fictional: (ianto/myfanwy)
When was the last time you played?

Me? Well, tonight.

And the white sangria (tastes like pineapple juice. Exactly. Dangerous, that.) had nothing to do with it.

After a delightful meal, my dear Gwendolyn1 [ profile] sykii and I were enjoying a post-prandial stroll through Inwood Hill Park, and discovered that the Indian Road Playground stays open till 1 am.

At first, it was just memory lane, you know? What we would have imagined stuff to be (war stations, living chessboards, hallowed hallways through which to make stately evil imperial marches.

But then... there were swings, people. Swings. I love swings. Closest thing to flying I've found ever. And I slid down the corkscrew slide, and [ profile] sykii can still hang upside down by her knees. We can't really be grown up, can we? If we can still do that?

Seriously, it was kaleidoscopically fun.

I can't wait to go back.

1 Obligatory Importance of Being Earnest Reference, pay it no mind.

(P.S. Gratuituous Icon Postage. ARE THEY NOT ADORABLE? I think I ship it.)


Aug. 3rd, 2009 12:41 am
fictional: (wine)
Minneapolis is a city on the second floor, and its labyrinthine-ness means that directions have three dimensions. (Remember, the enemy's gate is down, I kept thinking.)

Cut for some pictures )

Anyway, I am home now. I have stuff to say about the con as a whole, but I think that must wait till I have a) some sleep, and b) some perspective.

There was some *fail of various kinds, and I'm writing this down here, because I have to write about it, and I want to not be a victim of my own cowardice and, you know, speak about/interrogate how I feel. So, f-list, if I don't do that by tomorrow night, please nudge me. I really want to do this, and I think it's important that I do. But... I'm giving myself a day to compost first.

Plus, I think I'm still hungover.

Met lots of great folk! Hung out with awesome people I already knew. Got a lapdance (???).1 Drank way too many martinis. (See above re: hangover.) [ profile] invisible_lift, [ profile] rm, [ profile] miep and I wrote fic! Post-it Fic! That I love with an inordinate passion, perhaps disproportionate to its, er... significance. But so it goes. Hopefully there will be posting (of the post-its? Hah.) soon.

So, more soon. I promise. (Hold me to it, okay?)

1They said it was burlesque. It was not burlesque. On the other hand, she had nerd glasses and purred in my ear? And rubbed noses? What, as they say, the fuck?
fictional: (jenny)
Hi guys. Thanks to all the commenters on The Deep That We Shall Never See; I'm sorry I haven't responded yet, but I will. It's a problem of... not knowing what to say, and being... on a weird page, I guess. Anyway, I do sincerely appreciate it. And luckily [ profile] rm has been holding down the fort.

I've been taking a computer break. Saturday, I had to watch CoE again, with my darling [ profile] faris_nallaneen who had not yet seen it. And the lovely [ profile] magnetgirl came over too. spoilers )

Today I left the house. It was exciting, maybe the most gorgeous day of summer we've had yet, with not a cloud in the clear, blue sky. D. and I drove down Riverside Drive, and had dinfast at the Boat Basin Cafe -- a big juicy charred burger, with juicy red beefsteak tomato, and red onion and sharp green lettuce. It tasted unbelievably good. Then we walked through Riverside Park, stopping at the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial to watch two guys practice the fencing scene from Hamlet. (Which I discovered just now through a little google-fu is for an actual, free production, to be performed on the North Patio there from the folks at Hudson Warehouse.)

And then we wandered over to Broadway, and D. bought me a copy of The Demon's Lexicon by [ profile] sarahtales.(I've just finished it, and I loved it, actually. If you like YA, and/or watch Supernatural, I strongly recommend you give it a go. Two brothers, demons, snark, magicians, betrayal, love in odd places and of odd kinds... it's quite lovely. I knew what the deal was before I was a quarter of the way in, but it's not really an "oh what a twist" book -- the fun is in watching it unfold to the characters, and that part is done really beautifully. It's the first entry in a trilogy, but absolutely satisfying as a standalone.)

