a fool's musings

Boreas by Waterhouse
Fool, said my muse to me,
look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content

achromatic

unfinished fic graveyard

recs journal

new stuff

recent stuff

my back pages
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
May 2003
April 2003
March 2003
February 2003
January 2003
December 2002
November 2002
October 2002
September 2002
August 2002
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
December 2001
November 2001


the five Ws, or, all about me

profile

e-mail victoria

my livejournal

the original P&R

comments

current mood: current mood

"pathological and unbalanced"

Items of Interest

    Music
  • Walk On - U2
  • Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen
  • If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar
  • Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet
  • Town Called Malice - The Jam
  • One - U2
  • The Space Between - DMB
    Books
  • Lord of the Rings
  • Catch-22
  • The Neely Trilogy
  • Absalom! Absalom!
  • Possession: A Romance
  • Foucault's Pendulum
  • Dreamhouse
  • LA Confidential
  • I Capture the Castle
  • Sandman
  • Waking the Moon

    Shows
  • Angel

    •
  • Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns)

    •
  • Alias

    •
  • West Wing

    •
  • The Simpsons

    •

webrings
< ? fanfiction ! >
< ? writers ! >

diaryreviews.diaryland.com

NYC Bloggers

Comments by Haloscan.com

all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

2001-12-24 - 1:04 a.m.

Night of the Dead Living

Night of the Dead living, X-Men style.

Am I crazy to be excited about this?

I think I am, but it's the first story idea that's thrilled me in a while, so...

I did the transcript for the ep, which you can read here:

http://www.windowseat.org/homicide/scripts/103nightofdeadliving.html

Go me!

Merry Christmas!

~victoria


[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]

~*~

2001-12-23 - 7:57 p.m.

digging out

Feeling somewhat less overwhelmed now... started wrapping, sent out a bunch of e-cards [so sue me, I decided not to worry anyone with mail and anthrax... okay, really, I'm just lazy and cheap, but it sounds better if I say the thing about anthrax], did some laundry, and read some fic.

Plus, the Giants won and I took a nap.

I'm feeling fairly productive. I just know something bad is going to happen now.

~victoria

[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]

~*~

2001-12-23 - 2:07 p.m.

buried

I am so far behind on everything. I want to pull the covers over my head and just whimper.

At least my shopping is all done. Now I just have to wrap.

If you've sent me an email, I will respond. I'm just under mountains of the stuff right now and trying hard to dig out.

Everything is suffering right now - email, betaing, reading, and, most importantly, writing.

I haven't written a word in about three days.

This bothers me tremendously.

I haven't even typed up what I'd written when I was writing.

And I don't think I like it much.

I need to figure out the connection between the rampaging slime demons and W&H, and then figure out if LuthorCorp is involved at all.

Waaah!

I suck at plot. How do I keep getting involved in these plot heavy stories? Let's not even *talk* about Consumption. Or Eyes That Lied, which I apparently am *never* going to get back to.

Sigh.

Enough whinging.

Happy Holidays.

I have to go wrap presents, answer email, bake and do laundry.

~victoria

[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]

~*~

2001-12-22 - 6:26 p.m.

What's the scenario?

I'm alive.

I survived the drunkfest.

Getting a hotel room was a stroke of genius, since it meant not schlepping to Jersey, and no chance that Jean and I would end up chasing the George Washington Bridge while it laughed and receded in the distance.

The Leather Pants of Evol were a big hit, as I hoped they would be. Is it wrong to love my leather pants? They need cleaning, though, because there's something sticky and alcoholic glimmering on the lower legs. Sigh.

I had 8? beers. I'm not sure. Jean just kept handing them to me. We did a shot of Johnny Walker Black in honor of Diana's late father. Then we did a lemon drop [pussy shot!] while the new people did their Wild Turkey.

We kind of pressured Amanda into it, proving that peer pressure and hazing never die.

Diana and I told her of the start of the tradition, that first night at Slims, where we decided to be Thelma and Loiuse [she's Geena Davis, I, Susan Sarandon *g*] and do a shot of Wild Turkey.

This was the first time we'd been to Slims, I think, and we didn't know it was the home of the "big shot". Mark [sigh. Mark the bartender, who looked like Gary Sinise. I had such a crush. As opposed to mean Joey, who looked like Shaddoe Stevens.] set two big glasses on the bar and then *filled* them to the top.

I had about three sips of beer and that double shot of bourbon, and I was numb the whole night.

Numb.

As in, couldn't feel my face, or any other part of me, for about 4 hours.

And I'm no lightweight when it comes to drinking. Or, I wasn't then, anyway. This was still college/post-college, when we drank all the time.

