Camera Obscura (a little light in a dark place)

Tue - May 12, 2009

And now, the end is near

Graduation in less than two weeks, no school for anyone after three

This is #1-Son's last week of regular classes. Next week will be a combination of some classes and "senior finals" which are not the same as everyone elses' finals and don't have to be taken (I think) if he already has an "A" in the class (and I know he doesn't take finals in any AP class that he took the standardized test for.) It's all very confusing, and I'm not certain he even knows what time he comes home which day. That's what cell phones are for, I guess.

Friday of next week is mandatory commencement practice; Saturday is Baccalaureate which we are giving a miss in order to hold an open house-type party for him because we have relatives coming in from out-of-state, and Sunday is commencement. He won't get his cap and gown until he shows up for practice, but the adornments pile up apace. There are the stole and hood for Bright Flight and National Merit Scholar (I don't remember which is for which), four Honor Cords in Language Arts, Foreign Language, Math, and Music, and the medal he got for being an Academic Excellence Scholar -- either cumulative grade-point average over 4.0, or top 10% of the class, I never can remember which. Before the grandparents start making disgruntled noises about no honor cords in science or social studies, he did not take either this year due to scheduling mess-ups, but he has five AP grades of "5" associated with the classes he did take in those subjects, so as far as I'm concerned he's an honors student in those, too.

The week after commencement holds three half-days of finals for #2-Son and Daughter, although the tests start the Friday before. I have no idea if / which finals either of them get to skip.

Daughter has a church work trip to South Dakota in June, and church camp in July. #1-Son will have to be hauled to Urbana sometime this summer to register for classes next fall.

And everyone should start classes again in mid-August.

Posted at 07:55 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Absolutely brilliant

The One-Hour Lord of the Rings was most fun I've had in a long time

What do you get when you take 9+ hours of Academy Award-winning movie making and condense it to one hour, then add lots of snark and purposely cheap costumes and "special effects"? The One-Hour Lord of the Rings. You also get three weekends of sell-out crowds and brilliant word-of-mouth.

Congratulations to Donna, Liz, John, and the entire cast and crew.

Posted at 07:30 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Thu - May 7, 2009

Cello Solo

#1-Son solos at his final orchestra concert

Because of glitches in the computerized registration system for District Solo and Ensemble festival, #1-Son did not get to take his cello solo to contest this year. So Orchestra Director had him play it last night during the last orchestra concert of the school year.

The video was taken with a cell phone, so is of low visual quality. You'll also need to crank up the volume.

J.S. Bach's Cello Suite #1, 2. "Allemande" (click the link)

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Thu - April 23, 2009

"But it doesn't mean anything!"

I'm still gonna brag about it, anyway

We went to the Senior Awards Ceremony last night, because we got a letter in the mail that said, "Be there. Your kid's getting something." I figured it'd take an hour, maybe an hour and a half. It should just be the Academic Pep Assembly all over, but without the lower three grades, right?

Two-and-a-half hours later, we finally escaped. Turns out there are some awards that every senior with better than a 3.5 grade point average (and who hasn't cheesed-off the faculty) receives. Since #1-Son's graduating with over 500 other people, that makes for a hella list, and they read everybody who showed up's name off and college choice (yes, we're still listed as Undecided) and ran them across the stage. On top of all the real awards / scholarships handed out... *sighs* Needless to say, we won't be doing that next year for #2-Son, even should he receive any.

So, here are the awards and scholarships #1-Son received:

Bright Flight Scholar
National Merit Finalist (he's receiving $1500 a year from the Big Airplane Company for this -- aka the Books, Supplies, and Pizza scholarship)
Large High School Academic Excellence Scholar (cumulative grade point average over 4.0, I think)
George Washington Carver Award (state recognition of academic achievement -- signed by Governor Nixon's machine)
President's Award for Educational Excellence
Gold Career Scholar-Artist (overall grade point average above 4.0 plus Scholar-Artist designation for this year and at least two others; the yearly designation requires meeting a certain grade point both overall and within the art discipline and performing certain activities beyond showing up for class)

He walked out of there with a medal, a pen, a pin, two large plaques, and a folder full of certificates. Everything but the pen will go in some drawer, to be finally moved out with all his junk when I decide he doesn't live here any more.