After that, we sat in the sun for a while, reading, and snuggling, and laughing, with the breeze in our face. Ten minutes at a time went by that I didn't say something about Torchwood. (I think it was at least half an hour, but D. disagrees.)

Then we drove home.

Life, it goes on.

Also, sex is nice. Note to self: Do not get so wrapped up in bloody Torchwood that you forget this simple fact. *grin* I don't know how D. puts up with me. But I thank all the small gods for it. spoilers )

I have stuff to say about writing and stories and art. But that will wait for tomorrow later today. I really need to get to sleep.


Jul. 9th, 2009 07:25 pm
fictional: (dr. who family)
Today, for the first time, my dad fell asleep right in the middle of our conversation. At first I thought he was just joking around, but no. He wasn't.

I realize now, and again -- it doesn't seem to matter how many times I do it, the realization still feels fresh and new -- that this is not going to get easier. I will not wake up one day and get to go back to the way things used to be.

Never. Never. Never.
fictional: (dr. who family)
You guys. So... a couple of days ago, [ profile] rm said, "Hey, you coming to the Doctor Who New York meet-up?"

And I said, "Uh... do I ever?"

And she said, "...Paul Cornell's1 gonna be there."

And I said, "Oh."

Thus it was that tonight, I girded up my loins, and called up [ profile] magnetgirl and said, "hey, want to come to this thing at this pub and meet Paul Cornell?"

And she (being much smarter than me) said, "Hell, yeah."

So we did.

Dude, it was AWESOME. I made an ass of myself only twice! Once, when we were all chatting, and the conversation turned to BBC Robin Hood? And I was like, "Wow, that show was terrible. I watched the pilot, and then (because it's not fair to judge a show merely on the basis of the pilot)... I tried to watch another one, but was unable to get through it."

And he said (in his innimitably charming British way), "Er... hope that wasn't one of my episodes."

You guys can probably picture the look on my face?

He hastened to add that he didn't think less of me. I believe his exact words were, "I'm not proud..."

([ profile] magnetgirl quickly covered for me, making sure that he knew I hadn't made it to one of his while I tried not to swallow my own tongue in embarrassment.)

AND THEN, unsatisfied with the sheer level of savoir faire I'd displayed thus far, when he brought up sexism and homophobia in genre television? (He was talking about how there was a lot of sexism and homophobia in genre tv, but he didn't think that just because characters have drama (and bad things happen to them), means that the show is sexist) and I decided that would be a good time to tell him about [ profile] magnetgirl's and my argument about Steven Moffat.

"So," I say, "I mean, I think he's a fabulous writer and everything, but there have been accusations of sexism, and I have to say that she and I watched Coupling together... and though she disagrees with me, frankly, I think it is incredibly sexist..." (I was going to go on to say that it didn't mean I wasn't a fan of his Doctor Who episodes...)

But I am interrupted. "Er...," he says, all but scuffing his feet, "before you go on, in the interests of well, everyone, I have to tell you that Steven was the best man at my wedding, and I was the best man at his, so..."

You guys can definitely picture the look on my face now, right??? Yeah, take that previous look and multiply by... a billion.

He saw the look too, and hurriedly said, "I have to tell you that I spend most of my life apologizing for him though. We go into a room, and five minutes later, I'm all, 'yeah, sorry about the village, he didn't mean it really' and if we're lucky, we make it out without being killed. So I completely get where you're coming from."

As you can see, I have clearly missed my calling as a socialite.

Even despite all this, I had a brilliant time. Seriously, he was very smart and cool, we actually got to talk in detail about writing process, doctor who in specific & fandom in general, being social when you have social anxiety...and spend most of your time behind a keyboard, and the art of writing villains. It was great, and hearing him talk about story boarding with Russel and Steven and David fucking Tennant, was fairly squee inducing. He was completely gracious, and made sure to talk to everyone in the pub, but he came back to our group at least three times, which was pretty rocking. He and [ profile] rm got to bond about the clusterfuck their panel at Gallifrey is gonna be, and basically, he was charming, funny, and despite my attack of foot-in-mouth disease seemed charmed by us, which is always nice.

