silveryscrape

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 20:06:47 GMT

Um, wow. I haven't written since Feb?? Crazy.

In the spirit of not sucking for Sesa, frenslist, I'm counting on you. Provide me with a popslash pairing of any variety - ah, nsync variety, I should say - and I'll write a little something about them.

Yeah, it might take a while. But I'd appreciate the encouragement, if you've a mind to.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 19:16:32 GMT

Sesa, yes?

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 20:51:28 GMT

oh my god, this is killing me. I may be dying.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 16:49:02 GMT

"Chris Kirkpatrick confirmed you as a friend on Facebook."

*hides face*

I've wrangled this awesome situation at work. I'll continue to work at Stanford in a relief capacity, which is to say in two month increments three times a year, and I'll keep my benefits and seniority and all that jazz... but my home base will be Wisconsin. So every so often I'll wend my way out thisaway, work a little bit and see all my friends - maybe escape some winter? - and then head back and hang out with my beloved family, whom I miss omg so much. \o/

The sad thing is that 6 mo of work at Stanford is roughly equivalent to a year's salary for a WI nurse. Well. Not sad for me. I may not have to work for 6 months of the year.

Later today I'm picking up my new RV, in which I & the kitties will aim for WI soon to get settled in there before the snows come. Watch this space for approx. 834928498 pictures, no doubt.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 20:57:39 GMT

Omg, I kind of wish I were there.

There are thousands of burners out on the Playa this year, tens of thousands, and thousands of people watching the live cast. Seriously, check it out. Every year they port everything in for hundreds of miles, build cities & art & just live like that for a couple of weeks, under the sun, in the wind & dust - like a new life or the possibility of one, a new way of living - and then they burn the Man and port everything back out again, everything, garbage included. Crazy fuckers. One of my patients is seriously upset because he'll be missing it for the first time in 9 yrs... yeah, he has no immune system, so no. I should have gone for him. Damn.

Ok - what's the use of Facebook, again? I just signed up for one and here I am, half an hour later. Um, is there anything to do?

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 20:22:47 GMT

Yay, I got my Beatlefest tickets today! 33rd year of the Fest, which is just so awesome, and my... fourth? Idk, maybe my fourth time out there with Donna and Ash and Erin, and my boss just told me about a Beatles cover band going to be playing in Menlo Park the day before I head out, so there's a great start to the festivities! I.can.not.wait.

Speaking of boss, I may have volunteered myself to do a study on whether & how a discharge planner might help streamline stuff on our unit... like, researching the lit & surveying how other transplant units handle things & how many $$ would be saved despite the $100,000 in salary to bring a dedicated RN specialist on for that... adkfalkdljl I swore I'd never get involved in this kind of nonsensery again, but then I got bored, or something. At least I managed to sidestep the offer to head up our unit council, because I am not entirely stupid. Just a little impulsive, I guess.

Also, Remix is up, I just finally realized, so I'm happily reading through. When are the authors announced? Dude -- mine is totally easy to guess. How embarrassing. Anyone wanna give it a go? *eyebrows*

OH. Ha. I may have been doing a bit of googling the other day -- "jc chasez fierce hat," yeah, no, I don't know -- and came across this, which is no doubt old school to all of you lj whippersnappers, but filled me with GLEE.

In which Ohnotheydidnt falls under the Spell of the Chasez and some of them actually say OH JC

Don't Hate, Thank You.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 13:43:26 GMT

Annie Lennx/DJ Earworm, Backwards/Forwards

Absolutely the most amazing Mashup I've ever heard/seen. Gorgeous.

Remix in the can, just about as late as usual; a tradition! I did something a little different this time, and also enjoyed the writing, which was really nice. Thank you, Maggie. You're a gem.

Back to day shift, by the way. Less $$ < The Sun *choir*

Oh! And a new phone #: 408-368-8526. It was tough, since I've had a New Mexico exchange for like 10 yrs. But omg - I fuckin' love this iPhone. Soul, pissh. Overrated.

Comparison of places I've lived, A guide to fine living:

Wisconsin - Culver's
Florida - Chik-fil-A, Pollo Tropical
California - In-N-Out Burger
New Mexico - ...tamales out of the back of someone's truck, made by gramma. Mmm. And Guadalajara Grill

Didn't end up jetting off to NM. I decided to save money instead. PISSH. Maybe next year!

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 07:37:59 GMT

I didn't know they broke up. :(

Going to be in Taos July 16-20, if anyone's in the mood for some sky.

ps. Remix due when??? Criminey.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sat, 02 May 2009 05:06:53 GMT

Hiya, lj. I totally forgot I had signed up to be cancelled from work tonight, so as I was pulling out of my garage, grumbling (as you do), I got the call. Whee! So I immediately squeeled on outa here and headed for the Salvation Army store on El Camino, and got like 3 shirts and 7 books and some sheets for my bed and a crocheted poncho, all for 8 bucks. It was half-off day today, you see.

(Cutest little girl there, name was Amicham, which I know because her mother said it approx. 4,000 times. Amicham went up to every single person in the store and said Heellloooooooo, just like Seinfeld, and I laughed every time. Amicham had DORA THE EXPLORER shoes, except she called them Doya, and Amicham was a year and a half old, except she told everyone she was 5, and omg - so cute. Made me miss my niece, who I remember being a year and a half old as if it were just yesterday, but who just bought her first bra. What!!)

