every martyr in this jungle

Are there any apple orchards or pumpkin patches within train/bus reach of NYC? This is what people do in New England during fall, I'm to understand. In Florida, we celebrate with an al fresco meal and packing up our sweaters because businesses stop over-air conditioning their offices.

My good intentions of starting a post-work walk routine, since I can't develop a rapport with the rowing machine like the Mr., were waylaid by an impromptu nap. Look, some of you might be heartless enough to move a cat that has just snuggled against you, but I'm made of softer stuff.

I've been soul-deep in Sherlock for so long that no other fandom's managed to pique my fannish interest since last January, but the new season of The Vampire Diaries might just do it. I suppose one of the pleasures of being a vampire is infinite second chances. Interested to see how the Salvatore boys will screw up getting everything they ever wanted.

The world is conspiring to get me to watch Breaking Bad, just as it's ending. I don't love the idea of committing to a source just as everyone else is preparing to move on though, and that may ultimately be the reason why I don't watch it. I had my epic television love affair with Battlestar Galactica, and prefer my conflicts speculative or internal rather than agency-sapping things like cancer and the rotten state of American health care.

VividCon hangover continues to linger. I can't listen to a song or think about any media I've ever loved without vidding it in my head. And you guys, wow, some ideas are way, WAY better than others.

So things surely happened in the world today, but all I know is that it's a damn good thing the photos from Sherlock filming at the 221B facade in London didn't start rolling in until late in the afternoon because I lost my shit all over the apartment at this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this(!) and ESPECIALLY THESE. It sucks that the fans sometimes disturb filming and that Cinderbalmain has progressed to the level of fame that requires a bodyguard, but I just cannot be anything but grateful for these photos.

Despite living in New York, I am not now, nor will I ever be a foodie. I like good food, but I don't think throwing together unexpected ingredients, making a dish out of moss or the unappetizing voodoo that is molecular gastronomy accomplishes the goal of feeding me something delicious that leaves me satisfied. While these are valid (and represented) complaints, Eater's anonymous restaurant rants have been both educational and cathartic about what else is wrong with the restaurant scene (wine in a tumbler? And yes, keeping restaurants accountable for cost is proper and necessary journalism.)

I'd like to end on a musical interlude, and its accompanied dancing, that has brought me a lot of joy this summer. John Oliver's stint as host of The Daily Show is over, and he definitely grew on me once he stopped fanboying the celebrities and started spouting well-honed rants (because there's nothing so sexy as watching a British man lose his cool, FACT). The Mr. and I got to be in the audience for the royal baby episode, which was AMAZING (largely because we got to sass Jason Jones about drinking on the job, and I got to give props to Jessica Williams before she taped her segment.) But right from the start, he won my heart just a little with his Carlos Danger dance.

And now we're off to see The World's End, in which hopefully Martin Freeman gets to say more than "Noooo." Not that that wasn't fun.

No, pretty sure I'm the only one who's spent the past two weeks trying to parse out why the events at the end of "Klaus" made sense. Cut me a little slack though, it's been at least four years (!?) since I've seriously attempted the meta thing, but it's good to exercise the brain with the important questions in life.

( 'I’m a little behind on the times, but I believe the term you’re searching for is OMG.' )

Colbert study: Conservatives don't know he's joking | The Huffington Post

Ahahaha! But in all fairness, he's pretty high-level comedy. And the ability to appeal, whether out of ignorance or agreement, the extreme opposite ends of the political spectrum means he's doing something right.

Speaking of high-level comedy...

So I'm skimming a year's worth of fannish backlog like you do sometimes, and in the midsts of all the moot discussions about where fandom could flee and end-of-HP wank, I found this pseudo-meme (the kind that a single person originates as a random thought and others join in through comments) about media quotes that have stuck with you. And I'm really not in the proper fannish mindset to remember the nuances that become fodder for epics and in-jokes and generally up one's street cred, but I do still love fandom and media even all the way out here and just thinking about it while walking down the street makes me smile. ( So, list. )

Anyone else?

I start being a reporter today at 10 a.m. Not sure which part of that sentence terrifies me more.

( OMGWTFBBQreporting )

Briefly, 2006 in review:
-got first professional job (with the company I aspired to work for one day)
-lived alone for the first time (and down the street from a Starbucks)
-lost weight
-gained a boyfriend (six months this past 20th and obscenely happy)
-fell in love with TV again, namely Battlestar Galactica, SG-1 (all seasons on sale for $20 at Best Buy NOW), Gilmore Girls and Studio60
-became addicted to Sudoku
-went back to DragonCon
-finally did Halloween at Disney
-became a Mac owner
-rediscovered gaming (thanks Nintendo Wii! We got a kick out of the three unsold PS3s at Best Buy AND Target tonight, but no Wiis or its accessories in sight.)

Crisis of professional faith aside, I toast it!

