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I'm not dead! I'm well-rested. I remember what that feels like. Holy crap. :D

I'm doing some touring around this afternoon and then catching the train around three, so expect a photo or two. I find I'm enjoying the cryptic approach to vacation journaling.

I have taught the sproglet to say "awesome". He has taught me about the Rhino Song. (YouTube it. You will hate me forever.) Generation gap: Bridged!

(no subject)

Well, the train windows are filthy so no photos (yet; perhaps as an artist I will find myself willing to explore the aesthetic qualities of dirty glass later) but I am homeward bound after a very fun weekend full of dogs, toddlers, Irish nationals, knitters, high piracy, Dutch ovens, oatmeal bread, music, and tea.

I will post when I'm safely home, if not before.

Meanwhile, omg ask_captainjack interview over at torchwood_house. reading it on my phone for fannish lolz and grate face-shooting :D

(no subject)

Dear Amtrak,

It is pointless to put fold-down trays on the backs of seats if they fold down at a 70 degree angle rather than FLAT.

If I cannot put my drink on either tray without it sliding off, they are not trays. They are decorative impediments.

That being said, your cheese and crackers dinner pack is A+ delicious. Babybel and cheddar, mmm.

Love and crackers,
Sam

PS: still not home, obvs.

(no subject)

I am home! The train was early, and I got a cab without the usual difficulties (1. no cabs to be had, 2. creepy people asking to "help" me put my bags in the cab, 3. cab BREAKING DOWN on Lower Wacker). So I am once more in the bosom of Chicago, which is very cold and smells of diesel.

Train ride was supremely uneventful, I spent most of it reading Murder Must Advertise. I forgot how much I love super-secret-alter-ego-harlequin-Peter with his penny whistle and his CREEPY CREEPY EPIGRAMS.

Comments, then toast, then bed, I think. Work tomorrow; we shall see if the place has tumbled down around their ears without me.

Everything On The Internet Is True

Well. You leave the internet alone for one day while arguing with your coworkers about whether Miley Cyrus looked more like a Christmas Tree or a Wedding Cake on the red carpet and all hell breaks loose.

Actually I've seen all hell break loose, this is very tame compared to that, but why waste a perfectly good figure of speech?

It has come to my attention that some people on the internet do not believe I am "real", or if I am, do not believe I am capable of "keeping it" real, or something similar. They think I am some kind of sock puppet -- which is ridiculous, look at my cheekbones, you don't get those on socks -- or possibly a figment of Jack's imagination. If the latter were true, believe me, I would be far less coherent and never wear clothing.

So, I consulted the archives and dug out the Reality Gauge, which is a handy device we use about once every six months just to ensure that Torchwood is continuing to exist in the mainstream reality of the uni(multi)verse. It's all very quantum, but there's nothing quite like the satisfaction of holding up the little ball-bearing on the end of the Gauge and hearing it beep as it tells me that I am 87% real (no-one we've encountered has ever been more than 87% real -- except once we thought a hamburger was, but it turned out Owen had set the gauge from Real to Real Beef to weed out those irksome space-whale burgers we'd been getting from time to time).

Strangely enough, when I held up the Reality Gauge to The Internet, it registered a low 32% real. This leads me to believe many of you are posing as:

1. Young nubile girls in order to Catch some Predators
2. Famous People or Famous Peoples' Internet Girlfriends
3. Cats (admit it) and/or Powerful Witches
4. Anonymous

Four is especially demented, because there are so many of you doing it -- you can't honestly expect anyone to believe that you're all Anonymous, can you? Anonymous was a genius, the author of such works as Beowulf, the Mabinogion (UP WALES), the Voynich Manuscript*, and, depending on who you believe, all of the Shakespearean Canon.

* Actually we've cracked the code on this but it's much more interesting as a mystery.

Ultimately, I am sorry to say it but it simply must be said: I have read Anonymous. You, sirs and madams, are no Anonymous.