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I was drinking heavily during last night's Supernatural, but its okay, I took notes.

Cut for spoilers.

( I love posse... )

And then I continued drinking rum and watched Milk and cried forever.

Current Mood: giggly
Current Music: The Washington Capitals can go fuck themselves.

I'm still on the fence about how I feel about last night's SPN ep, although I made dolphin noises at the TV every time there was a subliminal Titanic detail thrown across the screen, like the E.J. Smith travel agency and the clock, the CLOCK showing the time the Titanic struck the iceberg.

I was a big Titanic geek in my childhood, okay?

I said this to Katrina as we were watching Show last night when she demanded to know why I knew all of the things.

"And it had nothing to do with the movie. This was before the movie even came out."

"So, what you're saying is that you geeked out about the Titanic before it was cool to geek out about the Titanic?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So. You were like, a Titanic Hipster when you were ten years old?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I had like, no friends, because dragging a tome like Titanic: An Illustrated History out to the playground at recess tends to peg you as a freak."

"Good. I'm glad."

Right. Okay. So. The rest of this post pertains to boring RL. Apologies.

Lucy the Staypuft Marshmallow Car is at the body shop awaiting parts for repair. I've renamed him the Danger Magnet for the time being. Psycho!Bambi did about $3500 in damage: new fender, new hood, new front drivers side door, plus painting. Fuck you, Psycho!Bambi.

I'm slated to have the Danger Magnet back on the 26th. In the meantime, I borrowed Katrina's car, "The Tick", and on Monday, her mom is letting me borrow her Jeep, which Katrina and I named "The Divorce Settlement, Part 1."

We like to name cars, okay? Chrissy drives "Echo the Dolphin Car" because it's little and silver and the satellite radio antenna looks like a fin. My car before Lucy was named "Cthulhu" because...well it was a small Honda of questionable road-worthiness and I wanted to let it know that I still thought of it as a badass. Owen drives a blue Honda Fit that we call "The Mighty Bubble."

My brother refuses to let us name his car because, "You guys come up with stupid-ass names."

Whatever. Ass.

I completely rewrote the beginning of "Leap Year" while at work this week and mapped out the remainder of the storyline. It has gone off in a completely unintended direction, but I really really like it, and Case and Gertie are still totally Case and Gertie. I want to finish the rough draft by tomorrow night so I can spend the next two weeks revising. There's a deadline for a themed lit mag on the 30th that I think this new incarnation of "Leap Year" (currently renamed "With Honors") will be perfect for.

I'll post some crap as it comes together.

Chao, kids.

Current Mood: awake
Current Music: I Don't Wanna Wait-- Paula Cole

From here.

“There’s nothing serious about a plan that claims to reduce the deficit by spending a trillion dollars on tax cuts for millionaires and billionaires,” Mr. Obama said of budget proposals put forward by Republicans in the House. “There’s nothing courageous about asking for sacrifice from those who can least afford it and don’t have any clout on Capitol Hill. And this is not a vision of the America I know.”

He said people like him “don’t need a tax cut,” and added, “Not if we have to pay for it by making seniors pay more for Medicare, or by cutting kids from Head Start, or by taking away college scholarships that I wouldn’t be here without.”

“To meet our fiscal challenge, we will need to make reforms,” Mr. Obama said. “We will all need to make sacrifices. But we do not have to sacrifice the America we believe in. And as long as I’m president, we won’t.”

Oh sir, SIR! I remember why I voted for you now. I'm so glad you remembered where you hid the daddy pants. Please don't lose them again sir!

(Keep it up and I might even rehang that poster I took down as a display of disapproval when you came up with Obamacare.)

Current Mood: flirty
Current Music: Come on Eileen-- Save Ferris

A deer ran into my car.

When I say that, I'm not trying to shirk blame. I didn't hit the deer. I didn't even see the deer...until it's head was in my window.

I may have, metaphorically speaking, shit my pants.

I was also covered with glass. My face is cut to shreds, my arms, the inside of my mouth, and possibly my esophagus. I keep coughing up bits of my window. My landlords, who are awesome, said they would drive me to the hospital if I feel that I need it. I don't think I need it, but I'm being cautious. If I start coughing up blood, I'll go.

