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I ought to write up a proper rec for it, actually. You know. For the... imaginary people who read my livejournal who read Lokific who aren't the person who recommended this fic to me in the first place.

So. Alimom. Agent Loki: International Man of Mayhem. Okay. )

http://archiveofourown.org/series/19680

Yes.

And now I have to finish reading Uncivil War so that I can start on the next bit that she just put up YEY.

(Holy hell, I'm rereading it right now and it is making me clasp my hands and make strange muffled noises so as not to wake Paul. OMGGGGGG I HEART THIS FIC.)

Goodbye.
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Bread and water seems to be a recurring theme in Israeli music. As a positive thing, mostly-- "If I have a canteen/pitcher of water, and tasty bread, how could anything possibly be missing from my life?" "I always knew that you were as bread and I was as water, blah blah we belong together" etc.

Drove ten hours in the past twenty-four, preparing to spend the next twelve or so in the car, but at least I'll be the passenger and can just kick my feet up, so to speak.

This morning as I was preparing to go to Michigan, I went to check Schuler's website to make sure the Okemos store had Temeraire in stock, and the first thing that came up on the homepage was an announcement for a steampunky costume tea party at the Eastwood Plaza one. It was at one o'clock, so I snuck back into the room and grabbed my steampunky gear and totally made it on time. It turned out to actually be a book launch party for the sequel to a book I'd never heard of, but the authoress seemed cool and I enjoyed the live band's performance and the book sounded... interestingly macabre, so I bought a copy of the first one (on sale for $9, trade paperback) and got it signed. I think I babbled some incomprehensible nonsense at the authoress, but she was gracious and friendly anyway. To tell the truth my expectations for it are not the highest; it's a YA fantasy thing about a girl named Eden in love with a fallen angel named Az, which... well... yeah does not encourage me to have high expectations? But what the heck, for all that it's hard to find good ones, I actually really do like stories in which Some Sort of Evil Monster Falls in Love with a Human Chick and They Have to Try and Make it Work ("Him Having to Defend Her from Other Monsters" trope optional). I mean, the genre had a bad enough rap before Twilight came in and utterly decimated any of the (admittedly dubious) respect it might have gotten, but. You know. Whatever.

I dunno. I read an Aoshi/Misao story recently that has a lot of tropes that are usually my guilty-pleasure romance tropes, but I spent the entire thing being squicked and yelling at the characters that the manner in which they were behaving was not okay and no means no and give Misao back her fricking agency, dammit and stop making her feel bad for wanting some damn CHOICE in regards to her OWN LIFE and step OFF, Aoshi, GOD WHY IS EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS FIC ACTING LIKE THIS IS OKAY?

In conclusion I have no idea why sometimes skeevy things appeal to me and sometimes repulse me utterly.

I mean, I am going to read that book and then report back on how I found it.

Goodbye.
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Like, you've lived in Japan all your life and speak only Japanese and don't run into a lot of foreign names?

Because, well, King Bradley's first name is, uh, King. I've been trying really hard to remind myself that in Japan, it's just another foreign-sounding name. Well, Kingo, but still. It's like if he were named "Rex," basically. Rex Bradley. I mean, if you're a native Latin speaker, then it's still cause for hilarity, but unfortunately for you, you're also dead, and cannot laugh at anything. But so we've got Führer King Bradley, whose first name is King, and we have the man plotting to overthrow his regime and take over as Führer, Colonel Roy Mustang, whose first name is Roy.

And it just occurred to me...

...guess what Roy means?






(IF YOU GUESSED "KING," YOU ARE PROBABLY AMERICAN OR SOMETHING. ALSO IF YOU'RE READING THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU'RE ALREADY PROBABLY AMERICAN, EVEN IF YOU'RE IN ISRAEL RIGHT NOW.)

Ironically, though, Olivia, who may or may not have some designs on the Führership herself, has a name that means "peace." Which I guess just means that Roy is pretty much destined to win this one. Sorry, General.

Anyway, so I spent the next howeverlong looking for more hidden meanings in various people's names, but aside from "Louis Armstrong" (which, as far as I can tell, has no significance), and of course Pride/Envy/Greed/Lust/Gluttony/Sloth/Wrath, Scar, and Scar's Brother, there don't seem to be any.

(Izumi has a Japanese name. She's the only one I can think of off the top of my head who does.)

