The thrill of shadows

I very much love my Beasty.  We compliment each other in so many ways (not all of then good, but what can you do).  When he and I said our vows last year, I have never felt more sure about my profession of love and devotion to another.  Half meant I-love-you's and broken promises of past relationships were swept away and forgotten in the burning truth of the words spoken as we held hands before our gathered friends and family.

That said - there will always be a tiny part of me waiting for my dark, vampiric prince to come.  It's not that I want to be taken away from Beasty.  It's just that it was supposed to have happened by now, and every once in a while after listening to certain songs or watching certain movies, I wonder why his undead ass hasn't shown up yet.  Granted, I'm not the pale, waning ingenue from most of these songs and movies, but I'm still pretty sexy in my own right.  And I'm pale.  Unless I've been visiting my father in Florida.  But even then, that's usually just my shoulders and arms, the rest of me is still pretty damn pale.

Oh, dear minions, what can you do?  The little gothy core of my heart will always be waiting for young Gary Oldman to show up on my back porch in Victorian finery on a particularly stormy night.  Or something like that.  My fascination with vampires has waxed and waned over the years, and even though it's been heartily threatened by the drivel that is teenage supernatural romance, it never completely goes away.  I even (dare I admit it) began to write my own vampire novel, though I need more practice at building suspense and a sense of horror.  Because vampires should be scary, dammit.

And on that note, I'm going to return to building my vampiric playlist.  It's not very long at the moment, and I'm having trouble tracking down an mp3 of Dark Lover by Tempest.

I leave you with the following eye-candy.

Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula, 1992.

Little Big Squee Fest

While I was away for the summer, Beasty picked up a copy of Little Big Planet 2.  If you don't have the slightest idea what I'm talking about, you may go this way and educate yourself.  Now, I wasn't all that familiar with the game and while I thought it was cute enough it didn't really excite me in concept.  I also have never played the first Little Big Planet, so I didn't have franchise attachment.  After seeing Beasty play a level, it looked cute enough to make me want to give it a try when I had the time.

A day or so later the wee-est of the demons, my little Empress-in-Training, decided to pick up the controller and give the game a try.  She likes video games well enough, but frequently gets frustrated, so I was impressed and proud of her when she made it past the final boss of the first world with a little help from Beasty and continued on to the second.  I was sitting at the computer at the time, not really paying attention to what was on the TV, when my interest was hooked by the soundtrack.  Looking up, I very nearly squee'd with delight.  The guardian of the second world is Victoria Von Bathysphere, and hers is a decadently Victorian land of cakes and trifles and jams and tea, spread heavily with a layer of Steampunk.

Zip-lining past obstacles with a cupcake anchor over rivers of jam.

I would like my own private pastry-themed train.

I imagine these stacked cakes to be light and crumbly.

Oh no!  A lake of molten jam!  It's death by deliciousness!

Many thanks to the lovely PS3 users who posted their screen shots on the internet for me to exploit.  It is now my driving desire to throw a tea party based on the levels of this game.

You kids and your music!

What is with DJs these days?

No, really, that wasn't rhetorical, what is up?  I seem to be having an issue when I go to the club anymore.  It is very possible that I just don't "get it", but as far as I can tell, if you are a club DJ that means that your job (like it or not) is to play music that gets people dancing and drinking.  So, ideally, you want the dance floor to look like this:

Noc Noc.  Photo: Scott Eklund/Seattle Post-Intelligencer / SL

My confusion arises, my minions, because during the several club nights I have attended over the summer (where the point of the evening was drinking and dancing), the dance floor has looked far more like this:

Noc Noc.  Photo: Noc Noc's PR Department

This is not just a one-club phenomenon either.  Mercury at Machinewerks in Seattle, Noc Noc in Seattle, Club Sanctuary at Benders in Denver, The Fez in Portland, wherever that one place in Orlando was whose name I have forgotten because it was just that bad, you have all had these moments this year!  And it is not because people don't want to dance!  I don't club solo, it is always with a group, and our expectation when we go is that there will be dancing, with music that encourages the dancing.  Yet sadly, again and again, there has been disappointment.

