(1) Because, what the hell:
(2) I definitely think someone should write and put up a "Way of the Machete" website, in order to take the piss out of martial arts things.
Machetido, the way of the beta!
The way of the beta is an arduous path, beset on all sides by the comma splice and split infinitive.
We do not rise to the levels of our expectations, we fall to the levels of our Mary Sues.
What is the sound of one hand deleting?
(with apologies to C who has heard all this shite from me before *g*)
(3) PK Tech Girl was on Sci Fi this week and verily, it rocked. Big mwahs to C for encouraging the FS watching. Unfortunately, my planned S2-fest will have to wait until after this weekend because:
(4) My kitchen is a pile of rubble. See also: the living room. I had a damp course put in, which means getting the walls chemically injected with silicone in order to prevent rising damp. On Thursday, they hacked off all the plaster in two rooms to a height of one metre and spewed chemicals into it and today a bloke with vast arse cleavage and the irritating habit of calling me "mate" is putting plaster on it. I can probably redecorate next year. In the meantime: very attractive two-tone walls, chemical lab smell and a thick, thick layer of brick dust everywhere.
Next week, new bathroom. Oh. Dear. God.
Should any of you find yourselves in London, and requiring the services of a plumber/joiner/mechanic, I offer this handy cut-out-and-keep phrasebook:
TRANS: Please take out a second mortgage now as my bill will be rather large
TRANS: Look at that. Repairing that alone will put my oldest child through college
TRANS: And *that* will pay for my youngest
"Gordon Bennett. Yerlookinat'grand"
Standard response to the question "how much will this cost to repair?"
"Joo'ave Wyatt Earp doin' this, didja?"
TRANS: I fear that a cowboy did this plumbing
"tssss" [hissing sort of intake of breath through the teeth]
TRANS: Oh dear, which cowboy installed this?
"Ohwell, sbetter'n'itlooks. Sturdy, vatis"
Response to the answer "you installed it, last time you were here"
(5) It has come to my attention that my last entry may have made me look like Norma No-mates. I'm not really, I do okay. It's just that my family is shrinking very fast and I hadn't quite realised how much one side of my heritage had been cut off when my grandfather died earlier this year, until about a week ago. That's the thing about having grandparents in another country. You can kid yourself that they're not gone.
(6) This isn't me having a pop at anyone, honest, but the level of animus directed at XF is really harshing the old mellow. To reuse metaphors:
It's like you once used to love a really cool artifact that was painted an excellent shade of blue, and then one year, its owners painted it red.
And you hate the new red version at first and all around you people are shouting "It's red, it's red, I hate the red". And you agree but it's upsetting because you *know* it's bloody red and you don't want reminding.
And as time goes on, you get used to the red -- there are even good parts of the red, nice shading here and there -- but you don't particularly like it and you don't want to think about it any more, because there's nothing you can do: you just want to think about the good old days when it was blue.
Only then people keep saying "well, of course, I never liked that shade of blue it was anyway, and look at this new yellow thing, which is a much better shade anyway -- it has continuity of yellow."
And you want to say: "But it's not the blue thing! You're not comparing like with like! It's like comparing apples and large weasels living in Clapham! Not the same!
"I respect your right to like the yellow thing; *I* like the yellow thing, but do you always have to say the currently red thing was shite even when it was blue? It was excellent when it was blue! Blame the fucking painter!"
Which is just to say ... well, which is just to say I dislike Chris Carter really. A lot.
I always love reading people's LJs when they talk about shows, even if it's to say why they don't like them. But can we not have a collective "well, that was a pile of rancid duck shite" every Monday morning?
(7) There is no seven
(8) I fear I may be about to start reading in the Harry Potterverse. Someone please administer a large kick in an arsewards direction.
(9) Our canteen at work grows ever more "interesting". Pasta is making a big reappearance on the scene because they're trying to cut costs, as the circulations are going up massively but we're losing money still because of the advertising recession. Eating the canteen food, you discover what cuisine would have been like if the surrealists had been cooks, rather than painters. Something's always bleeding well melting over the surfaces, that's for certain.
Tonight, the main dish was "poisson au reindeersick avec des frites du cardboard", or "indistinct, vaguely Italian fusilli, with vile green sauce (could be pesto, might be a snot/spinach combo)"
Obviously, I'm paraphrasing the menu.
But anyway, my top tip for coping with canteen pasta is this: buy a bag of prawn cocktail/smoky bacon crisps. Sit on bag, pulverising contents. Sprinkle on food to taste. Improves every meal. *g*
(10) Stop with the gloating about the Buffy musical already. Please. I know it was wonderful but have a little pity.