every martyr in this jungle

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.

( 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 )