceeded the minimum we need to keep the monsters at bay. You have no idea how much it means to us; we’ve been together for over four years and being separated would be horrible. Who knows what kind of a reckless, bumper-sticker-loving cretin I might end up with?! It’s bad enough ButMadNNW sticks these silly Disney antenna balls on me. [She's joking; the CARDIS loves her antenna balls. ~ButMadNNW]

A little history, for those wondering: I was already living with my pilot for a year or two before she met the Doctor and realized I had a name. So no, she didn’t take me home because I happen to have the same paint job as that Time Lord’s vehicle – might be hard to see in that photo, but I do – that was just luck.

Personally, I can’t wait for my pilot to get a job. Not only do I know how hard this whole situation has been on her, I’m sick of sitting in garages or on driveways in all sorts of weather with no place to go! I’m a vehicle, hello! I’m meant to move!

In the meantime, ButMadNNW wanted me to let you know that she’s happy to take some more knitting commissions via the Donate button on the right of the screen. The threat of me being taken away is only one of the problems being faced down right now. So every little bit still helps. I’d offer to help her with all the knitting she now has lined up, but it’s hard to hold needles with tires.

What’s that, pilot? We have to run out and drop off some applications? Brilliant! *revs* Thank you all again, but I have to run! *purrs*

As many of you know, I’ve been out of work for several months now and trying to find a job. I’ve been more-or-less maintaining the illusion of staying afloat, but not wisely. I am at the end of my rope and dangling by the last string. The job I was supposed to walk into when I got to California? Still waiting on the background check. I’ve been putting out more applications, but anything I might get will take some time to get started.

I’m not very good at asking for help, especially not handouts. I don’t even like to talk openly on the Internet about my financial problems. But I need some serious help.

Here’s why:

Earlier tonight, my car loan company informed me that if I can’t get a payment to them by the end of June, they’re going to start taking steps towards repossessing my car (who is dubbed the CARDIS). I now live in a very rural area. There is no public transit. If I don’t have a car, I can’t get to work – I can’t even find a job.

I need your help, but in return you get A THING!: A hand-knitted reusable cup sleeve for your morning cup o’ joe or tea – Earl Grey – hot. (Or possibly, your cup of something almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea.)

Your cup sleeve may look like this - or not.

You are welcome to donate any amount, but for a minimum donation of $10 US or £8 GBP, I will make you your very own cup sleeve and get it to you as soon as possible, i.e., as soon as it’s finished and I can post it. Once you click the donate button, you can leave a message with your color choice (see list below). If you just want to help and don’t want a cup sleeve, you can do that too; just let me know in the box.

As an extra-special added incentive, for Whovians and Sherlockians: With a donation of $15 (£11) or more, you can choose a sleeve inspired by the Fourth Doctor’s scarf or John’s Jumper from Sherlock! (NB: John’s Jumper is a beige cable-knit; you’re still welcome to choose your own color if you prefer.)

UPDATE #2: Because a couple people have asked: Yes, if you want to help and get a knitted item in return, but don’t drink coffee/tea, we can discuss another project for you. I suggested cup sleeves because they’re simple and a fairly quick knit. For more complex projects, I have to ask for a higher minimum donation. (I’m desperate here, but still trying to be sensible about return on my time investment, yarn cost, and such.)

Anything you can do is a big help, and very much appreciated. Thank you.

Possible yarn colors: (All yarns are acrylic, cotton, and/or nylon. I cannot use wool due to allergies. All yarns are lovely to hold; I’m very picky.)

• Green
• Yellow
• White
• “Wood” (black/gray/rust)
• Dark variegated pink
• Light variegated pink
• Pink (fibers: bamboo/acrylic/polyester)
• Blue
• Purple
• Red
• Dark brown
• Toffee (medium brown)
• Tan (light brown)
• Black
• Beige
• Gray
• Maroon
• Lime green (yes, really)

A tiny banana I knitted

The new Scientific American has an article titled “The Unleashed Mind: Why Creative People Are Eccentric“. It’s an interesting read if you’re interested in psychology, creativity, and/or why your neighbor wears polka dots exclusively and talks to his pet duck in Chinese; and it looks like the entire text is available online. So rather than discuss the article in detail here, I’d rather drive some traffic their way and have you go read the article for yourself.

