Taking a Tour of the Mental Landscape
Following several days of sunny brilliance, winter is threatening again here in Los Angeles. That’s okay. The Gas Company came out, took a professional look at our heater and said, “Your pilot light is out.” And lit it.
I? Could have told them that. Could have told M. Could have told our idiot landlord. Because the thing with furnaces is that if they’re not working, and not exploding, mostly they’re not lit.
Heat is restored to the house of cat hair and broken appliances. Let us all rejoice! Let us all write fic about people out in the cold who suddenly find light and warmth! No really. Feel free. I love snow stories.
Monday night I watched The Sarah Connor Chronicles (ep 4) and a slew of vids with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iamsab and projectjulie. There was also bourbon and pink champagne and a good time was had by all. I’m hoping to catch up on SCC very soon. I’m quite charmed by the tiny women kicking ass theme.
***
Finished Markus Zusak’s I Am the Messenger after having really loved and appreciated The Book Thief. He won some sort of award for young adult fiction in New Zealand for “Messenger”, although much like The Book Thief, the definition of young adult doesn’t quite sync with what I think of as young adult – not simply that the characters are fairly independent, smoking, drinking, cursing, having sex etc (and I must admit to not reading much young adult lit that’s not genre – it wasn’t my thing when I was a young adult, having quickly bypassed it for actual grown up books so I don’t have much to compare it to), but the definition really does seem to apply to “young” adults – the 17- 23 crowd and I liked that, how specific the definition was. The book itself was full of momentum and lovely wording and reflection, clever and interesting with an ending that absolutely fell flat for me, which is too bad, but was also one of those premises unlikely to sustain itself in a reveal so I was somewhat prepared.
***
Yesterday, the LA Times featured two articles about albums having anniversaries this year – Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and Beck’s Odelay. Now, I have to say that while Odelay has probably influenced my musical tastes far, far more than thriller, and while it’s an album I still return to over and over again with great joy, absolutely nothing compares to the absolute epic event that Thriller was for middle America white kids when it came out. That album was an EVENT. Something to rally around, to find common ground in, something my father wasn’t ashamed to buy me (unlike the Madonna, or Bangles, or Belinda Carlisle or Cyndi Lauper that I quickly grew tired of. He was so obscenely relieved that I never wanted any other traditional pre-teen pop – no New Kids, no Tiffany or Debbie Gibson, that I jumped from semi-edgy girl pop to REM and U2 early in Middle School and evolved from there).
But man, Thriller was as much a part of my 9 and 10 year old self as the pink velour top that was all the rage and that I loved beyond measure, never being quite on the same fashion page as the rest of my class.
***
I'm not really a Valentine's Day hater (in part because I find the people who follow through on it in sweet ways too charming for words. My art director, who is insanely in love with his wife, remembered today that tomorrow is V-Day, and is running amok to get to the jewelers. Not because of societal pressure, but because he wants to do this for her, wants her to know that he loves her and is thinking about her. That? That I find charming. Even in my curmudgeon/anti-sentimental persona - although we all know it's a lie, right. We know that I'm a closet sap, but I only get sticky over certain things:)
However, it does feel like Valentine's Day is EVERYWHERE this year. Like I can't escape it, which... you know it's just sort of discouraging, that sense that everyone has someone but me (cue the Clyde Bruckman feelings, and if Clyde Bruckman isn't enough to rob you of your funk, no one will be:). I know it's not true, and I know that all different types of love are equally valuable and necessary, and I absolutely know I'm loved, but... well, it'd be nice, you know, to think someone was thinking as fondly of me as my AD is of his wife.
I rarely go into that sort of reverie around Valentine's Day, but this year's been a challenge already. I'm a little raw and a little vulnerable and tired of that delicate balancing act of being my own damned Valentine while not looking pathetic, not looking like I'm trying to hard for stoic. I think tomorrow night calls for bourbon and a whole host of ass-kicking television. And possibly french fries.
It does NOT call for any sort of reflection or mopiness, that's for damned sure.
***
***
I’m also contemplating the full Friend’s Lock on this journal. Not being terribly involved in fandom these days, I don’t feel like I’d lose out on too many readers, and could probably figure something out with the fic that’s not on Leviathan. Our current corporate overlords are keeping tabs on internet usage, and I’d just rather a) not tempt them and b) not tempt myself. I’m already trying to scale back on at work consumption with the knowledge that I’ve got DSL at home.
