Callistonian.net

NaNoWriMo. I signed up. I don’t have any concrete story ideas; I don’t know if I’m going to write anything. But I signed up. That must count for something. I’m toying with the thought of writing a YA-ish piece from various perspectives. I made a character and a website for Rhiannon’s Worst Website Competition 2007, and I think that maybe it’ll be fun (in a slightly masochistic way) to write more from Ella’s point-of-view. There’s also the Korean Drama-like novella that I was working on. Hmm…

If you signed up for NaNoWriMo, how’s your novel going?

Also, I’m engaged! Oh wait—I’m engaged in my dreams. In one of them, my friend asked me to marry him—and guess what?—I said, “Yes.” I don’t know what I was thinking nor do I know what he was thinking. I’ve never had a dream in which I’ve put myself and someone else I know in anything that resembles a romantic situation, and sometimes I even have control over my nighttime musings, so this is completely weird. It doesn’t help that in the real world, I’m a little pissed at him… How could I say, “yes?” Anyway, because we’ve busy been (or, at least, he has), I haven’t talked to him in awhile but when I do it’ll be hard to shake the I-had-a-distrubing-dream-about-you feeling.

[”우리 왕자”와 약혼했다~ ㄲㄲㄲㄲ]

Is voting a game? In Texas, it is. To the lawmakers there, voting is a free-for-all vote-as-many-times-as-you-can extravaganza.

I’m not surprised. But it’s odd to think that their voting rules are:

1. To vote, press a button. The first person to press a voting button wins.
2. It doesn’t matter if the button is on your desk.
3. You may vote as many times as you want.
4. It’s all about speed. (i.e. If X next to you wants to vote yea, but you vote nay for him before he presses his button, that’s just too bad for him.)

Don’t believe me? Watch the video. For the record, these dirty little lawmakers need to stop what they’re doing. Their actions are completely without integrity. But, you know what?, I understand how this sort of practice could come about—it looks fun, doesn’t it? I’m always up for a challenge and I’d love to see how many votes I could ring up in favor of one my causes… fun fun fun. I digress.

Sometimes I find old things, and I laugh, thinking, “What was I thinking? What is this?!? But oh the memories…”

Years ago, I drew (I use the term loosely) some pictures documenting real life events. I thought of making a series of these, but never did. Nonetheless, here is one sans explanation and straight from my archives for your enjoyment.

Well, here’s something of an explanation:
I’m the green figure.
Girls = ______chicken (chickin?)
Boys = ______bob

(more…)

Rating:

Congratulations, Susan Elizabeth Phillips (author of Match Me If You Can). In my twenty-two years of life, your book is the first non-historical romance novel that I’ve managed to read, all the way through. You have no idea how big of a deal that is—I, despite being a great respecter of books, end up hurling most of these romance things across the room before I finish five pages. The airhead-ness of the women and the smuttiness of these sorts of novels are just too much for me to bear. But I finished your work of 388 pages in two days, and enjoyed every minute of it.

However, make no mistake, Match Me If You Can is not trash-free. The thought this book is trash popped into my head before I reached page 10. The bit that made me think such a dubious thing follows:

“Do you want me to call security?” the receptionist asked.

He turned his predator’s eyes on her, leaving Annabelle at the receiving end of another of those knockout punches. Despite the effort he’d taken to polish all those rough edges, the bar brawler still showed. “I think I can handle her.”

A jolt of sexual awareness shot through her—so inappropriate, so unwelcome, so totally out of place that she bumped into one of the side chairs.

That is as bad as Match Me If You Can gets. The novel as whole is witty and fun.The protagonist is charming. The other characters are fabulous and ooze personality. Who cares if there are small and random bouts of fan service? The quips, the characters, the storyline— everything else makes up for it.

So what is Match Me If You Can all about? It’s a modern day fairy-tale about matchmakers, football players, and football agents. It sounds strange, but it’s great stuff. It reminds me of the film Hitch, except Match Me If You Can’s plot is completely different and its protagonist is a woman. Annabelle, the protagonist, is a matchmaker. She’s intelligent; she’s sweet; she’s hilarious; she’s young-ish; she’s pretty-ish. But her over-achieving family views her as a failure. Annabelle hopes to prove herself to them (and to everyone else) by turning her matchmaking business into a swirling success—she has underdog written on her forehead. Heath, the beau, is Annabelle’s star client. Even though he has an interesting personality and flaws coming out of the woodwork, he’s completely love-able: he’s hot; he’s smart; he’s rich. As for the minor characters, they’re so much fun. I love them almost as much as I love Heath and Annabelle. There’s this one hotshot named Dean Robillard. I adore him; he’s my age. He and his friends remind me of people in my life: twenty-two year old college hotties who know they’re hot and who have the sweetest of personalities but who do things that make you think, “Where is his brain? (What?! Why in the hell did he eat plant food?)” If you read Match Me If You Can, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

Phillip’s novel is highly amusing. I really enjoyed it, and that’s kind of shocking. I normally don’t go for romance novels but, hey! If you’re looking for a light-hearted fairy-tale-ish novel to read, pick up a copy of Match Me If You Can. You won’t regret it.

Three of my favorite quotes, randomly selected from an excel spreadsheet, are what follows. Share three (or one?) of your favorite quotes with me. ♥

Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all. – Dale Carnegie

The earth laughs in flowers. – e. e. cummings

It is strange that words are inadequate. Yet like the astmatic struggling for breath so the lover must stuggle for words. – T. S. Eliot