Transformation

I finished reading Duma Key by Stephen King on Wednesday night. (You may remember - I got this book for Val-day from my hubby...) I began reading it on Sunday (2/24). I'm sure you can guess, because I finished it in four days, that it was a great book. Not impressed? This monster of a hardback is about 2.5 inches thick. Hefty.

• The Talisman - written in conjuction with Peter Straub. (My first SK experience; I've read it 3 times and plan on a 4th before the miniseries comes out)
• The Green Mile - recent series. (I shouldn't have to tell you that the books are better than the movie)
• Bag of Bones
• Dreamcatcher
• Misery - excellent!!

As promised, I finished On Writing by Stephen King. I can say with all the confidence and bluster of a young fan, that he is a frickkin' genius. He is humble, with a history that took me by surprise.

It was described by The Wall Street Journal as follows: "Remarkable and revealing... Memoir, style manual, autobiography - the inspiring On Writing seems almost unclassifiable." (according to the first page)

That's it, really. I have no qualms or doubts about reading it again. More than likely I'll be reading it with a notepad and pencil in hand. There were absolute gems held within those pages, and I can't wait to start implementing them into my writing. I already write more like him, which he assures in the book is perfectly natural, but it's with great satisfaction that I find the words are still mine.

I'm still able to write in my own voice.

I've just been given the go-ahead to tell it like I see it, and not in the pretty fluffy words that are imposed on us by uptight teachers and professors.

In the last few days, I've read the pages aloud to my husband, either while he's watching TV (I love our DVR), or working... but mostly it was while he was driving during our commute home from work. And the sections I read to him have sparked conversations that were important for both of us. My husband is no idiot, thank God, and he understands how important writing is to me. He is also another perspective on what may impress me. Help me see something I'm not considering, or applaud my ability to point out something he missed.

Something else that's important to me: my husband doesn't believe me to be an idiot, either. I think he also sees how happy just reading about writing makes me. He sees how encouraged I am by reading Mr. King's book. He assured me that he has faith in my abilities, and that I have the kind of raw talent that could be molded by Mr. King's advice (when compared to another author I've been reading who approaches writing like there's a map you can follow and find success buried under that damned X).

In case you're wondering, I'm deliberately referring to SK as Mr. King because I've never met the man, don't know him personally at all, and therefore refuse to address him as Stephen or any other derivation. I'm not just some whack-job fan who thinks she can emulate him and become rich and famous. I am however, a very real fan. I'm serious about developing the craft... if I have any talent to be developed, that is. And as he says in the final pages:

"Some of this book - perhaps too much - has been about how I learned to do it. Much of it has been about how you can do it better. The rest of it - and perhaps the best of it - is a permission slip: you can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up."

Went to the movies for the first time in a long while and saw Jumper with Hayden Christensen (lil' Darth in the recent Star Wars chapters), Diane Lane and Samuel L. Jackson. It's about a guy who develops the ability to "teleport" when he was but a mere teenaged boy. It was purely by accident, by his understanding. He'd fallen in a frozen-over river, been swept under the ice by the current, and under the threat of death, "teleported" himself to the public library.

You realize pretty much immediately that you're being drawn into love with the kid. His mom took off when he was five, his dad was a real jerk. And he had this hopeless, puppy-dog love for a girl named Millie. Oh, not to mention he was picked on heavily (the bully called him "Rice bowl", which I learned later was because his name is David Rice).

He sees the potential for this power, and decides to run away. ("If my mom could run away, so could I"... which proves to be quite a little tie-in, trust me) What is a fifteen-year-old to do? He hops on a bus and flees to New York City. Rents a room the size of my guest closet and learns more about his abilities.

He realizes that if he can visualize the place he needs to go, he can be there. He just has to close his eyes and concentrate, and wham, he's on the top of the Empire State Building.

You can see where this is going right?

1) What the hell is he going to do for money? Well, he goes to a bank, sees the inside of the vault, and there you have it. Money.

