The Longest Day of the Year

 I would make a terrible princess.  I was born several centuries too late, so it's a moot point, but I can trace my ancestry to Edward III, and from him basically to most of the royal families in Europe, so I'm calling it a near miss.  I could have been a princess, and I would have done a shitty job of it.  I can pull off poise when I want to, and occasionally I can manage diplomacy (veeeeery occasionally), but I'm stubborn as hell and over the years I've come up with a shortage of fucks.  Don't like my cleavage?  Think it's horrible that I would invite my newly graduated students who have been slaving away for me several months to lunch in my apartment???  Sorry, I'm all out of fucks to give...I used them up on things that matter.  Like doing my damn job, or women's rights.

However, I DO have a taste for some of the finer things in life.  Good food, music, art, traveling...I could do with a princess' income, or her digs.  So I braved the swarms of tourists to visit the Winter Palace yesterday.

The Winter Palace (officially the Hermitage, but I'm a wannabe princess today, not an art teacher) was the home of the Russian emperors and their family.  Since 1917, it's been a museum, and although it did undergo some..."renovations"...during Soviet rule, it's been restored for the most part.  Some of the rooms were absolutely breathtaking.  I think the library was my favorite, although the smoking room made me regret my lifestyle for a while - there are times when (perhaps) I want a house, so maybe I could dress it up with all the treasures I've collected during my years abroad.  Orientalist-style smoking room?  Bitch, please - you should see my belly dance studio.

Okay, so I lied about not being an art teacher today.  The building itself was ostentatious, but the art collection was killer, too.  Look at this - it's a freaking room of Rubens!  Every painting in the room was by Rubens, with the exception of a few by his school.  When I went to the Louvre, they had a roomful of Rubens as well, ones that Marie de Medici commissioned for her husband, the king of France (which one?  I don't care.  Look it up yourself if you care that much).  When I saw those paintings, I may have cursed Marie a bit...why couldn't she have told Rubens to throw a few naked men in there for good measure?  This room of Rubens answered that question for me.  The central figure in the painting on the right?  That's not one of Rubens' trademark voluptuous women; it's Bacchus.  And voluptuous just doesn't look that great on a man.

I'm a little ashamed, but I didn't see the whole Hermitage.  I should be able to spend more than three hours in a palace/art museum, but my feet were swollen with museumitis, and the crowds - egad, the crowds!  There were just too damn many people there (for the record, if you're going to do this, I think afternoon is better...there was no pushy-shovey line to get in when I left around 2, and at least some of the tourists were on their way out by then.  Definitely buy your ticket in advance if you go in the morning).  I did some more wandery around-ish stuff, including hitting Starbucks and going to pick up my tickets for the ballet that night.  Extra super special performances at the Mariinsky Theater are part of the White Nights lineup and since I LOVE the ballet I had to go.  Well, I say I love the ballet.  I've been re-evaluating that statement since last night.  I think what I actually love is passionate dancing and men with nice muscles wearing tights.  The dancers last night were spectacular, and I liked the stage design and the costumes, but Jewels (the show I watched) was a little meh.  I actually had to work to keep myself awake (admittedly I was a little jetlagged, but still), and I found myself thinking about how much more I would enjoy it if they were all belly dancers, so I guess you shouldn't be surprised that I left at the second intermission.

