Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 40

what, pray tell, is a geek?

(Um, that is?)
I was asked a fascinating question at my Writers Group last night. After several of us laughed until we cried at one man's short story about Dragon*Con, a confused woman in her forties simply had to know.
What is a geek?
The word used to have negative connotations. Originally coined to describe a sideshow freak who bit the heads off of live chickens (honest, ask Wikipedia), it was synonymous during my youth with nerd, dork, and neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. No one would ever have admitted to being a geek, back then.
But the term has resurfaced and is now considered by many to be positive. I like this definition the best: A person with a devotion to something that places him or her outside the mainstream. This could be due to the intensity, depth, or subject of their interest.
I admit to being a geek and consider it a badge of honor.
I'm a Star Wars geek. A steampunk geek. A book geek. A Firefly/Joss Whedon geek. A Harry Potter geek. I love Battlestar Gallactica and Dune and Starship Troopers and Star Trek and Labyrinth and Lord of the Rings and the X-Men and the Avengers. I like zombies and vampires and werewolves and pirates. I never stopped dressing up for Halloween.
In short, I like being a geek.
We're like a club. A club of people who may not love all the same fandoms but understand and respect each other's obsessions. We're kind of like the Masons. We have secret passwords. Subtle hand gestures and turns of phrase that spark a feeling of fellow geekdom.
But I think one of the greatest things about geekdom today is that we've in effect taken it back from those who mocked us when we were younger. Oh, you think I'm a geek? I am, and I'm proud of it, and I aim to misbehave. So run along to your socially acceptable sports. I'll be over here talking costume plans for Dragon*Con.
Even after we attempted to explain our geekery last night, I still don't think she understood it. Because if you completely understand it... you're one of us. At the table, we had a tinker geek, a drama geek, a history geek, and two all around scifi/fantasy geeks. And that one lady-- the normal one? She was outnumbered. And that's okay. Geeks don't make fun of people for not being geeks.
Think you're a geek? Awesome!
Don't think you're a geek? Awesome!
Don't understand why I would cop to being a geek? That's okay, too.
Because I have this theory. I think everyone has some little area, some subject interest outside the mainstream. Whether it's cooking with hog jowls or making your own jewelry or collecting expensive sneakers, there's probably a little geek in you, somewhere.
And you never have to come out of the geek closet. We're not going to call you out. We're not going to give you away. We're just going to wait for that day that your eyes shine with obsession and smile, knowing that deep down, you're one of us, too.
*
Anyone else want to cop to geekdom? What's your flavor?
*

we can rebuild her.

