This weekend momebie alerted me to this project that a bunch of fellow editors and whatnot were planning on called Filling in the Gaps. A list of a 100 books that you never read but felt that maybe you should, books that you maybe wouldn't read if left to your own devices. I thought this sounded pretty interesting, but my list isn't so much books I SHOULD read as books I really want to read but never got around to for various reasons. Also I'm not giving myself a time limit (for now, at least), partially because I feel I can read 100 books in WAY less than 5 years. But we'll see.

This is my list. The top 20 or so are books I own but haven't read yet or books I've read about half of and then never finished for various reasons -- could be the library knocking down my door, could be I lost interest and/or focus, could be I put it down and forgot I was reading it. Some are a bunch of books by the same author and I am set to read at least one (aside from the Thursday Next books and the L.A. Quartet of which I intend to read all).

At some point I will probably add more books to this list, especially instead of the ones I've never finished. God Is Not Great and Wicked in particular are some I have about half a dozen at most chapters left of, so they feel kind of like a cop out.

( The List. )

I've started using my tumblr more and more recently, so if you have a tumblr, y'all should go find me. I'm phantomwise over there.

I am currently drawing a map of my fictional city, which is proving to be interesting. The damn thing is about 3.5 by 3 feet big and the scale is all off the walls, of course, but drawing in the streets is very zen in a way. Like doing a jigsaw puzzle.

( 16 A4 papers. Or thereabout. )

Nothing much else to report, other than that Ryan Ross is still one of my favorites, even though he has the intelligence of a flobberworm. I can't even amass the energy to be upset with him right now, mostly I'm just laughing incredulously and facepalming, because he's a fucking moron.

Clearing out my computer, I found some pictures I took of the neighborhood last winter. They're fairly attractive, I thought, so I figured I'd post some of them.

( Elsborg, I think sometime in February. )

I've been a little thrown out of the loop about this whole Panic business. A part of me isn't surprised at all -- I kind of had a hunch that if Panic ever broke, it'd be Ryan who'd do it -- and a part of me is shocked. I think it's the timing that surprises me the most.

A lot of people are extremely sad about this, and a lot of people think this is the funniest thing to ever happen in fandom. I guess I should have expected that reaction as well, but that doesn't mean I'm not disappointed. Sure, they're parting on amiable terms, but that doesn't mean I can't be sad about it. One of my favorite bands have gone from one state of being to another, they won't be together anymore, and I'm supposed to take this philosophically five minutes after the confirmation got through? I think not. Not with all this history I've got with these fellas.

Ryan Ross is pretty much the reason I got into Panic in the first place, these guys have stuck with me for three years, and a lot of my novel as it stands today wouldn't be there, were it not for Panic that was, the combination of Ryan's lyrics and Brendon's voice. The Jesters wouldn't be the same. Sure, Panic at the Disco will still go on, and Jon and Ryan will make something of their own, but they won't be ONE BAND, the way I always loved them, and that saddens me. It's a divorce, plain and simple, no matter how amicable.

I'd say I was overinvested, but then I saw bexless post this, and I'm just going to quote her at you guys.

I have seen the word 'overinvested' get thrown around, which doesn't even make sense to me. We're FANS, it's our JOB to be overinvested. 'Overinvested' saves TV shows from being axed. It gets things brought out on DVD. It petitions studios and calls TPTB on their bullshit. In bandom especially, if nobody was overinvested there'd be no screaming at gigs, no following bands from show to show to show, nobody to buy merch, no songs would ever appear on 'these songs make me happy/sad/come back from the dead' playlists. There would BE no playlists, no fanfic, no fanart, no fandom. Overinvested is our natural state of being. I am STILL upset over Slash and Axl's divorce, ffs. It's not stupid to be sad, it's completely natural.

I'll buck up in time. Right now, I'm going to be sad, and say goodbye to a band as I knew it.

Okay, so. I feel like I write very little by way of journals lately, but I think it's mostly because I manage to get most of my odd thoughts out by way of Twitter and AIM. Anyway.

The past couple of days have been kind of horrible, but now I'm finally on the move. I ordered tickets yesterday, so I'll spend 16 hours on a train back home -- relatedly, fuck, dudes, I need to move north, the train ride alone is KILLING me -- and tomorrow my daddy will pick me up from the train station. I got ahold of Sandman for the journey (I was considering saving up the Buffy season 8 comics I got as well, but uh, not so much luck. Now I remember why I loved this show so much), and I've been running errands like crazy today.

