The Boy Made me Soup!
And I am REALLY EXCITED!
*runs away*
*runs away*
Random Wedding Dress planning
These are just damned pretty dresses
http://www.eskatonia.net/faebridal/galleries/gallery-1.html
I'm thinking this ensemble
-http://www.eskatonia.net/faebridal/morgana-le-fae/93-morgana-le-fae-ivory-aphrodite.html
-The color of the sleeve petals is not really important. But the simple dress and the bolero jacket are good.
Add a Custom chatterly corset to wear over the top
http://www.deliciousboutique.com/DC-CUS-CHA.html#swatch
Or maybe over this dress -Fairy Priestess
http://www.faerywedding.com/faery-priestess/7-faery-priestess-aurora.html
The hood is kind of an issue- I'd probably ask to check that. And to make sure that she can make a petite gown. (I'm only a touch over 5 foot, and the petite measurement effects the ratio of shoulder-to-bust measurement the most.
Not going to lie, some of my inspiration is this
http://www.padawansguide.com/flowered.shtml
Which may or may not be the best idea, but dammit, it's pretty!
http://www.eskatonia.net/faebridal/galleries/gallery-1.html
I'm thinking this ensemble
-http://www.eskatonia.net/faebridal/morgana-le-fae/93-morgana-le-fae-ivory-aphrodite.html
-The color of the sleeve petals is not really important. But the simple dress and the bolero jacket are good.
Add a Custom chatterly corset to wear over the top
http://www.deliciousboutique.com/DC-CUS-CHA.html#swatch
Or maybe over this dress -Fairy Priestess
http://www.faerywedding.com/faery-priestess/7-faery-priestess-aurora.html
The hood is kind of an issue- I'd probably ask to check that. And to make sure that she can make a petite gown. (I'm only a touch over 5 foot, and the petite measurement effects the ratio of shoulder-to-bust measurement the most.
Not going to lie, some of my inspiration is this
http://www.padawansguide.com/flowered.shtml
Which may or may not be the best idea, but dammit, it's pretty!
The Return of Fuzz-Head!
New Life Goal: Be exactly as freaking silly as I want- it's the juice of the creative process spilling down your chin as you bite into it.
My hair's been in a buzz cut for a few months now, and that appears to have been long enough for most of the people I know to completely forget what my hair looked like long-- including some people who've known me longer with long hair.
But during finals, I let my buzz grow out from 12mm for about a month. It got to around half an inch, a brown halo of fuzz 'round my head that caused my fingertips to disappear into it.
And then I went to C2E2, and China Mieville was a bald bamf, and I found myself holding a beardtrimmer the next day thinking, well, maybe I can take it down to the shortest setting...
AND I DID.
It's been about three days now, I'm getting slightly fuzzy again, and life is good.
Finished reading KRAKEN. My brain is in a happy little place right now about the whole thing.
My Boy has bought me a string of fat purple pearls, which can only be cultured but are shockingly pretty. They are each just slightly off round and fascinating to roll between my fingers and feel the strange organic seams left in them from where they have been shit out of mollusks. I'm been wearing them draped around my neck and feeling like the exile baroness of a land that has since sunk to a dull and dreamless bolshevism where the people are busily oppressing themselves through the pedantic scribbling of bureaucrats. They will look up in the near future, at the grey walls of the grey prisons, peering out of the unornamented corners into which they have painted themselves with vats of mass produced cheap whitewash that will pull dust to it like a magnet, leaving it a grey sickly mess a year after it's brushed on, and they will lament that once, the heel that pins them in the mire was shod in style.
I have solidified my position in the highest echelons of the exile elite by the acquisition of a gin for slow sipping that leaves a faint taste of cucumber and cruelty on the tongue. It comes in a round plain and unfaceted glass jar, because of course I will be having my servants pour it into my cut crystal decanter before it ever touches my palate.
My hair's been in a buzz cut for a few months now, and that appears to have been long enough for most of the people I know to completely forget what my hair looked like long-- including some people who've known me longer with long hair.
But during finals, I let my buzz grow out from 12mm for about a month. It got to around half an inch, a brown halo of fuzz 'round my head that caused my fingertips to disappear into it.
And then I went to C2E2, and China Mieville was a bald bamf, and I found myself holding a beardtrimmer the next day thinking, well, maybe I can take it down to the shortest setting...
AND I DID.
It's been about three days now, I'm getting slightly fuzzy again, and life is good.
Finished reading KRAKEN. My brain is in a happy little place right now about the whole thing.
My Boy has bought me a string of fat purple pearls, which can only be cultured but are shockingly pretty. They are each just slightly off round and fascinating to roll between my fingers and feel the strange organic seams left in them from where they have been shit out of mollusks. I'm been wearing them draped around my neck and feeling like the exile baroness of a land that has since sunk to a dull and dreamless bolshevism where the people are busily oppressing themselves through the pedantic scribbling of bureaucrats. They will look up in the near future, at the grey walls of the grey prisons, peering out of the unornamented corners into which they have painted themselves with vats of mass produced cheap whitewash that will pull dust to it like a magnet, leaving it a grey sickly mess a year after it's brushed on, and they will lament that once, the heel that pins them in the mire was shod in style.
I have solidified my position in the highest echelons of the exile elite by the acquisition of a gin for slow sipping that leaves a faint taste of cucumber and cruelty on the tongue. It comes in a round plain and unfaceted glass jar, because of course I will be having my servants pour it into my cut crystal decanter before it ever touches my palate.
