How I Spent My Saturday

My plans *had* been of the naughty nature with my sweetheart. But he had to cancel his plans to visit. Alas.

So my next plans were to stay in bed all weekend and sulk.

That didn't seem like such a good idea (though the cats approved) so I did a bit..a small bit..of housework, buffered with lots of Second Life.

Then as it began to get dark out, I decided to go trim the hedges. Which seemed like a good idea at the time. So I shoved my celphone into my hoodie pocket and ventured outside.

Said hedges are on a slope and are, um, a good bit higher than my head. After realizing I couldn't reach most of the tops of the hedges, I focused on doing the sides, which wasn't too bad until I went around to the front of the house. I've been parking by these hedges for 2 years now, and Bartok's tires have created some truly impressive trenches in the dirt, which seem to be permanently filled with water. Fairly icky slimy dark brown water.

I straddled the tiny ponds and kept on trimming. Then decided to go get my ladder and try to hit the tops of the hedges. Then realized that putting a ladder up on very uneven terrain isn't the best of ideas, even *when* there's someone else home to hear the scream when you fall. When you're alone? Really not a good idea.

So I decided to nix that idea - yay me! - and instead replaced it with the impulsive move of dropping my celphone into a pile of branches as the sun was going down. *facepalm* Which led to my crawling around the lawn for...a while and dragging my hands through some incredibly icky muddy water, desperately hoping my phone was not in fact in said water. Which led to my very determined statement to the universe: "I will have my phone back in my hands safe and functional, in the next ten minutes."

Cue my neighbor, keleyat, to drive by, stop, and ask me exactly *why* I was crawling around my lawn in the dark.

The quick use of his celphone helped us to locate my phone, safely buried in a pile of leaves. Which meant my visualization worked.

Yay!

And someday perhaps my neighbor will *not* stop by the house when I'm involved in some 'well this seemed like a good idea at the time' course of action that has gone horribly horribly wrong.

I then retreated back to the bed, where the cats happily made room for me and where nothing else stoopid could (in theory) occur.

(So, um, elfowls_nest, that's why your hedge looks like it has a mohawk. Sigh.)

(I...really need a keeper.)

Now *THAT'S* steampunk.

One of the most confusing statements made to me in my teens was when a fellow student looked down her nose at me and said, "You dress like you want to be living in the 17th century."

'Well. No. 19th, actually. And what's wrong with that?"

So, Gentle Reader, you may well imagine that I was thrilled when steampunk started raising its Victorian-influenced head..though I admit I missed its first stirrings, and it both amuses and frustrates me that now that Victoriana has become mainstream, I can't actually afford to dress in the style which is my brain-default.

And as much as I gnash my teeth at all the varied things that are called "steampunk" in hopes that the label will sell product that is not REMOTELY steampunk, I still love the popularity of the..movement? Fashion? Interest? Fandom? Pick whatever label you wish. Steampunk makes my heart happy.

That said, I am a bit spoiled.

You see, when steampunk finally hit my radar, I was quickly swept into Philadelphia's interpretation of it. At the center of that is Dorian's Parlor, run by someone whose stated intent is to host events for people who become family rather than attendees.

Gil succeeds. Rather brilliantly.

I've watched him go from 'wow I hope I break even' to celebrating a glorious one year anniversary. People travel from neighboring states to attend this monthly event, and the attendees support events all over the dang place.

(And for me, there's definitely a warm fuzzy connection. In particular, when I was in the midst of a really difficult personal situation, Gil himself wrote me an email and invited me to come on down to Philly, where an 'anonymous benefactor' had provided me with a ticket to the evening's event. I don't think Gil really knew me from Adam..so to speak. But that one very short, very sweet email illustrated to me that yes, Dorian's is about more than paying your money and listening to some awesome music whilst dressed in your steampunk best.)

I've had people tell me that steampunk is bad because it's not 'dangerous' enough. I've heard people criticize the steampunk world because it's become too commercial. I'm sure the term 'mall steampunk' isn't far off in our future. And, as with so many things, I spend more time on the sidelines than I do actually immersed in the culture.

But what I love about steampunk - besides the creative Victoriany goodness - is the open-armed 'we love everyone' vibe. I love that, if you are dresed as, say, a steampunk bunny, people will embrace that and even take the time to caution you to watch your skirt lest someone walk on you. I love that you can go to, say, TeslaCon and be completely immersed into an alternate reality. I love the music, I love the art, I love the creative reimagining of..well..everything, and I friggin' LOVE seeing Jules Vernes and Mary Shelley getting some mainstream attention.

I unabashedly love steampunk and the gloriously dressed extended family that it's created. And I'm lucky enough to say that I have a community in that world that loves me right back.