He'll have a stole to designate Bright Flight and a hood to designate National Merit when he goes through Commencement. He should have both overall and music department Honor Cords, too, if I understand these things correctly.

P.S. This should warm the cockles of my dad's heart: Large High is sending three kids to the Air Force Academy and one to West Point. Four to the AFA, if you count one that moved out-of-state last summer. Since the chances of any application to that institution being accepted are between 1:9 and 1:10, four from one high school class is a pretty decent showing.

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Mon - April 20, 2009

It's that time of the year

And we're throwing a graduation into the mix this year

It's the time of the year commonly referred to among my set as "crazy-making." All of the end-of-school concerts / tests / projects pop up, plus you add in a college decision and all the various graduation activities, and things are just going to be nuts here at Chez Obscura for the next month and a half. This upcoming week is a good example.

Tuesday is #1-Son's cello lesson. Weds. is dress rehearsal for the bookends' last orchestra concert right after school, and the Senior Awards ceremony at 7 pm. How that's going to be much different from the Seniors' portion of the Academic Pep Assembly is beyond me, but we're going because we got the letter that said, "Be there, your kid's getting something." Then Thurs. I'm supposed to go up to the scrap-booking place at the mall to join the rest of the senior orchestra moms in making scrapbooks for the kids, but the mom in charge said that if I can't make it, she'll do it if I get her the photos. That's up in the air, because I have to pick up #1 after Gamers' Club if the weather's bad. Then Friday #1 and Hubs are making a flying run to Urbana (leaving very early) so they can tour the campus and Physics department, because both UIUC and RPI want decisions by May 1. I'll probably haul #2-Son to the Sculpture Park to do his art assignment that afternoon; if I don't then it'll have to wait until Saturday afternoon after the bookends and I get back from church orchestra practice and have lunch. They'll play both church services on Sunday, and I'll have what's left of Saturday and Sunday to help #2 put his slideshow together.

Oh yeah, and I probably ought to buy Daughter some birthday presents in there somewhere, since her birthday is the next week.

Posted at 08:42 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

So, I guess the answer is "Don't call us..."

Because they haven't called me.

The last scheduled day of local shooting for Up in the Air is Wednesday; if they were going to use me they'd have phoned / emailed by now. Oh well.

Posted at 08:26 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

...And then he does something like THAT

What, you mean he really is 16?

#2-Son is autistic. Not just Aspergers'; he's full-blown mentally developmentally delayed. In several respects, he's still (and may always be) about six years old.

Which is why it always floors me when he does something so freaking... teen-aged normal. And absolutely knocks me speechless when he does something devious.

The former:

Autistics love rules. Decisions are hard; rules make life simple. So we have lots of rules here, even for things that in a "normal" household would be "duh, that's obvious, we don't even talk about it" sorts of things. And one of the rules is "homework first, fun after." #2 is very, very good about doing his homework. I don't even help him with it any more, except when he asks. Algebra, Personal Finance, Biology -- he sits down at the table and cranks through it until it's done. When he doesn't have any, he announces it as he walks through the door after school. If he's not doing homework, then there's none to be done.

Which is why I could have strangled him last night (Sunday) when he walked over to his backpack after supper and dug out an art class assignment sheet that says he needs to go to the Sculpture Park (30 minutes' drive away), take at least two photos from different angles of five different works, note all the info on each one's plaque, build a slideshow, and then fill out a critique form the teacher has. By a week from today. Granted, it was cold and rainy all weekend and we couldn't have gone, but still...

This time of year is crazy-making (there will be a post on that) and I can't get him there until next Friday after school, or maybe next Saturday afternoon. I emailed his teacher -- who had put a handwritten note on his sheet saying, "This is the option he chose, email me if there's a problem," and told her this, and that it would mean she wouldn't see anything until the due date and I hoped she could handle him doing the critique form late. What ya gonna do? *shrugs*

As for the latter:

Earlier last week, he walked into the dining room where I was working on the computer and said, "I'm making a swordfish in art class. A three-dimensional swordfish."