It's much to warm for an unfit fatty like yours truly, kids. Slowly melting away. Did however get sushi for lunch, even though I overdid it with the wasabi. On the upside, my head is now remarkably clean.

I also managed to actually print my ticket, glory, glory, hallelujah. I managed to buy a printable ticket rather than one you collect at the train station, because I'm a moron, and I don't have a printer. Karin down at the train station was a darling and a half, though, and she let me print it from my email on her computer. Lovely girl.

I feel like I've been running around doing a million things for a month, but truth is, I was probably only out there for two hours. Still, though. Am dead.

Since I won't be around much for the next day or so (oh ho, like anyone would notice at this point), have meme:

1. Think of the first word that comes to mind when you think of me.
2. Go to Google Images and search for that word.
3. Reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results.
4. Put this in your own journal so that I can do the same.

There is a Remus/Sirius love and nostalgia fest going on in the comments of this post, and I've been reading some and thinking a lot.

( Ruminating, adjusting my thinky hat, has nothing to do with recent wanks, just a little bit of nostalgia on my part. )

I was trawling fandom_secrets, as you do, and I stumbled upon this.



I actually surprised myself with how utterly, utterly fucking pissed I got reading this secret. The first part, sure, I can get that. I know a whole bunch of people who'd agree that chubby, grody Gerard was totally munchable. The second part, however, is kind of making my brain boil.

This? Is not okay. Not even as a joke. It just isn't. What this man went through to get clean -- that is enough to earn him brownie points for the rest of his natural life. Getting and more importantly staying clean, even if it's "only" five years since he got sober, is the most amazing thing this dude will ever do.

He almost killed himself, for fuck's sake. Does this mean nothing to some people? I don't know about you, but I prefer my musicians (and artists in general) alive, thank you very much, and if their music isn't to your taste, then listen to something else. Listen to Bullets again, do whatever, just don't get out there and tell him that he should start drinking again, because the music was better. I mean, if nothing else, it's not like Gerard is alone in writing the songs for their albums -- the band does have four other members putting their shit in there.

This isn't the first time I've heard about shit like this. There's a story about a Swedish musician -- inspired by Bob Dylan and about as adored nationally -- who was an alcoholic for a long, long time, with the slurry singing and weird-ass lyrics you'd expect. He got clean, found Jesus, and wrote a new album. The diehards were, unsurprisingly, not as happy about this as you might think, so when he walked out on stage that first night, the idiots by the fence held up signs and shouted up at him, "START BOOZING AGAIN, MAN."

Just. No. No. There is nothing okay with that.

Panic fandom has been kind of dreary lately. I don't mean that in the boring way, exactly, but there's been consternation and a lot of srs bsns crap all over the place, and that has made me... not exactly tired of them, but maybe a little Panicked out. So I've been going back to my roots in bandom, if you will, and mostly the reason why I've stuck around for so long (and definitely the reason I have the friends I do), namely My Chemical Romance.

I've noticed, though, that since the hiatus there has been an awful lack in all things MyChem-y. Frank still gets screentime, but that's because he got down with his Mario self in LeATHERMOUTH, and also because he is FRANK. The rest of them, though? I MISS them, you know? Mikey and Bob and Ray and, dear Jesus God, GERARD.

And thus, I give you random-ass picspam from my Photobucket MCR folder:

( There is a LOT of Gerard, because that is how I roll. Also a minimum of commentary, because I'm not really all that entertaining even WITHOUT the headache. )

The Rules
1. You can ONLY answer 'Yes' or 'No'.

2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and asks—and, believe me, the temptation to explain some of these will be overwhelming. Nothing is exactly as it seems.

( Keeping myself amused. And awake. )

I am actually too angry to have much to say right now, and I'm giving myself a rage headache. So, I'm going to c&p the important points.

From rhombal:

Summary: two talk show hosts on Sacramento's KRXQ 98.5 FM radio station went into a half-hour long diatribe against transgender children. They called them "idiots" and "freaks", advocated violence against them, and said things like "allowing transgenders to exist, pretty soon it becomes normal to fall in love with the animals". GLAAD's post about it is here; they have a link to the audio of the show, but I haven't listened to it because reading the recounts of it were enough for me. I don't think I could handle listening to the actual show.

