Survived visit with relatives. Yay! Much rejoicing.
It was good, actually. My mom and I may have had a breakthrough in terms of relating to each other as rationale human beings; we'll see how it plays out.
Zebadiah is also much improved, and we've started introducing him to Mr. Sinatra with promising results. They're still a little uneasy around each other, but we've only had to separate them with the spray bottle once. With a little time, it looks likely that they'll get along. Also, I can only imagine that tensions will decrease as soon as Zeb's big enough to be neutered. I think half of Mr. S's annoyance stems from concerns about his manhood.
I'm feeling a little off balance in the wake of my mom and sister's departure. Read Kat's romantic taxonomy and hooted until I got to this part: "The one your friend has fallen for like a ton of bricks and whom she keeps babbling to you about on the phone for hours, and you'd be happy for her except you just know it's going to end badly: Smallville," after which I was violently struck by the urge to rend my garments, shrieking, "It's all going to end badly! Aaaaiiiiiieeeeee!"
I pray the Clark In Heat episode isn't as cheesy and awful as the trailer portends.
The new cat, Zebadiah? Has an upper respiratory infection, and is sneezing and hacking like mad. He's so scrawny and so sweet and so completely disgusting. The spare bathroom is covered in antibiotics and cat snot.
I think I'm not gonna talk about Smallville just yet. I get...overwhelmed, sometimes, by the sheer force of fannish emotion after an event such as a season premiere, and find myself simultaneously desperate to know what everyone else thought and unable to cope with the turmoil. So, I liked "Vortex," but I think that's all I have to say at this point.
I've been thinking about this reaction a lot in light of shell's September 20th post about fan possessiveness. That post sparked a few connections for me, because lately I've been struggling a little with my personality as a fan (and my job, and my religion, and my awareness of world politics, but for right now we'll stick to fandom and leave my impending identity crisis out of it). Spending time with SMW the past few weeks has really driven home to me the extreme passiveness of my fandom involvement--I take an almost exclusively "empty vessel" role when it comes to internet interaction. I read fanfic. I read blogs and livejournals. Occasionally I'll visit a fan site that's not devoted specifically to slash, but with the exception of TWoP it's pretty unusual. I rarely comment on blog entries, and I almost never send feedback anymore unless the story flays me alive. I'm very closeted in my involvment as well--until I met SMW, I didn't talk about fandom or slash with anybody except the Hubster, who on a good day can muster polite disinterest. (Which is one of the many reasons why meeting SMW was such a boon). I'm basically a receptacle for the input of other fans, and while I don't exactly feel bad about that, I've been wondering what it says about me that I avoid purposeful engagement in something that's such a big chunk of my life. And, yeah, fandom is a big chunk, and I'd be lying if I tried to say otherwise. William Shatner be damned.
I don't think it's apathy. Laziness, possibly, or some kind of depressive reaction, or even more likely, the result of a nasty case of fan possessiveness. I am a huge, embarrassing, fluffy bunny, One True Pairing whore, and sometimes I just don't fucking want to hear about other people's conceptualization of the Clark/Lex relationship. I'm aware of canon, I have much respect for canon, and I have undying admiration for people who can interpret canon, but at the end of the day Clark and Lex (and Fraser and Ray and Jim and Blair and Mulder and Scully and Krycek) are in my head, and their world runs how I damn well say it runs. And if occasionally there are hearts and flowers in that world, well, bite me.
So I realize that this possessiveness is a bit, uh, unseemly, which I think is where the passivity comes in. Like, God forbid I start spouting this crap off in a (more) public forum and blow my image as the jaded cosmopoli-fan, so I'd just better stay out of the fray altogether.
There's another post in here somewhere about possessiveness and Betty Plotnick's "queered headspace" and What Slash Means to Me, but I've got to decide if that should go down on record or not.
