Dear Bioware,

Why is it that, on planets with hostile environments that will melt armour in under a minute, Getherton G. MacGeth of Gethsville, Gethland, is completely untroubled by the temperature?1

Similarly, the agents of the evil corporation's supersecret research department don't seem to freeze to death waiting to defend the supersecret science facility, and the sudden unexpected space pirates appear not to need helmets on a planet with no atmosphere.

Slightly puzzled,
[ profile] active_apathy,
Refrigerational logician2

And now, because I have again attacked with the prompt 'cinnamon', a meme from [ profile] maggiebloome:

The first TEN (10)3 people4 to comment in this post get to request a drabble or a poem or something of any pairing/character/misc of their choosing5 from me6. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.

  1. I am assuming that this is not, in fact, another part of the Checkhov's Gun Arsenal that is the rest of the game. It's almost like they really, really want to join Checkhov's NRA.
  2. There needs to be a name for linking people to tvtropes. Troperolling, perhaps? Except that the trope link tends to be entirely relevant, as are the next seventy-four tabs that you will open.
  3. Not necessarily limited to TEN (10).
  4. Necessarily limited to people.
  5. Choosing things I know something about may yield better results.
  6. I shall endeavour to be less flakesome this time.
Dear Mr President-Elect,

"Yes we can" is probably not a Constitutionally-valid response to the Oath of Office.

Similarly, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" is also right out, except perhaps later, in the Residence. This later event probably should not involve the Chief Justice.

With believable hope,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear Mr President,

Don't keep your Secret Service detail from not letting the door hit you on the way out.

With palpable relief,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear Secret Service Detail for the Soon-To-Be-Former President,

Just 10 years - only 3652 days - until you don't have to see him again either.

With sympathy,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear Internet,, that's a lot of Inauguration drinking games.

Utterly without surprise,
[ profile] active_apathy
Dear WiiSports Tennis,
You might like deuce. Other people might like deuce. I don't mind a little deuce every now and then, up to a point.

You just went well past that point.

I should not be able to download 10% of an album (FROM ENTIRELY LEGITIMATE SOURCES, WHY DO YOU QUESTION ME SO) over a 46.7kbps Internet connection in the time it takes to win one service game. When this happens, there is an excess of deuce. A preponderance of deuce. And, unless you're trying to get through a stockpile of deuce, or exchanging deuce credits with other copies of WiiSports, it really has to stop.

(Preferably with match point, but still. There are people in the world who don't even have any deuce.)

Trapped at 40-40,
[ profile] active_apathy

But, yes. WiiSports. About which I'm posting, oh, A YEAR after the rest of the world. And I do so because my WiiSports tennis skill level thingy has departed the graph and started for the edge of the screen at all of 2041 - as opposed to my WiiSports baseball skill level, which is at a much less lofty 24. These extremes are reflected in nothing quite so much as the Wii Fitness test thingy; I get something about mid 20s when there's no baseball games on the test, and something in the high 30s when there is baseball on the test, so my graph looks like a hedgehog's come by and drawn its ideal haircut.

Also, while I'm posting stuff about games: would those people who said they were interested in Lexicon (five definite, nine maybe, and I'm not above just naming all of you) please either come and join the rest of us, or tell me that you're not actually interested anymore. Thanks!

And, that's all for now.
Dear, um, you1,
Merry Christmas / Xmas / Xmas Substitute / I Can't Believe It's Not Xmas / Other.
[ profile] active_apathy

Also, this xkcd comic, it speaks truth.

  1. That link will only work properly from your friends page, but I'm still kind of geekily proud of it. Hooray!
Dear self,

Wii fatigue is not an excuse for everything. Indeed, going and getting a sharp needle can do wondrous things to help with that feeling of sewing Tarrasque hide.

[ profile] active_apathy
active_apathy: (Firefly - Gag Reel - Can't. Sentence.)

