elanid

Excerpt from latest: tiny drunken teenage wizards bitching each other out.  Why is this so much more fun than what I should be writing?
( Cut so as to not be a dick. )( Cut so as to not be a dick. )


In unrelated news, this weekend I am going sailing off to Blake Island, where I shall freeze, drown, camp, and cause my feet to develop an even greater loathing for me than they have acheived to date.*  It should be fantastic.

*This morning, an excerpt:

MY FRIEND: "So in fact, you decided to walk home from the bus stop barefoot, in the middle of the city, in pouring rain.  In November."
ME: "I refuse to bear the yoke of these shoes any further!  Look at my blisters!"
MY FRIEND: "Yeah, I bet the whole 'freezing, soaking pavement' treatment really helped with that."

It didn't.  In fact.

This post is mostly for those Alphans on my flist who may've joined livejournal because I put the irons to 'em (well done!); basically, the purpose is to explain some of the more esoteric functions of livejournal in a quick and vaguely comprehensible way. I am totally not qualified to do this, but I've been reading livejournal stuff for about four years now, which means I have a shifty, half-assed comprehension of what is going on. Veteran LJers: by all means, pray correct me where I have erred.

( Cut to spare those who don't need it. )

Sarah Rees Brennan, author of The Demon's Lexicon -- which I very much enjoyed and shall perhaps even post properly about sometime, ack -- has taken to posting short stories at cunning intervals, as a sort of celebration for having nice sales.  I thoroughly endorse this position, because the more people who read The Demon's Lexicon, the happier I shall be; furthermore, the stories posted to date have been kind of excellent.  I utterly spaced on posting on the first one, Sorcerer & Stone, which is in two lovely awesome parts, but the newest -- The Arundel Tomb -- made me fairly giddy with glee for reasons that will probably be apparent to anybody reading it.  It isn't at all necessary to've read the book to understand either of these, they stand alone very well.

So, uh, first of all: read it, it's lovely!  (And then tell me you've read it so I can flail all over you about how marvelous they are.)  And second of all: if you haven't yet got round to it, I highly recommend The Demon's Lexicon: funny and clever and quite dark, and for bonus points all of the characters are marvelous.  (Oh yeah, and if you're worried about the cover, I promise it isn't the girly romance novel some people of my acquaintance seem to be worried about.  And you can trust me, because...I get bored in romance sections, let alone whole novels.  Good gracious.)

The good news: I almost kind of vaguely have the draft of this essay ("intergenre crossover fucktasma; or, why you should damn well write what I want to read already") finished.

The bad news: It's over 3,000 words long, and I still have added neither the third main argument nor the epilogue in.

The nerd news: I edited my phrasing this afternoon just far enough to make it 3.141k words.  Because I am a dork. 

Needed: a dramatic and fairly bloody way that someone with determination and wrath but no special equipment could use to, erm, ruin his own hand in a single incident.  So far I've thought of things ranging from closing his fist on the business end of a knife and dragging his hand off to punching a wall whilst holding a glass of wine, with pretty much everything in between (punching windows, hitting it with a rock...), but none of it seems to really hit my brain as quite right.  So!  Any ideas for how to be really destructive?

(Someday I will have questions about my story that're all like, 'I guess I need to figure out what kind of fluffy puppy my heroine is giving my hero for his birthday, anyone into dogs?'  But today is not that day!)

This morning my reading has included:

- dumbass Republican politicians ("The health care plan includes death panels!  This country is becoming as communist as Hitler!")
- dumbass homophobic bigot SF writers ("I deeply resent your implication that homosexers are people too!  What's next, necrophilia?") (fuck off, John C. Wright!  Everyone else: consider yourself warned for incredible amounts of dumbshittery and asshatism.)

That's right, guys.  The liberals want you to have sex with you baby after it's been murdered by death panels, but they'll only count it if it's gay dead baby sex.  An outrage! 

Then that was followed by,

- dumbass SF editors and their supporters ("You know, it's perfectly conceivable that all 21 of the most mindblowing SF stories of history were written by straight white men!") (good post, many fail comments)

...and also, a bunch of extremely depressing (but accurate!) information about Somali pirates, who are, as it happens, somewhat A LOT justified in at least their origins.  Namely the part where they originated as, basically, coastal defense in the lack of a functional Somali government - against European companies trying to (a) dump toxic waste into Somali waters, resulting in massive human and environmental catastrophe and (b) illegally trawl for fish in Somali waters, resulting in something like $300m of theft a year and, err, massive environmental catastrophe.

