And the sun shines quite brightly in Southern California. Eva’s got herself some pink shoulders. And a tube of suncreen.

Yes - here at Coachella. Day 2 is just beginning. Quick update:

Yesterday, I saw the following: DJ Mehdi, Porter, Midnight Juggernauts, Rogue Wave (meh), Luckyiam, Les Savy Fav, Battles (yay), Dan Deacon (awesome audience interaction during his set), Jens Lekman (yay!), Cut Copy (yay), Sandra Collins (i kinda danced a little), Vampire Weekend (lackluster live), The Breeders, Goldfrapp, Aphex Twin (woo-hoo!), a bit of the Raconteurs (good live, meh on album - oh, Jack White), Serj Tankian and Professor Murder (yay!!). I heard Fatboy Slim from afar since he was in the large tent they’re using for electronic artists just a tent away from Professor Murder (who were pure energy live).

Tonight’s big draws are Prince and Portishead. The sound check for Portishead was my “getting dressed” music this morning across the tent-covered field. The view of the mountains here is unbelievable - just striking and amazing to wake up to. I’ll have my camera today so I’ll be able to take pictures and post them when I return.

Yay for adventure!

That sums it up. It’s what I’m doing. Trying to fit a tent, sleeping bag, climbing gear, sneakers, blow dryer, toiletries, hat, camera, umbrella, books, and clothes for 10 days of wildly varying weather — all into a suitcase and a carry-on. I am allowed 2 suitcases, but that just seems excessive for a 10 day trip.

Rather than being up until 3 in the morning and waking up at 6:30 (that was last night) when it’s my ninth straight day of work (that was today), I’m going to try my hand at going to bed now and getting up a little bit earlier tomorrow to review what I’ve packed with a clear mind before I have ten days of NOT work.

Thankfully, I’m good at spacial orientation (and Tetris) so packing is something I sort of enjoy. But I’ll enjoy it more when I don’t have a headache or brief spells of vertigo because I just really really need to sleep.

I don’t know how much I’ll be writing. Maybe a bit, maybe nothing. Maybe it will be all about Twitter.

For now, let’s just confirm that starting Wednesday, April 23, this chick is on vacation.

I should be doing something more than sitting here. I’ve packed what I can since I’m currently laundering the clothing I want to bring and I can’t pack up my toothbrush and stuff until the bitter bitter end. And I’ve got a full calendar of stuff to do outside of work as well -friends to see, errands to run, errands to run for friends, exercise to do. BUT BUT BUT… I wore heels today. My feet hurt. I’m so tired from not having a weekend, I can’t focus much. I am getting a late dinner with friends and then probably going right to sleep so I can go into work early tomorrow.

And it’s amazing how people crawl out of the woodwork when they realize you’re going to be out of the office for more than a day. I mean, it’s fine - a little stress-inducing, but OK. I’m glad to feel all useful and stuff.

But a fun thing today: I was talking to my boss about things that I might need to leave in her hands while I’m away and she asked me if I’d have time for an important meeting tomorrow with another co-worker. And I said that I actually had a meeting with this co-worker at the same time she was suggesting - to which she responded, “Great - that means we can go to Rita’s for two-stamp Tuesday!”

There’s a Rita’s (”Ice. Custard. Happiness”) in Hoboken and we’ve gotten into the habit of walking down there once -OK, a couple of times- a week. On Tuesdays, they stamp your frequent buyer card twice for any purchase. My co-worker is in her third trimester of baby-prep, so ice cream cravings are allowed. The rest of us are enablers. Or just willing to interrupt our work day for some Italian ice (though I vastly prefer the custard and get myself a kids’ size chocolate vanilla twist when we go.)

Yes. So I accepted the meeting invitation for tomorrow afternoon. The meeting called, “Two-stamp Tuesday at Rita’s!”

And it’s not even a team-building exercise. The team’s built, yo.