Part of the reason why I left was the fact that it was Scarlet Sails night.  Initially I heard that Scarlet Sails - which is a St. Petersburg thing - took place in May, but when I started walking around town I saw signage for it that said it was taking place last night, so I was SUPER excited.  I walked along the Neva embankment under the twilit sky, and got to Palace bridge around 10 o'clock.  I actually wanted to go further up the river, but the police had blocked the street, so I found a place as close to the side of the bridge as I could and waited.  And waited.  And because I'd been on my feet ALL DAY, they hurt, so I found a place to sit down and pulled out my Nook.  Which wasn't working.  Somehow, between getting to the ballet and sitting down on the bridge, my e-reader had unregistered itself, right where Harry Dresden was about to confront the ENTIRE White Court of vampires.  WHAT THE HECK, NOOK???  So I sat and waited some more, albeit with less patience than I would if I were reading.  At which point it started raining.  It was chilly - did I mention the fact that I was wearing sandals and a skirt?  That factors into this fiasco, thanks to the ballet - so I put on my hoodie, but finally around 11:30 I was fed up and said, "##%# this *&$@@!, you *@&!" and left the bridge.  But my night was far from over.  Thanks to the barricades, I couldn't head back to Irina's the way I had been going (which involved a lot of walking but I didn't think I'd be able to get a taxi) and because I was cold and wet and alone and my feet hurt when I finally DID come across a taxi on the other side of St. Isaac's, I let him talk me into paying about $20 to take me home.  And it was the best $20 I've spent yet.

Re-spon-si-bili-ty is a Big Word

When I was in college my friend Diana, the Frodo to my Sam, shared what is possibly the best children's book in the world with me: The Happy Hocky Family.  It.  Is.  Brilliant.  We would giggle together at the back of our gospel doctrine (aka, Sunday school) class for hours on end at its witticisms.  "I have a balloon."  "What is toys?  We do not know this word."  "I like the alligators!"  Even now it brings a smile to my face, and it does not matter one bit that you have no idea what I'm talking about, but since I'm starting this post out this way, I guess I should give you at least a little background - it's written in the style of the old Dick and Jane books, but is dark and sarcastic.  In one part of the book the sister, Holly, gets an ant farm, which is a big Responsibility, a word which means the ants look to her to take care of them.  To keep them from getting too hot, she takes the lid off the ant farm.  I'm sure you can figure out what happened at that point to Mrs. Hocky's new, shiny kitchen.

Ironically enough, I finished my last post with a soliloquy about how children are a big responsibility.  During the last week, I realized how true that statement really is.  Thankfully they are all almost adults, but I am still responsible for them, and besides the fact that I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to them, I'm pretty sure their parents would have me crucified if they didn't come back in one piece, so needless to say, it's been a pretty stressful week.

Not only did I have to keep track of them, just like ants, children have needs.  I had to find bathrooms.  I had to feed them.  I had to listen to them whine (okay, not that much - they were pretty happy the whole trip, and were healthy apart from a little seasickness and a couple of upset stomachs).  And I don't know if you've picked up on this from the last - wow, it's already been six - SIX years of blogging, but I'm kind of a lone wolf when it comes to travel (and by kind of, I mean almost exclusively, whether I like it or not).  So while I loved sharing traveling with them - and I really mean that, I LOVED spending this time with them and seeing them fall in love with Istanbul while experiencing all sorts of new and exciting things - it was...pardon the Aladdin reference...a whole new world.  When I have traveled with people, we're all adults and if I go off and leave them, it's no big deal, and if any of us decide to alter our plans, well, that doesn't have to affect anyone else.  When traveling with teenagers, every change requires adjustments, and you can't just let them go off on their own.  I gave my kids a lot more freedom than I possibly should have, and we had a few heart-stopping moments when people didn't come back to the meeting point on time, or when there was a miscommunication, but for me, the freedom is part of the experience of traveling as well, and I wanted them to be able to wander a little, to find things on their own, so I gave them as long a leash as I could.  Luckily - to extend the dog metaphor, since we saw a lot of those in the last week - they didn't come back to bite me in the ass, but parents definitely have the advantage in this sense.  It would have been nice to base my judgements on knowing them for 16 years, rather than 2.

Shaggy posted an article on his facebook recently about the value of experiences over things.  Although this wasn't a cheap trip (and that's despite fact that I'm willing to bet it was a steal compared to most student trips) and there were quite a few of our original 20 that dropped out because of financial concerns, I'm pretty sure every one of their parents tonight feel it was money well spent.  They had a fantastic time.  They tried so many new things - which I will be telling you about presently - from Turkish delight to bargaining to painting tiles and belly dancing, and saw so many new things.  They took incredible pictures, and they bonded with each other in a way they don't and can't during school.  All the stress and all the time spent making it happen were so worth it. 

