Title: The Game of God, 8/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
Title: The Game of God, 7/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
Title: The Game of God, 6/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Pride and Prejudice at 20: The Scene That Changed Everything

It's been twenty years since BBC tossed Colin Firth into a lake and had him walk about in clinging white shirts (for plot!).

Twenty years. I was dropped out of college stealing cable and ran across costume drama and stopped immediately, because when one is both an Austen and Regency fan, one can identify adaptations of classic works on a glance.

(Forbidding, brooding sexy (yet subtly awkward) male in pantaloons, woman with ironically raised raised eyebrow looking at him archly, silly older woman in background, wait...and way too bouncy girl runs by showing too much bosoms chased by red coated officers....

I said, "Hey, that's Lydia." And sat down.)
Title: The Game of God, 5/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5
Title: The Game of God, 4/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
Title: The Game of God, 3/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
This is a quick addendum to the Windows 10 upgrade post I did here because this is a very annoying problem.

If you haven't upgraded yet or have but haven't had this happen, note:
1.) if you use Word and Excel, go in and change your settings to autobackup every five minutes. Do it right now.

Windows Updates are by default automatic. I thought I set mine to tell me to do it (scheduled), but apparently I didn't, and so more often than I'm comfortable with, I close my laptop and come back to it having shut down entirely and the only reason I haven't panicked is because my Word and Excel have both the five minute rule for back-up in place, and I by reflex save before closing my laptop (most of the time). This is freaking stressing.

1.) go into the updates and switch to scheduled so you get warning.

Further Notes:
1.) I've found when I'm working and everything starts acting wonky--especially playing video--Windows 10 wants to upgrade and this is a hint, unlike just giving me a message.
2.) Updates can take up to five minutes both on this side of restart and the other. Yes you can have a freaking ten minute security update, wtf?
3.) I am so tired of getting Microsoft product advertisements appearing in my notes. HOW DO I TURN THAT OFF? I like Office and this is turning me against it.

Other Notes:

I'm still getting used to it, but honestly, anything is worth getting rid of that goddamn Metro screen, but I do miss the original Start Menu in its original form. I keep a ruthlessly clean desktop--one text file appears there, my linux cheat sheet for server emergencies since I login using putty--and everything else is in Stardock at the top of the desktop (SO RECOMMENDED YOU HAVE NO IDEA WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE) or my task bar.

I also get a lot of my better experience here in Windows 8.1 and 10 is having a touchscreen. I hate to say it because it can be expensive, but if you're planning to get a new computer, save for the goddamn touchscreen; luckily, with Alienware the start value is so ridic expensive that at the time the upgrade was about $150 I think to get the five-point and nothing compared to pretty much everything else. It's not mandatory yet (except Windows 8.1 I would have had a breakdown without it), but usability is definitely biased toward a touchscreen.

I'm a professional user acceptance tester; I did my standard usability check (altered for Windows) to check functionality but all with touchscreen and not using my touchpad and yeah, not surprisingly, a lot of stuff that works fine with touchpad but feels wrong or off suddenly makes sense for touchscreens. It's not entirely subtle, but it is noticeable when you switch over and realize this was made for fingers. What's funny--at least to me--is this is the first time I realized there could be a left-hand bias on touchscreens, which makes sense as we read left to right and left is where everything drifts toward. Not something I would have realized with a touchpad or even a screen as small as a phone, but when the touch real state is 17 inches, yeah, if I can adapt my left to be better coordinated, I'll have a somewhat faster and easier experience.

I speak as someone who likes touchscreens; until they magically make monitors smudge proof and repel dust, I'm against it as primary or even recommended on anything bigger than 12.2 inches (my tablet) because it's ridic how much I have to clean and it's not like I work with manure every day here or don't wash my hands. My laptop is my primary relationship; it gets oily fast from basic touching unless I'm on it every second, and unlike my tablet and phone, it's kind of a production, not a single button, to flip off the screen for a fast cleaning (not so fast, it's freaking seventeen inches).

Despite all this (and now you're staring at me going what?) I do recommend the upgrade, and not just because it's free and Microsoft wouldn't have done that unless they planned to screw over old operating systems and wanted to avoid at least partial rage (won't happen, but give 'em props for trying). To me, it's not better than Windows 7, which became my One True Operating System and I actually bought my entire family upgrades to it, but right now, it's more than acceptable and I honestly think--God help me--that familiarity will let me like it more as I customize it to habits. It does--shockingly--have more options on that front than I expected, and unless 8.1 was your One True Operating System, this is definitely better than that.

Anyway, anyone else have any tips since it's been almost a month since Windows 10 appeared in our lives?
Request from Child:

Firefly fandom - Any recs for Mal/Simon fic? Especially longer? No, I don't know how this happened, either, but since Derek left Teen Wolf he's been kind of despondent.
Title: The Game of God, 2/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and scynneh for beta services, with advice from Tkodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Title: The Game of God, 1/16
Author: Seperis
Series: Down to Agincourt, Book 4
Codes: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Summary: You can't win a war for humanity by sacrificing all of your own.
Author Notes: Thanks to nrrrdygrrrl and obscureraison for beta services, with advice from TKodami and MollyC.
Story summary from a comment by Infie.
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar for the series name and summary from her sonnet Harry Takes the Field.
Spoilers: Seasons 5, 6, and 7

AO3 Links for Down to Agincourt:
Series: Down to Agincourt
Book 1: Map of the World
Book 2: It's the Stars That Lie
Book 3: A Thousand Lights in Space

AO3 Links for The Game of God:
Chapter 1
Start Menu is back!!!!!

(I am not to customizing anything yet, so very quick warning report.)

The following problems I had that could occur (Windows 8.1 upgrade):
1.) Qualcomm drivers/wi-fi - you may need to reinstall them after if you lose wifi. No, no one seems to know why (well Alienware tech support didn't). If you're under warranty, get tech support to do it and save yourself some stress.
2.) Nvidia drivers might not work. I didn't have this problem, but I've seen it mentioned and upgraded min before install and then uninstalled and reinstalled them after when I had the below problem, just in case.
3.) In Windows 8/8.1, if you downloaded the program Aero Glass, which mimicked Windows 7 Aero Glass in Windows 8/8.1, UNINSTALL IT FIRST.

In case anyone is googling, entering here the symptoms: after upgrading to Windows 10, splash screen displays and starts to flash to grey every three seconds. It continues through trying to login and eventually the screen freezes but not the pointer or touchscreen. It's weird. UNINSTALL AERO GLASS. It solves everything.

If you are already having this issue, do the following:
1.) When you hit the splash, get to the login as fast as you can before the freeze (you have about 10 to 30 seconds).
2.) On the login page, the restart is on the bottom-right; click on shift and hit restart.
3.) You're at a new page. Select Advanced, and in the right column of options that I can't remember the name of is one that lets you get to a screen that has different options for restarting. Just click until you see one that lists a whole bunch of things including safe mode.
4.) Click restart.
5.) You'll get a list of options. Select safe mode with networking (mine was F5).
6.) Login screen displays, login.
7.) Right click on Windows icon at far left bottom corner.
8.) Select Programs and Features.
9.) Uninstall/Remove programs page displays.
10.) Uninstall Aero Glass.
11.) Restart normally.

By the way, these instructions will work for anything you need to uninstall after installing if you have problems.

1.) this killed all my restore points. The second you're done and its' stable, start recreating your restore points. This may not be universal, but figured I'd toss that out there in case of emergency.
2.) More later while I stare blankly at it and try to decide my level of like, which is definitely higher than 8.1 but that's about it so far.

I'll probably spend my break tomorrow doing my customizations.


Per [personal profile] blueraccoon in comments:
One sort of important thing to note: At this time, DO NOT run a clean install that wipes your drive. There's a bug. If you're just upgrading and not reformatting, you're fine, but DO NOT wipe your drive and start over. If you do the computer will not recognize that you have a valid copy of Win10.

They're working on it, and I think it should hopefully be fixed in the next few hours, but it's still a problem as of the last information I have.
Millennia ago, there was a woman who in a hut labored for a night and a day; in the end, into her arms was given the fruit of her labor, and on beholding him, she said (so I’m told), “With God’s help, I’ve made a son.”

What she said second isn’t recorded by history, but eighteen years ago, as I beheld my son (quite ugly, to be honest), the first thing I said was “Is he always going to look like that” but the second (or so I remember, I was very goddamn high for a while after that) came after–-much like I’m sure it did to Eve–-where she took stock of the world in which her son lived (hut, cow, whatever) and said, “Yeah, no. We can do better than this.”

It wasn’t fit for him, this world, but to make him fit for it would be a degradation of what he was and all he could be. So for eighteen years, I made him fit to be exactly who he was, is, and wanted to be, so he would be able to change it.

Five years ago, my son came out to me, and upon such a revelation, the first thing I said, “It’s midnight, you have school tomorrow, what the hell are you doing on AIM?” Also something like, “I love you, I loved you before I met you, now go to bed or you’re grounded” (dude, five years ago and around midnight, do I look like a wizard)? Then I thought–as did Eve and the me who thought her child looked like an extra from Coneheads becuse she was so very stoned (and seriously, he really did)–as I beheld the world again, “Yeah, no. You gotta be better than this.”

Like every mother in the world, when my son leaves my sight, I know he’s at risk of being harassed, threatened, assaulted, or killed because this world has that.

Some mothers carry this burden as well; our child is at risk for being harassed, threatened, assaulted, or killed simply for being who they are.

You see, the world into which I bore my son, the one he would have to live in, was one in which legal provision had to be made to place him in protected class, not for what he’s done but for what he is. Because murder of my gay son would not be given the same weight in the courts as one who was straight; because my son was in a class of people who would be deliberately and systematically sought out for harassement, threat, assault, and murder, crimes committed against him because of who he is are classified as hate crimes.