... Mostly I keep trying to find out just where the heck Homunculus pulled "Van Hohenheim" out of, but so far to no avail.

Must pack more now.

Goodbye!

Enigma

Jan. 23rd, 2010 01:05 pm
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So Elgar is made of win, as we all know. Also this new green salsa is *prim!Vulcanface* adequate. Oddly enough, it is the one salsa I have ever tasted that actually made me think Mexico. Tuna-salsa-cheese quesadillas are, as ever, delicious. Lit candles for Shabbat, because I am a good Jew, while eating my fish-on-cheese. Actually I have no idea if fish counts as meat and cannot be eaten with dairy, but I assume so. It's kind of funny, I never thought of it before, but why do we count poultry and possibly fish as things that cannot be eaten with dairy? They're not mammals, they don't nurse their young, there's no possible way the milk could have come from the mother of the meat animal.

Reading Observations, which I like, and this time I'm reading the Annotations along with it. I am glad that there is a translation of that one line Chekov has from the Rachmaninoff song.

(seven-ten and dark; have I mentioned how I love winter?)

Leonard F. Slatkin will be there on Monday, and I will die. Somehow I must practice between now and then. also, make progress on this whole "wedding" thing. Eema is still all, "you can still have the dress if you don't want a wedding" and I'm all "dude, I want a wedding, okay?" and she's all "so... e-mail the photographer and call the band and get the invitations done?" and I'm all "...lemme get back to you on that one."

Tell you the truth, I'm actually kind of terrified of getting married and moving away and finding a job in a different state and- dude, this is all adult stuff, okay? I don't do adult stuff. Gil the bus driver called me "woman" the other day and I was kind of weirded out, like, dude, "kid" here. "kid." "girl," maybe. The world is still divided into Grown-Ups and People My Age or Younger. I know I'll be okay once I get there and all, it's just... freaking me out a little.

It occurred to me (and when I say occurred, I mean I was re-reading the Book of Ruth, like you do) that Mara is a biblical name. Bitter, feminine. Naomi takes it as her name when she returns home, because her sons are dead.

Goodbye.

okay, so

Nov. 13th, 2008 04:59 am
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I get that RTD reuses names like it's going out of style (was it ever in style?) but this just occurred to me.

Yvonne Hartman.

Yvonne = feminine variant of John.

Hartman. Hart.

Yvonne Hartman. John Hart.

...

In other news, Martha! Hello! I like your hair! I really like your hips. But you can never compete with the cats in New New New (etc.) York. Novice Hame! Flanagan! Cats are really hot! ...I'm weird! But we all knew that!

Cheers for the little-old-lady lesbians, points deducted for homophobia still being within living memory in the year five billion and some. Points also deducted for the men always being in the driver's seat, and for the wives being weepy and useless and the ones who bring up "THINK OF THE CHILDREN." My jury is still out on the witches, because you have folklore on your side there. I approve of there being a Shakespeare episode, I disapprove of the idea that Hamlet was written in any way in honor of Hamnet. I was actually just telling Paul that it annoys me when people try to make inferences into Shakespeare's life from his works, like who he was in love with because of his sonnets and whatnot. One can write what they don't feel, and the purpose of art is not to provide insight into the artist. Mostly I am just madly jealous that Martha got to go see a Shakespeare play in the original and talk to the man himself and WHY didn't she just start asking him questions?!? (because it's only a TV show and they can't actually presume to provide definitive answers.) Oh and MAJOR POINT DEDUCTION for the Christ symbolism. I cannot stand Christ symbolism. I think I hate, a little bit, that I now know enough about Christianity to spot the Christ symbolism. At least when it's not subtle. And by the way, Who? Not Subtle. Martha and the Doctor in the bed, with the whole... right in front of me thing? Not Subtle. NS. Ach, this whole situation with the Doctor and Martha really just reads as a recipe for disaster, to me. Martha recognizes that the Doctor is so, so not over Rose and isn't going to be for a long, long time... and falls for him anyway, and it's just like, oh dear, Martha, I get the lure, I really really do, but you are setting yourself up for a world of heartbreak and I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into.

I didn't used to be able to spot Christ-symbolism. Not in Narnia, not in Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and I didn't even see it coming in the Jungle Doctor. My sole experience with Jesus had been something to do with bubble baths and a musical in which all I remember is that he was singing about being dead and I was going hang on, why are you dead? What killed you? You were just standing there. And why are you still singing?

I was so looking forward to seeing Queen Elizabeth be awesome! And she wasn't. And I was like, come on, that's Queen Elizabeth, she pwns everyone, and they didn't let her. and it's like come on, you spent all that time watching witches spin around in the air, let's cut some of that and spend a minute or two on the awesome that is Elizabeth I. But they didn't.

Going to sleep. Have bought milk, and onions, and biscuits, and $14 rosin. It's green. Don't ask me, that's all they had and I need rosin.

Goodbye.
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Type "[your name] needs" into Google and pick out the five funniest and post
them here.

"Willow or no, Leora needs to hurry."
"Leora needs a pacemaker."
"Leora needs to know why I wasn't there, Anna."
"Leora needs her mother and I need you, we're not going anywhere."

And my favorite:
"Leora needs a great deal of assistance in daily functions and in performing basic tasks."

ODE

Dec. 22nd, 2003 10:45 am
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You know that you're a geek when you're *cough* "Indian dancing" around the room using a hair dryer for a microphone and singing along to ABBA and pretending to be Tanya and you end up singing, without even realizing,

Take it easy (Take it easy)
Only look up clear
To alter favor ever is to- waitaminute...

I feel like a bit of an idiot.


And now I will proceed to actually explain, which I never seem to do...

SO basically, there's this girl (Sophie) on an island, and she's getting married to some guy named Skye. Her mother, Donna, was a singer in the sixties/seventies and moved to this random island to run this little taverna twenty years ago, when Sophie was born. Sophie is having this big white wedding, and wants her father to give her away. Problem is, she doesn't know who her father is. Donna won't talk about him. So she reads her mother's diary and discovers that, um, there are three possibilities. She just invites them all to the wedding, not telling them why. One of them is this upright British banker guy who used to be a headbanger, Harry. One is an architect dude who had left Donna to get married, and later had two sons, Eddie. The third is an Australian traveler, Bill. Sophie doesn't tell them why they're there, just... sort of... gives them keys to rooms in the taverna. In the meantime, Donna's two best friends Tanya and Rosie come for the wedding, there's a random guy named Pepper ("Why, because you're 'hot'?" "No, because he gets up your nose.") who hits on Tanya, Rosie hits on Bill, Skye and Sophie have Issues, Eddie and Harry seem to still be in love with Donna, especially Eddie, Donna has Issues in general, the guys of the island go pearl diving and do this whole dance in flippers and scuba masks (I nearly fell off my chair laughing), there are more dances with people in scuba outfits, except this time they add the female half of the cast in Toad hats (from Mario), there are Shiny costumes, and I am rooting for Bill the whole time because, come on, when in doubt, go for the guy with the accent. And Tanya mocks Pepper (a lot), and there are more shinies, Sophie gets annoying, the boat was named Waterloo and I caught it, Donna sang Fernando* under her breath to herself, Heee hee EHHEEE hee hee, hahahhaHEEha, Masters of the Sea actually had significance because of the OBVIOUSLY NOT BEEN THERE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS pearl necklace, but hey, they were all drunk, so they couldn't tell. Then there were SHINIES and big flashy lights and noisy things, spinning light-dots, wheeee, they made poor Eema sick, yeah, dude, it was just fun and shiny.

Hmmm... unfortunately, Paul's telling me to have "sweet/epic/fun dreams" did not work. It started out okay; well, sort of. I had to save Dr. Seuss's stories from being forever washed away in a waterfall and there were geese involved, flying up the water, that was cool but really hard and scary because I didn't know if I was strong enough to fly all the way up dragging everything behind me. Then Alex (my stand partner Alex) was a knight, and I had to pretend to be his squire and dress up as a guy and everything; that was annoying because darn it, the laws of chivalry are confusing when you keep forgetting the gender of the other person. Like, we were given Safta's room to sleep in, and at first I took the bed and he took the floor because I was the lady. Then we remembered that I was pretending to be male, and his squire, so we had to switch, and stuff like that. I was really scared that Miss Kesler would say that I wasn't who I was pretending to be, but somehow she didn't seem to recognize me, and I didn't know if she knew or not. I went out of the room in the night, and my cats came walking up to me. There were five of them, two Torys and three Tessies, and they wanted to know their real names and the meanings behind them. I couldn't remember their names! It was terrible! They had to give me hints. I felt so ashamed; I couldn't remember the names of my own cats. Then I heard people coming. This was a problem, because I had taken off my disguise for the night. I just grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest and hoped they would just go on by, but they kept stopping and talking to me, and one of them was a witch. I finally managed to just stumble back into the room, but was shocked to find that one of my dogs- the Scottish Terrier- had really chewed everything up. I was furious, naturally, but you know, he's a dog, it's their nature. Then the witch came in, and I started panicking, but she said that she already knew and didn't care. I was somewhat relieved. Then she laughed and gave me an exploding dog biscuit (it looked somthing like a red fuzzy blanket, all rolled up) to give to the Scottie. I was shocked, and told her that I would never do that to my dog. She pointed out poor Subtotal, whom I hadn't even noticed was there. He'd been nearly ripped to shreds! I picked him up. Huge patches were missing; he was literally being held together by a few threads. "Okay, NOW he can have the exploding biscuit," I said threateningly, but I didn't really mean it. I hid the biscuit under the blanket that I'd been sleeping on. The witch took out black thread and was about to sew Subtotal together. I stopped her, and took out my sewing basket. But all that I could find in it was lavender thread and brightly-colored embroidery floss! Alex woke up, and he and the witch were trying to start sewing with black thread and bright green embroidery floss. I was still desperately trying to stop them and find some navy blue thread when the scene changed. I was at a fair, and it was almost time to go, when I saw a bunch of my friends (not my real-life friends, just random creations of my brain) horseback riding in a pasture. You would go in, give the man your tickets, choose a horse, and ride around for a little bit and then bring it back. As I came closer, I saw one of my friends, who was riding bareback, thrown forward onto the horse's neck. I rushed forward, certain she was hurt- her face had banged into its neck- but she fell back, suddenly in a saddle, laughing strangely. A little unnerved, I nonetheless went to the man in the entrance and told him that I had time for a short ride. He reluctantly agreed (it was almost closing time) and went into the pasture. Suddenly I noticed that there were two bloody horse-heads lying on the ground, flies swarming around them. I cried out in disgust and leapt back, but they got up, back on their bodies and perfectly healthy. The man let me into the pasture, and I got a better look at the horses. There was something strange about them; they were distorted, disproportionate, moving in ways that they shouldn't have been physically able to. Their legs were too thick, their fur too long, their heads too short, their teeth and nostrils too big. Some were tiny and others were huge. I went forward and greeted one, breathing into his nostrils. Another, a blackish-blue one, came up and breathed into my face as well. They all pressed in close around me, until I could hardly move for the warm bodies. I was not scared. I thought of the book Born to Run, where one of the characters is frightened by the inquisitive horses around her. I was proud of myself that I wasn't, no matter how strange these horses seemed. Suddenly the two in front of me threw their heads back.
"Well?" Asked one of the horses behind me. "Is she friendly?"
"No," said the brown mare to my left with a gleeful snort, baring her enormous teeth. "She's a tasty fly!"
"With wormy fingers!" added another.
"Not wormy!" I managed to say, and held up my left hand for proof. To my horror, it shriveled before my eyes, shrinking and becoming disgustingly deformed. It was tiny, about two inches long. The thumb was now longer than any of the other fingers, but thin as yarn, shriveled and wrinkled as a prune, curving dramatically over away from my hand, shaped like one of their nostrils. My other fingers were tiny, each an inch long, just as thin as the thumb but without the look of being "dry-" they were still fat-looking, like little worms. The first thought that flitted through my head was that I could never again play violin. The second horrid speculation was that the rest of me would soon shrink like my hand had done, I would become a fly and the horses would eat me-

I woke up screaming hoarsely, and curled up into a fetal position with my hands over my head in some sort of attempt to protect myself from the huge, horrible creatures. Not fun. *shudders*

I hope that it doesn't mean I'm scared of horses now. Eyal, Ada, interpret it if you'd like.


*Fernando holds a lot of special significance for me. When I was very young, Lynn Bartley took me to a zoo or a park or something, and along the way we listened to ABBA. It was the first time I'd heard them, and I instantly fell in love with the song Fernando. We listened to it over and over again, until we could sing it perfectly. Since that day, until yesterday, I'd never heard it. But I knew it the instant I did; I'd never forgotten that I had heard it, or how much I had loved it. That song rules this earth.

Goodbye.

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