So put another dime in the jukebox, baby
So Steven Stamkos ruined my evening again because that is what Steven Stamkos does-- he ruins lives and he has a stupid weenie face and I have already wished many sexually transmitted diseases in his direction this evening. (Nothing terrible because I'm not that mean. Preferably something itchy and embarrassing that he'll have to, like, buy a medicated shampoo or ointment for it or something, and the clerk at the drugstore will give him the judgmental side-eye.) BUT THAT'S OKAY, because in my disgruntled evening I decided to get drunk and watch something that might cheer me up.
Yeah, that's right-- I finally cracked open Guys and Balls. Verdict: BEST GAY SOCCER MOVIE EVER. WITH THE DISCLAIMER THAT I WATCHED IT UNDER A SUBSTANTIAL AMOUNT OF RUM. AND SOME BEER. POSSIBLY OTHER THINGS. This movie is now the top of my feel-good, batshit-stupid, athletic-based movies, dethroning the long-reigning Cool Runnings. (I thought I had posted about my other foray into gay sports movies, with my thoughts on Summer Storm, but frankly I may have just thought I did and I'm still too drunk to go trolling through my old entries.)
flidgetjerome is totally lucky that alcohol impairs my ability to remember international calling codes, because otherwise I would have woken her with a shrieking, incoherent phone call while she peacefully slumbered in London. (Not just for the drunken joy; I would have been calling to ask her actual logistical questions about soccer. The movie, strangely, did not really advance my knowledge of association football.)
OH MY GOD. This movie leaves no gay stereotype unvisited. It goes all the way past terrible to amazing. The fact that it's so... that it hits every stereotype is what makes it so terrible and therefore amazing. The leather guys actually sleep in their leather. They just hang out in leather! ALL THE TIME. There's the gay kinda adorable protagonist, who is also a baker as well as a soccer player! There's the swishy guy! (Who actually was one of my favorites in a weird way, because they made him the swishiest, most obvious gay guy ever-- and gave him a huge loving family who are all totally okay with that. Who are also Middle Eastern. Unexpected, still enjoyable.) There's the guy who used to be straight and has a kid but is now gay! He's in a threesome with the two other leather-daddy bear motorcycle guys! There's the closeted guy! There's the guy who's pretending to be gay so he can be with the protagonist's sister! There's the transsexual and the crossdresser! There's the homophobe who turns good in the end! There's the other homophobe who keeps doing really gay things like grabbing the protagonist's ass! There's the hot male nurse love interest! And the parents who overcome their prejudices to support their son! SEX IN AN ELEVATOR. MISUNDERSTANDINGS IN A LEATHER CLUB LEADING TO ENDING UP IN A SEX SWING. This movie seriously brings every cliche you could possibly imagine and humps them in plain view.
And yet, it is still completely enjoyable because it makes no pretenses of being anything other than that. I mean, there's some touching scenes, and an attempt to be serious once or twice, but otherwise, yeah. There is the ending you can see coming from a mile away but I love it anyway because YAY GAY TEAM, KICK THE HOMOPHOBIC TEAM'S ASS AND NEATLY RESOLVE ALL YOUR CHARACTER'S PROBLEMS AT THE SAME TIME! And somehow, the fact it's all in German just makes it more hilarious. I don't even know, man. German is... not the language I immediately seize upon for whispering sweet nothings, but it's fun.
This is embarrassing to admit but goddamn do I wish there was fanfic to read. MAYBE I SHOULD WRITE SOME.
Dear Germany: Thank you for making entertaining gay sports movies about soccer and rowing crew. I would be totally okay if you wanted to make one about hockey. Or swimming, I'm not picky. Yrs, Thorne.
Anyway, I'm still kinda drunk, so here are some rambling notes I've been keeping on hockey. I would make them more organized and funnier, but fuck it, I'll do it later, along with the convention recap.
***
Oh God, Mike Green, please tweet more when you're on painkillers. YOU ARE THE PHILOSOPHER KING AND WE ALL NEED THIS IN OUR LIVES. Though we would also all be content if you stayed healthy and didn't actually need painkillers.
Alex had been hanging out with Sasha, because Sasha had taken a bad hit on the boards yesterday and now he's gorked out on painkillers, which is always worth seeing because Sasha on Percocet loses every single personal filter and talks in a loud monotone about everything that crosses his mind, usually while waving his hands a lot and occasionally hitting himself in the face. He also recites the same three dirty jokes over and over again, blowing the punchline each time so badly that it circles around again from being sad to hilarious.