Yeah. I may need to do this meeting people thing more often. It was fairly spectacular. The pub also seemed to have a live band? Which had... an itinerant flautist? Seriously. He wandered around the pub playing his flute. There was an attempt made to get him to play the Doctor Who theme, but it failed. Instead, endless renditions of Michael Jackson's ouevre. You haven't lived till you've heard "Beat It" played on the flute, bass, and synthesizer.

1You may know Paul Cornell as author of DW episodes such as "Father's Day", "Human Nature", and "Family of Blood".
fictional: (palin master)
First, there were the PUMAs. Have you guys heard about these folks? PUMA apparently stands for Party Unity My Ass, (??? Really?) and they seem to be American feminists women of a certain age who feel utterly betrayed by the election, and spend a lot of time totting up grievances about who has suffered more, people of color, or women? (And what about female people of color? They don't seem too bothered. The sisterhood, it seems, doesn't contain them; it doesn't even seem to occur to them that it ought to...?)

In all seriousness, they actually seem certifiably nuts.

I spent a good portion of today rubbernecking the traincrash reading [ profile] palinpumawatch and clicking on through to associated links. Whoa. If you don't want it filtered, go straight to Reclusive Leftist and look around. I think the mod, Violet Socks, or whatever is a deranged fruit-bat, but the real gold (or tragedy, depending on how you look at it) is in the comments, and the community being fostered. Here is a pre-election sample. At first I was mesmerized (and enraged!) but then -- I began to see the heartbreak of it. Because, from my reading, these seem to be women who have sad, sad lives. They talk about marital discord. They talk about giving up everything for their families (occasionally in really bad poetry.) They are among the casualties of the system, right? And their lives are ordinary, and seemingly filled with a host of claustrophobic, petty disappointments. And so this neo-con cult of aggressive mediocrity (Exhibit A: Not!Joe the War Correspondent1) is going to be terribly appealing to them. Something that makes a virtue out of victimhood, that places all the blame for everything terrible that has happened to them squarely on the shoulders of someone else -- much like Sarah Palin, and her post-election, 2012 prep interviews that accuse everyone of being so unfair. At least the bizarrely named NiceDeb who actually compared Obama to Hitler (!!!) is the most offensively wingnut of conservatives; these other ladies seem to be left-leaning? Or believe that they are left leaning? But I don't think the word means what they think it means. Much like their beloved Hillary being named "secretary" of state? Because some of them don't seem to like the idea. Why? Not just too little, too late, but ...the idea of being a man's secretary? ...kinda sticks in the craw, doesn't it???

Um. No.

And yet, there's legitimacy in their quarrel with the world, right? Hasn't socialism/communism failed women in a stunning myriad of ways? Of course it has, just like capitalism, and well, basically every system in the world. It's a sexist world, no question.

And then I started thinking about feminism. Third wave? Radical? Sex positive? Post-feminist? What is the place of feminism in my philosophy?

I mean, not the PUMA way, obviously. Voting the other way for McCain and his "women's health" and Palin, who is NOT a feminist, saying that abortion wouldn't be necessary if young girls weren't "sluts" (yeah, these PUMAs are really pretty weird), dissing on Michelle Obama, who is just pretty awesome, even if she's got the most thankless (if prestigious) unpaid job in the world, AND voting against the man who not only supports a woman's right to choose, and you know, equal pay for equal work, and incidentally, say what you will, is closing down Gitmo, and trying to make government transparent, and is shutting down the secret CIA prisons round the world [And that's just the first three days in office!] cannot be considered left or feminist, in my opinion.

But what can? How do we appropriately deal with a climate of institutionalized and internalized sexism?

Unrelatedly -- but to close with a taste of awesome, via [ profile] rm, author Cathrynne M. Valente makes this post of sheer poetry about our new world.

