From Where I Sit

2003-08-26T19:07:00.000-05:00

My relatively new livejournal is to be found here. I have yet to figure out anything about it but eventually intend to.

And the fan fic rec o' the day, an oldie but a goodie (lyrical and cool and styled in all the right ways -- intimations of Draco/Harry): Theme and Variation, an old favorite.

2003-08-14T01:38:00.000-05:00

Okay, I hadn't looked at These Later Days, the Harry Potter fic I've been working on for the past several months, for about six weeks. Finally, finally, today I opened up my little folder and went over all the outlines and paragraphs I had drawn up for the last three chapters of it -- chap. 7 through 9 -- and was amazed at how much I liked the stuff I'd written. I'd forgotten half of it, which is always a strange experience. It's not often you get a chance to read something you've written without remembering having written it; it gives you that extra perspective, an edge you only get when you come to a piece of writing with a stranger's eyes. And by god, I'm going to fucking finish this fic. I'm that inspired.

ETA for the completion of These Later Days, the end of September. Here I come, fucker.

2003-08-14T01:31:00.000-05:00

oh my freakin' god, i just remembered something. everyone should listen to the Billy Joel song "And So It Goes" cause holyhellitrocks.

all for now. ta ta.

2003-08-10T15:00:00.000-05:00

music: Someday, The Strokes

Just got back from five weeks in Israel and am struck by how full that five weeks was, how it really feels like a world apart from the rest of my life. I have so many memories and stories and concepts and people zooming around in my head. I just need this week before school to sit and stew a bit.

More later.

2003-06-13T22:14:00.000-05:00

music: 'I Know What I Know,' Paul Simon (d00d, I lurve the Graceland album...)
reading: ...possibly will be picking up Dune and rereading it (forgotten most of it); Hoover and I watched "Children of Dune" last night, and I love him, so...Dune here I come. Plus, Frank Herbert creates an excellent world anyway. Hey! ::is defensive:: I wouldn't just reread a book for a boy. ...okay, so in Hoover's case I would, but you know.

I was watching From Russia With Love and thinking how handsome and likeable Sean Connery really is. I mean, I think one of the ultimate questions of the world should be: Who is your favorite Bond? And if you say anyone but Connery, well, you've been either stoned for a good part of the last four decades or else you're secretly Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore, etc.

and now...what everyone's been waiting for (no, no, you haven't; i've never done the Friday Five before):

1. What's one thing you've always wanted to do, but never have?
I would love to go to Paris. Probably will eventually but want to go now. Ah, Paris.

2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?
No, especially when it's a close friend of mine who is worried about their appearance for whatever reason -- upcoming date, interview, first day of school -- cause if you say, "Holy fuck, what did you do to your hair?!", well, sometimes it's just better to smile and nod. Not because they'll kill you or anything but because they'll feel hurt and worse off than just sometimes making a fashion faux-pas. Ignorance is indeed sometimes bliss.

3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn't? What happened?
Actually no. All the awful and scary things I've found out about my friends, even if I was shocked or dismayed at the time, I'm still glad I know it because I feel it lets me know them better. I mean, in the past year I found out about an old suicide attempt of a friend of mine, and I felt sick about it...but I'd rather know than not.

4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?
Oh god. I'd want to go to fuckin' Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -- in the Potterverse obviously. This wish is partially because I'm on a Harry Potter spaz kick at the moment, what with HP 5 coming out so soon and all. And anyway, though I love Middle Earth and would almost say that instead, in the end that universe seems too otherworldy, bound by too many different rules and full of too many new and different people, for me ever to feel at home there. Rowling's universe is at least recognizable.

Plus I would love the chance (and here's where my Mary Sue impulse kicks in; everyone has a different reason why they'd go to Hogwarts) to give crap back at Draco Malfoy as good as I got. I mean, he'd give me hell, as usual, for being a Mudblood, and I'd just whoop up on his arse because, unlike the Trio, I would have come to their universe from my own and, as such, would have that strange feeling that, well, "anything goes."

5. What's one talent/skill you don't have but always wanted?
God, I'd love to be able to play the piano. This is one of those things where those whose parents made them learn piano as a kid hated it, but since my family never made me, I feel cheated out of something. If and when I have children, I'm definitely going to force them to take lessons, even if they hate me for it.

2003-06-09T13:32:00.000-05:00

Okay, now that I've just made the stupidest, longest post ever in stupidland...I'll continue on. Ahem. On BBC World t' other day, Tony Blair was in Israel (I believe it was), and he had on a pretty white shirt.

That is all.

Actually no, it isn't. Is it just me, or is Tony Blair often very yummy?

::looks around:: All righty then, so it's just me. But seriously, to be entirely hormonal, I lurve that man. He's incredibly intelligent, and I agree with his politics. What more could one want?

2003-06-08T15:20:00.000-05:00

Time for...random quotes that Dylan likes! Duh, duh, duh...

Firstly, Seinfeld stuff because, well, I realized how much these characters and their voices are in my head. I read this dialogue, and voila! I can hear it in my head. Cracks my ass off, it does.

Jerry on socks: The dryer is their only chance to escape and they all know it. They plan it in the hamper the night before. "Tomorrow, the dryer. I'm going."
The Seinfeld Chronicles

Jerry: Now why would a junior high school want to screw with my head?
Kramer: Why does Radio Shack ask for your phone number when you buy batteries? I don't know.
The Abstinence

And now, Niles and Daphne quotes because we can never have enough of those, can we? Some are funny and some are, well, very touching and vonderful. I trust you can tell the difference.