Totally made up for the most boring mall in the world, aka Stanford Shopping Center, which I went to last week for the hell of it. Now, I'm not opposed to spending money (<.<), but when Banana Republic is the red-headed stepstore stuck all the way in the back, well. Five hundred smackers for a pair of shoes should be a special, giddy-making occasion, y'all, not a typical afternoon out. Freaking Palo Alto. There are stables here. For the students who bring their horses to college.

Thank goodness I'm not the envious type.

All signed up for massage school, which starts in October - the latest move in my continuing quest for a job that doesn't stress me out. Stanford Hospital is awesome, the pay is fantastic, the unit and the people, I love 'em quite a bit. I fit in very well. But, you know, nursing, and 13 hr days, non-stop, so I'm heading up to Berkeley 3 days a week come fall to become an Esalen certified massage person, which is to say, massage with all kinds of energy work & mindfulness & right living & such added in. There are also classes in bodywork for terminal illness and for trauma and for old people, and also I get some kind of discount on workshops at the Esalen Retreat in Big Sur, which seems like a way cool place, and all in all this way I'll be playing to my strengths as a comforter and also finding a way to transition away from bedside nursing. I'm excited about it!

/random

Here's a couple of fun links for ya, by way of saying Happy May!

Down with This Sort of Thing, I tell you. *snif*

People are Awesome. Also, dogs. Sheep... are really, really patient.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 21:38:46 GMT

OMG OMG I WANT A COOOOOOODE.

/hee <3 donna

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 18:17:36 GMT

Oops, dreaded NTLDR error on my Windows-based laptop. Thank goodness for my MacBook.

Anyhow, Person Who is Remixing One of My Stories, you can check out the My Fiction tag here on my journal for the few stories that aren't on the website, and also there's this: my MTYG story from last year, which also didn't get up there yet.

And now, we troubleshoot. Friskin' Windows.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 04:29:05 GMT

Hi, Person Who is Writing a Remix of One of My Stories! Hi!

I'm updating my website tonight just for you, because I realize I haven't done that in like a year. Two years. I haven't written a ton in that time, but there are about 5 or so stories to go up, so I'll do that tonight. Sorry it took me so long; had to fix the partitions on my external hard drive to access my site template, etc., (*nailbite*) but turns out it's all good and I'll upload them all and you'll have more to choose from, and yay. Yay, right?

If you are someone who doesn't read here - and who does, since do I ever update? No, I do not - but anyway, could someone pass the word on? Thanks, thank you, someone -

Anyway, I'm ridiculously thrilled to be writing remix again, and thrilled you are remixing my story. I hope you have fun with it or at least get something out of the writing. You know, go wild, do what you want: there's no way you ever offend me by thinking a lot about one of my stories and then writing your own version - are you kidding? I can't wait to see what you come up with.

Now, on to the uploading. Be tough not to get distracted by all the wips I just found on this old hard drive. Chris and Joey, betting on who would win in a fight between JC and Justin! I gotta finish that! JC and Chris, fucking in a hammock! Ha ha, ouch. And music! All my old files from when I ripped the 3000 cds to move away from New Mexico! And pictures - criminey, if the repartition hadn't worked... D:

Today I went here, to see Babbage's Difference Engine Number 2 in action. It's the most beautiful machine I've ever seen. Watch the little vid on that page to see what I mean... while I was wandering around the museum, which is filled with awesome old computers with like vacuum tubes and punch cards and things, some dude wandered up to me and said, "Um, are you terribly technical at all?" I told him no, not at all. So then he looked at me, and at the freaking huge Eniac or something that I was looking at, and pointed to a picture of a room full of components and said in a slow, careful voice, "All of this is one single computer."

To my credit, I did not answer the way I wanted to. Soon he wandered away, and I got lost again in fond memories of my first computer, an IBM PC with an Intel 8088, running DOS, and how I used to spend my evenings calling up random BBS's and half the time sending modem tones into some poor schmuck's ear. Ha ha, loved that. I'm no hacker, god knows, but man, I worship me some computers.

Do you remember your first?

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 18:48:10 GMT

Happy JuC Day, y'all! I was gonna try to have this one story done in time, but - yeah.

Anyway, Sunnyvale is awesome, even though at times there's a funny smell in the air (I call it Sunnydale, but no one gets the ref, so sad) and I'm surrounded by big companies with guard houses in the parking lot called things like "Applied Materials'" which, could you possibly be more ominous and vague?? But I love my apt and my drive to work has been cut in half, also I'm back on nights and am loving that, because I'm way too old and tore down to put up with the daytime craziness, which is to say, management and politics and phone calls and doctors and, just, ugh.

But for now, I must hop in the shower, so that I may venture off to eat lunch with frausorge, Afghani food. I'm thinking the pumpkin, yes?

Oh! Oh! And I almost forgot, going to Disney World with withdiamonds soon! Omg omg, can't wait! It's been forever since we saw each other. Omg, literally.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 19:48:51 GMT

TrickC, about 2500 words: My apologies, my most grievous error.

Thank yous to Lesasoja for laughing at the words, the exact encouragement I needed.

