Okay, this had been my week:
Sunday - started getting sick, not a way to start the week.
Monday - flu/cold/something nasty hit me pretty hard.
Tuesday - slept all day... literally! Missed band, rather pissed about it.
Wednesday - sick, blowing my nose, coughing, moaning and groaning, slept through all the crap meds. I don't really recall Mon-Wed.
Thursday - I spent over an hour playing psychologist for my poor stressed out mother (they're about to lose their house and lots of other issues I can't discuss)
Friday - Matt got laid off... again! The day pretty much went downhill from there.
Saturday - My symptoms mutated from snuffly cold to achy flu, I now have no clue what I've caught and it's not getting better. Then to top it off, Capone got diarrhea all over the carpet... joy!
Sunday - I got a call that my brother-in-law's family were in a serious accident; a chunk of metal went through their windshield while driving down the freeway, hit my uncle-in-law in the face, busted his jaw and eye socket, missed piercing his brain by half an inch, then it went through the back of the car and missed his son's head by two inches. The impact knocked him out, and by a miracle his wife managed to grab the wheel and keep them from crashing or flipping. He's in the hospital awaiting massive reconstructive surgery; my sister's family is in shock.
Monday - A new week, I'm just beginning to feel better, then I'm woken up at 2am with a bloody nose. Once that's stopped, my stomach began to seriously cramp up and I realized I started my period. I have a feeling today is not going to turn out good at all.
Then tomorrow.... the most liberal President since FDR will be sworn in. Although he's African American and I'm glad the color barrier that has plagued politics in this country has been broken at last, and he seems very charismatic and surrounding himself with people who know what they're doing, I severely disagree with Obama's views and worry what might become of this country.
(psst, FYI-- Franklin D. Roosevelt used the New Deal to give people jobs, but he prolonged the Depression in the process, and our country could not recover until we were thrust into WWII... so a Socialist President coming into power during a time of financial meltdown with world events looking like a bad Hollywood rendition of Armageddon... yeah, it concerns me. We're praying... a lot!)
I am afraid to wonder what ELSE could happen. If I say it aloud, I might jinx something.
Can I just have a do-over? Where is the reset button on life?
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The Plot Less Traveled
Matt gave a warm reception to my latest chapter. It involved him running into the living room, grabbing me up, jumping up and down, shouting "Gimme more, gimme more! Want next chapter! More! More!" I think that's the most encouraging reception I've ever received.
Any writer knows, no matter how you plot your novel, no matter how detailed the outline or extensive the notes, sometimes an event happens that you just don't expect. In my case, Matt has been watching Charmed reruns for months, going through the entire series, and is now going back through for episodes he particularly liked. He has ideas he wants to see done in Shadowstrider. Some things I think are intriguing, some I just raise an eyebrow and tell him firmly "No!"
I have a character with psionic abilities. Matt's idea was to have this character able to, for lack of a better word, teleport. It's a lot cooler explained than simply she can go from one place to another instantaneously, but I'm trying to keep things vague so I won't spoil any plotiness.
This concept of teleportation was solely Matt's idea, having watched a dozen ways the demons, witches, and white-lighters do this on the television show. A cheap plot device, hero has to get ten miles away to save helpless dame from evil demon, but jumping into your car and driving that far, especially in San Francisco where the show takes place, will take such a long time, our hapless dame would be worse than dead by then. How do we shorten the episode time and make things more fast-paced and exciting? Oh wow, look, they can teleport anywhere, and lookie, simple computer graphics make it all so pretty!
Matt basically wants to turn my character into a white-lighters, "orbing" from one place to another, with the body dissolving into white glowing orbs of energy that float away. The concept of turning into energy was one I established back in Book 3, and this is Book 8, so it's not something new. In Book 7, it is a major issue in almost a third of the story. Other characters have turned into energy, but energy has to travel. Going from point A to point B can be done super quick, but teleporting? I dunno...
So we've been haggling how to handle this. Charmed is all about magic. Shadowstrider makes fun of the possibilities that exist in the realm of science being passed off as impossible and therefore shoved into the catch-all phrase of "magic." So whatever it is I'm doing, it has to be within the laws of physics. E=mc^2
Of course, all of Books 7 & 8 are Matt's idea. If I stray from the usual pattern, I can blame him. The two of us, over dinner at Shari's, came up with an outline for these two books, but it was generalized for the most part. I have strayed from so many key issues. Just a few days ago, I went through and changed the names of three characters, including one who is mentioned in all ten books. About to wrap this story up, and I'm making massive changes like that!