GLAAD pushed for an apology and got "I’m sorry that you might find it funny — or I’m sorry that you might not find it funny that some people laugh when Arnie — who does not have a child — talks about throwing a shoe at his non-existent son. You know what? Some people do laugh and they know we’re not serious, that Arnie’s not serious and we don’t advocate for it." (from here) Excuse me? "I'm sorry that you might not find it funny"? What the hell is that?

Snapple, Sonic, and Chipotle have pulled advertising from the station, but there are still a bunch of advertisers who haven't done anything.

Some other links here and what to do about this fuckery, this irresponsible, nauseating intolerance here.

I need to go lie down now or I'm going to throw up.

God, I love this song

So, yesterday, while I was in the middle of writing and talking to Steph and being bored, my sister unexpectedly calls and tells me she's in town, and she's dropping by with both her kids (Joel and Carl, 2 and 5 years old). I went \o/ OMG I NEED TO CLEAN MY APT, so I rushed around doing what I could for fifteen minutes, which means clearing the table and taking out the trash.

And it was lovely. I love my sister and I adore her kids, and Carl and Joel loves my big echoey apartment. They ran from room to room going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHH and Joel tried to drink out of the ashtray I still keep on the balcony. My grossed out face, let me show you it.

We went grocery shopping and my sister paid for the lot, so while I was waffling around making noises at flour bags and cans of beans and fruit my sister was all, "Jesus Christ, I'm paying, take the lot!" Four bags of groceries, if I'd had a roomie, I'd have been in BIG trouble, because the shared pantry is completely filled. I bought a 5kg sack of flour, it was GLORIOUS. And yet, I still forgot to buy tomatoes. Balls.

Anyway, I got a hamburger out of the deal as well, and Joel had much fun with the couches at McD's. "Couch! Jumpin' onna couch! *face plastered against the window* Caaaaaaaaaar!!" God, I'm so CHARMED by these kids. ♥____________♥

Anyway, while I'm trying to write on the Dreaded Sequel -- I have figured out the plot for the first half or so! I'm so HAPPY -- y'all can distract me with this meme:

Comment with a request to see absolutely anything on my computer. My desktop, my documents, my bookmarks, my inbox, secret stash of pornography, latest works in progress... whatever you're curious about, and I will respond with a screenshot.

Annnnnnd GO.

I just had the strangest, most marvelous dream, and beg forgiveness, but I have to tell you about it, before I forget it.

Like most of my dreams, it started with a murder.

( Like Alice in Wonderland, the Asian version. )

I wrote the oddest little poem the other day, and I'm going to blame momebie for it, because of that heartbreaking story she tumblred. It's not at all like I usually write them (i.e. long with a tendency towards cynicism), and the rhythm is kind of off, and really it could be better, but, you know. I got a little fond of it, so here, for your amusement, poetry:

( for just this moment, just for now )

I'm kind of bored now, and hungry, and have paint all over, but I'm painting shit! With oils even, which just makes the whole thing interesting. I love working with oils, you know? The colors and the textures and the blend of it, and the way you can get a different texture with a different brush or just shorter or longer strokes. Also, something about the fact that you can work on an oil painting for forever and a day is kind of soothing. I can go back to that thing and add even more lemon yellow and white and dabs of vermilion to the sky to get that pearly hue of right before sunset. This is why I love painting ocean views. I can spend forever on trying to get the color of the ocean right, blues, greens, yellow, a dash of red, a little white, some yellow ochre... a dab of charcoal to mix with the blues to get that blurry line of the horizon.

God, I love art sometimes.

In other news, I have some weird looking discoloration of the skin on my thigh. It looks like bruises, but it isn't, and I have no idea what to make of it. On advice from Steph and my mother, I have called the clinic and have an appointment for Thursday to check it out. Better be safe than sorry, I suppose.

