That's My Secret; I'm Always Geeky

I have a confession to make. I am the girl they warned you about. I am the one that they flocked to their blogs and their Facebooks to decry. I am the one they point to and say "She! She is the one who has ruined our sacred space by infiltrating our society!" Because I, ladies and gentlemen, am she:

I am the Fake Geek Girl

No, no that kind of "fake geek girl." I do not go to conventions solely to show off my impressive boobs in tight fitted costumes (because you have to have boobs to do that sort of thing). But I do think it would be very easy for me to be written off as a fake geek girl, because to be honest, my history with comics, etc. is not that impressive.

A Quick Overview of my History with Comics

Childhood: I did not really read proper comic books as a child. I read the daily strips during the periods of time that we got a newspaper, but that's not quite the same. I do vaguely remember reading all the Tintin comics in the library, mostly because I recall there being one illustration in one of them (they were maybe investigating Mayan ruins or something?) that was pants-wettingly terrifying to my nine-ish-year-old self. I was generally too absorbed at the time in reading massive leatherbound classics to waste my time on inferior comics - little did I know.

Hulk Reading by Alex Fleisig.
(a.k.a. my Tuesdays)

Teenager: I was a gawth-girl, at least as much as I could get away with. Here my taste in reading started to devolve into gothic horror and mysteries, as well as the beginning of my lifelong vampire obsession. I also started to discover the "graphic novel," a much more sophisticated form of illustrated storytelling that in my pretentious teenage way I could accept. I'm pretty sure The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was the one that paved the way, since it was all my gothic classics rolled together. Also, a quick hint: There is no difference between "graphic novels" and "comic books" as a general rule, other than "graphic novel" theoretically sounding more sophisticated or something.

College: I eased my way from Neil Gaiman's straight prose into his stuff that was illustrated. I went through a massive Alan Moore kick. I discovered Johann Sfar. And, most importantly, a HUGE number of comic book movie franchises kicked-off or rebooted: Nolan's Batman, Iron Man, Spiderman, two disappointing attempts at Hulk, X-Men, Fantastic Four, that Superman movie we don't talk about. (I was in college a long time.) Guess what? I wasn't really a fan of most of those movies. Captain America and Thor were a little better for me, since I'm a huge history/mythology nerd. But you know what did it for me? What actually tipped me over the edge? Y'all are going to hate this:

A hint, by Matthew Ferguson.

It was the damn Avengers movie.

That's right. I didn't even want to see it because I was like "Great, now it's LOTS of superheroes instead of just a couple," but a friend dragged me along with him. And as a sat enraptured by the pretty pretty men the story, this was my dawning realization that comics can be awesome. Comics are theatrical, melodramatic, over-the-top, ridiculous and one semester away from graduating with a double B.A. I realized that I love comics.

So now, over the last several months, I have learned to speak in comics. My dominantly purple wardrobe has suddenly spawned a large about of green as well (because I am The Hulk). I have friends who are Batman, Superman/Iron Man, Loki, Harley Quinn/Rogue, Green Lantern, and probably more. I'm trying to design a Victorian-style She-Hulk outfit and decide what Con I might be able to go to this year. And of course, I'm trying to read all the comics to make up for for all the years I lost thinking they were beneath  me or something.

And that's why I often feel like the moniker of the "Fake Geek Girl" is referring to me. I can talk the talk, but I don't have the history behind it (see also: my ability to use PCs). But here's the thing: if I keep reading comics and seeing movies and collecting my favorite characters in tiny plush form, then I'm pretty sure that makes me just as much a card-carrying member of the mythical "geek" society as anyone else who's been doing it for years. So I'm going to keep reading and find out what I've missed, and get into heated debates over whether Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark has a better business model as a superhero, and try to find a female brunette who doesn't have a keyhole in her costume that I can cosplay as someday. And eventually, I will reach a point where I can proudly accept myself as a "Real Geek Girl" regardless of that that means to anyone else.

In the mean time, I've got research to do.