A Letter

Nov. 1st, 2007 12:22 am
Dear NaNoPeople,
Good luck and good writing. Or, at least, loquacious, plenteous and voluminous writing1.

Save frequently, and stay sane.

... safe.

No, sane.
With love, (and, also, morbid fascination)
your most innocent of bystanders,
your occasionally innocent bystander,
[ profile] active_apathy
  1. Though probably using littler words, since big words sometimes tend to be terser.

    ... is terser a word? More terse? Of comparatively greater terseness? Verbosity-challenged? Something.
I think I may have used that subject line before, but it's probably not going to have stopped me this time. Um... something. Yes. You knew what I mean. Know what I meant. Whatever.

Look upon my miscellany of semirandomness, ye sane, and despair.

Dear obsessive turners-on of lights,
don't. Just don't. Please? For a variable portion of the day, there's a large, overhead daylight bulb/heat lamp that we commonly call 'the sun', which, when the blinds have been placed in the 'open' position, provides illumination to large areas with desks in, such as classrooms.

Of course, additional light may well be necessary for you. I understand this; I really do, though the extra light can irritate my eyes some. Even so, if there's some reason why you're turning the lights on (or even if you just like them on, in service to whatever other unfathomable cause you've dredged up from somewhere), I'd take it as a kindness if you'd sift through that big box of words over there for a moment or two. Maybe you'll find something useful, like "hey, would anyone mind if I turn the lights on?"
Without love, and instead with rhetoric and maybe blood,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear fellow purchasers of food products,
thankyou kindly for your invaluable service today. It would, indeed, have been somewhat embarrassing to have gone through my whole day without realising that I am, in fact, completely invisible. Had it not been for you, I'm sure my sole consolation would've been knowing, at least, that no-one would've seen me turning red over it.
With apparent invisibility,
[ profile] active_apathy

An interlude brought to you by instant messaging: [ profile] selenitia just kind of mentioned an HP fic with a snake familiar; I'm given to wondering, who would have a snake familiar in the HPverse? Harry, apparently, O HAY I WANTS TO BE LIEK VOLDYWOSSNAME implications and all.

Unless it's an entire arc that was edited out somewhere?

Harry: Professor, might my snake familiar represent some repressed desire to grow up to be like Voldemort?
Dumbledore: Repressed desire? What? No, never, no repressed desires here, not. At. All. It's almost like you think you're in a series that frequently features a magical closet!
Harry: What?
Rowling: You're. Not. Supposed. To. Mention. That. There's a whole other book to sell yet!
Harry: What?!
Dumbledore: Er... nevermind. Um. Yes. So, how about this appropriately-foreshadowing weather we've been having?
Weather: What? Sorry, off having a nap. Um... sinister, wasn't it? *tosses lightning about*

And lastly: a little observation from my blood plasma donation yesterday, which had a sudden change of plans (or, at least, median cubital veins) leaving the machine on the side opposite the venepuncture site.

I'm sure that, when you've a plastic tube filled with your own still-warm blood laying across you and connecting one of your veins to a large-ish, vaguely-impressive machine, there's a range of sensible and/or instinctive responses.

I'm also sure that wanting to play with the aforementioned tube of still-warm blood probably doesn't actually appear on that list, and can, I've discovered, be sorely taxing to my self-control.

Here endeth, yea, the miscellany of semirandomness. If necessary, please soak up the puddle most closely resembling your brain with the sponge provided.
Dear fifth glass of merlot,

you're mine. All mine. Resistance is futile (and really hard to clean up after, so please don't). Your tasteful essence, antioxidants, soft tannins, beautiful colour and 14.5% alcohol by volume shall be consumed 'ere the night is done, as will your brethren still in the bottle.

Bwahahaha, et cetera.

Yours drinkingly,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear man on escalator,

you probably think that ripped jeans are perennially fashionable. For some, they are. This, however, applies to specific kinds of tears.

When your jeans are torn in close proximity to the gluteal region, they're most definitely not fashionable.