Now, I am not saying that DJs should have no creative licence and that they should just take requests all night.  I definitely don't think that's a good idea.  I understand that time has been spent preparing playlists and considering the mood of the event.  I do not want to throw off your groove (no pun intended).  However, at what point does the evening stop being about throwing a good party and focuses on just letting the DJ play his or her favorite songs.  Shouldn't there be a point where the DJ looks up and says to his/herself "Wow, the dance floor has been pretty dead for the past twenty minutes, maybe I need to change it up a little.  Maybe the crowd just isn't into this right now."?  Or am I completely wrong?

Furthermore, shouldn't the DJ be playing what the night is advertised as being?  If it's goth night, why am I hearing dubstep?  If it's supposed to be "Old School" goth night, why are we listening to your friend's band that no one's ever heard of?  The dubstep or your friend's band may be very good, but they're not why I came.  Their style of music was not on the flyer that you used to attract people to your venue on this night.  A promise was made, and we appear to be short on delivery.

The one place (ONE!) that I have been this year, where I danced all that I had hoped to dance (and drank correspondingly, because I only pay for alcohol at club prices if I'm enjoying myself), was The Church in Denver.  I love this club very muchly, and had I the money I would open one like it in Seattle and do my damnedest to get their Friday night DJ from the Catacombs (the downstairs area) to come spin.  Seriously, I danced so much that night I think I lost weight despite the alcohol consumption.

So, there it is.  Step up your game, people.  I shouldn't have to fly 1400 miles to get my groove on.

Sriracha Not Necessary

Well hello there, my minions.  Do have a seat.  I was just about to have a bite.

I...I have a confession to make to you, my minions.  It is a little bit uncomfortable for me to admit this, seeing as I pride myself on having fine taste and a sensitive palate.  However, I want to be honest with you.  That's important to me.

The truth is - I love ramen.  I really do.  However, it is important to note that I am not talking about Top Ramen or Cup o' Noodles.  I mean this:

Imagine this smelling fantastic.  Because it does.

The above image is of shoyu ramen (which means it's floating in chicken broth).  I purchased this particular packet in the fresh noodles section of Uwajimaya.  They also had a very nice tonkotsu ramen (creamy pork broth) by the same company.  That was a special occasion, however.  Most days, we buy Ichiban ramen in Original, Shrimp, or Chicken varities.  What is not special, however, is the egg, green onion, or fishcake (that swirly pink and white stuff).  Those come standard in my house.  This isn't your lazy, broke college kid's ramen.

I indulge this habit outside of the home as well.  For the longest time my favorite spot was Boom Noodle.  The food is good, even if they're trendy as all hell, and they have a fun menu with a lot of variety that includes not only ramen but cold noodle salads and other hot noodle dishes.  They also have a sampling of fun "small plates", including but not limited to the traditional edamame, ebi katsu, gyoza, spring rolls, and whatever intriguing little dish the chef is currently in love with.

Now, while I still love Boom Noodle, I have to admit I have found a better place for just straight ramen (with no fancy appetizers or trendy presentation).  Said place is Samurai Noodle.  They have three locations - Capitol Hill, University District, and International District.  I've only ever been to the one in the I-District, which is a little hole in the wall off of the Uwajimaya building.  The tables are frequently full, but the food is great and you can get it to go if you need to.  I recommend the Tampopo.So that's it, my minions.  I hope this hasn't drastically altered your opinions of me.  And if it has, you clearly don't understand what you are missing.

Spooky night at The Lovecraft

It should not surprise you, dear minions, that I enjoy travel and will take the opportunity to do so whenever it is presented.  So when Beasty and I had some free time a little while back, enough for a quick getaway but not for an extended adventure, we decided to drive to Portland (like you do).  This was not our first trip to Portland, but the last one was somewhat rushed and not terribly well researched.  On this most recent venture, we had a little more time to plan.

We stayed at The Jupiter Hotel, which is an older building that has been renovated into a charming enough boutique hotel in a gentrified neighborhood.  I recommend the place to the younger set for a weekend trip with friends.  It was cute, and fun, and the Doug Fir Lounge was quite the popular spot two of the three nights we were there.  Do not expect it to be quiet enough to go to bed early - the hotel provides earplugs as standard in your room.  And a neon yellow condom, in a clear wrapper stamped with the hotel's logo (I kept mine as a souvenir).  The door to the room was a chalkboard (on both sides), and we kept our "to-do" list on it, crossing places off as we visited them.

