I was enrolled in an Idol style singing competition where I was doing double duty performing and assigning everyone a song. This is apparently not a conflict of interest when I am the one doing it. Even though I had scrawled the song choices on the back of a folded up piece of brown paper bag, I couldn't figure out who had been assigned what (and most importantly what my own song would be). Ever ready to intervene and micromanage, my boss showed up. She then took my paper away from me and reassigned them all, giving me that awful Mariah Carey Hero song. This did not please me one bit and not only because I don't know the words to Hero, even if I have been unable to escape its lesson that a hero does indeed lie in me. Luckily, I miraculously remembered my original plan and changed everything back, so I'd be singing Bob Wills' Drunkard's Blues as performed by Kelly Hogan on the Pine Valley Cosmonauts Salute to the Majesty of Bob Wills, which is only true and proper.
Happy with my final choice, I headed off to the school cafeteria as an excuse to look for David Boreanaz at the salad bar. He had been flirting with me earlier outside, so it seemed the sensible thing to do. So, I toddled off to the salad bar to feign the inability to eat, because I was so nervous about my performance. This would allow me to be delicate AND advertise that I'd be singing without directly asking him to come. Unfortunately, when I tried to bump into him line, I learned that he would not be able to attend the competition. Undaunted, I offered to sing for him there. He declined, claiming he had work to do.
Apparently he was investigating a girl, who was turning into a demon and had to go to her room (probably to look at her etchings). In the end, as is so often the case, she exploded and then I was on a bus looking for her residence hall (and David Boreanaz). I never did find him, but her remains (the shredded plastic of an exploded blow up doll) were indeed scattered about her boudior.
After that, I hopped back on the bus and headed over to the campus information desk, which was made of bales of hay. The two information officers were very friendly, so I talked to them for a bit while I waited for my friends to arrive. They asked me if I knew anything about the anti-war rally on the 19th, so I gave them a poster sized flyer out of my purse.
Poster distributed, it was time to adjourn to the Underworld with my mom, a guy from church, and a small Chinese woman from work. First, though, we had to find a meeting room. We parted ways when Churchy went off up the stairs to look for it, while we looked in our area. It was then that I noticed a door to outside and immediately to the right of it, a door back to the inside. We took it, and ended up in a long hall that lead to a dimly lit sanctuary filled with demons with white, scaley skin. We walked down a long walkway between the pews they were sitting in, ignoring them, but afraid they would try to grab us. Then we went around another corner and into another even darker cavern that had rickety, rotting wooden ladders, over a pit of fire. When we got to the bottom, there was a narrow path between the coals, leading forward.
After that, we were in a very small movie theater alone. Strange beings kept coming in. The others were afraid, but for some reason I was not. Because I am apparently a hippie in my dreams, I told the others that all they had to do was medidate on the word "Peace". This would give us time to determine what to do and also protect us from the demons. My coworker (whom I actually DO like in real life) kept jabbering and interrupting the necessary quiet with her incessant prattle. I kept meditating and trying to ignore her as a group of spooky looking hooded beings in black came in. I tried not to focus on them and kept focusing on the word "Peace", they turned into black men in nicely tailored pin-striped suits, who asked if they could sit with us. I was just contemplating inviting everyone to join me in using one of the exits to the front of the theater, when I was rudely awakened by the alarm clock, which is a shame, because I suspect John Wesley Harding was waiting outside to fly us all to safety in his magic bus.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
March 19th Rally
We interrupt the Tales of Birthday Revelry series to announce that the big day is here - March 19, 2006, the third anniversary of the Iraq war and occupation.
It's a gloriously sunny day, and in a few short hours, what is predicted to be at least 10,000 Portlanders (though I hope for more!) will hit the streets in protest. The sun and the fact that the rally has a record number of sponsors and endorsers seem to bode well.
Everyone I know has heard about the event ad nauseum, however, in case anyone has forgotten it is at 1:30 today in Waterfront park. For anyone who has never protested before, it really is an empowering feeling it is to be surrounded by thousands of other people who share your beliefs and are trying to do something about them. Hopefully, the energy and sense of community will inspire people to speak up. There's so much that people can do, especially when they work together.
