| Hey-o. |
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Posted on July 13, 2009 @ 10:25 am
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The week begins auspiciously - I have my first-ever set of stainless steel cookware (thanks, Dad and Costco!), iSpLARP stuff is proceeding smoothly, my Lost's approvals have all gone through and my Pintett is the most beautiful thing in the Universe, watching Captain N and being a monkey.
Now, then, if we can evade the iLARP Curse...maybe Jake and Lana's flat tire will appease the gods.
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| *Sigh* |
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Posted on July 11, 2009 @ 1:29 am
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Well, there went that important scene.
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| Wanna say... |
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Posted on July 10, 2009 @ 2:47 pm
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Happy Birthday, Gorilla!!!
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Posted on July 08, 2009 @ 10:45 pm
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SPACE.
That is all.
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| Blogathon Charity |
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Posted on June 30, 2009 @ 2:00 pm
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Well, I've just e-mailed Rosemary Stout of Crisis Nursery to ask if they're agreeable to us blogging for them in Blogathon. I thought a local charity might be a good idea for this year, and this one is fantastic. Crisis Nursery is part of the Children's Home Society of Florida, and it provides emergency shelter for children who've been removed from their homes because of abuse and/or neglect.
I volunteered at a shelter like Crisis Nursery once and it was pretty astounding. We read books and did crafts with the children, who were all so clingy and sweet. One of the boys there had arrived at the shelter in nothing but a hospital gown - they'd brought him there immediately after his release. He'd been hurt so badly that he needed hospitalization. It was pretty ghastly.
I hope they'll agree to us blogging for them.
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| Rrrrrr. |
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Posted on June 24, 2009 @ 5:29 pm
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I have way, way too many ideas for LARPs. Oi.
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| Blogathon - 7/25/09 |
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Posted on June 23, 2009 @ 4:56 pm
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Got the official date - Saturday, July 25th to Sunday, July26th. 9AM to 9AM
Group blogging is fine, so the LARP will have computer stations for people to post IC entries. I'll be setting up an LJ for it soon.
Of course, this all depends on Chris agreeing to take Monkey that weekend.
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| Blogathon 2009 |
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Posted on June 13, 2009 @ 12:00 pm
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...looks like it'll happen.
24-hour non-stop-LARP, anyone?
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| Two Worlds, Part Three: Walpurgis |
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Posted on June 03, 2009 @ 7:37 pm
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April 30th, 1917 Vienna “Why is it that every time I meet you, you’re bleeding and half-naked?” Alek asked, kneeling down carefully. The agent looked up and twisted her mouth into a scouringly-wry smirk. “Just lucky, I guess,” she answered, then grimaced. Alek flicked his gaze down to her bare belly, which was sticky and wet with blood. He tried not to look at it for too long, moving his gaze back to her face. “It’s bad,” he told her quietly. She hissed out a breath between clenched teeth. “Ye-ah, but you should see the other guy.” “I did. In fact, I took care of ‘the other guy’,” Alek told her matter-of-factly. It was the reason he was able to keep from burying his fangs into her at the present moment – he’d made a fine supper of the fellow. “Now, what’s to be done about you?” he wondered idly. “What say I bleed out, here on the lawn, and say something heart-wrenchingly poignant before wheezing and lolling my head to the side. Then you can tip your head back and bellow ‘Nooooooo!’ and, weather permitting, there’ll be a huge clap of thunder.” Celie tried to shrug, but the pain stopped it. “At least, that was my ideal plan.” “And it’s a fine one, at that,” Alek agreed, already leaning to slide his arms under her frame, “so I think we should save it for more ideal circumstances. Having all that occur in Lady Eisender’s garden with nary a soul to witness it seems to be a waste.” Effortlessly, he lifted her. “So, instead, may I suggest we find someone to patch you up?” “Oh, you’re no fun anymore,” Celie muttered, sliding her gaze over to him. He noticed the color draining from her cheeks. “Hey. Witnesses or no, would it be particularly moving if I were to pass out right now?” “I think it might very well start my heart to beating again,” he answered solemnly. “Oh, good, because I -…” And her eyes rolled back and her form went limp. “Chyort voz’mi,” Alek cursed softly, and hurried with the agent in his arms, calling for his carriage. ~*~ “I’m coming! Hold your damn horses. I’m coming…” The doctor pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders, setting them down snugly to rest there as he lumbered his way to the small front hallway. Another round of insistent rapping came against the door of the little house. Shaking his head, the doctor lifted the latch and swung the door wide. The man standing there was well-dressed, shorter than