Dirty Pop

The first time, he and Chris had been chilling after a show and had got to talking about some things, such as how JC was unimpressed with his current options (which did not include every woman in the tri-state area, fuck you very much, Chris), and how groupies were sometimes just too... and how Chris, who was trying to be faithful to his current girlfriend -- Maria? Marianna? -- was feeling kind of sad and disgruntled about the whole thing, because he was succeeding. Doing guys was a pain in the ass on tour (seriously, Chris, fuck off), so all that was left was being really, really horny, and suddenly without warning his tongue was in Chris's mouth and Chris's hand was on his dick, and JC yelped, "Ho shit," and simultaneously elbowed Chris in the face and jizzed all over his favorite t-shirt, the one that said I see dumb people.

"Jesus fucking christ, JC," Chris said, holding his eye. "Sorry."

"That's okay," JC said, zipping up and smoothing himself down. "Do you, ah. Want a shirt?"

What Chris wanted was two beers (one to drink, one for his eye) and then to talk about everything else in the world in as awkward a way as possible for forever, sitting there in his sticky shirt. It was excruciating, even though Chris was pretty interesting and funny about most things. At least with groupies or girlfriends, you could just leave.

Chris still had a hard-on, JC noted. The beard horns had tickled.

***

Oddly enough, after that Chris didn't act any different than normal. JC kind of wished he would, though, because normal for Chris meant he called JC "Quick Draw McGraw" at every available opportunity, and then smirked at him like they had an in-joke (which they did not). Also, Chris kept wondering loudly in front of the guys where his t-shirt was, and actually conned Justin into helping him search for it on the bus, the two of them tossing crap out of the bunks and off the shelves into the aisle, even JC's stuff, even after he yelled at them to motherfucking quit.

Justin did talk shit about Chris the whole time, even as he was helping, so at least there was that. And he had to admit it was pretty funny when Justin found the shirt tangled up in Chris's blankets, how he looked at it and then shouted "Oh my god you fucking asshole," hurling it at Chris as he stomped off. JC snickered to himself, and when he looked up, Chris was holding the shirt and grinning back at him.

Still, Quick Draw. That was just not -- clearly, he had gotten a shock. Caught off guard, anyone would have -- a person putting their hand on your dick, in the context of kissing, especially kissing like that, sudden and messy and urgent, and Chris had opened his mouth up right away, like he was just so hot for it, which --

JC wasn't positive, but usually brooding like this didn't get him hard. Not this hard, anyway. Aching.

***

So, of course, the second time was strictly his own fault. He accepted full responsibility for his actions. In essence, it came down to the fact that he simply could not be having Chris think he was -- have anyone think, really, that he... okay, he didn't want to be known as a shitty lay. It was ridiculous, but also it was Chris, and therefore just a matter of time before the in-jokes got turned upside-down and word got around. This was important.

This was also completely fucking annoying, and he should have known better than to try to explain himself to Chris.

"Get up," he said sharply, but Chris just shook his head and lifted a hand weakly and let it drop to his chest, because apparently it was hard work laughing your fucking ass off at someone. JC drew back a foot, but Chris scrambled up and lurched over to the couch before he could take his shot.

"Oh shit, oh shit," Chris gasped. "Wait, don't! I'm sorry, JC, seriously. You just surprised me, that's all."

"Oh, fuck you," JC said, crossing his arms.

Chris's grin looked about ready to crack his face in two, but he managed to dial it back enough to speak. "Look, I never had a... proposition like that before. In the business sense."

"It's not a --" JC shut his mouth, because okay, it was.

"Yes, it is, JC, and that's okay, because you may have a valid point there about loose lips and sinking, uh... ships.... sorry! I'm sorry, I'm just saying. Nobody's ever wanted to fuck me to keep me from gossiping about them before!"

"It's not to --"

"Like, usually the opposite, is all I'm saying."

"You know what," JC began, "-- nevermind." He gestured in a way meant to capture everything that was stupid about this whole stupid thing, and Chris was smiling at him like JC was his most favorite retard in the world, and suddenly -- well, fuck. Chris slid his strong, grabby hands all over JC's body, and Chris put his warm, scratchy face against JC's throat, and then he breathed -- and he was so very -- JC moaned, "Touch me, I want," and came in his pants, like a teenager.

"Oh, wow," Chris said, moving back to look between them. "JC --"

"Just shut the fuck up," JC said, and rolled over and put an arm over his eyes.

***

After that, there was no possibility of normal. Chris was everywhere, all the time, and excruciating was not even the word, it was... no more in-jokes, not much smiling, because Chris barely even talked to him anymore, but kept watching him, like he was waiting for JC to start spitting or falling down -- oh, yeah: humiliating. That was it. Fuck. Because the rumors were true.

It was so depressing that he didn't even bother to scan his options at the club after that, and when honey after honey slid by his table, all he could think about was how they probably got together for lunch or something, some kind of Groupie Society, and he could imagine one saying, So, JC Chavez, and all of them would start giggling. Someone might even spread her fingers wide and make a popcorn sound, like in the video. Fucking bitches. He smiled automatically at the latest one, who winked back -- wow, long legs -- and god have mercy that was some sad shit, if you were sitting alone in the middle of a crowd of beautiful people, imagining them mocking you and getting pissy about it. Possibly he was losing it.

At least there was alcohol. Maybe they would give him a bottle. He got up to head for the bar and almost crashed into the girl, the last one -- the winker.

"Oops! Sorry."

