Stuff and Moonshine

This is what happens when...

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 12:50:44 GMT

...you watch “Kingdom” and a Lovecraft documentary on the same day:

Last night I dreamt that Stephen Fry had squids living inside him, which he could projectile-cough at people as a defensive manoeuvre. This was much less gross in the dream than it would have been in real life, and generally came across as kind of a cool super-power. It must have taken a lot of effort, though, as I noticed he was looking thinner than usual.

Linkies

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:30:14 GMT

Via Susie Bubble: moustache bracelets. Very Meret Oppenheim.

Via Craft: beautifully edited video of Dia de los Muertos parade in San Francisco

I'm sure you already know...

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 12:54:16 GMT

...but I need to paraphrase The Onion:

Holy Shit! There's Water on the Fucking Moon!!

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 17:01:02 GMT

OK brain, you win. I`ll follow the plot bunnies. Down the rabbit hole.

In other news, I took green_trilobite to Cory Doctorow`s reading yesterday, but it was madly crowded and we had to leave. I`d also made the mistake of ducking under a table to get out of the way (I could still hear the reading, and there`s a lot of unused space under tables); but green_trilobite disn`t know where I`d gone. Also a young man who`d noticed me under the table kept asking me about my motivations; he even followed us on his bike for a while afterwards, asking “please, what sort of person sits under a table in order to not be in the way?” (uh, one who also isn`t in a mood for conversation?) so, basically, invisibility fail and social fail. I just hope I haven`t driven green_trilobite deeper into reclusiveness (reclusivity?)

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 01:06:59 GMT

Is it weird that I actually kind of like the despised Fifth-Doctor story, "Terminus?" Mainly because I want to see the further adventures of Nyssa trying to run a space hospital staffed by ex-pirates and a giant rodent; not to mention Bor, shambling around, tinkering with things and occasionally asking random people if he's dead yet...

Some Days I Find the World Very Confusing

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:32:16 GMT

Red Baron Solo Pizza

I mean, whose mind automatically jumps from "WWI German ace" to "pizza?"

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 00:45:36 GMT

Cute video for 'Downtown Train'; in which a tenement-full of New Yorkers are unable to sleep because Tom Waits is singing under their windows.

Also, This is probably the closest Waits will ever get to a guest appearance on the Muppet Show.

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:44:43 GMT

Anti-fur protest today outside the Bay at Yonge and Queen. I can't recall the last time I saw anybody wearing fur, but winter's coming on, and apparently the protesters are worried about people buying things with fur trim, thinking it's fake (?)

It did lead to this near-vaudevillian exchange:

Kid: What's that?

Dad: They're protesting fur.

Kid: Fer what?

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:04:57 GMT

Found a probably-illicit Russian text file of Fredric Brown's Night of the Jabberwork; so I could read it without having to wait another year or so to find a physical copy. This being one of the writer's lighter outings, the narrator-protagonist is a more functional alcoholic than most Brown characters. By my count, 53-year-old, 140-pound newspaper editor Doc Stoeger manages to put away the following between 6:30 pm and half-past-noon the following day:

6:30 pm - midnight: 21 whiskeys

(Around midnight he realizes he hasn't eaten since a sandwich at lunch, and he and his guest raid the icebox and make themselves sandwiches:
"Between us we killed a pound of boiled ham, most of a
loaf of rye and a medium-sized jar of pickles."

12 more shots before 6 am (during this part of the story, he's been framed for murder and is dashing around dodging the local cops.)

1 (?) gin (He's at the villain's place and that's all he can find.)

2 jugs of black coffee (while he's typing up the story and setting the type.)

"I got to Smiley's at half past twelve with the first paper off the
press in my hands. Held carefully. I put it proudly on the bar. "Read," I told Smiley. "But first the
bottle and a glass. I'm half dead and I haven't had a drink for almost six
hours. I'm too keyed up to sleep. And I need three quick ones.""

Doc also manages to climb through two ground-floor windows and knock three people unconscious during the course of his adventures, before finally passing out in the last sentence - I hope Smiley the bartender was able to catch him in time. Evidently small-town editors were made of stern stuff in those days; or had the metabolisms of humming-birds.

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 12:55:12 GMT

Dear Brain:

You do not , repeat not, want to write more fanfic. You do not want to write a Lovecraft/Steinbeck crossover. You want to get back to finishing Invulnerable. End message.

New DNE:

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 17:41:14 GMT

"Saurian Lake"
http://futurismic.com/2009/11/01/saurian-lake/#respond

Astragal!

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 17:14:59 GMT

astragal
Originally uploaded by ennalss

My Hallowe'en costume - I invented a superhero called Astragal. It's a carpentry joke, but I don't think anyone at the office of the shutter factory got it.

Tower of Song

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 13:44:15 GMT

RIP, Gladstone Cowboy.