the doctor by at least a foot, and was getting blood all over his frockcoat. Blood belonging to the woman in his arms, who was dressed in bloomers and camisole and a gut wound. “You are Doctor Parr?” the gentleman asked. “Get her in here,” Cotton replied and immediately stepped aside. Alek carried Celie in quickly. “Set her on the bed there,” Cotton instructed, and the other man did as told. Cotton rolled up his sleeves, moved over to a cabinet and opened it, looking quickly through its contents. “There’s gauze on the table, there,” he gestured. “Use it as a compress. Press hard.” “I don’t -…” Alek began, eyeing the blood with a sense of uneasiness. Looking at it was one thing. Touching it might have disastrous results. “Christ’s balls, man, this isn’t time to be squeamish,” Parr growled. Alek’s eyes glinted. “It’s hardly –…” But he knew he couldn’t explain, and so he snatched up the gauze, went to Celie, and peeled up the camisole to expose the gunshot wound. His eyes widened slightly. “There are black scorch marks on her skin,” he murmured, pressing the material against the wound tightly. “She was shot point-blank.” “Some folks just can’t stand the idea of wasting a bullet. I guess that wanted to make sure they didn’t miss,” replied Cotton as he came over with a bottle of antiseptic, a clean agate pan lined with a bleached length of muslin, scissors, needle and thread. “But it means I don’t have to go searching for the bullet. Stand back.” Alek retreated a few steps, watching. Cotton began to work over the unconscious agent. “This is bad,” he muttered. Alek’s expression did not change. After a few minutes, Parr lifted his head and looked over at the man. “Are you her husband?” “Nyet!” Alek answered hastily with a shudder. “I’m cursed enough as it is without that being true. She is…a comrade.” “Well, Comrade, it’s going to be a long night. I suggest you come back in the morning.” Cotton was still working, cleaning the site of the wound, replacing the gauze as it became blood-sodden. “I cannot,” Alex admitted, leaning in a little to see the progress. “But tomorrow evening, da.” He started to walk away, then paused and called over to Cotton. “If she lives, you will be wealthy for the rest of your days, vracha. But, if she dies, the angels will weep for you.” He left without another word or to wait for Cotton’s response. Parr, for his part, never even looked up.
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| Wedding Gown |
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Posted on June 02, 2009 @ 9:32 pm
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Well, it's $4,000 so it ain't happenin' for realisies...but you gotta admit, this is the perfect wedding gown for Fee:
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| So cute. |
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Posted on June 01, 2009 @ 11:42 am
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I really dig Free Realms. It's pretty 'dorable.
www.freerealms.org
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| Monkey |
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Posted on June 01, 2009 @ 8:02 am
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She's going to her first dance today. We woke up early to get her all ready. While I was doing up her hair and putting on eyeshadow and lip-gloss, she regaled me with many observations about herself:
"Do you realize, momma, how fast I'm gowing up?"
"Everything about me is adult, dressed like this. Except my voice."
"Don't I look like Sarah?" (My youngest and very glamorous-looking sister.)
"I wonder what everyone will say the moment they see me."
She had her first pair of high-heels: one-inch wedges that she was mincing around in, also to a slew of comments- "My ankle just popped. I'm gonna try walking on the front of my feet. How do we women stand these?" (Moo, remember? "Here comes the bri-i-i-ieeede...")
Then she wanted perfume. "Make it go with my personality. I mean, what people would expect me to smell like when I'm wearing this dress."
She hugged me very aloof-ly and acted like going to a fifth-grade dance was a trifling but inescapable burden for her. One must make these little appearances, you know; it makes the proles so happy.
But she stuffed her sneakers and a pair of socks into a bag to take with her. Just in case.
She is the best.
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| Kyle's Book Review - The Book of Skulls |
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Posted on May 28, 2009 @ 3:42 pm
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"It's about those four dudes who, like, go to Mexico or some shit and they bang a lot of people and kill each other. And one dude's all big? Right? And there's a nerdy dude who meets a girl in a hotel? And those crazy Mexican dudes? And one dude gets clubbed over the head."
This is on par with his movie review of 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone': "It has a dude with a face on the back of his head."
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| Fee - Pie Jesu |
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Posted on May 25, 2009 @ 2:17 am
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It takes less than an hour.
Excuses are offered to the guests - a gas leak, a faulty bit of wiring, a plumbing back-up. Duke is apologetic and the guests are understanding, as all guests there would be. Within an hour, they have packed their belongings, accepted vouchers for nights some other time and are gently but solemnly ushered from the hotel. The concierge sees them off in the drive, then walks back inside and silently closes and locks the heavy glass doors.
Then, one by one, the lights begin to extringuish. From atrium to cafe, spa to restaurant, ball-pit to library. All without illumination.