Some mothers have carried this additional weight from the moment they first felt their children move within them, before they even first saw their face or heard their first cry; that’s forever. I’ve only carried it for five years, but it feels like so much longer.

This year, my son turned eighteen, and my work isn’t done, but my right to ground him is pretty much at an end (he doesn’t know that; don’t tell him; he thinks it’s twenty-one, like drinking). In January, by right of birth in this country, he could vote, be drafted to join the army, to be deciding voice in the course of his life, but he wasn’t guaranteed the rights I was given, denied them not by age or sex, but sexuality. The law of the country would not allow him to marry the partner of his choice, adopt a child, be protected against workplace discrimination, the list goes on.

On June 26, 2015, my son is still a protected class, at risk of being the target of hate crimes; he can be harassed, threatened, assaulted, even killed, for being gay. He can still face discrimination in the workplace, and the legal adoption of a child is sketchy, but I have hope that last part may not be for long; however, one thing changed.

He turned eighteen in January, and six months later, the Supreme Court confirmed a right he should have had then; in the country of his birth, he cannot be denied the right to marry the partner of his choice. No one–not individuals or states–can take that away.

So said Justice Kennedy: it is so ordered.

Supreme Court rules in Favor of Same-Sex Marriage
The Decision
Case in point:

Wandering through Central Market looking for Candycots (where are they? IT IS TIME) and bubblegum grapes, and satisfied myself with brie, pretentious bread (because Central Market), apriums, champagne mangos, and cherries were back and oh.


When I was growing up, cherries weren't delicious, they were crappy at the local grocery store, tiny and hard and vaguely blandly sour. Then I grew up and lo, the grocery stores had the good ones, the plump dark red ones with a sheen that you'd happily sell your soul for a lifetime supply (or maybe that's just me), and just as importantly, these go on sale during the summer to the point where it's a crime not to buy them. We're on the leading edge, so they're still not hitting 'five pounds of cherries every time they enter our line of sight', but suffice to say, time to get started.

Which is fine, but I always forget you kind of have to pace yourself after months without them. And by "I forget" I mean no matter how many years I've spent on this earth, I forget every time the cardinal rule of 'do not fucking buy a pound of cherries and eat them half of them on the way home after a multi-month-long dry spell waiting for cherry season.'

Body: You sure about this, Sep?
Me: *sucking cherry off the seed* Fuck off.
Body: We'll talk later. Have fun with that.

Body: I told you so.
Me: *gets rest of cherries*
Body: ...you're kidding, right?
Me: *sucking cherry off the seed* Fuck off.

Repeat ad infinitum.

As I once realized to my horror, I could be the first documented case of someone killing themselves disgustingly with prunes, for given a bag of them, I will eat them all; given a warehouse, I won't survive and I pity the person who finds my body. I don't just like them; I will eat until they're gone or I am.

I have very selective and stupid fruit weaknesses. I can live without apples, most citrus, pears, whatever. But Turkish apricots (dried), bubblegum grapes, east Texas raspberries, blueberries, cherries, candycots, locally grown Texas peaches, cloudberries, figs, dates, currants, prunes, I treat like Schedule One drugs. I will walk over your body after stabbing you to get to them, and given an unlimited supply, I won't ever move again from my fruit paradise.

If I were a supervillian, this is how I'd be caught; the stupidest trap in the world baited with a fruit medley. Take me to Arkham, fine, but I got a metric ton of fruit to finish and I will cut you if you disturb me before I'm done. Throw in some fried plantains in the Arkham kitchen with honey mustard and honestly, I might not want to leave.

Candycots - they're as close as you can get in this world to processed sugar in fruity apricot form and what the gods really want while miserably chugging nectar and ambrosia. These are amazing, is what I'm saying, and in Texas, they're sold in ridiculous sets of twelve in plastic because wisely, Central Market with coffee bean bar get it yourself and leaves open containers of other, lesser fruits in the fruit section for snacking knows those Candycots would all be gone--all of them--in under fifteen minutes (if I'm there, five, after considerable bloodshed, for the Candycot gods sometimes require a sacrifice to prove your love).

I'm going to warn you now; if you taste these, think the White Witch and the disappointment of Turkish Delight. If she'd offered Edmund Candycots, everyone on earth would not only completely understand but approve of Edmund's actions because Candycots.

You won't recover from this, and nothing in your life will ever satisfy you like these will; you will spend the rest of your life vaguely unsatisfied with all things for you have seen perfection and what's the point: Monet, Picasso, David, Statue of Liberty, Taj Mahal, the Wonders of the World, nice, I guess, but does the taste of them make you believe for a moment you're a god on earth and all you see is your demesne? Does spacetime warp around you and you understand the perfection which man has strived for over endless generations; did they give you a glimpse of infinity in all its vastness?

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. <--Corinthians speaketh of Candycots.

You can't taste paint and rock, you say? So the answer is no.

And by the pound, they cost more than heroin, which is no surprise at all.

These go on sale in San Francisco at the Farmers market next weekend, and by the way, fuck you San Francisco.

...someone there send me some? Please?
So the Rain

Well, it hasn't rained in a few days, so there's that. The entire backyard is all visibly soaked dirt, and I won't talk about the patio because it's beyond words. Last week we had a lot of people out of the office literally due to rain, and this week (and next) being the graduation for most of the state, it's been--well, wetly triumphant, maybe?

So More Things

So you may not know that guinea pigs have entered my life. Apparently, this has been a thing for a while, I just didn't know.

Let me explain.

They weren't mine, I want that clear. My youngest sister purchased them some number of years greater than two and less than five ago, and they came to her as small and are now super-sized guinea hogs, if you will. They were given a standard cage and toys and being low maintenance and fucking hateful--they make my former rabbit warren look loving and kind--we all just sort of existed in a detente where we moved them around as needed and fed them while they pretended we didn't exist or attacked whoever was foolish enough to try to keep their cage clean and them healthy, because they're malicious.

Here's where this gets weird.

At some point in the last eighteen months--and I can't tell you how or when, it just happened--I began buying all their food, snacks, and litter, feeding and bathing them (bathing. them.) and had been for quite a while because my sister isn't actually anywhere near them (ie, no longer lives here) and somehow, I...took over, like some kind of unholy geas and I don't know how or why.

I'm bathing them. Let me clarify this, because this is where I'm convinced I pissed off a sorcerer or a wizard and this is actually a curse.

I actually get a giant towel and Child (to distract them from going for my throat), grab each one and put them in a box (with minimal bloodshed), carry them to the bathroom, fill a tub--my bathtub--with water (not too warm, not too cold, I test this) until it reaches just their bellies and set them in there to swim and glare at them hatefully before shampooing them one by one, risking my fingers, or at least bits of them, because guinea pigs can't be fucked to do the minimum amount of work to keep themselves clean no matter how often I clean out their truly nightmarish cage and if they weren't bathed, they'd be quite literally made of fur and their own excretions. Then I rinse them, check their fur for issues--risking so much finger-flesh--towel-dry their ungrateful asses (now with shiny fur), and take them back to their fresh cage where they immediately create more filth to wallow in while I return to my bathtub and stare in horror at what I have to clean up (and that shit is deliberate, and I do mean shit. What is wrong with them?).

A couple of times a month, I do this.

I'm doing this of my own free will, and I honestly can't tell you why because I hate them, they hate me, and it makes no sense and I can't emphasize this enough, I can't work out when this started. However, I had a revelation this week while miserably cleaning out their hideous cage and resenting the fuck out of anything with fur; I don't have to live like this, this is bullshit.

Time to deal.

I hate them but at this point it can't be denied they're mine--once you carry the scars of their tiny teeth, someone is owned and it's not gonna be me--so they're going to live to a standard by which my rabbits once lived, because no pet of mine (fuck my life, I have guinea pigs) is going to look like their owner isn't creepily overinvested in their lifestyle and living accommodations.

Midwest Interactive Guinea Habitat Plus - that's eight to nine square fucking feet lined with PVC canvas containing a ramp, a care area, and is recommended by veterinarians. I'm throwing out everything they're using now; their resentful little asses are gonna experience a lifestyle upgrade. They are getting a new grass house, a grass ball, new chewtoys, a new feeder, and fuck my life, I went shopping for absorbent pads used on people beds for those who need such things for night accidents to line this sucker with and I also got them treats and snacks because reasons. I googled guinea pig food type for the most nutritious and evaluating if it would be in their best interests to start them on a Central Market and Whole Foods diet of overpriced organic vegetables and greens.

You know what guinea pigs do? They wallow. That's it. They lay there, resenting the effort it takes them to eat their own food because that requires movement. They bore the cat. You can't get lower than the cat thinking you aren't even worth watching hungrily. They're like furry rocks made of hate and a lack of motivation. They are a literal rebuttal of the theory of evolution, because selection should have wiped them out and yet, here they are, alive and forcing me to re-evaluate how trustworthy science really is.

It gets worse.

While shopping I learned; guinea pigs are neglected as hell when it comes to fun pet shit. Hamsters and ferrets, mice and rats, toys and pipes and hammocks and awesome playscapes, but guinea pigs? Do they get giant-ass playscapes I'd like in human-size? Nope. Do they get tubular extravaganzas? No. I admit, furry hate-rocks wouldn't use them, but that's not the point; this should be equal opportunity and guinea pigs are getting the short end of the stick here.

...I hate them, they loathe me, they are furry hate rocks who I genuinely think would kill me if they were less fucking lazy, but on their behalf I've been hating the entire pet industry and googling PVC piping to see if it comes in transparent so I can build them a playscape so as not to be inferior to fucking hamsters that they'll never use because they are furry rocks of hate. And I gotta bathe them tomorrow because the cage should be here when I get home from work and they are gonna go into their new home clean and this isn't happening, it can't be.