What To Do Between Shows: A Helpful Guide for Unemployed Stage Managers

It has now been exactly one week since the show I spent all summer on closed, and despite my Craigslist-trolling efforts I am, for the time being, jobless until the next gig comes up or some bookstore calls me back about being a retail monkey for them.  In the mean time, I am trying to be productive, but have unfortunately forgotten how to do anything besides build Excel spreadsheets and weep into my pillow at night.  To that end, I have created a guide based on the few productive things that I have gotten done in order to help others in my situation!  (I also debated whether this post should really live here or over at The 10-Block Rule, but ultimately decided to leave it here because it's actually more snark than stage management.)  So, I present:

What To Do Between Shows: 

A(n Only Slightly) Helpful Guide for Unemployed Stage Managers

1. Clean your bathroom.

Cleanliness isn't just next to godliness, 

he's part of the damn pantheon.

My bathroom is a glorious bastion of shining white tile and lemongrass-thyme scene right now.  This may well be the cleanest that room has been in over a year.  I can see my reflection in the mirror, and it turns out I don't actually have freckles.  I got the residual black hair dye stains from 3+ years ago off the floor of my shower.  I am now a proud unofficial sponsor of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, because if there's one thing stage managers like as much as office supplies, it's cleaning accouterments.  And on that same note...

2. Fold laundry.
Allow me to refer you back to the very first entry of my stage management blog, from nearly two years ago.  See that massive pile of books and clothes?  It's still there.  Or rather, there again.  Or rather, was there, but I folded all the clothes living on my chair and stuffed them into drawers (like a boss) because I really like being able to sit down when I'm editing photos or screaming obscenities at job postings that want 3+ year experience in Underwater Basket Weaving or something equally absurd.

3. Take pictures of your friends the day before they both cut their hair.
I wish I was kidding.  I took adorable photos of my two ASMs, because after living on top of each other all summer, the first thing we did on our first official day of freedom was all get lunch and run around taking pictures together.  The day after this happened, both of them got haircuts.  And then they both left the state to go back to school.  Our timing is super magical.

Look, Sir Oiled McManChest's equally
shirtless friend is in a sequel!

4. Read a book.
Okay, I actually have to scratch this one, because it turns out I did more reading in the last week of the show running than I actually have in the week since it closed.  Oops.  It's still a good suggestion.  Read a book anyway.  Like the one on the right.  Or anything else.  Except Fifty Shades of Gray.  Don't read that, because it's badly-written fanfic that promotes emotionally abusive relationships and I can tell you where to get better-written free smut on the internet anyway.

5. Write a book.
Scratched for the same reason as above.  That, and considering how many terrible self-published books I have read in the last year, maybe this isn't universal advice.  Though I've read some really good ones too. Let's just move on to another point before I dig to deep of a hole for myself here.

6. Hunt for a job.
I wasn't actually going to put this on the list, both because it's kind of a given and because it's incredibly boring.  But then I change my mind because you know what? it's actually important these days to remind people that they have to actively take part in making their lives happen.  I mean, I should have to say it, but I do.  Go look for an effing job.  I have to remind myself constantly to at least look, to make the effort to send in my resume (even if I don't think I'm qualified, because as my dad keeps telling me, it's still worth the effort if you can just get to the interview).  In the mean time, I'm also trying to...

7. Cultivate a productive hobby.
I'm trying to get better at photography.  I have a lot of friends who are photographers, and I actually have a lot of experience shooting live theater.  While I have no real desire to suddenly try to make a living from photography, being good enough that I could make a few bucks as an assistant or second-shooter would be an incredibly useful skill to have.  I also want to sew more, because I enjoy it, I want to make pretty clothes, and apparently it's a skill in high demand in the circles I run in (being the theater/film/generally-artsy-types).  Anything that keeps me busy so that I don't just revert to being a hermit like I was in high-school.

8. Go outside.
Despite the fact that sunshine and I are sworn mortal enemies, going outside is apparently a good thing.  You get fresh air, Vitamin D, and generally a chance to clear your head and look at some different scenery.  A little workout wouldn't be amiss either for helping you focus and feel productive (though please, love of all things, don't be an idiot like me and go jogging in your FiveFingers after a week of sitting on your arse unless you want your calves to burn like the fires of hell for days afterward).

