a fool's musings

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: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom 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

03.18.03 - 11:45 a.m. post-rift dreams Had a Lex dream last night. In reward for the nervous-making events of last evening, I guess. I don't recall much, except that it was post-rift, but not by very much, and Clark was with me and we were getting high [!?] instead of writing our articles for the college newspaper (I'm not sure if I was me or if I was Chloe) and Lex showed up with this woman, a real social X-Ray, and she was flaunting the very expensive, very *large* diamond bracelet he'd given her. There was also a car chase and Castelli was involved in his capacity as a lawyer (and if what happens last night happens again, I may be calling on him in that capacity. ::shudders::). My head is a weird and wonderful place sometimes. I'm still looking for good Aragorn/gauntlets fic (my first draft of it is here), and you can add good wee!Legolas fic, as well as any good Legolas/Gimli fic (which I'm always looking for and there ISN'T ENOUGH OF). And always, always (to skip fandoms) good Sirius/Remus fic. Because I must not be looking in the right places. Since the comments are still screwy, feel free to comment over in the LJ on anything your little heart desires. ~victoria link [current mood: busy] [current music: the wind cried mary - jimi hendrix] [random quote: Cause it don't breathe And it don't bleed It's locked its jaws and now it's swallowing It's in our hear] ~*~ 03.17.03 - 11:09 p.m. Ripper and Big Blue Updated the site tonight, adding Order Into Chaos, in which Giles dreams and four new graphics, two by CSchoolgirl: for In Bloom, and A Fistful of Dollars, and two by Märrie: for Running to Stand Still, and She Follows. They're so good to me! (Links go to the stories, which have links to the pics. I'm lazy.) In other news, I took a bath tonight using the Big Blue bath ballistic from Lush. While it smells wonderful, just like a crisp ocean breeze, and turns the bathwater a beautiful Caribbean blue, it has seaweed in it. Sigh. I don't even like seaweed when I'm actually *in* the ocean, let alone in my bathwater, so I don't think I'll be purchasing that one again, but otherwise it was exactly like having a little ocean in my tub, which is spectacular. I don't understand how people can live far away from the ocean, or barring that, some large body of water. It's like, necessary to life and I don't mean in the drinking/washing way. I guess that's what happens when you've lived on islands your whole life, even if they don't exactly *feel* like islands. I mean, small islands, not like continent-sized ones. *g* In other news, strangely not scared about going to war. Not for me, anyway. Scared in a "what does it all mean" way, sure. But personally? If something happens, it happens. I'm going to be in midtown Manhattan, so odds are if it happens, it'll happen where I am. So... yeah, not too worried. Must go read fic now. Been trying to read this damned fic all day and keep getting interrupted. Sigh. ~victoria link [current mood: resigned] [current music: The Rising - Bruce] [random quote: Do not go gently into that good night] ~*~ 03.17.03 - 10:45 a.m. Giles fic posted Giles fic up in the LJ: Order Into Chaos. I couldn't cut any more off it without gutting it completely, so... 1260 words instead of 1000. I feel better today. Got my period, which was not unexpected. My mother thinks Saturday was some fiendish new version of PMS my body's pulling on me, and I, suspicious as always of the physical, am beginning to believe her, considering how much better I feel today, even than yesterday, where I felt somewhat better. In work news, they finally -- finally -- painted the supply room (only a week after they said they would) so I have to unpack all the boxes and restock the shelves. Joy. You can see how much I want to do that, as I am presently avoiding it by rambling about absolutely nothing here in my diary. I will now return to trying to get into Aragorn's grungy head. Or unpacking the supply room. Comments are down again, so feel free to comment in the LJ. ~victoria link [current mood: better] [current music: Brown-Eyed Girl - Van the Man] [random quote: There is sugar, there is salt There is ice and there is fire In every single heart There are monsters there are angels] ~*~ 03.16.03 - 8:55 p.m. Couple of books I'm reading In between bouts of ishiness, I read Lady Sparrow by Barbara Metzger. Metzger has a deft comic touch and her Regencies are usually a fun read, even when they deal with slightly darker subjects, like this one did. In it, Lady Mina Sparrowdale is widowed