C2E2, or, how awesome my Saturday was.
I went to C2E2, a comic-con in Chicago. There, I saw the following awesome things:
-CHINA MIEVILLE- who, in all his bald and tattoo'd glory, single-handedly captivated the minds of about 75 geeks for the better part of an hour with nothing more than his cunning and an accent. I bought KRAKEN for him to sign later.
-DAVID MACK- who wrote KABUKI, the first comic I ever read to oh-so-casually break open my brain and rearrange the insides a bit. I bought THE ALCHEMY, the last volume of the KABUKI storyline, and finished it when I got back from the con.
-5 variations on THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR. Mostly wearing a fez.
-2 POISON IVY'S, one with a clear dedication of a woman who meticulously pins hundreds of faux leaves to a fabulous leather corset.
-BATGIRLS- primarily of the classic taxonomy- one of duct tape, one using a wheelchair with a really dedicated wig.
There was also a panel made up of undergraduates all doing writing related to comics. It was a bucket of cold water on my expectations- I was hoping for scholars or Ph.D or Masters' candidates, and these guys were all in undergrad and doing this as part of other research. Of the presentations, it seemed like only one was really about comics qua comics, and that mostly went down a list of "homosexual" (her term) superheroes in comics and how they, simply by existing, opened the field for gay characters in comics.
I felt she missed some important points- the role of the X-men as an adaptable metaphor for the Other in society, and how the language of "coming out" as a mutant mirrors the invisibility of LGBTQ people in society. She also lacked a clear argument about how simply having gay characters fostered a more open and affirming society- I think there is an argument to be made there! I saw some flashes of it! But I wanted more. I think it was a tough room for a bunch of undergrads, and I respect them for trying even if I think their advisors should have helped them prepare better.
I came away with the feeling that I really, really would enjoy dressing up for this kind of thing, and that going while on a budget would be a terrible idea. Fortunately, I found roommate for the next three months, so my finances are far less caught up in my living situation than they were last month, and I could let myself spend a little money. It was a really cool time.
-CHINA MIEVILLE- who, in all his bald and tattoo'd glory, single-handedly captivated the minds of about 75 geeks for the better part of an hour with nothing more than his cunning and an accent. I bought KRAKEN for him to sign later.
-DAVID MACK- who wrote KABUKI, the first comic I ever read to oh-so-casually break open my brain and rearrange the insides a bit. I bought THE ALCHEMY, the last volume of the KABUKI storyline, and finished it when I got back from the con.
-5 variations on THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR. Mostly wearing a fez.
-2 POISON IVY'S, one with a clear dedication of a woman who meticulously pins hundreds of faux leaves to a fabulous leather corset.
-BATGIRLS- primarily of the classic taxonomy- one of duct tape, one using a wheelchair with a really dedicated wig.
There was also a panel made up of undergraduates all doing writing related to comics. It was a bucket of cold water on my expectations- I was hoping for scholars or Ph.D or Masters' candidates, and these guys were all in undergrad and doing this as part of other research. Of the presentations, it seemed like only one was really about comics qua comics, and that mostly went down a list of "homosexual" (her term) superheroes in comics and how they, simply by existing, opened the field for gay characters in comics.
I felt she missed some important points- the role of the X-men as an adaptable metaphor for the Other in society, and how the language of "coming out" as a mutant mirrors the invisibility of LGBTQ people in society. She also lacked a clear argument about how simply having gay characters fostered a more open and affirming society- I think there is an argument to be made there! I saw some flashes of it! But I wanted more. I think it was a tough room for a bunch of undergrads, and I respect them for trying even if I think their advisors should have helped them prepare better.
I came away with the feeling that I really, really would enjoy dressing up for this kind of thing, and that going while on a budget would be a terrible idea. Fortunately, I found roommate for the next three months, so my finances are far less caught up in my living situation than they were last month, and I could let myself spend a little money. It was a really cool time.
How do you deal with conflict or confrontation with friends?, or I Only Yell At the People I Actuall
I am beginning to wonder if I am stranger than I thought.
Caveat: I am trying not to be judgmental of myself or of anyone else in the following paragraphs, and I mean to invite discussion and comment. Feel free to disagree with me- because this conversation is actually one in which I would welcome someone who thinks differently to voice their opinion, because I am kind of confused about some things.
So, if I am hurt or annoyed by something a friend of mine does, either I forgive them for it in private without talking to them about it and don't harbor resentment over it OR, I tell them that I'm angry or hurt and why. I feel like relationships are damaged by unvoiced anger and resentment, and I feel that once I voice my hurt, my friend will try and explain why they did what they did, and perhaps apologize if necessary. People I can be friends with are often the kind of people who, while that kind of open conversation may not be their habit of communication, they can step into it if it I need them to. Once they explain or apologize, I accept it, and when I'm able to stop being mad at them, I tell them that I forgive them. ( Not before I stop being mad. After.)
The people that I don't talk to about my feelings of being hurt or annoyed are people I don't care too much about. I am willing to write these people off as being people, for one reason or another and with no condemnation or real dislike, I am probably not going to be deep friends with. Colleagues, acquaintances, or in the same group of friends? - No problem, we'll be courteous and even have fun together. I am not going to feel comfortable talking to them about my frustrations with my life/family/SO/job/whathaveyou, and that's fine. If they hurt my feelings, I may never tell them about it, and I may stay mad at them, but likely they are not people who are important to my life, so it's not something that eats at me.
Here's where the system breaks down: A few times in my life, I have discovered that a friend of mine was mad at me and did not tell me.
And this confuses me greatly, because my relationship with my friends seems very much to be driven by the ability to confront each other and forgive each other. So when I find out that a friend has been hurt or upset by something I did, and stayed upset or hurt, and not confronted me about it and called me on it, I felt hurt.
I felt like a) I had done something really, really wrong that they could not tell me about. (which was generally not the case.) and b) I was confused as to how they dealt with conflict with their friends if not through open discussion. What makes someone a friend, if you can't tell them how they made you feel?
So, dear readers, (those of you who have born with my prattling this long), I am somewhat interested in knowing how this reads to you- Does this behavior read to you as unusually confrontational? If a friend of yours does something that unintentionally offends or hurts you, what's your process for handling it? Does confronting a friend feel like an affront to your friendship? or does it feel like a duty? Or a really uncomfortable chore, but something you do have to do?
Caveat: I am trying not to be judgmental of myself or of anyone else in the following paragraphs, and I mean to invite discussion and comment. Feel free to disagree with me- because this conversation is actually one in which I would welcome someone who thinks differently to voice their opinion, because I am kind of confused about some things.
So, if I am hurt or annoyed by something a friend of mine does, either I forgive them for it in private without talking to them about it and don't harbor resentment over it OR, I tell them that I'm angry or hurt and why. I feel like relationships are damaged by unvoiced anger and resentment, and I feel that once I voice my hurt, my friend will try and explain why they did what they did, and perhaps apologize if necessary. People I can be friends with are often the kind of people who, while that kind of open conversation may not be their habit of communication, they can step into it if it I need them to. Once they explain or apologize, I accept it, and when I'm able to stop being mad at them, I tell them that I forgive them. ( Not before I stop being mad. After.)
The people that I don't talk to about my feelings of being hurt or annoyed are people I don't care too much about. I am willing to write these people off as being people, for one reason or another and with no condemnation or real dislike, I am probably not going to be deep friends with. Colleagues, acquaintances, or in the same group of friends? - No problem, we'll be courteous and even have fun together. I am not going to feel comfortable talking to them about my frustrations with my life/family/SO/job/whathaveyou, and that's fine. If they hurt my feelings, I may never tell them about it, and I may stay mad at them, but likely they are not people who are important to my life, so it's not something that eats at me.
Here's where the system breaks down: A few times in my life, I have discovered that a friend of mine was mad at me and did not tell me.
And this confuses me greatly, because my relationship with my friends seems very much to be driven by the ability to confront each other and forgive each other. So when I find out that a friend has been hurt or upset by something I did, and stayed upset or hurt, and not confronted me about it and called me on it, I felt hurt.
I felt like a) I had done something really, really wrong that they could not tell me about. (which was generally not the case.) and b) I was confused as to how they dealt with conflict with their friends if not through open discussion. What makes someone a friend, if you can't tell them how they made you feel?
So, dear readers, (those of you who have born with my prattling this long), I am somewhat interested in knowing how this reads to you- Does this behavior read to you as unusually confrontational? If a friend of yours does something that unintentionally offends or hurts you, what's your process for handling it? Does confronting a friend feel like an affront to your friendship? or does it feel like a duty? Or a really uncomfortable chore, but something you do have to do?
Jessica Black's Friday
I have watched it twice now. I have the phrase "FUN FUN FUN" burned into my cerebellum. This is not a pleasing result.
My cough and weird nose-pain-thing are back. I just got over those last week. Gr. Not the week to find out that my health insurance does not extend to this far west. Fool!
In conclusion, ick.
My cough and weird nose-pain-thing are back. I just got over those last week. Gr. Not the week to find out that my health insurance does not extend to this far west. Fool!
In conclusion, ick.
Mischief Managed!*
Greek final- killed it with FIRE
IN OTHER NEWS:
-I am 2/3rd through finals. Yay!
-I have not trimmed my hair in about 2.5 weeks now. My head feels like one of those furry-rubber Koosh balls from my bizarre childhood. Press lightly, and it pushes back; press hard and it goes flat only to spring up again at the passing of the storm.
-I am watching this video from a visit to North Korea which is weirdly severe in character except for the hairdresser, who appears to be adorable. (As many hairdressers are.) The women's formal gowns are lovely.
-I've been re-watching Weeds recently. I'm not fannish about it, primarily because I don't think it's meant to be fannish- I can't imaging loving any of the characters.
The show seems to go to an effort to distance us from them visually and emotionally by stepping back and doing a music-backed montage of all the characters' lives at least once in the show- something about that strikes me as really highlighting the fictionality of the show and pushing us away from the characters. There's also the fact that many of the characters are farcically vile- the pot-smoking CPA on the town counsel would would disown his son if he found out he was gay, the drug-dealing suburban widow who seems more concerned sometimes with trying to control a situation she very stupidly got into rather than getting a real job and a real life outside the classy suburb she lives in.
There's a real sense of complete chaos and catastrophe boiling up under a smooth suburban surface, where the main character has to worry about being caught by a DEA agent and making sure her older son doesn't commit upper-middle-class suicide by dropping out of high school to follow his girlfriend to Princeton. It's a very weird juxtaposition of a heightened fiction of a life, being portrayed in a heightened fictional media.
