w00t w00t booyah

Here's another quirk you probably won't see in the general scheme of things.

I don't like autographs.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. No, I don't want it signed. No, I don't want some stranger to feel obligated to write their name on something, some such or another. It kind of creeps me out.

And if I know you well enough to form an opinion based on other things besides that book, DVD or photograph in your hand?

*shivers* I don't need proof that you are another warm-blood sentient being with hands and know how to spell your name. I don't need proof that you existed.

What else is an autograph for?

I've met many a person who thought an autographing their works was a more-than-larger 'thank you' - I swear, Alton Brown would have signed *anything* I put in front of him - and just about did - I have signed DVDs (inside the box, I never thought of that, but he did and had it done before I could think twice about it) and he asked me if I wanted all of them signed. I hugged him instead, with permission. I am a GOOD hugger. And from that interaction, I take away something more valuable than an autograph - I get to talk to you. And really, that's what I want. I don't need a lifetime -

I want to thank you - and see if you have questions for me. I know I only have five minutes, tops. I can do a lot in five minutes.

This is one of the reasons I really love going to the LAT Festival of Books, because that's the largest draw. They bring out the authors to talk about their Stuff - and plan to host short signing sessions after each and every panel discussion. Buy as many of the books as you wish - Borders has it covered, really. And they are good about the signings - they've done many many festivals, so they have it down to a science. Nobody wears out, nobody gets shorted. You're in, you're done and you move on. Thanks for coming!

So grateful to meet Pico Iyer. I finally got to tell him how grateful I've been for his books - they've saved my good name more than once, and I had information I couldn't have gotten any other way that kept me from being a jerk. Autograph - eh. I'll have to go back and read the inscription (and I don't direct anyone what to write - 'do what you like' is the only direction I'll ever give) - because he just kept writing as I spoke to him. I love his books - after meeting him, I adore him.

Jim and I went to a book signing for Emeril Lagasse once - Jim got recipe tips, but the only thing I really wanted him to hear was 'thank you for putting up with all of us.' That got a look right in the eyes - why yes, I'm aware this is work. And thank you for doing it for me. (It also got a smile. He'd stayed far, far over his scheduled time to sign everyone's books that night. His reward from some idiots was flash photography without asking. Dicks.)

I loved having that five minutes with the three women hosting the parenting panel this last festival - for that five minutes, I had some of the best minds local to me talking to me about parenting, but even more, it was about becoming a parent under less than fair circumstances and having a legitimate vent about it. And all I got were nods, suggestions and yes - validation. They knew I wasn't big on autographs, but there I was - and I explained as much. It got a wry grin from one author with an atta girl.

I like it when people get to be people, after all.

More than once, someone has gone to a con and sent me a signed photograph they'd gotten for me. Aww. And then I didn't have a clue what to do with it. (Yes, yes - I know you can sell such things. Eww. No, really. EWWWWWW.)

People threw their programs onto the stage when Paul McCartney performed here last. Uh, someone *hit* him with one. No, I don't want anything with Paul McCartney's autograph on it. No words large enough for the wrong THAT is. Don't buy third-party gained autographs, guys. Just. Don't.

Swear to God, I'd do anything I could to take the demand out of a market that turns people into monsters like that. (We can talk about people taking pictures without permission another day. There's a post with profanity in it for you.)

It hits my trigger on treating celebrities as inanimate commodities even when we're dealing with the real flesh and blood person - and I really wish someone would take this up as a constitutional issue based on the 13th amendment, because it's just wrong. You may make a bundle being a celebrity, but you are never SOLD, body and soul, to the public, in any fashion - and I'm reminded often that there's a large segment of my culture that thinks an autograph is part and parcel of that concept and that it's very real.

I do not own you - any part of you - if I bought your work. I bought a book, that's it. If I get to talk to you, person to person while you sign it as a gift to me - that's worth the trouble. The autograph is not the reason I'm there. I liked the book, I *might* like you (at least, I respect your ability enough to mention it as such) and that's what I want you to know.