Alex has been reliably informed that he himself is similar but that apparently he gets handsy as well, from the few times he ended up tripping balls on painkillers and someone from the team had to baby-sit him to make sure he didn't accidentally drown himself in the bathtub. ("No, slutty, actually, is what I'd call it," Brooks said. "Really slutty. Like, even more so than usual for you." "How much more?" Alex asked, more than a little fascinated. "Hard drive to the net but you couldn't finish," Brooks said.) Alex volunteered to keep an eye on Mike Green last year so he could get the dirt on him, though Greenie tends to just watch his own computer's screensaver with great concentration and occasionally ask for TimBits.
Nothing, however, tops the fact that Matt Hendricks inevitably and soulfully sings "I Touch Myself" when he's on the Vicodin train. Alex used that as his ringtone for at least three months; at least two other players had it as well.
***
I watched the second Tampa Bay game in a bar because I had thrown my fortunes to the wind and decided to attend the Caps Singles night, on the off chance I might meet someone who wouldn't think it's weird that I have to wear the same jersey and yell at the television for three hours, several nights a week, eight months a year. Louise bailed on me (which is probably for the best as we would have just hung out with each other all night anyway and everyone would have assumed we were a couple like they always do) so I went into the bar and made awkward conversation with some older gentleman who gave me champagne until I felt I had put in my duty for a free drink, and then I went and hid by the back food table.
Slapshot, the Capitals' eagle mascot (or a reasonable impersonator) was also present, wandering around the bar and trying to create matches between people. There is just nothing to get the romantic feelings going like a gesticulating dude in a giant eagle suit. While I did not meet any significant romantic partners (the two dudes I enjoyed chatting with the most actually had tickets to the game and had to leave after an hour), I did make a new lady friend and we had a spirited debate on whether or not we could think of anyone handsomer than Brooks Laich.
We could not. Though Henrik Lundqvist was automatically disqualified. Lundqvist is handsomer than pretty much everyone on Earth; it is not fair to judge people by Lundqvist standards. He's his own category. While watching the 2012 Winter Classic, no less than five men in the vicinity used the line, "I'm not gay, but…" whenever we were discussing him.
Also, I am definitely a believer in the theory that apparently Brooks has a clause in his contract that says the Capitals aren't allowed to hire anyone more handsome than him. He's probably got, like, rankings for all his features, and the team is prohibited from taking on anyone who exceeds the following criteria--
Eyes: Cobalt Level 9 (they made an exception in Ovi's case, BUT NO ONE ELSE), with Full Piercing Capability
Cheekbones: Diamond Grade Chiseled
Smile: Blinding Factor 8
Teeth: White Dazzle
Nose: Category Aquiline
Overall Facial Symmetry: Perfect
Stubble: Premium Manscaped Even Coverage, with added Surprise Ginger Element
Abdominals: Six Pack Caliber
Automotive Expertise: Tire Changing Ability
***
Carolina game. Skinner just swung his stick at Halpern's head like a baseball bat, Jesus Christ. On his first night back from concussion. Really, Skinner? Really? Girl next to me at the bar yelled, "OH NO YOU DON'T, BITCH, YOU CAN'T EVEN RENT A CAR!"
Wait, Skinner just tried to fight… Wideman? Oh, kid, no. Just, no. This is embarrassing for all of us. Please go back to throwing tantrums where you jump into the boards and fall down, that's much more hilarious and aww-worthy.
***
Calgary game. Ovi just stepped on the puck while going to the bench and wiped out magnificently. Troy Brouwer visibly laughing his ass off at Ovi while sitting on the bench. Good times.
…I hope someone feeds Rene Borque his own face. Get well soon, Nicky.
***
ThorneScratch: Oh man. I gotta tell you this story. So last night, I was watching the game.
twigcollins: Ooh.
ThorneScratch: (And yelling and drinking a beer, but that goes without saying.) And Louise comes up on my left side while I'm in process of picking up the beer, and says, "Hey, I have a favor to ask and it's a little weird but not bad and I need you to look at my boobs because what do you know about inverted nipples?"
And I froze. I was, like thinking to myself, "Beer or sports or boobs?"