Martin: You think I don't see the way you look at Daphne?
Niles: What are you implying?
Martin: You know damn well what I'm implying. Take my word for it - you're sticking a fork in a toaster.
Niles: Well, my muffin's stuck!

Rodney: Nothing on earth smells quite so heavenly as freshly brewed coffee. Well, perhaps one thing.
Daphne: Stop that, Rodney! He loves to smell my hair!
(A dish breaks offscreen)
Frasier: Ann Boleyn?
Niles, offscreen: Catherine of Aragon!

Niles: I would have said, "Is this seat taken?" and you would have said "No." You would have said, "My name is Daphne." I would have said, "My name is Niles." And then I would have said, "What are you doing for the rest of your life?"
Daphne: You always know the right thing to say. Oh, I love you Dr Crane.
Niles: And I love you too, Daphne.

Niles: You hear that? We're chopping in rhythm.
Daphne: We are, aren't we. (She begins to sing) Doomda doomda doomda doomda...
Niles: Heart and soul, I fell in love with you heart and soul, the way a fool would do.
Daphne: Maaadly!
Both: Because you held me tight! And stole a kiss in the night...
(The doorbell rings)
Niles: Oh damn, who could that be?
Daphne, excited: It's Phyllis!! (Niles looks confused) Well go on, go and let her in!
Niles, going to answer the door, still singing: Go away, whoever's at the door, go away, and don't come back no more!

Niles: Excuse me. Has a young woman been in here this evening, approximately five foot nine and three quarters, with skin the colour of Devonshire cream and the sort of eyes that gaze directly into one's soul with neither aricifice or evasion?
You Can't Tell a Crook

Niles: Here, take my bumbershoot.
Daphne: Oh, isn't that nice. Well, at least someone appreciates my mother tongue.
Niles: Yes, I've always had an ear for your tongue.
My Coffee with Niles

Daphne: I have everything in hand.
Niles: Lucky everything.
Can't Buy me Love

Daphne: Perhaps all you need is a little company at the apartment. Something warm and friendly to come home to.
Niles: Well, I'm sure Dad would miss you.
Daphne: Oh Dr Crane!
Niles: Oh me!
Chess Pains

Niles: Lovely night, isn't it? Stars are out, nice breeze... mmm, night-blooming jasmine. Of course, there's the beautiful girl.
Daphne: Dr Crane, I still haven't answered your question.
Niles: Yes, I know, that's why I keep talking. In case I don't get the answer I want, I can at least make this moment last a little longer. I'm not sure if it's jasmine or orange blossom. You know, a lot of times...
Daphne, interrupting: Oh, for God's sake, Dr Crane!!
...
Niles: I think you can call me Niles now.

Next, a little Star Trek because who gives a flying piece of shit, anyway? Not I.

Spock: I am what I am, Leila, and if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's.
This Side of Paradise

Bashir: So of the stories you told me, which ones were true?
Garak: My dear doctor, all of them were true.
Bashir: What about the lies?
Garak: Especially the lies.
The Wire

(Bashir tells the story of the boy who cried "Wolf")
Bashir: If you lie all the time, no one is going to believe you, even when you're telling the truth.
Garak: Are you sure that's the point, Doctor?
Bashir: Of course. What else would it be?
Garak: That you should never tell the same lie twice.
Improbable Cause

Then, a dash of "The Simpsons."

Marge: I'm going out now, Homer.
Homer: But what about dessert?
Marge: Oh for God's sake, Homer, you can take the lid off your own can of pudding!
(Homer breaks the pull-tab)
Homer: AHHHH!! Now my pudding is trapped forever! So, I can take the lid off my own can of pudding, can I?! Shows what you know!!
A Streetcar Named Marge

(Bart and Lisa watch "The Happy Little Elves" movie)
Bart: Oh, man, I can't take it any more!
Lisa: But I want to see what happens.
Bart: You know what happens. They find Captain Quick's treasure. All the elves dance around like little green idiots. I puke. The End.
Lisa: Bart, you're just like Chilly, the elf who cannot love.
Some Enchanted Evening

Homer: Okay, okay, don't panic. To find Flanders, I just have to think like Flanders. "I'm a big four-eyed lame-o, and I wear the same stupid sweater every day." The Springfield River!
Home Sweet Home-Diddily-Dum-Doodily

Lawyer: But what about that tattoo on your chest? Doesn't it say, "Die Bart, Die?"
Sideshow Bob: No, that's German for "The Bart, the."
Cape Feare

Marge: You awful man! Stay away from my son.
Bob: Oh, I'll stay away from your son, all right. Stay away... forever! Wait a minute, that's no good. Wait! I've got a good one now. Marge, say, "Stay away from my son," again.
Marge: No!
Cape Feare

Bart: Mrs. Krabappel, I can't take the test. I have a stomach ache.
Mrs Krabappel: Well, that's a lame excuse for an excuse. Ha!
Bart: Look, if you ignore me and I die, you'll get in a lot of trouble.
Mrs Krabappel: Read page six of the school charter.
Bart: "No teacher shall be held accountable if Bart Simpson dies.
Mrs Krabappel: We're also absolved if Milhouse gets eaten by the school snake.
A Milhouse-shaped lump in the snake: Hey, cool! There's a rabbit in here!
'Round Springfield

That's a wrap. I feel strange.