But I will point out one of the conclusions drawn from the research discussed:

Harvard researcher Dennis Kinney and his team … suggested that schizotypal individuals may inherit the unconventional modes of thinking and perceiving associated with schizophrenia without inheriting the disease itself. … They found that the adopted offspring of schizophrenic individuals who themselves displayed signs of schizotypal personality had higher scores for creativity than the control subjects. The Kinney group also made a new discovery: some of their control subjects who did not have a family history of schizophrenia met the profile for schizotypal personality—and they too scored higher for creativity than other control subjects.

In other (over-simplified) words: highly creative people are, quite frequently, mildly schizophrenic. Or at least exhibit similar thinking styles.

Where have I heard that before…?

My main purpose in posting here is twofold:

1) To add my “geek girl” voice to the chorus of irritation, because of the whole “power in numbers” thing (or perhaps I should phrase it “attention in numbers” – one angered geek will not be noticed by the NYT; hundreds of us…maybe).

2) Although I wrote a letter to the NYT editor, I don’t expect they’ll publish it. I ran long. I mostly wrote it just to add to the pile of people saying, “What you published was not acceptable to us.” So since I expect this not to appear in the paper, I thought I’d share it here.

As an aside, I completely fail to understand the near-universal dismissal of female geek audiences. I was re-watching Firefly or Serenity the other night, I forget which, and the DVD had a featurette about the show and its cancellation. One of the blokes involved with the show said that Fox was disappointed that the show was performing better than expected with the female demographic and worse than expected with the males.  First of all, why does the gender breakdown matter, as long as someone is watching the show? Secondly, did those Fox executives not get the memo that these days it’s women who make the majority of purchasing decisions for their households? That it’s our dollars your advertisers should be trying to attract? And therefore, if more women are watching a sci-fi show (because – *gasp* – we actually do watch sci-fi!) your advertisements are being put before the eyes of the people who decide whether or not the household will spend money on your product!

I saw the same bemusement at the first con I attended, which was thrown by the producers of Highlander: The Series. The producers were completely clueless about their audience! They were reportedly amazed that the number of female con attendees was so large (I believe more than half of the whole) and that one of their “guest stars” (Peter Wingfield, who played Methos) got a wilder, noisier, more enthusiastic reception than their “star”, Adrian Paul. Yeah, guess what: women watch your show! And while the Methos fans generally did think Wingfield is physically attractive, that’s not why we were fans of his. Methos was a compelling, enigmatic character that interested us more than the “boy scout” Duncan MacLeod was. AND we liked the swords and fights as much as the guys in the audience. Imagine that. *ahem* …but all that is a rant for another time.

Back to the topic at hand, this is the letter I sent to the New York Times editors (with one hyperlink added solely for this blog post):

With all due respect, Ms. Bellafante needs to expand her social circle and meet a wider variety of women, because neither I nor most of the women I know fit into her world view. Among her many claims about what all women do and don’t like, she states that no woman in a book club would vote for Tolkien over Lorrie Moore. First of all, who is Lorrie Moore? No, seriously; I’ve never heard that name. Nor have I ever seen a single episode of Sex and the City. Secondly, I was part of a sci-fi/fantasy book club that was a bit over 50% women. No, The Hobbit wasn’t read in the club; we’d all already read it – I read it when I was about 11.

I’m now 32, and I’ll admit the furor over Ms. Bellafante’s content-less “review” of Game of Thrones is the first I’ve heard of the HBO adaptation, the book, or its author. However, I am an avid fan of Doctor Who, Joss Whedon’s Firefly, Katharine Kerr‘s high fantasy book series set in Deverry (which has several fictional words, its own pronunciation guide for those, and a cheat sheet to help the reader keep track of each character’s many reincarnations), Star Trek, and too many other sci-fi/fantasy worlds to name. As I type, I’m in the process of hunting down pieces for a costume for Minneapolis’s sci-fi/fantasy convention CONvergence this summer (http://www.convergence-con.org).

I realize this has exceeded the word count for publishable Letters to the Editor, but I wasn’t really aiming to get published. I just wanted to add my voice to the multitude of “geek girls” who have a simple message for Ms. Bellafante: We do indeed exist, and we are not amused.

Why? Because it’s a time-traveling spaceship! Is any other reason needed? Oh, yeah, one other reason: it’s far bigger on the inside than on the outside.

So I could load ALL of my belongings into it, hop over to the UK, and move right on in. Live there for years, even decades, and return to the States (after all, I’d have to visit my family) five minutes ago. Not to mention visiting other planets; visiting other places on our own planet; or getting to talk to deceased people I admire, like Shakespeare, Milton Erickson, etc.

And no worries about affording the cost of living anywhere. I can either just live in the TARDIS itself, or go back in time a century or so, deposit a miniscule amount in a decent interest-earning account, and hop forward to collect my earnings.

ETA: Oh, forgot the most important reason: All that travel, with NO TSA!

Topic #97: If you could pilot any vehicle, what would it be? (F-35, Death Star, The Enterprise, an aircraft carrier, anything goes). Why? Where would you go? What would you do? Submitted by Adventurewriter’s Blog. … Read More

via The Daily Post at WordPress.com

Today’s post over at Sleep Talkin’ Man (which is hilarious, by the way, and you should subscribe or add it to your RSS feed or whatever you do to track these things) highlights one of my enduring stances: the words we choose to use matter (I’ve been meaning to write more on this…maybe someday). I don’t care if it is “only” a text message or tweet or message board posting. Use a word incorrectly, spell it wrong, muck up your grammar, and don’t be surprised when you’re misunderstood. But I digress.

STM also reminded me of a story from my high school days. So I thought I’d break my chain of non-blogging days (#postaweek, ha!! …can I blame it on preparing to move?) by sharing it.

During my senior year, I took what was, I believe, the only psychology course (surprise, surprise) on offer in the entire school. One day, the teacher read us brain teasers, and we tried to answer them, discussing the logic involved, challenging our assumptions in thinking, etc. One of the teasers was:

“If Mr. Brown’s peacock lays an egg in Mr. Green’s yard, to whom does the egg belong?”

(I’ll put a break here in case you want to consider that for a second.)

A vote of the class was taken. Some voted for Mr. Brown, some voted for Mr. Green. Both sides were wrong.

So someone asked, “The peacock?”

The teacher shook her head with a wicked grin and told us the answer: “Peacocks don’t lay eggs.”

No one accepted that answer, and what followed was a boisterous “debate” (if you can call it that) with exclamations such as “What?!” and “But peacocks are birds, right? All birds lay eggs, right?!” (And yes, that question really was delivered with a tone of “Everything I know is wrong!!”)

Meanwhile, I sat quietly in my seat, mental gears churning. Inspiration struck, thanks to previous teachers who had taught me how to deconstruct words, but I wasn’t certain and didn’t want to speak up if I was wrong. As I happened to have been assigned the seat next to the teacher’s desk, it was a simple matter to turn in my chair and grab the dictionary off the shelf behind me.

*pages flip* Aha!

Rather than try to shout over my classmates’ clamor, I silently raised my hand and waited to be acknowledged by the teacher, who by this time looked wildly amused at what the simple brain teaser had caused. When she indicated my turn to speak, I read out the entry I’d found. Something like:

“Peacock: the male of the peafowl species. The female is the peahen.”

It was astounding to watch realization wash over the class as they recognized their simple logical error. We’re so used to thinking of the turquoise birds with the gorgeous fans for tails, it doesn’t occur to us that their name isn’t the proper name for the entire species. And in common speech, much like how all tissues are known as Kleenexes or how “mankind” is used instead of “humankind”, it has become the name for the species.

So with that assumption challenged, let’s revisit the question:

“If Mr. Brown’s peahen lays an egg in Mr. Green’s yard, to whom does the egg belong?”

Mm, think I’ll leave that one for the lawyers to suss out.

(As an aside, why are [US] bachelor and bachelorette parties called “stag nights” and “hen nights” in the UK instead of “stag” and “doe” or “cock” and “hen”? …Given what the men traditionally go out and do, “cock” would certainly be more appropriate.)