The Woeful Travels of Flat Stanley

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Flat Stanley.  For those of you who don't have children (or possibly just ones that aren't old enough), don't teach, and/or don't travel, Stanley is the main character of a children's book that teaches children if they are run over by a steam-roller that they will be able to travel the world by mail.  I'm not even going to get into the possible implications of this story, because actually, I kind of like it, and I've always been jealous of people who got to take someone's kid's Flat Stanley around, snapping photos.  So when my childhood friend/rival, Penny, asked me to do this for her kid, I was ecstatic.  Why hasn't anyone asked me to do this before, I thought.  I was going to be the best Flat Stanley tour guide a kid could hope for!

Well, that's what I thought, anyway.  Turns out I suck at Flat Stanley.  I've had the thing since about November, and I never remember to take the damn kid out.  Hence the wrinkles.

I have had him with me pretty much since I left for Thailand in December, but I've only taken a few pictures of him.  He has gotten progressively more and more wrinkled.  But don't you dare feel sorry for him.  Just because he has been stuck in a.) the back of my travel journal, b.) the inside of my phone case, c.) between my Nook and it's cover, and finally d.) just shoved inside of my bag doesn't mean he hasn't been having a good time.  For example, there was that time that we made friends at the White Temple in Chiang Rai.  How lame is it that I remember his friend's name (Flat Annika) but not mine?  As you can tell, I hadn't even finished cutting Stanley out, let alone coloring him.  Annika's looking a little the worse for wear herself, but then, she'd been surfing and a lot of other fun things.

It's possible Stanley and I got off on the wrong foot.

I tried to make it up to him.  While waiting for my friend (different friend, FYI - pre-established friend) in Mandalay I found a stationery shop and bought scissors and colored pencils.  Stanley looked pretty spry in Mandalay.  He went to visit the monkey temple with me...but I left him in my book.  Which is a shame because I'm pretty sure he would have liked the monkeys.  Kids usually do.  But since monkeys have fewer manners and worse hygiene than most kids (most) they probably would have thought he was a snack and stolen him from me.  You were safer in my book, kiddo.  He did come out on my barefoot hike up Mandalay Hill to pose with Buddha, and I probably would have let him pose with the whole of Mandalay in the background, but my phone was out of juice.  Sucks to be you, Stan.

You're feeling sorry for him again, aren't you?  Don't you dare.  That little snot-nosed brat went to Angkor Wat.  Have you been to Angkor Wat?  I have, and I got called a bitch for this mere fact this very week.  It causes jealousy, people, but I worked hard to pay for my vacation.  Did Stan do anything to pay for this?  Nope.  JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE FLAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU GET A FREE RIDE THROUGH LIFE, STANLEY!  jerk.  No, I didn't share my cool refreshing beverage at the Harry Potter stall with him.  I earned my coke.  Peppermint didn't like him either - she thought he was pretentious, but then, when you're a cat, everyone seems pretentious.

It is about time for the freeloader to fly back to Excelsior Springs.  However, Mongolia's gotta represent, so I took a few more pictures last week, and maybe found some snacks to send with him, in case he gets hungry.  Here are the lessons that I've learned from my time with Stanley:

1. Children are a big responsibility.

Yup, that's about it.  If you are still thinking I would be a great person to send Stanley to, you're wrong.  If I could hardly remember to take photos of him while I was excited about it, I'm sure you can imagine what I'd be like now - they say that you're much less careful with your second kid, because you've already got a spare, and this would definitely be true.  He probably wouldn't even get colored.  I can think of a shortlist of niblings who might be able to talk me into it, if Flat Stanley is still a thing by the time they're old enough, but hey, those kids could get me to do just about anything.

Middle Earth for Modern Earthlings

I finally got to watch The Desolation of Smaug over the holiday.  It filled me with a longing for things that I don't have and can't be.  I can't be an elf, and I can't visit Erebor because it doesn't exist, and neither Legolas or Kili can be my boyfriends because they're not real.  And all of those facts just plain suck.  I was several days into a spiraling depression fueled by Mt. Dew and whatever Mexican food I could get my hands on when I asked myself if, perhaps, the previous premises were actually correct.