by her disgusting and debauched husband, and then she discovers he's been supporting his bastard children, one of whom may also be her own son from a runaway marriage, who she was told is dead. She hires Lord Lowell Merrison, second son of the Duke of Mersford, who has set himself up as a private investigator. There's also Roderick, the current Earl of Sparrowdale, her evil nephew-by-marriage. Roderick, of course, doesn't want her to find the one child who may be the legitimate heir to the earldom (is complicated - has to do with the old Lord Sparrowdale's schemes to get laid by tricking young women into false marriages. Except, what if one of them wasn't?) And halfway through writing this I realize I suck at this and have nothing more to say except that I enjoyed the book - it was easy to read, had some funny moments and some sweet ones, and if you're a fan of Regencies that don't revolve around Almack's and morning calls, and you like a little funny in your reading, pick this one up. After I finished that, I started The Wedding Journey by Carla Kelly, which is, as most of Kelly's books are, a different kettle of fish. First off, it takes place in Spain. The hero is Captain Jesse Randall, a surgeon attached to Wellington's army. The army is preparing to retreat to Torres Vedras, which means chaos for all concerned. Randall's secretly in love with the daughter of the profligate drunk Captain Mason. Captain Mason owes Major Bones a large sum of money, and the Major is willing ot forgive the debt... if Mason will hand over his daughter. That's just the setup. I'm already on page 95 and there's been a wedding, a birth, a robbery, a murder and some really nasty behavior on the part of the British toward some Spanish villagers. Not light reading in the usual Regency sense, but Kelly always manages to do a great third person limited narration that puts you right into the characters' heads (and she doesn't break POV until there's a definite break in the story). Plus, there's a Private Harper, a thieving malingerer who turns out to be more than expected, and well, you *know* I'm picturing Sharpe's Harper, right? *g* Alias is on now, so away I go... ~victoria link [current mood: still sick, but better] [current music: tv in the background] [random quote: “She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above…” ~ “Daughter” - Pearl Jam] ~*~ 03.16.03 - 12:35 p.m. Erin go blurgh sick as a feckin' dog. I spent yesterday trying to slough off my small intestine while simlutaneously throwing up my stomach lining. Not pretty. So much for the big St. Patty's day dinner. They all got to eat and I ... didn't. It's the BRAT (bananas, rice, applesauce, tea) diet for me now, with Gatorade. Sigh. ~victoria link [current mood: sick. what part of sick don't you understand?] [current music: the Tango Roxanne] [random quote: If Woody had only gone to the police, this never would have happened.] ~*~ 03.14.03 - 5:05 p.m. Liar's Poker and Lucius Malfoy... So I finished Liar's Poker, finally, spurred on by DD's No Good Very Bad Terrible Day. It's off to her for cheering (and betaing) and I thought I might put a bit here, since it began as a snippet I posted here before it really had a story to go with it, many many moons ago... *** He wakes to the feel of her pressed against his back, and he has to stifle a groan. All that work, all that successful avoidance, and he’s back where he started, in bed with Marie. In love with-- No. He refuses to even think it, let alone say it, regardless of her words to him last night. He has never believed in declarations of love during sex, and even though he can smell -- hear -- taste -- *feel* the difference this time, he clings stubbornly to his false beliefs She burrows in closer to him, and he wonders if she can sense his withdrawal, though he hasn’t yet moved. That scares him even more than the way his body relaxes into hers when he’s not paying attention. For as long as he can remember, he has lived by his instincts, trusted them to keep him whole and sane when everything else was going wrong, but at this he finally rebels. With ferocious momentum, he launches himself from the bed and stalks to the shower. He washes her scent -- their scent, mingled and intoxicating -- off his body, determined, like the heroine of an old movie musical, to wash away his feelings as well. She’s stirring as he dresses and it takes all of his will to leave the room before she wakes. He scowls as he makes his way down to the garage. His room, and she’s driven him from it. He holds fiercely to this anger, lets it simmer and adds to it other slights (real or imagined) he can lay at her feet -- her way of making him feel awkward and inexperienced