You may have noticed that I've been taking part in National Blogging Month by posting every day, but I'm at a bit of a loss today.

I don't have a lot to say about war veterans that I haven't already said, and while I love the idea that there's some special numerological power in the 11/11 date, I can't say that I've ever witnessed any particular magic from it. Maybe in two more years when it's 11/11/11? IDK.

What I can say is that kispexi2, through a series of pointed questions about Restraint (the Regency J2 AU I've been working on for a year), nudged me off the writer's block this morning; I rode my bike to work (yes, I had to work--I'm at work right now) in the chilly sunshine at 11:30; I had a lunch with avventura1234 at the Heathman Marble Bar (wild mushroom fettuccine and an ale--it was yum) for two hours right after I got here; and and now I'm going to don my helmet and pedal on home in what I hope is the still-dry evening.

Okay, maybe there's been a little magic.

I'm kind of amazed, really, that I'm keeping this up. Darkness hasn't stopped me. Streets full of wet, slippery leaves haven't stopped me. Drenching rain hasn't stopped me. Today on the way to work my brakes almost didn't stop me, but I stopped and fixed 'em and kept riding.

I seem to be in an absolutely perfect set of circumstances for making a successful transition to being a cyclist:

• my commute is just long enough to be challenging but not daunting
• it's mostly downhill to work
• my route is though the bike-friendliest part of the bike-friendliest city in the US
• my employer totally supports bike commuting and provides great parking (and doesn't have a cow over something like today's brake-related half-hour delay)
• it's actually faster for me to cycle than to ride the bus to work
• the transit district recently cut service, so I'm highly motivated to avoid the newly-crowded, unpleasant buses
• combining travel with exercise is the only way I'll do the latter, but doing the latter is making me feel fantastic and providing its own motivation to continue.

October was a wash because of mechanical problems and the flu, but November is shaping up extremely well:

( 86%! )

As a native Portlander, I have a philosophy about rain, to wit: It's Only Water, also sometimes articulated as "I don't need no stinkin' umbrella."

Turns out, that's easy to say when you only have to wait for a bus, or walk a few blocks. When you're riding a bicycle four miles, rain is really, really wet. Your back gets wet. Your thighs get wet. Your feet get wet. Your hands get wet. Rain gets in through the vent holes in your helmet and your hair gets wet.

My living room and bathroom are draped with soggy garments.

Lest you think I complain: no! I had the bike lanes to myself, I proved that I can ride in a downpour, and I feel fantastic! It's only water, after all.

I just finished re-recording chapter 4 (of 12) of my Podbang entry. I lost almost three weeks of podfic-recording time to the flu! I felt fine after one week, but my voice didn't come all the way back till yesterday. It will be a dash to get the remaining eight chapters recorded and edited by deadline. I'm gonna need another bottle of Scotch.

Along with making podfic, I managed to generate 3000 new words this weekend on the long Regency AU fic. Some of those words are good, and a few are even good in the order they're currently in. It's a great feeling to jumpstart a stalled novel. I love that thing.

In the department of consuming written material, I listened to another couple of hours of The Big Burn: Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire That Saved America, and I have to tell you, the book is almost unbearably thrilling as the author follows the paths of several individuals involved in fighting the massive forest fire. I burst into tears at a couple of points, either from sadness or joy as these real, documented people--and their towns--perish or miraculously survive.

And in the department of consuming other things, I made a perfect-looking batch of Pandora cookies while I listened to my audiobook. They've been cooling while I've been recording my podfic. Now I get to go eat one! Or maybe two.

Today's massive deluge was brought to you by Global Climate Change™.

The rain was so heavy and the skies were so dark that I could barely see highway signs. The roads were like rivers, except where they were more like lakes. One massive, car-shaking crack of thunder rocked the part of Clark County I was driving in, and I had to speak sternly to myself about the unlikelihood of lightning striking my particular car.

By the time I got where I was going, at least half an hour late, I was all out of sorts. Thankfully, it was lunch with roseambr and we made up for stress with tasty food, great conversation and a little shopping. (I bought eyeshadow! Whee!)