I had much to say about my recent Buddhist experience, and my cute new haircut that got me macked on by a six-year-old client, and our even cuter new cat, Zebadiah, but I think I'm tapped out for the night. My mom and Beloved Younger Sister M are coming into town for a few days tomorrow night, so I'll be on an internet holiday. Have fun while I'm gone.
See, we had people over for dinner last night, among them CMJ from work and her husband M, and the Hubster's sailing buddy RG. Much of the dinner conversation centered around how RG had recently lost her job with a biotech firm here in Texas, and is taking a position with some company in Brisbane, in eastern Australia. Blah blah what an exciting challenge for you blah, and by the way, what exactly is it that you'll be doing at the new job? Well, I'll have the chance to work with some genetics programs, says RG. I'm pretty stoked about that. Me: Hey! You should totally email my dad. He's big in the gene therapy world.
Now, I have the vague understanding that my father is top dog in his particular slice of the genetics field, but you know how sometimes people are your relatives and all throughout your childhood they like to lecture at you in captive situations such as the dinner table, and you learn how to tune them out and think about rock music while still appearing attentive? And then later sometimes you realize that you might actually be interested in what they're talking about, but it's far to late in the game to ask what exactly that acronym stands for and why it applies to their research, so you just continue to nod and smile and hope that maybe sometime one of your friends will ask about your relative's field of work within your hearing? Well. Anyway. So RG say, "Oh yeah? What's your dad's name?"
Me: PL.
RG: Oh my GOD. Are you shitting me?
Me: Uh. No?
RG, squealing and fanning herself furiously: I don't believe this. Your dad is the shit! Whenever one of his articles comes out, we immediately call a staff meeting so we can discuss it! Oh my God!
Then the Hubster brought out our wedding album, with the pictures of my dad wearing a tux and walking me down the aisle and all, and RG practically needed CPR.
Now, my dad is awfully smart, and moderately attractive if you like older skinny Greek guys with weird glasses, and he's fairly nice, and I supposed he's probably witty if you didn't grow up hearing him tell the same stupid jokes every evening at dinner, but there is nothing whatsoever about him that says squeeeee! And yet RG was about ready to start an Estrogen Brigade.
How was I professional today? Let me count the ways!
*When the father of the child I was evaluating gave me the evil eye for the entire hour, I did not say, "Okay, man, what the hell is your problem?"
*When the Client Services Representative, whose job it is to check in and obtain valuable medical, insurance, and payment information from our clients, had no idea that my client had ever shown up, let alone been evaluated and gone home, I did not say, "Well, isn't that your fucking job?"
*When I had to take the mother's phone call and explain to her that, sorry, although she'd been in our facility for a good two hours and spent another two outside waiting for her cab, she was still going to have to make another trip in to fill out the paperwork because we screwed up, I pointedly did not blame the entire crisis on the Client Services Representative.
*When GG interrupted the charming Finnish exchange student's presentation on social services in Finland approximately every thirty seconds with a disparaging, frequently contradictory remark about how Government in All Forms Is Evil, I did not put my hands over my ears and sing, "La la la shut up GG I can't hear you!"
*When the very funny and charming father of my equally charming four year old client JG asked for suggestions on how to handle inappropriate sexual behavior while using the term "the humping monkey," I did not fall on the floor shrieking with laughter.
I don't know one thing about vidding. I have neither the time, the money, the equipment, the technical knowledge, nor even really the interest necessary to take up the hobby. And yet, this morning in the car on the way home from marathon training, I was ambushed by a vid idea so tasteless, so hideous, so incredibly wrong, that I can't stop thinking about it. I was laughing out loud in the shower, I am so in love with this idea.
Smallville. The Headstones, "Cemetary."
Went down to the cemetary looking for love/got there and my baby was buried/I had to dig her up
Lana at her parents' graves. Lana in the crypt after Tina conks her. Clark smashing the stone lid in half to get her out. Chloe in the coffin in the field, Clark punching into the earth and dragging the coffin out while it's still trapped around his wrist. Martha in the grain cellar. Jonathan and Clark digging frantically. Lex's mom's tomb. Whitney's father's funeral (the rain and the wind and the cemetary dirt).