IN OTHER NEWS:
-I am 2/3rd through finals. Yay!
-I have not trimmed my hair in about 2.5 weeks now. My head feels like one of those furry-rubber Koosh balls from my bizarre childhood. Press lightly, and it pushes back; press hard and it goes flat only to spring up again at the passing of the storm.
-I am watching this video from a visit to North Korea which is weirdly severe in character except for the hairdresser, who appears to be adorable. (As many hairdressers are.) The women's formal gowns are lovely.
-I've been re-watching Weeds recently. I'm not fannish about it, primarily because I don't think it's meant to be fannish- I can't imaging loving any of the characters.
The show seems to go to an effort to distance us from them visually and emotionally by stepping back and doing a music-backed montage of all the characters' lives at least once in the show- something about that strikes me as really highlighting the fictionality of the show and pushing us away from the characters. There's also the fact that many of the characters are farcically vile- the pot-smoking CPA on the town counsel would would disown his son if he found out he was gay, the drug-dealing suburban widow who seems more concerned sometimes with trying to control a situation she very stupidly got into rather than getting a real job and a real life outside the classy suburb she lives in.
There's a real sense of complete chaos and catastrophe boiling up under a smooth suburban surface, where the main character has to worry about being caught by a DEA agent and making sure her older son doesn't commit upper-middle-class suicide by dropping out of high school to follow his girlfriend to Princeton. It's a very weird juxtaposition of a heightened fiction of a life, being portrayed in a heightened fictional media.
Things I learned in Greek
Galaktos- milk- making the whole naming of "The Milky Way" and galaxies pretty damned cool.
Finals start tomorrow, the roommate search is flourishing, things seem to be going well. I don't really want to care much about my finals, and, luckily, I don't. Well, no more than my sad little brain usually gets in a twist about them, but my finals are Greek and a class of public theology- things I've studied before with professors I've had before. The tension, she is low.
Feministe put out a call for an intern, and I sent them an application. I'm not going to pin my hopes on it- but damn, that would be so fucking cool. I'm consoling myself in advance that it would be a lot of grunt work and no actual contact with the leaders of Feministe, but still, so damned cool.
Finals start tomorrow, the roommate search is flourishing, things seem to be going well. I don't really want to care much about my finals, and, luckily, I don't. Well, no more than my sad little brain usually gets in a twist about them, but my finals are Greek and a class of public theology- things I've studied before with professors I've had before. The tension, she is low.
Feministe put out a call for an intern, and I sent them an application. I'm not going to pin my hopes on it- but damn, that would be so fucking cool. I'm consoling myself in advance that it would be a lot of grunt work and no actual contact with the leaders of Feministe, but still, so damned cool.
Rough Start
I only notice that my day has started off badly when I am, myself, feeling badly. So this is how my day started.
6.30- Wake up. The Boy's roommate with the room nearest the kitchen has asked that I don't make breakfast until after his alarm goes off at 7am, which is annoying but a reasonable request. Normally, I would shower in the 30 minutes in between, get dressed, and snuggle the Boy a bit more before getting breakfast. But there's someone in the show.
6.35 - Doze a bit, start awake, still someone in shower.
6.55- Still in shower.
7am- The bathroom still occupied, I go to check for breakfast. Only, I cannot tell the Boy's food from his roommates' breakfast food, and so I decide to forgo breakfast and buy something from the coffee shop before class.
7.10- The bathroom is free! I dart in an take a shower! Only to realize that the slow draining tub is now lightly coated in the sediment of the soap and shampoo that has settled in the pooled water around my ankles, and that showering is very dangerous. I keep one hand on the wall, and do a quick rinse and wet my hair so that it stops looking like I have mange.
7.15- The roommate who barred me from the kitchen before 7am is now knocking on the bathroom door, asking if there is any way that "we could speed this up." I should answer, "Not unless you want to help me towel off. I'll be out in two minutes." Instead, I leave the bathroom immediately.
7.17- My glasses are still in the bathroom, and now the Boy's other roommate is in the bathroom, so I have to wait him out. Hugs from Boy.
7.25- He's out of the bathroom! I get my glasses, grab my coat, and run out the door.
7.26. It's raining outside. Today I will be making the walk to and from school at least twice, and to and from church at least twice. My rain-appropriate footwear is either ugly and lightly crusted with dog shit, or really painful.
7.51- At school! Lots of time to get coffee! Coffee shop is staffed by nice people that I like! Who are running behind, so there is one really dark kind of coffee (bleh) and no milk out, and I'm exercising "niceness through nonresponiveness" because if I get beyond "Hi, how are you- great-small coffee please" right now I will bite at someone.
Did I mention that it's Ash Wednesday? The beginning of Lent, the season in which the lovely organ music leaves the church and we have dreary tiredness? And I'm supposed to have a Lenten practice to be holy and self-improving and I'm just not feeling it right now?
Rar.
6.30- Wake up. The Boy's roommate with the room nearest the kitchen has asked that I don't make breakfast until after his alarm goes off at 7am, which is annoying but a reasonable request. Normally, I would shower in the 30 minutes in between, get dressed, and snuggle the Boy a bit more before getting breakfast. But there's someone in the show.
6.35 - Doze a bit, start awake, still someone in shower.
6.55- Still in shower.
7am- The bathroom still occupied, I go to check for breakfast. Only, I cannot tell the Boy's food from his roommates' breakfast food, and so I decide to forgo breakfast and buy something from the coffee shop before class.