More on today's protest,PPRC and the regular Friday rally later. I'm off to take a shower as I don't want to be blamed for single handedly bringing down the peace movement by clearing the park with my funk.
P.s. If you see the bus named Cool on the streets and listen closely, you'll notice that the ice cream truck music is actually The Marseillaise. I don't know why, but the unexpectedness of that tune in such a chirpy context delights me.
It's a gloriously sunny day, and in a few short hours, what is predicted to be at least 10,000 Portlanders (though I hope for more!) will hit the streets in protest. The sun and the fact that the rally has a record number of sponsors and endorsers seem to bode well.
Everyone I know has heard about the event ad nauseum, however, in case anyone has forgotten it is at 1:30 today in Waterfront park. For anyone who has never protested before, it really is an empowering feeling it is to be surrounded by thousands of other people who share your beliefs and are trying to do something about them. Hopefully, the energy and sense of community will inspire people to speak up. There's so much that people can do, especially when they work together.
More on today's protest,PPRC and the regular Friday rally later. I'm off to take a shower as I don't want to be blamed for single handedly bringing down the peace movement by clearing the park with my funk.
P.s. If you see the bus named Cool on the streets and listen closely, you'll notice that the ice cream truck music is actually The Marseillaise. I don't know why, but the unexpectedness of that tune in such a chirpy context delights me.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Tales of Birthday Revelry - Holbein's Madonna
This just in. Revelers (aka Martina) report that this year's festivities are shaping up to be the best birthday week ever in the history of Martina!
Although my birthday is not until the 20th, festivities began early with a cake and presents at work on Thursday. My boss (who got me a lovely Entertaining at Home cookbook, which features a recipe for a Mixed Berry & Chicken Salad that I cannot wait to try!) is going out of town next week as is another coworker. This meant that I could not have my actual birthday off, so I chose to take St. Patrick's Day off instead.
As it turns out, other people's infernal insistance on taking vacations and going to meetings just to spite me (ok, they didn't really do it to spite me) ended up being a blessing, because it allowed me to go downtown visit the Hesse: A Princely German Collection exhibit which is reaching its last days at the Portland Art Museum. The exhibit features the stunning Holbein Madonna and a number of Winterhalter portraits on loan from Moritz, Landgraf of Hesse and his son, Prince Donatus. With the collection closing on the 19th, I managed to slip in just in time.
It really is awe inspiring to stand in front a painting like Holbein's, not only for its magnificence, but for its history. As was the case with many German art works in World War II, the painting was sent eastward for safe keeping as the fighting advanced, and came very close to being lost, as a HeraldNet article explains:
During World War II, it was transported from Darmstadt east to Silesia to keep it safe. As Russian soldiers advanced through Silesia in February 1945, the painting was again loaded up and transported westward. En route, it narrowly escaped the firebombing of Dresden.
On a snowy night in December 1945, the 19-year-old Moritz of Hesse was sent by his uncle, Prince Ludwig, to retrieve the painting from Coburg Castle, accompanied by an American officer whose job was to find works of art that went missing during the war.
After removing the painting from Coburg Castle's dungeon, Moritz and the American officer packed it into an Army truck and headed for the Hesse family's Schloss Wolfsgarten palace. The truck caught fire. Fire extinguishers on Jeeps that passed by didn't work.
"We finally suffocated the flames with sand and earth, and I was able to bring the family treasure to Schloss Wolfsgarten intact," Moritz, now the Landgrave of Hesse explains.
And lucky it was that the family treasure was restored. The family held onto it for a while until seizing the opportunity to try to sell it to the Getty Museum. Ultimately, however, the fell through when was blocked by the German government due some beaurocracy on its part concerning non-exportable national treasures, so the family was forced hang onto it. Fortunately, Portland has been lucky enough to have the painting here on loan for the past months.
Although my birthday is not until the 20th, festivities began early with a cake and presents at work on Thursday. My boss (who got me a lovely Entertaining at Home cookbook, which features a recipe for a Mixed Berry & Chicken Salad that I cannot wait to try!) is going out of town next week as is another coworker. This meant that I could not have my actual birthday off, so I chose to take St. Patrick's Day off instead.