I? Could have told them that. Could have told M. Could have told our idiot landlord. Because the thing with furnaces is that if they’re not working, and not exploding, mostly they’re not lit.
Heat is restored to the house of cat hair and broken appliances. Let us all rejoice! Let us all write fic about people out in the cold who suddenly find light and warmth! No really. Feel free. I love snow stories.
Monday night I watched The Sarah Connor Chronicles (ep 4) and a slew of vids with
iamsab and projectjulie. There was also bourbon and pink champagne and a good time was had by all. I’m hoping to catch up on SCC very soon. I’m quite charmed by the tiny women kicking ass theme. ***
Finished Markus Zusak’s I Am the Messenger after having really loved and appreciated The Book Thief. He won some sort of award for young adult fiction in New Zealand for “Messenger”, although much like The Book Thief, the definition of young adult doesn’t quite sync with what I think of as young adult – not simply that the characters are fairly independent, smoking, drinking, cursing, having sex etc (and I must admit to not reading much young adult lit that’s not genre – it wasn’t my thing when I was a young adult, having quickly bypassed it for actual grown up books so I don’t have much to compare it to), but the definition really does seem to apply to “young” adults – the 17- 23 crowd and I liked that, how specific the definition was. The book itself was full of momentum and lovely wording and reflection, clever and interesting with an ending that absolutely fell flat for me, which is too bad, but was also one of those premises unlikely to sustain itself in a reveal so I was somewhat prepared.
***
Yesterday, the LA Times featured two articles about albums having anniversaries this year – Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and Beck’s Odelay. Now, I have to say that while Odelay has probably influenced my musical tastes far, far more than thriller, and while it’s an album I still return to over and over again with great joy, absolutely nothing compares to the absolute epic event that Thriller was for middle America white kids when it came out. That album was an EVENT. Something to rally around, to find common ground in, something my father wasn’t ashamed to buy me (unlike the Madonna, or Bangles, or Belinda Carlisle or Cyndi Lauper that I quickly grew tired of. He was so obscenely relieved that I never wanted any other traditional pre-teen pop – no New Kids, no Tiffany or Debbie Gibson, that I jumped from semi-edgy girl pop to REM and U2 early in Middle School and evolved from there).
But man, Thriller was as much a part of my 9 and 10 year old self as the pink velour top that was all the rage and that I loved beyond measure, never being quite on the same fashion page as the rest of my class.
***
I'm not really a Valentine's Day hater (in part because I find the people who follow through on it in sweet ways too charming for words. My art director, who is insanely in love with his wife, remembered today that tomorrow is V-Day, and is running amok to get to the jewelers. Not because of societal pressure, but because he wants to do this for her, wants her to know that he loves her and is thinking about her. That? That I find charming. Even in my curmudgeon/anti-sentimental persona - although we all know it's a lie, right. We know that I'm a closet sap, but I only get sticky over certain things:)
However, it does feel like Valentine's Day is EVERYWHERE this year. Like I can't escape it, which... you know it's just sort of discouraging, that sense that everyone has someone but me (cue the Clyde Bruckman feelings, and if Clyde Bruckman isn't enough to rob you of your funk, no one will be:). I know it's not true, and I know that all different types of love are equally valuable and necessary, and I absolutely know I'm loved, but... well, it'd be nice, you know, to think someone was thinking as fondly of me as my AD is of his wife.
I rarely go into that sort of reverie around Valentine's Day, but this year's been a challenge already. I'm a little raw and a little vulnerable and tired of that delicate balancing act of being my own damned Valentine while not looking pathetic, not looking like I'm trying to hard for stoic. I think tomorrow night calls for bourbon and a whole host of ass-kicking television. And possibly french fries.
It does NOT call for any sort of reflection or mopiness, that's for damned sure.
***
***
I’m also contemplating the full Friend’s Lock on this journal. Not being terribly involved in fandom these days, I don’t feel like I’d lose out on too many readers, and could probably figure something out with the fic that’s not on Leviathan. Our current corporate overlords are keeping tabs on internet usage, and I’d just rather a) not tempt them and b) not tempt myself. I’m already trying to scale back on at work consumption with the knowledge that I’ve got DSL at home.