Well, I was going to give you ten, but I've actually run out of productive things that I've actually done this week, unless you count having more Facebook activity in the last five days than I've had in the last five weeks.  So, with these...well, I can't really call them fun, can I?...tips in place, I'm now going to go edit photos or shovel out my closet or something.  This blog encourages audience participation, so feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.  But remember, snark is required.  I don't do the whole 'taking-yourself-seriously' thing.

Quarter-Life Crises, Installment One

I hate the word "adultolescent."

I first came across this word a couple years ago.  I was on the selection committee for my university's theater club's annual production, and one of the prospective directors pitched a production of Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona.  One of the bases for his concept was a a fascinating article that I cannot now remember the title/author/publisher of (because this was two years ago and it's 2:30am right now and shut up), but anyway, the whole point of this article was discussing how our culture has become one of "adultolescents" - loosely defined: twenty-somethings who go off and graduate college with awesome degrees, only to end up moving back in with their parents while they struggle to find a job, or a usable skill set, or generally just learn how to function in the real world as grown ups.  It was an amazing article.  It made excellent points about how we as a society have bred a generation of incredibly book-intelligent but socially and practically inept kids, who are now faced with become the new grown-up and don't actually know how to do it.

I friggin' hate the word "adultolescent," probably because I am one.

Yes, this is one of those sarcastically disparaging posts written in the wee hours of the morning because I'm a borderline insomniac and tend to work myself into panic attacks, but hear me out, okay?  I'm not trying to bid for sympathy.  I don't think.  We'll find out shortly.

I've been contemplating this concept a lot lately because I (finally) graduated with my BA.  (Yay me, and all that jazz.  Whatever.)  Over the summer I took a stage management job that was basically an internship, because like most non-union SM jobs in the Bay Area it offers a small stipend, which is lovely, but would calculate out to a depressingly tiny hourly rate. I'm not complaining at all, because that's how theater works, and getting paid at all is awesome.  But now that job is wrapping up, and I have to put on my big-girl pants (which I finally have, although I'm lacking in the big-girl shirt department) and find a longer-term job, preferably that will pay me something at least resembling minimum hourly wage and not make me want to gouge out my eyeballs.  Unfortunately, and here's my actual point...I don't have any marketable skill sets.  At least, nothing that looks marketable on paper.  If I can get into an interview and explain that stage managing is basically data entry and HR for schizophrenics then I might be able to prove that I know how to do useful things.  But that's the catch-22, because I do have one incredibly useful skill that I've been banking all my extraneous XP into: I call it the skill of Bullshittery.  I can sell myself like a boss.  I can say all the right things at all the right time to make you think I'm way better at doing things than I actually am.

And I feel like that's my generation in a nutshell.  We are the "fake it 'til you make it" generation.  We can talk and dress and act like grown-ups, but a lot of us are still living with our parents, asking mom to do our laundry and dad to do our taxes, and pretending like we're way more qualified for things than we are.

And maybe I'm wrong.  Or maybe I'm biased because most of my social circle is artists who only work "real" jobs because they haven't hit the point where they can make living wage from their art.  Or because I live in a part of the country where the cost of living is so high that my friend who is an EA for the CEO of a Fortune 250 company is looking for a second job to make ends meet.  Or maybe it really truly is just me.  But I feel like I can't be the only one.

Anyway, I formatted a really pretty, if sparse, resume, and wrote a bullshitastic cover letter of sorts, and applied for a job that I suspect I'm only marginally qualified for.  (And by "applied" I mean "hit the submit button before I could wuss out again.")  I'm gonna go apply for a bookstore next, because I have a degree in English so I might be slightly more qualified for that.  Then I'm gonna ask my mom if I can borrow a sweater from her so I don't have to show up to job interviews in my Mountain Dew tee-shirt.

No pictures, because it's 3am and I don't feel like getting my Google-fu on.  (Though now that I think of it, I might add that to my resume under "skills.")