Lasik: THE REAL DEAL
1. During your annual eye exam, mindlessly say something about, "I wish I had Lasik, SIGH." When your optometrist points out that he had Lasik and loves it, begin to think that your grandmother might be wrong. Lasik could be a viable option and not a one-way trip to Blindsville courtesy of a knife-wielding maniac.
2. Schedule an appointment at your optometrist's Lasik specialist. Do lots of research. Specifically avoid the descriptions of knives and lasers and eyeballs.
3. Go to the appointment, go through lots of tests, and learn that you're a perfect candidate and there's no reason to wait.
4. Wait.
5. Do insurance research and figure out the smartest way to handle expensive surgery.
6. Schedule the appointment and be really surprised that they're just like, "Great, see you then!" without any mention of, "AND BRING YOUR SEEING EYE DOG, HA HA!"
7. Get really excited. Psych yourself up. Wear glasses for three weeks and realize how much you hate glasses and how you're almost blind while driving. Schedule childcare and freak out and show up to your appointment in a cozy sweater and ass-kicking boots.
8. Wonder why the office is empty and the receptionist looks worried.
9. Try not to cry when they tell you your surgery was rescheduled and no one bothered to tell you.
1o. Try not to scream when you realize that you're going to have to wait another month and reschedule ALL THE THINGS and re-psysch yourself up.
11. Make everyone else reschedule ALL THEIR THINGS so you can have surgery tomorrow. Feel smug and worried and annoyed.
12. Show up at 10am. Almost fail some weird test that involves widening your pupils, which even you can't control. Put a towel over your head and pass the test and take 10 more tests and convince your nurse to read your book.
13. Go into a room and sit in a circle with a bunch of strangers who can't see each other because none of them are allowed to wear glasses or contacts. Have numbing drops put in your eyeballs. Feel your eyeballs go numb. Wear a blue surgical hat, blue booties, and a little green sticker on your forehead that tells them who you are and what they're supposed to chop up on your eyes.
13.5. Decide you need to use the restroom. Be unable to find it. Have a nurse lead you. Accidentally spray mouthwash all over your hands instead of soap because you can't read the pump bottle. Find your way back to THE ROOM by touch.
13.75. Wonder if the other blind people recognize that you reek of mouthwash.
14. Watch everyone else go into a secret door AND NEVER RETURN. One by one, they disappear. Realize that this situation is a lot like that hunch you got at Epcot in 5th grade that every now and then, they dumped someone off a ride and they died in a tangle of animatronic teeth. Get nervous. Try not to yark.
15. They call your name. You smile. You go in THE DOOR.
16. The room is dark, with several operating stations set up. You lay down where indicated and hope your little green forehead dot is accurate.
17. Things start moving very, very quickly. No one tells you what is happening, and you realize that this is because if you knew what was about to happen, you'd stand up and run like hell. All you see are gloved fingers, machines, and flashes of light. Consider bolting but realize that you are too blind and also not a wuss. NOT A WUSS.
18. They tape your eyelids to your forehead. You think CLOCKWORK ORANGE OMG!
19. They squeeze down your eyeball with a plastic frame. You start screaming inside.
20. Lights flash. Things go dark, then bright. You look into the Eye of Sauron and want to scream ONE CANNOT SIMPLY WALK INTO LASIK. You feel like you're in a scifi movie. You do everything they say, because you know that if anything goes wrong, you will never, ever be able to do this again. You smell your own cornea burning, and it smells like a curling iron singeing hair. Then you see the doctor's fingers brushing your eyeball with a paintbrush, and you realize this is possibly the most surreal thing that will ever happen to you in your entire life.
21. They release the eyeball frame, untape the eyeball, and start on the other eye, and you realize that the second one is both harder and easier than the first, because you know what's going to happen, but IT SUCKS.
22. Repeat 20.
23. More eyeball painting.
24. They help you up and take your picture in your fabulous hair net and forehead sticker and some very stylish sunglasses so that they can post it on Facebook and maybe you'll win an iPad and you're all, FINE, WHATEVER, I AM SO MESSED UP RIGHT NOW.
25. Then you realize you can read the clock across the room.
26. YOU. CAN READ THE CLOCK. ACROSS THE ROOM.
27. You think about crying with joy, but your eyes feel like a cat scratched them open and took a gritty crap therein.
28. You are told not to look at a computer screen for two days, even though it's your livelihood, escape, and entertainment.
29. You are handed an iPad and asked to log in to Facebook, and you are deeply confused.
30. You go home and spend the rest of the day on sleeping pills and muscle relaxers with plastic shields taped over your eyes.
31. You wake up at 4am and peel the plastic off your eyes and realize your eyelashes are stuck together like Aeon Flux and you drizzle eye drops in them until they open and you realize that YOU CAN SEE. YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING. YOU CAN SEE THE ALARM CLOCK FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR LIFE, AND IT IS AWESOME.
32. Ten days later, you realize Lasik is one of the top 10 best decisions of your life.

Life moves pretty fast.If you don't stop and look around ...

Life moves pretty fast.
If you don't stop and look around every once in a while,
you might miss something.
*
For example, right now?
I am looking at a kid with the flu,
which means time is moving veeeeeery slowly.
And barfily.
Much like Ferris Bueller, I need a day off.
*Stop laughing.
*

iCUP

Every year, I paint a mug for Dr. Krog.
He eventually breaks it.
Which gives me a reason to paint one for him the next year.