As it turns out, other people's infernal insistance on taking vacations and going to meetings just to spite me (ok, they didn't really do it to spite me) ended up being a blessing, because it allowed me to go downtown visit the Hesse: A Princely German Collection exhibit which is reaching its last days at the Portland Art Museum. The exhibit features the stunning Holbein Madonna and a number of Winterhalter portraits on loan from Moritz, Landgraf of Hesse and his son, Prince Donatus. With the collection closing on the 19th, I managed to slip in just in time.
It really is awe inspiring to stand in front a painting like Holbein's, not only for its magnificence, but for its history. As was the case with many German art works in World War II, the painting was sent eastward for safe keeping as the fighting advanced, and came very close to being lost, as a HeraldNet article explains:
During World War II, it was transported from Darmstadt east to Silesia to keep it safe. As Russian soldiers advanced through Silesia in February 1945, the painting was again loaded up and transported westward. En route, it narrowly escaped the firebombing of Dresden.
On a snowy night in December 1945, the 19-year-old Moritz of Hesse was sent by his uncle, Prince Ludwig, to retrieve the painting from Coburg Castle, accompanied by an American officer whose job was to find works of art that went missing during the war.
After removing the painting from Coburg Castle's dungeon, Moritz and the American officer packed it into an Army truck and headed for the Hesse family's Schloss Wolfsgarten palace. The truck caught fire. Fire extinguishers on Jeeps that passed by didn't work.
"We finally suffocated the flames with sand and earth, and I was able to bring the family treasure to Schloss Wolfsgarten intact," Moritz, now the Landgrave of Hesse explains.
And lucky it was that the family treasure was restored. The family held onto it for a while until seizing the opportunity to try to sell it to the Getty Museum. Ultimately, however, the fell through when was blocked by the German government due some beaurocracy on its part concerning non-exportable national treasures, so the family was forced hang onto it. Fortunately, Portland has been lucky enough to have the painting here on loan for the past months.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Signs
Today has been a day of highs and lows. On the up side, the day brought the opportunity to master the art of the glue gun making signs and peace sign "puppets" (really large, cardboard costumes that make the wearer look like a peace sign with legs) with PPRC, making me feel crafty AND "activistic" all at the same time. To up the activist angle even more, I was interviewed by the evening news (though perhaps I should hold of on deeming that an "up" until I know a) if they air the interview (they interviewed my mom too, maybe they'll use hers...I hpe they do!), b) if I come of sounding like a total goober or not. Having had an experience being misquoted by a sloppy reporter in the past (albeit on the subject of language acquisition and not war), I do not underestimate the power of media to make anyone sound like a total asshat.
That said, I do hope that I said something worthwhile. I am amazed that, even with the number of reservations I have about the invasion and occupation of Iraq, it was difficult to express them all in a pithy two minute interview. Now, I can think of a million things I should have said. I could have touched more on the loss of human life. I could have talked about how the funding of this war is diverting money that could be going to programs within our own country. I could have talked about how Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11 and how occupying Iraq does nothing to protect us from terrorism. (Is there anything that can be done to protect people 100%? I really don't think so.)
Instead, I just came up with something about how being against the war is too often confused with a lack of support for our troops. I talked about how my dad was a veteran and fought in Vietnam and that we were lucky he came home. A lot of people aren't so lucky, and the best thing we can do to support our troops is pull them back when their lives are being squandered in an unnecessary conflict.
On the down side (though not as down as the tens of thousands of people [I refuse to break the numbers down into Americans versus Iraqis...the waste of human life is the waste of human life regardless of national or religious affiliation] who have died since the start of the war), today would have been my father's birthday, if he were still alive. I woke up feeling kind of grumpy and didn't realize until almost half way through the day that it wasn't really that I was in a bad mood. I was just sad.
On the down (but kind of funny in retrospect) side, it is quite possible that I no longer welcome in the Mennonite community. Although I have no affiliation with the Mennonites, they generously donated the use of their basement for our sign making party. Unfortunately, I created what I suspect was a faux pas when I yelled "God dammit!" after burning myself multiple times with a hot glue gun. My paranoid side thinks there must be a special part of hell for those who take the Lord's name in vain in a church. In my defense, I can only say that it just slipped out and that re-burning skin that already has fresh blisters REALLY hurts!
