(no subject)

jack_and_ellis has been updated! This chapter, I swear, like pulling teeth. Perhaps it just feels slow because there are events I want to get to, but I also think maybe I'm creative'd out for the moment. Which is probably one of the reasons I was instinctively plotting to bolt from the city this weekend, though now, not so much.

There's a lot I really should do this weekend, starting with getting a haircut and cleaning the kitchen, but I'm not going to push. If it gets done, it gets done. I've decided to stop off at the secondhand bookstore near the Grand Avenue stop this evening and pick up a book; I may also do some cooking this weekend, since now that the weather's getting nicer I can stop buying my food simply so that I'll have somewhere indoors to sit while I eat it. I'm thinking enchiladas, macaroni and cheese, some pasta with meat sauce, and a second test-batch of granola bars (the first batch is delicious but stuck to the foil I used, because the granola-to-melted-marshmallow ratio was wrong). I might dig out the yoghurt machine and make some of that, though if I do that I'm all but committed to making lemon curd to put in the yoghurt to make it taste like something.

In essence, the one guaranteed product of my weekend will be A Mess In The Kitchen.

(no subject)

Ohmigod *falls over laughing*

It is impossible for anyone, even someone in a business suit, to look dignified and impressive when carrying a giant box covered in bubble wrap. Mainly because with every few steps there's the unmistakeable pop-pop of bubble wrap being squeezed. ESPECIALLY ON THE STAIRS.

(no subject)

This is the longest hour of my entire existence. My god, even the last hour of school back in high school didn't take this long to pass.

It's forty-four minutes until I get to leave and go home and while I really was excited about cooking, I've decided to spend the entire weekend sleeping instead. I will wake up long enough to 1. start the download for the new Doctor Who and 2. watch it when it's done, and otherwise unless I am possessed by fanfic (it's been known to happen, and fucking SGA, don't get me started) I and my stripey red comforter will not be separated.

Please direct any inquiries in the meantime to R Bluesman Esquire, who will forget to pass them on to me but probably offer you a smoke.

(no subject)

Poetry month marches on!

I first heard this song on my high school chemistry teacher's Saturday-afternoon community radio show. Bless his heart, the poor man understood I was hopeless, but because we liked the same music and often geeked out together over The X-Files, he promised to pass me. We both knew I would never pass on my own and apparently my "I'm doomed" face was tragic and depressing.

Noel Coward is king of the sly quip and biting wit; this is a lighthearted song, but I realised while reading it and in light of the shenanigans that humanity's gotten up to since he died, it's less funny if you're not actually hearing him sing it. I'd upload an MP3 of it, but I'm goddamned if I can find one.

We all have fridgidares, radios, television and movie shows
To shield us from the ultimate abyss.
We have our daily bread, neatly cut,
every modern convenience but
The question that confronts us all is this...

( The Tots, by Noel Coward )

(no subject)

R: So I'm walking out of the gig last night, and the bouncer at the door stops me.
Sam: Mmhm *not really listening*
R: And he says to me, DAMN! HARMONICA MAN! YOU'RE GOOD!
Sam: Well that was ni --
R: YOU'RE GOOD! PRISON GOOD!

*moment of silence*

Sam: Prison good?
R: That was my reaction too! I thought he meant I sounded like I was selling for a pack of smokes, at first.

I need to make myself a PRISON GOOD icon. For when I'm just that good.