The more I ride my bike, the less I can tolerate driving my car, and on days like today the best answer of all is just to stay home and drink hot tea.

Which I shall now proceed to do.

Wow, noisy recording. Sorry! Crank your volume down.

VoicePost 44K 0:13

(no transcription available)

kispexi2 and I have been talking about our respective accents, and how much fun it would be to get everyone to record and post some little snippet that would reveal their particular brand of spoken English.

Kis suggested the phrase "a pound of brown and purple worms" as playing up her own regional accent. Me, I don't have an accent! Ha! So not true, but I think of myself as speaking "plain American" and I'm at a loss for a particular phrase, except that I live in a state whose name people from other states frequently mispronounce.

Of course, IDEA, the International Dialects of English Archive, has already done this on a grand scale. They have recordings of people from all over the world reading a standardized text: most regions of every English-speaking country, various ages (age makes a huge difference!) and the accents of non-native speakers on every continent. If the ways we speak English interest you, IDEA is a fantastic way to kill a Saturday morning spend half an hour.

So, "I bought a pound of brown and purple worms and buried them in Oregon, where they are doing very well" is going to be my phrase. My first voice post is coming up.

Supernatural 5.08: My overall assessment is "dumb episode": no forward plot motion, still more uncomfortable and shark-jumping-esque self-referential hilarity, and another new player in the Apocalypse Games.

I laughed, I admit it. And seeing Jensen shot in bright, colorful light for a change was interesting and strange and made his eyes very, very green (though frankly, he and Jared are both far more beautiful in the greyed-out Supernatural world). It was amusing, but come on, let's get on with it! Stop with the fanservice already, Kripke.

In other miscellany, I NEED A CAMERA. Mine was stolen months ago, and I'm about ready to splurge on a replacement. I miss taking my unartistic little illustrative photos.

Oh, and I liked this, from Warren Ellis by way of Wil Wheaton:

At least half of all writing involves just sitting and staring into space. Letting your brain out to hunt down ideas, bringing them back all warm and bloody between its teeth.

Bonfire Night! I won't pretend to get all the nuances of Guy Fawkes Day, having lived in England for only one of them, but I love my annual chance to use this icon. *waves to all her UK friends*

Speaking of fire, I'm reading/listening to The Big Burn: Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire That Saved America, by Timothy Egan, the surprisingly thrilling and subtextually homoerotic history of the founding of the United States Forest Service.

I know, right? But the friendship between Teddy Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchot was passionate and deep, and founded on a love of the American West that gave rise to the very concept of conservationism in the US. (I've lived near the Gifford Pinchot National Forest most of my life, and didn't know until this week that Gifford Pinchot was just, this guy, you know?)

Egan uses a devastating forest fire that burned much of northern Idaho and Montana in 1910, as the linchpin of his story--it's the kind of book that starts with a vivid and horrifying description of the approach of a disaster--the titular fire--then goes back in time and traces the threads that led up to that disaster and its importance as "the fire that saved America". I still don't know whether the town survived!

[ETA: nwhepcat has been there! It lives! Wallace, Idaho.]

The audiobook is read by Roberston Dean, whom I know nothing about except that he has a deep, rich, James-Earl-Jones-ish voice that's wonderful to listen to.

Highly recommended.

Be it hereby known than on this day (well, last night):

DARK EMERALD PASSED A SLOWER CYCLIST.

It happened in Waterfront Park, northbound, right before the Steel Bridge. I came upon a cyclist who was just not hurrying much, so I sailed on past him. Whee! First time.

Two and a half miles later, just as I was coming to my house, my damn rear tire went flat. I successfully removed the rear wheel, took out the tube, identified the puncture, insured that no glass/nail/thorn was still in the tire, replaced the tube, and pumped it up.

Then came the part about putting the wheel back on: making all that black, greasy chain go back into those complicated derailleur and sprockety things.

Clyde is still upside down on my living room floor. I just couldn't figure it out. I will try again tonight. Hopefully with some gloves.

