I'm having one of those days when I just want everyone to GO AWAY. Except that I really don't, I just want them not to be harassing me with questions.

And it's frustrating because it all started out so well – I was in a groove, and I had my peppermint mocha, and the sun was shining and the dogs were barking at the FedEx guy – and then it all went to pieces.

My mantra of the moment: 18 days, 18 days, 18 days.

Which books are you reading right now?
–Wild Designs, by Katie Fforde
–French Lessons, by Peter Mayle
–Spin Cycle, by Sue Margolis

When is your favourite time to read?
-Any time. Especially first thing in the morning, before I've even showered, or right before bed. When I'm home alone, reading takes place whenever there's a meal. When my mother visits, or I'm visiting her, breakfast time involves all of us at the table, each with our coffee and book.

Where is your favourite place to read?
-I do a lot of reading in the bathroom, because, if I have to sit there I might was well keep my mind occupied, and because it's the place where I'm least likely to be disturbed. I could spend an entire day at the table with a stack of books, and endless pots of tea, with oranges as nourishment, or curled up in bed, with the dogs for company.

What is the first book you remember reading?
-The first book I remember having read to me is Winnie The Pooh. The first book I remember reading is either Fletcher and Zenobia, In the Night Kitchen, or Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

What is your favourite quotation?
-Aaack! Evil question! My favorite quotations change almost daily.

“Mom says some days are like that…even in Australia.” — Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

“If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels as if papa was a pickle-bottle.” — Jo March, in the opening scene of Little Women

“Friends help you move; real friends help you move bodies.” –Anita Blake, but in which novel I don't remember.

Who is your favourite novelist?
-When I find an author I like, I tend to read everything they've ever written, and then forget about them for a while, but perennial favorites include Louisa May Alcott, Laurell K. Hamilton, Lilian Jackson Braun, Sara Paretsky, Katherine Neville, Orson Scott Card, and Dick Francis. (I actually read way more mysteries than I do fantasy.) I've also found that I enjoy Madeleine L'Engle's adult fiction as much as I ever loved A Wrinkle in Time. Also, and these might surprise some people: E. M. Forester, Allan Drury, Stephen King (can we say guilty pleasure?) and Tom Clancy. And I'm a total fan of Sherlock Holmes and Nero Wolfe.

Which school text did you most enjoy?
-I have a special fondness for that little green book, Warriner's Guide to English Grammar and Usage, because my writing professor in college was Warriner's daughter. But, really, I never had teachers that used textbooks, except in math and chemistry, and those don't count. If assigned reading counts, then my senior year AP English unit on The Importance of Being Earnest wins, absolutely. (Imagine an AP English class at a performing arts school reading this play – doing all the accents, and nibbling on cucumber sandwiches the whole time….)

What is the most difficult book you have ever read?
-The first time I read Pride and Prejudice I just couldn't get into it, but when I went back and picked it up a year or two later, it was fine, and I began my lingering love affair with Jane Austen. I still have difficulty reading any James Joyce. His stream-of-consciousness style is so much like the way I think just before sleep, that I simply cannot stay awake to do him justice.

What is the most erotic book you have read?
-In terms of explicit erotica, probably the Sleeping Beauty series.

What is your funniest book?
-I've been reading so many “BritCom” novels lately, that I don't think I could pick. A decade ago, I'd have said “Anything by Douglas Adams,” but his work got so overexposed…. If you know Jane Eyre well enough to appreciate the parody, then The Eyre Affaire is hysterical.

And the saddest?
-Madeleine L'Engle's Crosswicks Journals aren't particularly sad over all, but one volume in particular, The Summer of the Great-grandmother is really very poignant.

What is your favourite children's book?
–Fletcher and Zenobia is my favorite for the artwork – how can anyone compare with Edward Gorey? A.A. Milne's books are special to me because I received one for every Christmas and birthday, and I knew when I turned six I'd be getting Now We Are Six. I loved Where the Wild Things Are and I had two amazingly comprehensive collections of fairy tales (not picture books) that I've misplaced in one of my many moves, and miss a lot. Oh, and The Story of Hiawatha took on special significance when I moved to SoDak and lived in Minnehaha county.

What is your most overrated book?
-I hate to say it, but Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald just never lives up to its reputation.

