Short, but Heartfelt —
Happy Birthday![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
thyme_enough ; may today and the coming year be truly awesome for you!
Happy Birthday
thyme_enough ; may today and the coming year be truly awesome for you!Leave a comment
Grasping at Grace
Adventures of a Reversed Polarity Redhead
18 November 2009 @ 12:20 am
I Will, In Fact, Be Late To My Own Funeral
I believe it was sometime early in the spring of 1872 that I asked aibhinn to give me five questions, as part of the then-popular "resistance is futile" meme. And, by god, I have finally answered it. Ahem.
While I doubt anyone is interested in continuing this meme, I've been proven spectacularly wrong on such things in the past. So if anyone does want to play, here are the instructions, and I'll gladly ask them questions. (Well, mostly. One of the cats sat on my keyboard, and erased the original instructions, so I had to reconstruct them.)
Post a comment here with the phrase "resistance is futile" in it. I will give you five questions I've wanted to know about or from you. Repost them in your journal, and answer them.
I've answer the questions under the cut, because I'm obscenely verbose and want to save space.
( It's all under here )
I believe it was sometime early in the spring of 1872 that I asked
aibhinn to give me five questions, as part of the then-popular "resistance is futile" meme. And, by god, I have finally answered it. Ahem.While I doubt anyone is interested in continuing this meme, I've been proven spectacularly wrong on such things in the past. So if anyone does want to play, here are the instructions, and I'll gladly ask them questions. (Well, mostly. One of the cats sat on my keyboard, and erased the original instructions, so I had to reconstruct them.)
Post a comment here with the phrase "resistance is futile" in it. I will give you five questions I've wanted to know about or from you. Repost them in your journal, and answer them.
I've answer the questions under the cut, because I'm obscenely verbose and want to save space.
( It's all under here )
nauseated07 November 2009 @ 12:40 am
Yup. Meant It. Bits and Bobs.
I have a "Resistance is Futile" meme response pending foraibhinn , and it's going to happen Real Soon Now. (No, seriously; probably within the next couple of days.) But right now, I need to get back in the habit of posting things.
Not smart things necessarily, just things that have verbs and subjects in more or less the generally accepted order, and which don't libel any established folk heroes.
I'm looking at this sentence to start:
"Rhinos ate my nose."
*checks*
Subject, verb, no libel.
We have lift-off!!!
Well, then. We're set and, in no particular order:
That went well (a phrase most critics seem to think is overused in scripts these days, but which I still enjoy.)
We'll try for coherence tomorrow, neh?
I have a "Resistance is Futile" meme response pending for
aibhinn , and it's going to happen Real Soon Now. (No, seriously; probably within the next couple of days.) But right now, I need to get back in the habit of posting things. Not smart things necessarily, just things that have verbs and subjects in more or less the generally accepted order, and which don't libel any established folk heroes.
I'm looking at this sentence to start:
"Rhinos ate my nose."
*checks*
Subject, verb, no libel.
We have lift-off!!!
Well, then. We're set and, in no particular order:
- I don't really care what critics (even the ones I like, like Mo Ryan) or Stargate (small-u) universe fans think of Stargate: Universe. I like it. Took me a while to decide, but tonight's episode cemented it for me. What?
- I am altogether too fond of Criminal Minds. But, having run into the first paragraph of a Morgan-Reed slashfic and decided to run away from the second, third and fourth paragraphs, not to mention any or all thereafter, I can safely say I may stick to the show for now until I'm a bit braver. And possibly to TWoP motivators.
- Putney Swope is one surreal movie.
- My car still smells funny, by which I mean it still stinks of fuel. That can't be good. I'm not even going to mention the flat tire leading to the almost-suspect diagnosis of diseased shocks and leprous rocker arms. Nope. Not gonna. Wouldn't be prudent.
- My three cats have all received their flea drops. Alex and Phil were creampuffs about it. It took us three days to get Opie's onto him - and I actually played no part in that, because I am Made of Cat-chasin', Flea-findin' Fail - but BB did it, braving a tired and unhappy cat's stream of protest. Yeah, the protest landed on his shirt, and made us feel like crap. Which landed on our carpet. Which was good, because when I cleared it up, I noticed the worms. Yeah, the ones we took them all up to the vets a few months ago to treat. The hell of it is, that these are indoor cats, damnit. Or two of them were, until we brought the inadvertent outdoor cat in, to save his life. Ah, Phil, you bring so much into our lives. Sigh.