I like to think that my gaffe is somewhat indicative of the ongoing spiritual crisis I have been experiencing since we started flirting with occasionally going to church. I like some of the "love they neighbor" sorts of ideals, but have a hard time with a lot of the details. If I'm going to be honest, I have difficulty self-identifying as a Christian (I am told by the pastor that this is typical for Progressives), Bible thumpers and evangelism tend to annoy me (I've not been told anything about that, since I have kept that tidbit to myself), as do people with habitual speech patterns like "Well, pray about it and let me know."
Personally, I think God has better things to do than be an enabler to my wishy-washy nature. I like to think that if I really were to ask him for guidance on something that should be self-evident, God's response would be "You know the right thing to do. Do IT* and leave me to the people with some real problems." *Note: "Do it" would be said in God's best Ben Stiller as Starsky voice, but he wouldn't ask me who my wig man is, because being omniscient, he already knows who all of our wigmen are.
My conflicted feelings about religion are a subject another, much longer post. Suffice it to say that I am having a hard time with labels and ascribing to any one religion as the "right and true path". Rather, I feel kinship to the big concepts like compassion, peace, treating others with respect and kindness, etc. That said, I am off to watch the news to see if I, my mom or any of our friends will be featured.
That said, I do hope that I said something worthwhile. I am amazed that, even with the number of reservations I have about the invasion and occupation of Iraq, it was difficult to express them all in a pithy two minute interview. Now, I can think of a million things I should have said. I could have touched more on the loss of human life. I could have talked about how the funding of this war is diverting money that could be going to programs within our own country. I could have talked about how Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11 and how occupying Iraq does nothing to protect us from terrorism. (Is there anything that can be done to protect people 100%? I really don't think so.)
Instead, I just came up with something about how being against the war is too often confused with a lack of support for our troops. I talked about how my dad was a veteran and fought in Vietnam and that we were lucky he came home. A lot of people aren't so lucky, and the best thing we can do to support our troops is pull them back when their lives are being squandered in an unnecessary conflict.
On the down side (though not as down as the tens of thousands of people [I refuse to break the numbers down into Americans versus Iraqis...the waste of human life is the waste of human life regardless of national or religious affiliation] who have died since the start of the war), today would have been my father's birthday, if he were still alive. I woke up feeling kind of grumpy and didn't realize until almost half way through the day that it wasn't really that I was in a bad mood. I was just sad.
On the down (but kind of funny in retrospect) side, it is quite possible that I no longer welcome in the Mennonite community. Although I have no affiliation with the Mennonites, they generously donated the use of their basement for our sign making party. Unfortunately, I created what I suspect was a faux pas when I yelled "God dammit!" after burning myself multiple times with a hot glue gun. My paranoid side thinks there must be a special part of hell for those who take the Lord's name in vain in a church. In my defense, I can only say that it just slipped out and that re-burning skin that already has fresh blisters REALLY hurts!
I like to think that my gaffe is somewhat indicative of the ongoing spiritual crisis I have been experiencing since we started flirting with occasionally going to church. I like some of the "love they neighbor" sorts of ideals, but have a hard time with a lot of the details. If I'm going to be honest, I have difficulty self-identifying as a Christian (I am told by the pastor that this is typical for Progressives), Bible thumpers and evangelism tend to annoy me (I've not been told anything about that, since I have kept that tidbit to myself), as do people with habitual speech patterns like "Well, pray about it and let me know."
Personally, I think God has better things to do than be an enabler to my wishy-washy nature. I like to think that if I really were to ask him for guidance on something that should be self-evident, God's response would be "You know the right thing to do. Do IT* and leave me to the people with some real problems." *Note: "Do it" would be said in God's best Ben Stiller as Starsky voice, but he wouldn't ask me who my wig man is, because being omniscient, he already knows who all of our wigmen are.
