ange: (hands)
Random and disconnected is my world (the Sentinel reading spree continues apace). Brighid, Pares, Ces, Martha, Helen, Laura JV, Lemon Drop and Betty Plotnick: I salute you.

Randomly and disconnectedly:

I went to an Orthodox light service for Easter, at my mother's suggestion. I spent a lot of it dodging rain and trying not to cast the Greek Spoon River Anthology in my head (You, man with golf cap, shall be Agamemnon Hatzilamprou, whose dog loved him more than his wife ever did). I mean, I didn't even like the Spoon River Anthology.

I got my ass kicked at chess this morning by a huge, tattooed man next to the bucket fountain in Cuba Mall. Hulking and bearded; glasses perched on his head and his lower lip pooched out in concentration. He twinkled at me with his eyes and teeth after he wiped the board with my mortal remains and I wanted to pinch his cheek. He told me to stick to air hockey.

I've been offered work as a life drawing model at Pablo's (!!). Um. I think I might regret it if I don't. We'll see.

JC's hair puts me in mind of that rat's tail that Donnie Wahlberg used to sport so handily in the late 80s.

Fletch dragged me out for drinks last night to celebrate the end of a fortnight of 14 hour workdays. I ended up talking for a while to a sales rep for Canadian TV (I think he said Telefilm? Is that a thing? What I know about Canadian TV would fill a contact lens.). Anyway, I mentioned that I loved Hard Core Logo (thanks again to certain offshoots of the Due South fandom) and he said there's going to be a series. A Hard Core Logo Series. He then said Quentin Tarantino was going to be producing it and my heart sank, but still. A series! Does anyone know anything about this? Was this random Canadian guy selling me a line? I'm alternately gleeful and filled with dread.

Also: feijoa, apple juice, absolut and a bit of mint. Give it a try, sometime. Because nothing ensures a good sleep like a soft bed and an easy conscience, but either can be replaced by vodka.
ange: (Default)
I remember an occasion, not so many years ago, when I found myself alone in the middle of the night, with no working pen in the house and an essay due the next morning. I ended up handing in an essay written entirely in orange coloured pencil. Did I bitch and moan that the pencil didn't have a backspace? No, I did not. I was grateful I had a pencil, orange or otherwise. Well, those heady days are over, I tell you what.

For the last three or so weeks I have had, in place of a computer, a really, really expensive footrest. It's been horrifying. I wrote a report last night using lined refill, a bic and one of those little bottles of white-out with the teeny-tiny brush, and I was well-nigh crippled by the inability to cut-and-paste. Plus, I felt like I was living in the fucking dark ages.

So, you know, I've only kept up with LJ in 10 minute bursts in internet cafes, which is to say, hardly at all. I missed it. And you. But! I hear that Justin shouted on a message board! And kissed emoticon Chris! At some point in the last, like, fortnight! *twirls* I wish I'd been there.

In other news, I was checking out Sentinel slash before everything went kerblooey (inspired by the lovely Kormantic and whoever it was that posted the link to the blooper reels where the actors playing Jim and Blair made out. Love to you!), and I'd printed out a few stories to read on the bus, so I wasn't entirely without fanfiction, thank God. I wasn't sure who was who when I started, but now, 5 fics and two songvids later, I have a serious thing for Blair and his little claymation face. I really do. Plus, he has my hair, and I feel for him: it's the kind of hair that moults everywhere so you have to peel it off your socks at the end of the day.

*hugs friendslist on general principle*
ange: (Default)
So. I guess I should get on to that in the next couple of days. And I love whoever came up with WIP day, because I've had a friendslist full of lovely raw gems to coo over. But. My feedback list, man. It's overwhelming. *g*

In other news, I took a look at the nipple thing, laughed, raised my eyebrows, boggled, got bored and decided to immerse myself in media fandom for a couple of weeks. (Though, JC with the sharp edges and indignation? Cool.) Re-read Void and came to the conclusion that the funky-eyed Wood boy holds no fascination for me at all, except when he's Casey and bleeding. And everyone should read Birthright by [livejournal.com profile] baylorsr. Because it's good. Really, really. Also, bleeding Casey. Who knew?