Wizard curse, it's gotta be.
Child just graduated high school yesterday!

Now the real question: whether seperis on tumblr will tag all his tumblr accounts with such, including the ones he doesn't know I know about.

I was thinking an entry like this:
My widdle wee man graduated high school! *SQUEEZES CHEEKS*

...trolling one's child on his high school graduation. It's like, so hard not to. Though granted, we already wore t-shirts with his face on them to the graduation ceremony, so maybe that was enough. Because my sister thinks like this and his expression was amazing.
Wednesday, May 20th, 2015 06:58 pm

things that go right

So last week and this weekend were--terrible, to be honest. Mostly the weekend, actually; the week was fine, but an emergency release went out at work and I was validating one portion when they brought up the system (there was a PDF of the entire nightmare) and when my time came (late, I expected) it failed (that, we didn't).

Finally by Monday it was up, but working Saturday and Sunday even from home is just freaking stressful when it's something like this. And I do take it personally; it's like, why, app, do you hate me? I may or may not have said that out loud over several days until Monday, when the failure fixed itself (no one can figure out what the hell; we just go with it).

Three things made this weekend and week not suck balls:
1.) downtoagincourt - there is a tumblr about my fic series! FUCK YES I READ IT ALL LIKE FORTY TIMES AND FAVORITED EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. Also, an amazing review here by bert-and-ernie-are-gay that I indeed do re-read. Like a lot.

I have no idea about the etiquette of reblogging really literate (more literate than the series, to be honest) reviews of your fic. Can you do that?

2.) Two tumblr uses liveblogged some of their reactions while reading. This is one of them.

Fireintheimpala here:
Gah, nonstop agony thanks to Down to Agincourt…maybe I should live blog my read of it for cathartic release…


Day 1,231: the destiel glacier is reported to have advanced 1.52 millimeters in the south. Scientists are being dispatched to test for possible measurement errors.

Day 3,456: the scientist have returned and bring with them exciting reports of moderate precipitation! Will this add to the mass of the glacier? Stay tuned.

Day 7,278: tragic news from the glacial front: a scientist has been killed! Though the surface of the glacier is by all measurable accounts benign–inert even!–inexplicable emissions of angst have increased. Eruption danger: Orange.

And here:
Down to Agincourt update.

Day 10,000 or so: I should have taken a break for smut, fluff, or single chapter episode codas 3,000 days ago. Now it’s too late. Now I can’t imagine these characters progressing to any sort of self awareness for at least, oh, 50 more years.

It's funny because it's true.

3.) I bought six inch heels and learned to walk in them.

My Relationship With Heels

I'm a switcher; I go through phases of wanting nothing but ballet flats or low mary sues, with various exceptions in various heels; my work encouraged it, especially when I was at the ombudsman's office where no denim allowed at all and business casual was barely casual. When I became a QC Analyst, however, the dress code was "not naked" and never again having only one pair of jeans because all my clothes income was for button ups, slacks, and skirts. Generally I devote myself to Black Widow and Batman t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, and semi-regular showering (and flats, comfy ones). I'm QC; there are very low expectations in our dress sense. Then I got a promotion (WHEE ME), and for no reason (I can't explain this), I kind of went crazy and bought dresses and tops to wear with jeans (or tights) and dragged out all my heeled sandals to gloat over (I. Don't. Know. But I now own five dresses, three pairs of skinny jeans (one glittery: GLITTERY) and two very pretty new work-appropriate sleeveless tops and adorable cardigan sweaters to wear with them.)

Which leads to the next part.

Last year, I decided to start training myself up again with heels without ending up with feet that will hate me all my life due to the purchase of a three and a half inch pair of kick-ass sandals that were viciously on sale (chunky heel, utterly gorgeous), a pair of wedges, and a cruel Fry's sale on adorable brown suede sandals. The chunky three and a half inch sandals took work, but seriously, they're adorable and had decent ankle support, and successfully did not die in them.

Last month, I saw a pair of stiletto booties and said "I'm getting me some of that."

And I also said, "And not kill myself wearing them." That part is important.

Luichiny Women's Hi N Low Boot, Size 10. Two inch platform, four inch shaft, so effective four inch elevation for my heel. They also look fucking amazing, not gonna lie, but they are not walking out clubbing shoes (my sandals, oddly enough, are).

Here's the thing; they are also my first real experience (other than at Vividcon) wearing stiletto heels and not chuck or wedges (and then I was also drunk, they were thigh-high boots, and Vividcon means miracles occurred when I jogged up and down the stairs).

Balance wasn't a problem--I'd been wearing my sandals once a week for a month to get used to the shift in my center of balance, fix my posture, and automatically align myself on top of my heels instead of the balls of my feet--but learning to walk was very new. Chunk, even with sandals, do generally allow a lot of leeway as long as my posture is correct; stilettos, I found, require perfect or nothing.

(Chunk with no platform also (gently) trained me out of one problem I have due to being a sprinter in high school and never getting over it; my weight when walking in shoes at all unless I'm thinking about it comes down on the outer ball of my foot, not the inner, around the fourth and fifth toe, and my heel doesn't come down often (almost never) when I'm walking fast, which I usually do. In flats and barefoot I still do it (and can afford to), but when I hit about two inches in a heel or any boot, I have to adjust and that takes practice to remember to do before killing myself. I still have to think about it when walking or yes, I will topple over like the saddest bowling pin in history and die or something.)

The nice thing with these boots is, they fit close; if you're not exactly a nine and a half (low end) or ten, though, the 10 will not fit (go to 11). I had to wear trouser socks to get my feet in and adjust, but they were literally a perfect fit, skin close but not painful or pinching other than foot adjustment time while walking until they shaped to the balls of my feet correctly. They also have fantastic ankle support, which I didn't realize would be so important but should have, since the entire strength of walking in them was keeping my ankle straight (and not trying to go up on my toes; it's almost impossible at this height, which helps).

After checking numerous websites on walking in heels, and trying many things to help the process of not dying (while being six fucking three in those things and gleefully staring over everyone's heads at work because I can do that), here is what I learned.

1.) Leaning backward does help like a lot. Centering my entire weight on my heel isn't really enough; without the backward lean, I pitched forward.

2.) Wearing them improves my posture one hundred thousand percent just on the strength of not wanting to topple over. Not just a straight back either; shoulders back, head up, stomach in, chest up, and I can feel the second I go out of alignment and fix it (because otherwise, death by heels).

This actually bleeds over to when I don't wear heels; I'm a slumper and sloucher and training myself out of that is almost impossible without sufficient motivation (ie, death by heels). The last two months have definitely helped in that much; I've noticed I don't slouch automatically (now it's by preference, really), and more importantly, I am aware of when my posture is bad because I know how it feels when it's good.

3.) Walking and staying alive I've mastered, but walking gracefully is still hit or miss and I usually stumble (sometimes literally) into doing it right (ie, the sweet spot). It's harder than I thought, but once I hit it, I'm fine for the rest of the day. I know it's a matter of how I'm shifting my center of balance and weight to the ball of my foot and using the heel only for balance, but it's not something I can do consciously yet. It's not a stride issue, either; long or short, something clicks and boom, I have the walk. Or it doesn't and I'm just terrifyingly tall and no one can stand against me. No one.

4.) Everything is much lower when one is six-three (I love those shoes), including people. I will not say that made me mad with power, but I won't deny it, either.
Every time I read Georgette Heyer, I get hit all over again by the fact she's actually really good at the Regency format in the generic sense, so good I don't really feel like it's generic no matter how paint by numbers it would be in any other author's hands. She just gets it right, and I know better--I do--but every time, I start sliding her into the Austen mode and then re-read something like Black Sheep and screech to a halt when the plot meticulously and properly goes from 'Regency standard but adorable shenanigans' to 'what the fuck just happened?'

It shouldn't happen anymore, and yet.

the black sheep and other shenanigans )

Georgette Heyer's works, ladies and gentlemen: sometimes, I think she basically chose a career of trolling the Regency genre just to see if anyone noticed.
Saturday, April 25th, 2015 03:40 am

moment of zen

Fortunately, my job and how television portrays it (Quality control, aka program testing) isn't a subject for television because generally one hour drama doesn't focus on the minutia of a company building a program step by step because come on, that can be a multi-year process.

....with one exception.

I once ran across the dramatization of the dev process (montage-like) on TV and watched because it's kind of soothing to watch developers suffering (they're like a floor away from me and I've had a bad week, okay?) until we got back to real time and I promptly lost my mind.

A Summary of the Horror:
They're like "almost there after weeks of (montage) work, oh noes there's a null character mcguffin plot reason thing must get it out like right now tonight no waiting!" or something like that, how do you even know this you just finished the last line and haven't compiled it...hold up, where are the design docs, I haven't seen any since this started, how are they--and they're all scanning the source code--scanning a million lines of source code with their eyes ON SINGLE MONITOR WHY, not even using a search algorithm--who does that, what kind of fucking IDE are you using, why don't you have color enabled to make this easier, wait, that looks like microsoft notepad with the background painted black-- "OH FOUND IT FIXING IT NOW" wait, no, did you erase something and then hit enter that's a new line, but go back, problem, the mcguffin wouldn't be in there, that's in a class file, why are you--hold up, what language is this-- "Okay, compiling now!" holy shit did you just-- "Almost done!" wait, what, no, you can't do that, you don't fly edit your code (that did like magic or word processing, they weren't clear) have you ever heard of debug or like-- "Okay, done, send it--" IN TEN SECONDS REAL TIME THAT WASN'T A MONTAGE "--to whothefuckever we can start distribution like next week awesome going to hawaii!" WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING YOU DIDN'T EVEN RUN IT-- "Everyone go on vacation now bye!" NO NO YOU UNIT TEST SYSTEM TEST USER ACCEPTANCE LAST HAS TO CHECK FOR MEMORY LEAKS AND LOAD AT LEAST RUN SOME AUTOMATED SCRIPTS WHAT ARE YOU DOING DID YOU EVEN CHECK TO SEE IF IT EVER WORKED IN A REAL-TIME ENVIRONMENT BECAUSE YOU MACHINES ARE SET TO IDEAL CONDITIONS NOT THE WILDS OF PRODUCTION--

I'll spare you the rest--they say when the trauma becomes too much, the memory's blocked so sanity can be retained--but one thing's really just bothering me here.