She didn't sound very sorry. JC nodded, trying to edge around her, and she put her hand on his arm. Shiny nails, he noted. Sharp. He smiled, tilting his head just so, and she licked her lips and gave him a predatory sort of grin in return, and it was -- really nice.

"Is it true?" She laughed up at him, low and nasty, "what your friend said?"

JC blurted out, "What?" and stepped back, looking everywhere but at her -- holy shit, had anyone heard -- and there was Chris, sitting at the bar, strangling the neck of his beer, watching, frowning.

***

Homicide was wrong. Homicide was wrong. Homicide was wrong. After a few days, Joey asked him to stop saying that, please, he was kind of freaking everyone out, so he did, but he kept thinking it, oh yes.

As for Chris, motherfucker was nowhere to be found after that -- showed up to things, but he sure as hell didn't talk to JC, and there was no watching, no frowning, definitely no smiling -- didn't even look at him -- and really, that was just fucking fine with him. No third chance at bad sex with someone he wasn't even pretending to -- well, boo fucking hoo to that.

He pushed his tongue against the sore, swollen spot on his lip where he'd bitten down, pulling his hand out of his pants and wiping it on his shirt. Fuck it. As far as their friendship went -- had they even been friends? -- all he had left was a hard-on that wouldn't quit, the breath shuddering in his chest, and these weird, annoying thoughts about someone who'd turned right around on him, although it was true that he'd been expecting it, and god knows if he had the misfortune to fuck someone that crappy in bed, he'd sing that shit from the rooftops -- but, still.

What really sucked was how there was that Chris, the fucking unmitigated asshole, but also the other one, the guy who would not get out of your head, who got so jazzed by life that he grabbed you and wrestled you around and cracked up over nothing at all: yeah, hooting joyfully right up in your face, as if the two of you were -- as if you had made him so -- JC realized he was gasping for breath, hot for it already, nipples stiffening against the damp stretch of his t-shirt, thighs spreading, and -- oh, fuck. Before he even got his hand in his pants. It was all so very fucking confusing.

***

Chris managed not to say a single word to him for two weeks, which he had to admit was kind of impressive, what with the tour and interviews and fans and things like that. Justin stopped relaying his messages after two days: two days of, "Jups, he has my fucking hoody and I would like it back, please," and, "Jups, I'm not picking his skinny ass up off the stage if he forgets to eat again," bullshit like that, on and on and on, until finally heading into the hotel one day he said, "Jups, you tell him --" and Justin thwocked Chris in the head and walked away. Chris stared at JC for a minute, not frowning, not smiling, not -- and then his gaze drifted up past JC's shoulder, so JC did the only thing he could think of: hitched his backpack up and trudged off after Justin. But who cared anyway, it had probably been nothing.

And then in the middle of a fucking show, Chris danced up to him and smiled a brilliant, wicked smile, and before JC could stop himself he grinned back. Best show ever, he was ready for anything -- and Chris leaned in, covering his mic with his fingers, and hissed, "We have to talk," right through his smile.

Chris sped off then, yelling at the top of his lungs and waggling his fingers at a sobbing preteen with bunny ears, and hey, whaddya know -- there was Joey strutting past from stage left to give him one of those looks where he widened one eye and narrowed the other, and Lance, stage right, with the eye rolling, and fucking fuckers, was there no privacy anywhere? JC batted his eyelashes at both of them and chanted live mic, live mic in his head until he could start singing again without shocking any of the fans.

***

In the end, everything turned out to be totally Chris's fault after all.

"Okay, so talk, then!" JC said, slamming the suite door behind him. Lance looked at Joey, who looked at Justin, who said, "Oh, look at the time," putting down the TV remote, and whatever, soon they were gone and he was alone with Chris, who looked everywhere around the hotel room until finally, finally, at JC.

"Hi, JC," he said, stony-faced.

And that was just it. JC gestured in absolute frustration. Chris turned away, but in the split second before he did he tracked the movement of JC's hands, and for the first time in forever there was something real in his face. "Listen," he said over his shoulder, fumbling with the door to the minibar, "I guess I just --"

"You know what," JC said, drifting closer, "I changed my mind. Shut up."

Chris jumped a mile when JC touched his shoulder, and seemed genuinely freaked out when JC moved in close. JC's dick got hard so fast it almost hurt, and all he wanted to do was put his hands in Chris's hair and rub up against him till he came, but when he bent to touch his mouth to Chris's neck, that spot he always dreamed of right behind Chris's ear, Chris gulped and went rigid, hands clenched at his sides. It was like hugging a mannequin.

"Don't you want me," JC murmured, and then cringed. So needy, so fucking --

Chris made an incredulous sound, almost like a laugh. "Are you serious? I'm afraid I'll -- and then you'll --" but it was too late, because at the sound of Chris's sort-of laugh, JC did. He shuddered hard as the pleasure flooded through him, clutching at handfuls of Chris's shirt, and dimly heard Chris make another sound, not incredulous at all. "Fuck, JC, you're so, shit, that's so," and before he could pull himself together enough to feel embarrassed or desperate or hopeless or whatever, Chris grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.

JC allowed it, mainly because it was so good, Chris's agile tongue and the way he tasted and, god, the sounds, but after a few minutes he pulled away, because -- well. Shit. "Mmph, Chris," he said, and when had hands on his face turned into hands on his ass, holding on tight? Chris was shoving his dick against JC's thigh hard, completely without any rhythm or grace whatsoever, like he just couldn't -- fuck, he really wanted it.