And, inside, somewhere in all that blackness a small woman and her spirit-soul huddle, clinging to one another and wailing as they have only done once before...years ago, when a weary, anxious policeman stood on their doorstep to tell Patrick Tenpenny what they had found in a dumpster on the university's campus.
For the first time, Bonny & Bliss has gone dark. For the first time, sorrow has gained dominion in the realm of joy. Tomorrow, it will be banished...but for tonight, it stands conquerer.
There is a piece of him still inside of her. That is the only comfort and, right now, it offers little.
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| Avery: Leisure |
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Posted on May 14, 2009 @ 4:32 pm
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The gamble failed – by refusing to talk to the press, Avery made things worse for herself. The statements she gave were brief and obviously penned by the joint efforts of both the GAF and Isely. In fact, she said as much outright at the conference. Gilda Eisenbaum approached her with a six-figure offer to give an exclusive interview on ‘Gilda’s Galaxy’ and the Global News Network hounded her. She could have barricaded herself on some distant planet and waited out the media storm, but she didn’t. Aboard the Valdosta or not, she was her crew’s Captain and if keeping visible (if not talkative) would draw attention away from them, all the better. Jackson and Nova were on Mars, Lincoln and Macree were getting caught up on the Ambriel, Sullivan was serving out his two-weeks aboard the Gina-Lee, and Cotton was busy overseeing the new medical facility on New Ford. None of them needed to be bothered with press. Avery, on the other hand, had nothing to do at the moment, so she put in her time as media bait. So far, it was working beautifully. She went out with Tovar. Dinner in Avignon, drinks in Ibeza, tours of new factories in Cairo, Tokyo and San Francisco. She refused to talk about what had happened out in the Carina arm to the press, but she made her presence known so they could have something to photograph and speculate about. Tovar, for his part, seemed happy enough to have her at his side and made few demands on her. Everyone wanted to know how she’d managed to win the blessing of the GAF in claiming the Valdosta again. The GAF offered some flimsy excuse about her service record and leniency, while everyone nodded and then completely ignored it in favor of believing Isely had twisted the military’s arm yet again to Captain Crane’s benefit. It hurt her, deeply, but she never rose to counter the rumors. It would’ve done little good. It was bad enough that she’d lied to her crew about why she’d lost her ship in the first place. The truth was that the GAF had been getting increasingly fed up with being dependant on Isely for ships, and that’s why she lost the Valdosta. Nothing more. Its own R&D departments were laughably behind in skill and innovation to start producing a military-built, military-owned fleet, and that smarted. Avery had been given the Valdosta because Tovar was a clever man who timed the completion of the ship, its berth and its capabilities right when Avery was promoted to Captain. The GAF had handed over the ship as a matter of course because it was new and Crane was the logical choice to have her. When they learned that they had played right into Demine’s hands, they were going to reassign Crane to another ship…but then the Campaign began and distracted them. And, by the time it was over, Avery was a war hero. They couldn’t just yank a ship away for no reason, not when it and her Captain had performed so many incredible feats. So, instead, they ordered Crane out to the Perseus Arm to slaughter colonists who were, allegedly, refusing to abide by the new Global Administration’s tenets. It was a ludicrous assignment; not a single other vessel had it. They set her up. And when she, rightly, refused to carry out her orders, they took the ship. She had been devastated, Tovar had railed and screamed, and the GAF smirked smugly back. That was that. It set a precedent for Tovar Demine’s knack of doing things for Avery that had all the best intentions but, somehow or other, ended up making her life a living Hell. She resented him for building the Valdosta. If he hadn’t, she never would have loved it so much, the GAF never would have gotten green-eyed and the mess of giving it back to her now would be a non-issue. He had sent her out to the Carina Arm because, had there been intelligent life there and had she discovered it, she could have been a legend in humanity’s evolution. Instead, she’d come back battered and her crew half-dead. Now, he took her all over the planet in the hopes of keeping her busy and amusing her, never realizing it meant her being in a spotlight that she detested. She consoled herself with the idea of being back on the Valdosta in a couple of months with her crew, far away from media and Tovar’s deadly solicitude. In the interim, she did what she could to stay alive and sane. She lived in Tovar’s suites on Alhambra, which pleased him enormously and kept him from prodding her about marriage. She slept with him because she was lonely and he was skillful. There were brief pangs of guilt over this, but she reminded herself that feeling guilty over something hopeless was counter-productive. Tovar seemed happy with the arrangement. And Avery knew by now that there was no way that she would ever reach a heart that was buried six feet underground in a coffin with another woman. A woman who, according to her widower, Avery had now killed twice.
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