and *soft* in her presence, his desire to curl up with her and never be with another woman again, the knowledge that he can never ever be good enough for the love he sees in her eyes... He never cared about these things before, and he’ll be damned to hell before he starts now. He guns the motor on the bike and tears down the driveway as if all the devils in that hell are after him, and he doesn’t come back for three days. *** In other news, laughed myself silly while reading The Chronicles of Lucius Malfoy: An excerpt: At least, though, Chamber is open and plot is in progress. Am v. pleased that plot is coming together. If little red-haired bimbo from big (and v. poor and unstylish) family is thick as self suspects, Dark Master will return by Christmas. If not, self will always have nice new Porsche to keep self busy. Am torn between having horn that plays "La Cuacuaracha" or the v. spiffy, v. evil and v. intimidating Imperial theme from something called "Star Wars". Would like to have theme for self, but, alas, am not yet evil enough. At least, cannot let the world know that I am uber-evil git! Self would be thrown in Azkaban, which would mean that self would lose wardrobe and hair-care products. And cane! While am happy to be out and open evil bastard and to kill left, right and centre, am not yet ready to part with cane. Is v. v. precious to me. Evil cane. Lovely, precious, delightful and v. evil cane. Mmm...caney... Ahem! And this bit, during which I almost choked to death on a mouthful of pizza: Wish some decent help could be found. Help that realises that you are meant to iron clothes, not hands! Have wondered why clothing seems to be returning to wardrobes in less than uncreased condition. Perhaps house elf had wrinkly skin on hands and was attempting to achieve skin as smooth as self. Thinking on it, have noticed that many house elves do seem to have some very strong sado-masochistic tendencies, when house work is not done well. Esp. long-nosed, big-eared creature. Have witnessed one slamming his ears in oven doors. Unless this is some trick for flattening already flat ears, am rather bemused by it. Admittedly, self is known for hurling death threats around house, but never imagined that house elves liked being beaten up. Would have stopped kicking them around house, if self knew it... Am hoping that I am mistaken. Could not be possible that house elves are THAT perverse. Note to self - make certain that house elves actually dislike pain before inflicting more upon them. Would not like to be known as a satisfier of house elves and their kinky pleasures. Is far too disturbing a thought to contemplate. God, this kills me. Time to go home now. ~victoria link [current mood: accomplished] [current music: Sweet Child O'Mine - GnR] [random quote: \"I have yet to find a sure thing that I don't doubt / I can't think of a thing I can safely think about\" - Too Much] ~*~ 03.14.03 - 10:07 a.m. it's going to be like kiddie soccer where nobody keeps score and everybody makes the playoffs So last night I watched the Rangers for the first time since, oh, the end of October when it was clear they were going nowhere this season. They are still nowhere, 5 points out of the last playoff spot in the Atlantic Division (and it shows that I'm rusty; I typed Patrick Division first, even though it's been *years* since it was called that), even though they got a point last night. And that, ladies and gents, is what I'm pissed off about. The Rangers lost in overtime. Hey, it happens, especially when you suck and you're playing one of the best teams in the league (and dear *god* how weird is it still to say that about Ottawa?). YOU SHOULDN'T GET A POINT WHEN YOU LOSE. Good lord, what kind of idiots thought that scheme up? Oh wait, I know. Stupid NHL Board of Governors. What a fucking travesty. I have no problem with splitting the two points when teams skate to a tie, but to award a point simply for being tied at the end of regulation? Why the fuck even HAVE overtime? Go back to the days of if the game ended in a tie, it ended in a tie. Jesus H. Christ on a halfshell, it makes no sense whatsoever to reward a team for losing. I mean, why not just start awarding points for being tied at the end of each period? That's what they're doing, in essence. I have no problem with sudden death OT in hockey (unlike in pro football, which is, thankfully, finally getting rid of that stupid system) because both teams can go on the offensive, so it's not unfair. But it's damned unfair to the winning team, if they actually suck it up and score, to have the loser still get a point. I mean, it's ludicrous. Whew. I've had that rant stored up for a while now (probably since the rule