2003-05-25T00:15:00.000-05:00

music: "Waterloo Sunset," The Kinks

I'm a superhero girl:
Babysat tonight. It was the two kids I always babysit for and whom I love so tenderly and fiercely it sometimes scares me. I didn't used to understand or even like kids, mostly because I was one, but now I see what it's all about. Ah, parenthood! Not any time soon, mind, just...eventually. But anyway, the kids: Robert (5 yrs) and Mary Anne (2 yrs). Robert and I were playing "superheroes," as we often do, running around the house like crazy foo's. I was Cama, this guy that Robert made up who can, quite kickassedly in my opinion, shoot swords out of the soles of his feet. Robert was, as usual, Buzz Lightyear. I suspect Robert likes to play with me mostly because I do the best dying scenes of anyone this side of the Milky Way -- spasms; feeble attempts to drag by broken body along the ground; violent, bloody coughing fits and all.

And we somehow got into this conversation about how there were no superhero girls, and I said, of course there are: do you think there's any difference between boys and girls? And he replied that yes, there was. Boys played superheroes. Girls played dolls. An irrational spike of anger at Robert lanced through me; this was quickly replaced by the sadness I always experience at how slowly we all actually evolve. It only goes to show, we can force things just so much. The rest of it has to take root in an organic way. Anyway, I said you know, Robert, girls can play superheroes and boys can play dolls, too. He said that no, that wasn't how it worked, though to his credit he acknowledged that there were sometimes exceptions to the rule, as in the case of this girl, Hayley, who had played games with he and his friends at preschool.

To tell the truth, the whole conversation left me with that familar, hopeless, bitter feeling: when will we ever learn?

2003-05-18T23:19:00.000-05:00

music: Bright Eyes, "Bowl of Oranges" -- Anita made me a beautiful mix CD full of songs that she loves and that, by default (because we are often the same person), I should love. And god, I already loved this song.

...and duh, duh! Here's the fan fic rec for today! It's a Ford/Arthur slash story, the only Hitchhiker's fic I've ever read, and it is so fun to read. Not to mention hot.

2003-05-12T22:06:00.000-05:00

On another note, Hoover called me back (not his real name actually, but I've grown attached to it), and we had a wonderful little date in which we laughed, talked of light things and then, suddenly, got into a conversation about religion. It was incredibly interesting to me because I'd always thought that Hoover, as a "man of science" so interested in quantum physics and such, would be atheist, but he has faith in Jesus Christ and his power... It always surprises me how much people really are religious when you get down to it. Makes me wonder how many people, if we all died right now, would die with faith in some higher power.

And I told Hoover that I loved Judaism and its traditions but that I could not find it in me to believe in a Supreme Being who had created the universe. He was a little taken aback actually because I also mentioned that I was thinking of becoming a rabbi, and his very sensible reaction was, "What? You don't believe in God and yet you want to be a rabbi? Did I miss something?" And it's difficult for me to explain, but I tried to convey the lifetime of thoughts and struggles I've had on this subject.

Because I believe religion, all religions, were created by humanity to fulfill some very real needs within us: security in knowing there is something after death, an order to our life, a guardian at our back, a meaning to the universe, a feeling that things have a moral standard, etc. But I think it's all manmade; all bogus, if you will (now, maybe very good bogus but bogus just the same). There is no moral standard to the universe, no one we are serving, but precisely because there is no higher plan we should act, I feel, as if there is. Because we are just bouncing around randomly; there is no Divine Plan, but we should make that moral standard because we should make there to be meaning. And that's what religion has done; it's one way to make meaning. Certainly, it has many problems, many backwardnesses, many prejudices, but it is also beautiful and heartbreaking and very relevant to today...

And these are the things I've been wrestling with for the last four years or so. To make a Biblical reference (don't wince, you religion-bashers; whatever else it is, it's beautiful literature in its own right), I have often felt, as many have before me, like Jacob who, having wrestled with an angel of the Lord, was renamed Israel, meaning "one who wrestles with God."* The authors of the Bible did not, of course, mean that literally when they wrote it. It is, in fact, one of the best allegories for the wrestling we do with our own consciences and beliefs over stuff like this. God or no, we all wrestle with similar ideas about meaning.

And now you see one of the reasons I'd have liked to talk to Douglas Adams...

And I'll leave off before I get too far behind on my oral memoir crap.

* I don't have the Scriptures on hand at the mo, so I can't be sure that's the exact meaning, but I'm lazy. So that'll have to do to be going on with. (Heh. I like saying "to be going on with" because I'm stupid like that.)

2003-05-12T21:54:00.000-05:00

want to watch: Bridget Jones's Diary (why? see: Colin Firth is one hot mama. it's all about his smoldering quietness.)

reading: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy for p'raps the millionth time. No, that's a lie. I've only read it once before, but it feels like many, many times. I'm wishing I could talk to Douglas Adams about things and am, consequently, feeling a sense of loss 'cause I won't ever get to do it. Not that, I mean, if he was still alive I'd ever have gotten the chance either, but at least the opportunity was out there. Now, it feels empty. Same thing happened with Chaim Potok. Now there's a man I really would have loved to chat with, and he's gone.

music: Dylan's 1966 London tour recording thing. 's great and acousticy. lovely.

Hyptatia Kosh, who I don't think knows that I know of and admire her, recently reviewed a little Star Trek fic of mine, saying that my style was overdone and too dense but that, without that, it would have been a delight to read. I love her review 'cause it captures just what I've been trying to get out of my writing. She has inspired me to go back and fix up My Captain, the fic she reviewed. But only when I have the time to really go back and separate the quotes from this one humongo paragraph. Right now, I'm in the middle of an oral memoir project. I should, as is often the case, actually be working on that and not be typin' away here.

Ah, and so it goes.

2003-04-24T21:34:00.000-05:00

current music: "Spider's Fence," Trout Fishing in America (man oh man is this band sometimes just what's needed)

current reading: "The Waste Land," T S Eliot, which I picked up at the Half-Price Bookstore because they didn't have A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and I wasn't about to leave without something wonderful to read. Thus, I've been reading melancholy, grey Eliot and underlining particular turns of phrase. Try this on for size: "...and ecstasy is too much pain." Or:

To-day grieves, to-morrow grieves,
Cover me over, light-in-leaves...