- My muse, obviously disgusted by either automotive or feline health glitches, has up and went. And I have a fic to complete before the end of the month. No, wait; two. This, like the fuel smell in the car, is not good.
- Not to mention the other fic that sits, inert and sullen, in the corner, gazing at me with silent and accusative eyes. Stop looking at me!!
- I'm not completely despondent; after all, I finally got the Plant Dad Tour '09 pictures to all the pinpointed relatives.
- I also bought some purple insulating foam with which to build a shell for the COMPLETELY INADEQUATE, THEY FRAKKIN' LIED ABOUT IT KEEPING COFFEE HOT FOR 36 HOURS, AIN'T NO DAMN 36 HOURS ABOUT IT, HELL, THERE'S HARDLY HALF AN HOUR, THEY LIED LIKE BAD RUGS, THEY LIED LIKE TROOPERS, DON'T, FOR CHRISSAKE, BUY A DAMN STANLEY VACUUM BOTTLE vacuum bottle. I will have hot coffee.
- I will, damnit.
That went well (a phrase most critics seem to think is overused in scripts these days, but which I still enjoy.)
We'll try for coherence tomorrow, neh?
Current Location: going to bed
Current Mood: 
drained
drained20 October 2009 @ 08:46 pm
About a Son
He was born ornery and beautiful, after 54 hours of stalling. How beautiful? The nurses showed him 'round the floor because he was that pretty.
He grew up ornery and smart.
How ornery? Before he walked, he crawled backwards, squalling with frustration as the objects of his desires shrank in his field of vision. He eventually got it right, though.
How smart? When he was six or so, he noticed some daily rant of his mother's, some harangue about how the day sucked. He drew an unsmiley face - just an apathetic horizontal slash under the penciled dot eyes - with the admonition "Have A Day" on it. When he gave it to me, his eyes sparkled. He made me grin. That takes talent.
He grew up talented.
How talented? Have you got a while? He's a comic actor with timing, girning, and attitude to spare. He plays four- and six-stringed instruments easily, beautifully, creatively. He plays the studio, too, when he gets a chance, and the sounds are gorgeous. He sings, and he sings harmony. They're almost two different things, and those of you who sing know what I mean. He writes only occasionally, damn his eyes, but when he does, it's always worth reading. He has a singularly twisted wit, is passionate about democracy, has voted in every election - every election, right down to aldermanic elections in off-years - since he was able to vote. He loves to cook, and has instinctive creativity in the kitchen. He dances as good as he walks.
He's not perfect, but who is?
He is gentle, happy, generous, lazy, creative, brave, moody, thoughtful, hard-working when necessary, afraid, funny, opinionated, stronger than he thinks, and he makes this world a better place just by being in it.
This is Andrew Louis McNeill Berlien, and I love him. Happy Birthday,booga84 !
Picture courtesy James Plunkett
He was born ornery and beautiful, after 54 hours of stalling. How beautiful? The nurses showed him 'round the floor because he was that pretty.
He grew up ornery and smart.
How ornery? Before he walked, he crawled backwards, squalling with frustration as the objects of his desires shrank in his field of vision. He eventually got it right, though.
How smart? When he was six or so, he noticed some daily rant of his mother's, some harangue about how the day sucked. He drew an unsmiley face - just an apathetic horizontal slash under the penciled dot eyes - with the admonition "Have A Day" on it. When he gave it to me, his eyes sparkled. He made me grin. That takes talent.
He grew up talented.
How talented? Have you got a while? He's a comic actor with timing, girning, and attitude to spare. He plays four- and six-stringed instruments easily, beautifully, creatively. He plays the studio, too, when he gets a chance, and the sounds are gorgeous. He sings, and he sings harmony. They're almost two different things, and those of you who sing know what I mean. He writes only occasionally, damn his eyes, but when he does, it's always worth reading. He has a singularly twisted wit, is passionate about democracy, has voted in every election - every election, right down to aldermanic elections in off-years - since he was able to vote. He loves to cook, and has instinctive creativity in the kitchen. He dances as good as he walks.