Even so, I'll happily ignore your sartorial problems if you'll do one of two things: please, for the love of sunshine and rainbows and hugs and puppies and kitties and all things else, either (a) invest in some kind of sewing kit, or (b) wear underwear.

Scarred for life,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear retailers,

when installing a new point of sale system, favour the fuller form 'point of sale' on all notices visible to potential customers. A sign announcing the impending arrival of a new 'POS system' doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

Yours helpfully,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear government-owned public transport monopoly,

the number of people waiting for buses who secretly think "hey, if only I could be listening to The Barber of Seville right. now."?

Probably fewer than you think.

Yours adverbially,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear sixth glass of merlot,

you've made the bottle embarrasingly empty, but I'm probably not going to hold it against you.

Yours happily,
[ profile] active_apathy
Dear obnoxious fellow passenger,

my MP3 player was set to a volume that I use to drown out my vaccum cleaner, because, contrary to your opinion, I didn't want to hear you talking to your supposed friend, sitting not two feet from you. Honestly, you're not that interesting.

For argument's sake, we'll call the volume produced by the earphones approximately 80dB(SPL), which is roughly four times the loudness and one hundred times the sound pressure of normal conversation. Let me repeat that: one hundred times the sound pressure. SO WHY COULD I STILL HEAR YOU?

With something that can be safely assumed to be the exact opposite of love,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear Candida stationery company,

you may wish to consider changing your corporate logo to something a little less capable of being misread by busy passers-by.

The idea of Candirú stationery is somewhat discomforting.

With hope for the new logo,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear random person in library,

I'm no stranger at all to the idea of noise in libraries. Discussion, conversation, mirth, merriment, and many things else are perfectly welcome, so far as I care, in such a place of knowledge and learning.

Let me assure you, however, that the sound of repeated, intense orgasms from the vicinity of a computer roughly ten feet behind me don't really count under the previously mentioned policy.

While I'm happy your research is working out for you, I don't particularly want to start associating journal articles on information literacy with sex.

With suggestions of places less public,
[ profile] active_apathy

Dear flist,

apparently, LJ has added a new feature to polls which will - when you click on the 'view answers' link - insert the poll answers into the page you're currently viewing without the need to be linked to a new page. I'll put a poll here so you can see.

[Poll #940231]

So far, I think I like the answer-insert-thingy. And with that comes the end of the entry.

With varying degrees of love,
[ profile] active_apathy
So, I was shopping for miscellaneous learning supplies, because that's pretty much what you do when it's nearly time to go back to your learning for another fun-filled semester.

And, well, it's never actually fun, because it's so carefully timed to coincide with (a) small children going back to school, and (b) everyone else working on being a right pain. And succeeding.

Seriously, these people all make me want to find some kind of aerosol spray version of necrotising fasciitis1. You want to block the aisle? Flesh-eating bacteria! You want to hold everyone up to argue about five cents difference on a price? Flesh-eating bacteria! You want to crowd thoroughfares in a cluster of utterly unrelated mobile phone conversations? Congratulations, here's your fasciitis necroticans, enjoy. You'd like to run into me with a trolley2? Come closer, there's enough flesh-eating bacteria to go round4. Please, don't shove, otherwise everyone gets microbial death.

So, what news is there today?

Firstly, Borders had Gneil's Don't Panic, which I immediately wanted to buy, then didn't, because I wouldn't have had the moneythingies to do so. However! It will be bought in the not-too-distant future (ie, after Lady Friday is out. And if my opportunity to buy it clashes with the release of White Night, then Don't Panic will just have to wait.)

Which reminds me!

Dear man in bookstore,

it's ok. Really. In fact, I'm happy that you've finally shown to me that I have no need of physical space in which to exist. Certainly, it made my day that you didn't bother with so much as a word before deciding that the only way to transport your oh-so-important self to other bookstore locales was right through that spot where I was standing.