"No fuckin' way," Chris murmured, right in JC's ear (shudders running through JC's body again, too late to choke off a hoarse moan of pleasure), "you owe me," and -- and --

"You fucking son of a bitch," JC said admiringly, and slid to his knees. Chris's laugh turned into a ragged gasp.

***

"So, question of the day," Lance said, before JC could even get his ass in the chair -- fucking group meetings, 11 am was inhumane, especially when you'd last slept, when was it -- "Will they be more obnoxious now than before?"

Lance glanced at him and added, "that'd be difficult," but JC had no time to contemplate what an utter motherfucker he was, because Justin and Joey rolled their eyes at one another and Justin muttered, "not on my bus," as if continuing some totally meaningful conversation, and Joey responded, "better you than me!" which was probably highly offensive, but he lost track of any of it when Chris finally slouched through the door. He was badly rumpled and slow-moving, and had he even taken a shower? Mmm, that was very -- and he looked, his face -- he was happy, JC realized. He had a bite mark on his neck, and big circles under his eyes, and when he smiled back at JC, JC knew exactly what he meant.

The end.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 19:15:27 GMT

Morning. Videos para ti:

First, we have a little mashup action, because this is
1. the best mashup in the history of ever, and
2. freakin' hilarious.

Prodigy vs. Enya, y'all. C'mon, just the thought is funny.

Next up in our Prix Fixe is... Gackt. Of course!

This is one of his songs, plus a bunch of random footage, like a tasty little starter, just to say hi. Hi, Gackt!

(In English, it's pronounced like a hairball comin' up the pipe. In Japanese, Gack-toe. This is the source of much wank in Jrock circles, as you might imagine.)

Annnnd... our main course. You can't have a new fandom without an otp, I always say.

Meet Hyde. Or, as the media seems to prefer (?), HYDE. It's pronounced "Hie-doe". HYDE is the singer of another Jrock band, L'arc~en~ciel. Gackt and HYDE made a movie together in 2003, Moonchild, which had, um, the future and superpowers and, like, ninjas (I think) and fashion and the kind of doomed, intense relationship between two men that can only be mediated by an unknown actress (cf. Lance/Joey/Emmanuelle Chriqui). Gackt and HYDE had many, many photoshoots together and wrote music for the movie and appeared to be the closest of friends. Gackt has said that, alas, he is straight, but if he weren't, just sayin', he would totally be in love with HYDE. Awww.

(Features another song by Gackt. Did I mention his current band is named GacktJOB? Well, it is.)

Gackt/HYDE

And finally, my favorite course, dessert. Or as I initially typed, "desert," which I believe is ironic commentary on the fact that it hasn't stopped raining here in weeks. As that has nothing really to do with Gackt and HYDE, however, let's move on.

Gackt and HYDE meeting again after too long (listen with the sound on):

WOW.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 19:39:26 GMT

There's this little pond in Golden Gate Park that has the strangest feel to it (yes, I found it again, Lesa). It's completely covered with some kind of watery plant that for some reason I call duck weed, I don't know why -- ducks do live on the pond, shoving their way through the scum and tangles and dipping down into the water below, but they're usually almost completely quiet, fairly motionless, so not ducklike, and they ignore people. The whole pond is in a kind of pocket between steep slopes, very little sunlight, and once when I walked through there a ragged man lurched up to me and said, "Nothing helps." I walked on, thinking to myself maybe that's true? Wondering about him, wondering about that place, about the pond, which is surrounded with greenery and flowers, but so locked in, so stagnant -- creepy.

And also, I think about Gackt. Hi, Gackt!

That's all I have for today. Oh, except: looks like I'm going back to nights. I'm more than okay with that. Twenty percent differential, no running around like a crazy person; yes, please. Weird!

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 18:48:31 GMT

I just spent the last week rereading the early days of Fandom Wank on journalfen, as one does, and oh, good times. Tell me, did Charlotte Lennox ever reveal her identity? I loved all that shit so much.

And, of course, reading the wank communities is very educational. See here. Is that not the best thing in the world?? Delicious bacon, never leave me. I love you so.

I also love California.

Still working on that TrickC. Damn, without a challenge deadline to miss, I get nowhere. Poor guys have blue balls the size of Texas by now.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 22:46:23 GMT

FRIENDSLIST. Omg.

So I said to myself, self, one does not merely tankcat into livejournal, one must have something to offer. And I was thinking I would have something, and then New Year's went by and I was sad, but then frausorge had the great kindness to laugh several times at over my offering, so my determination was renewed, and I wrote and wrote and wrote, but then I got stuck again. As one does.

So yes, I do have a story in the works, and it is in fact trickC, kind of dirty, and I did just work my way past the tough part, so we might actually be go for the moon from here on in. Maybe done in a few days? Weeks? Still, I find myself in the unusual place of really omg missing all of you fuckers and wondering what's going on, and also got nudged! Omg! And I don't want to wait anymore, I'm ready to tankcat now!

That is to say, um. Hi.

Here's a little bit of what I'm working on, an outtake, as it were - in fact, the very bit that was giving me trouble, until I recalled Lesa telling me to kill my darlings and knew that it had to die. Snif. But I still love it.