Incidentally, overall impression of Portland - dirty.  If the city can scrape together enough for regular street cleaners, it can only improve things.

This is not the point of the entry, however!  Amongst our list of things to do (which included Powell's, Ground Kontrol, Spartacus, and others), at the very tippy top of my list was The Lovecraft.  The Lovecraft is a bar and tea room with a decorating theme inspired by (wait for it) H.P. Lovecraft's works.  It is the most deliciously gothy little spot I have ever stepped into.  For the love of Nyarlathotep, it is a bar and tea room!

The ceiling at The Lovecraft.  Photo by Chloe Alix,  © 2011.

I was fair giddy.  It's not the most polished spot I've ever been in, and their outside signage leaves a lot to be desired.  Additionally, while the abundance of red lighting certainly assists in setting the mood it makes reading the tea list a touch difficult.  That said, I enjoyed a lovely Earl Grey while listening to Murphy, Morrissey, and Gahan, taking in the fantastically macabre decor.  Deep in my darkly glittering soul I felt a happy, contented joy such as I have not experienced in a very long time.

Regrettably, we were there on a bit of a dead night.  Our Portland adventure was a midweek trip, and they didn't have anything special scheduled for that evening.  We ended up heading out early to catch the Goth night at The Fez, which turned out to be a significant disappointment.  That much dubstep does not belong at Goth night.

In conclusion, my minions, should you find yourself in the ever raining City of Roses, do go take yourself to The Lovecraft.  Even if you're not one to regularly don the black, dress up for a night and go dangle your toe in the deep end.  The experience will be worth the effort.

Rain-drenched me, with my tea, at The Lovecraft.
(Courtesy of Beasty's smart phone)

Forgiveness and Past Mistakes

Good evening, my minions.  I have once again let a horrible amount of time pass in between these updates.  In the spirit of this post, I hope you will forgive me.  Because this post is about forgiveness.  Though not from others, but from ourselves.

Quick disclaimer:  The usual subculturific posts will resume on the morrow, tonight you get morose self-reflection.

It may have come up in the past that I have children.  Two of them, precisely, two little demonic minions that are usually pretty good if I'm going to be completely honest.  They are not Beasty's, although he has taken on the role of "Father" fairly well and has even done all right with the on-the-job training.  There's been some grousing, but he does good.  Which is something to be admired.  The person who contributed to their development biologically is no longer in our lives, and no one considers this a loss of any sort.

So, that covered, as I write this I'm sitting across from my son, who is sipping hot chocolate, and I'm watching him carefully.  I'm specifically watching his mouth - the right side of his upper lip protrudes a bit oddly.  It is not obvious, you really have to be looking to see it, and I imagine I only see it because I know what to look for.  You see, when my son was two, his lip was split open and I had to take him to the emergency room to get it stitched back together.  He fell onto our coffee table after being carelessly and impatiently pushed back by He Who Must Not Be Named.  It was an accident, but one that could have been avoided, and I have not yet been able to forgive myself.

This is just one poignant example of the slew of mistakes that I hold against myself when it comes to my children.  Many of the mistakes are my own, even more are what I allowed my ex-husband to do, all the while telling myself stupid things like "Well, he does yell a lot, but he's not hitting them or anything," as if that made it okay.  Berating an autistic child for not comprehending things as an adult would is just as cruel as slapping him would have been, it just didn't leave a mark.  Volleying between outright ignoring and overly doting on the "normal" daughter wasn't any better.  Yet I let these things happen, because I was so mired in my own misery and so unsure of myself that I would disagree (at times quite loudly) but I wouldn't intervene. These are the horrors that eat at my soul, these are the sins that bend my head and cause me to weep.  These are the mistakes of my past that hold me back.

It serves nothing and no one to sit here and cry because I was too young and unready to handle motherhood responsibly when I first took on the mantle.  My son's lip won't lose it's odd curve, he won't stop being autistic, my daughter's incessant need for attention won't go away, she won't magically become more thick-skinned, not a single damn problem will be solved no matter how many tears I shed or how much I beat myself up over it.  It serves nothing.  Yet it is still there, festering like an infected sore.