Shameless: Confessions of a Steampunk Addict

Recently (last Sunday), I was lucky enough to attend SF in SF's release tea party for Timeless, the final book in Gail Carriger's Parasol Protectorate series.  Shameless endorsement: Go buy these books RIGHT NOW.  They are hilarious, poignant, sexy, beautifully written, and as she herself pointed out, you don't have to worry about the author dying before the series ends!

And the whole set looks really sexy on your shelf.

Anyway, one of the nicest things about attending this was, of course, getting to meet Gail Carriger herself.  Aside from the fact that I am PAINFULLY AWKWARD and felt like a ditzy fangirl every time she was within speaking range, it was fun because she happens to be a normal person who will chat about whatever and go off on tangents and what-all, who also happens to write amazing books.  As a result, the Q&A was great fun.

Now, one thing that came up at various points in the Q&A, directly and indirectly, was what books/authors etc. most influenced Miss Carriger - which is a pretty standard question that authors get asked, and if you've read her books and/or follow her blog and Twitter religiously (like me - again, shameless fangirl), then the answers she gave weren't much of a surprise.  Most of her list was female written/driven YA fantasy, and comedic fantasy and sci-fi, with a few classic witty Victorians thrown in for good measure.  And that's what got me thinking a bit about what a weirdo I am in regards to how I got interested in steampunk, specifically steampunk literature.

I have no idea what I'm talking about, so here is a picture of a book  with gears on its pages.

There are many many fantastic members of the steampunk community out there who I follow regularly via their blogs and Twitters, too many to list them all in this post (though I'd like to).  But one common thread I notice in the steampunks I stalk is that  the vast majority of them seem to have entered into the steampunk literary aesthetic via fantasy or science fiction literature.  And here we enter the part where I'm wondering if I'm kind of a freak, because:

- I don't read sci-fi.
- I barely read "high" fantasy anymore.
- I dabble in paranormal, but only because of my vampire fixation.

I got obsessed with steampunk literature because of its connection to historical fiction and classic lit.

As a side note, there are a lot of crossover elements between science fiction, fantasy, and steampunk, and I'm not going to get into all the divisions and the concept of genre vs aesthetic (especially because Mike Perschon, the Steampunk Scholar and another of my favorite Twitter stalkees, has already dealt with that much better that I would).  I'm looking at this solely in terms of how I classify what I read, and the connections I see, so just roll with me on this.

If I take a quick look back on movies and such I really liked before I knew about the concept of steampunk, it's not that surprising that I ended up there.  I'll go ahead an cop to an embarassing list that includes things like Atlantis: The Lost Empire, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (movie and comic both), and Van Helsing.   You know what all of those had in common?

If you said "They all take place in alternate history settings with use of advanced technology," then congratulations! you are overachieving in trying to figure out if this was a trick question.  However, if you said "They all have some relation to classic literature and/or pulps," then congratulations! you've identified why I liked them so much, despite the arguable fact that two of those three kinda sucked and all three flopped at the box office.  (Two of those three also had planned TV series spinoffs that were cancelled when the movies flopped and I'm still bitter.)  But seriously, despite the fact that the movie version of LXG was entirely ridiculous, it was my geeky classic lit crossover wet dream and I still want to get together a cosplay group and all that sort of thing.  Because I'm a history geek.