7.10- The bathroom is free! I dart in an take a shower! Only to realize that the slow draining tub is now lightly coated in the sediment of the soap and shampoo that has settled in the pooled water around my ankles, and that showering is very dangerous. I keep one hand on the wall, and do a quick rinse and wet my hair so that it stops looking like I have mange.
7.15- The roommate who barred me from the kitchen before 7am is now knocking on the bathroom door, asking if there is any way that "we could speed this up." I should answer, "Not unless you want to help me towel off. I'll be out in two minutes." Instead, I leave the bathroom immediately.
7.17- My glasses are still in the bathroom, and now the Boy's other roommate is in the bathroom, so I have to wait him out. Hugs from Boy.
7.25- He's out of the bathroom! I get my glasses, grab my coat, and run out the door.
7.26. It's raining outside. Today I will be making the walk to and from school at least twice, and to and from church at least twice. My rain-appropriate footwear is either ugly and lightly crusted with dog shit, or really painful.
7.51- At school! Lots of time to get coffee! Coffee shop is staffed by nice people that I like! Who are running behind, so there is one really dark kind of coffee (bleh) and no milk out, and I'm exercising "niceness through nonresponiveness" because if I get beyond "Hi, how are you- great-small coffee please" right now I will bite at someone.
Did I mention that it's Ash Wednesday? The beginning of Lent, the season in which the lovely organ music leaves the church and we have dreary tiredness? And I'm supposed to have a Lenten practice to be holy and self-improving and I'm just not feeling it right now?
Rar.
Paper writing Makes Kite Think; or Wine!
I'm thinking about the ritual significance of wine. Quick background!
I am working a bit at an Episcopal Church (what's usually called Anglican, outside the US.) And we are really, really focused on the Eucharist, the communion, breaking bread and drinking wine- it's the center of the Sunday service, it's what we do.
Now, we also have Lent, the end of which is marked by Holy Week, including Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday celebrates the ritual of Jesus of Nazareth, (or, ya know, Christ, YMMV) taking a servile role towards his disciples by washing their feet. This particular church not only does a quick footwashing service, but also a very very nice free dinner for everyone in the parish, in the sanctuary (our chairs get pulled out, tables put in, the altar stays where it usually does) with a lot of free wine, and then after dinner we all take turns washing each other's feet. Again, the wine is kind of a thing.
(Digression: For anyone who's never seen this, I honestly cannot stress how cool and humanizing and compassionate it can be. Feet are just kind of funny, and it's a moment of careful, respectful physical contact in an act of care for another fragile, ticklish person. It's AMAZING. Don't wear stockings.)
Then, we had this silent auction where we had wine tasting stations set up along the side of the church and a similar-to-Maundy-Thursday table setup and a bunch of cabaret acts from the congregation members, some of which were openly mocking some of our church's traditions (mine act in particular, where we coughed dramatically at the dry-ice "incense" in the thurible) and some kind of risque. (For a church.)
And I'm kind of having to think to myself just a little bit to try and figure out-- where does the worship stop? What's worship? AND WHY IS THE WINE SO IMPORTANT?
I am working a bit at an Episcopal Church (what's usually called Anglican, outside the US.) And we are really, really focused on the Eucharist, the communion, breaking bread and drinking wine- it's the center of the Sunday service, it's what we do.
Now, we also have Lent, the end of which is marked by Holy Week, including Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday celebrates the ritual of Jesus of Nazareth, (or, ya know, Christ, YMMV) taking a servile role towards his disciples by washing their feet. This particular church not only does a quick footwashing service, but also a very very nice free dinner for everyone in the parish, in the sanctuary (our chairs get pulled out, tables put in, the altar stays where it usually does) with a lot of free wine, and then after dinner we all take turns washing each other's feet. Again, the wine is kind of a thing.
(Digression: For anyone who's never seen this, I honestly cannot stress how cool and humanizing and compassionate it can be. Feet are just kind of funny, and it's a moment of careful, respectful physical contact in an act of care for another fragile, ticklish person. It's AMAZING. Don't wear stockings.)
Then, we had this silent auction where we had wine tasting stations set up along the side of the church and a similar-to-Maundy-Thursday table setup and a bunch of cabaret acts from the congregation members, some of which were openly mocking some of our church's traditions (mine act in particular, where we coughed dramatically at the dry-ice "incense" in the thurible) and some kind of risque. (For a church.)
And I'm kind of having to think to myself just a little bit to try and figure out-- where does the worship stop? What's worship? AND WHY IS THE WINE SO IMPORTANT?
(no subject)
I'm beginning to think that DW is like prayer- I need more of it in times of stress.
My roommate moved out last Saturday in a flurry of ill-temper and acquaintances carrying things. When last I saw her, she was being coaxed by a friend to hold on for another hour because then they could drink. She left a doggie chew toy, some random boxes, and a fine dusting of chinchilla chit behind her.
Needless to say, I have been cleaning.
That, actually, has proven very theraputic- I'm mostly just sweeping the floors and mopping, but I'm finding the chance to wipe up the grime is solidifying my distaste for her as a roommate and thus my resolve that my course of action was the right one. (I mopped up, from the floor of her former, many little grimy circles where liquid had spilled and never been wiped up, and it felt weirdly symbolic of my whole relationship with her- she couldn't be bothered to take care of the the things around her even minimally.)