I sat there with my mouth hanging open. #2's not fond of art class, he's only taking the class because he has to have the credit for his diploma. Getting him to talk about what he's doing in there is like pulling teeth; I only do it when I'm desperately trying to stop a bout of his verbal self-stimming or keep him from feeling like he's being left out while his siblings discuss their school work (not that he seems to be upset by not being included in such conversations.) What's more, he's autistic. He never, ever starts a conversation. Not for social interaction. Speaking to someone is for the sharing of information necessary to get the other person to fulfill his needs. Which should have been a big clue to me, but no, I'm sitting there thinking, "Oh my God, breakthrough! We're having a conversation, and he started it! He's figured out that people talk to each other just to connect, and that Mom likes hearing about what he does at school!" Silly, silly me.

So I said, "Oh. What is it made out of?"

"Wire and papier-mâché."

"How big is it? Really big, or just medium?" I made the appropriate motions with both hands.

"Big. No -- I mean, just medium." He showed me the length.

I said, "Neat. I know you like fish."

He stood there for a minute, not saying anything. My mind was desperately a-whirl, trying to think of what else to ask to keep the conversation going. After all, he did go to the effort to start it. I could ask him how long he's been working on it, I could ask him why he decided on a swordfish -- no, why questions are too much work, I could ask...

Suddenly he said, "I'm going to make it blue. Do we have any magazines?"

A-ha. I've been had.

Not a conversation about "What I'm doing in school." Just a sneaky, round-about way to tell Mom he needs help with his schoolwork; to get her to dig up old magazines he needs to take in to finish an assignment.

Multiple points, my son. Points for getting your poor old mom's hopes up, and points for handing me the information I was gonna ask you anyway if you just walked up and blurted out, "I need magazines." He is figuring this "conversation" thing out. But he's never gonna talk just to talk, I fear.

After all, he is a 16-year-old male.

Posted at 08:20 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Sun - April 12, 2009

Amazon decides to bite the hand that feeds it

The Internet is not a smart place to do that

Amazon Rank.

Why. In case you've been a bit out of the loop.

Posted at 07:54 PM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Fri - April 10, 2009

Life in the Obscura House-o-Geeks

Various vignettes

Day before yesterday:

Me, to Daughter: You look nice today! (She has on a light turquoise tank top under a short-sleeved terry hoodie, white w/ a design in various shades of turquoise.)

Daughter: That's it, I'm changing! You know there's no faster way to get a teenager to change her clothes than to tell her you like her shirt... (/sarcasm)

Me: C'mere. (attempts a hug)

Daughter: Noooooo! (backs away quickly)

Me: Oi! How come you can glomp me and I can't glomp you? That ain't cricket, yo.

Daughter and #1-Son both make Bwuh?-My-Mother-Is-A-Looooony faces.

#1-Son: Um, Mom, I think you're...

Me: Mixing my slang?

#1-Son: Yeah.

Me: School -- You can go there now, kthxbai.

==##==

Last Monday, when it snowed:

Daughter showed up at the breakfast table in a short-sleeved hoodie over a tank top, jeans, and flip-flops. I went slightly ballistic: "Honey, it's right at freezing out there! It's trying to snow! Put on shoes! And long sleeves!" Okay, maybe a lot ballistic.

Both boys were sitting right there at the table when I had this little attack.

Not half an hour later as I shoved them out the door to the bus, #1-Son turns to me and says, "Bwuh? It's snowing!?"

*heavy sigh, with eye roll* I said, "Why do you think I made your sister put on real shoes? And told you to wear your winter coat? I said it was trying to snow, didn't I? It's opening day [of baseball season] -- of course the weather sucks!"

==##==

The Monday before:

#1-Son said to me at supper, "It was so weird to see your comment on one of my LJ comms."

I kinda blinked at him and replied, "Well, yeah... I read it and occasionally comment. I even post there, once in a moo balloon."

Daughter asked, "Why is he so surprised?"

I said, "Because he usually hangs out around ff.net and I won't go near that place."

He said, "Yeah, we don't play in the same parts of the Intarwebs. I mostly RP anyway.* I only read fanfic for the lulz."

I just had to: "You, sir, are in it for the lulz!"

*I call bull -- he spends most of his time lost in the time-sink that is TVTropes.