I don't need anything signed and sent to me. I'm also pretty certain you know your books are real, too and that you've been around many copies of them. I don't need proof that you actually saw *this one.*

If I see something signed that I wasn't there for? All I can think of is that you were made to work, without thanks - because I wasn't there to give it.

I don't want it signed. I don't like autographs.

I like your stuff. And that's plenty, for both of us.

Here's another quirk you probably won't see in the general scheme of things.

I don't like autographs.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. No, I don't want it signed. No, I don't want some stranger to feel obligated to write their name on something, some such or another. It kind of creeps me out.

And if I know you well enough to form an opinion based on other things besides that book, DVD or photograph in your hand?

*shivers* I don't need proof that you are another warm-blood sentient being with hands and know how to spell your name. I don't need proof that you existed.

What else is an autograph for?

I've met many a person who thought an autographing their works was a more-than-larger 'thank you' - I swear, Alton Brown would have signed *anything* I put in front of him - and just about did - I have signed DVDs (inside the box, I never thought of that, but he did and had it done before I could think twice about it) and he asked me if I wanted all of them signed. I hugged him instead, with permission. I am a GOOD hugger. And from that interaction, I take away something more valuable than an autograph - I get to talk to you. And really, that's what I want. I don't need a lifetime -

I want to thank you - and see if you have questions for me. I know I only have five minutes, tops. I can do a lot in five minutes.

This is one of the reasons I really love going to the LAT Festival of Books, because that's the largest draw. They bring out the authors to talk about their Stuff - and plan to host short signing sessions after each and every panel discussion. Buy as many of the books as you wish - Borders has it covered, really. And they are good about the signings - they've done many many festivals, so they have it down to a science. Nobody wears out, nobody gets shorted. You're in, you're done and you move on. Thanks for coming!

So grateful to meet Pico Iyer. I finally got to tell him how grateful I've been for his books - they've saved my good name more than once, and I had information I couldn't have gotten any other way that kept me from being a jerk. Autograph - eh. I'll have to go back and read the inscription (and I don't direct anyone what to write - 'do what you like' is the only direction I'll ever give) - because he just kept writing as I spoke to him. I love his books - after meeting him, I adore him.

Jim and I went to a book signing for Emeril Lagasse once - Jim got recipe tips, but the only thing I really wanted him to hear was 'thank you for putting up with all of us.' That got a look right in the eyes - why yes, I'm aware this is work. And thank you for doing it for me. (It also got a smile. He'd stayed far, far over his scheduled time to sign everyone's books that night. His reward from some idiots was flash photography without asking. Dicks.)

I loved having that five minutes with the three women hosting the parenting panel this last festival - for that five minutes, I had some of the best minds local to me talking to me about parenting, but even more, it was about becoming a parent under less than fair circumstances and having a legitimate vent about it. And all I got were nods, suggestions and yes - validation. They knew I wasn't big on autographs, but there I was - and I explained as much. It got a wry grin from one author with an atta girl.

I like it when people get to be people, after all.

More than once, someone has gone to a con and sent me a signed photograph they'd gotten for me. Aww. And then I didn't have a clue what to do with it. (Yes, yes - I know you can sell such things. Eww. No, really. EWWWWWW.)

People threw their programs onto the stage when Paul McCartney performed here last. Uh, someone *hit* him with one. No, I don't want anything with Paul McCartney's autograph on it. No words large enough for the wrong THAT is. Don't buy third-party gained autographs, guys. Just. Don't.

Swear to God, I'd do anything I could to take the demand out of a market that turns people into monsters like that. (We can talk about people taking pictures without permission another day. There's a post with profanity in it for you.)

It hits my trigger on treating celebrities as inanimate commodities even when we're dealing with the real flesh and blood person - and I really wish someone would take this up as a constitutional issue based on the 13th amendment, because it's just wrong. You may make a bundle being a celebrity, but you are never SOLD, body and soul, to the public, in any fashion - and I'm reminded often that there's a large segment of my culture that thinks an autograph is part and parcel of that concept and that it's very real.

I do not own you - any part of you - if I bought your work. I bought a book, that's it. If I get to talk to you, person to person while you sign it as a gift to me - that's worth the trouble. The autograph is not the reason I'm there. I liked the book, I *might* like you (at least, I respect your ability enough to mention it as such) and that's what I want you to know.