1 I don't even like Rick Sanchez, but I must admit to enjoying that clip. But this begs another question. I love participatory culture. I think the ability of the internet to give ordinary people a voice, and an impact on affairs is staggering, and awesome (in the old, non-valley sense of the word). And yet, (oh god, am i agreeing with Sarah Palin?) -- we shouldn't be getting our news from blogs! Because there's a difference between reading people's opinions (the Op-Ed page, the Editorials) and the actual news! Is it wrong to want journalists to be, you know, trained? I don't think I've got any right to go to Gaza and be a war correspondent...! And I'd like my president to be smarter than me. I mean, the problem with majority rule is that the majority of people kinda suck, don't they? But if we agree that the Great Man theory of history is wrong...? ...Although ever seen a movement succeed without some stellar spear-heading? I just go back and forth on it all the time. But this just leads me back to one of my central problems -- how does one unite a desire for excellence with an allegiance to the interests of the common person? And the old problem of communism - what is it that binds the intelligentsia and the workers together? But this is another post, for another day...
fictional: (full face)
If you know me in person, you know I am mostly on time for things. Not always, not every day, but I spend a lot of time on street corners, waiting for people to meet me.

The sad part about this is, of course, that it's made me think of myself as the Person Who Shows Up. (Corollary is, naturally, When Other People Don't.)

Perhaps you know the feeling? You're waiting by a predetermined location. It's cold. You eye the crowd, picking out a jacket color that looks familiar, or a certain way of walking. There they are, you think excitedly, this is them! But they come closer, resolve into focus and out of expectation and you realize it's not the person you're waiting for at all, wrong hat, wrong height, wrong face, wrong, wrong, wrong.

And then you wait some more, and do it again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

If I changed this around a little bit, tweaked the metaphor, it could be a description of my entire childhood and adolescence. Longing, waiting, expecting, and the inevitable rush of disappointment. Over and over and over: waiting to be met, perfected, chosen.

Never happened.

That's true. It never did.

Because the trouble is, of course, while you're waiting, you have tunnel vision. You miss a lot of stuff. In the background, over there. While I was waiting to become cool, to become a musical prodigy, to have some stupid boy fall in love with me -- things were happening. Ordinary things. I was being chosen, and not only did I not know it at the time, if I had, I probably wouldn't have cared.

In an elevator, I was about a year and a half old, a toddler, and going down to the laundry room with my mother. The woman who lived in the apartment above us was in the elevator too. Somehow, and I don't know why or how, she met my eyes -- and she must have fallen in love. That's what she says, anyway. Flash forward a little more than a decade, and she's taking me with her on a trip to Tennessee, and a little place called Highlander.

It's there that I meet Rosa Parks, who tells me that she thinks I'm stubborn & tenacious. And that means I'll do great things. It got her places, after all. I don't really care; I'm much more concerned about not getting that solo in chorus.

A few years later, I'm in high school. We're singing with Pete Seeger in some concert in Central Park. Sweet Honey in the Rock is there too, and out of the chorus rehearsal, Bernice Johnson Reagon picks me out of the line - (I'm in front because I am short.) She calls my name, says in that deep, rolling voice of hers: "How are you doing? Remember you used to sing for us in that apartment in DC? We talk about you all the time... Don't you waste your promise, child."

I didn't really care about that either; just an old lady I can barely remember from when I was a kid, nattering on. Not important. Much more concerned with an argument I'm having with my friends, and how lonely I feel all the time. No one sees me, I think. A few weeks after this, I perform a social experiment: I stop speaking except when absolutely necessary for three weeks, to see if anyone notices. No one seems to, and I feel humiliated. And vindicated in my humiliation.

There's so many of these encounters, I can't even tell you.

I met someone in an elevator -- not that I remember it, I've just been told -- and they fell in love. That had nothing to do with me, I was just a toddler. It was just grace. Luck. And because of it, I was a child who was known to so much of the civil rights movement -- heroes, REAL heroes -- and I didn't notice or care.