1. I just finished my “autobiographical statement” for the application for my re-entry into grad school, so am doing this as a change of pace.
2. If I’m accepted, I’ll be studying Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT)/Counseling Psychology.
3. I’d love to work with LGBTQ youth – and geeks.
4. I have training in how to perform hypnosis.
5. I plan to use hypnotherapy in my future MFT practice.
6. I differentiate between the words “hypnotist” (as “someone who knows how to do hypnosis”) and “hypnotherapist” (as “someone who knows how to do hypnosis and is trained and licensed to do therapy”). I firmly believe that if you just want to relax or be in a stage show, you’re fine with the former, but if you need help with a problem, don’t let the former muck about in your mind.
7. To date, I have edited 135 articles for UncommonHelp.me.
8. I have naturally curly, naturally blonde hair.
9. I know that because the words come from French, “blonde” is the appropriate adjective for female and “blond” for male. The “e” is added to feminine nouns’ adjectives in French.
10. I’m trying to learn French…
11. Because I want to emigrate to the UK but not be a “typical” monolingual American who thinks English should be good enough for everyone, despite the fact that…
12. My BA is in English.
13. In the course of my BA studies, I earned credits from five different schools.
14. My BA was conferred seven and a half years after I graduated high school.
15. But I was not in college that entire time, though I did start college the autumn after I graduated high school.
16. I have one sister,
17. One brother-in-law,
18. And one nephew,
19. But two cats.
20. I am 32 years old.
21. I am single.
22. I am 5’5″ tall, making me the tallest woman in my immediate family.
23. My favorite place in the world is London, England.
24. My favorite place in the world that’s not a city is Disneyland.
25. I know that Disneyland is in California and is also known as “The Happiest Place on Earth”, while Walt Disney World is in Florida and is also known as “The Magic Kingdom”. (Walt Disney World was opened the same year my sister was born, which isn’t actually a fact about me, so I’m tacking it on here.)
26. I was a Disneyland Annual Passholder for ten of the thirteen years I lived in California.
27. As a result, I could often answer questions that Cast Members couldn’t.
28. I’m going to get a new Annual Pass as soon as I can after returning to California in May.
29. Because Disneyland is one of the top things I miss about California.
30. I got up at 5:30 AM to drive from Oceanside to Hollywood to see Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End at a special Annual Passholders screening at the El Capitan Theatre.
31. With any luck, I’ll be seeing Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides at the El Capitan this summer.
32. My favorite Disney character is Stitch from Lilo & Stitch.
33. My previous favorite Disney character was Eeyore.
34. When we were growing up, my sister called me “Squirt”.
35. When I found out Crush the turtle’s son’s name was “Squirt”, I squeed. (Finding Nemo)
36. Before he could pronounce my name, Nephew called me “E”.
37. I believe there is no sound more heart-wrenching than hearing your almost-three-year-old nephew screaming, “Eeee! Eeeee!” through a crowded airport as he’s realizing you’re leaving, even though he can’t quite conceptualize how far away London is or how long three and a half months are.
38. I spent a semester of my BA studies in London.
39. During that semester, I rode the ferry across the English Channel twice (once in each direction) and got to see the famous “white cliffs of Dover”.
40. I’m pretty sure I was the only American student on the ferry to have any idea why the white cliffs were at all famous.
41. I’m also pretty sure I was the only one overly amused by the fact that, because of the time difference, our ferry landed at Dover 15 minutes before we’d left France.
42. For those three and a half months, I lived with a family in Golders Green (Zone 3 on the Underground map).
43. While I was away, I missed Nephew’s third birthday.
44. So I bought a cake to share with my London hosts and the other American student in the house.
45. I experienced an earthquake in London on Nephew’s third birthday.
46. I credit that earthquake with my being able to take a holiday to Disneyland Paris, as I found the advert for a great affordable package in the back of the paper I bought for no other reason than that I wanted tangible proof that there’d been an earthquake in London. Front page headline read, “QUAKE ROCKS BRITAIN” (melodramatic much?).
47. One of the most fun things in the world is buying/making gifts for the people I love.
48. But for some reason, I find my mother extremely hard to shop for.
49. I’ve been to the UK five times.
50. I’ve been to France twice.
51. I’ve been to Mexico once.
52. I’ve been to Canada once.
53. When my family visited Canada, I was very young and burst out crying because I couldn’t understand the Japanese tourists. I’d never before heard anyone speaking a language other than English and I thought there was something wrong with me.
