gen_is_gone: clip art of a slice of cake (equivalent of a shrug)
Having a very NeuroatypicalTM moment at work, babbling about my con books on visual semiotics in Discworld and participitory fan culture in Harry Potter. Have had two grown adult career librarians stare at me in confusion while my rambling petered off into awkward mumbling in mild humiliation. I really need to remember not to talk to people about things I care about.
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My comp professor wants to use an essay of mine on the rhetorical stance of of a book called Dead Man Walking as an example paper for later classes and the only response I have to that is a resounding why!? This is a paper I wrote in a panicked, half-asleep haze at three in the morning and edited five hours later with just as much sleep. It's disjointed as hell, redundant, riddled with fucking typos and (I think) kind of irritating, tonally. It's not a paper I'm proud of, and I have no fucking clue why the hell she wants to use it, other than as an example of what not to do. Obviously, that isn't the case, but I really can't bring myself to believe her telling me it's exemplary. Fuck. And now I sound like an asshole.
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So the motherfucking vid I've been working on since fucking June is theoretically done, and on Youtube. It's slow to play, and I have no idea whether that's the video, Youtube, or just my internet and I'm so completely scared of this not turning out perfectly. Yes, I should have uploaded probably anything else just to test things, but when have I ever utilized common sense and long-term planning? Oh fuck, I'll figure it out.
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Not reading porn in class. Nope. Not at all.
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AMC is having a Gone With the Wind marathon throughout Thanksgiving weekend. My mom is watching as I type this and occasionally bursts out in some praise or another of Scarlett because when she was young, Ms. O’Hara was viewed as some sort of role model, I suppose. No matter that it’s grossly inappropriate to have this of all movies on a loop in light of our most recent and most publicized miscarriage of justice, because Mom doesn’t seem to realize the irony of lecturing me on pride for my heritage one day and watching this nauseous sludge the next, though it could be worse. Birth of A Nation is still taught as canonical in every Film 101 class in America. We live in a country where lynching is still an acceptable fucking practice as long is it’s done by men in uniform*, and my Hispanic, raised-Catholic-in-the-fifties mother sits and watches Gone With the Wind and praises the fucking cinematography.

I have any number of reasons to take umbrage with this movie, starting with the profound racism, moving through the misogyny, and ending with the fact Scarlett O’Hara is weak, a coward, and a vicious petty ingrate, but the second and last of these are nothing compared to the fact that this movie that treats Reconstruction as a terrible ordeal for Southern gentry and acts as through Black slaves stayed with their white oppressors out of love and loyalty rather than terror of the devil they didn’t know is on TV and garnering praise from a woman whose opinions on race I usually respect two days after Darren Wilson was acquitted of murder, and it makes me want to throw things.

*Lynching here having the technical definition of taking the law into one’s own hands in a violent and usually racially charged manner, before anyone wants to argue. Shooting an unarmed young man with his hands raised in surrender is most definitely a perversion of the law, by my book.
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It's fall break. I get a week off, over Thanksgiving, and I'm home again.

Maybe I shouldn't have had the coffee on the drive over, but between a meeting with a professor being more than lenient and helpful about the things I could do to not fail her class, the unfortunately-becoming-habitual pre-travel panic attack and then coming home and finding out that my dad had a rather worrisome fall yesterday after donating blood, I was about ready to sprint right out of my childhood home to gods know where to escape the pressure of fucking everything.

I really thought coming home would help. I've been here maybe four hours and I want to run away, and I'm realizing that this has been my feeling about both home and school since at least the middle of last semester. Every time I'm about to leave one place for the other, I get to a point where I can't stand physically being there at all, and then when I leave the itch sets in in the new place almost immediately after. in fact know what all of this probably means, but have no clue what to do about it other than complain into cyberspace and hope nobody actually hears me.

...Wow this post was maudlin. Jesus.
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So somebody fucking else has already started and is posting their version of the not-so-Super Sekret-Project. I wanted to make a podfic version of your blue-eyed boys in part because I didn't think anyone else ever would, and now that someone else is, I don't know whether to be angry-screaming-child jealous or just crumple up and stare into space and be deeply, deeply humiliated. I feel fucking stupid for ever think anything I could do would be good enough and then somebody else beat me to it and I can't even be mad at them because that actually is petty and nasty. They have no idea what this particular piece of literature means to me, but I have no idea what it means to them either. Maybe they went through something objectively worse than I did this summer, and YBEB was their coping mechanism. Or maybe they just read it and loved it. It doesn't matter. I want desperately just to be happy that someone (more than one person even) cared this much about it, for M's sake, but gods, I was going to give her my voice, put myself forward on the internet in a way I never have before because I'm scared to, and I feel like my legs have been taken out from under me. It's fucking stupid and childish and awful and I want to fucking cry.