But before that... for the statistics part of this update, I will tell you that I'm doing rather surprisingly well, working at Stanford, planning on moving to Sunnyvale soon (SF is fucking so expensive, god), and soon my neighbors will be Google, Intel, McAfee, and about 1,000 really awesome looking Indian restaurants. I'm so easy. The K's are doing great, kind of spring-fevery (Munch has taken to pulling the books off the shelves jflkdjlfakjlfk), but soon they will have a patio to crouch on again and more space to careen around in, and that's pretty much all they really want. I've found myself during my extended lj break really expanding the focus of my obsessions - if that makes any sense? - and getting into a lot of new stuff, while still going through spells of heart-clutching love over JC & Chris & John & Rodney... wow, there's a 4some. I'm kind of afraid now. *muses* But anyway, here's a short list of current obsessions (sorry, no links, google is your friend, I am lazy):

+ Gackt
+ Tokyo Hotel
+ shortwave radio Numbers Stations
+ the Archimedes Palimpsest
+ Stanford Linear Accelerator!!!1! *swoon*
+ the Parker-Hulme murders
+ natural VLF music, recordings of the ionosphere
+ oilfield roughnecking (I don't know either)
+ Kombucha mushrooms
+ stories about phone calls from the dead
+ McMurdo Station/Raytheon/PORN SPILL
+ the Uncanny Valley
+ CAKE IS COMING TO OAKLAND IN FEBRUARY. CAKE.

...yeah, there was more than that, I just -- what?

Anyway, here's that one thing:

Unfortunately, Joey wasn't drunk enough yet for his spidey sense to go offline. "Hi, JC," he said brightly, appearing out of nowhere, and pulled him into a friendly-seeming choke hold, right there in the middle of the club. "Would you excuse us? Me and my boy have to talk." The winker rolled her eyes and flipped her hair and disappeared into the crowd, and that -- that was just, that was just --

"Hi, Joey," JC said grimly. "If you could hang on a second, I have to go kill Chris right now."

"Oh, no no no no," Joey said gently, waving at someone with his non-choking hand, "not here. Let's go, C. Time to go!"

"But, Joey --"

"I will drag you, JC, and make it look like fun."

"Fucking whatever," JC said. Joey patted him on the head, which was actually nice in a fucked up way: loving, really painful noogies, but Joey didn't let go for a few more minutes, and anyway, as far as JC could tell from his vantage point in Joey's left armpit, Chris was no longer at the bar.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 23:05:26 GMT

Heya. Settling in to a new place, new job. UCSF is fine, much like a hospital! Doable, great people, ugh nursing, I think I will like it, why must I work?? So, mixed. As per usual. Been walking the city quite a bit; Golden Gate Park is so cool! Yesterday I trucked down to see the buffalo, like 30 blocks each way, ow legs OW, and Thursday maybe I'll hit the beach, or the GG bridge, which I see everyday walking down the hill from my place. When it's not foggy.

As for Munch:

Yes, that is his litter box. Comfy! Tomorrow he goes in for a checkup with the surgeon. I think he's doing well, if by that you mean "bored in his hut and wanting to be just like all the other kids, aww COME ON, I wanna go outside & plaaay." Only ten more weeks. Gah. Malcolm offers his opinion on the matter by reaching through the netting to overturn his water bowl: ha HA. Showed you. I don't know. It is cat logic.

The apartment folks have been relentlessly apologetic, yet the upper mgmt folks have not yet approved a reimbursement. Am anticipating irritation in my not-so-distant future. Like, just give me three months free rent! Why so difficult?

So, I dropped out of the JuC Swap because of everything, Munch, etc., plus fail, and in a surprising and really awesome turn of events llamabitchyo dedicated her story to me anyhow. It's a great story! Do Not Arouse or Awaken Love (Until it So Desires), a subtle look at Justin becoming aware of his feelings for Britney post breakup and, in the process, his feelings for JC as well. Gives great snark, and also, Chris! Oh, 3manbus of my heart... this is a seriously nice JC, too, very much himself and self-aware, odd, sexy, loving. I think she has the relationships down, and I admit to a great wash of JuC love reading this. Thank you!

And now I shall go get ready for work. Nights again, yes indeedy. I've been on an eljay hiatus lately (times like about a month now); anything fun I should know?

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 18:41:36 GMT

Kitties have had a challenging few weeks! We moved over from the east bay to SF for my new assignment at UCSF, taking three trips (how did I accumulate that much in only 4 mos?) and many more miles than strictly necessary (once I had to sneak up on the city from San Jose), only to discover that the place wasn't ready; they hadn't cleaned or put down the new carpet. No problem, says I, I don't have much stuff, it will fit into the bathroom and wee kitchen for now. However, I'm going to Wisconsin tomorrow, so the carpet people will have to watch for cats when they enter and leave. Oh! the apartment people said, brightening (possible service recovery, yay), we'll watch your cats for you! Yay, says I. Just check their water Thursday night or so.

Then I packed like two Beatles t-shirts and some undies, closed all the unscreened windows, cursed the universe quite seriously at 5 am when my car wouldn't start (car alarm ftl), and caught a bus for the airport.

...yes, the "unscreened windows" thing was like Hitchcock's gun on the wall: important to the plot. I had a fantastic time with my beloved family, packed up the condo mostly, sold a bunch of stuff at an endless two day garage sale, felt sad for friends going through rough times (♥), and then, Monday afternoon, during school shopping for my neice, I got a phone call from the SF Veterinary Specialists.

