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My most dear lords

OMG okay so here is a story

I spent many years being all like "Dude, Macbeth is effing awesome. No idea what the big deal is about Hamlet and Lear, though."

And indeed! Macbeth is effing awesome, it is true.

And then Hamlet took over my brain (Eyal, I am so so sorry) and I was like zOMG Hamlet!

And then I remembered Macbeth and I was all "Hamlet and Macbeth are totally effing awesome! Seriously, who gives a hoot about this Lear chick?" (Lear is not a chick, but I cannot at the moment think of a properly dismissive term that is also masculine, which is... pretty sad)




Okay this is only sort of a lie; I did squee a great deal over Edmund (see: any entry tagged "king lear"). BUT APPARENTLY NOT ENOUGH, IS MY POINT HERE.



Jan. 11th, 2010 05:51 pm
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OKay so this would totally be all in caps but I figure I won't inflict that on y'all, okay, 'cause I like you, so be grateful.

...actually there may be some capslocking. I don't think I'll be able to help it. Fair warning.


OMG OKAY. So you know, how I'm all like ALL TIME IS NOW and I live in the moment just 'cause that's all I really know how to do and yeah? Sometimes it's good because I pine less, I think, and I can appreciate where I am, and sometimes it's kind of lousy because when times suck I'm all like IT HAS NEVER BEEN DIFFERENT AND NEVER WILL BE EITHER, but then srsly? okay seriously when things are suddenly awesome it's like WHOA and WHERE DID THIS COME FROM and ALL THAT IS HOLY, CAN IT PLZ STAY FOREVER?

OMG Paul I love you beyond the telling of it and Eyal and Caitlin too and I know I'm just kind of stagnating right now and if I stay here just doin' what I'm doin' for years I will get unhappy. But right now that is just so effing unfathomable, okay, WHY IN ERU'S NAME AM I LEAVING THIS?

Because I just came from Symphony. I feel that there is no good way to insert the word "fucking" into the word "symphony," like, symfuckingony, or something, it doesn't work, but I kind of want to. Because

a.) His Highest Majesty King Jimenez gave me a big hug and asked me what's up and I was all "...!" because of course I can't think of words when people are that awesome at me
d.) Jimenez is conducting us this cycle
e.) I'm sitting outside
f.) LEONARD FUCKING SLATKIN is coming to conduct us the Monday after next
g.) I'm sorry, did you not hear me? LEONARD FUCKING SLATKIN
h.) and also Jimenez is conducting us this cycle
i.) Jimenez is conducting us this cycle
j.) Do you know what that means it means that I get twelve hours of Jimenez!rehearsal a week, for a whole month
k.) Sectionals Wednesday! I love sectionals!
l.) and there was snow
m.) and the sky was gray and snowy and
n.) outside the massive wall windows of the orchestra room there was white West Circle with a tree with one stubborn leaf on top
o.) I am sitting with Carla, who is nice
p.) Jimenez is conducting us this cycle
q.) I think Gregorian is in China
r.) And and and, two hours are like *that* and it's just... noooo do not send us away let us stay and play morrrre
s.) Srsly srsly okay it are ELGAR and the ENIGMA VARIATIONS and also BERLIOZ ROMAN CARNIVAL OVERTURE.
t.) I woke up at 1:30 (thanks Worf) from Star Trek dreams (omg it was so much fun, cruisin' around space) and got out of bed and made food and ate it, so I was not starvinglyhungry and I could just focus on the fact that LIFE WAS AWESOME
u.) and also before I left Sam Storyteller (<3!) had posted The Justice League Of Cardiff Is A Stupid Name, and OMG, okay, Ianto, I love you, and also Jack, and also Gwen (WTFFF), and also Batman/Superman FTW, and
v.) See, this is what I mean, okay? I spent three weeks or so in a completely different world and life. Well, two weeks, two weeks were all HI MY FRIENDS I LOVE YOU ALL and one week was all just the joy of calm and routines and whimsy, and then I was like maaaaaan, I don't want this to ennnnnnd and then this other world was all like

Man, now my heart/lungs/everything in my ribcage is hurting with joy and awesome.

Never leave me.

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You know, whatever I may say to save face, I've never actually objected to country music.

...I think someone needs to take away my classical violinist license now.