Yay for old B-movies in times of strife.
ange: (Default)
The Q pictures. People seem to like it when Justin gives the finger. Every time I see a picture of Justin giving the camera the finger, I think: "Yeah, man. That is edgy and cool. That's pushing the envelope, right there." And then I snort in that way that... you know the kind of tough snore that can wake you up at night? Like that.

Now the pretending to jerk-off picture, that I can get behind whole-heartedly. And I love the pretend-candid ones.

If I had any kind of space to upload pictures to, this would be the 800th journal to display the LOTR premiere smoochies. I *don't* have any space as it happens, but know that all the kissing sits in a folder on my hard drive marked "GLEE".

I'll make tiramisu for anyone inspired to write a decent Viggorli.

Koff.
ange: (Default)
I think I have a touch of sunstroke.

Of course I went. I didn't meet anyone famous or anything; we were too late to get a good handshake spot, having left the house only four hours early. But that's fine, because I have that pesky famous-person phobia, plus Viggo smiled at me when he passed me on Cuba St last Saturday while I was carrying all these bags of vegetables. That's enough for me. I can feel my face go all blotchy just thinking about it.

I have a friend who works at Kitty's, one of the bars along Courtenay Place where the red carpet was, and I was hoping he'd swing us a spot on the balcony. He couldn't, but he did tell us to try the roof of the United Video building, saying that it was really easy to get up there: "All you need to do is go down this little alley behind Burger King and then another little alley, and then there's a ladder and you climb up it and there you are." We said: "Sweet!" And after a huge pub lunch, a pint of Kilkenny's and two pints of Copperhop Ale, we set off to do just that. We found the ladder. D got her ass up and Bec got her ass up and I had my ass *thisclose* to being up, when some guy came out of a back door and yelled at us that we were trespassing, read the damn sign. I looked around and told the guy there was no sign, and he said: "Yes there is! Look!" and pointed at the sign, which was crumpled up on the ground about 10 metres away from the ladder. So we had to move some crates and upend an oildrum and climb over a chinese restaurant to get to the same damn piece of roof. We got there in the end, though, and got a really good view of the entire red carpet.

And then we sat there and watched the parade and all the speeches. And drank beer. And attempted to feign nonchalance. After a while, we just gave it up and yelled lots.

You know, written down here, it doesn't sound very exiting at all. But it was. It was exiting and there were people everywhere and everything was really loud. It was sunny. I've had a lovely day
ange: (jakita)
Of course, I'm not writing under any deadline here, so figs on what I say. But still.

I've really enjoyed all the audblog and phone posts on the friendslist. You all have great voices! I feel a certain yen to do one, if only to demonstrate how ridiculous sparkly-speak sounds in a New Zealand accent. I can't even *think* the word 'yo' without snickering at myself and I came out with a random inexplicable 'y'all' in conversation this afternoon that caused my flatmate to spill his coffee laughing while I flushed cherry red. But I'm a complete sloth, so. In lieu of that, watch a featurette on any handy LOTR DVD and imagine Richard Taylor from WETA saying "yo". My accent is nowhere near as broad as his (in fact, Richard Taylor has one of the broadest NZ accents known to man or beast), but you'll get the idea. For an extra giggle, imagine him reciting the lyrics to "Girlfriend in a Coma". He'd be so earnest! It'd be hilarious! To me, anyway. But that could just be one of the random quirks of my psyche, who knows.

I'm totally going to blow a week's rent on the Extended TTT edition in a couple of days, let me tell you.

Graargh

Nov. 8th, 2003 08:01 pm
ange: (Default)
I deleted previous rant about Cam - I got up the next morning and decided I didn't need to a whole post in my journal about her. Just let the long standing (a! whole! decade!) antipathy - and the resentment that she has muddied my sdb waters - be implied.

I'm feeling kind of shaky - I ranted at the flatmate from hell earlier, and while I was full of righteous indignation at the time, now I feel squeamy about the whole thing.

I really want a beer. Shout me someone?
ange: (jakita)
I'm still on reception, and I have nothing to do. Yesterday was okay: a few things needed couriers; data needed entering; meetings needed coffee; ads needed proofing. I affixed a few forty-cent stamps to envelopes. I even got to run to the supermarket to buy milk. Today, I've been sitting here since 8.30 this morning with my thumbs up my ass. I've answered the phone 10 times and called the courier once. I dream of making daredevil dashes across the four lanes of traffic outside my window, just to hear a few breaks squeal. I'd reach the other side panting and red-faced, then I'd lean over and rest my hands on my knees and giggle like an eleven-year old whose crush just walked past and did the Chin-Tilt-of-Acknowledgment. I'm losing my mind.