Then again, the fun things about plot outlines is deviating away from them and seeing what strange areas we end up in.
At least the reception he gave me after reading the finish chapter was good.
Any writer knows, no matter how you plot your novel, no matter how detailed the outline or extensive the notes, sometimes an event happens that you just don't expect. In my case, Matt has been watching Charmed reruns for months, going through the entire series, and is now going back through for episodes he particularly liked. He has ideas he wants to see done in Shadowstrider. Some things I think are intriguing, some I just raise an eyebrow and tell him firmly "No!"
I have a character with psionic abilities. Matt's idea was to have this character able to, for lack of a better word, teleport. It's a lot cooler explained than simply she can go from one place to another instantaneously, but I'm trying to keep things vague so I won't spoil any plotiness.
This concept of teleportation was solely Matt's idea, having watched a dozen ways the demons, witches, and white-lighters do this on the television show. A cheap plot device, hero has to get ten miles away to save helpless dame from evil demon, but jumping into your car and driving that far, especially in San Francisco where the show takes place, will take such a long time, our hapless dame would be worse than dead by then. How do we shorten the episode time and make things more fast-paced and exciting? Oh wow, look, they can teleport anywhere, and lookie, simple computer graphics make it all so pretty!
Matt basically wants to turn my character into a white-lighters, "orbing" from one place to another, with the body dissolving into white glowing orbs of energy that float away. The concept of turning into energy was one I established back in Book 3, and this is Book 8, so it's not something new. In Book 7, it is a major issue in almost a third of the story. Other characters have turned into energy, but energy has to travel. Going from point A to point B can be done super quick, but teleporting? I dunno...
So we've been haggling how to handle this. Charmed is all about magic. Shadowstrider makes fun of the possibilities that exist in the realm of science being passed off as impossible and therefore shoved into the catch-all phrase of "magic." So whatever it is I'm doing, it has to be within the laws of physics. E=mc^2
Of course, all of Books 7 & 8 are Matt's idea. If I stray from the usual pattern, I can blame him. The two of us, over dinner at Shari's, came up with an outline for these two books, but it was generalized for the most part. I have strayed from so many key issues. Just a few days ago, I went through and changed the names of three characters, including one who is mentioned in all ten books. About to wrap this story up, and I'm making massive changes like that!
Then again, the fun things about plot outlines is deviating away from them and seeing what strange areas we end up in.
At least the reception he gave me after reading the finish chapter was good.
Friday, January 09, 2009
The Sex Scene
A writer friend and I were discussing sex scenes in novels. These tend to go three ways:
1) PG-13 fluff, man and woman kiss, maybe go so far as to collapse together in a bed, cut scene before anyone gets naked;
2) trashy romance novels, rippling muscles, heaving breasts;
3) smut-books, oh-baby-god-yes with screaming profanity.
In her endearingly blatant way, my friend brought up that people either fear any form of romantic involvement between characters (oh dear, high schools can't force their apathetic students to analyze your novel), they read Fanny Hill as a teen and think anything vaguely erotic has to contain enough nearly-archaic words to make the reader forget what is going on as they research a dictionary (example: "lo, a turgid passion did throb in the weapon of his manhood as, through the revealing casement, he beheld the swathes of virescent and rufous chenille tumble off the junoesque ingénue, disclosing her swart opulence, as her limpid orbs gazed wistfully into the hesperian blush of the gloaming welkin"), or they are oversexed (or even more likely, undersexed) slash wannabes who believe every moan of the porno business, that sex really can't be good unless it involves oral, vaginal, and anal sex with a cum shot and lots of vulgarities. Androgynous boys and lesbian twins help, too. And fetishes. Lots of fetishes.
Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but the last thing I want to hear as I experience utter physical bliss is a guy yelling "oh f***, yeah, you b****, I f***ing love how you f*** my c*ck." Just ... no!