But Janine would always play it in my horseback riding lessons, and Jackie my roommate would play it a lot too, and there are just good songs that are expressive or catchy or poignant or fun. I don't mean the ones that go "my dog is daid and my woman left me and my truck, she done broke down", but...

It may have started with reboot!Bones, but Eliot and Christian Kane are kind of making me develop a weakness for drawls, which until now was the pretty much the only accent that I had no weakness for. Man, come on, the last thing I need is another accent!weakness.

Ahahaha, TLAPD was rockin' awesome. I related the tale of my adventures to Paul, upon which he exclaimed in horror "so you just wandered around East Lansing, dressed like a pirate, accosting people in the street and talking like a pirate at them?" And, well, yes. Of course. What do you mean it's not awesome? Look, I'm a PIRATE. Pirates accost. We front, we board, we woo. WE ASSAIL.

We have nasty blisters on our feet from walking like Johnny Depp for three hours in heeled boots. And a sore throat and a hoarse voice from talking in a growling scream all day long. Also sunburn like whoa from going out in the daylight without a black umbrella. On the other hand, black raccoon eyeshadow (it was actually an eyebrow pencil, sue me) is unexpectedly effective at reducing glare. Look, I'm pale as someone of my unrelentingly pink complexion can be, I have my eye on a black lace parasol and matching fan anyway, I just need some proper eye makeup and I can totally go goth and look like an established branch of crazy, not just weird random crazy with the pale and the pocketwatch and the fedora and the black B&N book-quote umbrella that someone left in the office.

Mmmm I need sleep. There is no way I'm waking up in two hours to drive an hour to Holly.

Trying to explain pirates to my parents went about as well as trying to explain ninjas to my grandmother. Dude, they're cool, just take my word for it.

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So I hadn't been to Symphony rehearsals for over a week, due to... well, individual reasons, y'know. Each M/W/F I would have woken up just a little too late, or moved too slowly here or there, and then it became just too daunting a prospect to walk in late when I hadn't walked in at all the past five times, and I would resolve (again) to show up on time to the next rehearsal. One time, actually, I slunk guiltily off to the Union rather than pick my way around stands and chairs with all eyes on me, and I saw Evan! And Robbie! And their friend Linda. So we played frisbee until I thought I would faint of hunger, and I inhaled a sandwich from McAllister's without even tasting it, leavened bread or not. I maintain that it was okay, because one may break such a law to save a life, and I honestly believe I would have blacked out had I not eaten, and there was nothing kosher to hand.

(Speaking of kosher for Passover, Caitlin introduced me to tuna-salsa-cheese quesadillas. They make my life infinitely lovely.)

And then it was Friday the day before the final Symphony concert, and I showed up at the Wharton really only because I'd told my parents because I couldn't think of any plausible lies to stop them showing up to the concert on Saturday, so Aba drove me to rehearsal and said that he'd wait to see if Gregorian let me stay. I was early, even, and I crossed to the other side of backstage to find him setting up clear plastic sound-shields or something behind the wind section. I stood silently for what felt like minutes, just waiting for him to notice my presence, too terrified to make some sort of noise. I hadn't thought of anything to say; I had no excuses and no believeable lies, because I'd been attending Philharmonic regularly. Finally he turned around and saw me, at which point I concentrated on not visibly trembling.

But he was really nice- I stuttered something that made no sense about having dropped off the face of the earth for a while (really, why didn't I just go ahead and say that I'd been travelling by TARDIS? it would have sounded about as reasonable) but he just asked if I thought I would be comfortable enough with the music to play in the concert. Since I'd been expecting him to tell me that there was no way I was allowed to come within ten miles of the Wharton on Saturday, I just kind of looked bug-eyed and willed my feet not to run away just yet. "Why don't you try it today and see how it goes," he suggested kindly, and I thanked him profusely as I could manage while my feet were already running away. I'm sure I cut a rather cartoonish figure- feet blurring like wheels while my torso stretches behind to get in a last few words, before snapping forward to catch up. In any case, my feet had the right idea, because as soon as I was behind the shell I found myself damn near hyperventilating. My breath came in shuddery sobs all the way back to my case to call Aba and say that he could go, I would be allowed to stay.