The key, the only logical way to more forward, is forgiveness.  Forgiveness of self is hard.  It is among one of the hardest things I have tried to do.  And I still can't do it.  I function by not thinking about it most days.  I'm still working on it.  No one else can do it, though.  I could ask my children to forgive me, and they would.  Lovingly and freely they would, and they would be more upset by my tears than by any past transgression from myself or a man they can't remember.  They cannot grant me absolution, however, and asking their forgiveness would confuse and hurt them.  Which would really just make the matter worse, wouldn't it?

My son is in bed now, the empty cocoa mug in the sink, and I was hugged and kissed before he ran off to his room.  They are good children; loving and sweet, charming and playful.  I have to acknowledge that whatever I may or may not have done, I have (so far) raised two pretty fantastic kids.  And maybe accepting that will be my first step towards forgiveness.

Let me dust off this excuse right here...

So.  It's been a while.  How're you doing?  You look good.  I like the hair.  Are you doing something new with it?  What have you been up to lately?  Keeping busy?  Good, good.  Oh, me?  Well, I've had a lot going on.  The quarter just ended and it's been a little difficult.  How long ago?  Oh, ah, about a week or so back.  What have I been doing since then?  Saving the galaxy from the Reapers.

Yes, my minions, Beasty and I pre-ordered Mass Effect 3, the Collector's Edition.  And that is more or less all we've been doing since it arrived.

I love this series of games.  I mean, I really love them.  I have been impressed with the characterization, the voice acting, the writing, the visuals, all the things that I need to make a game stand out for me.  The game play mechanics are pretty good, too.  Not my usual cup of tea (I don't really go in for shooters of any kind), but I've never screamed at the controls either.  Thankfully I can typically get Beasty to play it for me and dictate decisions during the characters interactions.  That said, even though we have the entire series for the Xbox, I still intend to pick it up for the computer so that I can play around with all of the mods made for it and explore the ten potential love interests.  Well, all right, I won't explore all of them.  Just half of them.

We love you Nathan, oh yes we do...

I have said before that I am more likely to swoon over video game characters than celebrities.  This is still quite true.  Real people are disappointing - characters are not.  If you're going to fantasize about someone, fantasize about the person whose flaws are transparent and easily worked with.  Besides, no one wants to have sex with Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt.  They want to have sex with Jack Sparrow or John Smith, but since those people aren't real they redirect their fantasy to the actor behind the character (and are then upset when they read the tripe and realize that the actor behind the character is a real person who doesn't like them).

Anyway, as I am vast and contain multitudes and contradictions, it should go without saying that I have an exception to this "don't fixate on the actor" rule of mine.  That exception is Nathan Fillion.  I doubt anyone is surprised by this.  For those of you who have been hiding in a hole these last several years, let us examine Exhibit A from when Nathan played Captain Malcom Reynolds:

I have a strong desire to go watch more Firefly now...

There are not many women who accept the label of Geek who haven't had an urge to smooth out the good captain's rough edges in one way or another.  Still, admiring dear Nathan in this role is fine and all, but one short lived TV series does not propel someone out of the character zone.  What is it about this actor that made it past my barrier?

Because he's awesome.  He has a sense of humor.  He does goofy things like Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and the Swamp Ass PSA.  Beasty follows his Twitter and occasionally shares the posts of note with me, which have alternately had me laughing hysterically or feeling moved.  He doesn't live in the tabloids, I've never heard about him having intense displays of ego, and while I'm sure he's not perfect he seems like a decent guy.  If Nathan asked me to leave Beasty for him, I would be forced to give it some serious thought, but he never would because he's a gentleman (this is, of course, in an alternate universe where he and I have actually met and he would actually find me attractive).

So, there it is.  Confession time over.  Farewell, my minions.

Electronic confessional

It's been a while since I've spoken at any length about my religious beliefs.  Strangely enough, there's a lot going on in my life these days that has me reflecting on my beliefs and how I got to where I am.  It's an odd journey, and thankfully not a particularly painful one.