==#==

That morning:

Daughter came down the stairs after brushing her teeth singing Sondheim's "A Little Priest" from Sweeney Todd.

I chimed in with the second part.

And both of us took a wee bit of malicious delight in singing the last line of the verse: "It has to be grocer; it's green."

==##+==

A week earlier yet:

The kids and I were having supper in my friend's restaurant, and the ambient music was tuned to some odd digital station that I'd never come across before -- it played a lot of "unplugged" / small club live recording / not your normal version of stuff. I thought it was great; there was a brilliant track of Steven Stills doing an acoustic, solo version of "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes," for example.

Then the Beatles' "All Together Now" came on. The kids all perked up, and Daughter sang along until #2-Son, whose autism includes a major intolerance for off-key sound (rather than touch-sensitivity, thank heaven) snarled at her, because she has inherited my inability to carry a tune in a bucket. When it was over, the DJ nattered on for a bit about John Lennon and Liverpool.

Daughter looked at me all puzzled and asked, "What's that got to do with anything?" and I realized that the only version of this song that the kids had ever heard was off the Kermit: Unpigged Muppet album. While the kids do know that most of those songs are covers, they don't know the original artists.

I answered gently, "It was originally a Beatles tune."

Bless her, she did head-desk.

==##==

I leave you with Ten Annoying Habits of a Geeky Spouse, which actually describes 0100₂ out of 0101₂ members of the Obscura household.

Posted at 11:22 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

The only living boy in New York

Back in the Empire State

So, #1-Son is spending his second long weekend in a row in New York. This time he's in NYC, doing what all good tourists do and performing at Carnegie Hall. They flew out yesterday morning; they're touring Ellis and Liberty Islands today, going to see Phantom of the Opera tonight, performing and watching others perform tomorrow, and coming home Sunday afternoon. He and his sister were texting last night after supper, and he says the hotel room he and three other boys are in is really only big enough for two (spoiled, he is), New York is very big, and his feet hurt. Wait until he has to walk from the hotel to Carnegie Hall in his dress shoes Saturday afternoon.

He was so sweet Wednesday night. He came up behind me while I was on the computer, grabbed me in a big hug, and asked, "Are you going to miss me?" I answered, "My #1-Son? Of course I'm going to miss you. Something fierce." I'll tell you who is really missing him -- his baby sister. She demanded his itinerary so she'd know when she could text him and expect him to answer, and since it was piled in with the list of restaurants they'd suggested and the address of his hotel, she's down on the kids' computer right this minute Google-mapping everything. She just whined at me up the stairs, "Mommmm, there are busses parked in front of Carnegie Hall in Street View so I can't see what it looks like!" I told her to search Google Images. Really, who's the 21st-century girl here? And she gives me grief because I don't text fast enough for her... Anyway, over this past school year she's decided he's one of her best buddies. She grabs him in the halls at school when they pass (he complains, but can't get away because she's bigger; I've told him he still has bigger feet and should just stomp on hers.) And her reaction when she saw his senior portraits was, "That's so weird. I'm not used to my brother being a cutie."

But last weekend -- oy, that's the sort of excitement one can live without. I spent five hours in the sort of state one usually deals with when notified that an out-of-town relative has been hauled to the E.R.

The Rensselear Polytechnic accepted-students day was last Saturday, and since #1-Son had never been on campus and Hubs was already on the East Coast, we flew him into Boston on Friday afternoon and Hubs was to fly in from D.C. to meet him, then they'd drive to Albany that night and visit the campus the next day. Unfortunately, the eastern seaboard was experiencing some horrible weather that Friday. #1 got up and down on time, but Hubs couldn't get out of D.C.! They finally cancelled the flight before his when it came up to the time for the scheduled departure for his. He phoned me in a panic (because, y'know, misery loves company, not that there was a thing I could do) because #1 was still in the air at the time. Hubs' flight was questionable but still on the board, but there were no more seats on D.C. - Boston flights until Sunday should his flight be cancelled, and it's an 8-hour drive from D.C. to Boston. Panic at the disco, baby.