If you're planning a repeat performance, it may even contribute to my happiness to know you'd tried to similarly shove your way past, say, a sugaro cactus. Of course, I'd have to demand pictures for that one; I've never seen an ethereally nonexistent cactus before, and it'd be wondrous to examine a photographic record of your cactaceous6 endeavours.

With vanishing regards,
[ profile] active_apathy

PS: Could I maybe interest you in a nice, fresh vial of necrotising fasciitis?

So, yes. Also, apparently, escalator etiquette in the modern world is such that you only stand to one side when the second half of the escalator has broken down, and thus everyone has to walk up. Doing so in single-file? Actually not helpful, though it would've been good on the part that was still moving.

And then, then there was the psychotic bus driver, whose sole contribution to this entry will be his attempt to crash and kill us all. He was - apparently - unsuccessful, unless I am, in fact, dead, and all the ills of my day prior to that trip were a kind of advance payment on hell.

So, that was my day. About the only good part is that I seem to have developed a new approach for rapid-deployment nakedness, inasmuch that I can successfully arrange my clothes so that the simple act of stopping inside my room (and, sometimes, shrugging slightly) can make them fall off. There are benefits to this approach, not least among which the fact that I get to use the phrase 'rapid-deployment nakedness'.

And now, footnotes, though you've probably already read them all anyway.7
  1. I'm moderately obsessed with it at the moment, possibly because it has a strangely cute name for something that will do its level best to kill you in no time at all.
  2. Seriously3. My leg still hurts.
  3. ... I blame Shonda Rhimes. At least I'm not (yet?) using "too much water under the thing or whatever".
  4. And I just looked this up to see whether it was properly 'go around', 'go 'round' or 'go round'. And my source was inconclusive, which means I need to find an idiom dictionary5.
  5. Oh, yes. They exist.
  6. I'm not sure whether I can actually use this as an adverb, but I couldn't find a proper adverbial form for 'cactus', so it was a choice of 'cactaceous' or 'cactoid', and 'cactaceous' sounds much better. Cactoid - to be perfectly honest - sounds like a name for some spiny green superhero whose superpower is standing in the desert for long periods of time.
  7. The little superscripted numbers tend to have that effect. Indirectly, this also means that the end of my post is actually at the end of my post. Curious.
active_apathy: (BtVS - vague that up)


Jan. 20th, 2007 12:52 am
Dear font maker,

you mightn't be fond of punctuation, the average Netizen might not be fond of punctuation, and many ordinary folk don't see how punctuation works for them.

For all that, though, you've gone to the effort of crafting a typeface. You've lovingly drawn vector images of little letters so that we can throw text about on icons, web graphics and paper with scarce a second thought, and we value your efforts, little though we may think about them. We're quite happy that you've taken the time to put together a complete set of letters, all for our nefarious graphical endeavours.

Which is why I'd like to know one very simple thing: what is it that deluded you into thinking that replacing the apostrophe, comma, colon, semicolon, full stop, ampersand, and countless other poor helpless marks and symbols with your own logo was a good idea?

Please, do tell, because I haven't the faintest clue why you'd have done that.

With almost anything but love,
[ profile] active_apathy
Disclaimer: Just before writing this entry, I accidentally spilled tea. This tea emergency resulted in little damage apart from a very soggy skirt. As a result, this entry was written skirtless. You have been warned.

(I expect there's no significant difference from normal. I just wanted a way of saying this that was more fun than "Oops, spilt tea on myself.")

Let's start with another warning: there may be other NaNofilk pending, as a result of this thread. Some of the lines from the OMGSEKRIT original song are being a shade tricky, but I expect they'll be made to cooperate any moment now.

And from here, into the entry text!

I've been spending copious amounts of time shopping today, which translates roughly as 'staring longingly at things I want to buy, and laughing mockingly at things I don't ever want to buy'. And, really, the rest of that story's about as fun as watching John W Howard knit 'stay the course' socks for El Presidente Shrub while whistling God Save the Queen and making a plasticine model of the White House using only his toes.

