Yvi

A friend was talking about dissociation in show tunes, so I got my Anthony Warlow on this morning -- Jekyll & Hyde - Confrontation, in which he sings a duet with himself as Jekyll vs. Hyde, and City of Angels - You're Nothing Without Me in which a hack writer sings a duet of loathing with his noir protagonist.

Next up, The Nausea Before The Game / Love Me For What I Am from In Trousers, the former of which does a bang-up job with "Oh, I am supposed to be having sex with the person. Um. Sure. I can. Do that! It sounds like. An. Idea. A GOOD idea, I mean. As opposed to... not my thing."

And if you need to know whether Imelda Staunton can sing, the answer is Fuck Yeah. National Theatre's Follies, "Losing My Mind," a song of obsessive love with a moment of complete executive dysfunction.

*

I am not up-to-date on the great project of making musical theatre about anything. Do you have a favorite show tune about dissociation?

Between the train being a while and the train being delayed, I arrived just in time to be fashionably late: I walked into the party just as the guest of honor was being introduced. The woman of the hour, a newly published author, a friend of the people whose library I was hired to organize who decided to invite me to the book party as a parting gift. I was the last person to arrive and comfortably below the average age of the guests, and even recognized a handful of people from overlapping social Jewish circles. I felt nervous about being there until the man who was introducing the author talked about how her memoir was both nostalgic and sad, not a combination that comes up - and I waved my hand to get his attention, because I knew exactly what to say.

I quoted Anya Von Bremzen to say the phrase she used for that sensation was poisoned Madeline.

When I say the host, author, and room were suitably pleased and impressed at the phrase, that also says a lot about the rest of the guests at the party.

What's even better is that my interjection wasn't my high point of the party. As much fun as it was to be invited to that kind of thing, as deeply as I enjoyed putting some goat cheese inside dates for an amazing snack, I mostly attended to network. I knew my clients, I knew who their friends would be, and I worked that as much as I could. I introduced myself and said, "I'm the librarian." I explained how I'd come to be at the party. I hobbed, I nobbed, I was suitably impressive. I said, "My card," and handed over a business card. I commented to one of the hosts that if all that came out of it was being able to say I'd said "My card" it was worth the evening. It was an amazing feeling to do that. So very grown up.

I wore one of my nicer dresses, and it definitely helped me feel like I belonged there. After a while, the feeling simply settled in. I chatted about fiction, about the philosophy of library science and the psychology of letting go of books, about cakes and baking, about public transportation. I said cabs were the luxury of the people and that they were union. I joked about wanting to show off my party trick but since the party was over, too bad. I nibbled and had some wine, and took some grapes home at the hosts' insistence, though they didn't have to try very hard. I took a bike back instead of using the subway or walking, and it was the best way to come down from the elevated state. Not all the way down, though - it'll be with me for a while longer, and I'm doing what I can to savor it for as long as it lasts.

It was beautifully quiet today. The snow helped, of course, and the snow was the cause - people staying home, cars not getting driven, taxis not cruising for passengers. Helicopters and planes staying on the ground. It took me a while to realize I wasn't hearing the usual sounds. When the snow let up and people started driving again, I honestly felt resentful that the travel ban wasn't going on longer. It'd been a nice glimpse into a quieter New York City. I feel like that's how it always is. Just a glimpse of a better world.

Or at least, a moment to resettle so I can realize just how noisy the West Side Highway really is. I went down to the park to walk a bit in the afternoon, after the snow stopped, and I don't mind noise from kids that are shouting about how happy they are or what a good time they're having when they're sledding down a big hill, or noise from people talking about an inflatable toy's weight limit before sledding down the big hill themselves. Human voices. There were a couple of shrieks right near me for some reason, and of course a very loud barking dog that its owner insisted was friendly, and overall, just nice sounds of people.

I had my headband on and my hood up, and both those things helped muffle the world. The coat itself was warm enough that when I lay back in the snow, twice, I stayed comfortable enough to settle in for a little bit. Not many minutes, but enough time to measure on a stopwatch, easily.

There were several taped-off CAUTION areas around fallen trees and threatening branches, and I found it wonderful that people had already made a single-file path underneath one of the trees in between the branches - sticking as close to the path that the tree had fallen over as best they all could. Ducking down to get under and through. A little ways away there was a bower made from bushes bent over with snow that also provided something of a roof, and some parents took pictures of their kids hanging out in there and posing at the entrance. It made for a nice echo of both adults and children doing more or less the same thing, if on different scales. The intent of play was close enough to call it the same.

There were snow men, snow women, snow people, and snow animals. There were snow structures made from hand packing it and snow structures made from using plastic bins to mold sturdy bricks. There was a moment I saw the sky start to come out and felt a pang of disappointment because it meant the day was moving on from the storm. I'd fallen back into the snow already then, and made a point to do it a second time. If I'd been more careful with my legs not getting wet, I'd have lain there a while longer. But I knew the day was going, so I might as well go, too, so I wouldn't have to see it end.