Kyoto - The Anagram Lover's Tokyo

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:02:57 GMT

And for palindrome lovers: I'd never seen Weird Al's video "Bob."

goggles2

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 15:06:34 GMT

goggles2
Originally uploaded by ennalss

Faked up some steampunk goggles for Hallowe'en, based on the
Instructables here: http://www.instructables.com/id/Dr-Horrible-Goggles/

Still Half-Asleep

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 11:42:44 GMT

The Purolator website has a contest sidebar that says “Ship your Way to the Games.” I know I’ve been reading too much fic lately, because package delivery was not the first thing I thought of….

What I can recall of last night's dreams:

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:09:05 GMT

1. At the end some sort of X-files-y adventure I was this little introverted androgynous psychic dude - androgynous, because although nominally male, my brain seemed to be using my build as the template. Different hair, though - some sort of funny lopsided crewcut. Anyway, the L.I.A.P.D. had decided he needed to try and connect with other people for a change, so he was trying to throw a party and was now trying frantically to get back to his place and tidy up before guests arrive, but kept accidentally wandering into other people's apartments instead (my dream architecture tends to be so open-concept that no one has front doors).

2. A comic/cartoon that was all stick figures. Two of the characters were seeking the help of someone named
"1-5," who lived in a tower at the top of a hill. Many many panels of them climbing the hill (a wobbly horizon line). When they finally found 1-5, he agreed to help but first he needed to finish repairing his bus (drawn in much more detail than anything else in the dream.)

Undeadwood Drabble

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 02:42:20 GMT

Ok: Tales from the Deadwood Zombie Invasion:

1. As usual, several emotions were at war in A. W. Merrick's capacious bosom. In this instance, there was fear of the groaning mob of walking dead at his office door; wonder and elation at witnessing what surely could only be a true supernatural phenomenon; and blackest despair at the knowledge that even if he did live to compose and print the story, no one would believe a word of it.

2. Dolly bit into the thumb of the dead hand clapped across her mouth, throwing the horror attached to it into paroxysms of shrieking. No sooner had the shambling thing loosened its grip on the fat girl than Al clocked it across its exposed jaw bone with the stock of the shot gun he carried - it staggered against the bar, and he reversed the gun and blew the creature's putrid head apart. Now kneeling under a table, Dolly spat out the corpse-thumb, her eyes wide in horror. Al looked down at her with a wry expression: "Good on you - but I'm going to have second thoughts about ever putting anything of mine in your mouth again."

3. Triumphantly, Richardson held up the antler, now stained with the blood of one of the undead things. "It protected my loved ones," he gasped to Aunt Lou, as she bundled him out of the Grand Central Hotel's back door. E.B. hurriedly brought up the rear, his palms even damper than usual.

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 18:03:34 GMT

The original Roger Corman Little Shop of Horrors is viewable in its entirety on youtube, so I have finally seen the legendary early-Jack-Nicholson-as-a-masochist-at-the-dentist's scene (see my icon). Definitely a better use of him than The Raven.

Fic update

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 04:56:35 GMT

OK, updated, 3-chapter version of "Voluntary Motion" (formerly "Counterbalance" and "The Pantry") is up on fanfic.net - now with preliminary conversation between Jewel and Trixie - not sure if it should go at the beginning or between the other two scenes. Feedback appreciated.

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 18:20:19 GMT

What does it say about me that one of my recurring fantasies, the last few weeks, has been to show up with my arm in a sling and give cryptic explanations to anyone who asks about it:

"There may have been wrestlers involved."

"I had the flu."

"Let's just say we take karaoke night seriously around here, mister."

"You should see the other guy. And by guy, I mean boat."

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 01:00:37 GMT

Randomly generated slash pairings that could actually work:

Emma Peel (Avengers)/Ash (Evil Dead trilogy)
Catherine the Great/Cleopatra
Chablis (Midnight at the Garden of Good and Evil)/Perfect Tommy (Buckaroo Banzai)
Theodore Roosevelt/Dr. Who (but which Doctor?)
Boba Fett (Star Wars)/Grendel (Beowulf)
Victor Emmanuel (King of Italy)/Michael Corleone (The Godfather trilogy)
Shampoo (Ranma 1/2)/Random (Hitchhiker's Guide)
Fox Mulder (X-Files)/Remy Lebeau (X-Men)
Warren Peace (Sky High)/Johnny Depp (well, it'd be pretty at least)
Pocahontas/Vlad the Impaler

Randomly generated pairings for which there are no words:

Aeryn Sun (Farscape)/Jefferson Smith (Mr. Smith Goes To Washington)
Hawkgirl (Justice League)/Binky the ghost (Pac-Man)
Elmo (Sesame Street)/Bobby Goren (Law & Order:Criminal Intent)
Algernon Swinburne/Starscream (Transformers)
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins (LotR)/Crispin Hellion Glover
Benton Fraser (Due South)/Quagmire (Family Guy)

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 15:52:29 GMT

My Hairy Commute: timelapse film of a man growing an elaborate Victorian-style mustache.

Dream Journal

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 14:25:24 GMT

Most of my dreams last night took place in a huge, just-barely-post-industrial loft (I think Don was living there). Interesting casting, too: David Boreanez showed up as a guy trying to cope with his legendary ex-commando father-in-law, and later a Mysterious Old Woman who was obviously someone in disguise turned out to be Jeffrey Coombs (or a character played by Jeff Coombs) with a shawl over his head. I recall thinking, “well at least that saves the trouble of a wig,” before waking up.