I read a lot of historical fiction.  A lot.  A lot.  And most often I gravitate to Victorian era which, surprise surprise, also happened to be the era of the Industrial Revolution in which new technology like, oh, steam-powered engines played a huge part.  So if you hand me Gibson and Sterling's The Difference Engine I go: "Hey look, Disraeli!  And Lady Ada Byron!  And...a bunch of protocomputers...sure, I can buy that given the quasi-historical context in which they are explained as existing!"  Because I tend to dissect things as I read.  Heaven forbid you write a historical book and give someone a name that isn't appropriate for their era/age/language/country of origin, because I'll fixate on it to the point where I'll miss half the plot because I'm screaming about how you didn't do your research.  I want continuity.  And, despite my loooooong involvement with theater (or maybe because of it) I will only suspend so much disbelief before you need to explain yourself.  Example: Your protagonist cannot ride a single horse from Inverness, Scotland, to Winchester, England in a single day, period.  Caveat: Unless you have previously established that in this alternate version of Britain, all horses are descended from Balius and Xanthus and thus are born with the ability to run with the speed and tirelessness of the west wind.  I need enough strong backstory/history/mythology/whatever to convince me that there is an explicable reason from why things are the way they are in the world of a novel.  And if the author gives me enough of that, then I will be able fill in the gaps with explanations or excuses that I pieced together myself based on the world they created, and I won't be distracted by what might in fact have been an overlooked let's-just-handwavium-that item.

The words "airship" and "goggles" alone do not a steampunk novel make.

So that's why I think I'm drawn to steampunk from the historical side.  History, especially post-printing press history, is pretty well recorded, so it's just a matter of looking it up.  The particular breed of steampunk I'm drawn to, that of Carriger and Gibson and Westerfield, really is a kind of alternate history, taking the existing facts and judiciously applying  a few "what if?" questions to reinvent them a bit.  As a result, everything makes sense and the existence of the technology/science/magic/etc. that make the stories "steampunk" all originate from logical beginnings.  It's the literary equivalent of finding actual metal gears and tooling them into jewelry, rather than buying a necklace made of crappy molded plastic from the local Hallowe'en store.  They'll both have the right vibe, but one of them is obviously better quality and more likely to stand the test of time.  (Not that your accessories all have to be welded or anything - my pocketwatch cameo is held together with glue dots and safety pins, but I think you get my point.)  And this is not to say that I dislike fantasy or sci-fi.  I like both of them just fine, although I personally tend to prefer sci-fi in visual media.  I'm just so incredibly critical in my reading that it takes a lot to impress me and hold my interest, and so far most of the steampunk authors have managed to do that.  Don't disappoint me, my bustled and begoggled friends.

So in conclusion, steampunk is nifty, and here is a link to videos of Mike Perschon and Gail Carriger reading from the first chapter of Soulless, which is all kinds of awesome.

My Sordid Affair with Oiled McManChest

Well, ladies, gentlemen, and spambots, it's that time of year again. Yesterday was one of my absolute favorite holidays of all time!  (For those of you unfamiliar with the history and ceremonial customs of the festival celebrated yesterday, I suggest you go read this excellent little post which concisely sums up the whole shebang.)

So considering the time of year, I thought it would be only fitting that my inaugural post address a topic very close to my heart: romance.  Or, more specifically

If I Hate Romance Novels, Why Can't I Stop Reading Them?

No, seriously, I'm asking.  I did not grow up reading my mom's romance novels under the covers at night (or anyone else's for that matter).  I was too busy teaching myself Elvish and engrossing myself in musical theater to bother with books that were, as far as I could tell, all about men and women acting stupidly on each other's behalf while having an exceedingly difficult time keeping their clothing buttoned/strapped/fashion tapped in its proper places.  (For reference: I still kill in obscure musical theater trivia, but retained no Elvish other than being able to kinda sing the Arwen love theme from the movie version of Fellowship.)

Of course, as a got well into my teenage years I became obsessed with Gothic Romanticism; I think I read for the first time Dracula, The Phantom of the Opera, Interview with the Vampire, and possibly also Frankenstein and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde all in the same eighteen month period somewhere between the ages of 14 and 16 for pleasure reading.  Yes, I know Anne Rice is kind of the embarrassing cousin at the classic lit reunion going on up there, but she was an example (if far from the best) of one the contemporary inheritors of the tradition.  However, what I'm getting at is that Gothic Romanticism is a lot more JMW Turner and the dichotomy of the grotesque/sublime than it is Fabio and boning.

Left: A view of the true sublime.  Right: A view of what you wish your hair would do.

