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Author Archives: kayewer

• Another Twilight Fan Speaks Her Mind (No Spoilers)

  Posted at 12:35 am by kayewer, on August 3, 2008

  I’ve become a Twilight fan.  The series of four books by new author Stephenie Meyer, conclude with the release of book four:  Breaking Dawn, which came out at midnight.  A line of fans rivaling Harry Potter’s reign of bibliophilic wonderment, queued up at bookstores nationwide to snap up the book the moment it became legal to sell.  I chose the pre-order and mail path, figuring it was not my place at my age to lurk in large book retail stores late on a Friday night with over-hyped up young folks and their parents.  I am neither a parent nor a young folk.  I also don’t like the idea of having to dodge the “spoilsports” who haunt book release parties and try to ruin the surprise for the fans.

  The books, originally geared to a young adult audience but accepted by all ages, takes place in present day Washington where Isabella has moved to live with her divorced father.  Bella, as she prefers to be called, manages to fit in at the local high school but is rather self conscious because she is inept at sports and prone to accidents and awkwardness at all times.  One day she encounters a strange boy and his adopted family, and after some uncomfortable moments they find that they are all wrong and yet right for each other:  he turns out to be a 100-year-old vampire, and his desire for Bella’s humanity battles with his omnipresent bloodlust.

  I wish more stories were written with such age barrier crossing style.  There are online groups for teens, adults and even men devoted to the stories (Twilight is the first, followed by New Moon and Eclipse).  A movie version of Twilight is due December 12.  The excitement of a good book is a balm for the spirit, and if the movie is anywhere near as interesting as these stories, I’ll officially declare that the entertainment industry is back in full swing.

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• Effort VS Reward

  Posted at 12:43 am by kayewer, on July 27, 2008

  So I was going to the theatre.  This involved shaving, showering, shampooing, styling, powdering, makeup, moisterizer, sunscreen, hairspray, perfume, two layers of clothing, two pounds of purse, public transportation fare, the cost of a fifth row theatre ticket and fifty cents for parking.  I walked only two blocks, thank goodness, because the heat was inching toward 100 degrees and the transportation is conveniently located.  Through it all I managed to stay cool and well put together.  The show was great, and I got to make some new acquaintances.

  Afterward I went home, ate dinner, watched a movie, changed into nightwear and went to bed.

  Something is out of balance there, don’t you think?

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• The Pen Collection

  Posted at 5:11 am by kayewer, on July 19, 2008

  Hello.  My name is Kayewer, and I have an obsession with pens.  Put me in the writing implement aisle at Staples, and I’m a goner.  In the bank, I always pick up a pen if they’re free.  Just one, mind you:  I’m cutting back.  I carry at least three with me at all times.  At work, I have them in pen holders in nice, neat groupings:  markers here, gels there, highlighters in the middle because they’re taller.  If there’s a color I don’t have, let me know so I can go pick it up and fill out my collection.

  The pens that really excite me are Pentel RSVP pens:  they come in enough colors to make Crayola stand up and take notice, and they also offer a choice of capped or click styles.  If I were an artist rather than a writer, I’d love to sit and doodle with them, but instead I color code my scribblings, changing color when the mood suits me.

  Sure I have lots of other pens, including BICs, Sharpies and Zebras.  Funny thing, though:  I don’t collect pencils.  I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a ball deconstructing my brain for any reason, but it would be even more exciting to find out why people have office supply obsessions.  Believe me, there are more of us out there than you think:  just hang out at your local biz widgets joint.

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• Happiness Is An Avatar

  Posted at 12:50 am by kayewer, on July 6, 2008

  A little over a year ago, I became a resident of Second Life.  For the uninitiated, Second Life (SL for short) gives computer users an opportunity to experience an online rendition of reality not available before.  You might think of it as Alice in Computer Wonderland.