It seems some kindly person had brought in a very hurt kitty, and when they scanned the chip, my name turned up. I was in Wisconsin, and Munch was in California, at the vet's, hurt because the apartment people had opened the windows a bit to air the place out for me. He jumped out the window, it seems, and that might not be so bad, but I live on the fifth floor. Also, he might have struck a ledge or something, who knows, on his way down to the paved parking lot. Window opened Saturday; they found him Monday.

So he had to have a plate and pins put into his shattered leg bone, and he had heavy duty sedation and a wee little pain patch, and he came home yesterday with a lime green cast. He's not in pain, but he is pretty bummed out, because he has to stay enclosed in his KittyWalk thingy for about the next 4 to 12 weeks (depending on healing), and I think he thinks he did something wrong. The KittyWalk thingy is basically a big net in a metal frame, so I lay on the floor and the net allows him to slump against me, and of course I also let him out sometimes to take his yummy meds: antibiotics, and an anti-inflammatory. Malcolm is freaked out, too, mostly at his smell. Much hissing and yowling, but Munch just ignores him

I almost feel sorry for the apartment people. $4500, zoicks, and you're darned tootin' I'll also be submitting the follow up bills. Yeah, almost: when I called in tears to have them check on Mal, the manager said he would, then called me back and said he was fine, that all the windows were now closed.

Got home Tuesday night. Malcolm was fine, although scared and thin. The south window was open three inches; a frickin five-lane highway for a cat.

Gah, people. What the fuck. On the other hand, now me and the kitties kind of own their asses, and also I really love this apartment. Hee! Here is Munch:

Cast has since been signed.

His poor bruised armpit!

Showdown. I believe Malcolm is calling Munch a gimp. No, wait, that was me.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 06:42:03 GMT

You know what they say, once is a data point, twice is a coincidence, three times is a -- triangle. Yeah, I got the highest grade in my stats class. Actually, I did. The teacher was so lousy that my 67 on the final exam skewed the curve for everyone. I still feel bad about that one. If by bad you mean "filled with glee." To this day I see the words "standard deviation" and am convinced they ought to refer to the DSM-IV. Oh, happy world.

Anyway, the point is, I have once again fallen into the newb mistake of thinking if I'm feeling so! much! better! then it's time to go off the Lexapro. Alas, in my case, as I'm coming to realize, that just won't work. The first two times I had a few good weeks: hey, emotions! hey, sex, and then the weeping started. Curiously dispassionate weeping, like I had a backlog of heavy feelings just waiting for a turn. That's actually what prompted this round: I thought, maybe I just need to get past those emotions! Maybe this time things'll balance out and I'll have really hit the reset! You know, that theoretical brain reset all the meds and therapy are supposed to bring about: voila! Better.

This time I just went to sleep for three weeks.

I know part of it is the wacky schedule thing, and oh, nights are so messing with my head, but when you can't leave the house and all you can think of to do is sleep or then not sleep at all because of the oversleeping, then I guess that's just not right. I started back on the dose a few days ago, and boing! I feel better. So there's that, and I feel pretty bad about missing the Jammin' July thing and also a show with frausorge, but at least now I know. Three times is a learning module, y'all.

Actually I had a nice time, snoozing, reading SGA, surfing. I'm all caught up on all the wanks; spn, nothing new there, I have no comment, wtf it's all been said and is being said again and again, time out of mind, snore. Laura Hale vs. the OTW, oh my -- now that one is entertaining. Lots of historical wank-mining to be done there, my favorite thing. On the pop front JC continues to impress with the professional skillz and yet somehow still manages to be be dull as dishwater in interviews. Justin, idk; Joey, idk; Lance, idk -- Chris... Chris. Is the only one doing music right now. I love Chris.

I'm about 1/3 of the way through my JuC Swap. I kind of love it a lot.

But part of me has been watching Sheppard, so closely: ugh, Flanigan, you are hot, but -- Sheppard. Heading for the Gateroom, which I like to think of as the Embarcadero, ha, but he veers off, heads for his quarters instead. Palms the strip next to his door, thinking lock, lock, and unclips the P90, sets it on the bed. Unzips his vest. Hands are steady. Lets the vest drop, unzips his jacket. Tries to slow his breathing down. Pants: button, zip, fumbles at the little metal tab, moving faster now, pulls, pushes his hand inside, breathes, breathes --

"Sheppard, this is McKay. Sometime this morning?"

And that's as far as I get, although I know Sheppard has to hurry up and make it happen and sound completely under control at the same time, but if anyone can do that, it's Sheppard. The problem I have with writing SGA at this point is that I'm still so enamored of the characters that it's all plug-n-play: Sheppard jerking off! Yowsa! But I don't know why it's him, other than omgHOT, and I don't know what brought him to that, and I'm not sure how Rodney's voice figures into all that, except it does, of course it does, and oh -- I don't want to write aliens making him do it or how he's so repressed or unrequited or, or --

Feeling my way. Having fun! I do wish I'd thought to bring my season 3 dvds to CA, though, so I can go on and get season 4. But ah well, that'll happen. Three or four years later and I'm falling in love with a fandom; there's time.