The concert actually went well enough. I still really can't take The Silver Sword at all seriously (tra la trinkle, merrily winkle? what the hell?), Dona Nobis Pacem was not too terribly interesting, but I wasn't bored, and I think I faked well enough on the Wagner to pass muster. I often think learning to fake convincingly is one of the most useful things I have ever learned in seventeen years of violin.

Now the PHILHARMONIC concert- ohhhh, that was just pure joy. Carlos told us that his family had come up from Kansas just to see him conduct, and of course I would have done my best anyway but it was nice to think that his family got to see a really good performance for that. And of course Dmitri Vladimir just carried the Rococco Variations, so yay, and then there was Dvorak 8th Symphony. And New World, oh, I love you dearly, I do, and you will always hold a special place in my heart for being my first kind of official date, but DVORAK EIGHTH SYMPHONY. It's like two different Doctors. And I love the ninth symphony I do I do but EEEEEIIIIIGHT.

It went awesome, and my solo went awesome, and at the end when Jimenez took my hand and I stood up he kissed my hand. Kissed my hand, like a knight would do to a lady.

I think the word I am looking for here is SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I mean, if I've talked to you for like five minutes ever then you know I have such MAD FANGIRL HERO-WORSHIPFUL LOVE for Maestro Jimenez, who is forever my conductor and my king, and then he kissed my hand and Eema told me later that I looked as though I would just burst from happiness, because Dvorak and it went awesome and my solo and RAPHAEL JIMENEZ KISSED MY HAND, and I very nearly did. Burst from happiness, I mean.

So... yay. Yay, and yay, and even just thinking of it now like a fortnight later I am still going SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE inside my head.

Also I hugged Carlos Botero as I was leaving the stage, which is to say that I kind of glomped him, but can you blame me, it is Carlos Botero and he is awesome and I was so totally high on Good Concert.

Mmmmm, awesome.

Anyway. So after all my concerts I went to Yale to visit Paul, who was still coughing like he was dying of some terrible wasting lung disease, and spent my last days in New Haven. We actually managed to find a pretty walk, a nice tree-lined street with colorful, architecturally interesting houses. (I say like I know jack about architecture, but they were pretty and cool-looking and some of them had turrets and roofs that looked like you could climb on them.) And then at the top of the hill there was a lovely little park with a bench and to one side was the whole of Connecticut, and to the other side was the sunset, and it was just peaceful and the weather was cool and pleasant and it was just about as nice a send-off as one could hope to get, at least someone like me who visited for long weekends every few months for the past four years. Paul showed me some of season one Chuck, and an episode of Dollhouse, and I showed him the first two episodes of Merlin, and we watched about halfway through S2 of Buffy.

My love for any character played by Anthony Stewart Head continues epic. Perhaps I should worry about all these silver foxes I seem to be collecting in my Big Book o'Fictional Crushes, but I think as long as I do not go chasing them in anything resembling Real Life, I will be okay.

I spoke to many strangers over the weekend, like the CT limo driver on the way there, who was so very nice and friendly and I liked him, and people on planes and such who wanted to know just what was so hilarious about Post Captain by Patrick C. O'Brian. Yes, it's book two of the Aubrey/Maturin series. But I love them! Stephen is oh, such a cellist and Jack is just such a violinist- and oh, it is perfectly wonderful. sigh. Also I bought these cool solar-powered blinky keychains with names on, and because they didn't have "Leora" I bought Nicholas, Sam, Jack, and Christopher. And a second one of Nicholas, just because. If I want to destroy the mystery, then I could tell you that ) But I think it's more fun to let you all believe that I selected the names entirely at random, in a fit of pique at having my name left off once again. (The truth is that I just like to say "in a fit of pique." Okay, so I just like the word "pique." There's a Q in it. Words with a Q are cool. Don't judge me.)

You know, I am well aware that it is Not Going To Happen, Like, For Srs, but I think that this

really should be the new British flag. Aw, yeah. Sorry. Random tangent is random.

( I was just taking a reservation for someone in Ypsilanti and after I finished telling him everything there was kind of this long pause, so I said "do you have any other questions?" and he said "are you single?"

...ahahahahahaha really? Uh, really? uh. Well. Sure. I can take a compliment.)