The highlight, if you can call it that, was that I saw the trailer for Casino Royale on one of the magical picture boxes that punctuate the architecture of the modern shopping centre. While I understand that my judgement on this matter might be a little off, seeing as how I'm Really Not Interested in the menfolk, my pet theory is that he may just be the ugliest person ever to play James Bond. Yes, they started with Marko Ramius, and then moved on to Simon Templar and Timothy Dalton (who doesn't have a recognisable enough role in anything for me to use another character name). Fifth (George Lazenby was too boring to appear in the timeline) was Remington Steele, who brought a bit of prettiness back to the role. And now, Daniel (I-haven't-seen-his-other-films) Craig gets hired to make me wonder just how it is that this James Bond character is supposed to get lots of sex. Maybe I'm missing something. Discuss.

Next on my list is a random incident: a woman watered potted flowers in a fountain, then emptied much of the water into the gutter. I'm puzzled as to why, but it was moderately amusing to watch.

And then, Westfield has brought out an amusing Xmas poster. I'm sure it's supposed to look Appallingly Cute™, but... it doesn't. There's this sad-eyed stripling with a poorly handwritten sign saying 'SANTA'. Again, I'm sure it's supposed to look Appallingly Cute™, but the effect I get is a kid answering a question like "Could you please tell the court who it was that, brandishing a sawn-off shotgun, divested you of your lollipop?"

Campus ad: Male student requires "acomodation".
Apparently, he's seeking to move in with quiet, friendly folk who are non-smokers and non-spellers - but it's ok if they leave their punctuation out all over the place. Instead of pandering to Telegraph readers and testing immigrants on their English, we should maybe spend a little bit on teaching it in schools first.

And then, my trip home. I recount this snippet verbatim, from someone who took exception to needing a student card to get about on a student fare:
What's up with that fucking driver's fucking attitude? I'm going to fucking write down all the fucking names of the drivers with fucking attitude problems. There's a real fucking problem on the buses. I'm going to fucking make them fucking fix these fucking attitude problems.
An attitude problem on buses? It's interesting you should mention that. Can you maybe think of an example? No? Oh well.
And could you maybe acomodate a fellow rocket scientist? I'm sure you could compare notes. Or if you're not big on notes, you could probably find something else to compare.

Lastly, my Gmail is loudly heralding its five new features. And in a way I feel to be reasonably true to form for when I actually post about Google stuff...
Dear Monolithically Lovable Empire of Search Google,

It's with some interest that I read through the release on your new features for Gmail. Having looked about on top of its page looking for a reply button, I've instead chosen this as a medium for comment. So!

Cut for pure madness, and possibly length )

All in all, dearest Google, it's a feature set which looks like it might be - at times - quite useful. And, at other times, potentially hazardous. Now I just need to find someone with POP email to forward a whole thread to... bwahaha.

Yours with a context-sensitive adverb,
[ profile] active_apathy
And that's it for now. As always, um, stuff. Yeah. I think I need some kind of better ending for my posts. Discuss.
For those who haven't yet heard it, [ profile] palmer_kunhas recorded a version of the NaNo song. Welcome, one and all, to utter madness. But first...
Dear fellow public transport users,

You make it somewhat unpleasant to breathe. You register strongly with the Sensory Department for the Detection and Identification of Aerosol Unpleasantness. You inspire my olfactory nerves to set condition one throughout my nose.

In short, you are smelly. Please wash.

While I'm aware of the plight of those who are naturally whiffy, if there is continued non-compliance on the washing front I swear by my pretty floral book bag that I will spray you with the very girliest deodorant money can buy.

Further non-compliance may be resolved by application of duct tape and a street sweeper, in roughly that order.

