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

06.03.03 - 9:48 a.m. money and guilt So my deli, with my beloved deli-man who knows what I order and has it ready for me without my asking, is back open. Yes, last week, they closed for renovations, and I had to go down to the caf to get breakfast and (and this is the outrageous part) I had to make it myself. Horrors! I had to toast my own bagel and schmear my own schmear. Of course, it was 51¢ cheaper than the deli, so with the fare hike not rolled back, things worked out okay. Deli was reopened yesterday and my toasted poppy with cream cheese and iced coffee (black) are now $3.12 instead of $3. Apparently the coffee's gone up 10¢ or something. I dunno. He let me get away with pay $3.10 as I didn't have two pennies and he didn't want to make change from 15¢. (And yes, every time I think of this, I think of Bayliss and his 11¢, his beer and cookies and gum, and Frank bailing his ass out. I also think of the coffoon and the discourse on couscous, but then, I am prone to see fannish things everywhere.) So this morning I make sure I have 12¢ in addition to my $3 breakfast money and he rings me up and it's $3.13. What the fuck? Are they gonna nickel and dime me until I can't afford to even buy *breakfast* anymore? Yes. Money worries. I fucking *hate* that. I hate money. I hate that I suddenly have no savings and no control and bills that need paying and I'm still not used to cutting back (as evidenced by my ability to drop $36 on 4 vodka tonics last week [$8 a drink + tip]). I'm not a spendthrift. I'm really not. I'm just used to having spare cash to buy whatever I want, and now I don't. I knew that was the tradeoff - nice apartment in the city = double the rent I was paying = less folding money. I *knew* that. And then the buying of furniture... I needed it. I'm 32 years old. I didn't want to live like a college student forever, with a futon and makeshift bookcases and a second-hand couch. I slept on that damned $400 futon for 8 years. I *needed* a bed. Goddammit. Why am I trying to justify things that I've already justified? I was doing well for a while, too, with the not spending and the paying down of bills, but then, as usual, I forgot and spent money on frivolous items like movies and drinks and now I've got two doctors' appts. this week and I had to borrow money from my parents so I can cover the check for one, which my insurance considers out of network, and hence I have to pay and be reimbursed (after I meet the deductible) instead of doing the copay. I try to schedule these appointments after the 15th of the month, when I've got more liquidity, but I cancelled last month due to feeling bleh and rescheduled for Thursday, and the beginning of the month is bad, money-wise. Especially since I thought I was being responsible and I put most of that free cash into paying down some credit card debt. Blurgh. No one wants to hear this. I'm tired of thinking of it. I just HATE this. I'm supposed to be smarter than this. And to top it all off, my back *still* hurts and I didn't take any advil because I'm giving platelets today and as always, I don't know if advil comes under that "no aspirin" rule (I don't think it does, if they just mean acetaminophen (sp?) and not ibuprofen but I don't wanna take chances. I really don't want to screw up anything where bleeding is involved.) and I really hate giving platelets, as it drags me down for a couple of days afterward, and is no joy to actually do, but... guilt is a powerful thing. Everytime Daddy tells me to say no, I say the same thing. What if everyone else said no? What if there were no platelets when Victor needed them? How can I live with knowing that some other baby needed something and I could have helped but didn't, because it makes me miserable for a couple of days? I can't. Arrgh. I need to stop navel-gazing and start doing something productive. ~victoria link [current mood: guilty and self-pitying] [current music: Me & Julio - Simon and Garfunkel] [random quote: goodbye Rosie, Queen of Corona, seeing me and Julio down by the schoolyard] ~*~ 06.02.03 - 3:09 p.m. Recs Update - 6/2/03 It's that time of the month again... I updated the Unfit Recs LJ with 41 stories in 7 fandoms. HP heavy (focussing mostly on Remus or Remus/Sirius), but there's also some Buffy, Angel, Firefly, LotR and XMM. Direct link is here. Go. Read. Stroke the authors. You know you want to. *** As for comments, haloscan is still down, so from memory... Thanks to ide_cyan for the concise explanation of how to refer to Sirius in dog form. I think I kinda knew that, but was still stumbling over it as a writer. And thanks to Liz, who knows Snape better than I do, though I still think he'd need *some* outlet, and dead women tell no tales. As for the contrived location of the memorial, I just wanted somewhere Harry could get without trouble and a lot of travel. I'll probably change