I didn’t get a chance to take (m)any photos today. There were many characters of interest including a disturbing-looking man wearing a lamé (or lame) bodysuit and (quite obviously) no underwear. I had to turn my head and look away if only because I didn’t know WHAT my expression was conveying. At all. If anything.

I walked the floor a bit looking for a few companies/booths, but didn’t find any aside from the mimobot people. I have a USB drive, but I really could NOT resist. Really. They were discounted, and I only wanted 1GB and it came with a free gift! So, here’s my new mimobot friend:

Number 810 of 2000, if you please.

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Yesterday, my friend Sara called me to tell me about a used book sale going on in the next town over. She’d gone earlier and acquired a treasure-trove of beautiful old books for a total of $1.75 ($1 and $2 books for 50 and 75% off!)

Well, I went this morning before heading off to ComicCon, and they were having a bag sale—all the books you could carry in a paper shopping bag would cost you $5 (it was a fundraiser for a local school). Here’s what I brought home (minus one that I gave to my sister):

There are some I’ve heard of and some I’ve never heard of and bought because they looked like an interesting read from a time long gone and are probably long since out of print. To start, there is this gem from one of my favorite wits of all time, George Bernard Shaw (a 1928 publication):

I’m not sure if it’s a serious work or not… that time period was rife with things that would sound misogynistic these days but which were considered quite complimentary almost 100 years ago. I guess we’ll see just how intelligent a woman I am.

The purple cover below just made me smile - a combination of the title, the illustration… the whole cover treatment. Amusing. And it’s from 1909!

Then I found this very cool 1944 edition of Crime and Punishment. I love the embossing on the cover.

I have to admit that I bought this next book for the novelty of the title and the cool logo action. It’s from 1924…

And an interior that removes any possibility of having stumbled across interesting 1920’s erotica… I don’t think “happy ending” had taken on a lewd secondary meaning yet at that point.

And the Tempestuous Petticoat from this post’s title? Well, that’s from 1948, surprisingly. But I love this illustration.

I’m going to sit here for a bit enjoying the look and feel of these. Maybe I’ll even start reading one once I finish obsessing…

Well, today was the first of my two days at New York ComicCon. The annual east coast comic convention at the Javits Convention Center. I was at the booth alone from 3:00 on, so I didn’t get to wander the floor and see what was going on, but I did get some photos. Kind of boring photos since they were taken from the confines of my company’s booth:

In the two images below, I’ve circled a light-saber battle for you. They were pretty far away and I don’t have a true telephoto lens for the camera, and there was a lot of motion and I didn’t have a chance to change the shutter speed since I just saw this craziness happening and NEEDED TO CAPTURE IT.

There was a girl and a guy, both in weird Captain America-esque outfits. Just -boom!- in the middle of the aisle as people sort of scooted around them, totally nonplussed by the sword battle going on in their midst. It’s amazing how one’s acceptance of the non-traditional really reaches new levels here (half-naked women wearing red contact lenses and 8″ high platform boots? Ain’t no thing!)

Yeah. There was that. And lots of other interesting things and people. Thankfully, unlike the last convention I attended, the time passed by rather quickly and before I knew it, it was time to leave. I took the ferry back over to New Jersey and took this photo in the ferry parking lot - that’s the New Yorker building, among others… :

Yup. Rinse and repeat - doing it all again tomorrow, though not for nearly as long. That will be nice; I looked up an old friend from my bookstore days who is a comic book artist and learned that the studio he co-founded has a booth at ComicCon. I went over to say hi to him before I was due at our booth and we chatted for a bit, but I’d like to pop over again and perhaps buy a sketch from him or some such Fun.

Phew. I am planning on spending the rest of the evening watching highly entertaining silliness with my sister and her boyfriend - “Wet Hot American Summer.” From the folks responsible for “The State.” Yes. It’s quite funny.

Today was a pretty nice day. Very spring-like. Sunny and breezy and warm. A little chilly off the water.