More specifically for tomorrow, when I'm to be in the office at noon (regular time being 4:30 p.m.) and shouldn't expect to leave until both weekend editions of East Polk are done, on the new system, with one of the "new" design girls. Being a compendium of all things making me happy right now, this will serve as a reminder that life is nonetheless worth living.

In the shower yesterday morning, Brandon and I discussed where the line is between fetish vs. fandom in terms of Star Trek versus religion and why one should be seen as more valid than the other. I might love him and have been trying to say so for a while, but it just came out as shampoo dripped into my eyes.

In a Sorkin two-for, not that I'm not already willing to break pretty much nine out of 10 commandments for him, Harriet is no longer a gaping black hole of screen time, and Sting plays the lute.

Despite the strife and anger and tears, both East Polk and Business made it out passably on their first night using the new software system, leading the managing editor to gush about Brandon and me as the "wizards" of MediaDesk all over, ironically, our old editing program Atex.

Just remembered that I got the phrase "high-end problem" into a headline on the Business front the other day. WORD TO MY MOTHER.

Thanks to a roommate somewhere in the course of human events, Brandon received mixes two through six and a few homemade (!) editions of DDR - including every song I've ever loved (I've got your number, Tribal Dance) - which he found on a CD this afternoon.

There's A LOT "" of Halloween candy on the kitchen counter.

Birthday windfalls mean I have enough money to buy an iMac. Not 24" of it like my heart of hearts desires, but a nice little 20" refurb, I think.

This will be a four-day workweek, after which Brandon and I have four days together starting Tuesday to cavort around Central Florida's finest Halloween venues.

Gilmore Girls did not break my heart into a thousand pieces this week. A hundred maybe, and mostly because of missed opportunities than blatant insipidity, but it wasn't the giant wad of suck that it's been. The banter was snappier, even through the pop culture stuff was shallow. Now, more Logan, less Christopher and no April, and we'd be so much closer to world peace than anyone writing for the show realizes.

This World of Warcraft songvid (dear god in heaven, you read that right) to Weird Al's Hardware Store.

Our laptops are set up across from each other on my pub-style dining room table. During last night's communal computer session, the Counting Crows' live album was accompanied by Brandon about two octaves below Adam Duritz.

The fact that this photo exists and has been provided to the media is, I think, wonderful. Like the one of Alito when he was five or so, blatant PR move though it was. But seriously, this Foley story? First of all, creepy and wrong, yes, but otherwise hilariously madcap and nonstop entertainment. Alcohol made him send instant messages while voting on the House floor! Homosexuality kept too long in the closet made him try to crash the pages' dorm! No, wait, priest abuse made him do it ALL! Oh, Republicans.

We've toasted with the first eggnog of the season.


Uh, I tried to space out the Brandon stuff, but he accounts disproportionately for my happiness these days.

After four days of hacking up my lungs, breathing through my mouth, huddling in my Atlantis sweatshirt and moaning pitifully, the death flu has been vanquished. You know, it wouldn't have been nearly as bad, but as our waiter at Smoky Bones and I commiserated, who gets the flu in the middle of JULY? Lame.

No fewer than three people have called/e-mailed to tell me about Lance's big coming out party, which probably was only news to me as fandom is generally at least three days ahead of The Associated Press.

Why yes, that scene in the flashback Gilmore Girls episode with 16-year-old Lorelai sitting alone in the hospital emergency room waiting to be admitted because she was in labor with Rory listening to 99 Luftballons was the saddest thing I've seen in forever.

Booked eight-day vacation to Atlanta. Ostensibly for DragonCon, more importantly for heady amounts of caffeine and sleep deficit in the company of walkingshadow and our Haaahvard friend. [GLEE]

My electronic family welcomed a PlayStation 2 with Guitar Hero last night. Mother is doing joyfully, even if her fingers aren't.

I missed Rodney's line about downloading porn in Misbegotten, which would have QUADRPLAGESATED my enjoyment. Though the rest of you are doing a good job of working me over, too.

Brandon is sitting across from me at the dining room table, eating cereal with one hand while reading my British copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in the other. It's like we've skipped past all the stupid stuff that usually trips up relationships and went straight to old married couple.

( Which is to say, there's been a lot of it. )

Coldplay's White Shadows (YSI link) played over sunset in my living room this afternoon. My sliding glass door has a slightly northwest exposure, so the rays catch in the tall palm tree in my courtyard and play across my dining room table while the Venetian blinds create more languid stripes along the carpet. Everything is bathed in lovely reds and oranges, and for the first time ever I'm rueing that work only allows me to be here for it on the weekend.



Among an adequately short list of activities a "Sunday" should entail, I properly keyworded my icons and shuffled in some new stuff. Sharing was a leery concept until I sat up and went ooh, pretteh, which as we all know trumps all.