that now, though, since you're right. It *is* contrived to have it there. I'm starting to feel the effects of sleeping badly last night, and I actually have stupid work to do. Bleh. Also, it smells like someone's burning diesel in here. What the hell is *that* about? Again, while haloscan is down, feel free to comment in the LJ. ~victoria link [current mood: headachy] [current music: Pride and Joy - SRV] [random quote: No one here is asking 'cause it is a matter of trust. You will do what looks good to you on paper. We will do what we must.] ~*~ 06.02.03 - 10:06 a.m. Random collection of odd stuff People search for the oddest things. I knew this. But "Snape, wet pants, baby fic" is a new one. I don't know why it hit this diary, but it did, as it showed up in my stats. I suppose it's still better than Harry/Hagrid, though letting Snape anywhere near a baby strikes me as... foolhardy at best. Col. Brandon, otoh... *sigh* We watched (or attempted to watch) Sense and Sensibility yesterday. My b-i-l provided a running commentary about how he and little Anthony would never understand movies like this, while my sister and I tried to shush him. Of course, as soon as Alyssa recognized Alan Rickman, there was a whole tangential HP discussion (she's still in the middle of GoF, and still upset that Hermione and Ron didn't go to the ball together. I have a feeling she may have a crush on Ron. Which I completely understand. *g*), with me explaining who had been cast for PoA and then my nephew (who hasn't read the books) getting annoyed when we discussed characters he hasn't met. He also thinks Draco is cool, so who the hell knows what he's thinking. Then we discussed how it's hard for redheaded men to be good-looking, and we hope that Rupert Grint grows up well. Then, speaking of searching, the kids demanded to see my website (not www.auntvictoria.com, as Anthony tried to convince Anthony V.) and read some of my HP stories. Thank god for the hp100, or I wouldn't have had anything they could have read. But they read This Sucks and Tuning In, and then I told them they couldn't read any more, because it was rated R or higher. Alyssa couldn't understand how there could be R or NC17 rated stories about Harry Potter, and I did not enlighten her. Let's just say there were some tense moments. They also asked me how one got to my website, and I told them by searching for stories about X-Men or whatever. God help me if they do decide to go searching for HP fic. I will be dead. My sister will kill me, then my brother-in-law will dig me up and kill me again. ::shudders:: Then we looked at pictures of Michael Gambon, Gary Oldman and David Thewlis, and Alyssa and I bitched about bad casting choices on the latter two (look, I'm sure they'll be wonderful, acting-wise. But much as the character David Wenham played in TTT was not *my* Faramir...). So that was fun, if nerve-wracking. While I expounded on the canonical One True Love of Legolas and Gimli at the dinner table, I was strong and refrained from going into Sirius/Remus. After all, as my sister said, "It's different for Elves and Dwarves." And my dad - "Things were different back then." Which prompted much hilarity, as Anthony went off, "Ah yes, things were different back when Dwarves and Elves lived in harmony..." I suppose you had to be there. It was hella funny, though. Oh, and we discussed how Smurfs are really an allegory for Communism, and Anthony swore some other children's show was, as well. And of course, we discussed the controversial separation of Bert and Ernie. To segue roughly into the next topic, I did not sleep at all well last night. Woke up at 4am to pee, had to go downstairs because my mother was in the bathroom upstairs, and missed a step, thereby nearly breaking an ankle. Then I couldn't get back to sleep for while, which sucks, because Sunday night. Monday morning. Work. Yes. You see why this is a problem. Finally, I did fall asleep, and I dreamt of a Buffy season 8 season premiere. It was Of The Bad. First off, I was in it. Except when I became an audience member. But I was in the teaser, as Spike and I attempted to stop Dawn from patrolling by herself. There was some wrestling for a crossbow, which I finally managed to get into Buffy's hands. Buffy was characterized like pre-season 1 Buffy - "I don't wanna fight vamps. I might break a nail." Spike was turning the basement into an octagonal shaped bunker and putting that sunlight-filtering glass (what did Lilah call it?) on all the windows. Xander was upset because Spike used a different contractor. There was a boy who lived in a tree and had been killing vamps on his own until Buffy adopted him into the Scoobies, and then he got taken away by a flying elephant. Then Buffy was heading down in the basement beneath the travel agency to fight some Big Bad. That's when I woke up. Dude, I just dream it. I don't understand it. Since haloscan is more down than up these days, comment in the LJ if you want. When the comments come back up, I will answer the ones that were left on the Snapefic snip. (And to add to my weirdass search results: otolaryngology. rhinoplasty. effervescence. narcoleptic synaethesia.) ~victoria link [current mood: silly and random] [current music: New Year's Day - u2] [random quote: \"They took out his soul to give him more stomach.