Damn these people who bring Halloween candy to work. Seriously! I'm all on board with self-determination and personal responsibility, but the combination of stress, Smarties and Whoppers is about to kill me.

I'm very, very tempted to go around and quietly throw every bit of it in the garbage. Because what's worse? Me on a sugar high (followed by hangover) or Whoppers in the trash? Either way, it's wasted, but at least in the trash it's not making my head explode.

I rode Clyde to the theater last night to see "Ragtime" (which was very moving with a stellar performance by Gavin Gregory as Coalhouse Walker), and when I found my sisters in the crowded lobby, they said, "I thought you were gonna ride your bike."

"I did."

"Really? Wow, it doesn't look like you did."

By which they meant that I wasn't all sweaty, I was (very slightly) "dressed up," and my hair wasn't matted to my head. Here is my big secret: I rode kind of slowly.

I found the last bike parking space in the theater block. I was able to stash my helmet in my sister's office, but I bet most places would check a bike helmet same as a bag. When I came out, I saw that someone had rifled through my small tool bag, but hadn't taken anything.

Riding home at near 11:00 on Halloween night through the very clubby lower Pearl District was kind of fun--the place was hopping and I saw a great many "sailors" and "fairies" and "prostitutes" though for all I know that last category wasn't particularly in costume.

So, another bicycling challenge met and mastered: cycling to things people don't usually ride a bike to.

I retrieved Clyde from River City Bicycle this morning, where he's been stranded since the day I got the flu more than a week ago. I was able to ride all the way home, though I didn't break any records getting up the riverbank, and a certain amount of coughing did ensue.

My chain fell off on the way up from Rose Quarter--my first time! Fixed it, no problem. Go me! Note to self: a pair of latex gloves would be a handy thing to have on board because, damn, greasy.

I haven't lost as much muscle-power as I feared, and what's more important, I haven't lost any of my desire to ride. In fact, if it's not pouring down rain, I'm going to ride to the theater tonight to see Ragtime at Portland Center Stage.

Also, I got all my hair cut off today and I'm now Judi Dench. Only without the pretty tilted eyes. Or any perceptible acting ability.

I've got a dozen fresh piping hot invites to Google Wave if anybody wants one. Comment and it shall be yours until I run out.

ETA: Oh, and leave me an email address where you'd like the invitation sent.

bigamethystring at gmail dot com

I think I can see the light at the end of the flu today. Three sick days in a row is a huge deal for me and my coworkers, and only the fact that it's Friday is stopping that from becoming five.

I've cancelled my weekend and am remaining in self-imposed quarantine until I'm not so inclined to cough up a lung and break a rib in the process, but at least today I've been able to get some laundry done and open the windows to air out the sickroom without feeling death blow in.

All I can say is, thank the FSM for the internet, because extreme boredom would be a killer without it. Also, thanks to avventura1234 for the soup and biscuits and the medicine, which I truly would not have been up to doing for myself.

When, after I repaired the fifth flat tire of Clyde's short life, the damn thing started spontaneously hissing out its air while standing still in my living room, I began to suspect that something might actually be wrong with the wheel-rim.

So avventura1234 and I went to River City Bicycle to spend more money resolve matters before I lose my cycling-nerve altogether.

It's all upside from there: bike guy immediately spotted the problem. Bike guy repaired the problem. Bike guy was super nice about it. And bike guy looked like Christian Kane. Complete with gruff voice, stocking cap, keen blue eyes, compact, athletic build...and a black eye.

It was AWESOME.

I just ate a precious few grams of chanterelle mushrooms (sliced lengthwise, sauteed in a little butter, a few grains of salt) and I swear I can hear angels singing. The really earthy kind of angels, who play string basses and snap their fingers.

That and a bratwurst and some Bubbies sauerkraut, maybe an apple for dessert and I can deal with the storm. Hot cocoa while I watch a DVD (Saiyuki Reload Volume I), and possibly I can work up the gumption to fix Clyde's flat front tire.