And then I was like, "I really gotta cut guys more slack, this is hard."
She did have inverted nipples by, the way, which I made a guess at the reason and then googled, and I was totally right. Ha.
twigcollins: Wait, there's a reason? What's the reason?
ThorneScratch: According to Wikipedia, they can include!
-Born with condition
-Breastfeeding
-Trauma which can be caused by conditions such as fat necrosis, scars or it may be a result of surgery
-Breast Sagging, Drooping or Ptosis
-Breast cancer including breast carcinoma, Paget's disease and Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC)
-Breast infections or inflammations such as mammary duct ectasia, breast abscess or mastitis
-Genetic variant of nipple shape such as Weaver syndrome, Fryns- Aftimos syndrome, Chromosome 2q Deletion or congenital disorder of glycosylation type 1A & 1 L or Kennerknecht-Sorgo-Oberhoffer syndrome
-Gynecomastia
-Holoprosencephaly, recurrent infections, and monocytosis
-Pregnancy
-Tuberculosis
And now even though I know it's not catching, it makes me paranoid. I keep checking my own tits.
twigcollins: I keep looking at mine but for other reasons
ThorneScratch: Don't we all.
For the record, I went sports (we were on a powerplay; it was important), then boobs, then beer. And her nipples un-inverted (reverted?) two days later. And then a week later, one of them inverted again, and I haven't gotten any updates since, so I assume they're still like that. I suppose I could ask and she'd tell me, but I usually like a little bit of mystery about these things.
(ETA: Apparently they're both back in, though they came out for half an hour at one point before retreating. Huh. There are many things I was unaware nipples could do. This both confuses and intrigues me.)
***
Incidentally, I knew I had gotten too deep when I was reading a piece of fanfiction in an entirely different fandom where one of the main characters was watching a hockey game, and I was thinking to myself, "Why the motherfucking hell would this character be a Habs fan, and not only that, be cheering for the Habs over the Bruins when the character canonically was born in Maryland, went to Harvard, and works in Washington DC? HE'S CLEARLY GOING TO BE ROOTING FOR EITHER THE BRUINS OR THE CAPITALS. ALSO, TIM THOMAS IS NOT ONLY AMERICAN BUT ALSO HAS A MARINE-LIKE WARIOR SPIRIT, AND HE WOULD SO NOT CALL TIM THOMAS A DOUCHEBAG. TIM THOMAS IS DELIGHTFUL. THIS IS WRONG. THIS IS ALL WRONG. SOMEONE IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET!"
Then I was like, "Thorne, you're a moron, get a grip and go eat a sandwich."
So I did. And the sandwich was so delicious that I was much cheered up and did not leave anyone an ill-thought out comment on my opinion of their opinion of Nate Fick's NHL team loyalty. Once again, evidence that well-timed sandwiches can save any situation.
***
And then Tim Thomas had to go and, you know, be kind of a douche. Especially the kind who would definitely annoy Nate Fick. THANKS A LOT, TIM THOMAS, YOU MADE MY RANT LOOK BAD.
I respect Tim Thomas' right not to attend the White House gathering to honor the 2011 Stanley Cup Champions even if I don't agree with it, and I can even mostly get over the fact he's a Tea Party Republican-I live and break bread with a Republican; people can belong to a political party I find ridiculous, but still be fine and personable folks-but as soon as I learned he's listed Glenn Beck as one of his most admired people, yeah, I judged him like I was Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
Also, that was a flounce on your facebook, Tim. It was totally a flounce. Don't argue with me, I know internet flounces.
***
I think Sasha just got to third base with Matty P during his hat trick celebration hug. Alexander Semin, king of the lingering groin-contact hug. Ease up, Sasha, there are cameras going and Ovi is going to be sad he can't join in from the press box.
Wait, nope, he totally can. I hope that was official Gillette shaving cream you just rubbed all over Matty's face, Ovi. Also, I can't help but feel be probably tore-ass out of the press box and down to the locker room to get the shaving cream and towel and have it ready by the time the game ended. Never change, el capitan.
***
I really, really wish I cared or knew more about the Anaheim Ducks, just so I could write something and title it Anatidaephobia.
(Sometimes I can’t sleep at night for fear Corey Perry is watching me.)
***
Ovi is getting asked for millionth time about suspension. I kind of love watching him listen to a question and visibly think, "Fuck it, I'm not answering this," and say something completely unrelated to what the question referred to.
