(no subject)

R was awake when I got up this morning, and I must have looked bleary enough that he offered to drive me to work in exchange for coffee from Dunkin Donuts. Lake Shore Drive between Irving Park and the Loop is a nice drive early in the morning, before the traffic picks up; for me, it sort of exemplifies Chicago. On the right is an unending expanse of apartment buildings, high-rises, and narrow winding streets; on the left is this beautiful panoramic view of the lake made possible by the installation of a miles-long public park-and-beach complex. There's nothing prettier than driving past the Tribune building and across the Michigan Avenue river bridge early in the morning.

R's been talking all weekend about how we finally broke the back of Mother Nature and Spring is on its way. Yesterday it rained and last night everything froze, so as we drove down Michigan Avenue I turned to him and said, "By the way, Winter's back. Just in case you hadn't noticed."

"Fucking frothy bastard. This is way past taunting. She's pulling our short hairs now."

"She's frozen our short hairs."

"She's been tugging on them for the past five weeks and now she's brought out the wax," he said. "One sharp screaming shock! It's all coming off, boys!"

My roommate, ladies and gentlemen. He's made of classy.

(no subject)

I don't often drink hot beverages other than tea, and usually the tea is decaf.

Perhaps it wasn't so smart to drink an entire "Milky Way" hot chocolate from Dunkin in the space of half an hour.

The buzzing in my ears is definitely unpleasant.

*vibrates in chair*

How do coffee drinkers cope?

(no subject)

Hi there, LJ gremlins. How about you little bastards stop chewing on the intertubes and send me my comments notifications?

Meanwhile, my boss keeps trying to engage me in email threads about cinema, which is sort of depressing seeing as how little I like films in general. I think he's bored, because we're the only assholes dumb enough to be working today. Maybe he's trying to bond.

I think I've figured out why I'm writing on some things and not others, too. When you get a new idea in your head it's like wham, gotta get it on the paper, it's all exploring new places and studying new people which makes you enthusiastic. But when you're working on a project that you've spent a lot of time on, you can love it to death but the urgency isn't there, which makes you less likely to do the harder work of building the storyline when you have a cast on one hand.

All this is basically my way of saying that I blame my cast for the fact that I'm a Torchwood fan. Because really I'm very ashamed to be a Torchwood fan. It just happened to be what crossed my field of vision at the proper psychological moment. And appealed to my love of urbane, gutsy sidekicks.

Archie Goodwin, Alfred Pennyworth, Rupert Giles, Rufus Drumknott, Reginald Jeeves, Mervyn Bunter, Ianto Jones, I could go on...

I need to make myself a Sidekicks Rule icon. Because in the world of genre fiction I would always be the sidekick.

(no subject)

I AM A FROZEN SAMSICLE.

*dives under blanket, hides from the cold*

*hand sneaks out to grab mug of tea and Dorothy Sayers novel*

(no subject)

So much shame. So much shame, you guys.

I wrote RPS.

Shame.

David Tennant/John Barrowman, R-rated, did I mention the shame.

The Doctor Who Boxing Day Marathon.

John Barrowman has a mid-life crisis. David Tennant has an unhealthy obsession. Both of them have Boxing Day off.

SHAME.