At this point in my life (and probably for some time to come), I consider myself an agnostic.  I have, at one time or another, adopted or strongly considered Christianity, Wicca, Asatru, Judaism, and Atheism without feeling quite right about any of it (though, admittedly, I still have a sympathy for more pagan belief structures).  I am unable to completely abandon the concept of "something else", the idea that there may be a consciousness greater than myself.  At the same time, however, I cannot accept any of the current theories on who or what that something may be.  

There are two major reasons for this.  The first has to do with history.  I like history, and I've studied a fair bit of it.  I particularly enjoy mythology and I always have.  Since elementary school I have been reading about old gods and other traditions.  Because of this, I have noticed how amazingly similar every single religion is.  For example, every religion I've ever examined has some sort of resurrection myth.  In more than one of those myths, the resurrection happens after a period of three days.  Additionally, as a fan of history, I have to acknowledge that there is not archaeological evidence for a lot of the events current religious texts claim took place.  Now, the argument could be made that these events were supposed to be allegories that taught a lesson pertaining to how people in the faith should behave, and should not be taken literally, but they are.

The second reason is the people.  I have seen the ugly side of each of the faiths I listed above.  I have met hateful, exclusionary people from every walk of life, and more than just one or two sour grapes.  I understand that not every person who subscribes to a particular belief is that angry and hateful, but so many of them are that it just feels like it can't possibly be right.  If you have reached spiritual peace, are confident in your faith (or lack thereof), and know yourself to be on the correct path then you should not have so much hate and you should want to share your position with people, not cast them out because they aren't as enlightened as you.  Again, I know not everyone is like that, but enough are that I have turned away with a bitter taste in my mouth.

I am a skeptic, but I am a skeptic that wants to believe.  You will not find a bigger fan of the fantastic.  I have read all the stories, reveled in ceremony, and been fascinated by the mysteries, both big and small.  However, I can't.  It does not make sense to me.  So I will sit here and not know, accept that this is one more mystery in life, and not worry about it.

How much gel does it take to keep his hair like that?

As part of the holidays, Beasty got a new, larger monitor.  As such, his old but still impressive monitor was moved out to the family computer in the living room.  Now since it was larger, and since the old monitor was an odd size with a weird aspect ratio, I took it upon myself to find new wallpaper for it.  So I was looking on deviantArt, like you do, and I was hoping for something with swirly, stylized clouds.  I like them right now.  Something like this, only in different colors and a little more swirly.

Love the idea, but the color scheme just isn't me.

What I found instead, was this guy.

Over and over and over again.  In every possible light, angle, and pose.  In compromising positions with Sephiroth, Tidus, Squall, Seifer, and a few guys I didn't recognize.  It actually took a couple pages to get to the compromising positions with Aeris, Tifa, and Yuna (as depicted in FFX-2).  With and without the famous Buster Sword, with and without the bike, with and without a shirt in some cases.  I was eventually forced to shriek and rage quit.  Yes, you can rage quit looking for wallpaper.

Now, here is the deal my minions.  I have never understood the preoccupation with Cloud Strife, or with FFVII in general.  I'm not saying it's a bad game, I just don't understand the undying adoration it seems to have garnered.  And Advent Children didn't help - that movie was pretty awesome, but it was nearly ruined by whatever idiot they put in charge of sound editing.  Fight music cuts in randomly, whomever matched up the soundtrack to the action doesn't seem to have actually been watching the film, and while it's a beautifully rendered film with a good story I just can't bring myself to watch it again.  Once was enough with the cringe-worthy audio.  These are not traits that I would think inspire this level of fandom, but clearly I must be wrong.

I feel Scott Ramsoomair put it best.  I deeply and truly wish that man would update more often.

Have you met the Lady of the Manners?

Good morning, my minions!  Today we have just a quick little thing, because I'm behind on homework and it's only the first week of school.  So, as you can imagine, a tad bit of focusing needs to be done.  However, I didn't want to leave you lost and alone, so I will tell you about one of my favorite websites to while away time on.

Is there a goth in your life that you would like to understand better?  Are you a goth that would like a little advice in how to navigate society and build your own little dark corner of this waking dream we call reality? Then, my darlings, let me direct you to the Gothic Charm School.  The Lady of the Manners will offer you her charming and helpful advice in all things spooky, in a gracious and sympathetic tone that (let's face it) I am far too catty to ever manage.