So now fast forward another *mumblemumble* years, and I'm in my *muchmoremubling*th year of college, where I've spent a lot of time studying those books.  (Even Anne Rice.)  Except for Dr. Jekyll, I've read all of them at least 3 time, more in the case of Dracula and Phantom of the Opera.  I want to have Lord Byron's babies.  I can provide a brilliantly concise but descriptive definition of the sublime, and cross reference half-a-dozen examples in art, literature, and architecture.  Y'know what I read for fun recently?

This.  This is a steampunk romance novel called The Iron Duke, written by Meljean Brook, and featuring a male cover model I affectionately refer to as Sir Oiled McManChest. The plot of the novel goes something like:

Repressed police chick meets war hero sexy sexy airship pirates boning boning orgy nanotechnology boning snogging boning goggles snogging blow stuff up slightly rapey wardrobe malfunction boning boning happily ever after.


Okay, that's not entirely fair.  Brook actually does a really incredible job of setting up a plausible steampunk alt-history, and if ignored the Herculean amounts of sex that the two main characters manage to have, she'd probably get a lot more praise for her world building and attention to the actual results of Imperialism and how the world would have been affected had that power belonged to other countries.

Which brings me back around to main point: despite all the awesome worldbuilding, 85% of this book is characters having sex, attempting to have sex, thinking about having sex, and blowing stuff up (which is, in a sense, a lot like sex).  And this one is kind of the exception to the rule as far as romance novels go, since the sex actually vaguely ties in to an actual plot, whereas in most romance novels, the entire plot is no more complex than people have sex in various ways as dictated by the YKINMK* rule of sexytimes, the end.

*Your Kink Is Not My Kink, or the "Read the Label, Dumbass" rule

Now, I need to break in with another caveat here: I don't mind falling-in-love/snogging/sex/etc. as plot elements or subplots within the books I read of other genres.  I never have.  As you will begin to gather if you continue reading this blog in the future, I have very strong obsessions opinions about the way couples interact in specific works of classic and contemporary literature.  But up until the last...oh, let's say two years...I have actively steered clear of the mindless drivel of the romance novel world.  And now I find myself skimming through the free books section of the Kindle store going "hmmm...it's a romance...but her dress is pretty and the reviews say the formatting doesn't suck, so we're good!"

But I do have a theory.  Well, two theories, since maybe this really is just my single-girl subconscious screaming for tender manly affection from an idealized lover, and reading romance novels is less creepy than plastering pictures of Lt. Sharpe and Seth Starkadder all over my binders.

But the theory I think is more interesting, and possibly more accurate, is that romance novels are just doing a better job of crossing-over with other genres and hitting a higher level of literary value.  I mean, the classic historical romance goes back to Georgette Heyer, who A) was awesome and B) wrote as much about the fashion, manner, and history of the Regency period as she did about the characters falling in love.  Or there's books like Joanna Bourne's The Spymaster's Lady which I went out and bought after reading this review on Smart Bitches, Trashy Books about how brilliantly the author portrays the various languages, accents, and dialects the characters speak.  Here there's history, politics, and legitimate craft in the writing...oh, and a bunch of snogging.

(Also, it should be mentioned that after reading this post, I intentionally went out and found the pictured original cover instead of the new one, because if I'm going to read these then dammit I will suffer the shame of the embarrassing covers.  I call this guy Captain McManChest - I think he's maybe the grandfather of Sir Oiled up above.)

So that's my theory on how I, a Dickens-loving, Byron-worshiping, clever-language-connoisseur English major, ended up reading utterly ridiculous romance novels under the covers until 3am.  To be fair, I do try to have standards.  I mostly read historical romance, and my rare forays into contemporary only occur when elements of mystery or urban fantasy exist to mediate my general loathing of anything post 1950.  Also, if the characters are not named appropriately for their age/era/ethnicity/any combination thereof, and there's no legitimate explanation, I will frequently pass on a book to save myself the blinding rage of trying to justify them and failing.  That, you will learn, is one of my great pet peeves (as is non-historically accurate hair in period films - this topic will come up a lot).

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go stare at the man-candy on the covers of some cheap paperbacks I got from the library.