***
Oh for the love of God, I cannot handle having to listen to Mike Milbury and Pierre Lebrun at the same time. This is torture. The cockjockery quotient is in the red zone. We are at nuclear douchebag capacity.
***
ThorneScratch: I just know this was Putin's idea somehow. Fire improves everything. Even, uh, ice
twigcollins: Holy shit, dude. There is no context for this, is there. "And then Russians and fire."
ThorneScratch: It was the national team playing an outdoor game. I bet Putin was on a vast iron throne somewhere just off picture, surrounded by his bear entourage and wearing his crown of swords.
twigcollins: Yes.
"And tomorrow I shall tear the very stars from the skies."
"Very good, Lord Putin."
ThorneScratch: Meanwhile, the losing team is being lead to the bear pit. Unless those columns of fire really are the losing team.
twigcollins: You become what they grit the path with to get home
ThorneScratch: I can only hope this is but a taste of what they serve up for the 2014 Sochi games. I really do.
***
I'm reading this story and the author just… does not know anything about hockey. It's kind of cramping my brain; there's an error every other line. And yet it's so fascinatingly bad, I can't stop reading. The funny thing is, I think it reads like a parody of another well-known story in the fandom, and it's like the author maybe just read that story, liked it, and decided to remix it slightly without knowing anything else about the game, characters, teams, etc. I'm kind of impressed, actually. It takes some kind of conviction to write like this, so very clearly not knowing what the hell you're writing about.
It's like… Uwe Boll. I actually admire Uwe Boll for sucking as much as he does, as often as he does, as hard as he does. When Uwe Boll wants to ruin something? He motherfucking ruins it. He fucks that shit into the ground. I had a weird affection for the man because of this, even though I think he produces nothing but crap. But he produces crap he wants because he thinks it's cool, even if 99% of the world vehemently disagrees.
This writer is not on Uwe Boll level, but it's the same principles. I can't help but admire someone who's writing a story they so clearly want even if it is so clearly uninformed. And y'know what? That's fine. That's what we're supposed to do-write what you want to read. I can always hit the back button; it's good to know someone else is getting some happiness out of it all.
And then there's another story, which while proficient in writing-it's got correct grammar, spelling, reasonable writing style, and basic information, I keep baring my teeth at it like an alarmed chimpanzee because I just can't agree with the foundation based on the characterization of most of the people involved, nor with the logistics of why and how these people are boning. Everything is so coincidental. Person A does this so event A can happen, and Person B reacts and leads to event B, and so forth down the line, except person A would never do what they did to lead to Event A so it just collapses like a chain of soufflés.
I mean, there's no harm in setting up coincidences in writing. We gotta work around a lot of factors in RPF, and there's a lot of very specific ones in something like sports RPF where you have this rigid schedule and the sheer geographical logistics that can get in the way of people boning. But as a reader, I shouldn't be able to see the writer so obviously setting this shit up. It's like seeing the stage crew at a theater production. (Or, to use a fandom-related pun, it's like noticing Jeff Schultz. ZING.) What annoys me is that it's not in any way organic; I don't see the natural story rising out of the plot points, I see a bunch of forced plot points and sketchy characterization slammed together to make a story. Which can work sometimes! But I think a forced storyline works way better when it's humor or deliberately over the top. Over a long, serious storyline, it's much harder to pull off. (I usually avoid naming titles or authors unless I have something positive to say. Which is why I'll point out that I think Heart in Hand succeeded with this. If you told me the outline of that plot before I'd read it, especially two or three of the major plot-moving points, I'd laugh in your face if you told me it worked. But it did. It successfully sold everything it was going for, over a lot of writing, and hats off to that story for the accomplishment.)
I'm not explaining this very well, and I suspect I'm coming off as an entitled, disgruntled jerkface.
Like the previous story, this isn't a bad thing at heart. Again, it's clearly what the writer wants to read. But I'm not sure why I have a harder time getting over it with the second story than with the first; I suppose it's because with the first story, I assume the author really just doesn't know any better, whereas with the second story, I expect the author to be better, and then get bummed when I can't make myself suspend belief for the story. Which, at heart, is more my problem, not the author's.
…but ugh, I just can't buy this plot.