54. I was so young on that trip that the smallest poncho at Niagara Falls was still way too big on me.
55. I cried when Dad’s hat got swept off his head by the wind and drowned in the Falls.
56. However, I think I laughed when – due to a faulty latch on the camper trailer – my sister’s sleeping bag was lost over the edge of Mackinac Bridge.
57. I believe Mackinac Island fudge is the best fudge in the world.
58. I don’t “understand” the substance that passes for fudge in the UK.
59. Though I firmly believe that British Kit Kats (Brit Kats) are better than the ones available in the US.
60. I’ve worn glasses for near-sightedness since about 7th grade.
61. I alphabetize my fiction books by author last name and group my nonfiction books by subject.
62. I’d blame this on my first “real” job as a library page if I hadn’t alphabetized my books long before I ever held that job.
63. I have an entire shelf devoted to psychology-related books. (Or I did before I packed my books for the move; whether I’ll be able to do that in my sister’s house remains to be seen.)
64. I mostly play Toon Town Online as a monkey Toon named Captain Sparklepoof. She currently has 114 Laff (health) Points.
65. I started playing TTO to spend time with Nephew.
66. I kept playing because I enjoy it.
67. I firmly believe adults can enjoy TTO even more than kids because of the kinds of Cogs (robots) you fight. We actually know “Micromanagers” and “Loan Sharks” and “Ambulance Chasers” and “Cold Callers”.
68. I inherited my father’s pet peeve about the consistent misuse of the word “decimation”, which means “to reduce by a tenth” but is often used to mean “to destroy completely”.
69. When the Master on Doctor Who suggested the idea of decimating the population, I cringed.
70. When his next line was the command, “Remove one tenth of the population”, I cheered.
71. I have Bo Burnham running in my mind’s ear right now.
72. I hate packing to move.
73. And yet I’ve moved so much in my life, I start feeling a bit weird if I stay in one place more than a couple years.
74. Although I think I’d quite like to settle down somewhere.
75. I have three friends I consider to be my “best” friends. One lives in London, one in New York, and one here in Minnesota. So when I move back to California, they’ll all be thousands of miles away.
76. I have pierced ears (one hole each ear) but almost never wear earrings.
77. I have no tattoos, but have thought about it.
78. Right now, my greatest hesitation in getting a tattoo isn’t the needle or the quandary of choosing one design to be permanently attached to my body; it’s the idea that I then wouldn’t be able to donate blood for a year.
79. I’ve donated blood four times, every eight weeks on the dot since 16 September 2010. My second donation fell on Veterans Day, which I thought was a great date for donating.
80. When my father said he’d be leaving California on 27 April to come pick up me and my stuff for the move, I deemed this fantastic news because I’m next eligible to donate blood on 28 April, so I’ll still be able to do that and be fine to load the trailer on the 30th. (You’re not supposed to do heavy lifting or exercise the day you donate.)
81. Very soon after deciding to move back to California, I ran two Google searches: for yarn stores and blood donation centers. I won’t lie to you; because of where my family lives, it’s looking a bit grim for both.
82. I knit.
83. Since re-learning to knit around Halloween 2009, I have completed twenty projects. I’ve kept four of them for myself, but hate one of those and never use it.
84. I wear a US 10 shoe.
85. I have a small scar on my left foot from scraping said foot on the ladder of my high school’s swimming pool.
86. I didn’t properly learn how to swim until high school.
87. I’m a mimic and pick up others’ speech patterns and phrases very quickly.
88. Because of this, I speak in fluent British English (the slang and terms, not necessarily the accent) when in the UK or around English people.
89. I don’t always realize I’m doing this.
90. Due to my editing work for a UK company, I slip in and out of UK/US spellings and don’t always realise when I get a word “wrong”. (Okay, I’ll admit I spelt “realize” with an S there just to make the point. )
91. I almost never carry cash.
92. I usually have to share my pillow with Chaucer, my ginger tabby cat. (Either that, or he allows me to sleep on his pillow. I’m never sure which.)
93. I own an acoustic, steel string guitar.
94. I even know how to play it.
95. But I’m rubbish with chords.
96. I’m a night owl and have always had trouble waking up in the morning, no matter how much sleep I get.
97. I decided years ago to stop having regrets. To regret anything from my past is to regret the person I’ve become because of it.
98. One of my favorite words is “moot”.
99. The first CD I ever owned was the soundtrack from The Lion King. The last two albums I bought were the soundtracks from Inception and The King’s Speech.
100. I really wish I could think of something profound/astonishing/shocking for #100, but I can’t.