He's not perfect, but who is?
He is gentle, happy, generous, lazy, creative, brave, moody, thoughtful, hard-working when necessary, afraid, funny, opinionated, stronger than he thinks, and he makes this world a better place just by being in it.
This is Andrew Louis McNeill Berlien, and I love him. Happy Birthday,
booga84 !20 October 2009 @ 08:28 pm
Do Late Birthday Wishes Count?
If so, I'd like to offer some togalacticvoyeur who blew out the candles the day before yesterday. I hope to see more of the lovely pictures you take of the world around you, and may that world bring you good things in the next year (which includes hope that your mom's health is on the way to brilliant once again.)
And while I'm at it, many belated happy returns of yesterday, foraibhinn , one of the true treasures of Who fandom. Long may you write, and may your love of life and imagination rub off on everyone you meet in the classroom!
If so, I'd like to offer some to
galacticvoyeur who blew out the candles the day before yesterday. I hope to see more of the lovely pictures you take of the world around you, and may that world bring you good things in the next year (which includes hope that your mom's health is on the way to brilliant once again.)And while I'm at it, many belated happy returns of yesterday, for
aibhinn , one of the true treasures of Who fandom. Long may you write, and may your love of life and imagination rub off on everyone you meet in the classroom!
anxious15 October 2009 @ 09:56 pm
Mercy, Mercy
Ah, mercy mercy me.
When Marvin Gaye sat down almost 40 years ago to write his report on the health of the planet - both elegiac and urgent, its surprisingly brief lyrics direct, beautiful, filled with bewilderment and sorrow - he didn't speak of global warming. He talked about oceans dirtied with oil, fish poisoned with mercury, the killing of wildlife with radiation. Those were the concerns of the public as the 1960s gave way to the 1970s.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
When you consider that the copyright on his song is only 1971, though, his words seem to reflect an almost prescient, and very clear-eyed, awareness.
No, no ...
I was 16 at the time the song came out. I remember being interested in music, but if I heard the song at that time, it didn't register. Even though my nascent political awakening had already started along with my interest in rock and roll, ecologically-minded Motown wasn't all that big on the one AM radio station to which I had access. Ecology - that wasn't a word that interested me, not like politics. They really didn't have much to do with each other, did they?
Where did all the blue skies go?
Eventually, though, I noticed.
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east,
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon our seas, fish full of mercury.
I left high school, left college, got a job. It was the mid-1970s, then the late 1970s. I still heard the song around the dial, and now the words resonated a little more. Exxon Valdez. China Syndrome. (Look them up, children. Disasters - attacks on the earth both real and imagined, that captured our attention long before you were born.)
Radiation under ground and in the sky,
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying.
Somehow the years went by. I heard the song again, and again. I heard the compound word Greenpeace for the first time. The concerns changed, but they were still the same. Earth was hurting, Earth's children were hurting. We were hurting.
Ah, mercy, mercy me
Back then, we didn't seem to want to realize that we were also doing the hurting. Or when we did realize it, we turned on each other, snarling about who or what was to blame. It was the industrialists, it was the capitalists, it was our parents, it was the whalers, it was the polluters, it was Them. Not us.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
Except that they are. Almost. We're still hissing and spitting at each other about who's to blame. (Except for those increasingly few among us who still claim that nothing's wrong. Or not much. Not too much. Well, not too awfully much.) We're still trying hard not to look in the mirror.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
Concerns change. .
Ah, mercy, mercy, me
Global Warming.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
But sometimes things do change. Sometimes they change because we humans do - reluctantly, and only when our noses are not only pushed into our own mistakes but bloodied by them.
Ah, mercy, mercy me.
Sometimes we change when the threats to the planet finally come to us, like some knife to our throat, and we can't argue it away, we can't bargain it away, we can't pretend it's not there.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
When the droughts can't be ignored. When the famines don't go away. When the temperatures and the great oceans rise and the little landlocked seas shrink along with the icecaps.
What about this overcrowded land,
How much more abuse from man can she stand?
When the fires of factories and cook stoves, the exhaust of cars (and cows, we can't avoid mentioning the cows, because who says crisis can't be a little funnier with cows) cast up an insulating veil of particulates between us and the sky, and we can't pretend we don't know the inconvenient truths of what the veil causes.