That is all.
My other bit of news for the day comes from a mildly confused public service job ad. It started with some questions - "Do you want to work in a customer service environment?", "Are you experienced in customer service?", "Do you want proper recognition for what you do?", and stuff like that. The point was that if you answer yes for any of the questions, you're supposed to feel enticed to apply for the job.

The problem? One of the questions says, "Are you getting paid enough?"

Let me repeat that. Are you getting paid enough?

I don't think it's what they meant to say. Who turns up at a job interview and answers a question like "Why did you leave your previous job?" with something like "Well, my remuneration was distressingly adequate."

Bah. Silly Scientologists public service.

Lastly, the meme still has one item left to be solved. It is...
  1. Oddly enough, meddling is rarely appreciated. Nothing here is what it seems. Go screwdriver!
The new clue is in red. You can guess here this time, because comment notifications are le broken again, and this way I'll know if it gets answered.

And that's it for tonight.
Dear [ profile] shaysdays,

zero-gravity sex is proving somewhat difficult to write. I may have to post it late, such as tomorrow.

[ profile] active_apathy.
Today was also a boring day. So, I read the second part of The Amulet of Samarkand, marking amusing spots with a thin slip of paper.

There's a forest of little slips of paper poking out of the middle of the book.

To quote one in particular - not spolierish, but cut and in white just in case:

Not quite spoilerish. )
And thus is it amusing. And it's making me do that thing where I read books a little bit at a time to try to make them last longer.

It was hot today. I see that the weather has responded to my earlier comments with great enthusiasm, but didn't pay much attention to my comments about pacing itself. Grr.

Also, I see there's much drama about everyone getting subdomains. While it's upsetting to see, I do feel the need to point something out - it's possible to write a Firefox bookmark that'll painlessly take you to whatever slice of LJ you desire. You:
  1. Go to Bookmarks -> Manage bookmarks.
  2. Click 'New bookmark'
  3. Give the bookmark a name
  4. For 'location', put in
  5. For 'keyword', type lj
  6. Optionally, type in a description
And then, whenever you want to look at a journal, simply type lj username in the location bar, and it'll painlessly send you to the journal, comm or feed of your choice. Which reminds me, I wanted to see if something might be useful, since I had a theory.

( Here be polls. ) Here be the poll, because LJ was silly. Grr.

Also, 11:59? I win nearly lose at daily entries.
active_apathy: (Fox - no cute 'e')


Jan. 19th, 2006 12:58 pm
While the rock kept me from making something of a mess of the whole entry-a-day thing, I've had a slight stumble toward the edge of the fictionwagon. I think it needs some kind of safety rail. This stumble, of course, means that I haven't posted the next piece of writing.

Um... oops.

[ profile] princesslaurene, I do have a plan-ish outliney-thingy for your request, and it'll be done and posted tonight. It might involve a Sayre.

(And, while we're at it, the whole thing still needs a name.)

And, in other news...

Dear weather,

today, it is rainy. And it is 17°. And it is summer. Let me recap for you: Rainy. 17°. Summer.

I'll explain why this is a problem - after all, rainy and summer is perfectly acceptable. Rainy and 17° is entirely sensible, and not something I'm terribly likely to be upset by.

17° in SUMMER in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY is just Not Right™. In fact, it's very wrong, since you decided all by yourself that the mean daily maximum for temperature here in January should be 27.7°.

I'll do the maths for you, weather.

17 < 27.7
17 - 27.7 = -10.7
∴ weather = 10.7 × lazy
∴ weather can do much better
[ profile] active_apathy </3 weather

It was well over 40 a few weeks ago. Remember that? You got all overexcited about summer, then went and wasted all the warm on two days. In future, please remember to pace yourself with the warm. The not-warm is meant for winter, and I'll happily accept single-digit temperatures - with or without a minus - for all of it.

For great justice
With great disappointment,
[ profile] active_apathy
*shuffles off to watch a cooking show. At least they have warm*
active_apathy: (Icons)


Jan. 18th, 2006 02:34 am
Dear [ profile] liadlaith,

the mere thought of this icon has caused paroxysms of involuntary laughter twice in the last twenty-four hours in relation to thoughts on and about writing things.