Me, I have internet friends all over. In fact, I have a good one in Boston, a nice woman about a decade younger than I am, with one boy having the same sort of behavioral problems #1-Son had in elementary school. We started as mutual Doctor Who friends, but discovered we have a lot of other things in common, like the boys. So I e-mailed her, and bless her heart, she told me that should Hubs' flight be cancelled, she'd send her husband to Logan to scoop up #1-Son and bed him down on her couch until Hubs could make the drive up to Boston. And she basically held my hand by IM and texting (#2-Son had an outing with his autistic-teens group) until Hubs texted that his plane was finally backing away from the gate (3.5 hours late), and I let her know an hour and a half after that when Hubs hit the ground in Boston.

I need to make a trip to Boston, just to hug this woman and buy her many, many drinks.

Posted at 10:55 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Mon - March 16, 2009

Back follow-up

Better. Much.

I heard from my mom yesterday because I didn't follow up on posting about my visit to the doctor. Whoops.

Boy, I had no clue just how badly I was doing until he ran the standard neurological tests comparing usage on the two sides of my body. It was kinda scary that he could easily break a grip on my dominant-hand side that I had no trouble maintaining on my non-dominant side. I had no trouble with range-of-motion, even given the pain in my back, but grip strength? Forget it. Then he got out his little reflex hammer and started whacking on my arms... I warned him that if he went for my right elbow, I'd just kick him before the hammer fell. He laughed.

He changed me over to a steady dose of Prednisone for 10 days, having me stop the decreasing-dose Medrol pack until the new 'scrip runs out and then use the rest of the Medrol to end the dose. There're only the last two days left in the pack; I hope that's enough to prevent withdrawal symptoms, which sound nasty. Nevermind, I just checked the meds -- the daily dose of Prednisone is only 10 mg and I'll get 8 mg of Medrol the next-to-last day and 4 mg the last day. Shouldn't be a problem, b/c the pack by itself would have taken me 12-8-4. Anyway, he said if I wasn't back to normal or nearly when I finished the Prednisone, he'd refer me to a neurologist. Doesn't look like that'll be necessary.

I don't know if it's because I am getting the full dose of Prednisone in one blast instead of 4 mg at a time or if it's placebo effect, but I really started feeling better after I switched doses. Yesterday I completely forgot to take my suppertime muscle relaxer, and I didn't hurt at all this morning despite sleeping longer than usual (yay, spring break!) so I didn't take it then, either. My grip feels almost normal, too. Hooray for getting my hand back!

Posted at 10:19 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Late to the party, but I'm posting it any way

Because this is just too cool not to.

This just trips sooo many of my geeky triggers: mechanics, sculpture, history, physics, time.

Meet the Chronophage (click to go through to YouTube; my stupid blogging software doesn't allow embedding.)

Fri - March 13, 2009

Because everybody ought to be a superhero

'Ware the wrath of the Spectacular Shredding Samurai

You can make your own Superhero , too!

Yeah, it's a pretty basic, classical costume, as the ones offered there go. I'm a classical sort of girl. And they had some pretty bad-ass weapons, but the katana was just too cool to pass up.

Posted at 03:38 PM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Thu - March 12, 2009

I like Nathan Fillion

...but I'm not sure I like Castle

It's a little too precious, too self-aware. Too meta, to use the currently-popular catch-phrase.

Don't get me wrong, it's a perfect vehicle for Fillion. Nobody does "bad boy with a heart of gold who gets away with misbehaving because he's just so gosh-darn cute" like him. And that's the problem -- there are no consequences for this character's misbehavior. He's a famous author who knows everybody and he's handsome and single; forensics at a busy NYPD branch get bumped to the head of a very long line if he's working on a case. The "beautiful, smart, and tough as nails" lady detective *eyeroll at stock character* neither tears a strip off him verbally nor throws his ass in jail when he disobeys orders and stomps all over a crime scene (of course he doesn't actually mess anything up, he's done research and knows better, but still) or worse yet, tackles a running, armed suspect and gets himself taken hostage. I'd have tossed him in the cooler overnight for obstruction; he'd have at least had the bother of having to phone his lawyer and pay the man to dig him out. His ex-wife is his publisher, and beautiful, and slightly catty but not out-and-out vicious to him. *another eyeroll* He lives with his mom, a batty ex-actress of no name who chases rich men *eyeroll again* and his daughter, a 15-year-old who is wise beyond her years *my eyes are threatening to stay behind my skull permanently* who brings her homework to book-release parties and refuses a glass of champagne because she's only 15. She's obviously the "adult" in the household, but she's cute and has a sharp mouth just like Dad and Grandma.