Therapy went well today, and despite a slow start, I still felt like I got somewhere. I actually think that the marathon poetry writing sessions I've been doing have helped. I get to put all my fears and insecurities and dreams and hopes onto paper and can ramble until I've sorted them out in my head. That's the way I do things, mostly, I talk until I have a solution. It's kind of zen, in a way, to actually SAY all those things, the things I've been too afraid to say out loud for fear of disappointing people. So, yes. I feel pretty good. And we talked a lot about the issues I have with relating to people my own age and my sneaky social phobias, which I felt I needed.

I've spoken to my sister and my mother lately, which is nice, because I finally feel like I'm being honest with them. It feels a lot like I've gotten past a hurdle, especially with Mom. I think she finally sees that a lot of my reactions are the same as hers, I just relate to them in a different way, and I'm finally getting that Mom might be sad, but I can tell her these things. It's still difficult to talk about, but. I actually think my breakdown the weekend before last and the resulting poetry binge has been good for me. I feel like my head is clearer, which works for me.

I'm feeling kind of creative again, finally, but I'm still avoiding The Sequel like the plague. I keep blaming Sirius, but I'm fucking stuck, and just looking at the thing makes me a little cranky. Which is a shame, because my head is full of Jesters right now, and I want to write about them. Writing about Shea kind of makes me happy, because despite everything he's such a positive person, and he may be a douchebag, but there is this sort of childish glee in everything that he does that is just so wonderful to write. All the Jesters are like that, kind of, they're like kittens, curious and wide-eyed and full of mischief. Even exploring the angstiest of emotions becomes interesting, because they're just as into it as I am.

Anyway, I'm going to get me something to eat now. How are you all doing?

Okay! I have had it waiting for this. Guys, we need a meme.



Allow me to explain: I hope you all have read Texts From Last Night, and if you haven't, get thee hence and do so now. So here's the idea.

Choose one of these texts or text convos and write the scene that led up to it. As long or as short as inspiration strikes you, any character, any pairing, slash, het, gen, genderswap, college aus, regular old touring douchery, it doesn't matter, just write it! Gabe being a dick? TAI doing weird shit on their tourbus? Jersey douchebaggery courtesy of MCR? A Panic boy managing to stick his dick where it didn't belong? Angst or total crack or porn or total hungover mortification? Write it!

Pimp at will, tell your friends, come and play!

So! An impromptu movie review.

I've now seen Let The Right One In the movie, and, well. I have opinions. The first of them is that the book is so ridiculously much better that it's frankly embarrassing.

Don't get me wrong, I see why people love this movie. But the reasons why a lot of people would like this movie, are the same reasons I really don't. It's a very Swedish movie is the thing, understated, quiet, awkward. This is why I spent the first hour wanting to die, and the next hour wondering where all the fun of the book had gone. It is a very pretty movie, the visuals are beautiful, but everything that I loved about the book is gone.

The book isn't very action-y at all, but the movie actually manages to be even less so. Even the murders manage to be exercises in cinematic realism. There is no inventive cutting, the dialogue is stilted and quiet and the silences speak volumes just like it would be in real life and the realism of the piece is so depressing the only reason I finished the damn thing was because I'd read the book and I knew it gets better. While the book is all about the slow build -- what's going on? what was that? can it be? -- the movie is more about a slow putter that eventually comes to a slightly faster putter.

I loved the book. I adored the book. But there are about four billion storylines in it that just can't fit in a movie, and it just so happens that the Eli/Oskar storyline was the one I found the slowest. The movie isn't BAD as such, it's just not my kind of movie. I don't like them slow or understated or quiet, and if they're going to be quiet, at least give me some background music so I have something to occupy my mind with. Anything, Jesus.

I'm going to give them this: it is very pretty. This guy gets the reality of the environment with a camera in a way that few people do. However. This is what winter looks like, and if you've seen the damn thing every year of your existence, all it ends up doing (for me) is creating this oppressive sort of loneliness and despair and depression that is, well. Depressing. I have seen it before. In six months I will see it again and it'll be just as dreadful as every other year, no matter how the ice sparkles in the sunlight or how pretty the sky is the scant hours the sun deigns to rise above the horizon.

This is one of those, "wow, the trailer was so much better than the movie" type deals, and now that I've seen it, I don't ever have to touch it again. And people wonder why I dislike Swedish film.

I haven't done a random update in a while that wasn't me bitching and moaning about the state of my mind, so.