In the book I'm currently working on, more than in any other serious project, I'm faced with many explicit scenes as my young main character discovers love in its many forms, from cute teen love with fears of loss of virginity, to endearing romance and walks along the beach, to the persistent jerk who only wants a wife, to total WTF oddities only possible in the realm of science fiction. Therefore, I've been experimenting with how many ways to present the trouble of a love scene.
I've already had my husband tell me to tone down one scene, and for my own defense, I knew it was over the top, reaching into Category 3: the smut novel. It was an experiment in writing, done mostly because I wanted to see if I could write that graphically. I got it out of my system, yay me, time to get serious again and at least tame it to rated R. After all, I want Barnes and Noble to be able to sell this book, not Fanny Hill's Bordello of Books.
I've also gone so far as to write a whole love scene in which I say very little about what the two characters are doing, but by describing what is going on around them (sex on the beach is very nature-filled) I show the reader precisely what is going on in my own roundabout way. And yes, there are many cutaway scenes, nothing more than pulling toward the bedroom, then cut to the next morning. After all, a reader doesn't have to be told the gory details every time a couple copulates or the intensity of the scene vanishes into blasé acceptance. Ho hum, she's at it again.
One thing I aim for in any lovemaking scene is the "love" part, an element too often missing in novels these days. Even if it's with a total stranger or friend-with-benefits, there has got to be a reason, emotions the character feels. I don't want to be Lady Chatterley's Lover and spend ten pages delving into his/her emotional mindset, not when it'll probably take the reader longer to read all that emo-tripe than it would take them to have the ride of their life, but I think a reader deserves to know just why Johnny and Susy are playing hanky-panky in the backseat of a Buick.
Crude? Verbose? Coy? The nice thing about this current project is I have 800+ pages already (yeah, major editing needed) to experiment a little with it all, from the adorable to the abnormal. And if it's too much, that's what editors are for. I'm sure, like my husband, someone's going to tell me to take it down a few notches.
1) PG-13 fluff, man and woman kiss, maybe go so far as to collapse together in a bed, cut scene before anyone gets naked;
2) trashy romance novels, rippling muscles, heaving breasts;
3) smut-books, oh-baby-god-yes with screaming profanity.
In her endearingly blatant way, my friend brought up that people either fear any form of romantic involvement between characters (oh dear, high schools can't force their apathetic students to analyze your novel), they read Fanny Hill as a teen and think anything vaguely erotic has to contain enough nearly-archaic words to make the reader forget what is going on as they research a dictionary (example: "lo, a turgid passion did throb in the weapon of his manhood as, through the revealing casement, he beheld the swathes of virescent and rufous chenille tumble off the junoesque ingénue, disclosing her swart opulence, as her limpid orbs gazed wistfully into the hesperian blush of the gloaming welkin"), or they are oversexed (or even more likely, undersexed) slash wannabes who believe every moan of the porno business, that sex really can't be good unless it involves oral, vaginal, and anal sex with a cum shot and lots of vulgarities. Androgynous boys and lesbian twins help, too. And fetishes. Lots of fetishes.
Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but the last thing I want to hear as I experience utter physical bliss is a guy yelling "oh f***, yeah, you b****, I f***ing love how you f*** my c*ck." Just ... no!
In the book I'm currently working on, more than in any other serious project, I'm faced with many explicit scenes as my young main character discovers love in its many forms, from cute teen love with fears of loss of virginity, to endearing romance and walks along the beach, to the persistent jerk who only wants a wife, to total WTF oddities only possible in the realm of science fiction. Therefore, I've been experimenting with how many ways to present the trouble of a love scene.
I've already had my husband tell me to tone down one scene, and for my own defense, I knew it was over the top, reaching into Category 3: the smut novel. It was an experiment in writing, done mostly because I wanted to see if I could write that graphically. I got it out of my system, yay me, time to get serious again and at least tame it to rated R. After all, I want Barnes and Noble to be able to sell this book, not Fanny Hill's Bordello of Books.
I've also gone so far as to write a whole love scene in which I say very little about what the two characters are doing, but by describing what is going on around them (sex on the beach is very nature-filled) I show the reader precisely what is going on in my own roundabout way. And yes, there are many cutaway scenes, nothing more than pulling toward the bedroom, then cut to the next morning. After all, a reader doesn't have to be told the gory details every time a couple copulates or the intensity of the scene vanishes into blasé acceptance. Ho hum, she's at it again.