So, yeah, I was driving to work. My work commute entails that I drive through Keystone State Park. It was right after the park police station, so I was only going about 30 mph. I didn't even see the deer. I heard a THUMP and glass shattering...I looked up and there was a deer's head in my window, flailing and jerking.

Somehow, Psycho!Bambi extracted itself from my window and scampered into the woods. I hope it dies a horrible death.

I sat in my car taking in the glass, the blood steadily dripping from my face. I slowly reached over and turned off the radio. I noticed my mirror lying in the street and wandered out to retrieve it.

My poor car. My poor, poor car.

I have to report it to my insurance. I need a new window. I can't fix that myself.

$500 deductible.

There goes the Michigan fund.

Anybody know a quick way to make a buck?

Current Mood: irritated

I have nothing of substance to offer. It was a gloriously lazy Sunday. I woke up at 7 because my job has broken my ability to sleep in, though admittedly, when you wake up at 4:30 everyday, 7 is pretty amazing.

So, I woke up at 7, did the dishes that piled up over three days, mopped the kitchen and the bathroom, and folded some clothes. I watched some BBC documentary about Anne Frank, then Jesus Camp, which is fucking horrifying and had me rethinking my childhood for a good two hours because I was totally shipped off to bible camp every summer when I was a kid and it was pretty much exactly like that except without the speaking in tongues because we were Baptists and didn't hold with that nonsense. But the creationism textbooks, the complete lack of understanding of abortion, the I-Pledge-Allegiance-to-the-Bible, and the cliquiness...it was all there. I read some articles and reviews about the movie afterwards that called for the parents and directors of that camp to be called up on child abuse charges.Those kids are going to be FUCKED UP when they grow up. Trust me. Been there, done that.

Anyway. It was a beautiful day here. 80 degrees and sunny. I opened my windows and sat on the porch until just about an hour ago.I worked on that Bobby-centric For Keeps story and "Eleanor Rigby at the Tree of Knowledge" (Yay! Hack writing! Now featuring Beatles references!) I was totally stoked that a citronella candle I left out on the window ledge all winter still lit.

( Here. Have some picspam. )

Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: Jar of Hearts-- Christina Perri

Or: hey, the government isn't going to shut down. Sweet.

So, watching CNN like a hawk for the past week has put me in a West Wing mood. I watched the entire first run way back when I was a wee one. I have seasons 1-3 on DVD and my brother has 4-7.

FYI: We were painfully uncool twelve-year-olds.

I remember reading an article in (possibly) TV Guide in response to the first season finale. We're talking about an article that ran twelve, maybe thirteen years ago, but every time I haul my DVDs out, I remember a line from it that said something along the lines of "...former White House workers have praised the show for it's honesty, realism, and accuracy...blah blah blah...you want to hear that the real West Wing is like this because you want to believe that the people in the White House are just as passionate, idealistic, and altruistic as their fictional counterparts. You want to believe that art imitates life in this case. These are the people you want watching over you as you sleep."

I paraphrased like whoa. We're talking about an article I read a decade ago, remember?

But that's the gist of it and it's pretty true. Honestly, I'm alot more cynical than I was when I was twelve, so I'm not about to sit around all googly-eyed and think that there was some epic romantic moment that saved us from an all-out shutdown. But it's nice to pretend. And you know what? When I woke up this morning, I jumped on CNN.com honestly expecting the headline to say we were at a stand-still, that all of our social programs were shut down, education was decimated, etc etc etc. I try to avoid pulling out my soapbox here because it tends to get nasty, so bear with me. This probably won't happen again. Owen and I have a strict no-political discussion rule in effect. He thinks I'm a communist and I think he's naive. I'm an unapologetic Democrat, and he registered Independent to avoid giving his father the satisfaction of knowing that he registered Republican, but he's quick to jump to his dad's defense when I call him a corporate blowhard.

I say that affectionately. Owen's dad is a great guy. He just needs to lay off the talk radio.