Premise 1: I can't be an elf.
Genetically?  Nope, not happening.  However, I just wrote a sorta award-winning blog that pointed out that archery is one of the things that Mongolia does, and I think I could probably find someplace to teach me how to shoot.  And I'm kinda tall, for a chick, so there's that.  On the negative side, I'm kinda fat as well, but I've been doing some thinking over the holiday, and I realized that my weight is the one thing in my life at the moment that I'm not satisfied with, and yet, it is completely within my power to actually DO something about that.  I hate that I figured this out now because I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions, but that is what my determination here is going to look like.  However I'm not going to let that stand in the way of turning myself into being an elf inasmuch as it is possible.  I'll have to let you know how that works out for me.

Premise 2: I can't visit Erebor, or any of those other fantastic Middle Earth Places.
Well, everyone knows that Tolkien was, in fact, inspired by actual places.  Let me think about this and get back to you.

Premise 3: Neither Orlando Bloom nor Aidan Turner are going to be my boyfriends.
Sadly, this is a resounding no.  It is an unfortunate fact that art teachers living in Mongolia don't get much play from hot actors (...or anyone, for that matter).  Since I can't do anything about that, I did a little more research about Premise 2, in hopes that I'd be able to figure out how to have some fantastic Middle Earth experiences.  To that end, I give you:

Middle Earth for Modern Earthlings

Also known as "New Zealand is for Sissies."  Because let's face it - visiting the places where the movies were made is just cheating.  I aimed for sites in Europe, because that's the geography Tolkien was most familiar with and it would just be awesome to do one big Middle Earth trek (quite possibly all geeked out in elvish attire, because realistically by the time this itinerary works its way forward in my travel queue, I'll have totally achieved my goal from premise 1), but sometimes reality just refused to go along with me.

The Realms of Men:

Those colossal statues they float past in Fellowship of the Ring: A variety of colossi exist in the world, although sadly the most famous, The Colossus of Rhodes, has not for a very long time.  If I had to pick a colossus that I think most fits the spirit of the ones in FOTR, I'd probably go for the Leshan Buddha (and not just because I've already been there).  It's not a perfect fit - there's only one, for example - but he is freaking huge, you can float past him on the river, and it's got a pretty kickass story to go along with it.

I saw the floating islands while I was in Peru (ostensibly visiting the Evil One).  While an argument could be made for Venice (or one of the cities claiming to be the Venice of some other part of the world) being the Laketown of the real world, I like casting the Uros isles of Lake Titicaca for Laketown because of the fragility of them.  Dragonfire could totally snuff them out.  Also, they actually are on a lake, rather than a part of the ocean, and the people living there are lovely.

Peter Jackson's take on the Rohan reminds me of Vikings (except, obviously, without ships).  If you are longing to walk the halls of Edoras, I'll point you to some of Denmark's Viking era sites.  Trelleborg is a generic term used to refer to Viking ring castles, but is also a specific site, the Trelleborg Museum of the Viking Age.  If that doesn't satisfy you, you can also visit Fyrkat, another reconstructed settlement along the same lines.

If the men of Gondor are more your thing, you might like to visit Mont Saint-Michel, in Normandy, France.  As far as I've been able to find, it's just about as close as you're going to get to climbing the streets of Minas Tirith.  It isn't build on the edge of a mountain, but the fact that depending on the tides it may or may not be an island is pretty cool.

Dwarvish Dwellings:
If you want to get the feeling of underground grandeur, you'd have a hard time finding a better semblance to Erebor or Moria than the Wieliczka Salt Mine.  I'm not going to do it justice, so I'll let you click on the link...trust me on this one.

If you're looking for the dwarves' Art Deco stylings, but aren't so worried about actually being "Under the Mountain," I suggest hopping the next plane to New York.  Would dwarvish architecture really resemble what we know as Art Deco?  Not sure, but this is how Jackson interpreted it, and New York is - in my experience - the best place to get your fill of it.