Today I heard that Odetta died.

I don't know what to say except that I wish I had appreciated being chosen to be a child in the presence of greatness like that.
fictional: (whiskey tango foxtrot)
Last night I dreamt that I couldn't sleep. All night long.

I was in an uncomfortable bed at a friend's house; the walls kept closing in. Lights were on. The walls were brightly colored - salmon, I think. People kept moving in and out of the room.

What new torture is this? I don't know how I'll be able to deal with dream-insomnia, for fuck's sake.

Also, my head has turned into an enormous vessel of snot. I am so sick. That's not a dream. I don't think. Unless I'm not actually posting this, in which case the end must be fucking nigh.

Jungian analysis, please?
fictional: (doctor traveling)
Thank you all for your words of encouragement! I am feeling a bit better, and slightly less like an extremely angsty seventeen. Which is good. I don't know how teenagers make it through adolescence without killing themselves or being killed by others. I appreciate it muchly, and will endeavor to be a little less classic lj-whiny in future - but I make no promises. *grin*

I watched the Children in Need charity thing. First of all, it was pretty budget, wasn't it? I mean just the first two mins of the Christmas special? CHEAP. And also, *sniff* it was sad. Two minutes less of absolutely new Ten material. I really want my Seven Doctors story. Now that would've encouraged me to donate!

At some point soon, I've got to post pictures of the Chicago thing, and [ profile] magnetgirl's and my incredibly underappreciated halloween costumes. And the regency ball photo essay! I see I have a lot of fiddling with pictures in my near future.

Today I taught "The Last Battle" and Neil Gaiman's "The Problem of Susan." Susan was always my favorite; she had long black hair, as opposed to Lucy's golden curls, she was a wicked shot with a bow, and could swim, and I loved her. "The Last Battle" broke my heart. What do y'all think about the problem of Susan? I don't know why being an outcast from an undesirable redemption filled me with so much woe, but it did. Also, the Stable at the end of the Last Battle? Lewis says it's "bigger on the inside than it is on the outside." [ profile] faris_nallaneen accuses me of seeing everything with TARDIS colored glasses. Probably true.

If it's wrong, I don't want to be right.
fictional: (doctor traveling)
So, kids, I'll be mainly off line till Sunday night, unless I go crazy and get the wifi in the hotel room. Unlikely, but you never know. Have a happy halloween, and there'll be an update when I return.

I'm starting to fear that this trip is just a bit jinxed. So far I've had a really hard time reading my Tennant paper ([ profile] hofnarr made me a mourning band. I may wear it while presenting.

Yes, I am an enormous dork. This is news?

Last night was the resurrection of the stomach death which = no sleep.

Then I dropped my keys down the elevator shaft.


Think good thoughts; I've a feeling I'm going to need them.
fictional: (Default)
God. I am so devastated right now.1. Pathetic, I know, but there it is.

And it's confirmed.

I am so upset right now. *laughs* I know it's "just" a show, but this is just. Wow. I can't even really form words.

1Casting spoilers in the link.
fictional: (academic)
So. If you looked up procrastination in the dictionary, you would NOT therein find a picture of me, because I would've thought, eh, tomorrow's soon enough to send it in, no?


I have vowed to not sleep before finishing this paper. It is on Doctor Who. WHY CAN I NOT CONCENTRATE FOR MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES AT A TIME? WHY???

In the last two days, I have a) not done anything fun, and b) also not done anything productive. I have, however, read the ridiculous lj comms about lifestyle master/slaves, read the NY Times, written some fanfic, read the Guardian, read post secret, refreshed LJ 14 squintillion times, drank a whole lot of red bull.

My life is so glamorous.

Comfort me with apples. Or you know, encouragement.

I beg of you.

...Maybe I should take a bath.
fictional: (whiskey tango foxtrot)
Dude. I hereby put forth a motion that today (well, yesterday now, I guess) should be eradicated from time and space. SRSLY. It was an enormous clusterfuck from start to finish, and ended with, well... you can read about it here.