Things ain't what they used to be.
Because we know more now. (Like, did you know - and I got this from Robert H. Socolow, writing in the July, 2005, Scientific American - that 380 of every million molecules we draw into our body with each breath are carbon dioxide, compared with the 280 molecules of CO2 Shakespeare breathed in?)
Ah, mercy, mercy me.
Marvin Gaye's song clocks in at about three minutes, 25 seconds. At about 2:46, the music takes an eerie turn, falling abruptly into a minor key, its melody suddenly the echoing wail of something ... not quite right, something dying. I finally noticed that ending. And once I noticed it, I couldn't get it out of my head.
Things ain't what they used to be.
How close are we to the end of the song?
Oh, na na...
My sweet Lord... No
My Lord... My sweet Lord
See, if I'd wanted to end on a dramatic note, I wouldn't have added those last three lines. They're the ones you can't really hear him sing, but they're there in most of the printed lyrics to the song (which actually bears the rather cumbersome title "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)")
They're both rejection and prayer. Perhaps a rejection of the vision he's woven, perhaps a prayer that it won't come true.
Things ain't what they used to be.
They don't have to be. We can change, can't we?
Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology)
© Jobete Music Co Inc,
Ah, mercy mercy me.
When Marvin Gaye sat down almost 40 years ago to write his report on the health of the planet - both elegiac and urgent, its surprisingly brief lyrics direct, beautiful, filled with bewilderment and sorrow - he didn't speak of global warming. He talked about oceans dirtied with oil, fish poisoned with mercury, the killing of wildlife with radiation. Those were the concerns of the public as the 1960s gave way to the 1970s.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
When you consider that the copyright on his song is only 1971, though, his words seem to reflect an almost prescient, and very clear-eyed, awareness.
No, no ...
I was 16 at the time the song came out. I remember being interested in music, but if I heard the song at that time, it didn't register. Even though my nascent political awakening had already started along with my interest in rock and roll, ecologically-minded Motown wasn't all that big on the one AM radio station to which I had access. Ecology - that wasn't a word that interested me, not like politics. They really didn't have much to do with each other, did they?
Where did all the blue skies go?
Eventually, though, I noticed.
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east,
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon our seas, fish full of mercury.
I left high school, left college, got a job. It was the mid-1970s, then the late 1970s. I still heard the song around the dial, and now the words resonated a little more. Exxon Valdez. China Syndrome. (Look them up, children. Disasters - attacks on the earth both real and imagined, that captured our attention long before you were born.)
Radiation under ground and in the sky,
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying.
Somehow the years went by. I heard the song again, and again. I heard the compound word Greenpeace for the first time. The concerns changed, but they were still the same. Earth was hurting, Earth's children were hurting. We were hurting.
Ah, mercy, mercy me
Back then, we didn't seem to want to realize that we were also doing the hurting. Or when we did realize it, we turned on each other, snarling about who or what was to blame. It was the industrialists, it was the capitalists, it was our parents, it was the whalers, it was the polluters, it was Them. Not us.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
Except that they are. Almost. We're still hissing and spitting at each other about who's to blame. (Except for those increasingly few among us who still claim that nothing's wrong. Or not much. Not too much. Well, not too awfully much.) We're still trying hard not to look in the mirror.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
Concerns change. .
Ah, mercy, mercy, me
Global Warming.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
But sometimes things do change. Sometimes they change because we humans do - reluctantly, and only when our noses are not only pushed into our own mistakes but bloodied by them.
Ah, mercy, mercy me.
Sometimes we change when the threats to the planet finally come to us, like some knife to our throat, and we can't argue it away, we can't bargain it away, we can't pretend it's not there.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
When the droughts can't be ignored. When the famines don't go away. When the temperatures and the great oceans rise and the little landlocked seas shrink along with the icecaps.
What about this overcrowded land,
How much more abuse from man can she stand?
When the fires of factories and cook stoves, the exhaust of cars (and cows, we can't avoid mentioning the cows, because who says crisis can't be a little funnier with cows) cast up an insulating veil of particulates between us and the sky, and we can't pretend we don't know the inconvenient truths of what the veil causes.
Things ain't what they used to be.