In this ultra-tech, totally pro too many coffee cups suspiciously unstained and without chips or being shattered against the wall and no crumpled up design documents because the analysts are sadistic fucks and will give you three contradictory rules and don't understand how to use Visio or the concept of driver flow...all the super-cool computers only had one monitor each.

I get it now.

This is about a desperate dev team torpedoing the project due to hideous working conditions, inadequate equipment, lack of support personnel, and no design documents because they were set up to fail by an evil CEO who wanted to cut corners and get rid of the entire dev department to bring in an alien design team from Mars (who secretly plan to conquer the world because even aliens wouldn't agree to this nightmare unless they had another motive entirely) and now it all makes sense!

this is totally what happens next )
Because mythology and why not.

A List of all Zeus's kids.

It makes me wonder--again, that's just Zeus's shenanigans (or his and two other gods' divine urine on a blanket and create Urine AKA Orion, are you fucking with me?)--if there was a point in Ancient Greece where there was a greater than fifty percent chance one parent, your spouse, half the kids, and a number greater than one of your herd of sheep were your half-siblings and you just had to roll with it because Zeus.

Seperis: I'm imagining how visiting ancient greece there were warnings when you crossed the border
Seperis: Like "Do not have sex with the animals, it's always Zeus."
Seperis: "Do not have sex with the insects; it's probably Zeus."
Molly: Do not lie out in the rain...
Seperis: "Don't sleep--Zeus might get you, or Aphrodite just might like looking at you young forever."
Seperis: "Don't pet anything: it's definitely Zeus."

You are about to say "why would you think anyone would have sex with animals or insects and therefore need to worry about being knocked up by Zeus?"

I say "Have you read Greek mythology? There was a fifty percent chance you'd randomly turn into an animal yourself because Greece invented the deus ex machina, possibly inspired by Zeus's sex life."

If you're wondering why petting something would be on this list, see above.

Also, might want to stay out of the sun, any body of water, away from stiff breezes, any freshly tilled field, and blankets covered in urine. Also don't have a picnic, because ants.
Scenes from Agincourt, Chapter 5: Path of Angels by Tkodami - I never stop being amazed at her interpretations of key scenes, and this one, the memory of Cas meeting the goddess in the church, is breathtaking.
Expectation of the Week: I will get through the day without sending a group of mobile developers an email stating my fucking cat could do a better job at integrating web services. It's not true; my cat would fuck it up deliberately, rather than by sheer incompetence, because he's a goddamn cat.

Also, would it kill them in some unspecified way to have error messages that have meaning? All of them have the same text because they're still working on creating pop-up error messages that say what's actually wrong, and do it three times in a row sometimes. I'd take a goddamn random-ass number-letter code.

Playlist of the Week: May Kicks Ass, created from the songs used on several Women of Marvel vids on youtube. Setting May kicking Ward's ass forever to empowering music does things for me.

Note: All the TMI. I'm posting this at one thirty in the morning after three days of work related wtfery and pretty much nothing is a bad idea at this point.

so, about your masturbation habits, menstruation, and tmi like it's the end of the world and why not )

In closing: yeah, I shouldn't have stopped when I was writing this post (around playlists, to be specific) and checked my dash. That never ends well, though to be fair, it's not like anyone sane saw this coming.
...in prep for Avengers 2, which Child and I are going to watch on the thirtieth. He's now six feet tall and can squish anyone who gets in our way. Sure, I already reserved our seats, but that's just for fun.

Technically, I may not need it, but whatever, it's Marvel Time: I am watching all the Iron Mans, Thors, Captain Americas, and Avengers, but not Black Widow because hey, they haven't made her a movie. And Agents of Shield, because it exists.
season one spoilers I guess? )
brief contextual digression )
Back to Other People )

Yes, that was indeed a lot of words.

Okay, I gotta ask: is there any May/Skye fic anyone would recommend? Gen/friendship or romantic or a slow burn starting with the first and going to the second by preference. I have no idea why it appeals to me, but it really, really does.
My review of Written in Red, which was the first book of the series. The second, Murder of Crows, I read last year but I don't think ever reviewed. Mostly to this day--and especially after Vision in Silver, I'm ambivalent, though not Mercedes Lackey hostile.

The review of Written in Red had a short character and country directory if you need a refresher.

This may not be organized well, but I have feelings.

vision in silver, book three of the others )
Things that are both weird and true: three quarters of my skillsets and knowledge base are quite literally pleasant side effects. There is quite literally nothing--and I do mean nothing--I learned by saying "I'd like to learn x, it sounds cool." I start with "I really need this; how do I make it happen?"

At work, people are generally wondering what the hell, because three quarters of the time I'm just the vaguely there employee who hates mornings and generally doesn't make extra work for anyone. In other words, functional, forgettable, and whatever. I don't mind, trust me; it helps, lets put it that way.

Then there's the other one quarter.

yeah, and about that )
So, to renew my habit of posting here more than once every three months (other than for fic):

I applied for a promotion at work, interviewed for it a week from last Friday, and got offered the position today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Yes, I accepted after staring at my manager and sub-manager like 'what?' Because I am really smart like that.)

The hilarious part is that during my interview, one of the interviewers (who is my lead) asked a question off script.

all about me and job, very boring a lot of digressions, it's been that kind of a day )
So yes, I've been super quiet, other than posting fic, for--well, months. I can honestly state a massive amount of it was my entire life was either work, editing and posting fic, and the rest my new nephew and my son, who turned eighteen in January and comes home today from a spring break class trip to Europe (Amsterdam, Paris, Valenciennes, Brussels, Istanbul, and Bursa (for skiing, hilarity) and graduates in May.

However, I got a new computer, which is--as everyone here knows--is a very important event in one's life, and kind of unexpected. My shift key on my laptop Sherlock broke--the laptop on its fifth year and just got refurbished because I was really attached. At the same time--this wouldn't be a problem, I've can fix that--Child decided it was time to tell me he really wanted a laptop and specifically, mine. So I got a new one.

You know how sometimes you only realize you've had a blank space in your heart only when it's filled? Yeah, that's Prince Hal 9000 (named for the creator of "Down to Agincourt's" name and author of the poem Harry Takes the Field about Henry V. When I first named my laptop Harry, [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar was like "Harry was called Prince Hal in his youth" and I'm like "And now we have a smashup of Shakespeare's Henry V and 2001: A Space Odyssey and this is destiny.")

You probably don't care, but much like anyone with a new, beloved child, Prince Hal specs:
Name: Prince Hal 9000
Model: Alienware 17 R2
Processor: i7 4710HQ
Drives: Two bays, one for up to four SSD M.2 and one 2.5 for anything. Mine is 256 SSD, 1 T 5400 RPM SATA 6Gb/s, upgradeable to 512 on SSD and the limits of current technology on the second.
Display: 17.3 FHD inch ten-point touchscreen (God, it's magic).
OS: Windows 8.1, which I still like less than Windows 7 but unsurprisingly works much, much, much better with a touchscreen. It also helps that I got the Stardock for my desktop, where all my common links are stored and can avoid the Metro screen (though I adapted that for non-frequent use). It helps a lot that I can swipe out of it when I accidentally end up there; that really does make all the difference.
Video: NVIDIA GeForce GTX 980M with 4GB GDDR5
USB: 4 USB 3.0, one with powershare, and holy shit talk about fast data transfer on the 3.0
Other: HDMI 1.4, Mini-Display port, card reader, graphics amplifier port, two audio ports retaskable for microphone, mic headsets, external speakers, etc
Notes: It also has lights everywhere, and I can color them all. And nine extra random keys I can hotkey by keystroke or macro. God.

Yes, I bought a ridic overpowered gaming computer to write fanfic and code in my free time. I wish I could say this was an impulse buy, but it wasn't. I spent the better part of January doing every configuration possible before picking this one. And waiting for alienware to send out random discount codes (they did, thank God). Also, my mom's tablet stopped working, so she absconded with Castiel, my tablet, which means my laptop is my primary source of all things and now accompanies me to work.

and that's when things got complicated )
pros and cons of the Alienware 17 )
more about computers )
a historical digression to that time I almost set myself on fire for a netbook )
back on topic, whatever that was )
pretty sure this is creepy but I could be wrong )
creepy done, back on topic--anyone remember what that was? )
So I had a moment of buh while looking at my posting stats in AO3.

Total Word Count: 3,192,064
Down to Agincourt series: 541,405 (and in progress)
Percent of Total: ~17%

Granted, there are several things I haven't posted there, but still.

I posted my first fanfic circa 1999, but roughly 17% of my total posted output was in the last nine months with three novels, and two of those are one and two on my longest novels list (A Thousand Lights in Space and It's the Stars that Lie, respectively). My five longest novels are those, Jus Ad Bellum (X-Men), Map of the World (book one of Agincourt), and War Games (Star Trek Reboot).