TV news: I have been watching the first season of Castle over again. I hate Detective Beckett's hair with a passion, and I'm finding that much of the series is really about finding room for Nathan Fillion to do enjoyable silly things. I forgot how much of this season was spent finding out things about Beckett, and I'm feeling like it's actually a gender-flipped version of some more typical detective stories with a rookie girl cop.
My roommate moved out last Saturday in a flurry of ill-temper and acquaintances carrying things. When last I saw her, she was being coaxed by a friend to hold on for another hour because then they could drink. She left a doggie chew toy, some random boxes, and a fine dusting of chinchilla chit behind her.
Needless to say, I have been cleaning.
That, actually, has proven very theraputic- I'm mostly just sweeping the floors and mopping, but I'm finding the chance to wipe up the grime is solidifying my distaste for her as a roommate and thus my resolve that my course of action was the right one. (I mopped up, from the floor of her former, many little grimy circles where liquid had spilled and never been wiped up, and it felt weirdly symbolic of my whole relationship with her- she couldn't be bothered to take care of the the things around her even minimally.)
TV news: I have been watching the first season of Castle over again. I hate Detective Beckett's hair with a passion, and I'm finding that much of the series is really about finding room for Nathan Fillion to do enjoyable silly things. I forgot how much of this season was spent finding out things about Beckett, and I'm feeling like it's actually a gender-flipped version of some more typical detective stories with a rookie girl cop.
White Collar/ Sentinel Mashup; or, No One is Writing the Fic I want for!
Dude, why did I not see this before??
Neil Caffrey, Sentinel and swindler, uses his enhanced senses to forge and fool his way through a life of crime, until he meets a Guide named Peter Burke working for the FBI white collar crimes unit.
Just.... WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE? IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.
Would someone please take this plot bunny and make it happen?
Neil Caffrey, Sentinel and swindler, uses his enhanced senses to forge and fool his way through a life of crime, until he meets a Guide named Peter Burke working for the FBI white collar crimes unit.
Just.... WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE? IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.
Would someone please take this plot bunny and make it happen?
Meme: How We Never Met
I would like all my LJ friends to comment about how you got to know me. But I want you to LIE. That's right. Just make it up. If you'd like, copy this to your journal so I can do the same.
(
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I had a dream
which is just too weird not to preserve.
So, I'd already woken up at around 6am (fairly normal), but it's Saturday so, after reading fanfic for a while, I redraped the Boy's limbs on me and went back to sleep.
In the dream, I was visiting my Boy in a different apartment than he has, but he clearly lived there. The kitchen was HUGE, with one of those islands, but instead of counters, there was a row of machines- an oven, a dishwasher, a washing machine, a dryer, and something else. The Boy was baking (not something he does) and he put a plate of cinnamon buns (pre-iced!) into the oven.
Only, IT WAS NOT THE OVEN. It was the clothes dryer, and I could look into the glass front door and watch these cinnamon buns bouncing around inside the damn thing with the pan in the background- and the Boy did not care, even after I told him that he'd put the buns in the dryer. He thought everything would be fine. But I figured, with dream-logic, that the dryer would clean itself (how??) and I left it alone, puzzled by the whole thing.
Then, we were in the Boy's bedroom, but not his current one. And I was feeling really foggy and confused and I was sitting on the floor wrapped in his big orange-red duvet so that I could only see out through an eyeslit. The Boy was talking about going to a greenhouse, like it was something we had planned on and I should be expecting to do, but I didn't remember it AT ALL. And I was really confused and kind of freaked out, and more freaked out by the fact that the Boy was not noticing my freaked-out state, but I didn't feel like I could say anything about it.
And I eventually start to get my purse together, without leaving the wrapped up comfort of my blanket-fort, but I can't find my wallet. And it is a complete catastrophe that I cannot find my damn wallet, and I cannot make the Boy understand it, because there is something WRONG with my brain and my ability to speak. I'm aware that I'm using the freak-out over the wallet as an excuse (sort of), because I am more freaked-out by the fact that the Boy is NOT NOTICING my brain is broken and how upset I am about, but I'm confused and kind of too embarrassed to tell him that, because a) he might feel hurt that he failed to notice something so upsetting to me (This is an actual real-life reaction to me being upset) or b) he won't care (which is not a real life reaction.)
And I woke up, with my Boy holding my phone, alarm chiming, over my head where I will notice it and make it stop ringing and take my BC before I forget. And it's now 9am.
So, I'd already woken up at around 6am (fairly normal), but it's Saturday so, after reading fanfic for a while, I redraped the Boy's limbs on me and went back to sleep.
In the dream, I was visiting my Boy in a different apartment than he has, but he clearly lived there. The kitchen was HUGE, with one of those islands, but instead of counters, there was a row of machines- an oven, a dishwasher, a washing machine, a dryer, and something else. The Boy was baking (not something he does) and he put a plate of cinnamon buns (pre-iced!) into the oven.
Only, IT WAS NOT THE OVEN. It was the clothes dryer, and I could look into the glass front door and watch these cinnamon buns bouncing around inside the damn thing with the pan in the background- and the Boy did not care, even after I told him that he'd put the buns in the dryer. He thought everything would be fine. But I figured, with dream-logic, that the dryer would clean itself (how??) and I left it alone, puzzled by the whole thing.