change was announced, as various people in my family will tell you, they had to hear it then), but even though it's of some slight help to the Rangers (who haven't made the playoffs in ages and probably aren't going to again this year), I still think it's WRONG. Wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong-o. Gah. Pretty soon there aren't going to be any winners or losers and it's going to be like kiddie soccer where nobody keeps score and everybody makes the playoffs (as opposed to almost everybody, as it is now ::snicker::) and the Stanley Cup will be like the Lady Byng trophy only for teams instead of individual players. Feh. I will say it was nice to see Alexei Kovalev back in a Rangers uni. I always had a soft spot for him, even with his boneheaded defensive plays and his inability to shoot when necessary. I understand he's sort of overcome those problems, though he never has lived up to his potential. And Messier... my god, sometimes I can't believe he's as old as he is. He had this one shift last night and it was just like watching Messier of old, rather than just old Messier. As much as I'm still pissed about the way he left the team last time, he's still the Captain, and I've gotta respect that. In other news, it's nice to see Mike Piazza finally charged the mound after being hit, but uh, Mike? Next time - Roger Clemens. Kick. His. Punk. Ass. ~victoria link [current mood: ranty] [current music: Ballad of John and Yoko - John Lennon] [random quote: christ you know it ain't easy you know how hard it can be the way things are going they're gonna crucify me] ~*~ 03.13.03 - 11:14 a.m. Life is a big wild crazy tossed salad, but you don't eat it, no sir! You live it! So I have one story left to read in Smoke and Mirrors. I have to say, that this is the first thing by Gaiman that I've read that hasn't made me enthuse and declare myself his willing slave forever and ever. I just think it reinforces what I've always known about myself: in original fiction, I prefer novels to short stories. Short stories don't give you enough time to get really intimate with the characters and the world. A lot of the time, they seem to be about the surprise ending or the stylistic choices an author makes rather than the characters, and well, me=character-driven reader. Short stories set in a world I'm already familar with (like Sandman: Book of Dreams, to stay on Gaiman for the moment, or to move away from him, Tales of Earthsea by Ursula LeGuin) I can get behind, because I've already got the backstory - I don't feel as if I'm walking in on the denouement ("Crime has a bossanova beat. Remember denouement. Other French words: inconvenient, nonessential. OH, I could go on..." er, sorry. Tick moment... and I just got distracted reading through pages of Tick quotes. God I need to dig out my tapes and have a Tick marathon, even if I don't have the Little Wooden Boy ep) of a movie I haven't seen the first three-quarters of. Admittedly, this is a personal preference, discussed at length elsewhere in this diary. It was just brought home to me again in the past couple of days as I was reading. I think that's why I prefer my fanfiction short, actually. Because I already know the characters and the backstory, so I dig the quick punch, the surprise ending, the single scene/vignette/character study. Fanfiction is an addition to the work as it exists already, and generally speaking, if I like the work enough to be reading fanfiction for it, I'm not particularly interested in having it rebuilt from the ground up by someone else, but rather having the little details embellished or having fancy flourishes added that the original authors didn't have time/interest/skill to provide. I like missing scenes and after the end stories and of course, all the conversations that we never get, where stuff is resolved and there's hugging and crying and learning and growing. I don't ask much of my fiction, do I? And just because it's the slashiest thing a superhero has ever said, I give you another Tick quote: C'mon Arthur! Get Meta with me! What pursued us were our own obsessions. I'm good, you're evil. I'm a super hero, you're a sidekick. I'm a woman, you're a man. What does it all mean? Nothing! And where were we all trapped? I'll tell you where Arthur! In the belly of love, love chum-LOVE. And also: The night is young and we have umbrellas in our drinks. Hee! I love the Tick. ~victoria link [current mood: silly] [current music: It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) - REM] [random quote: You don't fight destiny.. No sir! And you don't eat crackers in the bed of your future or you get all .. scratchy.] ~*~ 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