One thing I aim for in any lovemaking scene is the "love" part, an element too often missing in novels these days. Even if it's with a total stranger or friend-with-benefits, there has got to be a reason, emotions the character feels. I don't want to be Lady Chatterley's Lover and spend ten pages delving into his/her emotional mindset, not when it'll probably take the reader longer to read all that emo-tripe than it would take them to have the ride of their life, but I think a reader deserves to know just why Johnny and Susy are playing hanky-panky in the backseat of a Buick.
Crude? Verbose? Coy? The nice thing about this current project is I have 800+ pages already (yeah, major editing needed) to experiment a little with it all, from the adorable to the abnormal. And if it's too much, that's what editors are for. I'm sure, like my husband, someone's going to tell me to take it down a few notches.
Of Cats and Christmas Trees
I never celebrated Christmas as a kid, but I knew about all the usual traditions involved. As one comic writer I love put it, "Jesus was born in a manger, so we go shopping at Macy's." Yes, a hapless tree, poisonous holly, and parasitic mistletoe to dupe chaste women into osculating.
It didn't make sense as a child, it still doesn't makes sense.
BUT my hubby loves Christmas, despite his mother being Jewish and coming from what was, for all intents and purposes, a Jewish family, albeit not a strict one as I learned one Christmas evening when his mother told me we were having ham for dinner.
His parents were coming up for Christmas, and since our place is far larger than my uncle-in-law's tiny bachelor pad, it was my duty to provide a Christmas dinner.
Um... great! I know nothing about Christmas dinners.
And if we didn't look properly festive, oy ve, watch out!
The Tree:
We spent money we didn't really have for all the obligatory accouterments of the season: poor tree, plastic wreath, stockings from Dollar Tree, in fact, most of our things came from the Dollar Tree. The ice storm we had the week earlier snapped off a lot of pine branches, so I cut off a few and put sprigs around the house. Gotta admit, the place smells marvelous!
One thing I can say: trees and cats don't mix! Sumo (aka Capone) body-slams everything, and Ninja (aka Stetson) attempts sneak attacks on anything that moves/doesn't move/might-possibly-in-this-century move.
My hubby is a major Trekkie, and for years, his parents would get him the annual Star Trek ornament. Therefore, half our ornaments comprised of starships, Borg cubes, various captains, shuttle crafts, and alien ships. There are plenty of music-related things to hang up as well, stuff I've collected because it was adorable and my traditionalist hubby insisted were really supposed to be ornaments. Whatever. I've learned, when it comes to some issues, just make a man happy.
Thus we had our dead tree. I have to throw it out in two days for the apartment's recycling deadline, but I'm holding onto that thing for the moment. It was sacrificed for the sake of archaic pagan tradition, but it makes one heck of an air freshener. I'm going to keep some sprigs around, considering the ones I gathered for Christmas dinner have dried out. At least the life of that lovely little tree brought happiness for a fleeting moment.
Okay, enough of me being emo over the evergreen. Worse things are done in the name of religion and tradition than the existence of tree farms.
The Dinner:
Dinner with the in-laws went well. We still had lots of snow, so that afternoon we slushed out to Summerlake Park, which at that moment was the most ironically named place I could imagine, gazing out over fields of snow and a frozen lake. We built a snowman, threw snowballs, and let the crazy Californians have their winter delight. It was my mother-in-law's first White Christmas, so she was having fun, although the slush involved three days after a snow and ice storm is not as romantic as Bing Crosby crooned it to be.
Then we marched back home, and since the ham was pre-baked and just needed warmed, everything went into the oven all at once. Green bean casserole, pineapple candied yams, Hawaiian rolls, a trip to the honey-baked ham store, pumpkin pie, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. I had a table-center of the tree branches I cut with a three-candle display I had for a while and some glittery red and white candles from $Tree. Music came from TSO mostly, whatever we had in our iTunes collection. There were all the usual compliments, but most importantly, no one fell sick afterward, unlike a party Matt and I went to where he ate a dessert I did not try and got ill. It was a dessert someone brought, so our dear host and hostess were not to be blamed.
I made a special crock pot brew of mulled apple cider. After assuring them I said "mulled" not "mold," they agreed to a taste, and that quickly became the beverage of choice through the night, even over the egg nog, coffee, wine, Martinelli's, cream soda, and other drinks we splurged on.