For all of this, I was lugging around my school stuff, plus an extremely heavy three volume set of Alan Moore erotica. That's the punchline to something, but I don't know what. "There isn't a part of me that doesn't hurt."1

Let's just say Rach's and my story meeting did not exactly go as planned. *laughs* On the other hand, somewhere between low blood sugar, MTA fuckery, the paucity of cabs in New York very not at its finest, and oh yeah, THE HOSPITAL, we did actually manage to solve some stuff. Now, that's dedication, right?

So, Iceland collapsing, world financial system in havoc, sickness all around, the fucking election: there's chaos and horror everywhere I turn, it feels like. The one thing to hold on to, is that my little chosen family, my clan - we seem to face it all with black humour, and chin up, and oh, am I fucking grateful for that.

I'm so proud to be a part of it. I JUST WISH WE COULD CATCH A FUCKING BREAK. Just a little breather. Is that so much to ask? Jesus.

I am so tired, I can barely see.

1 That's just never going to stop being funny.
fictional: (Default)
Uh... my bank.

Yeah. Not much else to say there.

Also my co-writer is made of win. Go. Fanperson. =)

New episode of Supernatural = Awesome!sauce. cut for spoilers )
fictional: (full face)
I've lots of things to post about - drinking absinthe, bombs, food porn, etc. etc., but this is not that post.

I've just discovered that Lucy Maud Montgomery killed herself in 1942. Anne & Emily, Valancy & Pat and Jane - they were some of the dearest friends of my childhood. And this year, I've been reading L.M. Montgomery's journals for my dissertation - and reading someone's diary is such an intimate feeling, even after they've been published, even after they're dead.

I remember discovering the short stories - ghosts, and divorces and illegitimate children and alcholics and depressions, always depression - and I was so fascinated.

This, though. This makes me feel... I don't know what.
fictional: (full face)
Bombs go off in New Delhi.

Some of these bombs went off in the shopping district right near my house in Delhi. I've spoken to my family, everyone is okay.

I'm still in shock. More later.
fictional: (full face)
1. [ profile] faris_nallaneen has wicked sharp teeth.
2. Also, [ profile] silvergirl is not as straight as previously suspected.
3. [ profile] kayjaywhy is a font of bouncy, fun times.
4. I can now park at Torchwood, courtesy [ profile] rm
5. [ profile] wordsofastory is both elegant and eloquent, but not cute1. She can, moreover, hula-hoop.
6. So can [ profile] sykii.
7. I, however, cannot.
8. Rotgut whiskey is bad, mmmkay?
9. Playing pool is fun. I even won a few games.
10. [ profile] magnetgirl and I can still elicit the 'thumbs up' from tie wearing douchebags whilst kissing. Really, how many times can I say - we are not the lesbians you are looking for. Move along.
11. I still am not cool2 enough to know the electric slide.
12. Can't argue with diplomatic hurricane. It's better than diplomatic flu, 'cause you don't have to pretend to have been sick later. Hanna was a better guest, anyway. She scared away the weak of will, not to mention the other bar denizens. Ha!

I had a good time. And then hungover Sunday, with D. and the Bronx Krewe, and of course, the Doctor, without whom no party is complete.

Birthday loot now includes
(from [ profile] magnetgirl and her boy) - tickets to Chamber Magic at the Waldorf, where I am told I will discover that sorcery is real. Also, it's jacket & tie. Awesome!
(from [ profile] sykii) - opera glasses (I shall take them to the floating opera in redhook! it will be fabulous!), antique pulp - if there's such a thing - the Red Lily, by Anatole France, and The Imaginary Poets
(from [ profile] askeladden) - a book called Creepers, which I hadn't heard of (but the flyleaf is a map of a memento mori cemetary; cannot go wrong with that!!!), and Bloody Jack, YA cross dressing pirate adventure.
(from [ profile] rm) - the aforementioned Torchwood parking permit. Now a ticket to Cardiff, a pan-dimensional surfboard, and I'm all set...