Elvish Environs
Likewise, if you want to see the Art Nouveau trappings that Jackson uses to express the elves' close ties to nature, but aren't hung up on the fresh air and natural surroundings, Paris is the place to go.  I mean, hell, it's Paris; they're halfway to being elves just by virtue of being French.  I may have been spurned by a French boy last year, but their looks and their attitude (not to mention the decor) make them just about as close to being elves as I reckon you're going to find in Modern Earth.

Via Wikipedia

The unfortunate fact is that I had a hard time finding a place in the real world that actually encapsulated the dwellings of the elves.  They're just a little too fantastic.  Rivendell is the only really good one, and that's because Tolkien actually based it on a valley in Switzerland, the Lauterbrunnental.  For the Mirkwood, I thought the Bialowieza Forest, stretching over Belarus and Poland was more the mark.  It's a primeval forest, a little rough, and has a darker feel to it.  Finally, there's Lothlorien - and the thing that would make me feel like I'm in there is walkways between trees.  I initially came up with Finca Bellavista, in Costa Rica, as my Lothlorien-in-the-real-world, but just yesterday I found out about a rainforest canopy walkway in Borneo, which also looks pretty kickass.  So take your pick.

Natural Wonders
I may get some flack for my next idea, but I imagine Muir Woods, near San Francisco being a lot like Fangorn Forest.  I'm very slightly familiar with it because I LOVE Seanan McGuire's October Daye series, and that's lent a sense of mystery and magic to it.  The national parks' website calls it a "Tree Lover's Monument," and Legolas, Tolkien's number one tree lover, was so taken with Fangorn that I can easily imagine him falling in love with the Redwoods.

Gimli was likewise taken with the Glittering Caves, which he found under Helm's Deep.  Here's how he described them:
“And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light flows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from the dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea.”
I suppose the closest thing I've ever heard of something like this is the Cave of the Crystals, in Naica, Mexico.  Not a perfect representation, but pretty amazing.

Also Via Wikipedia

Darker Middle Earth
As far as Middle Earth's darker places go, Dol Guldur and Mount Doom stand out the most to me.  There is no shortage of castle ruins in Europe, but I felt that Gýmeš Castle in Slovakia was the most similar to how Jackson portrayed it - not too small, not totally ruined.  Then there's Mount Doom.  Any volcano will really work, I suppose, but since I started out looking for sites in Europe, I came up with Eyjafjallajokull on Iceland, and Mt. Etna, on Sicily.  If I had my choice between the two, though, I'd probably visit Mt. Etna for my Mount Doom experience, simply because the book always mentions Mordor as being in the south, and we all know the reputation that Sicilians have.

Finally - last but not least - I would be completely remiss if I didn't talk about the Shire.  Just about anywhere in the world could be the Shire, as long as you've got good food and good friends.  But for that Bag End aesthetic, I suggest building a house like Simon Dale's.  I first saw this place in, I wanna say, 2010 or so, and it's incredible.  Someday I may finally end up settling down somewhere (stranger things have happened), and this is the kind of house I would want - cozy, low-impact, architecturally interesting, and just big enough for me.

Did I miss an important place?  Totally disagree with me?  Feel free to leave me a comment.

The Problem with Lonely Planet (April 2007)

Tonight I took the funicular to the top of Lykavittos Hill and took in Athens at sunset from a wind-blown peak, complete with church bells ringing.  It was the most sublime experience.  I could see all the way to the coast, and the mountains all around, as they disappeared one by one into the fading light.
I'm really glad Mrs. Julia (one of the embassy wives who works for Al Hekma), suggested I go.  She lent me her tour book, Athens Top 10, but I'm a loyal Lonely Planet Girl, so I set out from my hotel (the Evripides Hotel, in a kinda sketchy looking neighborhood that actually appears to be Chinatown, so I'm pretty much at home there) with my camera and wallet in my fake Coach bag and my Lonely Planet in my hand.  That's because the Lonely Planet guide to Greece is too big to fit in my fake Coach bag.  The two previous fake Coach bags I bought fit bigger books in them than that, but after both of them broke, I bought a more expensive, nicer, but smaller fake Coach bag based on my Dark Lord's continually invaluable advice, and it has worked quite well.