I am going to Israel for five weeks this summer. Holy fuck. I feel like I've been yearning for Israel longer than I've been alive.

I was walking dogs today (I do this for money, you see), and I passed a father and his four-year-old son taking a walk in the newly-rained-upon suburb streets.

Son: (with amazement) Daddy! I wanna splash in the puddles.
Father: (kindly) Oh, well, this is yucky water...
A plane thrums by far overhead in the blue sky.
Father: (taking off his baseball cap and looking up, pointing) See that?
Me: (passing, I look up, too: from my limited experience, the plane looks like some kind of military jet)
Son: (looks up and points, too)
Father: (squinting into the sun, he identifies the plane, giving it its official name, which I've forgotten) That's the kind of plane your uncle's flying right now.
Son: (impressed) Wow.
Father & Son continue on down the street, Father with baseball cap in hand, the other hand on his son's shoulder; Son splashes in the puddles.

For better or for worse, we are a nation who is familiar with violence, who takes it as a matter of course.

2003-04-23T20:49:00.000-05:00

Wesley: And how does your kind define love?
Weird Demon: As all creatures do. Love is sacrifice.

And also...

Fred has found out about Wesley and Leilah.
Wesley: (off of Fred's appalled look) It's not always about holding hands...

How much do I sometimes love Angel... Loads.

2003-04-21T20:51:00.000-05:00

Also, Peeps are weird.

2003-04-21T20:46:00.000-05:00

listening to: "Punky's Dilemma," Simon and Garfunkel. oh what goodness. can i, too, be a Kellog's cornflake? i'm told a position is open. me!

reading: Cold Mountain, which, until recently, I was very lukewarm about. I'm a little bit more enthusiastic now, as the end of chapter fourteen is lovely. "Come back to me is my request." I would explain more, but I'm lazy today.

We, meaning me, Palermo, and Lydia, are all studying Physix, the devil of all subjects. I smite it with a hard hand.

I am so tired. I'd like to have five months to just read books, watch plays and laugh at movies with friends. Immerse myself in art and pop culture. Oh, if only. In the mean time, optics, reflections and incidental rays! How I hate them.

2003-04-19T12:55:00.000-05:00

listening to: Vivaldi's "Four Seasons"

thinking: about boyz, Hoover in particular, and how we went to the park and then ate ice cream and then watched a movie, and I loved him -- couldn't and can't really help it -- and dammit, why are things so good and ache-y all at once? Why?

My little Harry Potter novella These Later Days is coming along nicely. I finished writing chapter three a few days ago and need to type it all up and revise some kinks here and there. I have the ending (perhaps five chapters ahead) visualized in painstaking detail inside my head, and I'm afraid it ain't all roses and daffodils -- not by a long shot. Red blood stains pretty white shirts, and the characters engage in poignant and sometimes grief-stricken dialogue, but I have always believed things like that can be written without becoming romantic, overly symbolic crap. There is humor and irony as well! I have faith that I can keep it real, but it's a fine line to walk.

2003-04-12T18:01:00.000-05:00

listening to: "The Weight," written by 'The Band,' althought I'm listening to the Travis version of it from Igby Goes Down.

just watched part of: Generations, which was on Sci-Fi today. I stuck around for my favorite, favorite parts, which include the wonderfully characteristics depictions of Picard's slushy, Christmas-lit version of the Nexus, and Kirk's pine-woods-smelling, fresh mountain cabin version -- both, I think, perfectly depicted and a little poignant in their own right, getting to see where these two men, who have devoted most of their life to duty and Starfleet, would wish to spend their time if unaware of such things. It's very telling that they would only, apparently, choose these worlds if they could not, as Krik says, "make a difference" elsewhere. This concept is pointed out in a very lovely way when Kirk makes that jump over the ravine on his horse and says something to the affect of "I've made that jump a million times before, and I was scared every time...but not this time." A pause. "I guess that's the point. Nothing matters here." And oh, what a sad thing that must be for James T. Kirk to realize, man of action that he has always been...to find himself torn between this peaceful life he himself has wished...and his one true calling, the one he says left him "an empty house." Nothing he loves seems to be able to survive against his duty -- not his lovers, not his son, and for a time, not even Spock.

::sighs:: Bravo to the writers for parts of that movie. They're great.

2003-04-10T11:06:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm up at school -- just bs'ed my way through this little meeting and decided not to return to French class. Because, besides the prospect of learning more than one will ever need to know about direct objects, I really don't feel inclined to be there. Not that the class is so bad; it's actually rather fun and happy. Just no.

I much prefer the library. A poster on my way in here informed me that this week is National Library Week. Well, I thought, what better way to celebrate than to ditch class and spend time in our very own school library. You see my logic.

So, in the interests of passing the time (and providing you with something possibly of interest), I thought I'd tell you about Hoover. Hoover is a boy that I have been, how shall we say, fond of for quite some time -- for over a year, actually. I met him over two years ago but only last year began to realize the extent of his cuteness (oh the schoolgirlishness...), his brilliance (he is, in point of fact, actually rather genius-like) and his gentle kindness. And we've gone on about two dates now, one big dance and one little movie, and we are going out again this Friday to see the student-made films that have been submitted to our school's annual Film Festival. You must understand this about Hoover (not his actual name -- just the name my cousin prefers because, in his ninny-headed-ness, he has trouble remembering people's real name): Hoover has a nerdish past, still is, to be truthful, a nerd, but less obviously so now. In fact, most people (even people who cannot stand nerds) love Hoover; he's socially acceptable and cute-looking and all that rot, you see. He just, well, does not know how to date, does not know what the mechanics of it are; whether he should call, drive, buy flowers, or offer chocolates and diamond rings. Cannot figure the whole contract out, is just a tad shy of such things, smiles awkward, goofy smiles and laughs quietly. This is, when one thinks about it (as I do), quite endearing. I mean, who does decide the rules for things like this, anyway? What are the status quos, the procedures and requirements -- for dating, falling in love, breaking up, wishing to hold someone's hand?

