subterrain

Updated for your reading pleasure: May 4, 2009

( FIC STICKY )

( WIP STICKY )

OMG I AM DONE GRAD SCHOOL FOREVER AND NOW I JUST HAVE 13 000 WORDS OF BANDSLASH TO WRITE BEFORE THURSDAY, AND ALSO I HAVE BEIRUT TICKETS AND SASQUATCH TICKETS AND MY LIBERATION FROM ACADEMIA IS UNFOLDING BEFORE MY EYES AS A VISION OF ENDLESS WORD DOCS MARKED "yessssssssssssssssssssss!"

Holy crap, this city loves St. Patrick's Day. On the drive/walk between the sushi place and my apartment, at 7pm, I saw:

• a pair of young long-locked gentlemen, one of whom copped a leprechaun accent and said "And a happy St. Paddy's day to you fine folks!" while doffing his hat in a practiced bow as he swept past. A google imagesearch for top of the mornin to ye yielded this fine fellow, who can stand in as a semi-accurate visual. Except the hat was a bowler and he was wearing a cape (?).
  
• a very angry-looking young lady in expensive 4 inch pumps and green and white wide-horizontal-striped tights, stalking down the street towards whatever faux-pub might stand to serve her green beer.
  
• a young lady smoking outside of Bob the Fish in American Apparel kelly green piped running hot pants and matching soccer socks: considerably less sexy than these pictures would imply. But who am I to judge? I'd just go for the cranberry/army, amirite?
  
• a herd of street-crossing pubgoers: anywhere else in this city stepping off the sidewalk is guaranteed to get you mowed down like a blade of uppity grass, but in my neighbourhood? The drunks rule with sloppy iron fists.
  
• a guy in a floppy Guinness hat, also drunk: I flipped him the bird because Guinness fucking sucks;
  
• a girl in a plastic green hat on her way out of the house (she bought this thing? she kept it all year and busted it out now? she's not going to keep it in her bag till she gets a few pints in her?);
  
• a staggeringly drunk girl in white cargo pants and a cut-off green linebacker top, toddling down the street with some guy, plastered while still in broad daylight. They stopped for a long moment on the street corner as we were turning into our place, and I had to say to Owen, "Keep your eyes on the road, I promise I'll tell you if she pukes."
  

In conclusion, everyone is drunk. High five, Calgary.

So, in news more relevant to the internet, I'm halfway through Watchmen and I just watched Brideshead Revisited, which tore my heart out and ripped it up and now my pulse-pounding lust for Matthew Goode as a various assortment of canon-gay or canon-willing-to-fake-gay-if-necessary characters ( is busting up my uterus something awful. )

So, I am kind of awash in fic today! Holy shit, I go a month without even brushing my eyes against the word cock and suddenly I've spent the entire day poring over all of my favourite fandoms. All of my favourite writers are posting! Whoever claimed that posting stories on weekends is asking for low-volume feedback because people are supposedly 'out' and 'doing things' didn't know me and my extremely housebound ways. So, recs for you so that you can all share in my homebody multi-fandom love.

Bandom: Smiting the Day by delighter: Panic at the Disco AU by way of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. Think Brendon Urie, wide-eyed and pliable and insecure, and Spencer Smith, elegant and ancient and full of an icy, alien love for his human pet. Ryan Ross = sexy and blood-covered. And Jon, still in sandals. Sexy, sexy sandals. Margaritas, private planes, video games, and vampiric vigilantism all make appearances. Fuck, I am so excited that Brooke finally posted this story, I cannot get enough of it. Join me in shamelessly demanding more for her bandombigbang.

Iron Man: In the Public Eye by revelininsanity. Dudes, more Iron Man fic featuring Shia LaBeouf as Pepper Potts. This is the universe that I am so glad other people write in, because I cannot write it all on my own. And this girl has been promising me Tony/Pepper adopting-refugee-orphan fic for months now, so I am all over her getting on this boat. Galas! Cufflinks! Public-washroom-makeouts! People magazine totally outing them as gayforeachother!