Because we know more now. (Like, did you know - and I got this from Robert H. Socolow, writing in the July, 2005, Scientific American - that 380 of every million molecules we draw into our body with each breath are carbon dioxide, compared with the 280 molecules of CO2 Shakespeare breathed in?)
Ah, mercy, mercy me.
Marvin Gaye's song clocks in at about three minutes, 25 seconds. At about 2:46, the music takes an eerie turn, falling abruptly into a minor key, its melody suddenly the echoing wail of something ... not quite right, something dying. I finally noticed that ending. And once I noticed it, I couldn't get it out of my head.
Things ain't what they used to be.
How close are we to the end of the song?
Oh, na na...
My sweet Lord... No
My Lord... My sweet Lord
See, if I'd wanted to end on a dramatic note, I wouldn't have added those last three lines. They're the ones you can't really hear him sing, but they're there in most of the printed lyrics to the song (which actually bears the rather cumbersome title "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)")
They're both rejection and prayer. Perhaps a rejection of the vision he's woven, perhaps a prayer that it won't come true.
Things ain't what they used to be.
They don't have to be. We can change, can't we?
Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology)
© Jobete Music Co Inc,
15 October 2009 @ 01:27 pm
Happy Birthday
...tobrithistorian — may this year bring satisfaction, happiness, peace and joy to you.
...to
brithistorian — may this year bring satisfaction, happiness, peace and joy to you.14 October 2009 @ 01:24 am
As Constant As, Dept. of
Courtesy ofspiderine , I have learned the following about myself, as regards the Tarot. The part I like? Oh, I imagine you'll spot it.
I amuse myself, I really do ....
Courtesy of
spiderine , I have learned the following about myself, as regards the Tarot. The part I like? Oh, I imagine you'll spot it.I amuse myself, I really do ....
You are The Moon
Hope, expectation, Bright promises. The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
groggy11 October 2009 @ 11:20 pm
Burn(ed) With Me
Speaking on several fronts, the day has been less than stellar at Casa Kaffyr.
Culinarily, my intermittently, and ever-so-slightly malignantly, erratic oven decided to act up as I tried to bake four loaves of bread. Specifically, it decided to turn on the broiler five minutes into the baking period. My house, which normally smells delightfully of baked goods by Sunday evening, smelled instead of burned flour and molasses. Of this, the less said the better.
Medically, my constant low-level headache - a companion ever since two doctors coerced me into avoiding my usual painkilling techniques (a long and not a little frustrating tale, but, oh boy is that another story) - has been monotonously friendly.
Automotively, the Grey Boat needs a visit to the car doctor, who will diagnose (undoubtedly at $65 per hour plus parts) some unlikely-to-be-quickly-rectified break in the fuel system, responsible for the fuel smell that has grown at an arithmetic rate. The worry's grown at a geometric rate, but that's just me.
And finally, in a Whovian vein, I turned on WTTW, hoping to end the day with a heady and enjoyable dose of the Doctor.
Instead, I got "42."
God, that's one massive carbuncle of suck.
So affected was I by the trial of watching it - yes, I watched it,because I will watch DW even when I should poke my eyes out with knitting needles rather than do so ... uhm ... the stench of burned flour and molasses had burned out all the taste receptors in my head ... yes, we'll go with that - that I was moved to dig up my original thoughts on the episode, posted ever so long ago over at Television Without Pity. Here they are, for the benefit of people who like to see me spit and rant about something long past its expiration date, slightly edited for length and general vitriol.
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
( Bad Episode Is Bad )
Speaking on several fronts, the day has been less than stellar at Casa Kaffyr.
Culinarily, my intermittently, and ever-so-slightly malignantly, erratic oven decided to act up as I tried to bake four loaves of bread. Specifically, it decided to turn on the broiler five minutes into the baking period. My house, which normally smells delightfully of baked goods by Sunday evening, smelled instead of burned flour and molasses. Of this, the less said the better.
Medically, my constant low-level headache - a companion ever since two doctors coerced me into avoiding my usual painkilling techniques (a long and not a little frustrating tale, but, oh boy is that another story) - has been monotonously friendly.
Automotively, the Grey Boat needs a visit to the car doctor, who will diagnose (undoubtedly at $65 per hour plus parts) some unlikely-to-be-quickly-rectified break in the fuel system, responsible for the fuel smell that has grown at an arithmetic rate. The worry's grown at a geometric rate, but that's just me.