***
This is where all the WIP bits would be except I am just now hitting the wall on both sleep deprivation and booze processing, so I'll call it a night and save those for another day.
In conclusion because it is mildly topical: Omar Little strongly urges Maryland legislators to support marriage equality.
Good night. Good morning. Whatever. I will probably regret posting this when I wake up.
Yeah, that's right-- I finally cracked open Guys and Balls. Verdict: BEST GAY SOCCER MOVIE EVER. WITH THE DISCLAIMER THAT I WATCHED IT UNDER A SUBSTANTIAL AMOUNT OF RUM. AND SOME BEER. POSSIBLY OTHER THINGS. This movie is now the top of my feel-good, batshit-stupid, athletic-based movies, dethroning the long-reigning Cool Runnings. (I thought I had posted about my other foray into gay sports movies, with my thoughts on Summer Storm, but frankly I may have just thought I did and I'm still too drunk to go trolling through my old entries.)
flidgetjerome is totally lucky that alcohol impairs my ability to remember international calling codes, because otherwise I would have woken her with a shrieking, incoherent phone call while she peacefully slumbered in London. (Not just for the drunken joy; I would have been calling to ask her actual logistical questions about soccer. The movie, strangely, did not really advance my knowledge of association football.)
OH MY GOD. This movie leaves no gay stereotype unvisited. It goes all the way past terrible to amazing. The fact that it's so... that it hits every stereotype is what makes it so terrible and therefore amazing. The leather guys actually sleep in their leather. They just hang out in leather! ALL THE TIME. There's the gay kinda adorable protagonist, who is also a baker as well as a soccer player! There's the swishy guy! (Who actually was one of my favorites in a weird way, because they made him the swishiest, most obvious gay guy ever-- and gave him a huge loving family who are all totally okay with that. Who are also Middle Eastern. Unexpected, still enjoyable.) There's the guy who used to be straight and has a kid but is now gay! He's in a threesome with the two other leather-daddy bear motorcycle guys! There's the closeted guy! There's the guy who's pretending to be gay so he can be with the protagonist's sister! There's the transsexual and the crossdresser! There's the homophobe who turns good in the end! There's the other homophobe who keeps doing really gay things like grabbing the protagonist's ass! There's the hot male nurse love interest! And the parents who overcome their prejudices to support their son! SEX IN AN ELEVATOR. MISUNDERSTANDINGS IN A LEATHER CLUB LEADING TO ENDING UP IN A SEX SWING. This movie seriously brings every cliche you could possibly imagine and humps them in plain view.
And yet, it is still completely enjoyable because it makes no pretenses of being anything other than that. I mean, there's some touching scenes, and an attempt to be serious once or twice, but otherwise, yeah. There is the ending you can see coming from a mile away but I love it anyway because YAY GAY TEAM, KICK THE HOMOPHOBIC TEAM'S ASS AND NEATLY RESOLVE ALL YOUR CHARACTER'S PROBLEMS AT THE SAME TIME! And somehow, the fact it's all in German just makes it more hilarious. I don't even know, man. German is... not the language I immediately seize upon for whispering sweet nothings, but it's fun.
This is embarrassing to admit but goddamn do I wish there was fanfic to read. MAYBE I SHOULD WRITE SOME.
Dear Germany: Thank you for making entertaining gay sports movies about soccer and rowing crew. I would be totally okay if you wanted to make one about hockey. Or swimming, I'm not picky. Yrs, Thorne.
Anyway, I'm still kinda drunk, so here are some rambling notes I've been keeping on hockey. I would make them more organized and funnier, but fuck it, I'll do it later, along with the convention recap.
***
Oh God, Mike Green, please tweet more when you're on painkillers. YOU ARE THE PHILOSOPHER KING AND WE ALL NEED THIS IN OUR LIVES. Though we would also all be content if you stayed healthy and didn't actually need painkillers.
Alex had been hanging out with Sasha, because Sasha had taken a bad hit on the boards yesterday and now he's gorked out on painkillers, which is always worth seeing because Sasha on Percocet loses every single personal filter and talks in a loud monotone about everything that crosses his mind, usually while waving his hands a lot and occasionally hitting himself in the face. He also recites the same three dirty jokes over and over again, blowing the punchline each time so badly that it circles around again from being sad to hilarious.