I also spent some time thinking about the Xfiles. Almost roused myself to see the movie, but I'm scared. Besides, I have this completely awesome and perfectly characterized little bit of fanfic to sustain me: from Go Fug Yourself, even -- and many, many dvds. Seven seasons of them, in fact. SEVEN. Hear that, Chris Carter? Oh, how I hate you still.

Hey, have you seen this cool vid? I got it from lucy_u2, I think. Wii remote hacks and thoughts on research in the age of info accessibility:

Anyone got any Cibo Matto they can slide my way? In return I can offer this completely fabulous version of Battleflag (I'm on a Pigeonhed kick lately) -- less angry than Lo-fi, more with the funk. Uh, ignore the "art" in the "video" -- oi.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 05:03:05 GMT

Hi, livejournal. I shall perhaps be a little late with my Jammin' July piece for today, because for some reason I got to looking at Quarter Horse pages yesterday and spent like 9 hours reading about the legendary Joe Hancock and all his progeny, especially the blue roans, which I love. Also I was looking at info on the genetics of horse coloration and arguments for why the double dominant roan gene might not be lethal after all, very interesting anecdotal arguments there, and then after that I got stuck looking at pictures of hedgehogs swimming in bathtubs and -- well, you know. You know how it is. Dammned internets.

Just wanted to thank bossymarmalade for another fabulous Remix, and ha! Ha, I knew it! I knew you wrote the 3manbus story, just ask Donna, and omg, I just love it so. :)

Reviews of the Remixes coming up, after Jammin' July and -- oh, for the love of HEAVEN. Speculative fiction tv tropes. I'm doomed.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 06:08:21 GMT

Some nice people are taking a second look at the condo this weekend, and oh, I want the right thing to happen, even if it's them not making an offer, but if it could be them making an offer, that would be perfect. Inshallah, *stump*, and all that. We'll see.

Six days off work now, then two more weeks there, and I like the place, love the people, but I'm also excited to move on. Someone asked me, isn't it sad? I said yes, but then sad's never been a deal-breaker for me. Kind of like how discomfort seems to have turned into something to move toward in my life, rather than to avoid. I don't mean pain, I ain't like that, but the thought of something being hard or lonely or embarrassing, the thought of failing: eh, I always have to fuck up to get somewhere, it seems, and I guess -- I guess I'm always trying to get somewhere. Is that pathological? I don't even know anymore. And... okay with that. Huh.

The remix authors will soon be revealed! Can't wait -- I want to review after the reveal, and also I can't wait to talk about the story I wrote, because that way I get to talk about the story I remixed, which is awesome. Writing mine made me appreciate the original so much more, and that's one of the reasons I do remix. I've mostly -- mostly -- passed that point in my life where a couple of IQ pts and a degree in English have me convinced that I just get it, no matter what, and a challenge that forces me to really think about what's happening in a story is golden. Also, I love seeing other authors' takes on the stories, and thinking to myself: self? Now I want to remix the remix, and see if I could come up with a stand-alone that still somehow references both stories. ...self? Yeah?

Wait -- maybe I do like pain.

But for now: Jammin' July, and also SGA season 1, because John was pretty darn chatty in those days.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 16:46:41 GMT

First of all, dine! Post card! Thank you so much, you have no idea how cool it is to get these. Well, I know you have no idea, because I suck at telling you. But it's a total bright spot, and you're awesome.

As for the popslash remix:

Holy crap, y'all -- did I score. Or, not really, because I know we're not supposed to think of the remix stories as gifts, but I don't caaaare. Three of my stories got remixed, and all three of them fucking rock, and yes, that's a huge gift. Thank you, remixers!

all day long (the no logo mix)

*** vivid, absolutely crackling with sensory input, delicious and a little nasty: I love how Justin can't help seeing and feeling so strongly and categorizing and labeling everything, and I really love how all the pleasurable feelings are tainted, because JC. And Chris. Poor Justin! I personally dig it when remixers switch up the pov's, especially when they're as insightful and well-done as this.

till the morning comes (the stars of track and field mix)

*** this is so much fun! A look at the whys and wherefores of the 3manbus, and it feels real to me, and plausible. I especially love Justin and JC's boat followed by dolphins in Justin's dream, and JC picking up the glass and rose petals, every bit, at his gramma's. And of course He wasn't here to get anywhere. He was here to get Chris back to his place. Justin's morning face would do the rest.

Mmmm, Justin's morning face.

and

the way of the world (the all this is mix)

*** okay, I have a huge soft spot for my story, goofy as it is, and so I really love this remix, because it fleshes it out and makes it not goofy and also, the guys! Handing Chris off! Lance calling Justin an asshole! And what kind of fucking retard are you, which is just so -- so wonderful, ah, fuck. That says love, man, and that is totally how Justin and Chris would say it. Awesome. And that's not a simile, or a metaphor, or any of those things. Just the truth.

silveryscrape@livejournal.com — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 01:35:20 GMT

I want this jacket. Because 100% silk is so practical, especially in a household with cats. But it's so, I don't know -- raggedy looking! That's awesome!

Right, that's all I have. Gotta clean up some, frausorge's coming over. When is remix live, Monday? Mondayish? Can't wait! Bittybang, the 20,000 word thing, ho my god. Yeah, if the due date were in 2025, maybe.

I'm working on the JuC Swap story! Not even due till August! (August, right?) AMAZING.