It shook the trees and blew away our fear
After seven threatening phone calls, one canceled order, and a bitchfit of truly epic proportions, I've managed to get Verizon to install me with internet, phone, and television service at my new place. Of course, in the process they managed to actually disconnect the home phone number of my old home, and have not yet transferred over my office line number, so I suspect the threatening phone call number will have to rise to double digits before I can consider the jobs truly done. Anyway, I am posting this from my laptop at the new place, on a folding card table in what will eventually be my office. Huzzah.
First off! Last week, I was doing another one of my dozens of drives back and forth between the new house with boxes of dishes and odd stuff when I noticed a package on the doorstep. It was soft and light and pulsing with shiny temptation, and the postmark indicated it came from a one kaitou1412. A sneaking suspicion began to grow in my mind, and I ripped it open with great interest, only to behold-
WANG SOCKS.
Truly the pinnacle of erotic yarnwork, in my opinion. They are also divinely comfortable. I should commission her to make me a pair of labia slippers. Imagine the tassels! It is worth noting that my mother, who was hovering over my shoulder while I opened them, totally did not pick up on the motif, and only said "What pretty colors!" (Or she did pick up, and decided not to say anything. If so, I'm glad; that is one conversation I really don't need to have, ever. It was hard enough to explain to her why I gave Louise a walrus baculum for Christmas.)
Anyway, you should go and view this marvel of needlework, and register your own astonishment and admiration. Ann, you are an evil genius, and I thank you from my head to the tips of my wang-covered toes.
I'm not really a good sports fan. There are only two sports I can converse on with any real authority or knowledge, the rest of the time I'm mostly there for the eyecandy or fair-weather interest. The again, I am hardly alone in that regard, so I don't lose too much sleep over it.
Anyway. Late in the week for it now, but it's always a downer in DC when the Redskins lose, especially when it started out so well. With luck, things will improve, or else we'll just have to sit around and wait for the hockey season to start and hope that the Caps manage to produce a winning season without a blazing fuck-up at the end.
After the Redskins game, I watched the Giants vs. the Colts which was-ow. Peyton Manning spanked his younger brother Eli Manning, spanked him hard and decisively. (I phrase it that way solely to distress horizon_greene, with whom I've previously discussed Manning-on-Manning bad touch interaction.) Which in a way is good, because the Giants are in our division, and it's within our interest to have them lose when we lose. But still, I continue to have a soft spot for Eli Manning. He falls into my blind spot for gawky, brown-haired, kind-of-mama's-boy athletes, where Michael Phelps mostly reigns as undisputed king.
Speaking of whom. The Michael Phelps Foundation had their Golf Classic, which amuses me mostly because Michael looks so terribly happy in his pink golf short. Bless.
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The transition into autumn always makes me a bit uneasy, because I feel like I should be going back to school. But I like autumn, generally. The last official day of summer was perfect weather here, sunny and clear and in the low eighties. It was like summer had actually condensed itself into a long, cool, draught of something blue and gold and green. Then, autumn immediately decided to play us a nasty trick, and reverted to a muggy, overcast day in the nineties, topped off with thunderstorms that didn't really clear the heat away. All they did was breathe a suffocating wetness into it, and slow the roads down.
But when it finally stopped, it was very neat; there was a full moon or something close to it high in the sky, and lots of low massy clouds beneath, occasionally flashing with lightning. It looked improbably dramatic, and more than a little awesome. I feel like more should have happened or I should have had more of an adventure on that night than just running out to the 24-hour CVS for medical eyepatches. I could have met a tall dark stranger on some windy moor, or seen a cursed pirate crew after their gold, or at the very least, animated some sort of Frankenstein abomination of nature in a lab.