Sep. 23rd, 2014 05:11 pm
gen_is_gone: two one way arrows pointing in opposite directions (eqivalent of a shrug)
I want coffee. I don't want to get up and make coffee. I also really shouldn't be drinking coffee, as I've had roughly the equivalent of three cups today after being more or less off regular drinking since I got back to school (the troubles of early classes; when you most want/need it, you have no time to make it). I also stayed up til 5:40 in the morning, fell asleep for an hour twenty and then ditched my first class this morning to get (not much) more sleep. Coffee right now would not be ideal. But I want it, and have no access to decaf or anything else that might give me the taste without the caffeine.

Hence, a problem.
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It's Death's entreating Azrael at the end of Reaper Man: Lord, what can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the Reaper Man?

It's on my left shoulder. I've scheduled an appointment in October for my second and possibly third. The second is a Harry Potter quote meant to be in dialogue with the Discworld one on the subject of mortality and humanity. /nerd

Unfortunately the side effects of any number of things from yesterday meant that when I took off the bandage (after the requisite four hours' keeping it on) to show my friends, I fainted and then was sick. Humiliating experiences for the fucking ages. However, if I just pretend it never happened, I may be able to avoid ritual suicide in the name of never facing friendgroup again.

That came out much bitterer than I'd hoped. No matter; I have a tattoo.
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Today Moonbeam and Roommate and another friend came over (well, Roommate didn't come over, she was already here) and we worked on costumes for NDK. It's a con. We're going to a con. On Friday. We're dressing as characters from Puella Magi Madoka Magica. It'll be my first out of state con, so I'm excited for it.

I don't know what this post is. I feel like I should post things though. I feel guilty when I don't. Whatever.
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When contemplating horrifying apocalypse AUs while listening to "How Far We've Come" then reading that one fic character who hits just a little close to home and then very valiantly not scream-crying. Fucking hell, I've invested all of my RL emotions into Captain fucking America, and that maybe wasn't the best coping mechanism, but fucked if I care.
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It's one of my friend's many film projects; I get to play jilted lover who beats her boyfriend near to death in the desert. So there's that.
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Well so I worked myself into an almost anxiety attack over my lack of preparedness for DnD after three weeks of Real Life getting in the way of our groups being able meet up, and I walked into the friend's house we were meeting at, stood in the door for about two minutes then walked right the fuck back out. I just froze up and couldn't deal with any of my friends so I just...left. My phone's been on vibrate and stowed away in my purse and I've been sitting in a Starbucks for the past five hours to avoid arousing my mother's suspicions and having to explain why I didn't go. Luckily none of my friends saw me walk in or leave; everyone was in various other parts of the house and I'm pretty sure didn't even hear the door open, so at least I avoided some of that awkward. I almost went to see Winter Soldier again, and literally only stopped myself because I was in the wrong lane (on the right street, mind. That's how close I came) to get to the dollar theater. Oh ye gods, I'm so sick of summer.
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...I saw Winter Soldier again. For the ninth time. Yeah, I kind of skipped talking about it the last time I saw it. But yes, I have now seen this movie in theaters more often than any other movie I've seen.

...gonna go reread [personal profile] recessional's monster fic again. I'm not sure if it makes me feel better or worse, but it does balance out That One Scene and make me remember that this story has a happy ending (one that's much better than the canon one).
gen_is_gone: two one way arrows pointing in opposite directions (cake)
And for this project I need to buy a microphone, because the speakers/mic on my laptop are shit. My friend is willing to lend me her stuff, but the difference is going to her house four times a week (and I definitely don't have the time in my week for that) to use her ridiculously expensive complicated pro equipment, or forking over the twenty bucks for a low-grade but reliable mic of my own. The thing is, I don't imagine the sound quality will be all that drastically different, and the time and effort involved in going to her house as often as I'll need to get this done before the end of summer is probably not an option, but damn is it tempting.