I don't need anything signed and sent to me. I'm also pretty certain you know your books are real, too and that you've been around many copies of them. I don't need proof that you actually saw *this one.*

If I see something signed that I wasn't there for? All I can think of is that you were made to work, without thanks - because I wasn't there to give it.

I don't want it signed. I don't like autographs.

I like your stuff. And that's plenty, for both of us.

Kid Stuff:

He has outgrown the shoes we was wearing when he met us for the first time. Less than six months. *meeps* That was fast. He's also very attached to them, and I'm not looking forward to taking the little batteries out of them and putting them away. To him, they are simply going to disappear someday - because I don't dare show him where Ft. Knox is. Yanno - the box that has all of the stuff from Taiwan? That box.

That also means he's likely due for new shoes, period. Last time I checked, they're making shoes with even BIGGER lights on them. This is not going to be a problem.

Now - trying to get a little boy to STOP playing once he's put down. He's gotten it firmly in hand that once he's been put to bed, he's free to PLAY as long as he can just so long as he doesn't get out of bed or we can hear him. (I actually tried to get him to fall asleep on Jim this past week - UH. That means I'll fall asleep before playing! NO.) Sitting still long enough to get through a couple of books has become almost impossible - going to try to get through this week on momentum, but I suspect some changes in routine are coming. Like, no television at all after bathtime, only books.

So, you put him down - reiterate threats and salutations - and don't turn on anything that makes a sound.

Then the cat SCREECHES at an interloper outside - and scares the crap out of everyone.

That's when you tell the kid 'that's kitty talk for GO AWAY! MY HOUSE! YOU NO CAN HAS!' Laugh a lot and throw the cat dirty looks. Cat (Rei) just looks up at me and shrugs 'you knew I was cat when you brought me home - feh.' This is my oh so sweet Mama kitty who trills and purrs and sweetly mews at you...plushy soft...and checks on Xander every night while going to bed. (He doesn't care for it much. SCREECHING KITTY WANTS TO EAT MEEEEE - not so much.) We pick up kitty and put next to food. All good. Then she decides it's time to be watch cat. *eyeroll*

And then start all over again with bedtime routines. Oh yeah - just when you get something down, it changes. Very very much so.

Swimming lessons coming right along - he's going to be a real water baby. LOVES it.

We went to IKEA yesterday where he saw the covers that were on his bed! And his nightlight! Boy, that was cool. And Mom got to kill two hours in air conditioning - WIN.

I've got less than a week to the kid's birthday party - so help me, if I don't end up killing anyone by the time it's over, I'm playing hooky the day after. Cake = ordered. Do I have someone to pick it up yet? UH. Do I have someone to go stake out the spot at the park? UH. Do the decorating? Meet the guests when they show up? UH UH UH.

I have my normal routines, plus my mother and all the other things that have to go on. I want it all to be faboo. Of course. AUGH.

It's not like I enjoy telling people what to do, down to blowing their nose...but so far? Hello, driving the bus here by myself. Again.

Celebrity Report:

Jim got to meet Buzz Aldrin at Borders on Saturday. After I spent four hours in line for him, taking the kid home so he could do it unencumbered. I got four hours with my laptop - air conditioned - so not a bad trade. I sure hope Jim blogs about it - from all reports, he's one cool guy.

Coming up - I've scheduled time with Dianne Feinstein in her office Wednesday afternoon to discuss health care. I have absolutely no idea what this is going to be like. Stay tuned.

I still have that ton of Masa Harina from Tommy's birthday party. I should make tortillas.

I can talk to my neighbors. As many of them as I can find, matter of fact. Now, this might not be a big deal to most of you - I mean, why is talking to people whose only descriptor is that they live near you such a big deal?

Well, think a minute. Do you really know who lives near you? (Even next door?) Unless you're someone who spends a lot of time at home (and your neighbors do as well), it's not likely. There's no time to just keep running into each other.

But you recognize who they are, you might have a name - even a profession - to go with the face.

Okay. Now. I'm going to ask you to rethink this again.