\" Robert, on Frank. Everybody Loves Raymond] ~*~ 06.01.03 - 3:52 p.m. "No, Moony. You're the spy. *I'm* the assassin." Crush is done and posted. I was wrestling with the summary for it - I used the bland, boring one: Hermione has a crush. But I was contemplating using a line from the story: You wish you were the object of that hidden intensity, though you will never tell. I think the latter sums up the former, without giving away that it's Hermione (which you find out in the story quickly enough). But I dunno. I think I was just more leery of tipping off second person POV, which is enough to drive many readers (including me) away. Also still not quite sure I captured the intensity of being 13 and having a crush - the tentativeness and yet the total devotion, and the embarrassment of it being a teacher, and having your friends find out... Anyhow, I haven't really used the "line from the story" method in any of the HP things I've written, except for Thirst, which is best summed up by the line I used, imo (that would be: A germ of an idea takes hold in the back of his mind, so wild and unprecedented that he wonders if Dumbledore slipped something into his morning coffee.). I also realize that I never uploaded Capable, though I coded it and added it to the indices. Didn't upload the updated versions of those, either. My brain is slowly dribbling out of my nose, I think. So I could do all the coding again, here, and upload everything, including Tuning In, my little HP100 drabble for this week. Or I could wait til I get home tomorrow night and have a third of the work already done. I haven't yet decided what I'm going to do. Considering how lazy I am, I have a feeling it'll be the latter. I do have some detective story thoughts for Sirius and Remus, but I need a plot to hang them on. You all know how bad I am with plot. And then I have this little snippet of dialogue in my head: Remus (to Dumbledore): "You're saying you want me to be an assassin?" Sirius: "No, Moony. You're the spy. *I'm* the assassin." I don't know why that makes me giggle, but it does. I think I just get a kick out of the kick Sirius would get from being all James Bond-like. And I imagine Clive Owen in a tux and it makes me happy. (Gary Oldman is just *not* making my imagination happy. We won't even go into the whole David Thewlis thing.) I'm easily amused. I admit it. Especially when the love is so new and strong. I've also, after reading a review of what sounds like a truly terrifying story, got some ideas for Remus-as-a-gigolo parody. ::shakes head:: I have a feeling I'm the only one who would find that funny, though. I with my hookerfic kink. It's still pouring here, btw. It's been raining non-stop since yesterday afternoon. I really hope this isn't a harbinger of what the summer is going to be like. After this long, cold winter and the horrid, grey spring, we need sunshine. I need sunshine. And a nice string of 85 degree days. Sigh. ~victoria link [current mood: amused] [current music: Hawkmoon 269 - u2] [random quote: like a desert needs rain, like a town needs a name, I need your love] ~*~ 05.31.03 - 3:11 p.m. Snape does nothing but cause me trouble Snape and I do not get along. I believe I've mentioned this. The fact that a 30something (to go by the books' timeline, and screw what he looks like onscreen, much as I love Alan Rickman) man - a man who has no doubt done heroic and horrific things in his time, and is something of a genius in his field - hates an 11 (12,13,14,15) year old boy with such passionate intensity is just not normal. He can hate James, Sirius and Remus and I can totally understand that. He can be contemptuous of Pettigrew, as everyone else is. But to *hate* Harry... it just makes no sense to me. It's stupid, childish, brattish, the reaction of a spoiled teenager, not a grown man. So you can see why I have difficulty writing him - from an outside perspective it's not as difficult (see Capable), and Thirst was a fluke - it was supposed to be more about Hermione and it just ended up being about Snape. And I like that take on him, I think I sort of reconciled myself to that version of him. But that doesn't make writing him - finding a *voice* for him - any easier. But I can't get this image out of my head, so... you tell me: Memorial Marker “On the far side of the Quidditch pitch,” Professor Lupin had told him, though it wasn’t marked on any map of the school he’d seen. Harry made his way across the grounds, suddenly anxious. He couldn’t remember his parents’ London flat, had never seen Godric’s Hollow, had only ever lived at Number Four Privet Drive or at Hogwarts. It hadn’t occurred to him until recently to ask about his parents’ graves. When he saw Professor Lupin (with Sirius, in disguise as Snuffles, following along, looking fatter and healthier than Harry had ever seen him) in Flourish and Blotts the day the Weasleys took him to buy his schoolbooks, he finally decided to say something. He almost regretted asking, given the response. After a long moment in which Snuffles whimpered and Lupin gnawed at his lower lip, Lupin said, “They were cremated. But there’s a memorial at Hogwarts – on the far side of the Quidditch pitch.” He hesitated, and Harry could see his knuckles were white around the copy of While You Were Out: Wards for Homeowners (323rd edition) he held. “I know Hagrid keeps it neat,” Lupin said, finally. “I should have taken you there. I’m sorry I didn’t.” Sirius let out a low whine and pressed closer to Lupin. Squinting in the late afternoon sun, Harry could see a small stone monument in the center of a copse of trees. Something gleamed in the sun – probably a plaque of some sort. He’d noticed the trees during Quidditch practice, but had never looked closer. He wondered if there were some sort of enchantment on the little grove, but decided that was silly. He’d never noticed because there were so many other things to look at while he was flying, and the stone was weathered and grey-green, seeming to blend in with the grass from a distance. He was surprised then, as he made his way to the secluded corner, to see someone else there already. The tall figure was dressed in stark black, and Harry bit back a gasp as he recognized him. “The boy is doing well, Lily. You would be proud,” Snape was saying. Harry froze. “He is as prone to trouble as Potter ever was, but at least some of it has been forced upon him. Not that I would ever give him the satisfaction of admitting it.” Snape reached out with one long-fingered hand and traced the words carved on the plaque. “I suppose I must mention that Black is back in his life, and Lupin as well. Not that Black is capable of looking after himself, let alone a fifteen-year-old boy, but Dumbledore insists on including him in our plans. He refuses to listen to me when I tell him that Black is insane and Lupin a menace. It is as if I have been transported back to my own schooldays, and Dumbledore is as blind to the danger they present now as he was then.” Snape heaved a sigh. “The only thing missing is you, Lily.” Harry stood rooted to the spot, shocked at the casual, open way Snape was addressing his mother. His *dead* mother. *** So I have a few concerns here. 1. Would Snape be that open even when thinking he was alone and talking to a dead woman? 2. How does Harry get away unnoticed (or should there be a confrontation? I really don't want a confrontation. I want Harry to gain a sudden insight into Snape, not have it turn into something that Snape loses because he's been discovered and turns even more malice on Harry) and how far do I carry the story out beyond his discovery? 3. How much more should Snape say? I mean, I figure this is early September of Year Five, so things haven't gotten going yet, so I'm not worried about being jossed, but I also figure that Snape has been doing this regularly and so it's not like he really needs to rehash past events for Lily, just because Harry happens to be there to overhear... 4. Am I getting close to a decent Harry characterization? He's so... slippery. and 5. which is minor in this story but is baffling me - Snuffles? Sirius? Padfoot? How do I refer to him when he's a dog? Anybody got suggestions? I'd appreciate it. Am still contemplating Dawnfic as well... And you know, Dawn and Harry really ought to sit down and talk, as I'm on this BtVS/HP kick. I mean, the Boy Who Lived and the Key. Or maybe Dawn and Neo should talk. *snerk* ~victoria link [current mood: thoughtful] [current music: Mets-Braves in the background] [random quote: I wake up scared I wake up strange I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change] ~*~ 05.30.03 - 10:58 p.m. The Whirlwind Birthdays Tour Am extremely tired, and my eyes are all itchy. I blame Pepper. This is the first time in *months* the damn cat has put in an appearance when I've been at Dom's, and it killed me. We had the whirlwind tour of birthdays this evening. Daddy picked me up at the station, we swung by the house to pick up Mommy, and headed to Marguerite and Anthony's for cake with Alyssa. Today is her 13th birthday. I had two slices of Baskin Robbins cookies'n' cream cake. Then, after much debate, we decided to head over to Dom and Helen's for cake with Patricia, as today is her second birthday. On the way, since I hadn't had a 'real' dinner, and ate lunch at noon (the lunch with my predecessor at this job, which went well, though I still think CC is insane) when