Name your most underrated book.
-The person I stole this survey from listed The Eight, by Katherine Neville, and I have to agree. It's kind of a sleeper, but it's a great read, and comes across as being totally plausible. It's sort of a ghost-mystery-science fiction-historical-romantic comedy-epic. My other choice is a children's book: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiller, by E. L. Konigsburg, about two kids who run away from home and hide in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Who is your favourite character?
-Again, this changes as my moods and tastes change. Among them: Anne Shirley, Jo March, Claudia Kincaid, Harriet M. Welsch, Cat Velis, and Cleo Spearfield.

Which characters do you hate most?
-Pretty much any ever created by V.C. Andrews.

With which character do you most identify?
-Harriet, Jo, Anne, and Cat – but only specific aspects of each.

With which character would you most like to have an affair?
-Solarin. Or…Solarin. And then there's Sol – oh, um – Seriously, I don't think about stuff like that.

Who would be your ideal literary dining companions?
-I could never make such a decision, and the people I'd pick would cause utter pandemonium. Dorothy Parker, Kathleen Norris, Natalie Goldberg, Katherine Neville.

What is the worst screen adaptation?
-The things Disney has done to Pooh are just scary.

Name three desert island choices?
–The Eight, The Complete Works of Shakespeare, and The Chronicles of Narnia which I count as one book because they're a boxed set.

What is your favourite poem?
-Oh, tons. Sappho had a lot of very cool stuff to say, and Poe is amazing. From childhood, I still have affection for Robert Lewis Stevenson and Shel Silverstein.

Which book changed your life?
–Writing Down the Bones, and Dakota: a Spiritual Geography, and probably The Mists of Avalon as well.

Which book would you make compulsory reading?
-I'm sort of a throwback in that I still think everyone should be familiar with a wide selection of the classics. I'm not saying to go read Moby Dick and make it your passion, but, there are certain novels that most well-educated well-read people should be familiar with. From a compulsory standpoint, though, I'll take a leaf from a teacher who influenced me a lot, and say, The Compleat Angler.

(Concept kidnapped from )

FAIRY TALE

nce upon a time there has a young PARKING-LOT ATTENDANT named JEAN-PIERRE. He was SLOWLY SLINKING in the SKIMPY forest when he met MALODOROUS CLARENCE, a run-away WINDOW-WASHER from the FRACTIOUS Queen ISABELLE.

JEAN-PIERRE could see that MALODOROUS CLARENCE was hungry so he reached into his TEST-TUBE and give him his FERAL BAGUETTE. MALODOROUS CLARENCE was thankful for JEAN-PIERRE's BAGUETTE, so he told JEAN-PIERRE a very SILLY story about Queen ISABELLE's daughter BERNADETTE. How her mother, the FRACTIOUS Queen ISABELLE, kept her locked away in a SKATING RINK protected by a gigantic IGUANA, because BERNADETTE was so FROTHY.

JEAN-PIERRE SWAGGERED. He vowed to MALODOROUS CLARENCE the WINDOW-WASHER that he would save the FROTHY BERNADETTE. He would IMITATE the IGUANA, and take BERNADETTE far away from her eveil mother, the FRACTIOUS Queen ISABELLE, and SKEWER her.

Then, all of the sudden, there was a OBSEQUIOUS HURRICANE and MALODOROUS CLARENCE the WINDOW-WASHER began to laugh. With a puff of smoke he turned into the gigantic IGUANA from his story. FRACTIOUS Queen ISABELLE OOZED out from behind a HAMMOCK and struck JEAN-PIERRE dead. In the far off SKATING RINK you could hear a CRACKLE.

THE END.

Make your own Fairy Tale at fuali.com

Peppermint mochas taste just like thin mints dipped in coffee.

I did something to my right leg or hip, I can't decide if it's just a really sore lower back from my chair at the office being all wrong, and from using the laptop in bed, or what. For a while I was panicking and had convinced myself I'd dislocated my hip – well, really my leg, but, you know. But since I can walk and ibuprofen takes away the pain, and all the things that should bend, do, I think I just managed to sleep wrong, and seriously strain some muscles. I'm blaming my dogs, because everytime I move in my sleep, they move, so that they're not only pinning me under the covers, but pressed as close to me as possible, with incessant subtle nudging.

Anyway, because of that, I haven't felt very active this weekend, and it's nice just to hang around my house and read and rest and watch movies with Fuzzy.