I'm just saying, I could really go for some fuzzy ducks today.  And/or (preferrably, actually) well-documented instances of awesome people getting some of these assholes where they deserve it.  Bonus points for lighting people on fire in anatomically comedic areas.

Leaving for Alpha today (hurrah!),  and I'll be mostly gone for the next three weeks or so.  Don't burn the place down while I'm away, eh?

Somewhere in me there is a much bigger post full of explanations and rantings (sane ones) and fury, but right now, I don't think I could write it without damaging my computer with the virulence.

Why?

Well, mostly because of this post, via jonquil , about the current state of American healthcare and how very easy it is to become uninsured.  (Hint: don't get any serious diseases, guys.  Because?  Your insurance?  Will not pay for it.)

And guess what else?  It's totally legal for them to refuse to.  So when your conservative friend who thinks he's so clever starts talking about how a public option for health insurance is going to destroy the country and result in the deaths of a lot of people?  Go ahead and tell them to fuck right off.

This isn't the only problem with the current insurance system.  But, hey.  Isn't this enough of a problem all by itself?

Fuckers.

(Seriously, go read the post, even if you think you disagree with me: it's a much better, more elqouent explanation of this than I can possibly provide, especially when I'm this angry.)

I.  Yo.  Rebecca (remarknj ) and I are having a competition leading up to Alpha, the better to go completely insane and stumble onto or into a train, plane, or water main the day we have to leave, ranting and raving in a horrifying display of girlish lunacy.  That is to say, we have agreed to amass some 28k in writing between the two of us by the 14th of July.

II.  Accordingly, we're each going to write 700 words a day on our respective novelly projects, which is admittedly a fairly puny and diminutive amount until you take into account the fact that I am about to start work on Monday.  (To give a point of reference, the last time I started work for the summer, I found myself sleeping away my entire life.  This is chiefly because of the fact that work is a known minor demon and deeply enjoys sneaking up behind you and putting worms down your shirt until you notice some indeterminate time later that your chest is looking awfully squirmy, and then they turn out to be actually bloodsucking caterpillars of death and the legs pop out and suddenly they have spiracles full of your perfectly good plasma the better to donate to a good cause.)  This count may go up if it seems appropriate to all parties, i.e. me.

III.  But, you say, what is to prevent us from just sort of doing the usual writer slouch thing and failing to finish those words?  I mean, 700 words might not be much, but look, you know writers.  You know what they're like!  Well, in fact, there is a way, and the way is called PUNISHMENT.  Yes, you heard me right, and here is how the punishment works.  (Yes, it is possible that I am using these roman numeral section headers basically at random, but can you prove anything?  I didn't think so.)

IV.  The PUNISHMENT is as follows.  First of all, for any day that I don't write my 700 words (to be proven, in email, to remarknj  each day), I must obtain for her a present, to be brought to Alpha and distributed under the public eye so that all are aware of my failure and humiliation!  (Alphans who will be present this year, you are all welcome to spectate).  And second, if she doesn't write her 700 words, she must get a present for me, same deal.

V.  Presents.  Lest all this get out of (or too well into) hand, the limitation on presents is as follows: first, no bought present may cost less than $1 or more than $5.  Second, no made present may take less than an hour or more than five.  Third, no lifeforms, not even if they're really awesome and especially not if you made them yourself.  Fourth, no two objects representative of fail may be the same, because, really, no two fails are the same.  Rationally speaking.  Fifth, no gum.

VI.  This is a glorious plan and can in no way fail, backfire, cause the end of the world as we know it, etc.  Accordingly I have made an internet table OF GLORY to represent its awesomeness, and if you disagree with me on this count, well, you suck.

June.

Victim	26	27	28	29	30
Ebeccarey	706	758	769	722	729
Yours Truly	774	776	:(	760	769

July 1 - 5.

Victim	1	2	3	4	5
Ebeccarey	743	718	749	it is a holiday dammit	742
Yours Truly	710	752	>.O	yes for me too!	1884*

*shut up


July 6 - 10.