I left the Evangelismos subway station and headed up the hill, following LP's flawless map, and after a hike up the hill, arrived at the funicular station.  No snags.  But as I was standing beside the bell tower having my picture taken by a Korean (I didn't single him out to take my picture because he was Korean, but it DID give me a thrill to say, 'Shillye hamnida,' to him), I realized I was missing something.  A chunky $30 something.  I raced down the stairs and around the church and found my book lying where I'd left it when I took a picture a few minutes earlier.  I knew it was mine because I'd written the address of my new hotel there a few nights before.

Well, I had dinner and watched darkness fall over the surrounding countryside, then decided it was time to head out.  Took the car down, and talked to some delightful little old ladies, realizing that my breath had some horrible funk from the garlic in the tzatziki I've been eating at every meal (oops).  So I stopped in the gift shop and bought a pack of gum, then set out down the hill again (and, by the way, by 'hill' I mean I was walking up about a 60 degree slope...I was also slightly freezing, because it's much chillier in Greece than it is in Bahrain, and I didn't pack exactly appropriately, and I forewent my sweatshirt in the interests of photography).  When I got halfway down the hill (approximately twelve flights of steps, and, oh yeah, I was wearing platform sandals because I like the way they look with the skirt I was wearing), I wanted to double check how to get to the PCbang where I am writing this, and it was at that point that I realized I was, once again, without a Lonely Planet.  I set it down when I bought the gum.  For at least a moment, I debated walking away from it...the book may have cost $30, but don't underestimate how lazy I can be, and how I was dressed...but in the end, I knew I needed that book for the remainder of my stay.  I have Kit's guide, as well as Julia's, but, you see, neither of them is a Lonely Planet.

Year in Review

So...t'was New Year's Eve, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, now that Pawn Stars is over and my brother is putting his spawn to bed.  And here I sit on the computer updating my blog.  I've been home now for a couple of weeks, and I have one more day before I start the series of flights and layovers that will take me back to Mongolia.  I'll write more about what these two weeks have entailed when I DO get back, but for my last post of 2012 I thought I would reflect on what this year has brought (in one sentence or less per month)...
January - dumping the chump (more or less).
February - jobhunting.
March - a new job.
April - kicking the blog up a notch.
May - the insanity of putting together a school art exhibition and mopping up the yearbook simultaneously.
June - Evil's wedding which I missed because my non-Irish principal was a bitch.
July - South American Extravaganza!
August - moving to Mongolia.
September - making friends.
October - a new (inferior) quiz
November - X-Files revival
December - Babysister's baby.