Fortunately, this inexperience with dating is by far the largest obstacle, perhaps the only one, involved in pursuing Hoover. We shall see how things progress. Oh, shall we ever see.

Enough of my strange accounting of events, making entirely normal things like dating sound like scenes pulled from Dave Eggers' wacky brain. (For those not aware of the reference, read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which is, while not always mind-blowingly wonderful, still full of mind-blowing parts, enough of them that I recommend it to you.)

(Note: I shall one day tell you about Sue, another boy in my life. It's a story I promised to relate on this blog about a month ago, before leaving for London, but I never did. I know you're filled with excitement. Feel free to skip my inevitable ramblings on boys. They're tailored expressly for my enjoyment and for those who empathize with such things. La.)

2003-04-08T19:26:00.000-05:00

Okay, Sweden wins for most fantastical Harry Potter book covers. !Go Sweden!

2003-04-01T16:45:00.000-06:00

So...

Last night, my cold decided to morph into a fever as I slept. And I had these strange fever dreams. They were different than my regular dreams because, in general, weirder stuff happened in them, and they were more vivid and real to me than the usual variety. Beware: they're strange. I'm recording them here so's not to forget them. Feel free to skip 'em; they're fairly long.

Fever Dream 1: This first one reads like a fucked-up, fan fic soap opera, but I'm glad it isn't an actual story because the feelings I felt while having it were not happy. They were miserable. Also, it reveals what a nerd I am. ::snerks::

So apparently, Spock and Kirk had recently become lovers, which isn't so strange as far as it goes but...without Spock's knowledge, Kirk was then possessed by an evil alien being. And so Kirk began to be horribly bitchy to Spock (who was very vulnerable and all that, being in a new relationship and everything). My most vivid memory of the dream is, oddly, the fact that, for a moment at least, I was Spock, was looking out of his eyes. And Kirk was being a total ass, making all kinds of nasty, sexual comments and generally harassing Spock, and I open my mouth (as Spock) and ask, hesitantly and sounding very hurt, "Jim?" while almost crouching up against the wall of this hotel where the two of us are apparently staying. It was an awful dream 'cause, for most of it, I felt this empathy with Spock's character that was terribly painful, and, just as actual TV plots always seem to go, the alien knew exactly how to twist their relationship, paying particularly nasty attention to Spock's sexual attraction for his captain, an attraction, which apparently it had taken much soul-searching for the Vulcan to even admit. Suffice it to say, it was, indeed, all fucked up. And I remember, during the dream, thinking to myself, "Jesus! What movie is this in!" because I apparently decided this was one of the Star Trek movies. "I can't believe the slashers haven't been all over this since Day One..." which is, admittedly, a very stupid thought to be having. I mean, this wasn't subtexty; it was full-blown slash. The slashers' case would have been proven long ago if this were, as I thought, truly canon stuff. And then, I started listing off the possible Trek movies it could be in my head, "Wrath of Khan? No, no way. You know that whole movie backwards and forwards. Search for Spock? No, no. This movie must be my favorite, but I just can't seem to remember it..." And I continued to ponder this; the dream totally had me convinced of the reasonableness of the whole situation.

Fever Dream 2: I (and I think it was my family) were taking the Chunnel from London to Paris. The whole thing was like that ride at Disneyworld or whatever -- you know the one...Toad's Turnpike or whathaveyou where you go lurching around in a car through all these different rooms, and the doors slam in front of you, and you have to swerve quickly, and there are weasels popping up, trying to get you. Anyway, the Chunnel, in order to get across the Channel, had to go through much the same maneveurs. The driver led us through all these doors, some of which refused to open so that we'd have to try a different route. I got out of the train and messed around and was somehow responsible for our eventually getting so lost and so fouled up that the driver had to call the train company or whatever for help. We ended up getting to Paris three months later...The train service had told the driver that there was nothing to be done, he was going to have to blast the Chunnel out of its underground tunnel. So all the passengers ended up parachuting into Paris on pieces of the train, several months after our departure from London. Also a bad dream, though filled with more a confused feeling than a truly bad one.

2003-03-31T16:59:00.000-06:00

And randomly, the award for 'BEST Harry Potter Mary Sue Fic Written Ever, Ever' goes to Brave New World by Aashby, a monstrously well-written monster of a fic with the most wonderful Hogwarts staff characterizations you'll ever see -- not to mention Aashby's careful exploration of the prejudices and power structures of Rowling's world. And all that jazz. I almost wish one could keep it a secret that the main character is not an orginal canon person 'cause that turns so many people away, and this time, it really, truly works. And works beautifully. I would recommend this fic to almost anyone because it takes no particular kink, quirk or eccentricity to enjoy it. It's just good, solid storytelling. Ah, the joys of fan fic at its best...

2003-03-31T16:51:00.000-06:00

listening to: the "Bookends" album of those two babies (yes, Simon & Garfunkel)

Antonia wrote me a snerkilicious e-mail today, which I shall share with you. All you need know is that she and I often cackle about Alan Rickman's un-Snapelike, fat neck in the Harry Potter movies, though we have much respect for him otherwise:

subject: so i saw alan rickman at the grocery store...