Who else falls into this category?

You've got a name, a face and a profession. Go.

Here, let me sweeten the deal - I live in the greater Los Angeles basin, reinvention capital of the country and about the only place real estate values haven't tanked because everyone always wants a piece of it. (Softens a bit, sure. Goes down much? Dude, we're talking Malibu here. Place about falls into the ocean or burns to the ground regularly. Think that does anything? *laughs* Okay - no it doesn't.)

A lot of my neighbors work in professions grouped under the description of 'celebrity.' Does that change the way I approach them, compared to anyone else walking around?

Actually - not so much. No, really. One standard for everyone. Considering I believe there is only one mode of behavior that works everywhere (your best Emily Post, Miss Manners and failing that, please thank you and assume nothing more), there is something else at work when confronted with someone face to face that you recognize, but that you haven't met before in your life.

Would you like a hint on what NOT to do?

I cannot believe I have to write this, but this has happened enough times to make this an obvious necessity. Though know better than to write online while I am upset, I am writing this now and without revision because I am just THAT MAD.

Do not show up at my house. If you are traveling through the West and would like to meet, EMAIL ME FIRST. I have always made my email accessible and public; it is on the About Us page, see link above. I have received a number of queries from travelers who are passing through the area. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. But if a stranger shows up unannounced, they do not make it up my driveway. They do not see Charlie. They do not have coffee with me. I do not sign their book. It is a DISGUSTING INVASION OF PRIVACY. This should be obvious, but apparently it is not.

People in town are privy to the situation and if you show up and ask for directions to my home, you will be sent on a wild goose chase out into the badlands 40 miles from the nearest gas station.

If you have, are, or would ever consider showing up unannounced at the house of someone you’ve never met, please take a moment to take yourself beyond your own selfish desires and consider what that experience would be like from the other side. If a random stranger knocked on your door with the brash assumption that you should drop everything and invite them into your personal space, I doubt you’d be thrilled.

I share my life and my experiences here on this site and in my book, gladly, freely, and I am honored that my work touches so many. But my sharing within these parameters does not make me OR Charlie a public commodity.

Now this is quoted from a site that does very little more than share pictures of a handsome coyote on a daily basis (and I'm bemused that anyone would make this error in judgment knowing this is one person with a handful of animals authoring the site - want company? I wouldn't think so much, would you?) but where did the mind skip over that crucial element?

I'm being kind - perhaps. But I also tend to wonder - because my first experience with breathing the same air with a celebrity?

Total freakout. I saw him, he saw me - the mind went 'BING' and then went to color bars. I simply did not know what to do next. It was kind of like pulling up a record from a database with only header information, needing the whole record and the program went BSOD. Total panic. I literally ran into the first open door I could find to hide and catch my breath. (This was on Melrose Blvd., BTW. Back when there were still bathhouses - yup, early days of the AIDS epidemic. Just about ran straight into one that was later closed - oh dear, my gentle sensibilities. I ended up in the deli next door. I can still see the cookies stacked floor to ceiling.)

They'll tell you - face recognition is a basic neurologic indicator. You can't do it, you have a pathology - most often, you'll hear prosopagnosia mentioned. I've been told it comes along as a package with autism, Williams Syndrome, Turner's Syndrome...it's big stuff.

So the fact that you recognize someone shouldn't be a reason to lose your mind. Matter of fact, it's a good indicator everything is working the way it should.

Unless a celebrity is involved, and all bets are off.

I'm also of the mind this is something pretty new in the human experience - photography is only so old, right? Before that, you had paintings and miniatures to introduce a face before actually breathing room air with the person, but nothing so lifelike as WAH BAM THERE IT IS. (And consider what's come after those first daguerreotypes, right? Think of what the whole HD thing has done to your ability to confuse that which you know and that which you don't know....) So the wetware is again behind the technology curve - and in the absence of conventionality, things get put into the vaccum.

I think blithering is very acceptable. The behavior that gets put under the 'I'm a fan and that makes it okay' excuse is not.

Name. Face. Profession. Period.