2) What kind of future does this life of crime lead him? Well, golly, he can't get caught 'cause he doesn't touch anything but the stuff he takes. Eight years down the road and he has posh apartments, travels the globe daily, and shows himself to be increadibly lazy (there is a small part where he's sitting on his designer couch in his designer apartment and can't reach the remote... instead of LEANING over, he teleports to the other end of the couch for the remote).

3) Where's the conflict? Enter Samuel L. Jackson, playing Roland the paladin. A "knight" who tracks down jumpers with his organization in tow. And when he finds these "jumpers" (the people who can teleport), he traps them and kills them.
Aha! That's satisfaction right there - plenty of conflict. Because suddenly, a lead breaks free and they find our friend, David the Jumper. He flees, after grabbing a token bag-full of cash, and goes home.

I won't outline the entire film. I will say that I have a love-hate attitude for it, though.

It has originality going for it. The special effects and "powers" expressed were impressive and fun to watch.

The short list of items I found annoying is a little longer...

Open ending, almost hopeful that the studio would have a reason to make a sequel. Gag.

Cardboard motives, cardboard love story, cardboard cardboard cardboard. There's only so much fiber you can take in before you're stuck in the potty room wishing you'd never done whatever it is that brought you there in the first place.

As much as the populace has enjoyed it in the past, the "story of the golden-hearted criminal" motif is getting just a smidge old. What's pathetic is that I was hoping they (the writers of this movie) would actually tackle the "hard" angle - have him use his abilities to make money legally. A naive notion, yes, not the least of which was encouraged by my having not seen the preview. Instead, we're expected to embrace his bank robberies because he leaves IOUs. (WTF? What kind of person leaves an IOU from a bank robbery? and how is he going to pay it back? Robbing another bank? Gag again.)

All in all, glad I saw it. Was a nice little break from reality, and like I said, originality helped to dampen my other concerns. I'm a little miffed that I paid $17+ bucks (2 tickets and a soda later...) to see it, but not enough to actively complain about it or anything.

I can assure anyone reading that if a sequel comes out, I'll wait for it to hit DVD. The only real draw to seeing this imaginary sequel will be to watch someone of significance die, and see how the other characters react. That's the only way the sequel could interest me I think, which is sad. It's pretty bad when a character must suffer to get my attention. Poor things.

It has been confirmed that I have low-iron anemia. But what was also discovered is that I am also "probably" genetically predisposed to it. I have either Thalassemia or Alpha-thalassemia, both mild and not prone to generate typical anemic symptoms, according to my PCP (primary care physician). However, because my iron levels got low, anemia developed and - tah-dah! - I'm now required to take medication.

I have to visit a gynocologist next week to make sure that there are no... erm... "womanly" causes for the iron-drop. And I am expecting a call today or tomorrow to confirm my appointment with a hemotologist (a blood guy, for all you laymens) to confirm my PCP's diagnosis on the Thalassemia. Gah, what a mouth-full.

Just a few fun facts about my visit:

Downside - my iron was VERY low, per my bloodwork. Average iron levels in a person are between 40 and 175. I was a whopping 16. (Oh the joy of being special, right?)

Upside - I've lost four (4) pounds since my last visit two weeks ago. I don't know if it's because I'm avoiding wheat or if I've been on such restrictive terms for the last week and a half while trying to get the tests done for the doc. Still... four pounds is four pounds. Rejoice and be glad in it.

Now, just for the fun of it, I looked the thalassemia terms up via Google and found their definitions. (thanks, medterms.com!)

Thalassemia: Not just one disease but rather a complex series of genetic (inherited) disorders all of which involve underproduction of hemoglobin, the indispensable molecule in red blood cells that carries oxygen. The globin part of hemoglobin is made up of 4 polypeptide chains (usually 2 chains of one type and 2 chains of another type of chain). In thalassemia, there is a mutation (change) in one of the types of globin chains. Depending upon which globin chain is affected, the mutation typically leads to underproduction (or absence) of that globin chain, a deficiency of hemoglobin, and anemia.