Supernatural: Coyote Run by vinylroad. Kat does female pov like no one else, and in a fandom where women redefine the term 'marginalized,' no less. No matter how far I get from SPN fandom, I will always read Kat's stories, because they are exactly what the show should have been. I mean, if it wasn't staffed by knobs and misogynists. This story in particular is epic and creepy and visceral. It makes me long for a hot, rainless summer.

Pineapple Express: Don't Cha by japanpeterpan. I don't know how to rec this story because it is frighteningly hilarious and also frighteningly hot. Like, I'm uncomfortable telling you how hot this story is, mostly because it starts with Saul Silver in a pleated schoolgirl skirt singing dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me.

Now I just need to find a way to bribe valiant into writing me some Sookie/Jo and this day will literally be so complete that I could go to bed at 4pm, astoundingly satisfied.

On my last day of freedom before I descend into PT work/FT school/4ever bigbang madness, I:

1. cleaned the coffee maker by making 12 steaming hot cups of 1 part vinegar/2 parts water, then two more pots of just water, then giving her a heavy wipedown;
   
2. got one of those free bang trims that my fancy hairstylist is obligated to give me (thanks to delighter's coworker for her thirdhand lesson in tipping etiquette on that front, even though it was still extremely awkward as I didn't want to hand her the money right there and she wouldn't stop making conversation!);
   
3. cut up 25 boardgames worth of green pieces labeled "Sleeping on Saturday" "Sleeping on Wednesday" "Sleeping on Friday" &etc.;
   
4. wrote my commentary for my mgmt/feminism class;
   
5. caught up on my I Blame the Patriarchy feed;
   
6. caught up on most of my feeds;
   
7. made delicious celery/garlic/spinach/walnut/raisin quinoa for dinner/lunch tomorrow;
   
8. made cottage cheese and cashews for immediate eating;
   
9. ate a lot of handfuls of things I found, like smarties and a frostburned orange popsicle,
   
10. refilled all of the glass jars that are supposed to hold various sundry, but still result in plastic baggies of popcorn kernels, brown sugar and stevia floating around in my cupboards,
    
11. fought off the douchebag in #7 in order to do four loads of laundry at 8am;
    
12. tried and failed to book a blood donation appointment;
    
13. watched Iron Jawed Angels and wept tears for feminism and its shitty title;
    
14. watched my week 5 Records Management lecture (the topic was apparently 'where Iron Mountain might not want to put their buildings: bottoms of hills, flood plains, places with vermin, near fire');
    
15. went to American Apparel;
    
16. bought Owen Valentine's Day gifts;
    
17. maybe in that order;
    
18. probably I will post pictures later;
    
19. Brooke, I found us some shorts;
    
20. oh, and posted in my blog, and linked to this kindofabigdeal blog I love and read regularly, and dude followed my trackback and commented to me, AND I AM SO MORTIFIED I CANNOT EVEN TELL YOU, BLOG ETIQUETTE IS SO FOREIGN COMPARED TO SAFE, LOVELY LJ;
    
21. I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH;
    
22. I also watered my four plants.
    

In conclusion, what the fuck am I going to do when I don't have time on my hands anymore? A picture post of my massive amounts of accomplishment (mostly food what I has made, then ate) is forthcoming, because I have been religiously documenting my spare time in an effort to quantify my activities in non deadline terms, which is hard.

I'm trying extremely hard to not capslock this entire post, okay? So give me the benefit of the doubt here, because for two very good reasons it has been two very awesome days.

One: I am employed. I AM EMPLOYED IN MY FIELD. And, for added karmic benefit, not in the oil and gas industry. My soul = saved.

Two: The new Beirut double-EP split got leaked three weeks early. That is, the EP Zach + band recorded last spring in Oaxaca, Mexico, March of the Zapotec (the recording of which may or may not have inspired an epic gaymo romance f. Shia Labeouf); and then the solo, synth-pop-leaning bedroom-forged Realpeople EP called Holland. In his very own words: "It's a pretty ridiculous switcheroo."