You might not even get the chance to get on the same footing. Remember - you have that much information. Guy across the quad you just did the double-take on? DOESN'T. But did he see that double-take and wonder what the eff you're going to do now? YUP.

Please. Remember your Emily Post, okay? This isn't hard. If you make eye contact and you see terror - DROP IT. I mean - COME ON. Not today, and probably not ever. You are not entitled.

(silverkun and I have a running game we play with total strangers. It's called 'Make Their Day' and has a lot more to do with being Absolutely Nice to people who get beat on making a living. Like toll booth operators. People behind cash registers. People nobody sees as human beings and remain largely invisible because of it. NAH. Most of the time it only requires eye contact and a genuine 'thank you' to get the desired result. You want to do that to someone you admire, practice on people who could really use it. People NOBODY is nice to, for no really good reason other than they aren't famous or considered valuable by the CW.)

Dude. Smile and drop it. These are your neighbors and they're probably on their way somewhere else - so are you. You've been recognized as well - they just don't know your name or what you do for a living.

Neighbor. Not friend...not even acquaintance. Total stranger, except you have three pieces of information - and they don't. And unless you get something pretty clear that your interest is welcome?

Be aware of your impact on others. And just be a mensch. Come on, have a heart.

Now, Twitter? 140 characters, leave a message. Wave across the room and say your piece without worrying about it - they can ignore it, read it, respond to it at leisure. It's all good. Kind of like tossing paper airplanes at each other.

(Best part is you can actually act like neighbors - Wil Wheaton twigged me that Trader Joe's has a FAB recipe on their site today, for example. OM NOM NOM thanks neighbor!)

It's an amazing place when you see Elizabeth Taylor has a Twitter and her granddaughter is sending her tweets. (Her profile is amazing - a wealth of AIDS organizations with Twitter access - you need to find one? Go there first.) She's just someone's grandma here.

Jamie Oliver can't spell to save his life. Barry Manilow follows Larry King's Tweets.

Perspective. What a concept.

All wrapped up with people who come over and eat food with me, call me on the phone and know my favorite television shows/books/what have you.

Twitter. How much fun is that.

I can talk to my neighbors. As many of them as I can find, matter of fact. Now, this might not be a big deal to most of you - I mean, why is talking to people whose only descriptor is that they live near you such a big deal?

Well, think a minute. Do you really know who lives near you? (Even next door?) Unless you're someone who spends a lot of time at home (and your neighbors do as well), it's not likely. There's no time to just keep running into each other.

But you recognize who they are, you might have a name - even a profession - to go with the face.

Okay. Now. I'm going to ask you to rethink this again.

Who else falls into this category?

You've got a name, a face and a profession. Go.

Here, let me sweeten the deal - I live in the greater Los Angeles basin, reinvention capital of the country and about the only place real estate values haven't tanked because everyone always wants a piece of it. (Softens a bit, sure. Goes down much? Dude, we're talking Malibu here. Place about falls into the ocean or burns to the ground regularly. Think that does anything? *laughs* Okay - no it doesn't.)

A lot of my neighbors work in professions grouped under the description of 'celebrity.' Does that change the way I approach them, compared to anyone else walking around?

Actually - not so much. No, really. One standard for everyone. Considering I believe there is only one mode of behavior that works everywhere (your best Emily Post, Miss Manners and failing that, please thank you and assume nothing more), there is something else at work when confronted with someone face to face that you recognize, but that you haven't met before in your life.

Would you like a hint on what NOT to do?

I cannot believe I have to write this, but this has happened enough times to make this an obvious necessity. Though know better than to write online while I am upset, I am writing this now and without revision because I am just THAT MAD.

Do not show up at my house. If you are traveling through the West and would like to meet, EMAIL ME FIRST. I have always made my email accessible and public; it is on the About Us page, see link above. I have received a number of queries from travelers who are passing through the area. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. But if a stranger shows up unannounced, they do not make it up my driveway. They do not see Charlie. They do not have coffee with me. I do not sign their book. It is a DISGUSTING INVASION OF PRIVACY. This should be obvious, but apparently it is not.

People in town are privy to the situation and if you show up and ask for directions to my home, you will be sent on a wild goose chase out into the badlands 40 miles from the nearest gas station.