In other news, how much do I love Merry's Chris Challenge? *flings arms out expansively* thiiisss much. Let's pause while I think guiltily of feedback.

A couple of people on my f-list have wondered aloud about the people who friend them and then don't comment in their journals. Yeah, that would be me. Hi. I think you're funny and smart and I like your posts. So don't be puzzled. *g* I'm actually a lot shyer online than I am in real life - which seems backward, but there you have it. I find it a lot easier to push myself into a group of people at a pub then I do on message boards. I'm always afraid of misreading the tone in typed conversations. Or of being misread.

In conclusion: these shoes are killing me. So I guess death defying road dashes are out.
ange: (Default)
I'm still alive. The subject line is what came out when I fed my journal-thus-far into the lj-haiku generator. Remarkably apt, no?

Stuff that has been happening since last I posted, or: Old News by Now )


Am currently being bored out of my mind temping as a receptionist at an ad agency. I make coffee and stuff. I want to spam ( I mean, Jesus, it would make a nice change), but I can't think of anything to say other than I'm bored.

I like my friendslist.
ange: (Default)
To the writers of certain Comicon and CTFC Reports; to those who have made it impossible to have a decent OTP squee in Lotrips (for any pairing at all) without defending my sanity; to those who seem determined to poison any joy and excitement I feel in fannishness, much like that sewerage pipe at Plimmerton Beach poisoned the coastline: die, you bastards.

Other things that annoy me: Horizontal scrollbars. Bras that try to stab me with the underwire.

Yeah, I think that's all. I'm doing okay!
ange: (Default)
Last night, I went to one of my friend's work functions. It was a snooty sit-down dinner at a place with white tablecloths and three sets of cutlery per plate and crappy food. Having sat through the entire damnable meal, I completely understand why L was so desperate not to go alone that she paid my way, and god knows I'm grateful for free food in whatever guise, so I shouldn't complain. I'm going to, of course. Well, not complain so much as acknowledge freely and frankly that me and fancy restaurants just do not mix, no, not at all. I felt like I was in a bad farce, and L did even worse, if that's possible.

For future reference... )

In other news, the family is... getting by. And the flatmate from hell that I never wrote about here has calmed down as well, so life is quiet. What I really want, is pictures of boys playing basketball. That would be cool. Also, a Chicago detective of my very own. And like, Fred and George from HP (book not movie). Did you know the twins were born in 1986? Fricken hell. I thought the whole Justin thing was bad enough. I mean, I have really clear memories of 1981. 1986? Sheesh.
ange: (jakita)
Order of the Pheonix. Love, people. Love love love. For nice commentary, go visit [livejournal.com profile] viggorlijah; I'm just squeaking for a couple of sentences here. But! for the first time in the series, I was not tempted (or well, not *much*) to serenade our Boy Harry with a horribly offkey, if heartfelt, rendition of A Boy Named Sue )
ange: (hands)
Whoever hotlinked the Justin Live on MTV thing so that it went down when I was 40 megs into the download and me on a dial-up? Bite me hard.

Completely randomly: I'm currently chugging desperately on rolling tobacco in an attempt to afford my nicotine addiction. And I'm coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that it's not nicotine I'm addicted to at all, given that tobacco is easing the ache not one bit. I think I'm addicted to cigarette additives - saltpetre, or something. Or like, tar. God help me.

So, yeah. Reduced to smoking rollies. Money. Rent. Insomnia. So I've been using the night hours of late to dive into Due South stories, thinking: "Hey, I saw an ad for Due South that one time in the late 90s". And I'm kind of hooked. For someone who's never seen the show.

So now I'm on something of a "Get Season Three" mission. I have to say though, I'm trying to lower my expectations coming off of all of this fic. As it is now? If I watch the show and I don't see some random tongue wrestling in an empty interrogation room, or, I dunno, a shot of a campsite on the tundra in which the tent's two occupants shake the bedroll, unaware or uncaring that the lantern hanging from the centre pole has cast their shadows onto the wall in sharp relief and given the lie to their illusion of privacy, well. I'm going to be a tad miffed.