My conflicted feelings about religion are a subject another, much longer post. Suffice it to say that I am having a hard time with labels and ascribing to any one religion as the "right and true path". Rather, I feel kinship to the big concepts like compassion, peace, treating others with respect and kindness, etc. That said, I am off to watch the news to see if I, my mom or any of our friends will be featured.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
The OC
As it turns out, I recently did have the opportunity to lay my head on a bed of California stars (or at least on a hotel bed with foam pillows and the ugliest synthetic seashell motif bedspread ever created in the history of man). This year my office was asked to assist with the coordination of our company's national training. As a result we were invited to attend meetings in Los Angeles to make sure everything ran smoothly. At least that is how they put it, my assessment of things is that we were sent there to act as meeting lackeys.
Nonetheless, as anyone who has been here knows, January in Oregon generally holds the promise of rain and more rain, only interrupted by intermittant bouts of rain, so when some coworkers and I learned we could fly down early at no extra cost, we jumped at the chance to leave on Saturday to visit the Orange County coastline and enjoy the sun. Despite some substantial differences in our interests, politics and approaches to travel, the weekend turned out to be fun.
I was even more glad that I went after a couple of them told me that they would never have gone, if I hadn't already known the area and hadn't agreed to come along to play tour guide. It makes me happy I was able to do that for them, because the area really is beautiful. Also, the idea of not going somewhere because it is unfamiliar is completely foreign to my way of thinking. I like the excitement and freshness of seeing a place for the first time. Besides, we are talking about the OC, not Baghdad.
Ultimately, it baffles me that I am apparently the adventurous one in my office. When all is said and done, I am pretty boring. Still, I think that everyone had fun, so I'm glad we went. I'll talk more specifically about the trip next time, but for now, I have to go.
Nonetheless, as anyone who has been here knows, January in Oregon generally holds the promise of rain and more rain, only interrupted by intermittant bouts of rain, so when some coworkers and I learned we could fly down early at no extra cost, we jumped at the chance to leave on Saturday to visit the Orange County coastline and enjoy the sun. Despite some substantial differences in our interests, politics and approaches to travel, the weekend turned out to be fun.
I was even more glad that I went after a couple of them told me that they would never have gone, if I hadn't already known the area and hadn't agreed to come along to play tour guide. It makes me happy I was able to do that for them, because the area really is beautiful. Also, the idea of not going somewhere because it is unfamiliar is completely foreign to my way of thinking. I like the excitement and freshness of seeing a place for the first time. Besides, we are talking about the OC, not Baghdad.
Ultimately, it baffles me that I am apparently the adventurous one in my office. When all is said and done, I am pretty boring. Still, I think that everyone had fun, so I'm glad we went. I'll talk more specifically about the trip next time, but for now, I have to go.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
California Stars
One song that always fills me with a sort of wistfulness for my younger years, is Wilco and Billy Bragg's setting of Woody Guthrie's California Stars lyrics to music. It's funny, when I first moved to California, I was convinced that I would not last there for six months. On my first night there, sleeping on the floor of my new apartment, I remember having a midnight epiphany that said "I will not linger here". In the end, I lingered for four years, and probably would have stayed a lot longer, had my father not passed away.
So, in my memory, California has come to symbolize those early days of freedom after getting out of college. The world was bursting with possibilities. The sun was shining, and I was finally an adult with an apartment, a job, two cats and my own newspaper subscription. I remember times coming off the freeway when I'd see a particular cluster of palm trees, with ocean in the distance and think, "Man, I live here! This is my home!"
Then, everything changed. My dad died, duty kicked in, and I found myself planning a move back to Oregon, because I didn't want my mom to be here all lone. Even though I enjoyed my California life, the thought of her mourning and alone filled me with such guilt that I ultimately decided it would be better to move back to my real home - Oregon. I've lived other places since then, but somehow I keep finding my way back here to where the air is clean(er).
Still, despite its abundance of smog, there is a party of me that sees my California days as a kind of idyll. If I were Al Bundy, I suppose California would be high school football. Rationally, I know that it would never be the same now. Like me, most of my old friends have moved away. Things have changed; I have changed. I like where I am now. It is in those nostalgic moments when I miss the relative simplicity of being young enough to believe that misfortunes are things that happen to other people that I find myself missing the sunshine there. In those moments reminiscing about that time becomes an escape, and I find myself harboring a wistful appreciation for Woody Guthrie's lyrics to California Stars. I suppose that is why I've always been fond of the song.