I wish I was more inspired to write some meta or something more directly fandom related. I wish I actually finished any of the hundreds of scattered ficbits laying all skitter-scatter in my writing folder. Sometimes I feel like I haven't taken a breath since roughly the middle of 2008. I feel like I've been folding away all the things I really want to do like clothes in a drawer, and I don't know how they'll wear when I taken them out again. I don't know if I want to just lie down and not move, or screech like a howler monkey and smash the shit out of something. I feel tired, and like I never know when I'm not going to be anymore.
Having spooged emotional crap all over the previous paragraph, we will now return to your regular journaling Thorne. Have some links!
DADT repeal efforts stall as Senate motion to proceed fails: Efforts to repeal "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" faltered today as the Senate voted 56-43, refusing to approve a motion to invoke cloture and move to consideration of the National Defense Authorization Act, containing both the DREAM Act and the DADT repeal amendments. Depressing.
Observer Food Monthly's 50 best cookbooks: Mmm, cookbooks.
10 Strange and Wonderful Soaps: Awesome soaps. My favorite is Han Solo, though I suspect flidgetjerome will favor #10 instead.
Famous Rappers and Their 20th-Century Literary Counterparts: I was sold by the time they matched the Wu Tang Clan with the Beat poets (which would be kind of an awesome real life crossover) but they also have a valid point about Jay-Z and Tom Wolfe's fashion sense. I am not quite as convinced about the Lil Wayne/Vladimir Nabakov parallel, but hey.
The Smoking Jacket: In case you really want the articles from Playboy without the pictures.
John Riepenhoff's Recursive Pizza: Meta pizza! This is awesome. It breaks the fourth oven wall.
Never say "No" to Panda: Exactly what it says. Twig sent it to me under the title "best. commercial. ever." And I totally agree.
The Weirdest Rejected Reality-TV Pitches Ever: I confess, I would kinda dig some of these. As it is, we are creeping up faster and faster on the dystopian Running Man kind of future that previously existed mostly in Stephen King's brain.
Supernatural premiere tonight. Looking forward to it. I'd watch it on my newly hooked up television and consider drinking an entire bottle of wine in my hammock set up in the living room (since I haven't bought, uh, furniture yet) but I have to be at a bridal shower downtown tomorrow. Foiled yet again by a wedding, blast.
Also, there's Louise moving in tomorrow. I need my liver to have as much downtime as possible.
First off! Last week, I was doing another one of my dozens of drives back and forth between the new house with boxes of dishes and odd stuff when I noticed a package on the doorstep. It was soft and light and pulsing with shiny temptation, and the postmark indicated it came from a one kaitou1412. A sneaking suspicion began to grow in my mind, and I ripped it open with great interest, only to behold-
WANG SOCKS.
Truly the pinnacle of erotic yarnwork, in my opinion. They are also divinely comfortable. I should commission her to make me a pair of labia slippers. Imagine the tassels! It is worth noting that my mother, who was hovering over my shoulder while I opened them, totally did not pick up on the motif, and only said "What pretty colors!" (Or she did pick up, and decided not to say anything. If so, I'm glad; that is one conversation I really don't need to have, ever. It was hard enough to explain to her why I gave Louise a walrus baculum for Christmas.)
Anyway, you should go and view this marvel of needlework, and register your own astonishment and admiration. Ann, you are an evil genius, and I thank you from my head to the tips of my wang-covered toes.
I'm not really a good sports fan. There are only two sports I can converse on with any real authority or knowledge, the rest of the time I'm mostly there for the eyecandy or fair-weather interest. The again, I am hardly alone in that regard, so I don't lose too much sleep over it.
Anyway. Late in the week for it now, but it's always a downer in DC when the Redskins lose, especially when it started out so well. With luck, things will improve, or else we'll just have to sit around and wait for the hockey season to start and hope that the Caps manage to produce a winning season without a blazing fuck-up at the end.