I hope you're happy with yourself.

Yours laughingly,
[ profile] active_apathy
No, really.

And this is the most disturbing thing I've ever written.

And... wait. Something's missing.

*seeks notebook*

*finds notebook*

*opens to notes for elljay entry*

Every month, my chosen chain of bookshops sends me a short publication with information on upcoming releases. Well... two of them, actually. Every month. I think they're posted by men wearing blue gloves.

Today, I'm back to observations about buses. Today, there are two. One is about disreputable men, and the other is about graffiti. Neither is terribly sensible, but I hope at least one might be fun. So! Let's start with the disreputable man.

He's entirely typical, so far as disreputable men go. He smells bad, rarely washes, can barely dress himself and manages to put his two feet up on no less than three seats at a time, by way of some kind of incredible feat that would doubtless interest theoretical physicists.

And what is it that makes him interesting? Nothing at all. Though apparently I'm interesting to him.

Dear Disreputable Men,

I'm NOT interested in you. There are three reasons for this.

The first, and most obvious, is that you are men.

The second is that you are disreputable.

The third is that my nose has standards.

Sincerely not yours,
[ profile] active_apathy

Next, the graffiti. There seems to be a new movement in bus-graffiti here, at the moment - drawing glasses and goatees on pictures of people in ads with a pen. I shall call this 'neoclassical graffiti', and give you all a moment to ponder a kind of public defacement art scholar.


Moment's done. My musings led to an entire university that would be a skate park, where the engineering department gathers on an old timber bench that's been tagged into oblivion, discussing the relative merits of various combinations of wheels and bendy plywood. Or the law faculty, which deals with where, when and how punch-ups are to be properly held and resolved in order to decide who's right about any given subject. Or the geology department, which studies exactly how gravel forms and which forms of gravel result in worse gravel-rash.

I wish my imagination had an 'off' switch.

In an end to my semirandom scribble for today, I'd like to alert people to the existence of a 39-disc seven-season Buffy: the Vampire Slayer box set for a mere $290.


ijhnrv.kjbnjkasb nk.

And... that's it. Mind your step while the universe unmakes itself.

Let me start the somnambulant perambulation of the day with a keen and sightful observation: many people seem to lack adequate and appropriate understanding of bipedal locomotion.

But first, an aside. Didn't I just post yesterday? What's this? Who am I, and what have I done with the real me?

This is me deciding that there'll be at least one entry a day, on me-things. This may, at times, stretch my experience in making mundane and boring things sound interesting, but it also means that it'll keep me in the habit of posting entries on days where I can get myself to a keyboard. It should also bring much-needed focus to assorted other projects and goings-on, which is never a bad thing.

And with that, the aside shuffled helpfully... um... aside.

Bipedal locomotion is, in a practical sense, tricky to organise. Falling over is much, much easier - but then, most people get to practice it every. day. Even small children incapable of forming sentences beyond "Goo ga bah gooblythbbbt" have a miraculous talent for figuring out bipedal locomotion all by themselves.

Clearly, some people need to be taken somewhere to learn to walk.

It's an odd and interesting phenomenon that, when walking and reading a book - a task the monumental complexity of which is equivalent to walking while chewing gum - these people in need of remedial walking classes take it upon themselves to do their very best to try to walk through you. Or, failing that, to push small children in large offroad contraptions (combining all the features of a stroller, a suitcase, a tea trolley, a bar fridge, a small hotel room and a road train) about to form impromptu barricades for any and every thoroughfare in sight.

Of course, my perception here could be slightly skewed - they may just seem worse, because when walking and reading, there's something to be distracted from - in this case, Neil Gaiman's elucidation on the relationship between Anansi and Tiger. The people got their wish, anyway - my reading stopped temporarily owing to the need to carry newly-purchased Nintendo DS screen protectors and a copy of Moving Pictures.