...and he told ME to tell YOU to stop making fun of his neck.

turns out when you talk about people in movies they can hear you through the TV screen.

dwamn. just think of all the people that will run, run, run in fear.

gene wilder doesn't even begin to describe it.

but still...

alan rickman's neck *snerkle*

--alan rickman.

Also, I like Gene Wilder. More than is healthy. But hey, I did write a rather cool fic involving him, so it just goes to show...em, not all obsessions go to waste.

2003-03-26T17:19:00.000-06:00

Wrote and uploaded a little Harry Potter vignette called This Time (title may change). Horribly enjoyed writing it. Think reading it would be even better. Subtle hint.

More later.

2003-03-22T12:56:00.000-06:00

Saw My Fair Lady last night and experienced a familiar feeling as the musical progressed. What's it called? Ah yes, I believe it's known as slowly ascending to heaven.

Went to Hampton Court Palace today. Carmen and I cavorted all over the place, generally acting like the happy freaks we are. We gallivanted through the "Haunted (ooh!) Hall" where it's said the ghost of Catherine Howard, one of Henry VIII's many beheaded wives, often runs screaming down the corridor. As we were leaving this area, Carmen, in a moment of overzealousness, almost sent me sprawling down the Queen's Staircase. "Watch out," I laughed, "or I'll be the next ghost here!" This idea seemed to amuse Carmen so much she burst into laughter. "What about that idea is especially funny?" I asked. Her reply: "If you were a ghost here, I'd come visit and be like, 'Hey, Dylan, you're a ghost!'" Ah, I see. This would be, for Carmen apparently, the full extent of that situation's hilarity...

As long as I'm on the subject of Carmen (who, for those of you a bit addle-pated, is my younger sister), I'll relate to you Carmen's List of Great Things, a catalogue of items that she has deemed worthy of being defined as beyond "good." This list was prompted by our disagreement over whether My Fair Lady is one of life's "great" things or just a "good" thing. I, of course, having long believed Fair Lady to be an American musical masterpiece, supported it's classification as great. After having glanced at Carmen's List, you will probably see why she is not one of those sorts likely to be an awfully strong supporter of musicals as "great" works.

Carmen's List of Great Things:
--food
--sleep
--vacations
--pooping
--hot chocolate

If it reassures you any, dear readers, Carmen did turn to me during last night's Fair Lady performance and say, "Now, all of the other times we've seen My Fair Lady before were good. This is great." So a big bravo to the cast, staff and miscellaneous people of the London Drury Lane Theatre. You've made it on Carmen's List.

2003-03-20T16:17:00.000-06:00

currently reading: Lullaby by Chuck Paluniknikniknik (a name whose spelling I have as much trouble with as that guy who directed and wrote "Sixth Sense" and "Signs" -- both movies I like very much, by the way) I think Chuck is being quite pretentious and untalented in this novel. I'm sure he believes in the avant-garde crap he's writing, which is to say, he's not yet guilty of that worst of crimes: creating art without believing in it, sacrificing intregrity for fame or fortune. Yet this does not change the fact that the man is sometimes full of crap. I mean, don't the rest of Mr. Streator's roadmates (Helen, Mona and Oyster), after having seen him murder people simply because they were annoying, fear that he'll murder them? No? Well, they should. Come on, Chuck! Anyway, I'll speak no more ill of this book. It's good qualities: it has a few (note: a few) good moments. His repetition of "These noise-aholics. These quiet-ophobics" and suchlike...that's quite good. La la la. Done reviewing.

have the urge to watch: "Notting Hill" (because I have only recently come to realize how splendiforously charming Hugh Grant is in that movie, however much it may be fluffy, sentimental crap -- lovely still, I say) and "Richard III" (with Ian McKellen; I just saw Sir Ian in "Dance of Death," which I didn't like actually, leaving me with the lurking, accusatory feeling that I am somehow deficient, as it's a Strindberg classic play and all that) Still, Ian McKellen rocks my socks!

I have only two full days left in London... Was reading today about how Tony Blair has become "skeletal," the Iraqi debate has worn him down so. Makes me want to make that man a nice cup of hot chockie and have him sit down for a little nappie. AND this has nothing to do with the fact that I somehow, inexplicably, fancy the trousers off him. Ahem.

No, nothing at all to do with that.

2003-03-18T15:44:00.000-06:00

new favorite anti-war chant: "Who let the dogs out?! Bush, Bush and Blair!" oh my. what genius. London on the brink of Iraqattack is, if nothing else, a stimulating and intriguing place to be. In a last ditch attempt to get in and view the House of Commons during tonight's war vote, we (me, my sister and my uncle) found ourselves in an anti-war sit-in smackdab in Parliament Square. With Westminster Abbey as backdrop, it was an impressive sight. We soon gave up as hopeless our touristy ambitions to get into Parliament itself and joined the poster-waving, chanting crowd.

We left after about half an hour, intending to return one last time to check on the line for the House of Commons and to see how the protest was faring. About an hour later, upon our return, we found the police had blocked off the street, preventing any more protesters from getting to the rally. I had been afraid that something like this would happen, and it made my blood boil. They were letting people out but not in. A tiny, elderly lady, leaving the rally for a minute, pushed her way out of the blocked off section. She shortly returned, only to be blocked by three or four policemen.