This show is labeled as a "dramedy" but there's damned little drama in the mix; it's all "Quip, beat, brilliant insight into the case, beat, quip." The show needs some real mysteries, some consequences for when the cute and well-researched but none-the-less amateur author sticks his nose into real crime and messes w/ police procedure, some fleshing-out of the detective squad, and a little less... cute.

Because although I like, nay love, Nathan Fillion, he's no William Powell. And the script writers definitely haven't come up with another Thin Man, as much as they'd like us to think they have.

Posted at 11:12 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Wed - March 11, 2009

Ow. Ow-wow-wow.

Oh, so that's a pinched nerve.

Going down to my mom's house for her surgery, I somehow managed to pull my right-side trapezius muscle . Nothing nasty, just an annoying knot right where it hooks into my spine in-between my shoulder blades. Dunno if I slung a suitcase about a bit too hard or what. Doesn't really matter, now.

A week later, it was getting better but still annoying, so I bit the bullet and had the massage therapist at the day spa where I used to work have a go at it. It was a rather stubborn knot, I was tired of dealing with it and I can handle a good bit of massage pressure, and I let him dig at it.

Whoops.

I woke up the next day with my arm and back on fire. Now, I've had a couple of massage sessions where I felt a little battered and bruised for a day afterwards, so I figured it would go away. It didn't. It got worse.

Wiki tells us that the ulnar nerve comes off the nerve bundle in the neck. He got it, big time, working on the top of my shoulder. My entire arm constantly burned like I'd whacked my elbow, I could barely move my fourth and fifth fingers, and I lost the ability to grip with any strength or confidence, or to lift anything heavy on that side. I'm right-handed, and in no way ambidextrous.

He also got one of my thoracic nerves, one of the ones that runs over the scapula, because my entire right shoulder blade was screaming, just under the skin.

Folks, I can handle a good deal of pain. I have been known (all too often) to walk on a broken foot. I refused prescription pain medication after each time I broke a foot, and after each of my cancer surgeries and when they cut out my wisdom teeth and shoved some bone grafts in the holes. Just plain didn't need the hassle of opiates; a couple of ibuprofen was all I took, if anything. But after a week of this; after a week of sleeping with all of my muscles locked up so I would stay in the one position where I hurt the least, a week of barely being able to sit up first thing in the morning, a week where I was holding my right elbow in my left hand trying to take the weight of my arm off my shoulder, a week of being dead tired from the pain all the time, a week where neither double the recommended doses of OTC NSAIDs nor hard liquor even cut the edge of the pain -- on Saturday when Hubs was home to take care of things since I knew it would make me loopy -- I dug out the hydrocodone they'd prescribed for me when they took out my wisdom teeth.

I tried it first with just one pill. It took two to cut the pain to one dull patch on my back. They also lasted a good long time; I was taking two doses a day rather than a dose every four hours as originally prescribed. On a full stomach. And announcing to the rest of the family that I was doing so, just so they could keep an eye on me. I AM NOT STUPID. I DO NOT TAKE OPIATES LIGHTLY. Lectures not necessary, and very unwanted.

Hubs said, "You WILL call the doctor on Monday." I did (told you I hurt.) I can't get in to see him until tomorrow (Thursday) but he called in a 'scrip' for Prednisone (one of those diminishing-amount doses) and a muscle relaxer. I now have most of my grip back (yay) and although the muscle relaxer doesn't kill quite so much of the pain as the hydrocodone did, it also doesn't make me stooopid all day, or pukey in the morning if I take one before bed.

I'll let y'all know what the doctor says and when he thinks I'll be something approaching normal.

Posted at 11:07 AM Permalink | | View blog reactions

Whatever happened to boring speeches by the principal?

Dear Rush,

"Ashes to Ashes"

So, you wanna be a rock star?

The melodious sounds of a Monday...

Moooooooo

Changing bits and pieces