Alpha Thalassemia: The problem in the thalassemias is with globin production. The thalassemias are classified according to the type of globin polypeptide chain that is underproduced. The alpha chain is involved in alpha thalassemia (and the beta chain is affected in the more familiar beta thalassemia).
In alpha thalassemia, the heterozygous state (with a single gene for alpha thalassemia) is innocuous or harmless. There are no symptoms or at most mild anemia, because there is another gene still able to make alpha chains.

Literally, my Saturday just flew by when I wasn't lookin'. I woke up - barely - with a headache. I managed to eat the breakfast my husband thoughtfully provided after my shower, but by noon, I was down for the count. I took a two-hour nap and woke - again, barely - with my headache intact. I went into the living room and stretched out on the couch, my head on Sarel's lap, and he rubbed my forehead and temples for me.

Can you believe how good he is to me?

And then, by the miracle of a few doses of Extra Strength Tylenol, I was able to join my husband and his employers for dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse.

Which was okay, even though I'm not supposed to be eating beef, or salad, because of these diagnostic tests I'm supposed to be taking for the anemia stuff. It was okay because I was able to make due, quite to my own pleasure, with a slab of salmon, a baked potato and a bit of shrimp & lobster corn chowder. (*yummm!*)

We were going to go see the 10:10pm showing of Cloverfield later on after dinner, but we went back home, and by 9 o'clock, I was again visiting the land of the sleeping. Poor Sarel got excited - he hasn't been able to leave the house much the last couple of weeks because he hurt his ankle - and didn't get to go to the movies.

" 'm sorry," I mumbled, wiping drool from his thigh, "Don' feel up to it."

Yeah, I know, I pretty much sound like a drunkard when I'm sleepy. It's cute and funny when I'm not being a bear.

Despite his aching ankle, my husband pulled off a lovely Valentine's Day for me - which, I might add, was unnecessary... I told him I wasn't expecting anything. Maybe a smile and a guarantee of a good mood.

Instead, when I came home, I first noticed that the lawn work was done - grass mowed, edges edged. When I went inside, it was to find him pulling dinner out of the oven. Say it with me, now: AWWW!

Yes, so, I'm almost to the point of passing out - still anemic, after all - and go change into comfy PJ-type clothes. When I finally emerge from the bedroom, there's a card and a book waiting for me at my spot on the couch. (Let me tell you, if this weren't a family-friendly blog, I'd give you a hint at just how much I liked the card he picked... *wink, wink, nudge, nudge, knowhatImean?*) And the book was one I didn't even realize was out - the latest Stephen King release: Duma Key. I have, much to my shame, been distancing myself from Mr. King, expecting him to stop writing any day. I should have known that his retirement intentions were subject to abandonment. As soon as I've finished it, I promise to post a lil review for ya'll. I have no doubts it will be great.

Don't you think all this deserves a kiss, a hello? I did, too.

So I went into the kitchen and kissed him and hugged him and generally made all kinds of wifely promises that you'll never hear me speak aloud to anyone else. And then I sat down at the table and poked around on his laptop while he did dinner-related things, and out of nowhere noticed a vase of a dozen red roses. (See left)

Aw, I love getting flowers. Makes me feel all girly and loved. Such a sweetie, my guy.

I buried my face in the blooms and took a huff worthy of the big bad wolf. Of course I made pleased noises and told him again how appreciated his efforts were.

We sat down in the living room to eat dinner while we watched the latest episode of "Breaking Bad" (click here if you've not heard of this brilliant show). When we were finished eating, he took the dishes into the kitchen and washed them. As if he needed to top it off, he came back bearing chocolate... Not just any chocolate, but my absolute FAVORITE - Lindt Truffles. And a Flake Bar.


I promise he enjoyed his Valentine's present... you just won't get details on that particular escapade. *insert devilishly sated grin here*

I love Valentine's Day.