Pterry's Moving Pictures, that is; the Australian band by the same name is entirely and permanently off my purchasing list.

In conclusion,
Dear users of shared spaces,

please do try to be mindful of the fact that shared space is, in fact, shared. Not sharing spaces which are supposed to be shared is unpleasant, and makes unhappy those with whom you should, by rights, be sharing the allegedly shared space.

Failure to share shared or shareable spaces with those who are trying to peaceably and politely share shared and shareable spaces with you may result in my undertaking to sell shares to raise capital for a company to build a robot we can all share to beat you about the head with Dan Brown.

In the spirit of sharing,
[ profile] active_apathy
Dear $fandom,

The last panel of this comic should serve as a guide for you. For those of you who don't follow links:


For the protection of the humble '/', an innocent and abused punctuation mark,
[ profile] active_apathy
Look at Marvin's hair.

Look at Marvin's hair and robes, and hear the voice of Rickman, for this night I've finally gotten around to seeing my very own private screening (!) of HP4.

Yes, mortals! Quiver in terror, for I've had a private screening of a movie that's apparently outrageously popular. Which is to say, I was the only person in this world or the next who happened to have a ticket for that particular session.


Now, we all know I haven't read the books, so no commentary on that front. We also know there's a sizable group of people keen on getting me to do so, which means that it's certainly going to happen - most likely, Very Near to the start of next year. There will be a Comm, and in that Comm I may have to start being specific.

So! Movie, in letters.

Letter One: Patrick Doyle (Score composer)

Dear Mr Doyle,

I missed John's work. No, really. The score for the film really failed to make an impression, and definitely didn't live up to the job of bringing life to the film.

Look at John. He's what made the first two of the Star Wars prequels even marginally watchable, and he's a goodly bit of what makes Sith almost live up to the quality of the original trilogy - which also feature his work. Or, just maybe, you could look at David Newman, score composer for Ice Age, The Brave Little Toaster, Galaxy Quest and Serenity. Especially for his work on Serenity.

Study them well, for they lay down ownage upon your very soul.

In the hope you won't disappoint me again,
[ profile] active_apathy

Letter Two: Roger Pratt (Cinematographer), Stuart Craig (Production Designer)

Dear Messrs Pratt and Craig,

oooh... pretty.

Much more impressed than with Mr Doyle,
[ profile] active_apathy

Letter Three: Steven Kloves (Screenwriter)

Dear Mr Kloves,

seriously, WTF?

Your exposition is patchy, and the format apparent. Not having read the novel I can only guess at what you might've been working with, but it seems to me like you've focused on playing with a procession of favourite scenes at the expense of narrative flow.

Even with the roadmap of the novel, I imagine the film's opening brings a serious WTF moment. Unless Harry actually has been having his way with Ron all summer, it makes for an incredibly nonsensical moment in cinema - and from there, it just gets worse. World Cup whee, oooh pretty, OMG death, hey! Look! The train. End teaser, cue plot carved up into obvious acts which seem all well and good but which attach to each other in fuzzy and mysterious ways.

If I should happen to hire the DVD, expect me to find a way to use that truth potion thingy to make it tell an actual story instead of just linking together opportunities for your production designer and your impressively massive visual effects team to make with the shiny.

Still in search of half of the plot,
[ profile] active_apathy

Letter Four: Jany Temime (Costume Designer)

Dear Jany,

I remember vividly a couple of scenes where Emma wasn't dressed in pink.*

I think you've grown.

Rather impressed,
[ profile] active_apathy

And for an overal opinion? It was all kinds of shiny fun, but I think it really could've been better. It's certainly not enough to bump Serenity from the top spot for the year, and I think it just maybe places a bit behind Sith, too.

And... that's it for the moment. You may now return to slightly more normal parts of your friends page.

* I just accidentally wrote 'pressed in drink'.


active_apathy: (Default)

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