And finally, in a Whovian vein, I turned on WTTW, hoping to end the day with a heady and enjoyable dose of the Doctor.
Instead, I got "42."
God, that's one massive carbuncle of suck.
So affected was I by the trial of watching it - yes, I watched it,
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
( Bad Episode Is Bad )
irritated29 September 2009 @ 04:59 pm
Sons and Drugs and Rock and Roll
My wonderful, talented, funny, bright, frustrating and rewarding son isn't always known as First Born. Sometimes he's known as Andy.
As Andy, he's been involved in music pretty much full time (on an unpaid basis, dangit) since he was 14-15 or so. He's good. Good all around; sings beautifully, harmonizes as if it's second nature, plays guitar like whoah, plays the studio pretty damned well, too. And he writes some truly quality music.
Although he made an amicable break with his longtime band Still Not Sexy to pursue local theater a while back, he's continued writing and working with friends from the band and elsewhere. Recently, SNS went on some sort of extended hiatus and at least one other member joined Andy and a third songwriter to start the band Modern History.
I haven't heard a lot of Modern History's work yet because they're stil so new, but I can attest to the energy and talent Andy and others bring to the table. And that's not just Mom talking; SNS and Andy's work in it while the band was active, impressed the hell out of me as a former chicksingerinarocknrollband. They, and he, Didn't Suck. I'm betting that's going to be the case with Modern History as well.
Tonight at 6 p.m. Chicago time, you can hear members of the band in an interview, talking about the band, their music, and probably a lot more, at Chicago's fearlessradio.com. (Check here for a rather dry biography, and to tune in.)
I'll be tuning in, and I'm hoping to hear some of their initial pieces.
My wonderful, talented, funny, bright, frustrating and rewarding son isn't always known as First Born. Sometimes he's known as Andy.
As Andy, he's been involved in music pretty much full time (on an unpaid basis, dangit) since he was 14-15 or so. He's good. Good all around; sings beautifully, harmonizes as if it's second nature, plays guitar like whoah, plays the studio pretty damned well, too. And he writes some truly quality music.
Although he made an amicable break with his longtime band Still Not Sexy to pursue local theater a while back, he's continued writing and working with friends from the band and elsewhere. Recently, SNS went on some sort of extended hiatus and at least one other member joined Andy and a third songwriter to start the band Modern History.
I haven't heard a lot of Modern History's work yet because they're stil so new, but I can attest to the energy and talent Andy and others bring to the table. And that's not just Mom talking; SNS and Andy's work in it while the band was active, impressed the hell out of me as a former chicksingerinarocknrollband. They, and he, Didn't Suck. I'm betting that's going to be the case with Modern History as well.
Tonight at 6 p.m. Chicago time, you can hear members of the band in an interview, talking about the band, their music, and probably a lot more, at Chicago's fearlessradio.com. (Check here for a rather dry biography, and to tune in.)
I'll be tuning in, and I'm hoping to hear some of their initial pieces.
Current Location: dining room
Current Mood: 
cheerful
cheerfulCurrent Music: Bear McCreary, "All Along the Watchtower"
28 September 2009 @ 07:38 pm
Title: Over Easy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Five: Good
Author's Notes: We come to the end of our Raxacoricofallapatorian (I do love typing all iterations of that word) story, by introducing someone from the Doctor's past. As I was writing this story, I suddenly realized who could have been at the root of this planet's original problems. Fans of Old Who - tell me if I'm right. Thanks for reading, many thanks to Best Beloved for editing (any mistakes are mine), and many, many thanks to the BBC and RTD for letting me play, unpaid and just for love, in their Whoniverse.
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
(Chapter Three)
(Chapter Four)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Your thee-minute egg is done, and it's right under here. )
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Five: Good
Author's Notes: We come to the end of our Raxacoricofallapatorian (I do love typing all iterations of that word) story, by introducing someone from the Doctor's past. As I was writing this story, I suddenly realized who could have been at the root of this planet's original problems. Fans of Old Who - tell me if I'm right. Thanks for reading, many thanks to Best Beloved for editing (any mistakes are mine), and many, many thanks to the BBC and RTD for letting me play, unpaid and just for love, in their Whoniverse.