If you have, are, or would ever consider showing up unannounced at the house of someone you’ve never met, please take a moment to take yourself beyond your own selfish desires and consider what that experience would be like from the other side. If a random stranger knocked on your door with the brash assumption that you should drop everything and invite them into your personal space, I doubt you’d be thrilled.

I share my life and my experiences here on this site and in my book, gladly, freely, and I am honored that my work touches so many. But my sharing within these parameters does not make me OR Charlie a public commodity.

Now this is quoted from a site that does very little more than share pictures of a handsome coyote on a daily basis (and I'm bemused that anyone would make this error in judgment knowing this is one person with a handful of animals authoring the site - want company? I wouldn't think so much, would you?) but where did the mind skip over that crucial element?

I'm being kind - perhaps. But I also tend to wonder - because my first experience with breathing the same air with a celebrity?

Total freakout. I saw him, he saw me - the mind went 'BING' and then went to color bars. I simply did not know what to do next. It was kind of like pulling up a record from a database with only header information, needing the whole record and the program went BSOD. Total panic. I literally ran into the first open door I could find to hide and catch my breath. (This was on Melrose Blvd., BTW. Back when there were still bathhouses - yup, early days of the AIDS epidemic. Just about ran straight into one that was later closed - oh dear, my gentle sensibilities. I ended up in the deli next door. I can still see the cookies stacked floor to ceiling.)

They'll tell you - face recognition is a basic neurologic indicator. You can't do it, you have a pathology - most often, you'll hear prosopagnosia mentioned. I've been told it comes along as a package with autism, Williams Syndrome, Turner's Syndrome...it's big stuff.

So the fact that you recognize someone shouldn't be a reason to lose your mind. Matter of fact, it's a good indicator everything is working the way it should.

Unless a celebrity is involved, and all bets are off.

I'm also of the mind this is something pretty new in the human experience - photography is only so old, right? Before that, you had paintings and miniatures to introduce a face before actually breathing room air with the person, but nothing so lifelike as WAH BAM THERE IT IS. (And consider what's come after those first daguerreotypes, right? Think of what the whole HD thing has done to your ability to confuse that which you know and that which you don't know....) So the wetware is again behind the technology curve - and in the absence of conventionality, things get put into the vaccum.

I think blithering is very acceptable. The behavior that gets put under the 'I'm a fan and that makes it okay' excuse is not.

Name. Face. Profession. Period.

You might not even get the chance to get on the same footing. Remember - you have that much information. Guy across the quad you just did the double-take on? DOESN'T. But did he see that double-take and wonder what the eff you're going to do now? YUP.

Please. Remember your Emily Post, okay? This isn't hard. If you make eye contact and you see terror - DROP IT. I mean - COME ON. Not today, and probably not ever. You are not entitled.

(silverkun and I have a running game we play with total strangers. It's called 'Make Their Day' and has a lot more to do with being Absolutely Nice to people who get beat on making a living. Like toll booth operators. People behind cash registers. People nobody sees as human beings and remain largely invisible because of it. NAH. Most of the time it only requires eye contact and a genuine 'thank you' to get the desired result. You want to do that to someone you admire, practice on people who could really use it. People NOBODY is nice to, for no really good reason other than they aren't famous or considered valuable by the CW.)

Dude. Smile and drop it. These are your neighbors and they're probably on their way somewhere else - so are you. You've been recognized as well - they just don't know your name or what you do for a living.

Neighbor. Not friend...not even acquaintance. Total stranger, except you have three pieces of information - and they don't. And unless you get something pretty clear that your interest is welcome?

Be aware of your impact on others. And just be a mensch. Come on, have a heart.

Now, Twitter? 140 characters, leave a message. Wave across the room and say your piece without worrying about it - they can ignore it, read it, respond to it at leisure. It's all good. Kind of like tossing paper airplanes at each other.

(Best part is you can actually act like neighbors - Wil Wheaton twigged me that Trader Joe's has a FAB recipe on their site today, for example. OM NOM NOM thanks neighbor!)