Policeman 1 (who was, by the way, about three feet taller than her): Ma'am, you can't come through here.
Lady: What d'you mean -- I can't come through?
P 1: Ma'am, it's a safety precaution. We wouldn't want someone like you getting trampled in a packed crowd like that. (Um, first off, the crowd was about a hundred feet behind the blockade, leaving plenty of room. Having been amongst it, I knew there was walking room between people. Secondly, can you believe he actually phrased it "someone like you"?! I mean, tell me that's not Real Life talk? That's goon-from-a-movie speak. "Uh, someone likes yous could get hurt." What?!)
Lady: (intelligent and getting angry now) This isn't right! You can't do this!
P 1: (contrite but, as anyone would be, still enjoying his power) Ma'am, I'm sorry. The place is full up. I'm only following orders from the top. (Once again with the goon talk! I'm not kidding you. This is word-for-word.)
P 2: (chuckling) Yeah, I started work at 10 this morning. Who knows when I'll get off with the way things are looking tonight...
Me: (extra innocently -- as if to say, 'just a little, naive American tourist here') Excuse me, could we get in line to get into Parliament?
P 2: (gesturing back toward what was now a very small line for Parliament) Sorry, it's all filled up.

I just don't know what to do. People are, sadly, very human sometimes. Damn those human-acting people.

On a happy note, I saw some cute, prep school seven-year-olds at Windsor Castle today. Go me. Carmen and I decided to take them home with us.

2003-03-17T14:18:00.000-06:00

Dylan reporting live from London...

currently playing in this internet cafe in London: some really, really inane, old top 40s hit called something like "Tell Me That Love Isn't True" ("it's just something that we do..")

current news: The radio, in a British voice, just informed those of us at the cafe that "President Bush will be addressing the American people in five hours on conditions concerning Iraq." The climate here in England is the proverbial deep breath before the storm. Just across from 10 Downing Street, a guy was holding this very nicely drawn and gigantic poster that asked, "Where's Tony?" accompanied by a pic of the Prime Minister's head shoved far up Bush's ass.

Oh god. I'm a little scared. I don't know what to do.

2003-03-15T13:44:00.000-06:00

current music: "London Calling," The Clash (appropriate, no?)

Well, I'm on my way to the airport in an hour. From there it's Chicago, then Heathrow fuckin' airport. Wahoo! My best friend (we shall call her Antonia for various reasons) is already gone; she's on her way to Florida. ::is sad:: I didn't get a chance to tell her goodbye t'day.

As I'm leaving for a little over a week, I thought I'd leave you all (the many, many readers of this blog) with a couple thoughts. First, be happy that you are not going anywhere as cool as London because, dude, you'll be here when chapter 12 of Cassandra Claire's Draco Veritas finally hits the net. I'd kill to get an early copy. I think I'll probably be offline for the whole trip. Oh, the torture.

No, really, the torture. ::shoots off foot::

And over break, all you students of academia who actually get Spring Breaks, you should watch "Singin' in the Rain." There is no better movie. I mean, there are, I suppose, better ones. But not really. Sure, you could actually think, but why? There's Gene Kelly to be watched.

Lastly, upon my return, I will chronicle the recent trivial complications of my love life. You might want to skip that. It's full of gibberish and girliness. If not, well, I'll tell you all about the Saga of Hoover and Sue! (both boys; names changed because it's fun) when I get back.

Cheerio, my good fellows. I'm off.

2003-03-13T22:11:00.000-06:00

I just wrote this long, winded entry about stuff. lots of stuff. and blogger decided that no, it hated me today and deleted it. i shun you, blogger! arrrrgh!

if you want happiness, go read Ashura's Splendour Falls and tell her how you liked it. she deserves the reviews. meanwhile, i will stomp off, hating blogger and going sourly to write my history paper on how the New Deal was fuckin' conservative.

note to self: always cut and paste future blog entries before attempting to publish them. arse.

2003-03-12T20:01:00.000-06:00

Go read Cassandra Claire's luffly blog. It's noodles of fun. Seriously. Especially the comments. I laugh me socks off.

I would also like to take a moment to bemoan the fact that absolutely no one reads my blog. This, of course, does not surprise me, but it saddens me a bit nonetheless. Oh, the sadness! If only I ever decided to take up the task of writing a long, beautifully written Harry Potter epic, then they'd like me! But I have no time. No time, I say! Maybe when I get a second life, yes?

In the mean time, it is raining and thunderin' outside and 'Angel' shall be on shortly. I'm rooting for some Wesley/Faith moments all the way -- ra ra ra! Whether they be "I hate you; you bloody tortured me!" moments or "Oh God, you're damn sexy"...I'm all over that sexual tension t'night. (Side note: I also would go up to bat for a little Angel/Wesley action, but I've wanted that for ::checks watch:: uh, the last two years. So my guess is...no. Alas, boo hoo. I'll have to be content with Angelus saying he'd "totally go for Wesley" if he "swung that way" or some such nonsense. Come on! Angel, I've always believed -- and this ain't just the slasher in me talkin' -- has always been an equal opportunity player. I just figure it often comes with the whole vampire, sexual-creature package. I mean, Spike and Angelus totally had angry, rough sex back in the day. Darla, Dru and those two were screwing all over the place, regardless of gender or any respect for the person being fucked.)

Enough of my fandom rambles.

We've been reading and viewing Samuel Beckett plays in Dramatic Literature. Some are actually very thought-provoking. My feeling about Beckett is this: He never wrote any of his plays with the intention of creating pretentious bullshit; he truly believed in whatever he was about at the time. I trust the man's integrity. My problem is that, quite often, it is too easy to take his plays as "pretentious bullshit" because they just happen to mean nothing to you at the time (you're not thinking in near the same vein as Beckett was and, perhaps, are not likely to any time soon). And this is the problem. In going for unconventionality, he sometimes sacrifices the importance of his message. And yet, every so often, his unconventionality enhances the message instead. So this, I think, is the fine line Beckett walks -- the line between uncomprehensible bullshit and abstract genius.