I have received packages! many many packages, of lovely presents, presents that I paid for online but who is counting because they came in the mail, to me, all nicely wrapped, which makes them presents. There is a Mind The Gap doormat for my front porch doorway, an umbrella featuring the London skyline in sort of gray, dreary colors because it's England and it is always raining there, 'cause it's an island, a pair of dangly pearl earrings, and this really, really awesome pair of steampunky earrings made of watch parts and gears. THEY'RE STEAMPUNKY, YOU GUYS. YEAH. I keep wanting to write thank-you notes to the maker of my new steampunk earrings for the lovely gift, because she wrapped them up all pretty, but then I remember that I actually bought them, with money, and it is probably Not Done to be all grateful for the opportunity to pay money for shiny things.

Wanna know what actually was a shiny present, though?

Okay okay! EEEHEEHEEHEE. So I come back straight to the office from Connecticut, and of course I've been travelling all night long and had to shell out an extra hundred bucks for a taxi and lost the thirty dollars for my CT limo because I misread the time and missed it, stupid me, but I was okay and I got to work and I was working and Eema had left me her car keys so I could get back to my flat, so when I was done working I traipsed up to the fifth floor and looked for her car and did not see it. So I pressed the Unlock button, and the lights flashed on a gorgeous, bright bright robin's-egg-blue Taurus with a note on the dash that read titchadshi.

I have named her Sophie, which is short for Blue Sophia, which is like Blue Peter only not really at all, and I admit I may have been slightly influenced by Jack Aubrey's pretty little sloop. But that is okay. Eema was insistent that she is not really my car, she is my parents' car that I am allowed to use, but that is okay too; Ophelia was Tamar's car that I was allowed to use and that did not make her any less mine for the months that I had her.

This is another thing that makes me all squeeful. A car! A pretty, pretty little ship car! All for me! *massive grin*

Let me see. Other things that are good. Well, I watched the first season (only eight episodes in a season. Honestly, Britain, you and me, we gotta talk about this) of a show called Hotel Babylon, which I have decided that I like. I tried to watch several other British comedies, but I really cannot stand having a laugh track. It's just so... insulting. I do not need to be told when you have made a joke. If it is funny, I will laugh. But Hotel Babylon is just... yeah, I like shows about high-strung, resourceful characters who are running complex operations. I like shows about what goes on backstage. Slings & Arrows, for example, or hey, how about the Muppet Show? (Though I *wish* they didn't have a laugh track.) Anyway, I like Hotel Babylon and the characters interest me, even the ones I thought I would dislike, so good. Also I ship the main pairing, which is always nice, and I like that the main character learns from his mistakes, and that even if he is slow in coming to a decision, once he decides on a course of action, he follows through. Also he has what I believe are known as "bedroom eyes," and an accent like the Ninth Doctor's, so. Yeah.

Also saw a movie called Cat Ballou, which is a western, or a parody of westerns, but that does not matter because it is great, and involved Nat King Cole and Jane Fonda. I think this may be the first time I have actually had an ot5, but it is just something about outlaw bandits, I swear, that simply cannot be limited to monogamous pairings. It is at least ot3s, or nothing. Don't ask me. I don't make the rules.

Now may I talk about Star Trek?


spoilers and squeeage to follow. )

And now I cannot wipe the grin off my face. Ahhh, it is good to be a geek.

(Ooo hey, who's looking forward to the movie with Evil!Nine?)

Anyway. Must be getting home, making food. Sleeping. All that stuff.



Feb. 26th, 2009 11:43 pm
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O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey, lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Yon lone sinistral pedestal, now writhe!

But wait! Forthwith, and daring not to pause,
Sails righteous, in then out, that ragged right!
Not dimmed nor cowed by leftie's crowing toes
Lays on limb Dextral. Eager, eager gait!

Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heaven's yoke.
Bless'd dervish! Surely canst thou go, you girl.

The Hoke, the Poke -- now banish all thy doubt.
In sooth, say I, 'tis what it's all about.