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
(Chapter Three)
(Chapter Four)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Your thee-minute egg is done, and it's right under here. )
Current Location: dining room
Current Mood: calm
calmCurrent Music: Bear McCreary, "All Along the Watchtower"
27 September 2009 @ 10:48 pm
Title: Over Easy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Four: Coddled
Author's Notes: With the blithe assurance of those who truly love science, but are completely illiterate in it, I have ventured to use it to provide us a happy ending for Blon; thank heavens that the Whoniverse is remarkably, and elastically, forgiving of scentific tomfoolery.
As always, the BBC owns it, I play with it, and take no coin for it. Thanks to my Best Beloved, once more, for making the product a little better.
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
(Chapter Three)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Raxacoricofallapatorius ho! )
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Four: Coddled
Author's Notes: With the blithe assurance of those who truly love science, but are completely illiterate in it, I have ventured to use it to provide us a happy ending for Blon; thank heavens that the Whoniverse is remarkably, and elastically, forgiving of scentific tomfoolery.
As always, the BBC owns it, I play with it, and take no coin for it. Thanks to my Best Beloved, once more, for making the product a little better.
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
(Chapter Three)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Raxacoricofallapatorius ho! )
27 September 2009 @ 05:32 pm
Title: Over Easy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Three: Fried
Author's Notes: The story gets told in a lovely locale; it still gets darker, and sadder, at least for a bit. As always, the BBC owns the Whoniverse, and, via benign neglect, allows me to play - for free, mind - with the marvelous creations therein. Thanks, Auntie Beeb! My Best Beloved did the edit, and any mistakes are mine.
(Still another note: many of the Raxcite names I used here are taken, in whole or in part, from a chapter of Captain Jack's Monster Files, a BBC production available on the Web, in which we see some of Torchwood's files on Whoniverse villains, narrated by the Captain. I'll note that, while Torchwood appears to have some of the family genealogy correct, their operatives don't really know or understand the planet and its regular inhabitants well.)
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Eggs, their origins and such, under here. Fic-phobic? Avoid. )
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Chapter Three: Fried
Author's Notes: The story gets told in a lovely locale; it still gets darker, and sadder, at least for a bit. As always, the BBC owns the Whoniverse, and, via benign neglect, allows me to play - for free, mind - with the marvelous creations therein. Thanks, Auntie Beeb! My Best Beloved did the edit, and any mistakes are mine.
(Still another note: many of the Raxcite names I used here are taken, in whole or in part, from a chapter of Captain Jack's Monster Files, a BBC production available on the Web, in which we see some of Torchwood's files on Whoniverse villains, narrated by the Captain. I'll note that, while Torchwood appears to have some of the family genealogy correct, their operatives don't really know or understand the planet and its regular inhabitants well.)
(Chapter One)
(Chapter Two)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Eggs, their origins and such, under here. Fic-phobic? Avoid. )
27 September 2009 @ 05:11 pm
Title: Over Easy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Summary: As eggs go, Blon was slightly scrambled. The story Jack, Rose and the Doctor learned on Raxacoricofallapatorius might best be described as deviled.
Chapter Two: Scrambled
Author's notes: In which EF Havreem tells the team a little bit about the unusual history of Raxacoricofallapatorius. As always, the BBC owns damned near everything in the Whoniverse, and graciously allows me to play with its creations - and by "graciously" I mean, of course, that it ignores me. Thanks, guys; I'll never take coin for it.
(More quick notes: "Velox Levitas" is bastardized Latin for "As Fast as Lightning," which should be self-explanatory, in context.)
(Chapter One)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Behind the dimensionally transcendent blue door )
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Summary: As eggs go, Blon was slightly scrambled. The story Jack, Rose and the Doctor learned on Raxacoricofallapatorius might best be described as deviled.
Chapter Two: Scrambled
Author's notes: In which EF Havreem tells the team a little bit about the unusual history of Raxacoricofallapatorius. As always, the BBC owns damned near everything in the Whoniverse, and graciously allows me to play with its creations - and by "graciously" I mean, of course, that it ignores me. Thanks, guys; I'll never take coin for it.
(More quick notes: "Velox Levitas" is bastardized Latin for "As Fast as Lightning," which should be self-explanatory, in context.)