This morning I picked up a coffee through the Starbucks "drive-thru", which isn't a daily habit, but certainly something of which I partake frequently. The craving struck me that I should get a cookie. I only get a cookie craving once every four years or something. Must be the leap year syndrome. Don't ask me what my rationalizations were at the time - I can barely remember them as it is.

But I definitely remember wanting a cookie.

I asked for a sugar cookie, to which I was told "We don't have any. Do you want a Black and White cookie instead? It's kinda sugary."

And me, I just went with it. Again, I don't know why, really. Maybe it was her suggestive tone - like it was just as good, a worthy substitute for my sugar-cookie-needs.

"Okay," I say. "Sure. I'll have one of those."

She gives me my total, and I'm glad they don't have a little camera by the order screen, because I fully balked. Who would willingly pay $2 for a damn cookie?! Apparently I would, because I didn't complain or change my order. I just drove around and paid for it.

I waited patiently and was handed my coffee first - a Venti Iced Non-fat Light Ice No Whip White Mocha Latte if you must know - and then my little baggie with my surprise cookie inside. So off I go, my drink in the cupholder and my cookie propped in the passenger seat, ignored while I finished singing along to my BtVS Once More, With Feeling Soundtrack CD. (Yes, I am one of those crazy people you see in the morning, singing along full-blast with whatever the hell it is I am listening to... And I like the BtVS:OMWF Soundtrack because - duh - it's my fav episode. So I sing along and it helps me wake up, getting my brain in gear.)

Once I've finished singing like an idiot, I pull my cookie bag onto my lap and reach in, watching the road and paying little attention to what my hand is doing. I feel out the cookie, noting silently that the thing is almost as big as my head, and only slightly smaller than your average cowboy belt buckle. I tear off a piece and was surprised at how spongy it felt. Like... you know, a stale pancake or something.

I pop the piece in my mouth, and it's exactly NOTHING like a sugar cookie. It's more like a, well, a pancake with that hard confectioneer's sugar icing coating the top of it. I barely manage to keep it in my mouth.

So now, not only do I NOT have a sugar cookie, I have a dry, cold pancake with sick icing on it. I blindly pick off the icing within the confines of that little paper bag, putting the plain mock-cookie-pancake substance in my mouth.

Which is quite nice without the icing. So I ate as much as I could and balled up the rest in that paper bag. Didn't want all those crumbs and icing bits spilling out into my car.

I have decided, though, that I'll not be hoodwinked into ordering something other than what I wanted ever again. Who the heck wants an old pancake instead of a sugar cookie anyway? The consistencies of each edible are considerably different, and all-together unsatisfying if you were expecting one over the other.

So, last week, I was diagnosed as having anemia, though my doctor had no clue as to which kind because it was your basic, run-o-the-mill blood screening. (I didn't know there were whole different kinds, either - don't feel bad.) Apparently, the average blood count number is 12.5 for women, and I was all the way down to 8. My doctor told me that 7 is the actual "line" to cross into manditory-blood-transfusion territory. So, yay me. Caught it in time.

It would explain why I've been lucky to stay up past 8 o'clock for the last month, and a whole slew of other "symptoms" that I'd mistaken for pregnancy. Yes, I thought I was with child, and even got scared and excited and started thinking of names. Last Thursday was a real bummer, but I'm also VERY glad I wasn't diagnosed with something off-the-wall, like Thyroid Disease, or Diabetes.

I called my mother after my appointment and told her very calmly that I'd been told I was anemic, and that I'd originally gone in for a prego test.... because honestly, I needed to talk to her about it, but I was NOT going to tell her I was suspicious that I might be expecting. My mom has been looking forward to Grammy-status since I got married six years ago. I wanted to be really, really sure before I told her.

And I was quite proud at how she didn't try to ask about potentially future plans for making her a grandchild of her very own. She kept on-topic - my low blood count. And oh, by the way, almost every woman on my mom's side of the family has been anemic at least once in some point of their lives! Yeah, that's a good thing to know, don't you think? That's right up there with knowing cardio and cancer history, because you can die from it just as easily!

