(no subject)

Good morning everyone, and a bright Diwali!

Really at the moment a festival of lights could not be better timed in Chicago, it is dark out there. And weirdly deserted; the train was empty this morning and there's nobody on the streets, and I can't tell whether it's just that I'm not used to the Winter Desertion because it's been such a hot, crowded summer, or if it's just that everyone decided today was they day they were going to fuck off work. It is cold out as well as dark, so if I had the option of calling in I Want A Three Day Weekend I totally would.

I have a couple of posts I could write here, but honestly? I love the cold weather, I like that my train was empty, and I like wishing everyone a bright day. So I'll save the angry post and the thoughtfully annoyed post for later.

(no subject)

A BIKE MESSENGER APPROACHETH.

Him: Sign here.
Me: Can I see the package?
Him: Not until you sign for it.
Me: I'm not signing for the courier delivery until I see who it's for, so that I'm sure it's for us.
Him: I can't give you the delivery until you sign.
Me: But I don't know that it's actually for us. Can you show it to me?
Him: Not until you sign for it.
Me: So we have reached an impasse.
Him: Is this the French consulate?
Me: What?
Him: Are you speaking French?
Me: ...because I said impasse? Can you tell me who it's for?
Him: This is for [Business that is not us but used to be on this floor.]
Me: They're on the 14th floor now.
Him: So you can't sign for it?
Me: No. It's a different company.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: The elevators are that way.

Not all the bike messengers are as charming as the woman who keeps flirting with me.

(no subject)

Allow me to give you a tour. A tour of the haunted house of wank in which I currently live.

I kept quiet when this whole thing went down (I think possibly I was camping again; all the fun wank seems to happen while I'm in the woods, which goes to show) and I'm going to admit outright I've never read one of Diana Gabaldon's books, but I think it's time I made a post. And the reason I am making a post is that it haunts me.

A couple of days ago I mentioned Diana Gabaldon to someone in a private email, and since then people keep bringing her up either in my vicinity or to me directly -- at least five or six times, all different people. It's reached the point of absurdity. And I don't want to say Diana Gabaldon haunts me, because as a person I doubt she's aware of my existence, but clearly the concept of her is bearing on my psyche at the moment.

So here's a brief primer: In May of this year, author Diana Gabaldon posted a blog entry about her dislike of fanfic. It's gone missing now, but if you want a summary and screencaps the Fandom Wank entry is here. Quotes included "While not all fan-fic is pornographic by any means, enough of it is that it constitutes an aesthetic argument against the whole notion" and "I think it’s immoral, I know it’s illegal, and it makes me want to barf whenever I’ve inadvertently encountered some of it involving my characters." (You can still see her original post comparing writing fanfic to white slavery.)

There are enough things wrong with these two lines alone that I could write an essay, but they've already been written so you can read those and get the gist of my objections. I will say that the funniest part of that wank, for me, is that an author unexaminedly condemning fanfic is also an author who nicked one of her heroes off Doctor Who. No, for real. And for lulz.

Side note: I like fanfic, I like pornography, and I support and create both (often simultaneously). If you want to write fanfic of my books you go on ahead and by god you have fun. And if you want to make them porny, well, just try to make it good porn. And do read the antipope.org entry linked above first, because it's a good primer on How Not To Wig Out Your Canonist.

ANYWAY, aside from rolling around in slightly stale wank and exorcising the haunting, the point of this post is that the latest RANDOM ACT OF GABALDON to occur in my life was Selkie asking me to ask you for fanfic. Lord John Gray is one of Gabaldon's characters (not the Doctor Who one) and while canonically gay he apparently never gets laid. So Selkie would like reccs to Lord John Gray fanfic, which you may leave here, if you know of any. Or if you want to write some! I'm not fussed.

GET THEE BEHIND ME, FANWANK!

(no subject)

I have finally had my hair cut. I feel like I can think clearly again. I know this is entirely stupid, and that hair has no effect on cognitive processes, but it was weighing my brain down!

I always seem to get the same woman when I go for my haircut -- I'm not sure if it's just happenstance or if she likes me or what, but I think she's been my semi-default haircutter for almost two years. (I go to the Fanciest Supercuts Ever, just north of the loop; I didn't know Supercuts could be that swanky.) Anyway, she speaks very little English and I speak no Portuguese at all, which normally might be an issue except that she is really good at what she does. She always gives me a good haircut and it's always slightly different from the last time, so I've reached a point where I just wave at my hair and mumble vaguely about "quite short please" and then I close my eyes.

Do people do this, by the way? Close their eyes when they get their hair cut? I do. It seems like it would be less stressful on her if I'm not watching her cut my hair the whole time. And actually the language barrier is a bonus, because this way we don't even try to make awkward conversation.

Anyway, I close my eyes and she does some kind of arcane magic and when I open my eyes I have good hair. So I tip well and we both go away happy.