The film was V for Vendetta.

Strange how such a small and seemingly random chain of events can utterly change the course of one’s life.

It wasn’t any one thing about the film that had me bouncing out of the theatre that night (and returning to see it ten more times). From the film’s message about the value of questioning one’s government and standing up when you feel it’s gone wrong, to the gorgeous visuals and soundtrack, to V’s alliterative speech that sent shivers down my English major spine…

…I connected strongly and immediately to V and his story. Mom was…less hyper.

Because I have a tendency to be drawn to interests that no one in my Real World shares (or at least, not as strongly and obsessively), at university I quickly learned an excellent way to retain my sanity: seek out like-minded folk on the Internet. By the time V entered my life, going online didn’t take a second thought.

And there they were, on the IMDb message boards: trolls and people picking fights over nothing – complete with atrocious grammar and spelling. But hidden amongst them, genuine pearls. Women who were intelligent, geeky, funny, and shared my view of V as a shmexy man (we may never see his face, but that intellect, wit, love of art and literature, sense of justice, and ability with a blade? Yes, please. From Batman to Rorschach, I’ve always adored a good antihero.).

It took less than a week for someone to say, “Y’know, maybe we should just start our own message board and continue this conversation over there.”

From that idle comment was born The Ladies of the Shadow Gallery, founded on March 24, one week after the film’s opening night: a global community of V for Vendetta fans of all ages, many walks of life, and yes, both sexes (though the men were, admittedly, in the minority). We were never a huge group, our genuine membership topping out around 100, but we favored quality over quantity. And we had the former in abundance.

As time passed, we naturally lost members as Life intervened and they moved on to other interests. And though many of us deepened our connection through other shared interests, we still never expected the forum to last as long as it did: a full three years before I considered it truly defunct. As someone who’s not used to having a really good friendship last longer than perhaps a school year, it amazes me to remember that the moment I met some of the Vendetta Vixens (as we called ourselves), I just knew that I’d finally found friends who were going to be a  part of my life for a very long time to come. And here we are, five years later.

Still, I gained much more than “just” an online community from my Veekiness (V-geekiness).

It’s because of V that I met (among so many others)  Leda, iseult, and my housemate of four years (next month). In November 2007, I travelled 8000 miles to observe Guy Fawkes Day in London with a group of wonderful people – from the US, the UK, and even our adorable Danish “resident animated emote artist” – who up to then had only been names on my computer screen. Earlier that year, shortly after moving in with my housemate, I stumbled across Uncommon Knowledge’s fantastic sites during a Google search I firmly believe I was unlikely to have performed while living closer to my family, I was then so “closeted” in my hypnosis interest (yes, it was silly, I agree). By a branching chain of events, this afforded me the opportunity to break off from the holidaying Vixens for a day and meet Mark Tyrrell in person at his office in Brighton.

It’s because of living with my housemate that I’ve had opportunities like living in Oceanside with regular trips to Disneyland (where I was training her as my padawan in the Secrets of the Mouse), seeing David Tennant and Patrick Stewart perform Hamlet in Stratford-upon-Avon (2008), meeting a great group of friends here in Minnesota (both her long-standing circle and some I’ve found on my own), attending CONvergence and the Ren Fest,  and other things too numerous to list.

It’s because of V directly, the friends he brought me, and (semi-)related events since that I’ve made so many homosexual, bisexual, polyamorous, and transvestite/-gender/-sexual friends, it no longer surprises me for even a second when a new acquaintance comes out to me. I’ve learned more about the LGBTQ community in the past five years than I had in the previous 27 and have developed an even stronger commitment to help them in any way I can. I’ve even been Best (Wo)Man at a bi-poly wedding!

And, of course, it’s because I found Uncommon Knowledge that my interest in psychology and hypnosis was reawakened, and that I and everyone I know have benefited in one way or another from their products. During that aforementioned Brighton meeting, I got to experience my first in-person, one-to-one hypnosis session. I have the opportunity to be helpful to a company (and people) I admire via editing, and have been set on a new educational/career path, including finally having the opportunity and “excuse” to pursue training in hypnosis.

And on and on… one event leading to another event or person or shift in perspective…

The older I get, the more I am aware of the chain of dominoes that have fallen and are yet to fall to form the image of the woman I am and will be.

And it is my unshakeable belief that much of the last five years link back to one specific domino.

Happy Vth anniVersary, V. And thank you.