This post was inspired by Five and Domestic Goddess' suggestion that I post my book list to my blog.  For the last three years I have kept track of the books I read over the year in a facebook note.  In 2011 I read a total of 70 books; just shy of 6 books a month.  I bettered my score by more than one book a month...and here are the books that helped me to make it to a grand total of 85 books (7 a month with one to spare!) in 2012:
1. Furies of Calderon, by Jim Butcher
2. Academ's Fury, by Jim Butcher
3. Cursor's Fury, by Jim Butcher
4. Captain's Fury, by Jim Butcher
5. Princep's Fury, by Jim Butcher
6. First Lord's Fury, by Jim Butcher
7. Mastiff,  by Tamora Pierce
8. The Help, by Kathryn Stockett
9. The Red Pyramid, by Rick Riordan
10. Clockwork Prince, by Cassandra Clare
11. Dragonsong, by Anne McCaffrey
12. Dragonsinger, by Anne McCaffrey
13. Dragondrums, by Anne McCaffrey
14. The Throne of Fire, by Rick Riordan
15. Alanna, by Tamora Pierce
16. In the Hand of the Goddess, by Tamora Pierce
17. The Woman Who Rides Like a Man, by Tamora Pierce
18. Lioness Rampant, by Tamora Pierce
19. The Wee Free Men, by Terry Pratchett
20. A Hat Full of Sky, by Terry Pratchett
21. Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett
22. Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Mortensen
23. Daughter of the Wind, by Suzanne Fisher Staples
24. The Death of Faith, by Donna Leon
25. Lost on Planet China, by J. Maarten Troost (I actually read it twice, but I'll only count it once, to be fair)
26. The Color of Magic, by Terry Pratchett
27. The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak
28. February Flowers, by Fan Wu
29. Communism: A Love Story, by Jeff Sparrow
30. Deadlocked, by Charlaine Harris
31. Dead Beat, by Jim Butcher
32. White Night, by Jim Butcher
33. The Shack, by William P. Young
34. Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert
35. Girls of Riyadh, by Rajaa Alsanea
36. Slumdog Millionaire, by Vikas Swarup
37. The Midnight Palace, by Carlos y Ruiz Zafon
38. The Nine Lives of Chloe King, by Liz Braswell
39. The Shadow of Night, by Deborah Harkness
40. I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith
41. The Serpent's Shadow, by Rick Riordan
42. The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern
43. Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey
44. The Shadow Plague, by Brandon Mull
45. Dragonquest, by Anne McCaffrey
46. The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin
47. Once Upon A Marigold, by Jean Ferris
48. The Last Guardian, by Eoin Colfer
49. Guide to Teaching English Abroad, by English Teacher X
50. Way to Be, by Gordon B. Hinckley
51. Daughter of Kura, by Debra Austin
52. And Another Thing, by Eoin Colfer
53. Ashes of Honor, by Seanan McGuire
54. Dead Until Dark, by Charlaine Harris
55. Living Dead in Dallas, by Charlaine Harris
56. Club Dead, by Charlaine Harris
57. Dead to the World, by Charlaine Harris
58. Dead as a Doornail, by Charlaine Harris
59. Definitely Dead, by Charlaine Harris
60. All Together Dead, by Charlaine Harris
61. From Dead to Worse, by Charlaine Harris
62. Dead and Gone, by Charlaine Harris
63. Dead in the Family, by Charlaine Harris
64. Dead Reckoning, by Charlaine Harris
65. Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain
66. Last Breath, by Rachel Caine
67. Black Dawn, by Rachel Caine
68. A Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs
69. The Mark of Athena, by Rick Riordan
70. The Giver, by Lois Lowry
71. Gathering Blue, by Lois Lowry
72. Messenger, by Lois Lowry
73. Divergent, by Veronica Roth
74. Insurgent, by Veronica Roth
75. Hidden, by PC Cast and Kristin Cast
76. Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary, by Brandon Mull
77. Keys to the Demon Prison, by Brandon Mull
78. Cold Days, by Jim Butcher
79. Gregor the Overlander, by Suzanne Collins
80. Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane, by Suzanne Collins
81. Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods by Suzanne Collins
82. Gregor and the Marks of Secret, by Suzanne Collins
83. Gregor and the Code of Claw, by Suzanne Collins
84. Pippi Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren
85. Notorious Nineteen, by Janet Evanovich