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars
They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars
- Woody Guthrie
So, in my memory, California has come to symbolize those early days of freedom after getting out of college. The world was bursting with possibilities. The sun was shining, and I was finally an adult with an apartment, a job, two cats and my own newspaper subscription. I remember times coming off the freeway when I'd see a particular cluster of palm trees, with ocean in the distance and think, "Man, I live here! This is my home!"
Then, everything changed. My dad died, duty kicked in, and I found myself planning a move back to Oregon, because I didn't want my mom to be here all lone. Even though I enjoyed my California life, the thought of her mourning and alone filled me with such guilt that I ultimately decided it would be better to move back to my real home - Oregon. I've lived other places since then, but somehow I keep finding my way back here to where the air is clean(er).
Still, despite its abundance of smog, there is a party of me that sees my California days as a kind of idyll. If I were Al Bundy, I suppose California would be high school football. Rationally, I know that it would never be the same now. Like me, most of my old friends have moved away. Things have changed; I have changed. I like where I am now. It is in those nostalgic moments when I miss the relative simplicity of being young enough to believe that misfortunes are things that happen to other people that I find myself missing the sunshine there. In those moments reminiscing about that time becomes an escape, and I find myself harboring a wistful appreciation for Woody Guthrie's lyrics to California Stars. I suppose that is why I've always been fond of the song.
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars
They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars
- Woody Guthrie
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
January
Here we are over a month into 2006, which seems like a good time to reflect on how things are going. First, the good news. While I may have my eccentricities, I am clearly not as crazy as this guy, though I guess you have to the guy his due for creating a blog that is mentioned in The Bible. Even if the shout out is in a code only he understands, having a holy blog has to go a long way toward getting you the a-ok from Saint Peter. I wonder if my blog and I are mentioned, or does God give props on a paid advertising basis only?Anyway, even if my blog isn't exactly holy, the first month of 2006 turned out to be a full one for Martinaland. So, to all (a.k.a both of you) who said "Update your blog", I say "Bitch, please. I've been busy!" Now that is out of the way, I can tell you that with the new year came a flurry of activity - a trip to California, job opportunities, cool new hair, a number of new projects, and a final(ish) plan for the roomening. If the month of January is any indication, the year to come will not be a boring one (though I make no promises for this post, which could quite easily become long and rambly, shambling on like a movie that goes on for a half an hour too long).
Perhaps the best discovery of late December/all of January was Kate Ross' Julian Kestrel series. I know I touched upon Cut to the Quick and the fact that I was developing a book crush in my year end reading wrap up, but that was before I had read the whole series. I can tell you now that I still have a book crush not seen since the 70's heyday of Aragorn, Joe Hardy and Jim Rockford (though Rockford is, of course, technically a t.v. crush). I don't know what possessed me to let Ross' books sit around on a shelf for over a year before getting around to reading them. Here love was right under my nose, and I didn't even notice it. I guess I was looking for love in all the wrong bookshelves.
As it turns out, the Kestrel series are perfect light reading of the sort that can be devoured in a weekend. But don't let "light" fool you, the stories are so good with all all their twists, turns, and detail about 19th century society. I have to think that the detail is inspired by Ross' own background as a lawyer. What I love so much about the books is that Ross managed to develope a real, believable personality for her gentleman dandy crime solver and the other characters in the series. Through the course of the series, not only the individual mysteries are revealed, but also Kestrel's life and background, through a series of teasing revelations in each story. Additionally, each book includes references to past mysteries he's solved, which makes reading each new volume like reminiscing over shared experiences with an old friend.
It is such a shame Kate Ross died after writing only four volumes. While there are those series that definitely go on for too long and then become progressively more ridiculous (Laurell K. Hamilton, I'm looking at you!), it is always sad to see a good, non-ridiculous one cut off, especially when it's because the author died too young.
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