But she'd just found that out herself, so I didn't freak. I just said "Oh, okay. I'll tell my doctor."

Today I got to get more blood taken away - kind of ironic, isn't it? They need to find out why I have a low blood count, so they take more blood out. You'd think they'd try to find another way to test for that, anemia being a blood problem and all. They used a giant frickkin' needle that looked more appropriate for livestock and had to fish - yes, I said FISH - for my vein. (Apparently my veins are very strong and just as afraid of needles as my eyes are)

When they were finally done, I was sent on my way. My arm aches in a phantom sort of way. It only tweaks with actual discomfort if I lift anything or twist/bend it a certain way. It'll stop doing that in a while, though, so I'm not overly concerned.

My follow-up appointment with the doc is next Thursday morning. I look forward to finding out if I have a special kind of anemia, and what hoops I'll need to jump through to correct it. Updates as they become available.... whether you want to know or not.

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I know it's lame, but I just had to come back and mention that I recently finished the book, Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen.

It's a WONDERFUL book. Well-written, acclaimed, yadda yadda. Anyone who enjoys reading should give it a try. I warn you: the cover calls the story "gritty" for a reason, but it is still, over-all, a very pleasant, very entertaining book. It took me by surprise and left me aching to find out where I could get hold of Ms. Gruen's other books. When I've acquired and read them, I'll let you know.

I purchased - quite by accident, mind you - the Book Club edition, which houses in its last few pages an interesting interview of the author, as well as some in-depth and thought-provoking discussion questions.

The story captures the imagination, delving into an unknown realm and revealing secrets to us like it's child's play. I never knew anything about circuses or even all that much about Depression-era America.

And, as a matter of course, the characters were amazing. Some were comical, others maniacal. With this novel, delivered to your hands is a reintroduction to the past, a family... oh, and love, and jealousy, and all those fun human interactions we wrap ourselves around, cheering the characters on in silent, sadistic glee.

The ending is somewhat whimsical, but I won't spoil it for you. It's worth reading the whole book to find out what happens in the end. And it's a fitting end, if I do say so myself.

Click here to see a review at novelstore.blogspot.com
Click here to see what Amazon has to say about it

I had a blog that was hosted on my home server, and due to some weird spamming thing, I've finally given up on the damn thing and decided to start fresh. Not that I'm particularly sure anyone will read this blog any more than they read the previous one, but it should prove a nice reprieve. So, yes, for all who wondered, my blog title has two meanings:


1) This is my second attempt at a blog.

2) I am an avid Buffy the Vampire Slayer (tv show) fan - with fanfiction obssessions and everything! (henceforth referred to as BtVS)


Hm, I suppose a short introduction is in order. Mostly these posts will be about any and everything. I hope to take a more active role in this blog than my previous one. I tend to swing wildly on the pendulum between the whimsical and down-right snotty (if I'm upset about something, of course).

I have a husband and a dog, both of them cute and clingy and all-together my favorite beings on the planet. I'll have to post some pictures soon.

I live in Florida - oh great and soggy state, the penis of our country. I suppose I'm not the only person to notice that eventually everything ends up down here? Don't worry, I don't plan to rant - I'm generally tired of expounding on the not-greatness of this place, mainly because people just keep moving here! Like this is some kind of oasis where they will bask their days away. Sadly, I have no sympathy for these people when they complain that it is too hot in the summer. I do, however, politely remind them that they moved down here because it was too cold anywhere else, and maybe it was time they talk about the project that's due next Tuesday?

As soon as I can chew through my restraints, I'm bolting for the Carolinas, or possibly even Virginia. Lovely places, all of them. I hear they actually exhibit all four seasons. For someone born 'n' raised in perpetual summer, that sounds like a little slice of heaven just calling my name. As for the rest of me, well, you'll see it over time. I have great aspirations to post the antics of my Dilbert-esque office and even more to share a piece of the goings-on of my life as they come to pass. Not because I think I'll be famous, but because it's fun and kills time.

So... How does one end these things? Thank you for your time?

Surely that's a bit formal...