Pity and Terror (463 words) by RiaSaun
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Slings and Arrows, Medea - Fandom
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Geoffrey Tennant, Darren Nichols
Additional Tags: Humor, Drama
Summary:

Darren sells Geoffrey on a production. This is inspired by Petra's "Grace and a Cod-piece."

*

This was inspired by one of the first fanworks I ever put on the AO3, back in my Slings & Arrows heyday. It has an excellent use of Darren Nichols' off-kilter genius.

The travel ban's up. Schools are going back to remote learning. Nobody's going anywhere if they can help it. I'd figured this was coming, and it's nice that it's settling in. The snow's coming down steadily and I can faintly hear human voices - going from where the light's coming from, the people in the next building over are either hosting some friends or having a very loud party by themselves. Either way, it's warm human voices on a cold night.

Not a dark night, though. The clouds aren't letting that happen. It's one of the nicer parts of nighttime snow.

on bsky, I said I had Heated Rivalry RPF headcanons but would not post them publicly on main. technically this is public, and technically this is main, but also: this is dreamwidth; if you came here and are shocked to find horny RPF headcanons, I Don’t Know What You Expected.

therefore, without further ado, A Unified Theory of HudCon

( Read more... )

Trying to clear my calendar and hunker down for the next few days in light of the storm had me allowing myself a little bit of panic buying in the form of another bottle of olive oil. It's not on the same level as rescheduling an appointment because I know there's no point trying to get anywhere farther than two blocks, maximum, come Monday, but it helped a bit.

I'm also charging up my devices as something of an insurance policy and made sure to return all my outstanding library checkouts. Again, something that only helped a bit, and still helped. Mostly I'm now waiting for it to arrive so I can finally enjoy the snow. The build-up to it isn't nearly as enjoyable.

This post is about Erotica 4 Barbarians, a challenge to write smut in words of one syllable.

I neglected to include all the Marvel characters I could write, in part because I did not think it through, so -- Wade, I already mentioned, but also Steve, Nat, Bruce, Thor, Clint. (I just heard minoanmiss cheer and punch the air.)

Anybody who wants a flashback to 2012 Avengers fandom, The Avengers Kink List Team Bonding Sessions: the files is a collaborative project that happened in my comments back in the day, in which we played with all kinds of Avengers pairings.

If anyone wants more in that vein, I will see what I can do to scrape off the rest of the MCU and chill in that headspace. In words of one syllable.

\o/

Friday night dinner this week was still with family: out in Brooklyn. My parents weren't in town but my brothers were, so I went out to them since that was easiest for everyone. There and back was easy, thanks to not waiting long for a train to arrive and for finding one of the trains was running express that afternoon. The dinner itself went okay, and when my brother J., his wife E., and their daughter A. were around, I spent most of the time in the kitchen with my brother R. so his wife G. could spend time with J.'s family - I peeked out into the living room a couple times and they were all chatting and looking at something on someone's phone, and I thought it better not to intrude.

An amusing moment came partway through dinner. Weather came up, and I was the only one who expressed any pleasure at the idea of snow. I pointed out that this was the kind of weather we used to have, getting snow at the end of February. B., one of G.'s friends who'd come as well, said she'd grown up in the Midwest and was aware of that. At the time, I didn't think to point out I was talking pre-Industrial Revolution. It's probably just as well; later in the meal, she said she didn't want to feel like life was full of construction zones, that she'd had times of at least a couple things going smoothly, and I struggled to relate. A good person to talk to, and someone with a life fairly removed from mine.

I was backreading one of my tumblr tags looking for a joke, and I refound https://www.spidersge.org/ which is, I promise, not a rickroll.

This DW post has the Spiders Georg reference I was looking for. Since that posting, my friend's partner has gone into remission! Yay!

I took advantage of the day and took in a small William Eggleston exhibition. I started reading Clockers on the way there and a book that commanding of my attention put me in the right frame of mind to take in the colors. And the colors were why it was there - it's called The Last Dyes because these prints, the ones I saw today, were made with the world's last materials for this kind of printmaking. Kodak decided to stop making the necessary materials for the process some decades ago. I don't know if it was for cost, environmental concerns, lack of a market, another reason, or a mix of several. What I can say is that all the critics were right: knowing that going in gave it an autumnal feeling. Something fading out.

They were also right that it's astonishing to see the colors up close. More than once I got as close as I could to take in the depth of blue or red or green, thinking that it was like seeing paint made from crushed-up gemstones. The intensity of color, the intentions of the lines and shapes. I'm happy to watch his fascinations with what makes America tick, and I was very happy to stop and look close and then step back and look far and take in all the different parts and pieces in the compositions. More than once I looked at something off in the distance and then farther in the distance and saw how it was a reflection of something in the foreground. Walls and fences at a parking lot. The swirl of a sign matching the clouds behind it. The flowers, the fence, the truck, the houses peeking out.

