every martyr in this jungle

( Journal redesign strife. )

So, hey, I graduated college! Not that the whole renting a cap and gown, sitting through a long, boring ceremony, walking across a stage, shaking hands with the two people I would've been content to never meet, then bounce between two sets of relatives thing didn't feel real enough. But my diploma arrived in Saturday's mail. Really, by itself it was a fairly forlorn and unimpressive piece of parchment paper. But then I put it in the frame my mom got, and all of a sudden it's this official, regal document wrapped in mahogany that says thing like The University of Florida has conferred on and bachelor of science and all the rights and privileges thereunto appertaining, two of which I didn't even know were actual words, and upon recommendation of the faculty of the College of Journalism and Communications. I'm a journalist, y'all, a whole college's worth of faculty say so! It was neat, I had to swipe at my cheek a little while holding up the final result. It's such a satisfying thing, to be that much closer to the person I've always wanted to be.

( Sports Editor Ted is likely a lost cause, Copy Editor Brandon and I have started to bond over questionable foods, and why I love working for Metro Editor Billy. )

Hitting up MegaCon in Orlando on Sunday was a neat little time warp exercise in remembering middle school, but otherwise largely unproductive. What's with the dearth of Stargate swag in the world? However, there was soft-serve ice cream and John Schneider (Bo Kent, as we call him down on the farm) juggling. He looked really ridiculously good, tan, longer hair with blondish highlights, fantastically fitting shirt, laughing and jumping around with fans. There was also driving with the top down in gorgeous, breezy weather, which meant not even getting a half hour's worth of lost dampened my spirits. And at the end of the day, I do have an Atlantis mission patch to sew on the ass of my favorite jeans.

The real reason for my lack of updates is that I've been reading SGA fic like a fiend. Came across something incredibly depressing the other day involving John and Rodney living to be old enough to retire from the Atlanis mission. They had bought a house by the ocean and Rodney swung a puddlejumper for the garage, and it was so hard to read. I don't even mean the fact that the likelihood of them living that long is infinitesimal, but the idea of wanting to preserve some pale shadow of the lives they'd led. Anyone who's ever lived knows the impossibility of recreating anything, a moment, a place, a memory. None of it will be perfect, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

( As I fall deeper into the television abyss thanks to the DVR... )

And it's officially at the point where I'm making a list of things I have in my refrigerator as opposed to things I need. To Publix it is.

( Quotes )

If updating while drunk is hard, trying to not die from each report of the keyboard because one's head is already a massive hangover-induced ache is next to impossible. Blargh. It was just beer! Granted it was a lot, but I drank water like I'm supposed to. We even had 5 a.m. breakfast at Waffle House! Mmm, pecan waffle.

Ahem. In any event, Friday lab was largely pleasant, with my minder showing a penchant for South Park, though she did consider making Cartman the FAA spokesman, so the extent of her knowledge is debatable. But the kids in there just don't seem to be learning what I've told them at least twice. No specifics in the lead, especially names unless the person has public figure status. Make them single sentences. Attribute properly. Basic stuff. And yet, here we are.

Mike and I blew off the world that afternoon to see Thumbsucker. I need to remember that indie, quirky cinema is not for me, even if it does have Vincent D'Onofrio, Keanu Reeves and Tilda Swinton in it. It's somewhat ironic, unless that was the point, that the character I walked away understanding the least was the lead. It's also interesting that I have the opposite philosophy with regard to my cinema - escapism - than fanfic - realism. In the theater, I like the improbable; in fic, I demand grounding in canon for events and characterizations. Hm.

Saturday was a mess of South Park. We officially have all but maybe two or three of my favorite episodes on the DVR, making investment in a writer imperative. That show is amazingly clever, just weird, offensive, relevant, petty, hilarious, horrifying, delightfully depressing and smart, in turns and, of course, in their own ways. Guilty pleasures include The Losing Edge, Good Times With Weapons, Raisins, Fat Butt and Pancake Head, and You Got F*ucked in the Ass but even then, there's almost always something redeeming about the episode.

In alarming technological news, if commercials are to be believed, there's now a car out there (sorry, can't find a link for the life of me and don't remembr the make/model) that calls up your service shop when it has a problem. Big Brother liek woah. Also, this. Me and robots, man. The wax sculptures at Madame Tussaud's were freaky enough, but to have them move and talk? [meep]

( I work at the Alligator, as you may have heard. )

I crawled unwillingly from my bed at 2 p.m. but only until I got to the sofa and found Down With Love had just started on Cinemax. Frankly, everyone I lamentably listened to who didn't outright love this movie was smoking the bad crack. Ewan McGregor owns a piece of my soul, he truly does, especially when he sings. Though Renee Zellwegger was outacted at a few turns, which is dumbfounding, the plot was genius, the execution delightful, and the resolution on point. It's smart, funny, and (ultimately) escapes the misogenism underlying so many romantic comedies.

As far as the rest of the night, in brief as that is all it deserves, Opinions Editor Emily has a management concern to discuss, she should do it with an iota of maturity and ask Mike and I into his office rather than pitch a loud hissy fit in the middle of the newsroom. Grr. Especially if she's going to make false accusations and suggest that changing a letter-writer's point is better than taking out the letter without consulting her. Also, news needs to not happen after budget, but if it must, please do so before 9 p.m. so we can write a reasonable story and pull and stretch content like so much warm taffy to make it fit, because at 10:30, it would take the falling of all the stars above to make some such thing happen.

Have I mentioned the mouse that lives in the Alligator production office? It ventures out occasionally - Mike claims to have seen it in his office - but it's of frightening proportions if the amount of noise it makes scurrying above the ceiling panels are any indication.

In conclusion, as well as a fit of unfathomable shallowness, has it been mentioned that the Japanese prime minister is a very handsome man? Ditto for Tony Blair, who also wears great ties. Mmm, politicians. And wow have I got to be warped to say that. In that same fit of impropriety, insert your own quips here (by the way, the fourth image result from my Google image search of Tony Blair turned up a manip of him kissing Dubya. Heh. But I mean, when they're this happy to see each other, the stuff kind of writes itself.)

EDIT: Wow. If that's not a classic clandestine moment, I don't know what is. Also, Bwah! A government-issue cotillion! [heart]

SON OF EDIT: Why is this new to me? [dies]