1This last part is a complete lie. She is totally cute.
2For a given value of cool...
fictional: (Default)
...who gave me such awesome birthday wishes. It made my day.

So far birthday loot includes:

(from the boy): two books on con artists and scams (in order to fuel the flames behind my planned galactic con man story. oh yes.), a jack/ianto otp pin, a dalek exterminate pin (it is the littlest dalek, OMG so cute, d. said it reminded him of me, don't know quite what to make of that...), FACE OF BOE for my desk, and a very fancy dinner at prune, about which more food porn later.

(from the folks back in India): a long rambly conversation involving my grandmother and various aunts, of which the upshot was - well. did you know that if you don't get married by the time you are 30, you turn into a pumpkin? and not just any pumpkin. a shriveled, old, rotten one. apparently my orange rind is showing. yeah. that was fun.

(from the mom & dad): a necklace, a set of water colours and some brushes (??? I am perhaps the least artistic person on the earth, certainly with brushes or pencils - i can just about draw a recognizable stick figure, on a good day), a cake.

(from [ profile] faris_nallaneen): tickets to the floating opera in redhook, Lavinia by Ursula LeGuin (the Aeneid! from Lavinia's pov!), The Penderwicks at Garden Street (sequel to a kids book I adored), and the new posthumous Madeleine L'Engle. *squee*

I hear there is more stuff headed my way. *dances* greedy? me? never...

I am also ridiculously kinda excited about the merlin-arthur porn I see headed my way as a result of this. I can see it coming, like a great wind.

Also, I am pretty ridiculously amused by Stephanie Meyer Wanky McMormon taking her toys out of the sandbox and storming home in a huff. Hilarious. I love when professionals act like spoilt children. Oh noes! Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out, lady.

And for you lovelies, to brighten your day - have you seen the large hadron rap? If not, you are seriously missing out.
fictional: (doctor phone)
So, I just had to make a quick [read 3 hours] dash to the New College Which Must Not Be Named. (I may need a new fandom-specific name for this one: thoughts? Prydonian Academy will not do, as I fear it will not be all happy, happy, joy, joy.) It was frantic because I'd not read the email closely, and I was just checking it to make sure I was getting certain notations right in my syllabus, and then I realized that we were *ahem* requested & required to make an appearance at a New Faculty Tea. At 3pm. It was 2:10pm when I was reading the email. SO I dashed out the door, armed with laptop (so I could work on the subway, always fun, and I ended up just writing more story instead, bad kali! no biscuit!) and ran like the hounds of hell were chasing me down to the college.

Only to discover that it was totally useless. It was in fact, just tea. (Literally tea. And lemon cake. and ice cream - none of which I ate.) Dunno what they made such a big deal about it for; it was completely insipid, and also not net-worky. Just to produce the illusion that we are all collegial colleagues, with spirit Feh. And if I have to hear once more: "Oh, you teach children's literature! You're so lucky!" I might throw something. I'm not lucky, okay? I've got balls and attack ovaries, and therefore enough guts to actually study things I like, rather than things which look respectable. Luck has got nothing to do with it! ANYWAY. I did get some writing done, which was okay, and on my way home, I stopped at the bookstore to see if my texts for the class had arrived, and didn't even have to go downstairs because I saw a bunch of college boys coming out with them all in their hands. One of them was cute too! He looked exactly like Lex Luthor from Smallville. Dunno what I'm gonna do with that.