I’m not typically a warm-weather aficionado, but I have to admit that today was nice. And I did get to go rock-climbing for a little while late this evening, so I feel good and tired from a combination of fresh outdoor air and physical activity. Still, I have to admit that it might be even nicer to be somewhere like this:

(My father traveled to Fiji about a year ago and he took these photos. It looks decent enough, no?)

On the brief walk from my office to the train station, I had a few moments of crazy sensory awareness. Or was this the closest I’ll come to a moment of Awareness? It was mostly auditory and visual. Eh, I don’t know. Anyway, I was aware - all at once - of:

Sound: helicopters overhead, the puffity-sucking sound of an old man smoking his pipe alongside me, the jangling of metal dog tags on a pair of dogs getting walked, seagulls crying, the rhythmic splashing of water against the dock, the soft sounds of my ballet-flat-clad footsteps compared to the clomping of the business men walking ahead of me, the old man speaking in Italian on his cell phone and repeating “ciao” over and over trying to get someone off the phone, the possibly-homeless man repeating, “Good evening, spare some change?” to every passerby, the wind whistling and rushing by my ears when it kicked up, rush-hour horn-honking a few blocks off…

Sights: the Hudson River catching the light of the late afternoon sun and splaying it along the train station and wood of the dock, long strips of sunlight cast onto the walkway from between the buildings to the west of the river, the tendrils of smoke from the old man’s pipe moving very slowly and thickly despite the windy day, the tessellations formed by the hexagonal stones of the walkway, the tips of my striped shoes appearing and disappearing rhythmically from under the hem of my skirt…

…reminding me of something Stephen Pinker wrote - that one of the most amazing things we do as true bipeds is walk upright. With every single step, we’re defying gravity and saving ourselves from falling by just a fraction of a second. A toddler learning to walk really is a big deal in those terms.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much in the olfactory sense group since I didn’t take my allergy medicine and am a congested girl.

In other news, I will be Twittering a bit (again, after my aborted efforts last year because it bored the crap out of me) every now and again. It will be an easy way to post quick stuff when I’m on vacation–or when I’m just really busy this week.

I feel compelled to do some Pilates and go running since my rock-climbing plans for tonight didn’t pan out. I happen to have gotten all addicted to a sport that requires a partner; this is highly uncharacteristic of me, but it happened. Tough. The friend with whom I climb regularly and have climbed regularly since September (”my climbing buddy”) is on the West coast at the moment and, thus, not able to belay for me. My efforts to arrange otherwise didn’t pan out for tonight, but I’m making an effort to arrange something for tomorrow night. If not, I will be doing a LOT of running. It’s just not as fun or rewarding or challenging. Boo-hiss.

I can’t believe it’s 9:00 already. I guess that’s what happens when you get home from work after 7, though. The hours run away like horses over the hill… to adapt and paraphrase a phrase. But something that will feel wonderful will be collapsing into my bed tonight and maybe getting rid of this headache. Ah, bed. Ah, slumber. You elusive temptresses.

I don’t even know how much time I’ll have to write in the next week. Seriously.

Today I drove my friend to the airport in the morning so he could catch his flight to San Francisco, and I will be flying out there to hang out with him next Wednesday. The seven days between now and then will be both interminable and far too short.

For example, I’ll be working every single day, including the weekend. That’s when I’ll be working the New York ComicCon to represent my company’s Shakespeare: The Manga Edition series. It should be pretty cool (if providing a little bit of geek overload - which I might even enjoy a bit if I didn’t get scared by people who are crazy hardcore about [insert comic book/graphic novel/manga/TV/movie series here] ) and the days should fly by since it will be busy.

Neil Gaiman is doing an appearance and signing sometime during the convention, but one part is a $500-a-ticket fundraiser for the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund and the other (reading - $20 a ticket) is most likely going to have lines spilling out the door if it doesn’t sell out. Since I’m working Saturday and Sunday, Friday is my only free night this week (and I’d like to see my other friends before I disappear for about two weeks), I won’t be attending, as much as I enjoy Mr. Gaiman - and I do.

