New Year, Raconteurism
Well ... I've been reading What Everyone Did in 2006, and about three days ago I thought, that'd be really cool and I must do one too. Then people I haven't seen for ages arrived (I have learned about pizza in Washington, managing Christian Bookshops (!), walking stick evasion techniques and any number of moral quandaries) and I have been Out and Busy and no ...
So. Um. 2006.
Resolved to write more and read LJ less.
Wrote. (Too little) Read LJ. (Too much)
Made dignified post about irrelevance of wank.
Must confess to reading fandom_wank every day just in case anyone catches me doing so.
Scrutinised self for schizophrenic tendencies.
Gave up writing for moving books at speed from boxes to customers.
Changed jobs. Moved more books at greater speed. Made more spreadsheets to waste even more time filling them out. Decided staff should Never Ever have holidays as too many spreadsheets need to be filled out. Did very best to persuade staff they should never have holidays. Failed. Went to Istanbul.
Came back.
Wrote even less and read more. Resolved to change situation ... when I give up smoking. Imminent.
Increased comment rate. Yay!
... failed to answer even more e-mails. Hm.
Will probably repeat for 2007.
For the rest of 2006. Or the only other thing that mattered ... unovis_lj mentioned clothing porn, and I thought of this moment. It's not fannish at all, and really of no interest to anyone except me. But I can't forget.
Sometime during the Festival - so it must have been August - I went to see The Raconteurs (that's Jack White's new band) at some beastly out-of-town venue with plastic cups and too many people. I can't even remember what it's called, although I do remember that my friend K received a parking ticket for the occasion.
Anyway, K and I have sneaked round the side (in rather typical J fashion for getting sideways to the front of gigs, when not occupied in being singular, aloof and keeping her back to the wall) and are standing about three feet from the stage. There is a young man on K's right I am keeping a sharp eye on, because he's a bit unsteady and aggressive with it. The dry ice is billowing.
And in front of me are a young couple I cannot forget. They haunt me, this pair. There is a story to them.
They are young. Younger than me, and taller: both of them. Say, 23, 24. He must be 5'10'', she's a little smaller. They are both slim. He wears one of those belted jackets, buttoned, formal. Dark - military. His hair is cut razor-short on the back of his neck, slightly looser on top. From the back, his hairline is as clear-cut as if shaved. He's dark. She's gold-red fair, and her hair is shingled. You know, that twenties bob, very slightly waved? It gleams. She wears a low-cut cocktail dress that has a muted glimmer to it, ankle length. She has exquisite ankles, the skin curved in that tender half-moon of bone and tendon. On her right arm, below her shoulder, and on the nape of her neck, bare, two black-ink tattoos in Gothic script.
They stand close, just touching, but they do not hold hands, or lean embraced against each other in that annoying fashion of couples at gigs.
They look, these two, as if they are lovers meeting in wartime.
So. Um. 2006.
Resolved to write more and read LJ less.
Wrote. (Too little) Read LJ. (Too much)
Made dignified post about irrelevance of wank.
Must confess to reading fandom_wank every day just in case anyone catches me doing so.
Scrutinised self for schizophrenic tendencies.
Gave up writing for moving books at speed from boxes to customers.
Changed jobs. Moved more books at greater speed. Made more spreadsheets to waste even more time filling them out. Decided staff should Never Ever have holidays as too many spreadsheets need to be filled out. Did very best to persuade staff they should never have holidays. Failed. Went to Istanbul.
Came back.
Wrote even less and read more. Resolved to change situation ... when I give up smoking. Imminent.
Increased comment rate. Yay!
... failed to answer even more e-mails. Hm.
Will probably repeat for 2007.
For the rest of 2006. Or the only other thing that mattered ... unovis_lj mentioned clothing porn, and I thought of this moment. It's not fannish at all, and really of no interest to anyone except me. But I can't forget.
Sometime during the Festival - so it must have been August - I went to see The Raconteurs (that's Jack White's new band) at some beastly out-of-town venue with plastic cups and too many people. I can't even remember what it's called, although I do remember that my friend K received a parking ticket for the occasion.
Anyway, K and I have sneaked round the side (in rather typical J fashion for getting sideways to the front of gigs, when not occupied in being singular, aloof and keeping her back to the wall) and are standing about three feet from the stage. There is a young man on K's right I am keeping a sharp eye on, because he's a bit unsteady and aggressive with it. The dry ice is billowing.
And in front of me are a young couple I cannot forget. They haunt me, this pair. There is a story to them.
They are young. Younger than me, and taller: both of them. Say, 23, 24. He must be 5'10'', she's a little smaller. They are both slim. He wears one of those belted jackets, buttoned, formal. Dark - military. His hair is cut razor-short on the back of his neck, slightly looser on top. From the back, his hairline is as clear-cut as if shaved. He's dark. She's gold-red fair, and her hair is shingled. You know, that twenties bob, very slightly waved? It gleams. She wears a low-cut cocktail dress that has a muted glimmer to it, ankle length. She has exquisite ankles, the skin curved in that tender half-moon of bone and tendon. On her right arm, below her shoulder, and on the nape of her neck, bare, two black-ink tattoos in Gothic script.
They stand close, just touching, but they do not hold hands, or lean embraced against each other in that annoying fashion of couples at gigs.
They look, these two, as if they are lovers meeting in wartime.