We ventured out to Il Fornaio for Thanksgiving, because neither of us was in the mood for people, and it was lovely, as always. They took longer than expected to deliver our dinner, so my second glass of pinot grigio was free, which is never a bad thing. My turkey is better, of course, or at least…my recipe is different, but the yams were great, and the butternut squash and grilled pear soup was fabulous, and I broke tradition and had fennel-infused custard with a bitter chocolate mousse topping for dessert. Fuzzy wouldn't even taste it, and made his “Eww fennel” face. I can understand people not liking things, but it irks me when people decide they don't like things before they taste them.

Anyway, yesterday we both slept most of the day, then I got up and made meatloaf, and peas and squash. I love squash, and I've been trying to cook at home more since we moved. I like cooking, really, but I don't have TIME very often, so I'm thinking of hiring a personal chef to come and make a couple of weeks of dinners that we can just reheat. After all, if I'm willing to pay people to feed my dogs, shouldn't I be willing to do this. I thought about taking a day, probably after we get back from France, and cooking a ton of stuff ahead, too.

Today, we slept late. I still feel guilty when I sleep past ten. I grew up being told, “After ten AM the day is wasted,” and that tape still plays in my head sometimes. It's related to the condition that prevents me from ever enjoying television before 5 PM. We roused ourselves, finally, to go to the postoffice so I could mail a book to someone, except that the paper with their address fell out at home, so I had them weigh the package and stamp it, and I'll send it from work on Monday. Then we went to OSH and bought timers for our Christmas lights, for general use, and for the lamps in the house, for while we're away, and then, because we had passes to Camera Seven that expired today, we saw The Emperor's Club, which I expected to be a total ripoff of Dead Poet's Society, but wasn't quite. It's worth seeing, at any rate. After that, we made the requisite trip to Barnes and Noble, where I spent too much money, but $50 of it was for French cd's, because my French is limited to dance steps and food terms.

We wrapped up the evening with a trip to Blockbuster and Starbucks. We rented MIB2, Someone Like You, and Life Or Something Like It, at the first, and bought The Importance of Being Ernest, and I released a BookCrossing.com book at the second. (I released another BookCrossing.com book at Camera Seven, also).

And now, we're home, and I'm about to go watch a movie in the bedroom and fold laundry, and Fuzzy's playing some very loud game on the PS2.

Tomorrow, we'll hit the craft show, maybe, if I think I can walk that much.

Ibuprofen and hot baths are my friends.

For me, the holidays begin when Starbucks starts using their special festive cups, which come in both red and white this year.

Well, not really.
I mean, they do use festive cups, and they do come in two colors (I think the red ones are only for Venti though), but that's not truly the harbinger of the holidays.

Still, there are some holiday traditions that make it or break it for me, and they are far more crucial than not having turkey using my grandfather's recipe.

The first is the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Because we've been at other people's houses for so many Thanksgivings recently, I've missed it, and stupid as it may be, the day just isn't right without those silly ballons, and canned singing. The San Jose Christmas Parade just isn't the same thing.

The second is the appearance of Pfefferneusse in the stores. They're not my favorite cookie, but those little half-spheres coated in powdered sugar bring back all my best childhood memories.

And then, there are craft shows. Every year, my mother and I would find a craft show to attend on the weekend of Thanksgiving. Here in SJ, that's easy, because Harvest Festival comes to the convention center. It's cheesy, but it's cozy at the same time. And there's always the hope that my favorite hatmaker will be there.

Nova from Open Diary got me hooked on keeping track of what I read. I haven't posted a list since, well, the first time I posted a list, which was months ago, and thought, well, it's Thanksgiving (ok, technically it's not any more, but the sun hasn't come up yet, so, it's still fiscally Thanksgiving), and I'm thankful for books, and literacy, why not use this as the day for posting my list. And then I did my whole BookCrossing thing, earlier, and forgot. And then I remembered. So.

Animal Husbandry, by Laura Zigman: There's an Ashely Judd movie based on this that I've never seen. The book was both funny and sad, sometimes at the same moment.

The Boy Next Door, by Meggin Cabot: Yes, this is the same woman who wrote The Princess Diaries. Yes, I've read them, as well. No, this isn't in journal form. It's about actual adults, and it's all in email. Perfect for people who have to do their reading in fits and starts.

A Highland Christmas, by M.C. Beaton: Hamish MacBeth does Christmas. At a mere 70 pages, this barely qualifies as a whole book.

Colony, by Anne Rivers Siddons: I read this eons ago when it first came out, and re-read it in the last few days before my mother came because it was in a box with another of ARS's novels and a bunch of shoes. All the other books that we'd brought from storage at that point were already shelved, so I picked this up. I like her books, because she does nice characters, but it gets hard to read so many novels where EVERYONE is dysfunctional.