All that coolness doesn’t change the fact that I will have spent all the hours between noon and 8 pm (you know, hours when I could be taking care of things like laundry and shopping and packing) standing in a noisy convention center.

It just puts a lot more pressure on me to get things done in the evenings. My usual evening routine is to get home from work around 6/7pm, change into running clothes, run for 30-45 minutes or so, shower, eat, check email/RSS feeds, and then read or watch a movie until I fall asleep. Tonight, I was unable to adhere to that routine; I got home at 6:30, checked email quickly and then ran out to stores to get vitals like sunglasses, shorts, a couple of tank tops and such. I got home at 9:00 and ate some dinner (leftover spinach and a piece of toast - PATHETIC) then tackled email, checking tracking on some stuff I ordered for said trip (durable rock climbing pants since Old Navy cargo pants won’t cut it), put away purchases, did some cleaning… and now it’s 11:00. Where does the time go?

Somewhere I can’t see. And the reasons for my blindness may vary.

But I’m glad to know that the title of a mix CD I made provided the possible title for a story my friend is writing, that I am basically guaranteed to have non-stop fun during my vacation which makes everything coming up to it worthwhile, that the stress I’ll be feeling at work will be productive stress because I’ll be getting lots of things done, and that I’m going to go rock-climbing tomorrow and it will feel good.

…since I’ve mentioned my obsessive reading habit. It’s still here; it’s just sometimes a bit overwhelming to write about reading because I do a LOT of it. A LOT.

And I’m not really good at writing about reading. I can analyze ’til the cows come home and write you a lengthy paper performing a close-reading of three lines from Hamlet - but I’m not a good reviewer. This is something I’ve come to terms with and can accept.

Instead, I’ll just mention two books I read this week, quote a bit from them, and make note of the fact that I really really enjoyed them. Good? OK.

Book the first: Nabokov’s Invitation to a Beheading. One of my greatest regrets from college is that I wasn’t able to take the Nabokov colloquium that NYU offered, like, once every two years. I took the James Joyce colloquium and that was great - but Nabokov does rate higher than Joyce on my literary love list.

So, Invitation to a Beheading is pure Nabokov in terms of his use of language and voice; the plot, however, is allegorical and surreal in a very Kafka-esque way. The very first line of the novel is the pronouncement of the death sentence for the protagonist - from there, it’s a psychological exploration of that waiting game. He knows he’s going to be executed, but doesn’t know where or when, and the cast of characters surrounding him (prison guards, lawyers, fellow prisoners) serve only to frustrate him further and drive him to lunacy.

It’s hilarious, frustrating as hell because you’re in the same boat as Cincinnatus (the protagonist), and I enjoyed it thoroughly. There’s a great segment where the narrator calls attention to our process of reading the book:

So we are coming to the end. The right-hand, still untasted part of the novel, which, during our delectable reading, we would lightly feel, mechanically testing whether there were still plenty left (and our fingers were always gladdened by the placid, faithful thickness) has suddenly, for no reason at all, become quite meager: a few minutes of quick reading, already downhill…

I found myself smiling while reading that passage since I do read that way; feeling ahead with my right hand and deriving pleasure from feeling that there are yet pages and pages to read. This isn’t the only reason to enjoy it–there’s a gem of some sort on every page (IMHO). But I really enjoy Nabokov.

Then there’s Paul Auster. He’s another one–I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve ever read by him. And I’ve read a good bit. Not everything yet, though. That’s a goal. The most recent thing I read was Oracle Night which I purchased at The Strand a couple of weeks ago. I started reading it on Saturday night and finished up on the train today.

But I’m realizing that I should hold off on the Auster-love for tonight and hit the hay since I have an early morning tomorrow…