New Shiny

I received a new laptop today, and there was much rejoicing. Now, there are a great many things I can do that I could not do before. The intended goal of this purchase is to get me to stare at a blank page more frequently, in the hopes that I'll stop being so afraid of the goddamned thing and put some fucking text on there once or twice. I spend a lot of time on the futon (still too poor/cheap for a couch) watching television and movies via the magic of Netflix and our ever-growing personal collection of DVDs and, let's face it, sometimes what's on the television screen isn't all that interesting. Those who follow my Twitter feed (which should be nearly all 11 of you, considering where my traffic sources are coming from*) will know that I'm currently in the middle of a prolonged Nicolas Cage marathon. We love it when he goes psycho, but his films are largely hit or miss. Largely miss. And so up until today, I've spent a whole lot of this movie-watching time doing crossword puzzles on my phone, or playing Dragon, Fly! on it, or just generally paying more attention to my smartphone's screen than that of my television.

Anyway, I eventually gave in to that nagging feeling that since I was really just sitting on my ever-flattening butt, I really should attempt to at least finish the current draft rewrite re-re-rewrite of the novel I wrote when I was in middle school and the beginning of high school. It might not have sparkly fucking vampires or magic wands and shit, but it's been sitting in my brain like a fat albino toad in an empty soup pot**, and having a laptop will give me less of an excuse to not stare this beast of a book down while Nic Cage is losing his shit.
At least until we get to the end of the marathon (which will be quite soon, we just finished watching Lord of War today), at which point we will have to find some other marathon to latch onto.

So here's me, writing in my blog instead of staring at a blank page and wondering what the fuck Peria is going to do to help Twaise and all his people, and how to not make it so goddamn fucking obvious who the really really important person that's been hiding in plain sight is. I'm giving the whole first bit of the book away right here, and I don't care because I know I'm going to get dissatisfied with the 45 pages I've already got in another year or two, and start a re-re-re-rewrite. Largely, my problem is that while I grow increasingly satisfied with the development of the relationships between the characters, the actual events that allow that development to unfold leaves one fuck of a lot to be desired. And that's why I spend so much time staring at a blank page. Because while the characters are solid in my squishy brain, the events are not so much, especially since the latest rewrite kind of threw a whole lot of the early stuff out on its stupid ear.

When it comes right down to it, I'm just in a cranky ass mood because I wanted to see a movie tonight, but the showing that I intended to see was mis-labeled as being in 2D, and fuck 3D right in its stupid ass. I love David Tennant, and I was really looking forward to seeing him in leather pants, but I'm not going to spend money to tell movie executives that seeing David Tennant in leather pants is worth prolonging this stupid 3D trend. So I'll go see the only 2D showing on Wednesday, or wait until it's released on DVD, because that's how I roll.

*Except whoever is using that Trafficfaker site. Seriously, where the fuck is this blog linked that is so embarrassing that you have to use Trafficfaker to hide it?

**I'm almost completely sober, I swear. It was just the only analogy I could come up with that didn't involve turds, or nutsacks.***

***I've been reading Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. One of my favorite bits is where a dude's nutsack is described as being covered in the only wrinkles that bring anyone any pleasure. Also, according to that book, every dude in England has an enormous, veiny cock.

*facepalm*

So, a hypothetical question that I posed last November has become less hypothetical.

So, hypothetically, who keeps giving these not-funny, talentless hacks money to make movies?

That really wasn't a hypothetical question, was it?

HYPOTHETICS!

To Elaborate on a Tweet

Yesterday I told Twitter that I'd dreamed that the cast members of each Star Trek series danced in pajamas. It was a delightful dream to wake up remembering, and thinking of it now makes me smile, so I'm going to share it more fully, as much as I can really remember.

More than anything, the overall feeling of the dream was that it was a commercial, done in support of some organization, or cause, or something. And I don't recall clearly certain casts being present (really, all I remember were the original cast, and the Next Generation cast), though the idea of the dream was that it was supposed to be everyone. And for some reason Gates McFadden wasn't in pajamas, but a rather simple and basic black bra and panties set. Patrick Stewart was in red silk, Wil Wheaton was in blue flannel (I think with horses on it). William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy were arm in arm, wearing matching pjs, and singing and dancing. They looked like they were having the most fun with it. Brent Spiner was doing the sprinkler, and George Takei started breakdancing at one point. There were a lot of other people there, but the specifics on what they were wearing and how they were dancing are lost in dreamland.

I woke up wishing I could find it on YouTube. I woke up wanting to support whatever it was that they wanted me to. I woke up wanting to ask Wil Wheaton via Twitter if he owned flannel jammies. I woke up feeling good, and smiley, and I giggle a little whenever I think about it. Like I am now, and have been all through the writing of this.

A Little This 'n That

Another catch-all blog post, because I'm bored and easily distracted.

• Is it just me, or does Alexandre Dumas get more boring with each book? The Three Musketeers was fun, The Count of Monte Christo was excellent, Twenty Years After was good enough but took me for-fucking-ever to read, and The Vicomte of Bragelonne is damnably hard to get into. If I make it all the way to (and through) The Man in the Iron Mask, I think I'll deserve a huge fucking pat on the back. All things considered, though, he's it's not as bad as Hugo and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I've never wanted to stab a book so badly in my entire life...

• I tried the Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito from Taco Bell today, because I saw a commercial for it last weekend and declared "I must have that!" Verdict: they put sour cream on it, which is what I blame on the... unpleasantness in the bathroom that ensued; normally, all my taco-related products are without sour cream and I never have such difficulties. Otherwise, it was bacony.
  

• My boyfriend's mother asked me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with her last weekend, because my birthday is coming up. I felt bad saying no, but clothes shopping is fucking painful for me. Socks don't fit, because my feet are too small - the heels invariably end up above my ankles. Pants don't fit, because my legs are too short. Even petite sizes are too long. Bras and shirts definitely don't fit, because my tits are bigger than my head. The only thing I can safely buy is skirts (which I never wear) and underwear. Body fail!

• Whenever Kevin Smith tweets about the amazing sex he has with his wife, and Wil Wheaton tweets about the amazing geeky things his wife says, itgives me hope for the American marriage, which Time.com seems to think is on the brink of fail. But what do I know about the American marriage? I was divorced at the age of 21. Actually, I probably know more about the American marriage than most.

• I may be growing addicted to websites like Texts From Last Night and Not Always Right. Each site makes me both glad and regretful that my life isn't more interesting. But it's seriously addicting to just read through the archives.
  

• I have a doctor's appointment next week; I finally get to talk to someone about the headaches I get every day! I'll be very disappointed if the doc suggests I see a chiropractor. It's hard to take the profession seriously when a chiro gave your ex-husband a stroke through a botched adjustment. Also, I wonder what expression the doc will have when he or she gives me my breast exam; I strongly suspect the dressing gown will surprisingly downplay how big they actually are, and am hoping for a look of shocked horror. Morbid? Me?

To wrap things up, here are some photos from last weekend, when we went home to SD to visit friends and fam.




World's Largest Pheasant, standing proud and tall in Huron, SD. Outstanding...

We bought fireworks here. Apparently that's a ride that hasn't worked in 30 years or more. If you look closely (or embiggen the photo by clicking on it) you can see a blue swastika painted on the side of one of the cars.

Fireworks and beer ALWAYS go together!
We dropped a smoke bomb in a puddle.

Kaboom!