Alex has been reliably informed that he himself is similar but that apparently he gets handsy as well, from the few times he ended up tripping balls on painkillers and someone from the team had to baby-sit him to make sure he didn't accidentally drown himself in the bathtub. ("No, slutty, actually, is what I'd call it," Brooks said. "Really slutty. Like, even more so than usual for you." "How much more?" Alex asked, more than a little fascinated. "Hard drive to the net but you couldn't finish," Brooks said.) Alex volunteered to keep an eye on Mike Green last year so he could get the dirt on him, though Greenie tends to just watch his own computer's screensaver with great concentration and occasionally ask for TimBits.
Nothing, however, tops the fact that Matt Hendricks inevitably and soulfully sings "I Touch Myself" when he's on the Vicodin train. Alex used that as his ringtone for at least three months; at least two other players had it as well.
***
I watched the second Tampa Bay game in a bar because I had thrown my fortunes to the wind and decided to attend the Caps Singles night, on the off chance I might meet someone who wouldn't think it's weird that I have to wear the same jersey and yell at the television for three hours, several nights a week, eight months a year. Louise bailed on me (which is probably for the best as we would have just hung out with each other all night anyway and everyone would have assumed we were a couple like they always do) so I went into the bar and made awkward conversation with some older gentleman who gave me champagne until I felt I had put in my duty for a free drink, and then I went and hid by the back food table.
Slapshot, the Capitals' eagle mascot (or a reasonable impersonator) was also present, wandering around the bar and trying to create matches between people. There is just nothing to get the romantic feelings going like a gesticulating dude in a giant eagle suit. While I did not meet any significant romantic partners (the two dudes I enjoyed chatting with the most actually had tickets to the game and had to leave after an hour), I did make a new lady friend and we had a spirited debate on whether or not we could think of anyone handsomer than Brooks Laich.
We could not. Though Henrik Lundqvist was automatically disqualified. Lundqvist is handsomer than pretty much everyone on Earth; it is not fair to judge people by Lundqvist standards. He's his own category. While watching the 2012 Winter Classic, no less than five men in the vicinity used the line, "I'm not gay, but…" whenever we were discussing him.
Also, I am definitely a believer in the theory that apparently Brooks has a clause in his contract that says the Capitals aren't allowed to hire anyone more handsome than him. He's probably got, like, rankings for all his features, and the team is prohibited from taking on anyone who exceeds the following criteria--
Eyes: Cobalt Level 9 (they made an exception in Ovi's case, BUT NO ONE ELSE), with Full Piercing Capability
Cheekbones: Diamond Grade Chiseled
Smile: Blinding Factor 8
Teeth: White Dazzle
Nose: Category Aquiline
Overall Facial Symmetry: Perfect
Stubble: Premium Manscaped Even Coverage, with added Surprise Ginger Element
Abdominals: Six Pack Caliber
Automotive Expertise: Tire Changing Ability
***
Carolina game. Skinner just swung his stick at Halpern's head like a baseball bat, Jesus Christ. On his first night back from concussion. Really, Skinner? Really? Girl next to me at the bar yelled, "OH NO YOU DON'T, BITCH, YOU CAN'T EVEN RENT A CAR!"
Wait, Skinner just tried to fight… Wideman? Oh, kid, no. Just, no. This is embarrassing for all of us. Please go back to throwing tantrums where you jump into the boards and fall down, that's much more hilarious and aww-worthy.
***
Calgary game. Ovi just stepped on the puck while going to the bench and wiped out magnificently. Troy Brouwer visibly laughing his ass off at Ovi while sitting on the bench. Good times.
…I hope someone feeds Rene Borque his own face. Get well soon, Nicky.
***
ThorneScratch: Oh man. I gotta tell you this story. So last night, I was watching the game.
twigcollins: Ooh.
ThorneScratch: (And yelling and drinking a beer, but that goes without saying.) And Louise comes up on my left side while I'm in process of picking up the beer, and says, "Hey, I have a favor to ask and it's a little weird but not bad and I need you to look at my boobs because what do you know about inverted nipples?"
And I froze. I was, like thinking to myself, "Beer or sports or boobs?"
And then I was like, "I really gotta cut guys more slack, this is hard."
She did have inverted nipples by, the way, which I made a guess at the reason and then googled, and I was totally right. Ha.
twigcollins: Wait, there's a reason? What's the reason?
ThorneScratch: According to Wikipedia, they can include!