Victim	6	7	8	9	10
Ebeccarey	735	726	766	823
Raquel	743	796	**	737

**I am totally applying half of that 1884 here, take that!



VII.  General-purpose prohibited: cheating, laziness, having a break, ducking out, running away to Antarctica (do you know how hard it is to find $3 presents in Antarctica?), murder, extreme sports over highways, contacting extraterrestrial lifeforms in an attempt to bargain your way out by way of insanely futuristic technology, tantrums, decaf, fleeing to a town without bookstores in the hopes of making your brain melt so far that everyone agrees you are incapable, conjuring up large winter storms (be classy, thunderstorms are seasonal), demonic visitations, etc.

By contrast, a random assortment of totally over-the-table activities: blackmail, bribery, lying, whining, bargaining, abusing younger siblings as outlet, abusing younger siblings as experiment, abusing younger siblings to demonstrate Timothy Zahn-style practicality or lack thereof in action scenes, overcaffeination, sleep deprivation, lunacy, reading Heinlein, etc.

VIII.  Your words are due before the other person wakes up the next morning.  Or else.

ETA.  Some amendments to the rules, due to internet mayhem: either words must be turned in, by email, before 4pm of the following day, or else you may, if unable to email, provide a time-stamped screencap etc. of your words, ditto before 4pm.  Also this chart is probably not getting updated until Alpha time, because SOMEONE has no internet.  (<3)

ETA II.  We totally pwned at this, but I don't think I have the wordcounts anywhere easily accessible, so you will just have to take my word for it!  And indeed, lo, Rebecca gifted unto me a fabtastic bag and I inflicted three (really awesome) books on her.  So there.

Hopefully someone with bigger circulation than me can pick this up, but:

It looks like sarahtales has had her livejournal hacked by the same rather nasty hackers who got a couple other people earlier this year; her most recent post claims to link to her new book online and her new blog, but the links actually seem to lead to the same unpleasant Russian poetry and dodgy downloads as the last couple times - I think they are supposed to include a keylogger, among other things.  Anyway, I know she has a pretty wide readership, so, PSA to the world, don't click those links!

Is destroying my life!  But that's all right, my notes are glorious works of art, and I have just sat through 50 minutes of recorded lecture, so I feel that I am entitled to have a snack.  Or, you know, lunch.  (My life is so exciting.  Later this afternoon I might do some listening comprehension exercises.  Someone, quick, get the fainting couch!)

...

In other news, why is writing only ever this appealing when there are nine hundred other vital things one has to be doing?

THE HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL.

One of my housemates has been giving everyone trouble since pretty much the first day we moved in, but due to various factors (were I a wicked cynic, I would say for instance, the fact that some of my housemates have no spine), we haven't managed to get rid of her.  Her latest habit is not doing the chores assigned for the kitchen (such arduous tasks as taking out the garbage or putting the dishes away), which has made half of the house wroth with her.  (The other half says "Oh, dear," and then does her job for her.)

Accordingly I recently set out to have a conversation with her about this fascinating practice, which ran aground almost at once.

YOURS TRULY: Dearest Kearstyn, I can't help but notice that you didn't do your very simple job this entire week, thereby requiring other people to do it if they didn't want to end horribly with all the dishes in the house broken on their head.
HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL: Well, I was at my grandmother's house today.  And it's Easter.  So I really don't think that you have any right to complain.
YOURS: I could not help but notice that it is Sunday, Kearstyn.  My dim recollection seems to be that the week starts on Monday, so far as chores are concerned?
HOUSEMATE: Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't give a shit about this house or anyone in it and have no intention of ever doing my chores.  Suck it!

At which point she trotted off into the bathroom and hid there for something like ten minutes while I loitered around on the first floor waiting to deliver my final warning.  Of course, as soon as I tried, she brushed me off again and stalked into her room, resulting in this dignified exchange:

YOURS TRULY: In fact, I think the new consensus is that if your chores do not get done, they will end up in your room.  I should point out at this point that next week you are supposed to be taking the compost out, although naturally if you really want that on your belongings, I cannot argue!
HOUSEMATE FROM HELLACIOUS HELL (slamming door to her room) : Could you shut up now?  Thanks!

At which point I shrugged and went to do homework, because honestly, I have better things to do than argue with her on this through a closed door.  Of course, while I was upstairs, some of my other housemates returned home, and I think you can pretty easily imagine my surprise when I wandered downstairs later to encounter various further housemates discussing the previous exchange in hushed tones.

HOUSEMATE SECUNDUS: Er, Rachel, I hope you don't mind my asking, but don't you think it was a little inappropriate to start the conversation about the dishes with "if you don't do what I say I'll put compost in your bed?"
HOUSEMATE TERTIUS: And also - wait, why are you laughing uncontrollably?  Are you quite sure you're feeling quite well today?  Are you having a seizure?