Looking forward to BBB, but I've gotten stuck on my mix for the moment -- I stress myself out, overthink shit, and now I can't look at the damn thing for a while. Will get it done by the end of the month at least. Steph is very useful for this purpose, because she doesn't mind petting my (metaphorical) hair while I vibrate and babble gibberish.

I'm working on being able to lean on people as well. To trust that they'll be able to hold me up when I'm feeling shitty, and are strong enough to not get pulled down with me. And believe me when I say that this is something I need to learn, because if there is anything my mother managed to bang into my thick skull it's that a woman needs to be self-sufficient. My mother doesn't like trusting people either, and neither does my sister or any other female on my mother's side of the family. Stand tall, etc. Sometimes that is admittedly not a fantastic way of living, but it works.

Anyway! Talked to my cousin Rebecca yesterday, and she sounded really happy to be talking to me, which I thought was endearing and a little surprising. Knowing full well that there is a chance she might read this, I might as well say that Becks has a really bad self-esteem and she spent a lot of her teenage years going, "Everybody hates me, nobody understands me, I hate everybody else, I hate the world, fuck you, world," on an endless loop. I am glad to see that she's growing out of it and that she has realized she does have some talents.

She had issues with her old classes way up until high school before she got real friends, and I honestly don't think it was so much that people actively disliked her, they just didn't GET her. Which I can relate to, because I got the same kind of crap when I was a kid, and when they didn't do that, I was relatively ignored, but I'm really too much of a ditz to even notice, and therein lies the difference. I'm pretty sure I was bullied in junior high, only I never really noticed until ninth grade when I was getting out anyway. Becca is a bit more sensitive in this respect. Junior high kids are bitches, but she took it personal, which is sad.

But anyway, two paragraphs of that later, I can say that I talked to her yesterday and read her blog just now, and she just makes me so proud. She's kind of like the little sister I never had -- we treat each other like crap sometimes, and we hate each other's guts other times, and we can't get along for more than an hour at a time, just like me and my ACTUAL sister, only with less age difference -- and I'm very invested in her and her little sisters. It's a thing.

In other news, I am, quite as usual, bored out of my skull, but I've been shopping (NEW SHOES) and reading (Mansfield Park, ugh) and playing Mahjong and since yesterday I've kept Dylan Moran's stand-up DVD's on a loop in the background. Speaking of, I need to download those, and then I need to force Bee to watch them, because her cultural education has been sorely lacking, through no fault of her own.

But! I have things to do, stuff to get bored with, I can't sit here and make chitchat all day, may be coming back with drabble meme news, we'll see, we'll see.

First things first, Aly and I wrote another, well, I'm hesitant to call it fic, but at 3000 words, what else is it? For the female Fight Club 'verse, anyway. Can be found here.

This comm is where we are going to be posting all the snippets and discussions about this verse, so if you're interested you should follow it. I kind of feel like I should tell you right now, though, that these aren't actually finished, polished fics. This is mostly Aly and me emailing each other back and forth, and really the only beta process they go through is me trying to catch all the weird word choices and misspellings and grammar fail as I post them. It's rough, is what I'm trying to say. And maybe it'll be finished, polished fic out of it some day, but today is not that day.

From, well. My flist really: "This can be a quick one. Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes."

1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
2. Rachel's Holiday by Marian Keyes
3. The Belgariad by David Eddings
3. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones
4. The Truth by Terry Pratchett
5. Popular Music from Vittula by Mikael Niemi
6. Archer's Goon by Diana Wynne Jones
7. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
8. Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
9. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
10. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
11. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain
12. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
13. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
14. The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells
15. Glasblåsarns Barn by Maria Gripe

I have written, no lie, about 3,5k of poetry the last two days or so. Cathartic for sure, but of course very unpolished, very stream of consciousness. I ended up with a poem that was almost 5 full A4 pages long, and sure, it might have been overkill, but it felt kind of good to write. Weird to read through, though.

Anyway! Wanted to post a snippet of one of said poems. It's not the whole thing, but just about a third. Feel free to tell me what you think, I haven't written poetry in forever, so I might be a bit rusty. This isn't the best thing I've ever written -- far from it -- but I liked the imagery, myself.

( Poetry! About this dream I had the other night. Wentzian formatting ahoy! )