And! A Boondock Saints story! An wonderful Boondock Saints story! With Lambs! I can't even tell you how much I love this. Go read, then tell [livejournal.com profile] stubbleglitter how cool she is.

So, um.

Apr. 16th, 2003 08:47 pm
ange: (back)
Fandoms go kablooey. Hokay then.

In other news, I watched the Boondock Saints yet AGAIN last weekend, and, as always, I trawled the web for fic afterwards. Now, while the present situation is better than a couple of years ago, I am peeved. There's like, 10 Boondock Saints fics on the WHOLE FREAKING INTERNET. And one of them is utter trash, written fokin' fonetikally no less. With translations in brackets. So, 9 really.

This upsets me. Narnia slash has more stories then this.

And to make everything worse (y'know, in a manner of speaking), I dl'ed one of the deleted scenes from the DVD. Naked Connor, sitting on the couch with a beer and icing his privates after getting a kick to the goolies in the meat packing plant. Naked Murphy, lighting a cigarette and waiting for the water in the shower to warm up. Ma calls from Ireland and one thing leads to another and it all ends up with Naked Connor and No-Longer-Entirely-But-Nearly Naked Murphy groping for the phone together on an ice-strewn floor. And then lying all over each other.

I am not joking.

Hundreds have slashed far less! What do you need, blood? Peeved, I say.

Someone should write some.

I would, but I think religious vendetta and twincest and then I think of Jim Crow from The Invisibles saying "Does the pope have a catholic dick? keh keh keh" over and over until there's nothing else left in my head.

In other other news, I friended more people I want to read. *waves*

I'm 25, I swear a lot, I smoke too much, I'm five feet tall and my parents call me "theskinnyrunt". I have my mother's nose and my dad's chin. I've forgiven them because they are not the first couple who forgot to consider the gene pool being created with their marriage; nor will they be the last. Give me the lighting I deserve, and I'm stunning. I like writing and reading. I have to blow dust off this thing every time I post here.

And that's all.
ange: (Default)
Poor Orlando Bloom.

From my reading of LJ this evening, it appears that there is something of a backlash in LOTR RPS re. Orlando, which I'm calling: Damn Him, He's Everywhere with his Vacuous Pouty Face, and He Can't Act Anyway and He's Dumb as a Box of Rocks, and All His Fans are Equally Dumb Teenies, and Is It Possible for a Sentence to Leave His Mouth during an Interview without getting Maimed? or: If Orlando Bloom had Another Brain Cell, It would be Lonely.

To which I say: That's popularity. Ebb and flow. Also: he's young, rich, famous and doesn't give a rat's ass what any of us think, thank God.

I like him. I will never know him, but I found him, during our brief *pre-fame* beery chat, to be flakey and highly strung, yes, but also funny and friendly and generous. He had a lot to talk about and gestured wildly and nearly got me in the eye with his elbow, and we laughed and laughed. Far from intellectual, and just as far from a box of rocks. But then, it was a beery chat, not a bonding session and it certainly wasn't a quiz, so I can't pretend to know anything about the boy or his true intellectual capacity. The teenie fangirls know more about him then I do. I just like him because he's absurdly pretty, he slashes well, and we got on for half an hour in a pub once.

What, we need to ask our fannish crushes for IQ scores, now?
ange: (Default)
So, say a person had the extended Fellowship of the Ring DVD. And say a person had heard that there was a narrated trailer for TTT somewhere on one of those four confounded discs. And say this person was unable to find it anywhere, despite various assurances to self that self is not a dummy and surely if self clicks around enough, self should be able to find one measely narrated trailer.

Is there hope of aid? I have to give this thing back later this afternoon.

P.S. JC is the prettiest boy in the galaxy. Good freaking God.
ange: (back)
I just spent 20 minutes on the floor fighting with the (not very many at all) wires on the inside of my computer and reading about Master/Slave jumper cables and suchlike out of the instruction manual.

The new DVD-Rom/CD RW drive is installed at last. Because I am smart enough to outwit wires, and my computer is not the boss of me.

I don't remember if I remembered to stay grounded, but I think I had a desperate hand on the case the whole time, and nothing visibly blew up. And I held my breath and squinted, which always seems to work for the electricians.