When I started this series--which was a freaking writing exercise, for fuck's sake--three years ago and it started growing, I made a joke about haha, this could reach 300,000 words. According to my last rough word count in my Agincourt workbook, because it needed one, the series will top 1.5 million words, and numbers immediately lose meaning for me just writing that.

...and I still can't tell you how this happened. My last clear memory was when I sat down and thought "I wonder what Cas and Lucifer's meeting after Dean's death in The End would be like". And in A Thousand Lights in Space (book three), I have the better part of a chapter devoted to the characters digging a giant hole for a new mess and observational relationship drama (and coffee).

Like, years ago, [personal profile] hradzka described John Ringo's later books as man gets women and builds things and how that was super attractive as genre. I got it then, but I really really get it now; it's very fighting to save the world plus home improvement (...militia camp improvement?) and negotiating important trade alliances while learning to cook (and farm) and build a do-it-yourself camp LAN. There is something unbelievably satisfying about how after killing demons everyone goes home and works on that new addition to the cabin and fixing potholes and learning leatherworking and scheduling patrols in Excel before checking the reports you are adding to a Oracle database that patrol turns in on jump drives. And you have just enough time to go pilfer rugs from somewhere because the ones in the living room are hideous before cleaning your personal arsenal that takes up an entire closet and talking about what all your knives are made out of (titanium versus ceramic versus hardened steel).

Last clear memory: writing a angsty confrontation between Cas and Lucifer over Dean's dead body.

Current part I edited recently (about two books ahead): a sincere discussion regarding the pros and cons of certain colors of weather-resistant paint for Chitaqua's cabins. It's getting kind of heated and everyone is way too armed.
Because going to FFA is freaking dangerous.

Smart Bitches Trashy Books: Review of The Billionaire Dinosaur Forced Me Gay by Hunter Fox - much like the reviewer, I too can't help but wonder about dinosaurs running the global economy.

...I kind of want to read it now. For the economics.
So BestBuy.com's new improved system broke my ability to login to Best Buy and refuses to send me email to reset my password or validate my account. Literally, they can't send to jenn@thegateway email; it doesn't get to me. It sounds weird, right? Even when a phone rep tries to do it. I can get email from Best Buy, from customer support, and from Unboxed, but not an email to reset my password or validate my account. I am a weird unicorn of non-functionality and maybe a curse is involved due to that chain letter I didn't forward circa 2000? Could be.

I was wrong.

Phone rep told me to register on Best Buy Unboxed forum to ask for help, which is possibly the single weirdest way a corporation has ever told me to deal with a tech problem. And I found this:

One, two, three, four, five and that's random sampling going back to June.

I'm trying to work out how on earth this happened and the closest thing I can come up with is database corruption, and this is where it gets interesting.

I spent last night--because my life is a set of weird coincidences--helping [livejournal.com profile] svmadelyn with a project that required command line installation from an image into Ubuntu and nearly had a nervous breakdown (of joy, this is fun for me, not gonna lie) trying to make the outgoing email protocol work. Several ours and rebuilds later, I did a simple google search--don't say it--and read the obvious goddamn solution that was so freaking obvious I started laughing, because I'd skipped it on my mental checklist of things going wrong because it was so simple. And it worked, I released all the failed jobs and did some cleaning and then sat back and contemplated how I managed to make something so simple into four hours of rebuilds.

Hence, I feel my high tech ground on email issues is cut away from me. And I still can't login to best buy.

There was a moral here, I swear.
It's that time again--that would be time for more books. And I found my author to hit their works like the fist of a very literature-deprived god.

...but she has like a lot of books (two delicious series, even), so okay.

N.K. Jemisin - is The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms author-entry level or should I start with the other one first to get a better feel for her? It got amazing reviews (and is a trilogy), but I'm worried about another Neil Gaiman American Gods where I only found out after reading it that I should have started with Anansi Boys first to get a better feel of his style (as I loved Anansi Boys like beyond words).

So yes, no, maybe, do it alphabetically?
Scenes from Down to Agincourt, Chapter 4: A Very Hippo Chapter, Part Three by [livejournal.com profile] tkodami - In which the Victorian era discovered "Journey to the--" and hippos started at you with come-hither eyes.

...seriously. That last hippo is just, IDEK. Because TKodami is the most awesome ever.

Also, read her Author Notes on the art, which just makes it all that much more amazing.
Rather than be relegated to the dust-bins of history, as many older pieces of unpopular literature are (there are scads (scads!) of Arthuriana that we do our best to forget exist), Journey experienced a brief--though disastrous--heyday in Victorian London during the height of Egyptian Revival. [...]
Scenes from Down to Agincourt by [livejournal.com profile] tkodami, Chapter 3: A Wild Hippo Appears - in which the hero of "Journey to the--" sees his first hippo in the wild. Art is full of puns--God, so many--that our hero artist explains, so for God's sake do not skip the notes.

Also, note: breaking into startlingly loud laughter at work should be a warning not to check email during lunch break at my desk. Save it for after I go outside where I can pretend no one is in hearing range.
De Profundis by MollyC, SPN, gen - a fantastic and very spare and unsettling look at the moment when Castiel met Dean in Hell before his resurrection. She says it's inspired by Down to Agincourt, but I think it stands just fine on its own.
Okay, I finally got A Civil Contract by Georgette Heyer and braced myself to read it, as reviews were all positive, but from them, I learned I should not expect a great romance and it would be bittersweet, so I needed to be in the mood for that.

That was not true. I love everyone who told me it was awesome, but that was totally a romance.

Below: my defense of A Civil Contract as not just romance but Romance, and an awesome goddamn Romance. With farming!

(I have feelings, okay? Paragraphs of them. PARAGRAPHS. With citations! Because...Wednesday?)

spoilers, so many )

I am willing to take contrary arguments, but they're wrong, telling you right now. Romance, people. All the romance. With farming!

(Also, note: this entire plot was used by another author in To Catch an Earl by Rosina Pyatt, and when I say plot, I mean Harlequin version. If you've read it, compare and contrast to A Civil Contract; it's kind of hilarious, though yeah, it goes Harlequin very quickly, it still sticks to the outline (the differences are very, very Harlequin-additions). Like a lot.)
Scenes from Down to Agincourt, Chapter 2: Journey to (the Great Swamp) by [livejournal.com profile] tkodami - first of set of four detailing out Cas's guilty hate-reading of pretentious poetry written by Greek students in Demotic Egyptian. READ THE AUTHOR NOTES. For reading them almost caused asphyxia via coffee of some people who unwisely read them at work.
Scenes from Down to Agincourt by TKodami - so when she told me she was going to do fanart, I was very excited. And yet, I underestimated my reaction to seeing this: it's gorgeous, an illustration from Map of the World, Chapter 11, and I'm still taking it in. Especially knowing the context, it's amazing and unsettling as hell.

Going to be staring at this for a while.
I just want to say, as a Texan, we already had Rick Perry. Ebola is just salt in the wound here.

In related news:

I have never spent so much time having to fact check people on ebola and google on my phone what it does, is, and how you get it. I have never spent time fact checking anyone, to be honest--generally, listening to other people be paranoid or wrong is an enjoyable hobby and one that requires minimal effort on my part, that being "staying awake", which gotta admit can be hard. Yet I do it, because not only is it bad information and wrong information, even when it's right conversation is drifting dangerously close to "And Obama will use this to take my guns so I cant' shoot ebola when it shows up" or so I assume; I'm telling you, it's getting very weird.

I get this is a horrible disease, I do. And I get that people are afraid, which makes sense: see "horrible disease". However, I'm also lazy; I don't get having to expend effort in feeling terror before we're at minimum out of single digits for the entire US. I don't even get out of bed for a tornado warning unless something achieves three feet levitation in my vicinity. How do people have this kind of energy?

Between Wikipedia's wealth of information on the cat genome, Cracked teaching me about the pros and cons of being a pickpocket or running Afghanistan as military governor, and trying to decide if I really need to go to the bathroom now (standing up?) or can wait (no standing up!) it's like--dude. You could right now be finding out all the forms aphasia can take and how many cities in India have a population greater than 1 million. And you are spending it on a disease in single digit numbers in the US. *

You could be on reddit reading in nosleep and realizing far, far too late what a terrible idea that was, but at least your irrational fear would be of cameras and eyedroppers--seriously, that was creepy.

This has been a message from me, as it's been a very long week.

* this applies to US citizens only, especially those on talk radio who really, desperately need naps or possibly muzzles.
Personal and cultural awareness thought, via FFA:
I was a cultural awareness class (nothing to do with Poles specifically) that had an example of the 'spaces' differences leading people awry. There was a hotel that had people constantly falling into their flower beds, till they investigated some and found out that it apparently occurred when persons accustomed to wide space interaction and persons accustomed to small space interaction met. The wide space people backed away to get more space and the small space people kept following to maintain the close connect. Eventually the wide space people ended up in the flower beds. - Nonny, FFA

I'm trying to decide if I'm Person Who Falls Into Flowerbed or Person Who Pursues Person Into Flowerbed and it's a toss-up. I think I would be Falls-Into-Flowerbed, but social anxiety can and does nail me into position every so often (it's random) where an earthquake wouldn't move me and you might crawl in my lap (not that I'm against this) and I won't move to save my life.

I'm also from the South, so I'm used to small space interaction to the point I have no idea if I naturally like it only that my body automatically assumes that position and God help me. The South (or Texas) also has the time-honored tradition of gossiping at the correct decibel so the person beside you (ie Gossip Subject) cannot hear, so there's that.

Currently, I'm breaking into hysterical laughter at the idea of watching this in action at this hotel. It's like everyone's in an unwitting horror movie lead-up, and half of them don't realize they're Michael Meyers slow-stalking the person who has no idea they're the latest victim until flowerbed dive.

