(no subject)

President's Day did not get off to a great start (overslept, can't find my headphones) but I got an email this morning that made it all better. I'm still laughing, here at my desk:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/jobs/pts/sam_starbuck.shtml

PLZ NOTE: That is not me. Though I would love to have her job, let's be frank. Given that Starbuck (my middle name) is an ancestral name of my family on my father's side, we're probably related. And boy is she gonna be surprised if she ever googles herself...

(Hello, Sam Starbuck! Sam Starbuck's icon of Sam Tyler says hello!)

(no subject)

And now, a behind-the-scenes DVD Extra from Sam's Comments.

copperbadge: Also, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies with lemon curd =/= a good idea.
kitkat204: R's crazy food combos have rubbed off on you, haven't they?
copperbadge: The other day he was eating wheat bread dipped in taco sauce.
vivichick: OOH! SALSA COOKIES! MAKE THEM, SAM! I bet you can get R to taste 'em :)
copperbadge: Actually, salsa cookies might not be so bad. They'd be like spicy little fruitcakes.
vashti_lives: ...Now I have this insane urge to call the next person who walks into the room a spicy little fruitcake.
copperbadge: ....hhhhallo, mah spahcy leetle frootcahke.
meran_flash: ...DAMNIT, SAM. I TOTALLY JUST READ THIS ALOUD EXACTLY AS WRITTEN. MANY TIMES. YOU'RE NOT GOOD FOR MY DIGNITY, SAM.
copperbadge: IF I CAN'T HAVE ANY, NOBODY ELSE CAN EITHER.
surfergirl17: I read this thread and choked on, I kid you not, a chocolate chip cookie.
copperbadge: And we come full circle. Om.

(no subject)

And see now I'm all confused, because of course once I discovered the Deep Hurting of Literotica I had to keep poking around on it (why do I do these things? I tell myself it's so you don't have to, but really I think it's some kind of illness). And I found a story that's excreble in almost every way, because I don't need to read about thirty-five-year-old men who employ bondage-style sex to keep their teenage students under control, and I definitely don't need to read about how nonconsensual sex is, you know, unpleasant, but isn't so bad really.

It's a bad story.

But the narrator of the story is, despite all this, somewhat compelling. He's the kind of character I find a lot of use for: intelligent and regimented, with strong boundaries and a frank honesty about what is appropriate and why. The story concerns a breakdown in his boundaries, which though ill-written still contains brief moments of extremely evocative action. So I'm still reading it, because I'm trying to pin down why I react to this and why he seems like a good character trapped in terrible porn and how precisely I can steal him like a bandit and put him to better use.

Unrelated: I know I'm wittering about Nameless a lot, but a few people have mentioned that part of the problem they're having with the mass of characters and the still-unnamed Boy is that they're getting the chapters slowly, not whipping through them like they would with a book. So I'm wondering if just posting a straight-up chapter a day would be better, or if that would be too fast for people.

UR THOTS, I WANTZ THEM.

[Poll #1350265]

Even more unrelated: Coworker J has started changing his sig file every time he emails me. His latest sig file proclaims him to be Barty Buffington, Master of Tea and Crumpets. When I replied I declared myself Harald Richard William Nikolas Windsor, Prince of Chicago and Surrounding Suburbs.

(no subject)

Well, you guys seemed to want a chapter a day, and I admit I think I can hack that, so here's your Monday chapter for Nameless. Chapter Four -- A book is delivered, masks are discussed, lunch is eaten, and Christopher holds a sidewalk sale.

And there are also ( Issues from Chapter Three )

From the smell. Not because I'm Sad. Really.

Some days it just doesn't pay to take off the handcuffs and get out of bed.

I do miss Owen once in a while (especially when I've been gouged, burned, scraped, or otherwise roughed up in the not-fun way and need suturing) but I wish he hadn't been so busy being traumatised from dying that he forgot he left his lunch, including half a tuna sandwich, in the FL-FR section of the archives. The smell, once I uncovered its source, was almost sentient in itself.

I know it was his, because he's the only one who liked the plain Hob Nobs.

I believe it's time I sat under Toshiko's desk and wept for a while. Excuse me.