  First, you must choose an identity for yourself by selecting from a pre-set (but regularly updated) list of last names to which you attach your own identity through a first name of your choice; then you select an online persona to represent yourself, known as an avatar.  Once you open your free account, give “birth” to your avi and download the virtual world to your computer (known as the SL grid), you learn how to move your avatar by walking, flying or teleporting.  You learn how to gesture to other avatars, build things for yourself or to sell to others, communicate via messaging (either private or public), how to update your appearance so you can look as much like (or unlike) yourself in real life as possible, and how to use online currency, called the Linden, to shop, party and even get a college education.  SL has become so far reaching, universities have set up campuses to which your avatars can find courses and participate in with other like-minded individuals.

  Second Life is not a game, but a portal into another type of computer interaction.  Since becoming a resident, I’ve toured some amazing landmarks (even a resident’s rendering of Transylvania or the Star Wars planet Tatooine are available to visit), bought some nice avatar clothing, met amazing people from all over the world and learned some more about using my computer that I would never have done by reading a book.  It’s worth a visit and a tryout for free:  simply go to www.secondlife.com to read more.

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• Opera or Theatre?

  Posted at 1:59 am by kayewer, on June 29, 2008

  I’m not as big a performance nut as I used to be, but I still collect my pennies for something special when the conditions are right.  Usually this means I’m going to an event within a reasonable distance from home, I know how to get there and it doesn’t require a car.   God bless public transportation.

  For years I’ve enjoyed the opera, but in the past few years I’ve rediscovered the theatre.  My introductory theatre college course last spring exposed me to more productions than I would usually attend on my own, and after being saturated with so many offerings onstage I began to wonder which I like more:  opera or theatre.

  Opera is a bit exclusive in the minds of most people.  Even though many of the orchestral pieces we hear everyday on the airwaves come from opera productions, if you ask the average person on the street about them, they probably wouldn’t be able to identify them.  A song from a good musical, however, is guaranteed to outlast the production’s shelf life.

  Non-musical theatre is sometimes like television without the box.  This perspective changes the further you sit from the stage, but usually the action takes place in a huge niche in the wall, and you’re sitting on the outside looking in.  If you are exposed to a performance in an open setting, such as a thrust stage in which the audience usually surrounds the performers on all sides, it’s often hard to detach from the action in front of you.  That can be disconcerting.  I’ve seen three such performances in my life, and only one of them was light enough to be enjoyable.  It was a farce featuring prominent actor Louis Jourdan:  he actually had a scene in which he ran offstage in his boxers, socks and garters.  The other two were the (non-musical) adaptation of Spring Awakening and Othello:  sitting through both felt like I was an unwilling witness to behaviors I would normally want to report to the police (both feature death prominently), so I guess this style isn’t for me.

  Opera features artists who are classically trained to sing, and it is rare to hear spoken dialogue:  musicals feature professionally trained singers who also have to act.  A play can feature either of these, but they have to be able to act:  you can’t escape a bad acting job by breaking into song.

  On the other hand, musical productions these days are just so darned commercial and come off as emotion-stroking psychological mass hypnosis events.  They all promote largely and loud, and with Disney helming three productions on Broadway these days, a walk through New York City, just to wind my way to the Metropolitan Opera for a dose of Puccini, seems like I’m in the middle of a municipal mega mart.  The signs are huge, the lights glaring, the tickets expensive and, in the long run, it feels like being overwhelmed with sixty different brands of corn flakes.

  I’m actually going to see a touring production of Les Miserables next month.  It’s my first big ticket smash show in years.  I’m going for the cast, rather than the production.  At least I know what I’m getting into, but I won’t know until it’s over whether I’m a bigger fan of the theatre or the opera.  It will be up to them, not me, what the outcome will be.

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• V-A-C-A-TION!

  Posted at 1:05 am by kayewer, on June 15, 2008

  There is nothing like a vacation to ease the troubled mind.  I figured out that I saved about 500 miles of car travel, pumped a good 30 percent of my last paycheck into the economy eating out and shopping for things I couldn’t buy when I worked because the stores the merchandise were in always closed before I could get there, caught up on a month’s worth of sleep, lost about a day’s worth of sweat in the heatwave of last weekend and stayed even on my diet efforts without gaining or losing.