So I present this year's mug.
"Back off, man! I'm a scientist!"
Because, technically, Dr. Krog is a scientist. A statistician.
And, secretly, he's always wanted to be Dr. Peter Venkman.


The crowning touch.
I can't let him get too comfortable, can I?
*

state of the blog union

It occurred to me yesterday that I might be doing you a disservice.
Some of you are here for this:

And I keep shouting about this:

Which is only natural.
I mean, I started this blog over 1100 posts and four years ago when I had a new baby and not much to do. My pictures were of a frazzled mom and a chubby little girl, and I ranted about motherhood, society's wrongs, and trying to find yourself after becoming a mom.
And then I got pregnant and ranted about pregnancy. And then I had another baby and blabbered on about the perils of having two children and losing weight and, again, trying to find yourself.
And then? I found myself.
And you guys were here for that, too. I talked about writing my first book, about querying, about failing, and failing again, and then, after much hard work, about succeeding. Sure, every now and then, there were cute conversations or photos of t.rex and the biscuit hugging each other or beating each other with lightsabers, but the tone of the blog definitely began to change.
And now here we are. I have a five-year-old and a three-year-old, and writing has become a full-time job. And I think I may have gotten a little too excited about the time leading up to my first book launch. When I scroll through the blog, all I see are picture after picture of a half-naked vampire dude and me squealing about things that most of you probably don't care about. I've been sharing what makes me excited right now, but I'm guessing that not many of my 329 followers can relate.
So I want to know. If you're still reading, what do you actually like to read about? Why do you come here? Would you keep coming here if it changed?
This blog started out as an escape for me, as a way to share and connect with people and remember as much as I could of the dizzying years of early parenthood. I'm so grateful to everyone who read then, who reads now, who comments and tells me I'm not alone.
I hope you'll keep coming here.
I hope I'll give you a reason to do so.
*

a hat, a brooch, a postcardactyl

So I need to make a hat out of postcards, a sandwich board out of my poster, and some sort of corset out of my remaining cover flats.
Then I'll really start self-promoting.
But silently.
*
These guys are en route (via dirigible) to Captain Donna and the fine folks at Clockwork Couture, to be sent out in their packages of luscious steampunk goods. Thanks to Clockwork Couture, and thanks to Pocket for whipping up such lovely cards!
*

on dialing it to 11

I used to have this ritual.
Every evening, just after dark, I would go upstairs. I took off my boots, put on ridiculous pajama pants, twirled my hair up in a bun, and took out my contacts. And then it was time to relax.
As soon as I switched from contacts to glasses, the world went from sharp and alert to dull, comfortable, and safe. It was like being wrapped in a cocoon, a blanket. With my glasses on, I had a limited sphere of vision. The edges were blurry, and it signaled my brain to chill out and go to sleep. I've been wearing contacts since I was 15, and I can't even remember much about life before then.
But now!
Now, after Lasik, everything is different.
My vision is perfect, sharp, clear. All day long, whatever I'm doing, I can see. Every evening, I find myself standing in the place where my contact lens case used to be, feeling like there's something important I need to do.
Every day now, at least ten times a day, I think, "OMG, I need to take out my contacts before they disappear under my eyelids and I have to pry them out with chopsticks!"
And that part of my life is gone.
Which is awesome and amazing and miraculous, don't get me wrong.
But it's really freaking weird.
My world is dialed up to 11 constantly now. I can't turn my brain off. I feel... superhuman. Like, you think of how awesome it is that Superman can fly and is super strong, but he probably jerks doorknobs off of doors and breaks people's ribs when he hugs them. Once you make a permanent change like this, no matter how wonderful it is and no matter how it improves your life, you have to alter your way of thinking.
Which, personally, I dig. I want my brain to stay active and constantly making new connections. So although, in a sense, I've lost a source of comfort, I'm excited to know that the world is full of new possibilities.
As Oscar Wilde said, "To be on the alert is to live; to be lulled into security is to die."
Here's to being more alive.
And to hopefully developing X-ray vision and other useful superpowers.