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So today I managed to pull myself out of bed (away from lovely, lovely dreams of Ianto, and Tosh, and Jack, and theatre- you have no idea how hard that was) at about 2:20 PM, which is possibly a new record for me, and I was totally out of the flat and on the road by 2:40, with my umbrella and my purse and the bag of pyjamas that I had to give back to Eema. And then I was nearly to the Burcham intersection when I realized that my violin was still in my flat. (my lack of social life is telling: I keep wanting to slip words in Hebrew into this post- my umbrella and my tik, my kinor was still in my flat. I need to talk to people out loud more often; I'm forgetting English.) Anyway, so I panicked and pulled into the Elementary School driveway, intending to turn around, when I realized that it was one-way, no left turns, and there was a long line of cars blocking me from getting out. Someone kindly let me in and I turned frantically onto Burcham, then realized I had no idea how to get back. There was much of the getting lost and ending up in strange neighborhoods before I found myself back on Saginaw, where I went tearing along back to Haslett, to Hagadorn, and to Hull. Ran upstairs, snatched my violin and drove hell-bent for leather- by which I mean, thirty miles per hour, because speed limits. Arrived in the Music Building just as the Symphony orchestra was tuning, and stopped to get my folder from the bin but the bin WAS GONE. By now I was already late, so I did not run, but I hurried to the Music Library and it was totally closed and dark and locked and empty, despite the sign on the door saying OPEN and 1PM to 4PM and it being only 3:00 PM. And so I knocked and looked desperate and pitiful, and considered just running away, but someone would have seen me approach the orchestra room earlier and I'd passed Beau in the hallway and someone would have reported to Gregorian that I had been there, and disappeared of my own free will. So I gathered up my courage and went in late, ARGH, and then we played Prokofiev's Love of Three Oranges and Beethoven's Eroica. And it had been sprinkling when I'd awoken, and all the way to orchestra, and as rehearsal wore on the rain got heavier and heavier until it was just pouring straight down, and I was really annoyed with myself for leaving my umbrella in my car, because I'd have to walk to work without it. But then an hour and some time in, during the Beethoven, the rain stopped and though the sky was dark and grey somehow the sun was shining magnificently off of the trees with their fall-colors and it was just about the most lovely sight I'd ever seen, and I spent all our measures of rest (like, all three of them) staring over my shoulder out the window, which is bad and unprofessional but COME ON, Beethoven would have understood, LOOK AT THAT SIGHT. Gorgeous. And then the gray just faded away from the top down like God adjusting the brightness of his monitor, and it was just so cool, also, Beethoven is crazy hard and I kind of wish I were first violin because I learned these excerpts for auditions and it throws me the heck off when I hear the cues and start automatically playing along with the firsts because the second part is impossible to sight read anyway and I know that part, I know that's what I'm supposed to be playing, and I can't not play it. But I'll learn, I will. Afterwards I went and had a cup of coffee, which- oh- explains why I have barely paused for breath this entire entry, and then I sang Blue Skies and came to work, after stopping in Barnes and Noble to pine after Doctor Who, which is like a hundred dollars, whut, on Amazon it's only like 53 + shipping. and, granted, shipping is expensive, but not that expensive, guys. Last night I talked to Mical and I suggested that she be a bat for Halloween, which come to think of it is a really good idea, and something I've never been, so maybe I will be too, because Mical is in Boulder and it's not exactly like we move in the same circles. And also Eema dropped off a bag of clothes for me to try on, a black concert shirt and black cordoruoy pants and two pairs of pyjamot, and she said that whichever pair I didn't pick she would take. There was a pink pair with black-and-tan flowers all over that I didn't fancy at all, and a really cute plaid flannel pair that I adored and it was no decision at all. I wonder how influenced I was by the fact that Eema has a pair of plaid flannel pyjamas, and so does Caitlin. *shrugs* Anyway they were quite comfortable and I wore them while making noodles with olive oil and basil and parmesan cheese, which is delicious and I purposely made enough so that I could take the leftovers to work today and not be hungry, but then of course I ran out the house without time and did not take it, so I will have to content myself with the appetite-suppression of caffeine, which is most of the reason that I drank the coffee, was so that I wouldn't die of hunger before I went home tonight. Also I did all my dishes, go me. I was about to complain to Paul that a downside of living alone was that I had to do all my own dishes, but then I realized, no, if I had a roommate or something, I would still have to do my own dishes, and also be yelled for not doing them by someone else's standard of fast enough. So, it is actually a perk of living alone, and I love it, if I do things in my own time I do not have to feel guilty, or be yelled at. I love that, I really, really do. It is something that will take me a long time to get over, and I'm just revelling in it. Basically I revel in my flat. A lot. Look at my window! Covered in sparkly snowflakes, and a snowman suncatcher, and golden stars, and Caitlin's beaded star ornament! Look at my bookshelf, and how it matches my door! Look at my bright lamp, my night-table, my silver clock and my religious icon, my dishcloth hanging on a sticky-hook, my sink! My dishwasher! My coffemaker! My kitchen appliances, my knife rack! My basketchair, my shower curtain, my soap dish, my medicine cabinet! My rugs! My kitchen table, my chairs, my beautiful white kitchen table and brown chairs! My sofas covered in cat hairs! My friggin' WATERBED, my luxurious, luxurious sheets and comforter! My walk-in closet, all full of hangers, my laundry basket! Look at my new balcony, the lovely blonde wood, and my windchime with the golden sound! My clock-radio and my new headphones, my TV stand with television AND a DVD player...! My shoe rack, my white coat with the parva! My very own cat-food closet, with my very own vaccuum cleaners, both large and small! My fuzzy blue blanket and my DVDs and my books, my books and my purple butterfly bookends, my knitted potholders and green placemats and brass candlesticks! My candles! Matches! My green flower dishes! My beautiful, decorated bowls of all shapes and sizes! My art nouveau vase, full of beautifully dead flowers! My carpeted floor! NYAAAAA! *runs around in circles, flailing* LOOK AT ALL MY STUFF. I don't think there is any way to convey how unbelieveably rich I feel. All this stuff! And it's all mine! I feel like Ariel, except without the pining or the pouting! ALL THIS STUFF. IT IS MINE. I HAS IT. You are going to have to pry me out of this flat with a crowbar. I totally, totally get how all the ship captains feel now. MY PLACE. MINEMINEMINE.