After the Redskins game, I watched the Giants vs. the Colts which was-ow. Peyton Manning spanked his younger brother Eli Manning, spanked him hard and decisively. (I phrase it that way solely to distress horizon_greene, with whom I've previously discussed Manning-on-Manning bad touch interaction.) Which in a way is good, because the Giants are in our division, and it's within our interest to have them lose when we lose. But still, I continue to have a soft spot for Eli Manning. He falls into my blind spot for gawky, brown-haired, kind-of-mama's-boy athletes, where Michael Phelps mostly reigns as undisputed king.
Speaking of whom. The Michael Phelps Foundation had their Golf Classic, which amuses me mostly because Michael looks so terribly happy in his pink golf short. Bless.
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The transition into autumn always makes me a bit uneasy, because I feel like I should be going back to school. But I like autumn, generally. The last official day of summer was perfect weather here, sunny and clear and in the low eighties. It was like summer had actually condensed itself into a long, cool, draught of something blue and gold and green. Then, autumn immediately decided to play us a nasty trick, and reverted to a muggy, overcast day in the nineties, topped off with thunderstorms that didn't really clear the heat away. All they did was breathe a suffocating wetness into it, and slow the roads down.
But when it finally stopped, it was very neat; there was a full moon or something close to it high in the sky, and lots of low massy clouds beneath, occasionally flashing with lightning. It looked improbably dramatic, and more than a little awesome. I feel like more should have happened or I should have had more of an adventure on that night than just running out to the 24-hour CVS for medical eyepatches. I could have met a tall dark stranger on some windy moor, or seen a cursed pirate crew after their gold, or at the very least, animated some sort of Frankenstein abomination of nature in a lab.
I wish I was more inspired to write some meta or something more directly fandom related. I wish I actually finished any of the hundreds of scattered ficbits laying all skitter-scatter in my writing folder. Sometimes I feel like I haven't taken a breath since roughly the middle of 2008. I feel like I've been folding away all the things I really want to do like clothes in a drawer, and I don't know how they'll wear when I taken them out again. I don't know if I want to just lie down and not move, or screech like a howler monkey and smash the shit out of something. I feel tired, and like I never know when I'm not going to be anymore.
Having spooged emotional crap all over the previous paragraph, we will now return to your regular journaling Thorne. Have some links!
DADT repeal efforts stall as Senate motion to proceed fails: Efforts to repeal "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" faltered today as the Senate voted 56-43, refusing to approve a motion to invoke cloture and move to consideration of the National Defense Authorization Act, containing both the DREAM Act and the DADT repeal amendments. Depressing.
Observer Food Monthly's 50 best cookbooks: Mmm, cookbooks.
10 Strange and Wonderful Soaps: Awesome soaps. My favorite is Han Solo, though I suspect flidgetjerome will favor #10 instead.
Famous Rappers and Their 20th-Century Literary Counterparts: I was sold by the time they matched the Wu Tang Clan with the Beat poets (which would be kind of an awesome real life crossover) but they also have a valid point about Jay-Z and Tom Wolfe's fashion sense. I am not quite as convinced about the Lil Wayne/Vladimir Nabakov parallel, but hey.
The Smoking Jacket: In case you really want the articles from Playboy without the pictures.
John Riepenhoff's Recursive Pizza: Meta pizza! This is awesome. It breaks the fourth oven wall.
Never say "No" to Panda: Exactly what it says. Twig sent it to me under the title "best. commercial. ever." And I totally agree.
The Weirdest Rejected Reality-TV Pitches Ever: I confess, I would kinda dig some of these. As it is, we are creeping up faster and faster on the dystopian Running Man kind of future that previously existed mostly in Stephen King's brain.
Supernatural premiere tonight. Looking forward to it. I'd watch it on my newly hooked up television and consider drinking an entire bottle of wine in my hammock set up in the living room (since I haven't bought, uh, furniture yet) but I have to be at a bridal shower downtown tomorrow. Foiled yet again by a wedding, blast.
Also, there's Louise moving in tomorrow. I need my liver to have as much downtime as possible.