She's embalmed in love juice--Lionel, holding a brandy glass and looking diabolical.
Okay, obviously thematically and POV-wise it's a little rough. But ahahahahahahahahahah! I kill myself.
So, summer reruns are getting really tired, posts to the archives are few and far between in the anticipation of season premieres, and you were thinking, "Why doesn't anyone these days write quality Scooby Doo fanfic?" Well, look no further: my beloved younger sister M has stepped up to the plate. Below, completely unaltered, is the email she sent me this afternoon, which as far as I know is the product of her own wacky autistic brain.
Velma and Fred's Secret Crush on Each Other
One day while Velma was walking down the street, she saw Daphne and Fred
coming towards her and said,"Hello, Daphne. Hello, Fred. What's up?" In
return, Fred said,"Oh, hello, Velma. Anyway, Daphne and I were just going
over to her house and spend some quality time together." Velma said,"See
you guys later." While the older, brownhaired girl was walking, she
bumped into her very good friend Shaggy, who was out walking his dog
Scooby-doo. Suddenly, Scooby-doo caught sight of Velma and said,"Ris rhat
Relma, Raggy?" Shaggy nodded his head and said,"Yes, that's Velma,
Scooby-doo." While the three friends were chatting away, Daphne and Fred
showed up. Velma said,"Jinkies! What are you guys doing here?" Fred
said,"Well, truth to tell, Velma, Daphne and I decided not to renew our
relationship, so now I have a crush on you." Daphne sighed and sadly
said,"It's true, Velma. Fred and I are no longer the perfect couple that
we used to be." While everyone was talking, they heard an eerie noise
coming from somewhere that made them all jump out of their skin. Shaggy
gasped in horror and said,"Zoinks! Like, let's make a run for it, Scoob!"
But before the older, brownhaired boy and the chickenhearted dog could go
anywhere, Fred grabbed them and said,"Not so fast, you two. We've got to
figure out what or who's making that eerie sound." Daphne nodded her
orange head and said,"Fred's right. And the only way to solve this
mystery is by way of the Mystery Machine that my father gave to me."
Meanwhile, inside the Mystery Machine, Fred turned to Velma and
said,"Hey, Velma, how'd you like to go out on a date with me after we
solve this mystery?" Velma's eyes shone with excitement and she said,"You
really mean it, Fred?" Fred nodded his blond head and said,"I sure do,
Velma." And without another word, the older, blondhaired boy leaned over
and kissed Velma on her cheek, which caused her to get all lit up inside.
Fred said,"I guess you haven't met my family yet, so I'm going to take
you home to my house, Velma." Meanwhile, at Fred's house, Fred said,"Mom,
Dad, I want you to meet a very special friend of mine." Mr. and Mrs.
Jones said,"Welcome to our home, Velma." Velma said,"Pleased to make your
acquaintance." Fred said,"Come on upstairs and we'll go out onto the
balcony where I can put my arms around you like I was meant to do,
Velma." Velma said,"Have you bought the engagement rings yet, Fred?" Fred
laughed and said,"No, I haven't, Velma. But when we get married, your new
name will be Velma Dinkley-Jones." Velma said,"Velma Dinkley-Jones. I
like the sound of that, Fred." Fred said,"Or how about Daphne
Blake-Rogers?" Daphne, who was standing nearby, said,"What did you just
call me, Fred?" Fred said,"I didn't call you anything, Daphne." Daphne
said,"Good. Because I don't want anything to do with Shaggy or his mangy
dog Scooby-doo." Suddenly, Shaggy showed up and said,"Hold it right
there, Daphne! Are you saying that Scooby-doo has mange?" Just then,
Scrappy-doo arrived on the scene with his cry of "Puppy Power!" Velma
moaned and said,"Jinkies! It's that annoying little pup named Scrappy-doo
again!" Shaggy said,"Zoinks! Someone needs to get rid of Scrappy-doo once
and for all and that someone's going to be me."