So are you Flowerbed Michael Meyers or Flowerbed Victim One (or are you the Flowerbed of Retreat??????)? It's Friday and I literally cannot think of anything more useful to do with my time than get an answer to this pressing question.
For I am an aunt again!

My middle sister and her husband welcome M, an 11 lb, 8 oz, 22 inch boy (no, you read that right), delivered in the most common epidural way and holy shit, that's a lot of baby.

because seriously )

...that, by the way, is over one and a half Child at birth weight.

Heaviest baby ever born: 15.5 lbs, by Caesarean
Okay, so:

Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy by Mercedes Lackey.

Before I say this, I want to review the following: I have with only moderate irony liked these books. They were cracky and I took a very weird pleasure in reading them and reviewing them. I mean, keep that as the baseline here.

I finished the last in roughly four hours, and this is not only not fun, it's embarrassing, uncomfortable, and shitty in all ways and seriously, I don't believe Mercedes Lackey wrote this. At all.

Over one third of the book is a fucking earnest honest to God rewrite of Romeo and Juliet, complete with the fucking shitty Nurse, and I don't mean in the remix/deconstruction/parody level or even someone who understand what stories are or how words work. This is a rewrite in which a fourteen year old girl, Violetta (Juliet) is slut shamed for daydreaming and called a female dog bitch by her dad and Brand (Romeo) magically teh last few pages becomes a psychopath who tries to kill a miniature dog.

I want to repeat this--Brand, who until this point was kind of a careless Romeo-esque--tried to kill a tiny dog because he's actually evil and was actually plotting all this time to marry Violetta and kill all of both their families. Because reasons.

This is horrible, earnest, honest to god This Is How It Should Have Happened Let This Teach You a Lesson About Being Romantic and Violetta--fourteen, people, she acts like a little girl who likes to read romantic poetry--is fucked over and lectured by everyone, but that's okay because Amily is going to empower her or something and teach her fighting skills.

This is a bad, bad, terribly written book period, with a bad, bad, bad plotline and I don't know what I read but I hate it. There is nothing--and I do mean nothing--that makes this worth reading and I wish I hadn't; this is actually causing me issues with Valdemar and I unironically love all things Valdemar. That was uncomfortable as shit just to read, and thinking about it is gross. Whoever ghostwrote this should never be allowed near a keyboard ever.

Dude, even Todd McCaffrey's butchering of Pern didn't bother me this much. Shitty horrific sure, but it didn't cause active nausea.

I don't think I've loathed a book like this before quite so much. I feel betrayed. The person who wrote about Kerowyn and Talia and Tarma and even the later icky Elspeth is not the person who wrote this.

I need a drink. I actually want to see if I can forget this one.
Duolingo added Danish, Dutch, and Irish to the beta language list for English speakers (for non-English speakers, there are others as well). As Irish sounded interesting, I decided to test it and see what happened.

Here's what I learned:

1.) Spanish infiltrates English speakers in Texas like you have no idea.

I didn't have any idea how much until I began on Irish and failed so utterly when in Spanish I did the first ten sections in like, a day, including repeats when I inexplicably didn't get full hearts in every lesson and I was anal about that. I'd go back and redo ones just to get full hearts and sulk if I missed something. Yes, I do that. Even the most rampant English-only speaker living in a border state cannot help but absorb the principles of the language at least in basic vocabulary.

(Interesting note: you're more likely to pick up a lot of it if you're lower/working class than middle class, due to migrant and undocumented immigrant labor. My dad wouldn't admit it to save his life, but he understood more Spanish than I did since he worked construction and I heard him talking to his coworkers, so come on. My mom didn't pick up much as a caseworker because she worked in a small town, but when I was a clerk and then a caseworker in Austin, my Spanish went high conversational within six months, and I could interview in it fairly well when needed.)

I tested this in French and Portuguese as well: French I can get two sections without noticeable effort (letter combinations start hurting me here), Portuguese three or four (Portuguese sounds to me like Spanish spoken at the back of the throat, and that's the part that throws me off). Irish--three repetitions for one lesson (One. Lesson) to get full hearts and honest to God I sweated through it.

2.) Irish is really different.

Yes, all languages are different, but this is a different-different for me as a primary English speaker and my language familiarity. If you dropped me in Mexico, I could likely fairly quickly get myself food, lodging, a bathroom, and directions to anywhere, and could make some very sketchy jokes with my new friends and probably carry on a fair conversation about my life and times (you'd be surprised how much you know when that's your only language option). If you dropped me in Finland, I could do the same but less conversation and more profanity because my host brother and boyfriend were good about teaching me that. My French would fail, no lie, because French, but I could eventually work out what I needed to say.

In Ireland, should I be without English speakers, Ithim úll, I eat an apple. Ithim an úll, I eat the apple. And I know the 't' will be silent. So I'm good for describing my action with the apple. That's it, and I'm currently I'm on the fourth section. Unless I happen to have a pad of paper and I can totally write out my drink choices sú úll and sú oráiste, apple or orange juice and uisce, water. Go me. I can't say any of them to save my life.

My first cousin is a linguist and polyglot, but all hers are the Romance languages, though she has a working understanding of a few others. If I remember correctly, her waterloos were (forgive generalities), South Asian (specifically I think it was Chinese that threw her off the most, but I can't be more specific). She adapted, but that was where she hit her first serious wall on comprehension, and as this is a woman who was trilingual before she began college and finished her degree in two years, yeah.

If I'm right--and I'm pretty sure I am--mine is anything that uses the alphabet I know in ways I don't understand (goddamn phonics). I still have the entire Cyrillic alphabet effectively memorized and never had a problem reading or understanding Russian at the level that Irish is bothering me. My roommate in college was Syrian-American and was bilingual in Arabic and English, and I never had a problem with what she taught me--this shape makes this sound and those sounds make this word, I could read it later and recognize the word without a major hiccup. (I can't do it now, but at one time I could say several truly indecent things and ask for a beer or water.)

It's like French (fucking French): those letter combinations that don't sound like I think they should (I wrote an essay about me and French) why do you hate me? I blame this on phonics.

3.) Retention is a problem written.

Not Irish to English; that I nail every time. English to Irish is giving me problems, which makes sense. Ithim, itheann, I eat, (he or she) eats isn't hard to recognize. In fact, none of the verb conjugations are hard to recognize and translate, it's just remembering the root and adding the conjugation is because of the slim/broad rule.

This is where I discover I don't like things that are too regular too soon (blame English, we don't do regular, we do exceptions). I don't trust last root vowel matching to get the ending, and I go through, not kidding, a three point series of questions to myself before I finally accept yes, this is a regular freaking verb why are you doing this to yourself? I don't know, but I still have to stop and go okay ith has a 'i' therefore slim ending 'eann' Itheann move on now after point one "what ending goes here, it can't be that simple" and "no, really, it can't be that simple".

This is the 'to eat' verb, for goodness sake. This is how I get an apple in Ireland.

4.) Retention is a huge problem listening.

This is where my phonics training fails until I internalize the letter combination pronunciations (this will take a while, I don't do well at this in my native tongue for fuck's sake)(for which we can blame English stealing all the words)(why didn't English steal more Irish?????????????????).

The secondary problem with this is that this is in beta, and while all the oral uses a real human voice--which is fantastic for clarity, btw, you can easily hear and repeat what they're saying, no problem at all--not all the oral parts are added yet, as this is, again, in beta. So sometimes, you get the word leabhar but not the pronunciation for maybe several questions after that (or a different lesson). Hint: for an English speaker, it sounds nothing like it looks, except that it definitely starts with an 'l' and ends with an 'r'. Uisce, no matter how many times I hear it--and I listened to the same sentence with it in there about a dozen times straight--will not register when I hear it again. Unless it's a sentence about drinking and then I know if it starts with a 'b' it's milk, an 'f' is wine, and the other one is uisce.

5.) My reading retention is shockingly good.

This shouldn't surprise me, but it always throws me a little to realize how textual I really am. And that has been a problem; I can pretty much force-pass the lessons on guesswork on the strength of translating Irish to English and slide by the rest with short-term memorization, but finishing with four hearts every time means I have to pass every question both written and oral and the difference is painfully obvious on how long I spend listening to the same sentence over and over until I can work out the words by more than first letter and context guessing (which also works). Or slowly, painfully pushing English to Irish. And honestly, retention of the sounds has to be a priority, which is annoying me. I'm used to flying through basics and I keep going back to re-run all the early lessons before I start a new one to retain the sounds correctly.

Why I like the beta languages innovations:

The Irish language has portals (this was not there for the other English to X courses) and when you start a new section, there are notes relevant to the lessons below, not limited to the explanation of the slender/broad conjugations, a complete list of pronouns, and some very useful grammar and terminology. I read it, did the lessons several times, read it, did the lessons, and slowly it came together but far better than if it left me on my own (Spanish I don't need it; Irish oh God yes, please). It's super useful once you accept in your heart that no, those letters will not sound like that and live with it.

I wish--desperately--that US schools did more foreign language training, though I do get historically why we didn't and why it's become a thing only recently to start pushing it earlier (Child's school starts in primary, I think).

I will say this: I reward myself with Spanish lessons and boy, I feel smart then. Four hearts, listening, speaking, reading, writing, watch me get all the hearts. Several times, even.

So anyone else try the other beta languages yet? I'm curious about Dutch and Danish. Also, if anyone else ends up in Irish, tell me! Especially how you nailed uisce. Seriously, this is haunting me Why won't it stick?
I got the most realistic, coolest, most meaningful spam ever and it had everything; atrocities, evils of wealth, illness, dead husbands, life insurance, cancer (ovarian, even), children, one of the south Africa country (yes, really), and adoption (ha! didn't see that coming, did you?).