*

a beautiful thing

Those are the two main characters in Wicked as They Come as imagined by the oh-so-talented StrangelyKatie. I've tried again and again to capture Tish and Crim, but alas... my own creations elude me. I can draw them much better with words than with a pen... or a digital tablet. Thanks a lot, art degree!
*
And speaking of beautiful things, today marks the one-year anniversary of my book deal, and I can't imagine how I could possibly be happier.
Thank you, everyone. Thank you, world. Thank you, fate. Thank you, family. Thank you, writing friends. Thank you, agent. Thank you, editor. Thank you, copy editors and publicist and cover artist and beta readers and writing group and reviewers and bloggers and soon-to-be-readers.
And thank you, Strangely Katie, for the perfect Valentine.
*
p.s. She takes commissions, and her rates are unbelievably reasonable.
p.p.s. Would anyone like an actual, physical belated Valentine? I'm thinking of sending some out...
*

big phone pimpin'

As it's 2012 and I'm a big-time author, I decided I needed some bling for my phone.
We're talking big pimpin', as the kids say.


Awwwww, yeah.
If anyone would like a similar sticker for their own post-2005 tech gadget, please hit me up in the carpool line.
I'll be the one listening to a boombox and writing with a fountain pen.
*

meditations on burning corneas

The 10 Worst Things about Lasik
1. The actual surgery was like a flashback from Clockwork Orange.
2. Did I mention that I smelled my own corneas burning?
3. I haven't been able to write for three days.
4. I had to spend an entire day in bed, asleep.
5. Then I had to spend two more days not driving, being fed and coddled, and napping constantly.
6. My eyelashes got all stuck together last night while I was asleep, and I woke up at 4am and couldn't open my eyes, and I dreamed I was that chick from Aeon Flux, but I couldn't chase the plasticky German scientist because my superhero eyelashes were malfunctioning.
7. I keep finding myself standing in front of my contact lens case, feeling confused.
8. I have an entire box of unopened contacts left over. THEY DON'T REIMBURSE FOR THAT, YOU KNOW.
9. I can't wear eye makeup for a week.
10. The world has now seen what I look like in a poofy blue hat and funny sunglasses.
Oh, wait. There are really on 3 bad things on that list, aren't there?
I guess that leads us into the...
TOP 10 AWESOME THINGS ABOUT LASIK
1. Numbers 4 through 7 above.
2. I CAN SEE.
3. No, really. I can see. I can see all over the place. I can read the alarm clock. I can read the drawings on the fridge. I can drive without blurry bits in my peripheral vision. I'll be able to scuba dive and swim and ride horses, all while SEEING.
4. I CAN SEE.
5. I CAN SEE SO GOOD, Y'ALL, OMIGAH. 20/15 vision.
6. There's still a little bit of blurriness around light, and it feels all religious and glowy, like someone should be singing a chorus in the background whenever I gaze out a window.
7. Now I can write again. I just have to blink a lot and put in eye drops.
8. Next time I go on a plane, I won't have to wear my glasses and then lose them and find them and get off the plane and put in my contacts in the airport bathroom before I meet people. So I should probably go on a nice trip soon to test that out.
9. I CAN SEE.
10. For the first time since third grade, I feel that I'll actually have a chance when the zombiepocalypse comes. Well, except for in regards to my thyroid, but whatever. I'll get a lot of exercise, running from all the zombies.
In conclusion: LASIK IS AWESOME.
And Dr. Krog is awesome for taking care of me and the wee monsters for three days. He's a trooper. And he brought me almond croissants, too. That's love, y'all.
*