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When the bug the size of Rhode Island crawled across my desk, I did not emit a Mulderish girly scream. I do roll my wheelie chair back considerably from my desk because seriously, bug the size of Rhode Island, but I did not scream. I tried to capture it with my water glass and failed because it moved quickly and made that ticky ticky noise that roaches do and I sat with my back to it and hoped it found a new home.
However, when it came circling back in my direction, I'd had enough. It crawled into my supply holder, I winced and whimpered and grabbed a box, picked up the supply holder, dumped the bug into the box, folded it up, then took it down 17 floors to the outside world and freed it - freeing a few paper clips at the same time.
My bug karma rocks! And I hope it tells all it's little buggy friends to leave me alone. I watch sci-fi, I know what happens to people when they mess with bugs and I do not want my brains sucked out of my head, nor do I want to be replicated, or forced into heat delirium or really touched by any sort of bug at all!
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cofax7 has some interesting thoughts on Brokeback Mountain as a cultural phenomenon and a fannish phenomenon, and mostly I keep thinking of it as a Western. Western's are love stories, and mostly they're love stories between men. Whether this becomes a sexual thing or not, most literature of the west, most cowboy stories, most "Western" stories, are about love for something intangible, hard to attain, harder even to hold onto. It's one of the things Western (and hopefully y'all know that I don't mean Western cannon, that I mean American West) writers do well is show longing, and scope, and the fleetingness of the things we love and want. Horses and land, cold air and coffee, the idea of people far more often than the people themselves. Stegner offers us a woman's love story, but it's not actually the love story that he's telling, it's how this shapes a life, how a mistake, how isolation shapes other lives, how we move on from that, stoic and bitter, and sort of dustily open to both light and tragedy.
However, when it came circling back in my direction, I'd had enough. It crawled into my supply holder, I winced and whimpered and grabbed a box, picked up the supply holder, dumped the bug into the box, folded it up, then took it down 17 floors to the outside world and freed it - freeing a few paper clips at the same time.
My bug karma rocks! And I hope it tells all it's little buggy friends to leave me alone. I watch sci-fi, I know what happens to people when they mess with bugs and I do not want my brains sucked out of my head, nor do I want to be replicated, or forced into heat delirium or really touched by any sort of bug at all!
In other news,
cofax7 has some interesting thoughts on Brokeback Mountain as a cultural phenomenon and a fannish phenomenon, and mostly I keep thinking of it as a Western. Western's are love stories, and mostly they're love stories between men. Whether this becomes a sexual thing or not, most literature of the west, most cowboy stories, most "Western" stories, are about love for something intangible, hard to attain, harder even to hold onto. It's one of the things Western (and hopefully y'all know that I don't mean Western cannon, that I mean American West) writers do well is show longing, and scope, and the fleetingness of the things we love and want. Horses and land, cold air and coffee, the idea of people far more often than the people themselves. Stegner offers us a woman's love story, but it's not actually the love story that he's telling, it's how this shapes a life, how a mistake, how isolation shapes other lives, how we move on from that, stoic and bitter, and sort of dustily open to both light and tragedy.