Anyhow, after the lemon drop, Jean's sister and I did a shot of Blackhaus, which is just yummy, while the others had Jaegermeister.

And then we had a fishbowl. A fishbowl is literally a fishbowl filled with various white liquors and some sort of countrytime lemonade flavoring, with a plastic alligator filled with grenadine dumped in for fun.

You get these 18 inch straws and everybody just sucks it down... it's a serious brainfreeze. So much so that you don't realize how much alcohol you've just consumed.

The last time, Chris the bartender made it with all rum, which I have trouble drinking normally [one word: Mexico], but I sucked it down easily; as Jean put it, "Are you trying to kill us, man?!"

Can I say how happy I am that the liver can actually regenerate tissue to some extent?

So it was a fun, fun, fun night, except for the creepy guy who felt up my ass and the fact that Jean snores like no one has ever snored before.

And he's a cuddler. I'm torn on cuddling; it's nice sometimes, but sometimes I'm like, get the fuck off me.

We got back to the hotel around 3:30 - 4 am or so. I slept until about 7:30, and then dozed on and off between Jean's snoring fits.

Then we exchanged gifts -- I got a lovely cardigan and a sweater from Diana and Fernando, and two books from Jean: Calvin & Hobbes [which is perfect, since I *am* Calvin, all grown up. And, you know, female. *g*] and The Office Kama Sutra. Which is absolutely hilarious. It comes with a reversible dust cover, that makes it look like a business/management type book, and I never realized how much the goals of management equate with the goals of sex: keeping the customer happy, getting on top and staying on top, fun activities for your whole team, servicing the clients, etc. *g*

I got home at 11:45, and took a shower.

I find it amazing how the smell of smoke in your hair and on your skin comes *surging* back when you step under the shower. I hate that smell. I hate that ookie feeling that you're carrying every bit of grime and stale beer and puke and overflow that ever tracked through a bar on your skin. When I'm drunk, I can ignore it, mostly, but in the morning, I need to shower as quickly as possible, even before I go back to sleep.

Then I slept until about 5 pm, with various interruptions from goddamned telemarketers who don't know they really shouldn't EVER call me.

So that was the big Christmas drunkfest.

Music of the drunkfest:

Mr. Big Stuff
Brickhouse
Jungleboogie
Rock the Boat
Scenario

Here we go, yo, here we go, yo, so what's, so what's the scenario?

~victoria



[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]

~*~

2001-12-21 - 10:19 a.m.

Drunkfest 2002 and oral history

I love the fact that if you repeat the same word long enough, it loses its meaning and becomes a string of nonsense sounds.

Language is our most powerful tool, and yet it's so easily rendered meaningless.

There's a whole raft of stuff to be explored in there, if I could think of it.

Tonight is the Drunkfest. 10th anniversary, in fact. We'll go out, get hammered, have fishbowl races and crash.

We've rented a hotel room for the first time ever, proving yet again that 31 is not 21.

The overall implications of the drunkfest are incredibly interesting. It's a tradition amongst us, me, Diana, Jean and Fernando, with others wandering in and out over the years.

It's a microcosm of the human experience and development of language and mythology.

Stay with me here.

What do we do at the Drunkfest? We drink and tell stories of past drunkfests, of our days at Fordham and the Coliseum, at Slims and the Bear Bar and in Hoboken.

By repeating our shared history, we strengthen it, and also embroider it. I'm sure that half the stories we tell now didn't happen exactly that way. They're filtered through the alcohol haze and the nostalgia for old times and the natural human tendency to exaggerate.

We're creating our own mythology, our own folktales, our own oral history. This year's exploits will be memorialized in March at Diana's and Jean's birthday Drunkfest, and so on.

No doubt tonight we'll speak of the birthday barbecue and drunkfests past.

This is how stories get told - for thousands of years of human history, this is what people did. No tv, no radio, no books, even. Just sitting around a fire, drinking and exchanging tales of days gone by.

The best tales are the ones that people outside the core group learn and tell and then, 200 years later, you've got your new Johnny Appleseed, and 2000 years later, you've got the next Iliad.

Not that the drunkfest is that epic or meaningful to anyone outside our little circle. It's not. I'm not having delusions of grandeur here. It's simply that the *process* is the same, whether it's old college friends reminiscing, Aunt Jean's stories of living through WWII or Beowulf.

So tonight I shall get drunk and also contemplate the way we all create our own mythos and history, and how it helps us come to grips with our lives. Especially in this post 9/11 world.

on the radio now: The Chain, Fleetwood Mac.

~victoria

[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]

~*~

previous - next

DiaryLand

Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within.

The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.

The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.

This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables