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I've either permanently given up on My Chemical Romance badfic or taken an extended break from it to allow the spare punctuation reservoirs in my brain to be refilled. Reading pages of badfic with improper paragraph breaks and dialogue almost completely devoid of commas and periods can become quite wearing to the soul, and the lack is hardly remedied by the occasional mediocrefic which has been overly enthusiastic with the semi-colons.
In the meanwhile I've been reading paper books such as the fourth volume of CJ Cherryh's Foreigner saga and more Georgette Heyer. I buy a new Heyer mystery or romance, alternately, every time I go into the bookstore. My last reread was Arabella, which is always a little surreal to read, sort of like Shakespeare, because it was the originator of so many now-clichéd plots and tropes within the romance genre (and consequently within slash as well), most notably ( the plot about the impoverished heroine posing for the duration of the Season as an heiress, and the B-plot about her disgustingly idiotic brother falling into all kinds of gambling debts from which she hopes to rescue him by marrying. )
I warned my better half yesterday not to stare into the Picspam Vortex, because the Picspam Vortex will look back, but she did anyway, and stayed up until six am, which leaves me unable to take her shopping. It's that time of year when I want to sew things and paint furniture, and I need large quantities of fabric, thread, sandpaper, brushes, and acrylic and latex paint for this purpose. Unfortunately I also need a microphone for my computer, because I broke the mic part off my headset the other day. It has these sad little wires protruding from the ends and is most definitely dead.
Yesterday afternoon was spent at Carmela's third birthday party, which was something of an ordeal even though Brother Windows is my favourite, and oldest, non-wax Finnish connection. At this age, though, the offspring's birthday parties still consist mostly of her parents' friends all talking about their own babies and pregnancies (and not interacting with the kids directly, really), which is the worst kind of party I can imagine. We should have brought a deck of cards. The weird part was when Carmela ignored Brother Windows' and wax's attempts to get her attention, and then wax said "Let cim try - she likes her," and I did, and she... totally didn't diss me! I mean, she lets me babysit her, but I didn't think she really particularly liked me. Evidently she does. I always feel frazzled and face-palmy and incompetent after babysitting, which I never did when I was a teenager. Evidently one gets a certain amount of credit with kids just for participating in endless games of make-believe as instructed.
In the meanwhile I've been reading paper books such as the fourth volume of CJ Cherryh's Foreigner saga and more Georgette Heyer. I buy a new Heyer mystery or romance, alternately, every time I go into the bookstore. My last reread was Arabella, which is always a little surreal to read, sort of like Shakespeare, because it was the originator of so many now-clichéd plots and tropes within the romance genre (and consequently within slash as well), most notably ( the plot about the impoverished heroine posing for the duration of the Season as an heiress, and the B-plot about her disgustingly idiotic brother falling into all kinds of gambling debts from which she hopes to rescue him by marrying. )
I warned my better half yesterday not to stare into the Picspam Vortex, because the Picspam Vortex will look back, but she did anyway, and stayed up until six am, which leaves me unable to take her shopping. It's that time of year when I want to sew things and paint furniture, and I need large quantities of fabric, thread, sandpaper, brushes, and acrylic and latex paint for this purpose. Unfortunately I also need a microphone for my computer, because I broke the mic part off my headset the other day. It has these sad little wires protruding from the ends and is most definitely dead.
Yesterday afternoon was spent at Carmela's third birthday party, which was something of an ordeal even though Brother Windows is my favourite, and oldest, non-wax Finnish connection. At this age, though, the offspring's birthday parties still consist mostly of her parents' friends all talking about their own babies and pregnancies (and not interacting with the kids directly, really), which is the worst kind of party I can imagine. We should have brought a deck of cards. The weird part was when Carmela ignored Brother Windows' and wax's attempts to get her attention, and then wax said "Let cim try - she likes her," and I did, and she... totally didn't diss me! I mean, she lets me babysit her, but I didn't think she really particularly liked me. Evidently she does. I always feel frazzled and face-palmy and incompetent after babysitting, which I never did when I was a teenager. Evidently one gets a certain amount of credit with kids just for participating in endless games of make-believe as instructed.