I don't mind paying taxes if the money is well-spent. I firmly believe that the government has a responsibility to look out for it's most marginalized citizens. I support Planned Parenthood and WIC and I know they are abused, I know this, but everything is abused, really. Look at outsourcing. And if you make more money, I believe you should pay more taxes. If you are making enough money that you can pay your bills and support your family and go to the Bahamas and send your kids to a good college and retire to Florida...and you are bitching about your taxes, taxes that will go towards better education, technological advancements, etc etc etc and sure, even the military...I have no respect for you. None whatsoever. "With great power comes great responsibility." Life lessons from Marvel Comics, kids.

Ok. I'm done. And if you now think I'm a crazy lesbo liberal anti-America commie, I'm sorry. But please to be not picking a fight with me. It'll get nasty and I will be sad. I respect your opinion. I mean, I'm dating a guy who, just last night, informed me that he would be okay with living in a world where Donald Trump was the President of the United States. Honestly, if you aren't Glenn Beck...I don't long for your disembowelment.

/rant

So, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to see the headline say that the government wasn't shutting down. That's the moral of the story.

And I'm totally geeking out to one of my oldest fandom loves. I called Gabe earlier. One of our cracky plans is that he will run for President one day. That's not entirely cracky, actually. The cracky part is that I will be his speech-writer when I grow up. So, I called Gabe and I was like, "I'm watching West Wing. Can I still be your Sam when I grow up?"

"I thought you were going to be my Toby."

"Toby is too important. You know I'll inevitably get inappropriately drunk at some state function and call your opponent a fascist. Or the press will get a hold of someone I went to college with and run a story about that time I drank a bottle of wine and peed in an alley while at a party full of underagers. No. I'd rather be your Sam."

"Okay. You can be my Sam."

"I'd even settle for being your Donna."

"No. You're going to be my Sam."

Hee. I leave you with my favorite moment from The West Wing. I ship Donna/Josh so hard. SO. HARD.

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Music: watching "The West Wing"

Guess who got a shiny new rejection letter in the mail? That's right. This kid.

I generally try to be a good sport about these things. I make coasters out of the rejections from The Gettysburg Review because they're printed on such nice paper, with such nice calligraphy; they're such a nice way to say "no."

This one wasn't from The Gettysburg Review. I had a good feeling about this one. I thought this one might be it.

I mean, not it it, but a good step onward and upward. Yes? Yes.

So. I spent the past day-and-a-half ~~moping~~ throwing a non-alcoholic pity party and I dove into work this afternoon because if I can't be the best damn writer ever, I can be the best damn temp ever. Or something. I even considered buying my co-workers donuts as a show of affection, then rejected the idea because the other admins will probably think I'm sucking up. They already think my professed love of stiletto heels is a bid for undue attention. Sometimes I feel like Dexter when I'm at work: it's all an elaborate act.

Except for when it isn't.

I also hung pictures in my new cubicle which, despite the suck-ass location and suck-ass commute, is actually Very Nice.

This is my dad and I on Myrtle Beach in July, 1987. I'm five months old.

I cannot fathom being this baby. I cannot fathom it to the point that this morning, while having a post-conference-call meltdown, I convinced myself that there is no possible way I could have ever been this baby. It was bizzare. I was sitting there wondering what happened to that baby when Dolores leaned over my side of the desk and ran her finger over the picture tacked up next to a snapshot of Owen and I, "Wow, you haven't changed a bit."

"Uh...what?"

She tapped the picture, "You're one of those people who looks the same as a baby as they do as an adult. It's your eyes. You look like your dad, too."

"Everyone says I look like my mom."

"Well, you don't have any pictures of your mom hanging up so I can't judge. But I think you look like your dad."

It was a weird day. I might have to take the picture of my dad down. I keep getting into staring contests with myself, a delightfully monotone voiceover in my head going, "This is your life. This is your life. This is your life."

But hey, I didn't crawl into a bottle of Fish Eye Chardonnay on the way home from work, so I count it as a win. Gold star for me. I did my brother's financial aid paperwork for next year and wrote a For Keeps installment to make myself feel better, which I'm in the process of editing. I also picked two journals to submit original stuff to at the end of the month because I'm a total masochist.

Current Mood: aggravated
Current Music: Some Other Way-- Peter Lewy

Oh hey, kids.