A Deep Blue Farewell, by Sharon Duncan: I love mysteries, and I love books about sailing and stories where weather is an issue. This had all three. Total mindcandy. Yum!

Farm Fatale, by Wendy Holden: This book could easily be a BBC sitcom, except that then it would go on forever, and become closer. Actually, it's rather like a combination of To the Manor Born and that other BritCom about the cityfolk who move to the country and go organic (Good Neighbours?). This entry in my list made me nostalgic for KTEH's British Comedy Night, which I never remember to watch any more. Yeah, it's true, I'm a PBS kid.

Low Country, by Anne Rivers Siddons: See the entry for Colony above. The only real difference is the accent and the temperature of the water.

Dance Upon the Air, by Nora Roberts: I don't generally read romances. I also don't generally read parts of trilogies out of sequence, but in this case, I'd picked up the first book in the Three Sisters Island series over the summer, and, because I wasn't familiar with the author, didn't go hunt down the other two. Then in October I found this, and took it home with me, but couldn't read it until I'd finished something else. It reminded me of how much I've dreamed of owning my own cafe.

Confessions of a Shopaholic, by Sophie Kinsella: Anyone who's seen the millions of pieces of clothing that hang in my closet, never worn but still bearing tags, can understand why I picked this up. I'm told there's a sequel, too…

Silent Night: The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce, by Stanly Weintraub: I registered this at BookCrossing.com, so you can read the review I posted there. Username is Ymedath.

A Dog's Ransom, by Patricia Highsmith: Another book I reviewed at Bookcrossing.com. Another mystery. I have been in a mystery mood, I guess.

Face the Fire, by Nora Roberts: Book three in the Three Sisters Island trilogy. I bought two copies, intending to pass one along to my mother, who has instructions to leave it at the La Paz Cruisers Club, for some yachtie to grab. The thing I hate about the last book in a series is that they always end too soon.

Scarlet Feather, by Maeve Binchy: When I was ten, my mother and I would fight over who got to read Ms. and Redbook first. Now I win every time, although both subscriptions are still hers (because her mail comes to me, and it's stupid to have two subscriptions to the same magazine). But I digress. When I was ten, an excerpt from Ms. Binchy's first novel, Light A Penny Candle, was in Redbook, and just as we fought over the magazine, we fought over the book when we finally read it a few years later. I've drifted in and out of love with Binchy's books ever since, but then on my last trip to Barnes and Noble, this book was sitting on the $3.99 rack. Since I firmly believe that it's nearly impossible to go wrong with a book under $4.00, I bought it. Then I read it. Does it mean something that I keep picking up books about women running cafes, bakeries, bookstores, and catering companies? *sigh* Anyway, it was a nice read.

I started reading before I really even knew what reading was. Or something like that. Some of my favorite books – ones that won't be released – are classic children's books from when I was three and four. By the time I was seven, I'd finished the entire Little House… series, and the unabridged version of Little Women.

By the time I was nine, it was normal for me to have stacks of books near my bed, near my seat at the table, and, of course, in the bathroom. (Actually, bathroom reading was prescribed to me by a doctor, once, but that's far too personal a tale). My mother says that she used to find me asleep with the light on and a book folded open on my chest at three in the morning, when I was a kid (my husband says this still happens) and I know I've broken the straps on my backpacks and bookbags more than once from overstuffing them.

These days, with work and a house and all, I usually finish 10-20 books a month. Not bad, for someone who does most of her reading in the bathroom – still. (And everyone wondered why I inisted the toilets in our new house have poofy seats).

I've become addicted to the Trio presentations of The Moth, urban storytelling evenings filmed at various clubs, and bundled loosely by theme. I've always loved monologues, really, and this is just another version of an old exercise.

I think I actually like the one-minute stories told by random participants more than the twelve-minute featured presentations.

I also think that the problem with becoming addicted to such a thing is that it's using time I could be spending writing my own stories, except I'm much too boring. Or at least I feel much too boring these days.

In other news, , of all people, introduced me to BookCrossing, which is something like Where's George with books. You really can't beat free entertainment.

…and I guess that's true, in a sense. It isn't that I wouldn't happily divulge most things, should anyone bother to ask, it's that I never know what to say.

In any case, I find it amusing that these quiz results seem to agree with her assessment.

Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
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