In conclusion, a rec. This is a Doctor Who vid; it's called Handlebars, and I think it is incredible. The song choice is impeccable and fits the Doctor in all his breathtaking arrogance and fundamental glee so perfectly, but with all that, there's an underlying irony; the glee is undercut throughout by notes of anguish that just made me want to cry, even as my mouth hung open in awe. It's the kind of vid that is so very clean, you almost can't see all the work the vidders did to make it work. Spoilers through 4x13: Journey's End. Go check it out!
fictional: (whiskey tango foxtrot)
First, let me say, in the spirit of counting one's blessings before getting on to cataloguing the curses: I really do like my apartment. It's got a study for me (although I never use it, really - somewhere along the way, I've turned into a work-on-the-couch kinda girl, but my beautiful, jam packed bookshelves are there), and it's got a balcony where D. smokes his cigarettes and stares off into the distance - great for summer storm watching, and also to hang up the party twinkly lights, and I, [ profile] magnetgirl + boyfriend and [ profile] faris_nallaneen all painted the walls a gorgeous pale green and dark brown and a sort of goldy-cream & we hung fawn/silver striped curtains. It's a very nice flat, especially for NYC.


Not all of them, I hasten to add. Not the lovely Greek family who lives on the left. They are awesome, and also, the lady of the house is the VP of the co-op board, and her very charming, old, grandfatherly husband is so great; always waits till I get my door unlocked in the hallway, as if wanting to be there to help me if I need it - not sure what he could do in an emergency, since he looks to have the approximate tensile strength of a dry, thin twig, but it's very thoughtful and sweet. There's also a young sorta Rastafarian couple down the hall, who seem cool but keep themselves to themselves. The Asian family down the hall, also perfectly respectable.

BUT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A CRACKER - everyone else. Let me see.

First: Stalker Dave, who used to make a habit of ringing our buzzer @ 3am, asking to be let in. Now I am often up at that hour, but really. Also, kept leaving me excessively odd notes, and the odd plant, and coming out into the hallway whenever I opened my door, making small talk while I waited for the elevator, and then going back into his apartment. Maybe if you had a Southern accent, buddy, I could've bought that, but you don't. Told me I "saved his life" because he "was making pasta when [he] shouldn't have been" and had to take the pot outside, and forgot his keys. ???? At 4 am. Yeah. It was weird. D.'s still pretty adamant on getting a baseball bat (since I put my foot down on the gun issue).

Second. Dude down the hall is convinced that the phantom smell of cigarette smoke that lingers in the hallway is us, smoking in our apartment that, for the record, we own, and keeps putting "Quit smoking" propaganda under our door, so that sometimes we can't actually get the door open because of the wedge. Also hanging up HUGE posterboard signs in the hallway, with our apartment # on them, with gigantic notes requesting us to quit smoking. Today I came home to this gem:
Apt. # [redacted],
Please stop smoking inside the apt. It can be smelt from the 2nd floor stairwell + and is most strong in front of your apt,.. If Apt. [redacted] can quit smoking, you can too. It is best for all concerned, including most of all, you. OR request door jamb smoke excluders from the mgmt.

NATURALLY no signature, because if you're going to do something like that, why not be a fucking anonymous coward about it, eh? I've complained to the mgmt about this guy, and they were very nice, and say that he's done this to other folk, and I actually thought he'd *ahem* quit doing it after the last time, but apparently not. I don't know what the hell they can do to stop it, but it is incredibly infuriating, ESPECIALLY since, as you may recall, D. (who is the smoker, I have maybe 4 cigarettes a year) always smokes either on the balcony (as aforesaid) or sometimes in inclement weather, by a window with the fan blowing out. Not that it matters, because not even if we stood in our foyer and blew smoke out the door crack into the hallway on purpose, would this guy have a leg to stand on. Also, remember the nice Greek family I mentioned before? The nice grandfatherly gentleman had a heart bypass just before we moved here, and according to his wife [the co-op VP], no longer smokes. We learned this when she was very kindly expressing her sympathies for the harassment. Of course, it came as something of a surprise to us to hear this, because we see him in the stairwell in front of our apartment all the time, smoking on the sly. Now of course we're not going to blow up this nice old man's spot; it's his heart, after all, and he can do what he likes. BUT IT IS SO AGGRAVATING. Just the sight of one of these notes now has the effect of sending me into a fucking tizzy of pissed offness.



fictional: (Default)

August 2009

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