So, there's this really sweet community called

spnquotefic that you should check out. For everyone who wanted a peek inside Sammy's head in the For Keeps 'verse, I've been trying for the past few weeks to cook something up, but Sam hasn't really been cooperating. It's understandable, really, but frustrating, you know?

Anyway, this week's episode is Born Under a Bad Sign and For Keeps!Sam saw the following quote and just wouldn't stop talking. Or...not talking, really. You know how For Keeps!Sam is.

Anyway, it's super short. I'm not even sure if I'll link it to the 'verse proper, but I'm excited because I feel like we're finally making some progress, Sam and I.

Favorite Son

More to come later, I hope. Now I'm off to ~~cult~~ church, with my cousins, who laid the guilt trip down yesterday. I won't drink the kool-aid, I promise.

Current Mood: busy
Current Music: Oh Bo-- Bo Burnham

I'd like to interrupt your Supernatural hellatus to bring you this very special, shiny, spam:

Eleven! Oh I love you, Eleven! I mean, Ten is still my Doctor, but truth be told, I think I'd rather be your companion. Ten was a little...how can I put this nicely...fucked in the head towards the end there. I mean, Katrina and I spent a month sobbing our eyes out when the ever-so-shiny BBC announced that David Tennant was leaving the role, and then what they did to Donna. DONNA. I'm still not over that, BBC. Seriously. Who do you think you are? The CW? Don't sink to their level. You're better than that. You're...you're...British.

Anyway, lookit Eleven. Lookit Amy and Rory.

Rose who?

(I'm sorry, Rose. I take that back. I love you. I wish I had Billie Piper's eyebrows.)

Is it can be Easter now?

Oh look, more spam. It's my favorite-est Doctor Who fanvid ever. I just want to hug it and love it and snuggle it forever. It makes me feel kinda guilty for not having a huge interest in watching the original stuff. Katrina mocks me all the time. She has mad mad mad love for Two, Three, and Four, in fact, she has a poster on her and my bro's fridge with Jon Pertwee slapping someone that says "You shut your whore mouth when the doctor is talking." Yeah. No. Really.

"You'll watch the stupid fucking American TV movie, which is like, fucking blasphemy, but cardboard Daleks are too much for you?"

"HEY NOW. PAUL MCGANN WAS IN THE STUPID FUCKING AMERICAN MOVIE AND HE'S SHINY. AND YOU SAID EIGHT IS YOUR FAVORITE "NEW" DOCTOR."

"...shut your whore mouth."

PS: Katrina turns 21 tomorrow. I plan on getting her drunk and picking fights over who the best Doctor is. XD

I'm sorry. I'll go sit down now.

Current Mood: excited
Current Music: Chances-- Athlete

I like writing in second-person narrative. I've utilized it in fanfic, original fic, and poetry with generally positive responses. I'm stuck in the mud with Radium Girl, and I've never used it for non-fiction, nor have I heard of it being utilized very often in the genre (though I'm more than happy to acknowledge my ignorance if anyone knows of any examples), so I'm experimenting.

Go forth, my little lab rats. Eat this tainted cheese and let me pick your brains. This is a super-short segment from the first (of three) sections in Radium Girl that I've rewritten in second-person, so it's pretty rough, but before I go ahead and do a large-scale rewrite, I would love some insight.

I'm concerned that it just doesn't work in a non-fiction narrative. Is it weird to be writing about myself and referring to myself as "you?" Is it a cop-out? I'm particularly worried about it being a cop-out because when I write about the really shitty times, I find it much easier to write about it with a buffer between us. Then again, maybe this just an elaborate way for me to write about the bad things I've done without actually taking responsibility for them?

This actually isn't a dark segment though, so don't worry. The angst is at a minimum. I don't even cuss in this segment. (I know, crazy, right?) This is just a quick and dirty rewrite for the sake of driving the shiny new narrative around.

( No white light )

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Grey- Ani DiFranco

June 2011

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Syndicate

Page Summary

Frontierland
Chronic Geek!Fail: Or, I Was an Adolescent History Hipster
I Get all Tingly When You Take Control Like That
This is Why You Don't Get Nice Things
Lazy Sunday
Everything I Need to Know About American Civics, I Learned from Watching The West Wing
Radio Silence
Favorite Son
Anglophilia for Beginners
Second Person Twice Removed

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