Even though it's now pouring down rain, I love October.

Oh, everything is just so wonderful right now! Portland is filled with a fresh east wind and yellow leaves and slanty sunshine and horse-chestnuts.

After a perfectly fantastic visit from vampirefan (during which she got me addicted to both "Glee" and "Drop Dead Diva" because she is an evil fangirl and drives the crack van), I spent a whopping one day at work last week, not nearly enough to ruin my high.

Yesterday I treated myself to some new bed linens at IKEA: plum, raspberry, bronze and pumpkin, all stripey and cozy boudoir-ish, and they're out flapping in the breeze right now, enjoying their freedom from captivity in plastic wrappers. They make a nice (and probably meaningful) change from the taupe-black-white-gray I've had for the last couple of years.

I rode Clyde to Fred Meyer (local everything-store, two miles away) for a couple of small items yesterday, and it was so much fun that I did it again today. It's chilly enough to warrant riding gloves, and I have this vintage pair of hot-pink leather dress gloves, so I wore those. You know, for visibility. I forgot something and darn it, I need to go again!

I completed recording on the first chapter of my Podbang entry on Friday night. Since it's a "secret Santa" kind of thing, I can't say much about what I'm working on, but I can say that it's in the SPN fandom, it's VERY long, and there is music involved which I'm having indescribable amounts of fun with, all fading in, fading out, lining up--gah! I'm just in geek heaven!

So, life is good! Happy Autumn to my northern hemisphere friends.

vampirefan texted me this morning with the dying breath of her phone battery to say that her battery was dying. Now, stranded at a hotel in an unfamiliar city, however surrounded by Browncoats one might be, is not a situation for phonelessness.

Accordingly, I found the last battery in Portland that goes in vampirefan's phone and lo, it was in the neighborhood.

So I rode Clyde to Batteries Plus on NE Broadway and grabbed it, then went on downtown to deliver it, since vampirefan was on a Browncoats excursion to Dark Horse Comics. The Browncoats Ball is taking place at the Governor Hotel, one of those boutique hotels with the planters on the sidewalk and the doorpersons in tailcoats, right? So I ride up and whoops, no bike parking. Doorman in tailcoat comes out.

"Do you have bike parking?" inquire I.

"Well, not inside," quoth doorperson.

Well duh, think I.

Bike parking for boutique hotels, apparently, is located at a seemly distance from the planter-and-awning bedecked front door. (Which actually makes perfect sense--luggage-laden guests and bicycles do not mix--and I'm not bitching, just making a note.)

So I park across the street, and go sweating into the elegant marble lobby, where I leave the battery at reception.

"Is she expecting this?" asks the reception desk woman, clearly trying to figure out how a gray haired woman could be a bike messenger. (Also, my gloves have fingers.)

"I'm about to text her and tell her it's here."

The futility of this plan is borne in on me as soon as it's out of my mouth. Because vampirefan will not GET that message until she has inserted and charged the battery. *eyeroll*

So, Twitter to the rescue, I hope. And LJ as a backup plan. Laura: your battery is at the front desk of your hotel!

As I rode home, the sun came out. Along with whoa a lot of visitors. Dude. I actually chose to ride in car traffic because it was safer than being among untrained pedestrians in Waterfront Park.

Total distance: 9.2 miles. Time: about 90 minutes.

Wow. When I wasn't exercising much at all, I didn't notice how variable my physical energy level was. Quite variable, I now recall: I just about didn't make it home from work on Clyde today. I've got the slooooowwws.

But then, I did practically run from the office to the light rail stop where vampirefan was arriving from the airport for the Browncoats Ball.

(Eeeee! I feel like we're such good friends, and this is the first time we've ever met. More on that in a bit.)

And I did do a goodish walk at lunch in shoes that made my feet--and subsequently my knees and hips--hurt. And I might be a little dehydrated. *gulps down water*.

But improvement is never a straight line, and today was the day where all the other cyclists passed me by (most pretty politely) and I took 45 minutes to get home.

And yet? It's still fun!