1 gallon apple cider (unfiltered tastes better, but regular cheap brand works)
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 cinnamon sticks
12 whole cloves
1 tsp ginger or use crystallized ginger
optional 1 tsp whole allspice (I couldn't find any, and it tasted fine)
Pour cider into crock pot. Mix brown sugar until dissolved; if powdered ginger, mix that too, if crystallized, put it with other seasonings. Wrap cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and allspice into cheesecloth (if you don't have cheesecloth, use a tea ball, coffee filter, or just make sure you fish them all out before serving). Toss in an unpeeled orange to float, or for a tangier taste, float orange slices (I've tried both). Cook high 2 hours or low 4-6 hours. Let the crock pot sit uncovered to make the whole house smell divine! Serve into mugs with a ladle
Optional: add a splash of rum or brandy to each mug, float a pat of butter, add orange slice or cinnamon stick to each mug, many things you can do to individualize your recipe.
The Loot:
I've sort of forgotten much of what I received. Tis better to give, right? Matt got me Prince Caspian. His mom got me new kitchen gloves that I totally needed, plus nice shower gel and crystal-etched nail files that are so wonderful. Matt's uncle knows I love lighthouses, so everything was lighthouse-themed: a little ceramic lighthouse, a DVD on Oregon lighthouses, a fridge magnet, and of course the obligatory 2009 calendar. Matt got the iPod alarm clock he really wanted, Dark Knight, an Andrew Lloyd Webber CD, as well as AC/DC's new album that he's been drooling over. And the kitties got a new scratching post. Their old one was thrashed!
Great Christmas Memory:
Now remember, our cute evergreen was covered in sci-fi paraphernalia. One thing that got everyone cracking up was when I saw Stetson (mister chew-everything) nibbling on a Bird of Prey (must have thought it was a green parrot).
Not thinking, I yelled at him, "Stetson, don't chew on the Klingons!"
Two seconds later, splitting laughter from all around. (Maybe you had to be there, but it was really hilarious)
A couple hours later, he attempted to nibble the lowest ornament, the Borg cube. My earlier comment prompted Matt to quote the lovable Q: "How many times do I have to tell you: don't provoke the Borg!"
Stetson's insatiable chewing habit meant no ornaments for the first two feet of tree. Of course, our tree is only about four feet tall. He attempted to chew on the branches, but I guess they don't taste as good as Klingons. By luck, the tree is still upright, so the tannenbaum might become a tradition around here. Of course, no offense to Bing Crosby, but I'd rather spend my winter in So-Cal with family and friends than chipping ice off the car.
Watching the hippie Priuses slipping along the road was sort of fun, though.
It didn't make sense as a child, it still doesn't makes sense.
BUT my hubby loves Christmas, despite his mother being Jewish and coming from what was, for all intents and purposes, a Jewish family, albeit not a strict one as I learned one Christmas evening when his mother told me we were having ham for dinner.
His parents were coming up for Christmas, and since our place is far larger than my uncle-in-law's tiny bachelor pad, it was my duty to provide a Christmas dinner.
Um... great! I know nothing about Christmas dinners.
And if we didn't look properly festive, oy ve, watch out!
The Tree:
We spent money we didn't really have for all the obligatory accouterments of the season: poor tree, plastic wreath, stockings from Dollar Tree, in fact, most of our things came from the Dollar Tree. The ice storm we had the week earlier snapped off a lot of pine branches, so I cut off a few and put sprigs around the house. Gotta admit, the place smells marvelous!
One thing I can say: trees and cats don't mix! Sumo (aka Capone) body-slams everything, and Ninja (aka Stetson) attempts sneak attacks on anything that moves/doesn't move/might-possibly-in-this-century move.
My hubby is a major Trekkie, and for years, his parents would get him the annual Star Trek ornament. Therefore, half our ornaments comprised of starships, Borg cubes, various captains, shuttle crafts, and alien ships. There are plenty of music-related things to hang up as well, stuff I've collected because it was adorable and my traditionalist hubby insisted were really supposed to be ornaments. Whatever. I've learned, when it comes to some issues, just make a man happy.