  I was going to trade up my cell phone for one with something called Bluetooth(R).  I don’t know how they come up with these names, but if you had told somebody 15 years ago that you have a Bluetooth behind your ear, they’d think you needed the services of a good cosmetic surgeon to extract it.  Of course it’s a piece of technology to keep drivers hands-free and (in an increasing number of states) legal, as it can be against the law to surrender one hand to holding up a cell phone while driving.  I felt it would be handy if I had to call while on the highway stuck in traffic.  I decided instead that, should I get in a jam, I’ll just pull over to the shoulder, park and call then.  Surely a cop can’t fault me for using my cell while sitting in my car in dead traffic, right?

  I didn’t go to the shore on vacation:  I didn’t want to add my own ugly, sweaty, pale body to the already overwhelming masses of  ugly, sweaty and pale bodies trying to find a square foot of umbrella space along the coastline.  Besides, I don’t indulge in bare feet in the summer, I dread the idea of bare legs, the smell of tanning lotion irks me and there are sand flies that cause excruciating pain when they so much as land on you.  Why bother?

  The idea of what is now being called the “staycation” is a good one.  I never understood why people buy a house costing two or three hundred thousand dollars, then spend most of their time not living in it.  They spend more money hiring cleaning staff, gardeners and pet sitters, and it seems the average couple has to work at four jobs just to make ends meet.  Why not just sit comfortably in your living room, slap some iced tea together and have your clean, dry and pale neighbors over for some quality time instead?

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• The Clothes Size Thing

  Posted at 1:06 am by kayewer, on June 8, 2008

  It came to me this morning, while I was in that no-zone stage between being on the verge of falling back asleep and saying “heck with it” and waking up for real, that one of the little but significant problems in our society is the issue of clothing sizes.

  Men have always had the choice of small, medium or large/x-large as have women, but then they also get to select their clothes based on their measurements.  Women, on the other hand, have a variety of numbers assigned to them.   Junior sizes are always odd-numbered, and I don’t really know why, but I suspect it’s because the Size Gurus think that, since the folks who normally wear junior clothes–adolescents–are a little off-kilter as they develop anyway, the non-even numbers fit perfectly with their profiles.  Then we have Misses, Womens and half-sizes.  Women are considered anybody who fits a size 14 or more, again for reasons I probably wouldn’t believe if they told me anyway.  In fact, in the women’s department they normally give a designation of “W” for size 14s and up that are built for. . . .shall we say “more ample” females.  Misses’ size 14 are not as proportioned.

  We also deal with something manufacturers politely call a “rise.”  This is how much trouser body you want to extend from your belly button, down and around and up to the small of your back, hoping to avoid a look that is considered undesirable in your plumber when viewed from behind.  Some women don’t care if they have a low rise:  in fact, they crave the exposure.  That’s not me.

  There is a chain store called Size 5, 7 & 9 that now carries other sizes.  I don’t know why only this one group of sizes is singled out.  I also can’t fathom the concept of Size 0.  That’s right: zero, as in no size.  Of course you would be holding a garment in your hands, but it is a null size.  Unfortunately I think anorexics might crave the status of such a designation.

  Why can’t women have clothes that are cut to fit the waist and hip?  If you take a 24 waist and a 36 hip, so could your brother or spouse, right?  Is that a crime?  Wouldn’t it be easier for the overall feeling of humanness we all crave to be considered worthy of real clothing measurements as men?  I’m just putting the thought out there, because it made sense this morning.

  Oh, and we want alterations on the premises, too.

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• Blue Jeans Lady

  Posted at 12:45 am by kayewer, on June 1, 2008

  Over the years I haven’t really owned a lot of pairs of denim jeans.  In fact my parents gave me permission to buy my first pair when I was in sixth grade (you have to remember that back when I was in elementary school, jeans were not the uniform code).  No matter what type you finally wind up buying, they never really fit well.  There is always something not quite right about them.

  I always thought it would be a good idea to just let women go into a shop and have a tailor custom make jeans for the individual customer, but then we would have the same privilege as men and that, apparently, isn’t allowed.  Men can have adjustments made to their clothes to match any part of their anatomy that isn’t in harmony with the fabric.  We women are just expected to all be Betsy Ross accredited seamstresses and fix our own problems, but have you ever tried to deconstruct a good pair of jeans?  It’s like chiseling rocks with a meat hammer.