Then, we were in the Boy's bedroom, but not his current one. And I was feeling really foggy and confused and I was sitting on the floor wrapped in his big orange-red duvet so that I could only see out through an eyeslit. The Boy was talking about going to a greenhouse, like it was something we had planned on and I should be expecting to do, but I didn't remember it AT ALL. And I was really confused and kind of freaked out, and more freaked out by the fact that the Boy was not noticing my freaked-out state, but I didn't feel like I could say anything about it.
And I eventually start to get my purse together, without leaving the wrapped up comfort of my blanket-fort, but I can't find my wallet. And it is a complete catastrophe that I cannot find my damn wallet, and I cannot make the Boy understand it, because there is something WRONG with my brain and my ability to speak. I'm aware that I'm using the freak-out over the wallet as an excuse (sort of), because I am more freaked-out by the fact that the Boy is NOT NOTICING my brain is broken and how upset I am about, but I'm confused and kind of too embarrassed to tell him that, because a) he might feel hurt that he failed to notice something so upsetting to me (This is an actual real-life reaction to me being upset) or b) he won't care (which is not a real life reaction.)
And I woke up, with my Boy holding my phone, alarm chiming, over my head where I will notice it and make it stop ringing and take my BC before I forget. And it's now 9am.
So, I have blisters on toes.
Which kind of hurt, frankly, and make me rather annoyed that my hiking boots have become less comfy for extended walking than the winter boots with heels.
And, yeah, I kind of fell out of active posting for a bit here- I've gotten damned busy and it's the kind of work that tends to sap my creative energy from too much thinking, rather than repetitive work in which I can ponder a bit and come up with things to post back here.
But! Dr. Who is back on this week on BBC, which means good things for little pirates like me.
I am considering shaving my head this weekend after I preach- my hair is still pretty short, but it's gotten long enough on top to get in my eyes. Girls get a total pass on shaggy haircuts, by the way. People just assume I'm growing it out and don't tell me to get a haircut.
And in other completely random news, I got engaged last October. Which slightly accounts for the busy. Don't worry, not married yet or getting married anytime soon. But the Boy is going to be a permanent feature.
And, yeah, I kind of fell out of active posting for a bit here- I've gotten damned busy and it's the kind of work that tends to sap my creative energy from too much thinking, rather than repetitive work in which I can ponder a bit and come up with things to post back here.
But! Dr. Who is back on this week on BBC, which means good things for little pirates like me.
I am considering shaving my head this weekend after I preach- my hair is still pretty short, but it's gotten long enough on top to get in my eyes. Girls get a total pass on shaggy haircuts, by the way. People just assume I'm growing it out and don't tell me to get a haircut.
And in other completely random news, I got engaged last October. Which slightly accounts for the busy. Don't worry, not married yet or getting married anytime soon. But the Boy is going to be a permanent feature.
(no subject)
Dogs have no sense of rhythm.
Among them, this is not counted as a flaw- they are not a People in need of the shared wingbeat or the pulse of a host to pass the time.
Rather, their Music is composed of melody and harmony unconstrained by notions of absolute time. There are songs for the single dog or wolf, songs of hunger and solitude and loneliness and defiance. The packs sing harmonies of hunting, of long mornings dozing and longer nights prowling. There is the opera of the songs for the full moon, but none of these have a fixed duration or standard arrangement. They vary as the seasons and the selfsame song may last a moment or a night without suffering alteration in any way meaningful to the singer. The sun rises, the sun sets, and the song may go on as long as it needs to. The song will tell you when it is through.
At least, this is what they tell me.
Among them, this is not counted as a flaw- they are not a People in need of the shared wingbeat or the pulse of a host to pass the time.
Rather, their Music is composed of melody and harmony unconstrained by notions of absolute time. There are songs for the single dog or wolf, songs of hunger and solitude and loneliness and defiance. The packs sing harmonies of hunting, of long mornings dozing and longer nights prowling. There is the opera of the songs for the full moon, but none of these have a fixed duration or standard arrangement. They vary as the seasons and the selfsame song may last a moment or a night without suffering alteration in any way meaningful to the singer. The sun rises, the sun sets, and the song may go on as long as it needs to. The song will tell you when it is through.
At least, this is what they tell me.
Bone tired
I have just had a really good, hopefully fruitful meeting with my committee to ministry discernment committee. Very, very tiring but very, very interesting. So, I'm just feeling rather sleepy and a bit cold now, but I am hoping that clears itself up pretty quickly.
Random post is random (and this sentence is not quite recursive)
I am supposed to be working on a paper that I have taken an incomplete for, but I am so damned sleepy that I am not entirely certain that I can function properly. Thus, the internet will have to accept my random ramblings.
-I have settled on a policy to deal with the LJ/Facebook crossposting PR disaster- I will keep crossposting to LJ but all comments are going to have to show up on DW. Sorry to all my LJ-only friends- I do have invite codes if you are interested in switching over and I am seriously pleased with Dreamwidth. I will still reply to comments on LJ, but I am not going to put things out there that I don't want.
-I have recently watched all three Godfather movies. I have seen at least snippets of all three, by which I mean I walked through the room while my parents were watching these movies, but didn't pay any attention myself. Which was mostly the movie-watching pattern of my high school years- I'd start a movie with my family and then get bored by the first hour mark, go and do something else, and come back for the ending. Maybe. You'd be surprised by how many movies are not damaged at all by missing the middle sections. (Caveat: does not work for anything made in black and white. Dunno why, the plots are predictable enough. It might have something to do with my inability to tell white men apart onscreen.)