What really struck me was how the outdoor photographs had such good distance to them. There wasn't a horizon but there was clarity to a long ways away, and more than once I'd think that this was human influence as far as the eye could see. The tilled fields. The cars off in the far distance. The car right up in front of you that you couldn't look away from even if you wanted to see the stream just beyond it. Forcing you to pay attention to what's really there.

The main post is here.

What I said:

Let's write smut in short words for the spring Fools' Day! This will be a lot of fun. For me. And for you, too?

A list of folks I could write from my works is next. If you see a pair, group of three, or big group that you want me to write, drop me a line!

( Cut for length (that's what he said) )

Looking around the kitchen cabinets and what passes for a pantry, wanting to supplement a half-meal's worth of pasta, thinking about what's readily available. Some cherry tomatoes came my way, a couple onions didn't get used in last week's rice dish. There's sardines. There's an impulse buy can of kidney beans.

With one thing and another, there's tomato-sardine-bean soup that manages to do the trick and then some. Sardines and beans - affordable luxury.

The day's major activity was sending out some emails and texts to try to coordinate future plans. I'll probably have to send them again in a day or two, given the track record of trying to get some of these plans together - especially my brothers in regards to setting a schedule and keeping to it. My parents are presently traveling and my younger brother offered to host Friday night dinner this week, but beyond the offer, nothing's been said so far. I sent out a message this morning and all I got was a promise there'd be some coordination.

It doesn't fill me with hope, especially not without a timetable. It's not that I have anything else going on so much as I'd like to know what little might be happening so I can at least figure out what kind of nothing I might be doing.

In today's dubious triumph over aphasia, I told my client I'd emptied out her utility kit.

Her toolbag. I couldn't remember toolbag and tried to use the next best thing to describe the object in question.

It was a fairly remarkable moment on a number of levels, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be shaking my head over it for quite some time.

1. The snow has stayed on the ground here long enough that we're finally Acquiring Some Sleds in anticipation of going sledding with friends next weekend. It is so wonderful to have a winter feel like winter again.

2. Hosted a neat new-to-me game yesterday with some close friends and a potential new friend I met through my Awesome Neighbor friend. We all had a great time! We immediately rolled right into plotting More Fun Like This Soon. It's good to be exercising my making-new-friends muscles again.

2a. The game being Molly House, with its gripping shifts between personal queer joy, community delight, and pressuring fears (constables, rogues, and gossip all threatening to trigger police raids of the central molly houses),( I would be fascinated to play it again... )

3. I am looking forward to some quiet time at home tomorrow, I say, also having ambitions of Bake & Roast All The Things, do my taxes so I can get my solar panel credits reimbursed (yay, solar!), and maybe get some extra time in at the local studio before my pottery class starts.

Bonus: This being the cold hard dark slog time of year, it helps to have something joyous to move to. I went and looked up what all the musicians I last bought music from (mostly 5+ years ago) have put out in the last few years since, and bought the latest album of each. So far I'm particularly enjoying Wu Fei & Abigail Washburn's debut collaboration merging American old-time music and Chinese folksong, and the latest from MEUTE.

Have you been listening to anything particularly good lately? What is bringing you joy, defiant or otherwise?

Managing 2.1 miles in 30 minutes isn't anywhere near a personal best, and after some weeks of the elliptical and of not trying for more than 1.75 miles in 30 minutes, it's something I think is decent. It's a nice reminder that I'm still capable.

Less pleasant is that for a few days, I've somehow gotten this weird cut on the inside of my nose, way in the back. I'll wake up with dried blood crusted in my nostril or blow my nose in the morning and there's flecks of blood. If this is a side effect of something I was prescribed to deal with the ear canal blockages, I'm going to be both astonished at the synergy of the whole tube system and annoyed I'm going to have to schedule another appointment with the ENT to try something else.

The Orchid Show never disappoints. It's always a breath of air and a flash of bright light to remind you to hold on until springtime finally arrives. I went today with a friend, and while it was the reason we tromped up there, it was also excuse for the tromping at the same time - mostly to see each other. Spending time with another adult in a social setting is a welcome feeling.

Getting there wasn't hard, just time consuming. Walking around was made easier by sticking to paths that were already plowed, so while I missed going into the forest, we saw a lot of it just by looking over and taking in what we could from the outside. As for the exhibit, this year it was New York City themed, done by a regional artist with a charming sense of humor - in addition to the big installations, which were themselves things like a pizza parlor, a fire escape, a brownstone covered in flowers, there were smaller constructions scattered throughout, like a steam vent that was accompanied by a bit of how-to on orchid care.

There were a fair number of small birds, a decent murder of crows, and no small number of all-black stealth mode squirrels. I kept having to point out the squirrels and birds to people, who were perpetually delighted to see them - so I can't be that upset they didn't notice, since they got to see them just the same.