Thus we had our dead tree. I have to throw it out in two days for the apartment's recycling deadline, but I'm holding onto that thing for the moment. It was sacrificed for the sake of archaic pagan tradition, but it makes one heck of an air freshener. I'm going to keep some sprigs around, considering the ones I gathered for Christmas dinner have dried out. At least the life of that lovely little tree brought happiness for a fleeting moment.
Okay, enough of me being emo over the evergreen. Worse things are done in the name of religion and tradition than the existence of tree farms.
The Dinner:
Dinner with the in-laws went well. We still had lots of snow, so that afternoon we slushed out to Summerlake Park, which at that moment was the most ironically named place I could imagine, gazing out over fields of snow and a frozen lake. We built a snowman, threw snowballs, and let the crazy Californians have their winter delight. It was my mother-in-law's first White Christmas, so she was having fun, although the slush involved three days after a snow and ice storm is not as romantic as Bing Crosby crooned it to be.
Then we marched back home, and since the ham was pre-baked and just needed warmed, everything went into the oven all at once. Green bean casserole, pineapple candied yams, Hawaiian rolls, a trip to the honey-baked ham store, pumpkin pie, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. I had a table-center of the tree branches I cut with a three-candle display I had for a while and some glittery red and white candles from $Tree. Music came from TSO mostly, whatever we had in our iTunes collection. There were all the usual compliments, but most importantly, no one fell sick afterward, unlike a party Matt and I went to where he ate a dessert I did not try and got ill. It was a dessert someone brought, so our dear host and hostess were not to be blamed.
I made a special crock pot brew of mulled apple cider. After assuring them I said "mulled" not "mold," they agreed to a taste, and that quickly became the beverage of choice through the night, even over the egg nog, coffee, wine, Martinelli's, cream soda, and other drinks we splurged on.
1 gallon apple cider (unfiltered tastes better, but regular cheap brand works)
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 cinnamon sticks
12 whole cloves
1 tsp ginger or use crystallized ginger
optional 1 tsp whole allspice (I couldn't find any, and it tasted fine)
Pour cider into crock pot. Mix brown sugar until dissolved; if powdered ginger, mix that too, if crystallized, put it with other seasonings. Wrap cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and allspice into cheesecloth (if you don't have cheesecloth, use a tea ball, coffee filter, or just make sure you fish them all out before serving). Toss in an unpeeled orange to float, or for a tangier taste, float orange slices (I've tried both). Cook high 2 hours or low 4-6 hours. Let the crock pot sit uncovered to make the whole house smell divine! Serve into mugs with a ladle
Optional: add a splash of rum or brandy to each mug, float a pat of butter, add orange slice or cinnamon stick to each mug, many things you can do to individualize your recipe.
The Loot:
I've sort of forgotten much of what I received. Tis better to give, right? Matt got me Prince Caspian. His mom got me new kitchen gloves that I totally needed, plus nice shower gel and crystal-etched nail files that are so wonderful. Matt's uncle knows I love lighthouses, so everything was lighthouse-themed: a little ceramic lighthouse, a DVD on Oregon lighthouses, a fridge magnet, and of course the obligatory 2009 calendar. Matt got the iPod alarm clock he really wanted, Dark Knight, an Andrew Lloyd Webber CD, as well as AC/DC's new album that he's been drooling over. And the kitties got a new scratching post. Their old one was thrashed!
Great Christmas Memory:
Now remember, our cute evergreen was covered in sci-fi paraphernalia. One thing that got everyone cracking up was when I saw Stetson (mister chew-everything) nibbling on a Bird of Prey (must have thought it was a green parrot).
Not thinking, I yelled at him, "Stetson, don't chew on the Klingons!"
Two seconds later, splitting laughter from all around. (Maybe you had to be there, but it was really hilarious)
A couple hours later, he attempted to nibble the lowest ornament, the Borg cube. My earlier comment prompted Matt to quote the lovable Q: "How many times do I have to tell you: don't provoke the Borg!"
Stetson's insatiable chewing habit meant no ornaments for the first two feet of tree. Of course, our tree is only about four feet tall. He attempted to chew on the branches, but I guess they don't taste as good as Klingons. By luck, the tree is still upright, so the tannenbaum might become a tradition around here. Of course, no offense to Bing Crosby, but I'd rather spend my winter in So-Cal with family and friends than chipping ice off the car.
Watching the hippie Priuses slipping along the road was sort of fun, though.
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