More Deadwood slash

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 11:51:28 GMT

In which I continue to write naughty stuff about supporting characters.

Title: The Pantry
Author: mooncustafer
Rating: R
Category: het, pretty vanilla except that one partner has a leg brace
Pairing: Doc/Jewel
Warnings: some bad words, sexual situations described more graphically than I have hitherto done.
Disclaimer: I've nothing to do with Deadwood.
Also I'm not sure if the phrase "cute as a bug's ear" is period, I just like it.
Summary: It's about time something happened!
(follows after my earlier story, 'Counterweight')

"When are we going to fuck?" she said. "It's awright, I want to. I've done it before." Jewel's words gave Doc pause, until he saw by her expression she had started to fear his possible reply. He cleared his throat.
"Do you have a preferred position?" When her answer was to throw her arms about his neck, he tapped the lowest pantry shelf experimentally, then picking her up, he seated her upon it. Her expression brightened and she tugged awkwardly at her skirts, eventually bunching them across her lap as he stepped between her bared knees and curled an arm around her waist to place his hand between the small of her back and the wood of the cupboard behind her. "Now, please tell me if you're uncomfortable --" he began; she put her hand gently but firmly against his mouth.
"Shh," she cooed. "I'm awright, Doc, really. Please, let's just do it."

When Jewel had asked him to dance, the night Reverend Smith had... the night the cavalry had left town, Doc told himself he had been too drunk, too distraught to resist her. When she had kissed him, the afternoon he was examining her leg brace, he told himself he had been caught off guard, and had kissed back out of sheer surprise. A week later she had squeezed his hand, drew him under the staircase, and insisted he unbutton her blouse. He had wondered as he did so why he continued to acquiesce - was he humoring her? Relieved someone was giving him instructions for a change? Perhaps, he had thought, as he bent his head over her shoulder and placed a slightly-out-of-practice kiss in the hollow of her collarbone, it was a relief to step away from himself for a moment; to play at being young and wicked for a few moments, until one of them would hear a footstep, or breakfast would need cooking, and she'd shoo him out of her kitchen with a last peck on the cheek. At least she was less danger to his liver than his usual source of consolation.

It was a month before he could bring himself to admit she had become a constant presence in his mind. As he went about his daily rounds, he imagined how she would casting her sharp eye on each situation, as though she were perched invisibly on his shoulder. The booze was no more effective against his passions than it was against the nightmares; his memory dredged up phrases he hadn't spoken out loud in decades: "Chickabiddy." "Cute as a bug's ear." The endearments vanished among the medical clutter of his tiny cabin as he looked more soberly at the situation: till now, his sense of duty had kept him just able to go on living; the thought of someone having a personal reason to want him in the world was a complication that terrified him. Though he'd never been much for the conventions of courtship, he felt obscurely he was wronging one who despite her handicap was in sound enough health and would likely outlive him. Well, he told himself, he was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch - if thus far, he'd been able to resist putting himself in the ground, he could resist putting himself...elsewhere.

In a dim pantry that smelled of smoke, too-green wood, and molasses; with a woman wearing a leg brace and a faded calico dress; who whispered in a soft, slurred voice while her eyes looked bright as a bird's into his: Doc's resolve on this point finally melted; and melted like ice on a pent-up river. The few petticoats she had hiked up were of calico too, worn to soft tatters and warmed by constant contact with thighs as pale as the unbleached cloth. He reached to move the skirts up a bit higher and shivered with a long-forgotten pleasure as his fingertips encountered curled hair. Jewel trembled, too, at the touch.
"Yes," she whispered. "Like that." As if by instinct (or not- she had after all indicated she was not without experience) she crossed her fists across his back and brought her knees closer to grip him, though her weaker leg could not press so hard against his body as the other. Nonetheless, he took it that she desired more pressure on the spot and did his best to provide it. Meantime, their mouths had locked themselves together, until the force of their osculations almost brought their front teeth into contact. Instead, he tried nibbling delicately on her tongue when it stole forth to touch his. His hair fell over her closed eyes, and he broke the vacuum of their lips long enough to rub cheeks, noses, before withdrawing his hand to hastily undo buttons.
"If you could," he whispered, "just tilt your hips a bit forward and upwards. Yes. Like that." She gasped. After that, it was mostly gasps, their mouths open, ecstatic, while the part of Doc's mind that was still aware of the universe outside their conjoined bodies prayed that the pantry shelves were as stable as he had thought and wouldn't tip forward with their rocking.

Sometime later, as they stood leaning against the cupboard door, two exhausted bodies with hearts temporarily at peace, Jewel peered into his flushed face, and gingerly smoothed a damp lock of hair off his forehead. "Was I good?" He nodded wordlessly and she continued gazing at him. "You've got eyes like you swallowed the moon."
"Well," he murmured into the hollow of her neck, "you did serve it to me."