It's an amazing place when you see Elizabeth Taylor has a Twitter and her granddaughter is sending her tweets. (Her profile is amazing - a wealth of AIDS organizations with Twitter access - you need to find one? Go there first.) She's just someone's grandma here.

Jamie Oliver can't spell to save his life. Barry Manilow follows Larry King's Tweets.

Perspective. What a concept.

All wrapped up with people who come over and eat food with me, call me on the phone and know my favorite television shows/books/what have you.

Twitter. How much fun is that.

Jim TiVo'ed Eureka this week.

I was properly snarky, saying I could predict the plot and resolution without watching. "Everything happens to Carter. Carter turns out to have better survival ability than cockroaches. Later, rinse, repeat. Everything happens to Carter."

I kind of like Carter. Not enough to jump off a cliff, but.

They brought a guest on to play a mechanical Carter. Seriously - height, build, coloring - complete body double. Sheriff Andy. Love it.

And anyone with a reasonable amount of ability could get through the episode without me wanting to strangle him. That's not what happened.

Jim and I looked at each other as the episode finished and we both said it - "Who IS that guy?!"

Cos' he was THAT GOOD. You're supposed to hate him, but you can't. You aren't supposed to really like the poor droid, maybe you can root for him in the end...but dayim, if I didn't fistpump when the dude refused to throw himself on the grenade with less than 7% chance of survival. He just turned the words so well, sparkled like a newly minted coin - Nana Visitor hits me like this. Everything sounds like it's the first time ever. Considering how really close I came to the plot before the show even began - new is Good. Very good.

Guy's name is Ty Olsson. Takes me a Google and waaaay too much time off the SyFy (*shudders* GHAD THAT'S STUPID) website, which does not list the credits - I have to hit the Television Without Pity forums to get the name.

*sniggers* And then I do what every little nerd does. I check Twitter and Facebook. Twitter - no. Facebook - yes. Of course I send a friend request - with the note I'd likely never have written and paid postage to send.

(UH, the House is on Twitter, BTW. Yes, I put a follow on it. What.)

...of Michael Jackson?

We were contemporaries, and we grew up less than sixty miles away from each other.

I bought both Jackson 5 and Osmonds records growing up.

I was thrilled beyond belief that Donny Osmond (another contemporary) had managed to stay alive, sane and working - every time that stupid 'Make a Man Out of You' comes up at karaoke, I smile inside (and wince outwardly).

Because look what happened to Michael.

Adults in their majority and all that.

I always wanted to shake him and demand 'Michael, what did you DO?'

Now, Cliff gets to. And I can almost pity him the experience.

Thou art mortal. Oh very very yes.

(I'd feel sorry, except I'm also very certain this is a blessing and release for him.)

...of Michael Jackson?

We were contemporaries, and we grew up less than sixty miles away from each other.

I bought both Jackson 5 and Osmonds records growing up.

I was thrilled beyond belief that Donny Osmond (another contemporary) had managed to stay alive, sane and working - every time that stupid 'Make a Man Out of You' comes up at karaoke, I smile inside (and wince outwardly).

Because look what happened to Michael.

Adults in their majority and all that.

I always wanted to shake him and demand 'Michael, what did you DO?'

Now, Cliff gets to. And I can almost pity him the experience.

Thou art mortal. Oh very very yes.

(I'd feel sorry, except I'm also very certain this is a blessing and release for him.)

One of my communities showed a posting this morning - another group is putting together a cookbook, you got it - browncoat flavored.

You know, you go, it's fun - and for a good cause. Same as always.

In case you missed the press release - I have missed Joss Whedon wholesale. Nope, never caught my attention...not once, not ever. I can speak enough buzz words to keep from getting killed, but he bores me senseless.

That doesn't mean I don't think his fans are awesome. Boy, howdy.

Remember that convention I did in Claremont, back when I was just old enough to sign contracts? Had 40 people, called Cop-Con, was a replacement for Zebra-Con that year, yadda ya?

Someone who attended the con has found me.

On LinkedIn.

Tells me I look just the same as I did then. All 22 years old of me, sopping wet. He always was a charmer....

Me and my brain are going to go sit and gibber in a corner now, k thnx bye.