Now, while I get the DVD part (put in the disc and click play), I have no earthly idea how a CD writer works. I've never used one. And the guy in the computer shop looked at me like I was stupid when I asked. And then didn't answer. So I flipped him off, and left to work it out by myself. Except now, I think I may, you know. Not be able to work it out by myself.

But. I shall fight and overcome. I did pay money for this thing.

I'm girding my loins AS WE SPEAK.
ange: (hands)
I hereby swear to write in this thing more often. Like more than once a month. Or something.

Just, you know, I think I've said before about needing to... have something to say. And to try and be at least vaguely witty about it. Lately, not so much with the witty. Or the something to say.

Did you know that here in NZ, The Osbournes is shown on network TV, and it's completely uncensored? Every f**k, s**t and c**t there for all to hear at 9.30 on a Thursday evening. In fact, swearing on any show after 9.30pm goes pretty much uncensored, here. I appreciate it. If I don't like it, I change the channel. It's easy as pie.

I mention this because, thanks in part to the wonderful Nia, I've got AMA clips ( thanks!). And there's the boys and the cute grins and the hats and the hiding of faces behind shoulders and I've had it on repeat for the past quarter hour, because I have become the breathless fangirl I was too cool to be as a teenie.

But there is also the bleeping. The interminable bleeping. Or, should I say, the weird ...silencing. To be frank, I found it 10 times more aurally offensive than I would have found the actual swearing. And yeah, I get that it's an award show, and what about the children? and standards and all, but I am given to understand that MTV bleeps the series itself. How do you bear it? What the hell is left of the dialogue? And what kid doesn't learn how to curse at kindy, anyway? I mean... hell. It's the Osbournes, for Christ's sake. I find the entire idea of censoring the Osbournes... deeply odd. Anyway.

Randomly:
I'm watching Galaxy Quest right now. Even with a weird prosthetic head, Alan Rickman remains a sexy bitch.

JC's hair is indeed a mullet. Denial is useless. But I still like it. Such is the strength of my love.

I wish Chris had been there. Justin's damn cute. Joey's cutie cute. And, word is, Lance has arms. I haven't seen them, but, hey. Arms. I'm glad he...has them. I bet they're cute.

The Two Towers! I was, perhaps, more blown away (blown further away? blown into smaller pieces?) by the Fellowship. But I've only seen it the three times. Also, have rediscovered Lotrips love. And fear. Woo.

Yesterday, the flatmate in the room next door was cranking Ani di Franco when an Eminem video came on the TV. I closed my eyes and it was like a really really screwed up duet.

Bleeping blows. I feel like reading Preacher out of spite.
ange: (jakita)
Hmm. It's been a long time. Insane hours, truly. And then there's been Christmas, a changing of the guard at the flat (three have moved out, two in. I'm the matriarch now) and my little sister has left to become one of the many New Zealanders cluttering Sydney. She's already flattened her 'i's, dammit. *g*

Now, my little sis is all grown and fiercely independent, and we weren't particularly close (big love, clashing lifestyles). Sydney's great, and perfect for her, and god knows I'm not in a position to talk about the sheer gall of leaving your family to fret while you traipse merrily all over the globe with your throat bare to any passing maniac with a knife and your sister not there to protect you, but.

But I think about her over there and then I think: "In Sydney, they have poisonous spiders that crawl into your laundry in the night," and then I think: "She's just a kid! Her diaper's barely dry! what is she doing there by herself, all unprepared for poisonous spiders?" and then I want to get out of bed at 3am and call to remind her to don gumboots and rubber gloves before approaching the hamper.

We've never had a lot in common. We only talked a couple of times a week when she lived 30 minutes away, if that. So... yeah. I'm not sure why her absence aches like it does.

Anyway. I need to catch up with stuff. I haven't been on the computer hardly at all the last few weeks. I hear TTT is in cinemas. And Justin's nearly naked...somewhere. Apparently. Cool. And Orlando Bloom's on the cover of the latest Pavement, which I now own. And there are new stories and a cool-writers-I-watch a.k.a. friendslist to backread. I have money and free time and new flatties to get to know and lying around to do and I've been waiting for this all year. I miss her.

ohjesus i think i just saw a mouse
fuckity
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