She used to send me Pokemon episodes in the same vein, but my family no longer gets the Pokemon channel, so I guess she's had to make do with Scoob.
This past Saturday I bought a coffee grinder. I know, it doesn't sound like the ringing of the last trumpets, but understand: I have never owned coffee paraphenalia in my life. SMW, I didn't tell you this, but along with the coffee grinder I had to buy a coffee maker, because no way was I dousing my fancy fresh-ground beans in hot tap water Ray Kowalski style, and I don't know how to free-form java. I've only been willing to drink coffee at all for the past year or two; I first had to figure out that adding sugar won't cut the sharpness, so you're better off just adding milk and embracing the acid reflux. Combine my Coca Cola Ham-calibrated palate with my tortured relationship with caffeine, and you might begin to understand why I am a late arrival on the coffee scene. It's probably the purest love-hate relationship I've ever known--I want it! But it's bad for me! But I really want it and it makes me not want to kill other commuters! I still don't know how having coffee readily available will work out. The Hubster already made me promise to store the grinder out of sight to reduce temptation; it might be like Sara's House of 12 Steppin' around here.
Or I might just make a little coffee on the weekends after running group. Because I have self control.
Earlier in the day I wrote a couple of paragraphs about how my social circle is expanding and now, for the first time in my life, I have all these different categories of friends, and how great that is. And then blogger lost it.
I'm bored today, with that sleepy, thick-headed feeling. I've been doing the slash binge 'n' purge that I do every few weeks; the one where I spend an entire day or an entire weekend reading everything I can get my hands on until nothing is sexy and even the happy parts make me cry. I think it's a hormonal thing, really--my head feels kind of strange, the way it sometimes does before a little dip into depression or PMS. I guess we'll see tomorrow.
Luckily, I've been absolutely swimming in new music recently. I love to buy CDs, sometimes more than I like to actually listen to them--it's probably my only habit that approaches expensive. And yet, I don't buy CDs very often for exactly that reason, so when I make a really good purchase or I find somebody who's willing to give me an extended loan it's a big thrill. Right now I've got two, two, two Great Big Sea albums on loan from SMW, plus the one that I bought for myself before we went to the concert last Tuesday, plus some Tragically Hip albums that I acquired through devious means, plus the mix CD I made for my coworkers because I am a big dork. Plus the fifty or so other CDs I have to have with me in the car at all times. And I just found a new band, so soon I will buy even more music. So, okay, the Headstones? I'd heard a lot of people talk them up, and my reaction was pretty much blah blah blah fangirlcakes, even though I personally am quite attached to my two dS official soundtracks. But the other day I was in the car with SMW on our way to the ahahahahahah Ah do declare Southern Living party, and while we were driving lost up and down this one stretch of darkening highway looking for a turn-off that was not actually, um, on that road, she popped in Nickels for Your Nightmares, and man. That's good stuff.
SMW, relax. It was a fun party, I just find the concept humorous. Heh.
Interesting development this weekend: in the course of fandom overindulgence, I watched another earlyish episode of due South, "North." I was mostly kind of checking to see how I felt about Fraser and Ray--I've been consumed with Smallville recently, and I've never been good at maintaining simultaneous fandoms. Well. Tight shot of Fraser's rear climbing into plane causes nostrils to flare involuntarily--check. Theme music makes eyesight blur slightly--check. But this time around, I also noted the first blip ever on the Vecchio Lust Meter, which was unexpected. There was this tight close up of him standing at the airline counter trying to muscle the check-in guy (Red Green! I love you! Eeeeee!), and it must have been the buzz cut or something, but my hormones did a little box step. I don't know if it'll last, but it was a fun moment.