I AM LISTENING TO IT RIGHT NOW, AND OK, delighter CAN ATTEST TO THE FACT THAT I WILLINGLY AND REGULARLY LISTEN TO THIS KID'S HORMONAL STYLINGS FROM WHEN HE WAS A 15 Y/O HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT, LIVING WITH HIS PARENTS IN SANTA FE, AND SCOOPING ICE CREAM FOR TOURISTS, BECAUSE I LOVE EVERYTHING HE PRODUCES WITH A FERVOUR NORMALLY DISPLAYED BY THE THE DENIZENS OF fbr_secrets BUT C'MON. PRODIGY DOESN'T BEGIN TO DESCRIBE IT. THIS KID MAKES MY HEART CRACK OPEN.

DOWNLOAD IT NAO 4 SRS!



Also, my bandom big bang is 90% guaranteed to be an AU where Panic is a pretentious Brooklyn-based gaymo vegan indiepop band, so it's probably best if everyone just gets used to figuring out what this kid looks like, right? Zach Condon is the snotty Pete Wentz of my heart, or smthg.

So, I told myself I'd head out to the grocery store at 3:00 for ginger and cashews, and it's now 5:34, and the fucking weather: OMG THE WEATHER. It's not like it's apocalyptically bad out there, but it's been this side of gray-skies for days, my friends, and in my north-facing hovel, that ain't pleasant. My plants are withering like the loins of a scorned lover.

ANYWAY. I basically guilted maidensuit into tagging me for this because I am desperate and needy like that, SO HERE GOES!

A) People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blog and replace any question that they dislike with a new, original question.

B) Tag eight people. Don't refuse to do that. Don't tag who tagged you.

I AM RESISTING THE URGE TO NOT TAG. burnthemap clayeer dark_reaction delighter emilytheodd gretazreta kickthebeat japanpeterpan and vinylroad I want you all to share in this ignominy.

( mememememeeee )

You know what is kind of really awesome? Getting like, three comments from random strangers on really, really old fic in the past couple of days. I know, I know. No one but me thinks three comments is a big deal, but it makes me incredibly happy that anyone read ye olde priest-fic, so I'm going to brag like a lame thing. Lame lame lame. Yes.

I really don't have much else to say that isn't a to-the-second countdown to GOING THE FUCK HOME, FOREVER, except for this quote from my lover, Ira Glass, during an interview on the Sound of Young America. He used X-files fandom (Scully/Mulder shippers vs. people just watching it for the plot) as a metaphor to describe his journalistic non-fiction philosophy:

I am a shipper in any situation: when it comes to the Iraq war, when it comes to the federal deficit, when it comes to anything, I am squarely a shipper.

I THINK HE MEANS SLASHER, BUT WHATEVS. I SHIP IRA/TIMOTHY GEITHNER, OTP.



Oh, and also, in case you didn't love him enough already, here's an interview with David Letterman wherein he describes how he became a vegetarian. Becoming a vegetarian, btw, is a common theme on his show. Mostly whenever they investigate pig farming.



ETA: interestingly, I think he's wearing the same outfit in both picture and interview. I think that means he's the type to own a closet full of identical sharp-collared cotton shirts and slate blue suits. Dark plum ties. Oh, Ira.

No one is more surprised than me that I am posting fic. SPN fic. Het fic. Obscure AU universe SPN het fic. I DON'T KNOW, AFTER A YEAR I FINALLY FINISHED IT. WHAT.


Fandom: SPN AU. Jo, Sam, Dean.
Rating: sex. het sex, at that.
Spoilers: No.
Words: 5285.
Notes: for vinylroad, who has literally been on me about this since last November. I think I've promised her something at least three different times, including her birthday in July. I am just that much of an asshole. Twelve Strong Horses, What a Pretty Foal and The Longe Whip are are all parts of this universe, which originated with: John died, and Mary lived to raise her boys. Bill and Ellen Harvelle invited her in when she had nowhere to go, and their kids all ran wild through scrub brush and dustbowl cattle land.

Summary: Jo shot him, and she's surprised that he's not dead.

( haydust in her nose, horsehair on her jacket )