2003-03-11T22:04:00.000-06:00

I absolutely suck at html. ::imitating Marlon Brando in a movie that I'm sure no one as ever heard of:: Commeeeeeeeents!

2003-03-11T21:52:00.000-06:00

Play for the old wild hell of playing.

2003-03-11T21:41:00.000-06:00

current music: "Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds. i missed him last time he was in town. must see him when he returns.

current reading: Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. This book has moments of pure, brilliant "illumination." It also has moments of "oh my god, this makes my head hurt." definitely worth the read, though.

I've also decided to, every so often, recommend a good fic and include a little review with it (you know, to tell ya why I liked it). I figure, as many do, that others should learn from my often fruitless efforts to find truly well-written fic in a world full of 97.3% crapola. So today's Fic Rec is Resonant's The Familiar, a little Snape/Harry ditty (and before those of you -- who think much like me on this subject -- run screaming into the hills at the pairing, let me say my piece, 'kay?). I attempted to sum up the wonderfulness behind this fic in my feedback to Resonant about it:

"To start off, I'd like to say that Snape/Harry is usually, as they say, not 'my cup of tea.' My reasoning for this: Too often, fan fic sucks. When one is dealing with such a large age difference and such delicate matters as teacher/student sex, the expected suckage becomes not only annoying -- it can become repulsive.

That said, your fic takes all my reservations and throws them calmly out the door for others to deal with. This thing that's happening here, your fic seems to say, is much simpler than all that, much quieter and subtler and in some ways, so very everyday. For after all, 'The Familiar' asks, aren't people discovering each other anew all the time?"

2003-03-10T23:17:00.000-06:00

I would like to add: there is a spider squatting in the corner of my bedroom. I told my sister Carmen this, and she stood in my door and sang. This, I have told Zuzu, most likely does not help things.

(Note: I like to change all the names of my friends and relations. Carmen and Zuzu are, in actuality (what a surprise!), NOT the true names of the people I am referring to, but somehow, I believe these names I create capture something of the essence of the person I am naming. Trust me on this. Also, I will endeavor to keep each name consistent to avoid confusion. Therefore, my sister will always be referred to as Carmen and so on and so forth.)

2003-03-10T23:03:00.000-06:00

current music: "The Music Man" movie soundtrack. oh holy bajesus, does robert preston ever rock. i mean, come on.

In other news, as I'm going to London over Spring Break, I've been wondering if, just to spice up my life, our friend George will declare war while my sister, uncle and I are across the pond. That would certainly be one for my List of Memorial Vacations, eh? I dunno. I'm being very flippant about the possibility of war with Iraq, yet the real truth is, I've been worrying it over in my mind for many months now. I have very ambivalent feelings about the whole thing; feelings I don't think I'll get into right now -- certainly later, though, when I can beat them into order and parade them out in clear, well-expressed detail.

And yet in further unrelated news, as I've written to one of my good friends Zuzu (whose blog is so very fun...hint, hint), I've been thinking about many serious and important things (I promise!) and yet, despite this, I keep coming back to this one fact, inane and obsessive as it is:

Harry fuckin' Potter is coming out June 21st!! Oh mother of cows. (And yes, all you country bumpkins, I do sometimes wish he were coming out in that way, if only because it'd make me giggle with happy, schoolgirl glee. Also, of course, for the social commentary aspect of it: an Outsider in society now even more fully outside and all that rot.) On that subject, several months ago, I had a long, heated sleepover debate with three other friends of mine over whether Rowling should write a homosexual character (even only a peripheral character) into them there HP books. I and one friend were in full support of the idea, insisting that Lupin's pariah status in society is already quite the thinly veiled metaphor for a queer character (of course, he also represents every other group who has been viewed as Other, which, last time I checked, included just about everyone). My other two friends insisted that Rowling should stick to "child-appropriate" material. Oh yeah! said I. Child material like racism, bigotry and classism (ahem...starts with an M and rhymes with Balfoy). Argh. I've always believed kids should be given much more credit than society grants them. If they can handle Cedric Diggory getting axed for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then they can certainly handle Lupin casually mentioning his "roommate." Holy mother of pearl, people.

2003-03-09T20:55:00.000-06:00

I finally got a blog after all this time... At first, I'm inclined to wonder whether this marks a new stage in my online life, but I figure it must not because I'm already all over online anyway. This isn't the blog of a newbie.

::waves:: Hello, all. Call me Dylan. I'm a girl. I figure if Woody Allen can have a daughter named Dylan, then Dylan can be a feminine name, right? Right. My online habits include writing a little fan fiction , reading a little fan fiction and various and sundry obsessions. These include (but are, by no means, limited to) Harry Potter, Star Trek, American/English literature and LotR. I also was once a gigantic Star Wars freak. Not so now. Yes, I am a "geek," but on most days, I prefer "intellectual."

Without further introduction, as I figure you'll learn about me as we go along, here's a little convo my sister and I had today that should give you a taste of the wackiness that I enjoy and that I like to fill my life with.

MySister: my butt is smarter than me
Me: that's too bad
Me: my vagina is really stupid
MySister: actually, as dumb as this may sound, in real life i think vaginas would have more common sense than butts
Me: yeah, me too
Me: butts are so fat
MySister: ya, not everyone's though
MySister: people that don't have fat butts should burn in hell
Me: maybe those would be the smart ones
MySister: nope
Me: oh?
MySister: that's prejudiced against fat people
Me: i know
Me: i am prejudiced against fat people