So go, read, be enlightened and entertained, and I'll see if I can't do better on Monday after turning in all of my assignments by their due date of 9pm Sunday evening.

Non-alcoholic drinks and Mayan calendars

Happy New Year, my minions!  I've been gone from you for some time, I know, and for that I apologize.  Here's to getting back on the horse, as it were.

So, another year is upon us.  A good friend called me this morning to wish me a Happy Apocalypse Year.  I've lived through a couple of them at this point, and they've almost become an old hat.  A lot happened in 2011, the most significant likely being my marriage to the fluffy Beasty, with whom I've been involved for seven years now. My all-but-legally-adopted sister also got married back in July.  I made the Dean's Honor Roll for achieving a GPA of 3.5 or better in a quarter.  My son started his final year of elementary school.  The Little Red Bistro and the Theater closed, and the space was taken over by a chiropractor of all things.  And that's just what I can think of off the top of my head.  It was a year of change.

While I have said my goodbyes and am ready to see the year go, I feel it important to point out that I'm not shoving it out the door.  It is done, and that's fine, but I don't find myself lamenting about how the year was just awful and I'm so glad it's over.  The year was...a year.  It had both good and bad, and I would say the good took the reins.

So as I sit here writing this, sipping my hot cocoa (which is woefully free of liquid courage) and looking down the barrel of another Apocalypse Year with a saucy grin, I thought I would share with you my resolutions.  I used to be very anti-New Year's resolutions.  "No one ever keeps them," I would loftily decree.  "It's just so ridiculous, and it will only leave me feeling depressed when I inevitably stop going to the gym in six weeks."  These days, I've realized that it won't actually bother me one little bit when I abandon a resolution, and it might encourage me to do something I wouldn't have otherwise.  So, without further ado:

The Empress's Resolutions:
1. Treat my real friends better.
There are people in my life who have been consistently there for me, who have taken the time to show how much they care, and who have just really come through for me in big and small ways.  I have not always shown these people the recognition I feel they deserve.  I'm very far away from most of them, and they know that I'm busy with my imps and with school, and so have been forgiving.  However, I feel they deserve better from me.

2.  Stop worrying about my less consistent acquaintances.
I know a lot of people, and I care about a lot of people, but the truth is there are a number of people in my life whom I have put a fair bit of effort into without ever having that effort returned unless it was easy and convenient for the person in question.  While I can still find it within myself to care about these people, I really need to stop worrying about maintaining a relationship with any of them.  We can be nice, and say hi, and have fun together, but they've shown me that I'm not important to them so they need to stop being important to me.

3. Start being less estranged from my family.
I am very far away from everyone I am related to, some a fair bit more than others.  Rather than sit on the couch and cry because I miss my family or because I have such a poor relationship with my siblings that one brother didn't even RSVP to my wedding let alone show up, I need to do something about it.  When I was younger I would mope because they weren't trying hard enough to have a relationship with me.  That's bullshit.  Time to be the change I want to see.

4.  Start wearing purple.
This is both a literal resolution and a metaphor.  The metaphor bit is a little hard to explain.  Some of you will get it.  Others will not.

5. Find an exercise I enjoy and do it consistently.
I was really good about this once upon a time.  I was taking dance classes, had dropped around 20lbs or so, and was enjoying what I was doing.  Then I dislocated my knee.  The knee is doing better, though is not completely healed, and I regained the 20lbs plus added on some additional weight (which isn't helping the knee).  I need to find a belly dancing class and a yoga class that I enjoy, suck it up, and go.  Preferably something that I have to pay upfront for so that it will encourage me to keep going.

6.  Learn follow-through.
This is the greatest challenge I face, as evidenced by the countless files of unfinished stories, the boxes of half-done projects, the notebooks of ideas that never went anywhere.  I need to finish what I start.  Even with I start to lose interest or it gets frustrating.  And if I falter, if  I drop a project, I need to return to it.  I've gotten much better about this, but I still have a long way to go.

And I believe that's enough for right now.  There is a quote that I've been seeing everywhere this New Year that I shall leave you with tonight, as it strikes a lovely, warm chord.

"When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms." 
- Mary Oliver