-Born with condition
-Breastfeeding
-Trauma which can be caused by conditions such as fat necrosis, scars or it may be a result of surgery
-Breast Sagging, Drooping or Ptosis
-Breast cancer including breast carcinoma, Paget's disease and Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC)
-Breast infections or inflammations such as mammary duct ectasia, breast abscess or mastitis
-Genetic variant of nipple shape such as Weaver syndrome, Fryns- Aftimos syndrome, Chromosome 2q Deletion or congenital disorder of glycosylation type 1A & 1 L or Kennerknecht-Sorgo-Oberhoffer syndrome
-Gynecomastia
-Holoprosencephaly, recurrent infections, and monocytosis
-Pregnancy
-Tuberculosis
And now even though I know it's not catching, it makes me paranoid. I keep checking my own tits.
twigcollins: I keep looking at mine but for other reasons
ThorneScratch: Don't we all.
For the record, I went sports (we were on a powerplay; it was important), then boobs, then beer. And her nipples un-inverted (reverted?) two days later. And then a week later, one of them inverted again, and I haven't gotten any updates since, so I assume they're still like that. I suppose I could ask and she'd tell me, but I usually like a little bit of mystery about these things.
(ETA: Apparently they're both back in, though they came out for half an hour at one point before retreating. Huh. There are many things I was unaware nipples could do. This both confuses and intrigues me.)
***
Incidentally, I knew I had gotten too deep when I was reading a piece of fanfiction in an entirely different fandom where one of the main characters was watching a hockey game, and I was thinking to myself, "Why the motherfucking hell would this character be a Habs fan, and not only that, be cheering for the Habs over the Bruins when the character canonically was born in Maryland, went to Harvard, and works in Washington DC? HE'S CLEARLY GOING TO BE ROOTING FOR EITHER THE BRUINS OR THE CAPITALS. ALSO, TIM THOMAS IS NOT ONLY AMERICAN BUT ALSO HAS A MARINE-LIKE WARIOR SPIRIT, AND HE WOULD SO NOT CALL TIM THOMAS A DOUCHEBAG. TIM THOMAS IS DELIGHTFUL. THIS IS WRONG. THIS IS ALL WRONG. SOMEONE IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET!"
Then I was like, "Thorne, you're a moron, get a grip and go eat a sandwich."
So I did. And the sandwich was so delicious that I was much cheered up and did not leave anyone an ill-thought out comment on my opinion of their opinion of Nate Fick's NHL team loyalty. Once again, evidence that well-timed sandwiches can save any situation.
***
And then Tim Thomas had to go and, you know, be kind of a douche. Especially the kind who would definitely annoy Nate Fick. THANKS A LOT, TIM THOMAS, YOU MADE MY RANT LOOK BAD.
I respect Tim Thomas' right not to attend the White House gathering to honor the 2011 Stanley Cup Champions even if I don't agree with it, and I can even mostly get over the fact he's a Tea Party Republican-I live and break bread with a Republican; people can belong to a political party I find ridiculous, but still be fine and personable folks-but as soon as I learned he's listed Glenn Beck as one of his most admired people, yeah, I judged him like I was Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
Also, that was a flounce on your facebook, Tim. It was totally a flounce. Don't argue with me, I know internet flounces.
***
I think Sasha just got to third base with Matty P during his hat trick celebration hug. Alexander Semin, king of the lingering groin-contact hug. Ease up, Sasha, there are cameras going and Ovi is going to be sad he can't join in from the press box.
Wait, nope, he totally can. I hope that was official Gillette shaving cream you just rubbed all over Matty's face, Ovi. Also, I can't help but feel be probably tore-ass out of the press box and down to the locker room to get the shaving cream and towel and have it ready by the time the game ended. Never change, el capitan.
***
I really, really wish I cared or knew more about the Anaheim Ducks, just so I could write something and title it Anatidaephobia.
(Sometimes I can’t sleep at night for fear Corey Perry is watching me.)
***
Ovi is getting asked for millionth time about suspension. I kind of love watching him listen to a question and visibly think, "Fuck it, I'm not answering this," and say something completely unrelated to what the question referred to.
***
Oh for the love of God, I cannot handle having to listen to Mike Milbury and Pierre Lebrun at the same time. This is torture. The cockjockery quotient is in the red zone. We are at nuclear douchebag capacity.