I don't think I've ever had less money to my name. I'm subsisting off of rice and pasta and calculating every day whether I can afford to buy a cup of hot chocolate on my way to work (answer is: I really shouldn't, I should just buy a thermos so that I can make my own and bring it with me). I'm not managing to save anything; between keeping myself in internet and violin lessons I must be careful to let my third-of-a-tank of gas last me the next two weeks at least. I've never really not had spending-money before; even when I was little, if I wanted something, I could ask for it. I might have received "no" for an answer, or else had to wait for a holiday, but still. (It's so easy to see how someone can get stuck like this, and have to choose between an eye exam and a bow rehair, and I'm so very, very fortunate that my parents can help me with things like that.)

I've never felt richer in my life, ever. I cannot get over how lucky I am, and as in Israel, every nerve in my body is screaming at me to make the most of now, because I am well aware, so very very aware, of the limited duration of this state of affairs. I am in the prime of youth, the cusp of adulthood, if you will; I have what is (for me) a perfect balance of independence and a firm support structure, a place of my own- a place of my own that feels like home- a cat that keeps me from ever being actually lonely, a cat whose character just takes up all the space in the room, like a cat trained in musical theater. Two orchestras and a part-time job arranged to fit my personal sleep schedule, no responsibilities that I cannot handle for the first time in, like, EVER, no one to please but myself, and plenty of time and resources with which to do as I please. Do not get me wrong, having other people in my life will be great too, but I value this time so much, and, as in Israel, I do not look up in surprise and wonder where the last few months have gone: I am conscious of every day that passes, I can feel the time flying, the way people say you can't. That is me; I may not have a sense of time- of past, of future, but I am so aware of the now. Always conscious of the present. ...'M not sure what I'm trying to say, here, anymore. But the last section of the first paragraph sort of reminded me of Jack talking to Nicholas in Polari (Nicholas! I would give anything for Nicholas to be canon. I'm so madly in love with Nicholas). Tosheroon worth of savvy to spare and dull ogles and dolly eeks.

I should actually work on the roster now, you know. *shrugs* It will get done. So it goes.

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Actually no, I do not want to talk about my life right now, because right now my life bloody SUCKS. So I will talk about the opera, one of the reasons that my life sucks right now.

Into: The devil walks on stage and sings. No one knows what he's singing about, because the subtitles work for about a line saying "Tales of Hoffman" and then Die a Horrible Painful Death, involving hammers.

Actually I won't. I will instead post this little bit of MST that Eyal and I wrote while on buses in Europe during sophomore year. But, dude, this fic still gives me friggin' NIGHTMARES. Er, apologies to everyone that we insulted here... er, mostly John. *grins* Anyway. Enjoy.

Fic: Tears of Heart, by... I fergit. )



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