Next year's goal: I think I'll go with Five's suggestion and aim for 100 books read in 2013.  I'm going to try to read some of the "classics" but will, no doubt, have to heavily intersperse them with my preferred mix of fantasy and teen books to make it to my lofty goal.  Along those lines, I don't really do resolutions for New Year's - it's like a recipe for failure - but I have recently decided to build better body habits.  I spent a lot of 2011 trying to lose weight and a lot of 2012 teetering between trying to accept myself and being frustrated because I still wanted to be better.  Back around early November or so I realized that I should do both.  I have little doubt that my extra pounds help me stay warm in the mind-numbing cold of the steppe, and I've recently come up with some other reasons to be grateful for being fat, but although I'm in great health right now that can't last unless I take steps to preserve it.  So I started using the school's treadmills every morning to get a 30 minute walk in.  When I had done that for 21 days (the number of days it takes to establish a habit...it took a while since I give myself the weekends off and I missed at least a day each week), I started one-pop days.  I've racked those up much more quickly, although since I went on vacation I've had quite a few scratch days.  I need two more one-pop days, and I've decided that my next habit will be to have only one sweet (candy bar, cookie, cake, whatever) each day.  After that, I'm not sure what the next step will be, but I have about a month to figure out.  So there you have it.  I feel like I've grown up a lot this year, but paying off my student loans has freed me to be a little more spontaneous, and I'm looking forward to seeing where the next twelve months take me.  And this, friends, is how you ring in the new year blogging.  Happy New Year, y'all.

Eskimo Tools, and Other Cold Things

Just how cold is it here in Ulaanbaatar?  It is so cold the Others north of the Wall would be shivering.  It is so cold that Faerie Queen of Winter Mab would be wearing earmuffs.  It is so cold that I am asking myself just how badly I want that coke.

In other words: cold.  And it's only going to get colder.

I've considered occasionally (that occasion being around the end of May or beginning of June) the stages of hot.  I have never before had reason to think about the stages of cold.  Most of my adult life, there has been just one coat for me, and I wore it no matter how cold it was.  When it got too cold for a jacket, I started wearing my leather trenchcoat, and that was that.  But living in the world's coldest capital has given me cause to cast my mind upon it at long last.  Let's see...

First, it got cold enough to snow.  This doesn't mean a lot here - we apparently have had snow up in the hills at least once a month for many, many moons - so let's change that to "it got cold enough to snow regularly."

Then it got too cold for a jacket.  I wore a sweater and a jacket for a while, but around the beginning of November I had to give in and start wearing my coat (the red cashmere one I had made in China - I decided my trenchcoat should be saved for winters one could reason with.  Also, I couldn't button it up, even if it still had its buttons).  Followed by my hat, and shortly thereafter I discovered I needed a cashmere scarf to match my coat (I no longer had a black pashmina since my old one had gotten pretty ratty, and hell, cashmere is cheap here).

After that, it got cold enough that the snow did not go away.  This has led to complications such as slick-as-snot surfaces (say THAT five times fast).  I have come to admire our faithful...groundskeepers?  Guards???  Whatever their exact job title is, the men about the school have the Sisyphean task of removing the snow from walking and driving surfaces.  If the regular snowfall is not removed, it gets packed underfoot and becomes a thick, hard layer that is slippery, dirty, and spit-encrusted, because that isn't going anywhere til spring, either. 

Your better businesses will keep their sidewalks clear, and that's a godsend, because when your feet slide right out from underneath you and you hit so hard it brings tears to your eyes, guess what?  You'll find out about the next level of cold.  Any moisture coming out of your eyes will freeze to your eyelashes.  If you have a sniffly nose (such as the one I've been using for the last five weeks), the hairs in your nose will freeze together.  Frost will form on the outside of the scarf that is covering your mouth and funneling your breath up to your eyebrows and eyelashes, which will frost over, too.

And very shortly thereafter, the skies will turn white.  Not "snow-is-coming" white, but "forecast-calls-for-smoke" white.  Because everyone and his brother are burning coal to heat their gers.  Actually, that's not entirely fair.  There are plenty of people living in apartments, which are heated with radiators, and plenty more living in the sewers, heated by the pipes that bring the hot water to our radiators.  But the pollution is gradually getting worse, and I know a day is coming where it won't make me any warmer to stand in a sunny window because the smoke will be blocking out the power of the sun.

And people wonder why I've been sick as long as I have.  The good news is, at this point, I doubt it can get any worse.  The better news is that by the time I come back in January to find out, two-and-a-half weeks of fresh, Iowa air should get me over my cold.  The best news of all?  When I go to Harbin in February, I might actually find the weather manageable, rather than being unable to cope with it and, thus, missing the snow and ice sculptures that are the whole point of going to Harbin.