At my work email. So no penis enlargement today.

My duckling at work is from Cameroon, and every once in a while he breaks into evangelism on his country of birth, and therefore we look at Google World at every inch of Cameroon while he finds youtube videos because he thinks it's funny to start me off with Cameroon English that unexpectedly breaks into French (I automemorize lyrics and he told me once I was the best he'd ever heard at mispronouncing French so well that it sounded like a whole new (very sad) language, so you know, I win for that).

This is related; this is neither talent nor skill, I've mentioned this before, it's not even useful, but more like having the ability to spit Guinness World book record--I realized the probable reason why I never had a problem spelling anyone's names on our work board if I saw it once (our developers are from India or Nepal generally, so very few Western-oriented or Korean or Vietnamese, the latter two were communities in the right zip codes for my office to handle when I was a caseworker, yes, it's that random) or--historically--always got my written Russian homework flawless in class even if Russia itself might cry if it heard me speak the language. Also, given a list of any number of words and meaning once, I could use them perfectly in context and never miss spelling them by a letter, but if you do not tell me right then how to pronounce them--I mean right then--I will never pronounce them right in my head and this will follow me forever when I say them.

Not many of you probably know or care much about the education of children in the US being a thing that is debated hotly when it comes to teaching them to read; or you might, so you know every few years, they switch between Fun With Phonics and whole word learning. You want to watch a bloodbath, get any group of educators together and throw that out; if these were the days of duels, gloves would be slapping everywhere and dawn would be the new prime time for drama viewing.

My class was very Fun with Phonics (this changed and changed back every few years) and because of that I will shove a glove in your ass if you say it's not the best forever, but there's a price to be paid for teaching kids to sound out shit first.

1.) You learn adults are fuckers who fuck with you very early with 'the'.

That's the thing about phonics as reading; almost all the word at primary level are fine, but that's an article and you cannot get away from it. A lot of teachers roll with it, and some have to have taken that into consideration early on, but my most vivid memory of the kindergarten education process was going over and over to my teacher because I trusted her and I couldn't believe she meant it when she said 'the' did not sound like 'tuh-huh-eh'.

She just told me the entire alphabet, letters have sounds, sounds have meaning (there was a blackboard and a pointer), this can be expressed on a page beneath the cute picture of a girl (blonde, always fucking blonde) playing with a dog (brown, very). I nailed that shit, and it was true, all of it...except 'tuh-huh-eh' was not 'the', what is this bullshit?

Once I accepted 'the' into my heart as my phonics betrayer (it took a full year and we won't talk about how much that delayed literacy but again, a year), it got better; all the 'th' and 'ch' were allowed in my soul and eventually silent 'e's would join them along with all the others, but the scar of betrayal never really healed, Mrs. Figueroa.

2.) Your spelling will forever be fantastic except for all the ways it won't be and it's because of France.

Spelling was easy kindergarten through third grade, because again most words are phonetically consistent at that level, or so close that visual plus audio once and you're fine. Except.

You meet 'beau' and fuck everything ever. Buh-eh-ah-uuuuuuuthefuckisthis that is nothing like 'bow', that's buh-oh-wuh and we have one of those b-o-w bu-oh-wuh not b-e-a-u buh-eh-ah-uuuuuutheydon'tdothis, Mrs F didn't lie that much, did she?

...French, you say? Really.

Xenophobia is terrible and American exceptionlism is very wrong, but ask yourself; how many kids were perhaps influenced by getting a 99 but not a hundred because the French language exists and didn't get a golden star but a silver one--a silver one--on the paper when they got it back and an 'x' by that word? Not that I'm still bitter, just saying.

It might be the Norman conquest of Britain in 1066 causing the English language to be supplanted by Norman French, not even real French because fuck French we got the discount edition, causing only the lower classes to use English for centuries while French, being so very (discount) French, stuck its words helter-skelter into every conversation until Chaucer existed, married John of Gaunt's sister-in-law, and set the world right with many tales, and French--fucking French--eventually went away but those words stuck. English needed those because its development had been slowed, we had to catch up fast (German was mocking us with its vocabulary and Spanish was grinning very Catholicly), so we needed words and fast. What to do?

Fine, English said, picking up a sword, righteousness, a Revolutionary War, and a future Webster's dictionary, unrevised: shit just got real. Time to level the fuck up.

English takes all the words, all of them, the ones you wanted and the ones you didn't, sorry, but like a wolf who tastes the hot blood of a fresh kill for the first time (language is tasty indeed, nothing like it), it wants more.

B-o-w and b-e-a-u are 'buh-oh-wuh' and discrete plus discreet because Latin or Greek same meaning different context mostly, watch English laugh at your protests, bring it on, we have the 'c' and the 'k' and we like it, same sound but sometimes not, a-e-i-o-u and sometimes y because fuck you English does what it wants with consonants and vowels. Fish and fiche sound the same but mean different things, you want more? English does, too. Did you see phonics is ph but sounds like 'f'? We even have 'q' right there in the alphabet and it needs to get laid by 'u' to make a sound but fuck if we care, it's our letter and have fun with it. 'X' took many sounds for its own and uses them all and we let it because we like rebels.

Also, Latin? I split an infinitive every day just for you. And English told me to say 'hi' and fuck you.

Silver star. One. Word. Wrong.

3.) You will realize quite early that writing is better than talking for a lot of reasons and fuck everything.

Phonics works for many words and most kids will roll with it, but that doesn't change the severe cognitive dissonance that will haunt some few. Among that group will be those that can deal, and then there's the ones that have to live life with oral readings where you will be constantly translating b-e-a-u to 'buh-oh-wuh' because William the Conqueror was a douche but with many different words and that wears on you and sanity may not hold out long.

Reading and writing become havens of wonder because pronunciation wasn't fucking with us, which is why certain essays are college level vocabulary (content hilarious) while long division is still a mystery Mrs Young stop fucking with me you want me to carry what?

Writing is the perfect medium when you learn sarcasm as well (once you learn the definition of subtlety and forgive the b for being inexplicably silent and even now often forget), and a generation met the internet--all text, all the time--with the advanced tools necessary to troll the fuck out of it.

So I can spell anything I see at most twice (three times over five syllables, phonics is fun but also set to a four four beat to learn), but English/French youtube videos autolyric memoriation means I will sing things I can't pronounce and my duckling French speaker thinks it's funny because I can't pronounce fucking French.

People say they want to go to Paris all the time; oh, so do I, you have no idea.

I fly into that country, mispronounce 'Bien' awkwardly beneath pitying smiles, tell a cab driver three times where to go while he rolls his eyes at Americans because I took French while in Finland and I still couldn't get it right, go to the Eiffel Tower and climb to the very top.

And I will say: "William the Conqueror was a douche, I will split every infinitive I see, and b-e-a-u is not fucking 'buh-oh-wuh'!"

And give myself a gold star.

Next: Normandy. I can't wait.
You know, this isn't right I'm sure, but a thought exercise on why in the movie Splash in the eighties, Madison met a woman who told her one, Annie Hall was so passe and two, her daughter was so lucky because she was anorexic started this. believe it. or. not.

ruben, gout, mcdonalds, sugar, and the working woman in time and space: a reflection on the meaning of organ meats in the western hemisphere above the equator is that too vague? also, wal-mart. and thematic not-trees )
Wednesday, August 20th, 2014 11:16 pm

maybe a small sandwich

You ever have one of those days where it hits you like brand new that there is no way out of this? I can't think of one, and I have tried and tried.

This is human nature at it's most fundamental, I get that, and I get the rage on body shaming. I get that, it sucks when a woman doesn't conform to teh ideal and even more when she really doesn't, especially when it comes to weight. It's a nightmare, more of one that's in progress since birth for a woman, because the closer you get to the ideal the less nightmarish it gets, much like an improvement from being boiled in oil and now enjoy the Elysian Fields of slow strangulation: I myself aspire to an upgrade to dropping my oil temperature ten entire degrees and fuck the bitches who are gasping for air over there and tell my torturer how awesome the temperature is and those sluts over there created their own deep fryer life, turn it up by five degrees on them, right? and maybe I get another five degree drop because I am a fine daughter of the patriarchy and women's body's are public property because that's what they told me and they like me better now, five fucking degrees lower, fuck yeah, I'm almost in. To potential slow strangulation, one day, if I'm very, very good.

Or I might say "...this room has no door. Why doesn't it have a door?"

Context and original post: Maybe a 'Small' Sandwich

On an emotional level, I do get this; this is women's bodies and my God welcome to Hell there. On a vital self-awareness level, however, the gut-punch is the punchline at the same time: you will never, ever be good enough, and in case anyone, anywhere, thinks that even for a second, we as women have a duty to stop that shit.

a copy of my response here )
Okay, I can count on one hand the number of Henry V fanfics I've read in my life, literally. However, this one is a sonnet, which I can count on one finger because holy shit, a sonnet:

Harry Takes the Field by [livejournal.com profile] bratfarrar - Henry V - Harry's thoughts before Agincourt and what was before him.

The funny thing is, when I first saw in it in her LJ, I didn't really read she wrote it (because I was just skimming my flist and came back to read it) and after reading it thought, ohh, I like this, I want to use that line for my title--as I needed one for this series--and then read back and realized she wrote it and felt oh so foolish and also holy shit a sonnet. About the spiritual successor of the Black Prince himself and the hero of Agincourt. (First cousin once removed if I remember my Edward III's and Philippa's extensive family tree; that was a lot of sons there.)

(College taught me via the brute force method to appreciate poetry; having to read and write an analysis of one three times a week teaches you to either loathe anything that could rhyme (or rhythm) or love it and if it's the written word, love will win if I kill myself doing it.)