-Watching all three Godfather movies ( see, this was the point I meant to get to in the first tangent, but I got distracted!) has made me reconsider my love for all things mafia. I mean, there are SERIOUS PROBLEMS with the Godfather series: women don't show up as anything but honorable and boring wives or bad and boring wives. I think that Kay is probably the hero of the second film, but I didn't see enough of her to really delve into her character arc. I really did love the way Michael came home to find that Kay was at her sewing machine; it's a trope used to show a woman as a virtuous and industrious wife in Rabbinic and Greco-Roman literature, and finding it reused in modern cinema was kind of a kick in the head.
But, there is style. And a kind of penis-havers-only honor to the system, in which everyone else can go fuck themselves but you'll still stand by your don. It's crazy, but it's kind of intriguing. Except for the fact that I CAN'T HAVE IT. Because I have no penis myself, and thus no ability to accrue honor except by marrying well. I can only get secondhand penis-honor. And while I am enthusiastic about having a penis-owner share said penis in a manner beneficial to both parties, I am not so keen on having to share honor. MY HONOR, DAMMIT.
-I am willing to read any AU in which characters are reimagined in a mafia/cosa nostra setting. ANYTHING.
-I am now taking Biblical Greek, which is mostly review for my previous study of Greek, but it's a really useful study. Judging from the problems I'm having reading ahead of the class (which my prior education should leave me easily able to do), I do stand in good need of the review. But dammit! I wanted those class spaces for other things!
-I am trying to fit taking Bosnian-Serbian-Croatian into my class schedule. I dunno if it will happen, but it would make me happy and I'd be able to chat with the Boy in his native tongue. So, yeah.
-I have settled on a policy to deal with the LJ/Facebook crossposting PR disaster- I will keep crossposting to LJ but all comments are going to have to show up on DW. Sorry to all my LJ-only friends- I do have invite codes if you are interested in switching over and I am seriously pleased with Dreamwidth. I will still reply to comments on LJ, but I am not going to put things out there that I don't want.
-I have recently watched all three Godfather movies. I have seen at least snippets of all three, by which I mean I walked through the room while my parents were watching these movies, but didn't pay any attention myself. Which was mostly the movie-watching pattern of my high school years- I'd start a movie with my family and then get bored by the first hour mark, go and do something else, and come back for the ending. Maybe. You'd be surprised by how many movies are not damaged at all by missing the middle sections. (Caveat: does not work for anything made in black and white. Dunno why, the plots are predictable enough. It might have something to do with my inability to tell white men apart onscreen.)
-Watching all three Godfather movies ( see, this was the point I meant to get to in the first tangent, but I got distracted!) has made me reconsider my love for all things mafia. I mean, there are SERIOUS PROBLEMS with the Godfather series: women don't show up as anything but honorable and boring wives or bad and boring wives. I think that Kay is probably the hero of the second film, but I didn't see enough of her to really delve into her character arc. I really did love the way Michael came home to find that Kay was at her sewing machine; it's a trope used to show a woman as a virtuous and industrious wife in Rabbinic and Greco-Roman literature, and finding it reused in modern cinema was kind of a kick in the head.
But, there is style. And a kind of penis-havers-only honor to the system, in which everyone else can go fuck themselves but you'll still stand by your don. It's crazy, but it's kind of intriguing. Except for the fact that I CAN'T HAVE IT. Because I have no penis myself, and thus no ability to accrue honor except by marrying well. I can only get secondhand penis-honor. And while I am enthusiastic about having a penis-owner share said penis in a manner beneficial to both parties, I am not so keen on having to share honor. MY HONOR, DAMMIT.
-I am willing to read any AU in which characters are reimagined in a mafia/cosa nostra setting. ANYTHING.
-I am now taking Biblical Greek, which is mostly review for my previous study of Greek, but it's a really useful study. Judging from the problems I'm having reading ahead of the class (which my prior education should leave me easily able to do), I do stand in good need of the review. But dammit! I wanted those class spaces for other things!
-I am trying to fit taking Bosnian-Serbian-Croatian into my class schedule. I dunno if it will happen, but it would make me happy and I'd be able to chat with the Boy in his native tongue. So, yeah.
Um... That's a terrible idea.
There now exists on Livejournal an option to post your comments (even comments on entries which are themselves flocked) to Facebook and Twitter. These automatic cross-platform posts also include a link to the original post, even if that post is friends-locked or even private.
So, those of you reading me on Facebook, please do not use that function when commenting on my journal. I do not want my entries to be linked back, by anyone, to my Facebook page, because they are separate for a reason. Please respect my privacy and comment only on LJ when you choose to join the conversation.
For now, I am not disabling comments on my LJ because I don't know how much of an issue this is going to be and I know several people who only read my LJ crossposts and not my DW account at all. I want to keep these people around, but I am not down with this Twitter/Facebook thing, and if it happens, I will probably disable comments on my LJ to keep my profile low.
So, those of you reading me on Facebook, please do not use that function when commenting on my journal. I do not want my entries to be linked back, by anyone, to my Facebook page, because they are separate for a reason. Please respect my privacy and comment only on LJ when you choose to join the conversation.
For now, I am not disabling comments on my LJ because I don't know how much of an issue this is going to be and I know several people who only read my LJ crossposts and not my DW account at all. I want to keep these people around, but I am not down with this Twitter/Facebook thing, and if it happens, I will probably disable comments on my LJ to keep my profile low.