(Chapter One)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Behind the dimensionally transcendent blue door )
Current Location: living room
Current Music: nothing, at the moment
27 September 2009 @ 02:31 pm
Title: Over Easy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Summary: As eggs go, Blon was slightly scrambled. The story Jack, Rose and the Doctor learned on Raxacoricofallapatorius might best be described as deviled.
Chapter One: Poached
Author's Notes: The existence of the Slitheen has always left me with an itch to explore the planet on which they were, apparently, such despised aberrations. And the more I explored the planet, and its non-criminal inhabitants, the more I realized what might have really happened.
As always the BBC owns the Whoniverse and its characters. I am grateful for being allowed to play here for awhile, and to do a small bit of creation therein. I do it out of love.
Many thanks to my Best Beloved, who edited and made certain that my thoughts on evolution were logical, if not necessarily scientific.
(One quick note: Brady and Hindley were the perpetrators of the Moors Murders between 1963 and 1965, and definitely might resonate with anyone who'd met the Slitheen clan. Rose would have known of them, less because of a resurgence of interest in their cases during the mid 1980s than because of obituaries for Hindley, who died in 2002.)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Break out in hives at the thought of fic? Don't look. )
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Slitheen (various)
Summary: As eggs go, Blon was slightly scrambled. The story Jack, Rose and the Doctor learned on Raxacoricofallapatorius might best be described as deviled.
Chapter One: Poached
Author's Notes: The existence of the Slitheen has always left me with an itch to explore the planet on which they were, apparently, such despised aberrations. And the more I explored the planet, and its non-criminal inhabitants, the more I realized what might have really happened.
As always the BBC owns the Whoniverse and its characters. I am grateful for being allowed to play here for awhile, and to do a small bit of creation therein. I do it out of love.
Many thanks to my Best Beloved, who edited and made certain that my thoughts on evolution were logical, if not necessarily scientific.
(One quick note: Brady and Hindley were the perpetrators of the Moors Murders between 1963 and 1965, and definitely might resonate with anyone who'd met the Slitheen clan. Rose would have known of them, less because of a resurgence of interest in their cases during the mid 1980s than because of obituaries for Hindley, who died in 2002.)
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
( Break out in hives at the thought of fic? Don't look. )
22 September 2009 @ 07:52 pm
22 September 2009 @ 02:49 pm
Happy Birthday, doclnghair !
May your way be easy, my friend, may your dreams be rewarded, your music tapes never attacked by rust, and may your life in general be a great adventure!
doclnghair !May your way be easy, my friend, may your dreams be rewarded, your music tapes never attacked by rust, and may your life in general be a great adventure!
21 September 2009 @ 01:24 am
Am I Stupid to Hope?
This. I've got to think about it, but I need as much hope as I can possibly get these days.
This. I've got to think about it, but I need as much hope as I can possibly get these days.
15 September 2009 @ 04:27 pm
Happy Birthday azriona !
The little section of fandom in which I've happilly settled, is peopled with some remarkable folks. You are one of them — your tireless (and excellent) reviews make the Children of Time awards possible for me and many others to navigate, you're funny and articulate, and you are a pleasure to "know" here on teh Intarwebz. Have a great day, and a great year!
azriona ! The little section of fandom in which I've happilly settled, is peopled with some remarkable folks. You are one of them — your tireless (and excellent) reviews make the Children of Time awards possible for me and many others to navigate, you're funny and articulate, and you are a pleasure to "know" here on teh Intarwebz. Have a great day, and a great year!
15 September 2009 @ 03:45 pm
Daughter of My Heart
Happy Birthday, my dearart_tastic ! The years roll by, and we don't see enough of each other, but you remain one of the best young women I know; gifted, full of life, with a heart as big as your many talents. Don't let anyone stop you from finding your bliss. May the coming year be better, even, than you dream, and may we get together soon. And to your sister Katie, who is a treasure herself, many hugs and birthday wishes as well!
Happy Birthday, my dear
art_tastic ! The years roll by, and we don't see enough of each other, but you remain one of the best young women I know; gifted, full of life, with a heart as big as your many talents. Don't let anyone stop you from finding your bliss. May the coming year be better, even, than you dream, and may we get together soon. And to your sister Katie, who is a treasure herself, many hugs and birthday wishes as well!