***
ThorneScratch: I just know this was Putin's idea somehow. Fire improves everything. Even, uh, ice
twigcollins: Holy shit, dude. There is no context for this, is there. "And then Russians and fire."
ThorneScratch: It was the national team playing an outdoor game. I bet Putin was on a vast iron throne somewhere just off picture, surrounded by his bear entourage and wearing his crown of swords.
twigcollins: Yes.
"And tomorrow I shall tear the very stars from the skies."
"Very good, Lord Putin."
ThorneScratch: Meanwhile, the losing team is being lead to the bear pit. Unless those columns of fire really are the losing team.
twigcollins: You become what they grit the path with to get home
ThorneScratch: I can only hope this is but a taste of what they serve up for the 2014 Sochi games. I really do.
***
I'm reading this story and the author just… does not know anything about hockey. It's kind of cramping my brain; there's an error every other line. And yet it's so fascinatingly bad, I can't stop reading. The funny thing is, I think it reads like a parody of another well-known story in the fandom, and it's like the author maybe just read that story, liked it, and decided to remix it slightly without knowing anything else about the game, characters, teams, etc. I'm kind of impressed, actually. It takes some kind of conviction to write like this, so very clearly not knowing what the hell you're writing about.
It's like… Uwe Boll. I actually admire Uwe Boll for sucking as much as he does, as often as he does, as hard as he does. When Uwe Boll wants to ruin something? He motherfucking ruins it. He fucks that shit into the ground. I had a weird affection for the man because of this, even though I think he produces nothing but crap. But he produces crap he wants because he thinks it's cool, even if 99% of the world vehemently disagrees.
This writer is not on Uwe Boll level, but it's the same principles. I can't help but admire someone who's writing a story they so clearly want even if it is so clearly uninformed. And y'know what? That's fine. That's what we're supposed to do-write what you want to read. I can always hit the back button; it's good to know someone else is getting some happiness out of it all.
And then there's another story, which while proficient in writing-it's got correct grammar, spelling, reasonable writing style, and basic information, I keep baring my teeth at it like an alarmed chimpanzee because I just can't agree with the foundation based on the characterization of most of the people involved, nor with the logistics of why and how these people are boning. Everything is so coincidental. Person A does this so event A can happen, and Person B reacts and leads to event B, and so forth down the line, except person A would never do what they did to lead to Event A so it just collapses like a chain of soufflés.
I mean, there's no harm in setting up coincidences in writing. We gotta work around a lot of factors in RPF, and there's a lot of very specific ones in something like sports RPF where you have this rigid schedule and the sheer geographical logistics that can get in the way of people boning. But as a reader, I shouldn't be able to see the writer so obviously setting this shit up. It's like seeing the stage crew at a theater production. (Or, to use a fandom-related pun, it's like noticing Jeff Schultz. ZING.) What annoys me is that it's not in any way organic; I don't see the natural story rising out of the plot points, I see a bunch of forced plot points and sketchy characterization slammed together to make a story. Which can work sometimes! But I think a forced storyline works way better when it's humor or deliberately over the top. Over a long, serious storyline, it's much harder to pull off. (I usually avoid naming titles or authors unless I have something positive to say. Which is why I'll point out that I think Heart in Hand succeeded with this. If you told me the outline of that plot before I'd read it, especially two or three of the major plot-moving points, I'd laugh in your face if you told me it worked. But it did. It successfully sold everything it was going for, over a lot of writing, and hats off to that story for the accomplishment.)
I'm not explaining this very well, and I suspect I'm coming off as an entitled, disgruntled jerkface.
Like the previous story, this isn't a bad thing at heart. Again, it's clearly what the writer wants to read. But I'm not sure why I have a harder time getting over it with the second story than with the first; I suppose it's because with the first story, I assume the author really just doesn't know any better, whereas with the second story, I expect the author to be better, and then get bummed when I can't make myself suspend belief for the story. Which, at heart, is more my problem, not the author's.
…but ugh, I just can't buy this plot.
***
This is where all the WIP bits would be except I am just now hitting the wall on both sleep deprivation and booze processing, so I'll call it a night and save those for another day.
In conclusion because it is mildly topical: Omar Little strongly urges Maryland legislators to support marriage equality.
Good night. Good morning. Whatever. I will probably regret posting this when I wake up.