  I finally did obtain one pair of jeans that I wear only on occasions when I’m trying to fit in, like our company’s designated “Jeans Day” this past week.  Frankly, I’m used to trousers without complicated or uncooperative flies on the front, and without the bulge created by the top of that darned metal button.

  Finally I should confess that my jeans are not indigo, so Stacey and Clinton from What Not to Wear would have my head on a platter for committing one of their major fashion faux pas.  However, at least they are decently proportioned and I only wear them when I absolutely feel it is sociologically appropriate to do so.

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• Reviews, Hugh and Goose Poo

  Posted at 1:29 am by kayewer, on May 25, 2008

  Now that I’ve passed my college class (got a B in my introductory theatre class) and subjected myself to the rigors of party life (see last entry), life has taken a rather bland turn.  I filled it in the last week and a half by devouring two vampire novels and discovering a new author to stir the emotional pot of my previously sedentary soul:  Stephenie Meyer.  She may be classified as a writer of YA (young adult) fiction, but this middle-aged bat didn’t feel at all talked down to after consuming Twilight and New Moon, the first two novels in a planned series, in an insane marathon which left my eyes dry (not that it didn’t move me to tears on occasion before the last word was read, but I often forgot to blink).

  As a devotee of Chelsea Quinn Yarbro and Anne Rice, it was good to have some reading material for those times in-between serial installments to keep my mind occupied.  I also have a stack of cheesy paperbacks ready for ingestion and, with any luck, I’ll have them devoured and my own novel written by the end of summer.  It’s a goal, anyway.

  As for the times I spend as an audience member in darkened theatre houses, I was thrilled to see so much enthusiasm about the latest production of Les Miserables in Philadelphia.  Having made the pleasant discovery of Hugh Panaro, a local who has played the Phantom on Broadway and toured Europe with Barbra Streisand, I was anxious to see wonderful reviews of his turn as Jean Valjean.  The critics are almost unanimous in their praise of his marvelous performance:  the one less than kind reviewer may have needed his morning aspirin and coffee before sitting down to his computer.  Anyway, I’m going to plant my tush in a theatre seat again after over two years to see the show for my first time in July:  I have that long to lose ten pounds, too.

  The other distraction that has kept me sane has been the ongoing saga of the goslings behind our office building.  The oldest ones are starting to look like the real thing, only more teenagerly (is that a word?) and gangly with no flight feathers.  The youngest pair, which hatched just weeks ago, are a cause for concern, as they are obviously late bloomers and won’t fledge until at least July.  According to goose experts, the parents don’t have their own flight feathers back until June, so I wonder how the other family will fare:  will the parents gain their freedom and abandon their young?  Will they fall victim to predators (as one did within days of its birth)?  Am I sounding like I don’t have my life quite in order yet, because I’m ranting about trivial matters?

  Where is that next paperback?

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• Par-tay, Par-tay, Par-tay

  Posted at 1:15 am by kayewer, on May 11, 2008

  I went to a party the other night:  it was a corporate sponsored event, so at least I knew everybody there.  Not being one to party often (the annual departmental winter celebration–we can’t call it a Christmas party anymore–usually doesn’t include a dance floor or alcohol), I found this particular event to be more fun than I had anticipated.  The music was loud, the food warm if not extremely tasty, and the company at my table all enjoyed the atmosphere.  I was seated with my departmental boss, my administrative boss, two fellow administrators, three former co-workers and a manager.  It was an honor to feel so highly rated that I was put into their seating plan.

  The table was packed with serviceware, and as always the policies of etiquette came into play as people tried to recall on what side they should start taking ownership of what they would be dining with; ultimately somebody winds up with two napkins while another person has none.  Maybe the caterers should just start putting the silverware and napkins in the center of the plates to erase any doubt.

  The music was all urban/disco/popular standard fare, and the dance moves were all the same as well.  Even though we all admit to the guilty pleasure of watching Dancing With the Stars, we’re all guilty of busting the same “swing and step” moves when it comes to our own performance.  At least nobody broke a bone.

  It was over too fast:  four hours of bumping elbows and dilating pupils on the receiving end of digital camera flashes.  Hope it’s as much fun next year.

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