I'm used to eating at around 2pm, so I was really hungry, even after the ice cream, I picked up two slices of pizza, which I ate in the car. Then we got to Dom's and Tricia was all about Barney. Barney is evil. You don't need me to tell you this. But somehow, he mesmerizes kids. Just sucks them in and *owns* them, 'til around the age of 4. It's damn spooky. So we had cake there, but I had a very tiny piece. Which was fine, as it was not a homemade cake, and I don't much care for store-bought or bakery cake. It just never has the same texture or flavor. Tricia was happy to see us, but happier about the Spongebob lollipops my sister sent along, and, of course, Barney on the television. She didn't want to come and be serenaded with Happy Birthday because of Barney. So we shut him off. We sang Happy Birthday. Nicki blew out the candles and while everyone was yelling at her to give Tricia a chance to blow her own candles out, Tricia snuck off an put the TV back on so she could watch Barney. Amazing. I am ready for bed. And sweet, sweet Remus dreams, if I'm lucky. ~victoria link [current mood: exhausted] [current music: Everlong - Foo Fighters (live, acoustic)] [random quote: breathe out so I can breathe you in, hold you in...] ~*~ 05.29.03 - 1:45 p.m. the Curse of the Unmarked WsIP Sigh. The Curse of the Unmarked WIP has hit again. Stupid unmarked WsIP. Ten chapters long, each chapter a good 3000-4000 words, and the damn thing isn't complete. Why do they do this to me? Arrrgh. Interesting story, too. Problems, one or two so large that I won't rec it, nor even name it here, but definitely an interesting (almost completely AU) take on the post-Hogwarts years leading up to the Potters' deaths. I really like this Remus and this Sirius, and their relationship, though again, some things that I just don't... the whole mystical mating thing is an irritant. Yes, everybody wants to imagine this soul-deep bond with their One True Love, and that's fine for fantasies and adolescent romantic daydreams. I just find it really annoying in what's supposed to be mature, adult (not in the sexual way but in the maturity way) fiction. I dunno. I'm tired, and my back still hurts. I haven't written anything today, which makes me cranky, but I'm too tired to marshal my thoughts, and nothing I've already started seems interesting enough to work on. And I wonder at my obsessive need to produce. I mean, it's one thing to want to write everyday. Every writer I've ever paid any attention to has said that you should try to write X number of words a day, whatever they are. And I do that. But this need to produce - to write and post... I don't understand where my startling prolificness comes from, and sometimes I don't like it. It's fun when it's on, but when it's not, I feel like I'm not pulling my weight in some obscure way, and then I feel resentful that I feel that way, because goddammit, haven't I done *enough*? I mean, over 200 stories should be enough to buy me the occasional slack days. Weeks. Months even. At least the weather's better. Sun's out. And I have actual work to do. Joy. ~victoria link [current mood: tired and whiny] [current music: Sweet Child O'Mine - GnR] [random quote: \"We are all doomed to pay for the biggest mistakes of our dumbest competitors.\" Jerry Reinsdorf] ~*~ 05.28.03 - 10:22 a.m. Mayor Mike Bloomberg was my ishy gynecologist Well, even with LJ's downtime, I managed to post a bunch of stuff over there, including my latest Sirius/Remus fic rant, self-pimping, and Capable, the Faith-Snape fic. They really don't like each other. *g* *** So I had the pregnancy dream again last night, for the first time in *ages*, but with a twist. It was a demonic pregnancy. Like, the devil was the father of my baby. And I've never even *seen* Rosemary's Baby. Even scarier, Mayor Mike Bloomberg was my ishy gynecologist, who was actually the devil in disguise. I went to a different OBGYN to give birth, but then had to go back to him, and it turned out his little demonspawn gave me cancer, and I was terrified he was going to take my baby - and the other babies he'd fathered - away from me (and the other mothers). because apparently the babies weren't evil yet or something. Also, the apostles Peter and Paul were somehow involved, along with changing history by allowing one of the babies who died in the original timeline to live, thus defeating Satan once and for all. Don't ask me. I don't know either. *** In obvious sympathy with Devil Doll's neck pain, my back is acting up again. Specifically, my left hip. Very hard to get out of bed this morning. Stupid, useless body. And of course, it's grey out again today. Blurgh. I need sunshine and lots of it. Stat. ~victoria link [current mood: scared] [current music: Riders on the Storm - the doors] [random quote: like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm] ~*~ 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