Agincourt is hugely romantic; it's got everything: terrible odds, a single brave shining warrior, do or die, and knowing the history now, a (probably) insane French king, his (possibly) manipulative wife (the reason why Henry VI of England was crazypants depending on if you believe which historian on the relative sanity of Catherine de Valois), and all of English history riding on a single battle fought by a very young king who was truly the only one who believed that he could win.

(I have a very similar reaction to reading about Waterloo, Caesar crossing the Rubicon, and Joan of Arc's entire life.)

Me and Shakespeare have a very complicated relationship: I used to think he was hugely overrated and annoying and it hurts me in various ways to admit now he's not and it actually makes me enraged when anyone says that about him now because wtf it's Shakespeare!!!, which is so lowering you have no idea. It's just masochistic and annoying to feel so conflicted about your own love story with a dead guy, and a little uncomfortable, too.

(Beside the point. It's almost time for my yearly Shakespeare play and I still have no idea which one to throw myself at. I'm thinking Othello at this point; it's nice and obvious and I know the plot so why not? I've been putting it off for some reason, I think Richard III keeps upsetting me.)
So just seeing how this sounds:

Vacation with entire extended immediate family including: mother, both sisters, sister's husband, sister's MIL, sister's three kids, other sister's kid, mother's parents, me, and Child.

In one house on the beach.

Okay, that does in fact look terrifying when seen in print. I was wondering. There will be the gulf and a confection store that makes their own fudge. I'm clinging very hard to that right now.

Wait, there's more:

Child in his infinite wisdom at some point in the past--who knows when--broke a tooth but couldn't be assed to tell me or care until Friday evening, when the entire left side of his face rounded out not unlike a ripe tomato. At first--not knowing the tooth sitch because who hides tooth pain? How?--I thought it was an unexpected reaction to a topical anesthetic we keep for those times you bite the inside of your cheek or poke yourself in the gum with a pencil which no, isn't something that happens to me because I have much better hand/eye coordination than that and will fight any comment to the contrary to the death if necessary or whatever. It became very clear, however, that it wasn't and he reluctantly admitted maybe there was a tooth that was bothering him maybe a little, which you don't say, ye who has lost any vestige of facial symmetry.

Saturday morning was spent frantically googling for a dentist open on Saturdays who took walk-ins or emergencies or both. Found one, who didn't have a time open and then listening to me start to dissolve into tears--seriously, over-ripened tomato Child, but not that color, it was unsettling--offered to fit him and for that will love her until the day I die. Fortunately--and this is literal--Child was still in pain and the appointment was in less than an hour, and even so, it was a bad ten minutes getting him dressed and to the vehicle while he protested--with asymmetry growing by the moment--that it didn't hurt that much and he was fine (I actually stopped to stare at him disbelievingly, wondering if the infection reached his brain already).

We shall not speak of what we discovered of Child's unbelievable lack of interest in what goes on in his own mouth (I whine when I poke my gum with a pencil, fine, judge away), but anyway, surprise, he broke a tooth and it got infected and how. So we left with antibiotics, painkillers, and a very serious speech that if he starts having vision problems to go to the ER immediately, which was one of those surreal moments where I stare at Child and Child acts totally shocked about how nature and infection work.

brief Child digression, for parents who haven't had to deal with this )

short family digression, related )

After this adventurous weekend, I wonder why there aren't more dentists who decide to specialize in 'emergency' and 'weekends' only because seriously, they could probably make a killing doing nothing else. Every weekend dentist I found (very not many) wasn't just packed, but stacking them up in the waiting room. I didn't even bother with trying to negotiate my (annoying) insurance and paid cash, I was that desperate and from the looks of those waiting with me and Child, that wasn't unique. And why isn't there a Dental ER somewhere?

Note: Child still looks asymmetrical but much better, and is hilariously following almost exactly the dentist's prediction on how long it would take for the swelling to go down and the pain to taper off.
Child's slowly growing rage at Teen Wolf for Derek's man-(wolf-?)pain is possibly the best thing about the show I don't watch. I don't need to, honestly; once a week, come the apocalypse, Child drops down disconsolately on the patio swing to talk about his epic feelings about Derek and Stiles and how they're being epically abused by $whoever.

One of the (hilarious) advantages of growing up fannish is he's on a good balance of way too invested and overenthusiastic (entertainment forever) but cynical as hell because he's been through All the Ship Wars Ever by proxy, so everything is old news as far as he's concerned.

And then there's this (semi-verbatim, this was weird):

Child: it's like the Ray wars, mom.
(note: using mom is always, always a warning sign.)
Me: ....sterek is like the Ray Wars? Wait, how?
Child: Yeah, it's like--
Me: I wasn't in the Ray Wars. We started watching way after the Ray Wars.
Me: Hold on, were you even born then? Potty trained? Able to argue with me?
Child: ...what does that have to do with it?

I'm sorry, I didn't find out how Sterek is just like the Ray Wars, I'll get on that, but seriously? To be fair to him, he was around during my ranting John Sheppard days, so yeah, that might have helped form his sensibilities.

Other random conversation (this is partially verbatim, because wow, that was a bad moment):

Child: you have any ideas for a name? I need a new one.
Me: Those are personal, but--wait. Why do you need a new one?
Child: Reasons.
Me: What did you do?
Child: Nothing.
Me: You know I can check tumblr, right?
Child: Not that one.
Me: The secret one I'm not supposed to know about?
Child: ....no, it's--nevermind.
Me: It's not xxxxxxx one, is it?
Child: Stop breaking into my computer.
Me: Lock your screen once in a while.

(note: he actually didn't do anything, he just gets bored with consistency. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. Also, his password security is getting much better. Who says invasion of adolescent privacy has no practical benefits?)

I wonder what it's like to be the teenage fanson of a fanparent. Knowing fanparent is out there somewhere, anywhere, separated from you by three degrees of tumblr or less at all times, hideously aware of her hovering presence and getting recced 'oomg did you read this!1!!!!' written by her or her bffs (this happens), and horribly, horribly aware she could show up in your fandom at any moment and may do it just to fuck with her fankid because why not?

I feel like I've been waiting for him to hit this level of self-awareness and horror all my life.

Dear Fanparents,

This is so much fun, you have no idea.

In case anyone missed this:

Satanic Temple seeks Hobby Lobby-style exemption from anti-abortion laws

Thank you, yahoo news; I can state with perfect honesty that I didn't see this coming.


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  • If you don't send me feedback, I will sob uncontrollably for hours on end, until finally, in a fit of depression, I slash my wrists and bleed out on the bathroom floor. My death will be on your heads. Murderers
    . -- Unknown, BTS List
  • That's why he goes bad, you know -- all the good people hit him on the head or try to shoot him and constantly mistrust him, while there's this vast cohort of minions saying,
    We wouldn't hurt you, Lex, and we'll give you power and greatness and oh so much sex...
    Wow. That was scary. Lex is like Jesus in the desert.
    -- pricklyelf on why Lex goes bad, LJ
  • Obi-Wan has a sort of desperate, pathetic patience in this movie. You can just see it in his eyes: "My padawan is a psychopath, and no one will believe me;
    I'm barely keeping him under control and expect to wake up any night now to find him standing over my bed with a knife!"
    -- Teague reviewing "Star Wars: Attack of the Clones", LJ
  • Beth: god, why do i have so many beads?

    Jenn: Because you are an addict.

    Jenn: There are twelve step programs for this.

    Beth: i dunno they'd work, might have to go straight for the electroshock.

    Jenn: I'm not sure that helps with bead addiction.

    Beth: i was thinking more to demagnitize my credit card.
    -- hwmitzy and seperis, 12/24/2003, AIM
  • I could rape a goat and it will DIE PRETTIER than they write.
    -- anonymous, 2/17/2004, AIM
  • In medical billing there is a diagnosis code for someone who commits suicide by sea anenemoe.
    -- silverkyst, 3/25/2004, AIM
  • Anonymous: sorry. i just wanted to tell you how much i liked you. i'd like to take this to a higher level if you're willing

    Eleveninches: By higher level I hope you mean email.
    -- eleveninches and anonymous, 4/2/2004, LJ
  • silverkyst: I need to not be taking molecular genetics.

    silverkyst: though, as a sidenote, I did learn how to eviscerate a fruit fly larvae by pulling it's mouth out by it's mouthparts today.

    silverkyst: I'm just nowhere near competent in the subject material to be taking it.

    Jenn: I'd like to thank you for that image.
    -- silverkyst and seperis, 1/25/2005, AIM
  • You know, if obi-wan had just disciplined the boy *properly* we wouldn't be having these problems. Can't you just see yoda? "Take him in hand, you must. The true Force, you must show him."
    -- Issaro, on spanking Anakin in his formative years, 3/15/2005, LJ
  • Aside from the fact that one person should never go near another with a penis, a bottle of body wash, and a hopeful expression...
    -- Summerfling, on shower sex, 7/22/2005, LJ
  • It's weird, after you get used to the affection you get from a rabbit, it's like any other BDSM relationship. Only without the sex and hot chicks in leather corsets wielding floggers. You'll grow to like it.
    -- revelininsanity, on my relationship with my rabbit, 2/7/2006, LJ
  • Smudged upon the near horizon, lapine shadows in the mist. Like a doomsday vision from Watership Down, the bunny intervention approaches.
    -- cpt_untouchable, on my addition of The Fourth Bunny, 4/13/2006, LJ
  • Rule 3. Chemistry is kind of like bondage. Some people like it, some people like reading about or watching other people doing it, and a large number of people's reaction to actually doing the serious stuff is to recoil in horror.
    -- deadlychameleon, on class, 9/1/2007, LJ
  • If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then Fan Fiction is John Cusack standing outside your house with a boombox.
    -- JRDSkinner, Twitter

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