...and damn, do my my laptop mics sound awful. Whatever, I'm just impatient. The sooner I get started, the sooner I...get a third of the way through and quit dramatically, probably. But still. I really want to be able to do this thing.
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So most days, and by most days I mean about eleven months out of any given year, and about twenty-nine/thirty days out of every month, I don't give a damn about clothes. Cosplay is somewhat exempt from this, as are evenings out and other times where I'm socially obligated to wear formal wear. But on the average day, my appearance can at best be described as "presentable". I don't wear makeup, most of the time not even on formal occasions, my hair is short and straight enough that the only concessions I have to make to it are to wash it and run a comb through it, and my usual clothing choices consist of one of my dozen or so fan/logo T-shirts and either jeans or cargo pants, with a shorts option in summer because summers in Albuquerque are pretty unforgiving.

But in that one month out of twelve and in that one day out of thirty-odd, all of the feminine I don't have any use for otherwise comes out in a giant ball of makeup and vintage evening wear. This is the result of a particular mix of boredom and available time, and the kicker is I never do anything with it. I don't go anywhere or even take pictures. I just strut around a bit then get bored again and take everything off, but for a while it's fun and I look pretty.
gen_is_gone: two one way arrows pointing in opposite directions (cake)

1. "Sir Greendown" - Janelle Monáe
2. "Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" - Wolf Parade
3. "For Your Entertainment" - Adam Lambert
4. "The Natural History of Fear: pt. 4h" - Big Finish Doctor Who
5. "Piano Trio in G largo" - Beethoven (not sure who's performing; the album doesn't mention it)
6. "To Where You Are" - Josh Groban
7. "Si Volvieras a Mi" - Josh Groban
8. "Devil's Dance Floor" - Flogging Molly
9. "monsters" - Band of Horses
10. "Moonlight Sonata" - Beethoven (same album, same issue)
11. "Fitz and the Dizzyspells" - Andrew Bird
12. "The Dragon Song" - Team Starkid, A Very Potter Musical
13. "Wasteland" - Maxïmo Park
14. "Poison Prince" - Amy MacDonald
15. "The Saga Begins" - Weird Al Yankovic
16. "Watermark" - Enya
17. "Chapter Nine" - Charlotte Bronte, read by Elizabeth Klett, Jane Eyre
18. "Pac-Man Theme (Dance Mix)" - Dreamchaser (don't ask me why, I'm not sure myself)
19. "I Go To the Barn" - Band of Horses
20. "Dissolved Girl" - Massive Attack

...This doesn't exactly paint a clear picture, does it?
gen_is_gone: two one way arrows pointing in opposite directions (cake)
I was watching this 40s black and white movie starring Spencer Tracy and Clark Gable called Boom Town with the sound off, and viewed without context it looks an awful lot like two cowboy boyfriends meet a nice city lady, have a bunch of adventures and then settle down to raise a kid together. I have no idea what it's actually about, but it's really cute.
gen_is_gone: two one way arrows pointing in opposite directions (cake)
In a fit of shallow fangirling, I decided to watch a movie I knew next to nothing about, other than it featured Sebastian Stan doing Homoerotic Things in a boys' locker room, called The Covenant.

It was glorious. I have no idea what anyone involved with this project thought they would get out of it, as it straddles a strange sort of line between B movie horror and fan-pandering supernatural-sploitation, with a hefty dose of queer baiting. I'd imagine that with this level of genre confusion it must have done terribly at the box office, but apparently it has quite the cult fanbase. I'm not at all surprised.

It has the kind of good-natured cheese I can enjoy, and while it criminally under-used its two female leads, it was nice to see them get a friendship that didn't devolve into petty squabbles over boys. The boys themselves were pretty typical fair: the lovechild of Joffery Baratheon and Draco Malfoy, a Sam Winchester lookalike, the one who looks like the guy from Teen Wolf, the one I'm pretty sure is the guy from Teen Wolf, and of course, a Depraved Bisexual Sebastian Stan.

While most of them aren't likely to win any Oscars, they worked as best they could with some deliciously stupid dialogue. Actually, the dialogue for the most part wasn't terrible all the time, just concentrated into a few scenes that jumped right off the deep end. Although I think "Harry Potter can kiss my ass" is one of the best lines I've ever heard.

I'm pretty sure this movie only exists to cash in on the millennial gothic horror craze and only made its money back on the strength of its fanservice (impressively equal oppportunity; we get male and female shower scenes and swimming pool scenes for the guys to balance out the shots of the girls running around in panties and short tank tops) but damn, was it enjoyable for what it was. And Stan looked like he loved playing the giggling psychopath.

All in all, a great way to kill time not studying for finals.


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