And so we continue on.  Perhaps eventually the rest of my housemates will muster up the conviction in the righteousness of their cause to say something to Hellacious Hell, but in the meantime I shall enjoy her pointed glares and refusal to talk to me all by myself.

OSCAR THE KIDNAPPED CAT.

Among her numerous other flaws, Kearstyn* is deeply, madly in love with a cat belonging to someone else, which I can nearly understand, because he's very sweet.  His name is Oscar, and he is small and stripey and quite charming.  We know him because while they were away on spring break, he showed up in our alley, and since his owners weren't picking up their phone, we had to keep him until they finally reappeared to claim him.  We were all a bit disappointed, but none more so than Kearstyn (whose idea of true love, by the way, mostly encompasses shutting him in her room and crooning "widdle boy!" at random moments).

However, I do feel that there is generally a line between true love and kidnapping, which is why it was a bit surprising to return home moderately late one night to find Oscar shut in the study room.

YOURS TRULY: Oh gracious, did he run away again?
KEARSTYN: Well, I found him wandering in the street.
YOURS TRULY (with air of dawning dread): In our alley, or in front of their house?
KEARSTYN (incriminating pause): Well, he's an indoors cat!

The other fun thing about this was that she had decided to kidnap Oscar with her boyfriend in tow, so while she and boyfriend disappeared into her room to pursue unspeakable acts (sample Facebook status from the next morning: "Kearstyn Hellacious should remember not to do things her body isn't capable of."**), the cat was dumped unceremoniously into the living room.

At which point Housemate Quartus pointed out that she was having a dance party later that evening, which certain small felines might not enjoy.  In mild bemusement, I retreated upstairs with Oscar and spent a vaguely entertaining evening watching him barrel around the room in pursuit of a stray (and doubtless very vicious) bottlecap while listening to the sweet strains of extremely loud music from downstairs.***

A couple days later, his owners deigned to resurface and carted him off again; I don't doubt that he'll show up again, though.

REASONS WHY MY JAPANESE HISTORY PROFESSOR IS AWESOME

I really don't think I've had any other professor who digresses with such reliability that he or she can get from "Japan is a highly stratified society" to "electric slippers!  They keep your feet warm!" in under ten minutes.


_________
*In her manifestation as Unduly Sucrose Irritation, rather than the rarer and more dangerous Housemate From Hellacious Hell.

**I give you this information on the principle that I suffer, you suffer.  Along which line I should mention that she spent most of that day wandering around in panties and a T-shirt, ice-pack clutched tenderly to her more personal anatomy.

***At least this time no drunk people tried to break into my room.

I know a lot of you have posted about the recent fail on Amazon's part in which books with LGBTQ content were delisted for being 'adult,' including such racy thrillers as Heather Has Two Mommies, and quite a lot of you have also linked to the petition against it, which is awesome - like anyone, I like to see fantastic fucktards get their comeuppance.

But how about the Avatar racefail casting petition?  (quick refresher: tiny kiddie television show turns out to be super fantastic; Hollywood sets out to adapt it to live action film; producers decide Asian heroes are too, well, Asian, and cast them all as white*; internet has minor implosion).  It takes like two minutes, you guys, and then you can post to your journal about how you're awesome.  (By the way, please do: the more people who know about this, the better!)  This petition has been up for quite a bit longer than the Amazon one, but it has something like one fifth the signatures; can we do something about this, please?  I for one support Asian heroes!


*The semi-antihero-kind-of-eventually-a-hero character was recently recast as Dev Patel.  This is nice and all, except that Patel is South Asian rather than East Asian - and also we now have brown villains and white heroes, which naturally is not at all problematic.**

**That was a good example of mild sarcasm.

The cat came back!

Is okay, but I prefer to get my lying lying ways out in smaller, more year-round increments.  :D

Okay.

Invertebrate paleontology vs. post-WWII Japan.

Discuss.

I need prompts.  To fix my brain.  Which is not working.

So, if you comment with a prompt, I will write you a thing.  (N.b., danger!)  I am so thrilling and exciting.

Exams done.  So tired.  Going to go see The History Boys tonight.  Flying home tomorrow morning ungodly early.  Woo!

ASDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOHGODOHGODOHGODpleasedie.



Spring break cannot come soon enough.