brandywine28: (hunx)
So, since the late summer blahs are far too real a thing, and also since I'm apparently so suggestible I can even be swayed by my own ramblings, I've been rewatching Sense8. And it's just as good as it was last year, no complaints there, but here's a thought that somehow did not occur to me last year: as with everything else that is true and pure and beautiful in this world, popslash did it first.

Just sayin'. :)

Also-Also

Aug. 10th, 2016 12:20 am
brandywine28: (trickc)
Since I'm still stuck in a pop daze (twelve hours and counting!), I figure I may as well share this. Presented without comment, because the last thing I need is a bunch of bitter Lance fans chasing after me with pitchforks.

Fic-wise, ha! I knew someone had written this! And written it damn well, too. Marzipan!JC is gladdening my heart even further on this already joyous day. And I don't even like marzipan!

(As for what we know went down last night for real, I'm hearing there was a Justin-led roast of JC and also some serenading, but I'm not finding any footage! Anyone? Twitter and Tumblr peeps -- little help, please?)

And finally, while I'm still in a linkin'-to-things mood: this has absolutely nothing to do with NSYNC, but is kinda great anyway.
brandywine28: (trickc)
Gasp! My heart! She explodes!

So I know there's no way I'm the first to link to The Photo today -- in fact, I may be the very last -- but, c'mon. Like hell I wasn't gonna call attention to the greatness, or the majesty, or the foreground TrickC. LIKE HELL.

(But seriously, when they're writing out my obituary, tell them to put down "casual boyband intimacy" under Cause of Death. Or maybe "Possessive!Chris". Either one is good.)

...

Also! For someone who, at any given moment, is probably thinking about JC Chasez in a cravat and riding boots, it's taken me an embarrassingly long time to realize his b-day's on August 8th. THE 8TH. Meaning: he could be a Sensate!! THIS EXPLAINS SO MUCH.
brandywine28: (squid)
An unexpectedly big day for mermaid news!

Okay, first of all, apparently they're remaking Splash and Channing Tatum's gonna be the merlady/merman/merperson, which -- holy crap. I've chosen my flist wisely, so I know -- I know -- I don't have to explain why this is a very, very good thing.

Please, Jebus, please, let him wear a seashell bra!

And then, OMG, on the literary front: I have just learned that Anne Rice is about to publish a book that will send Lestat to the friggin' lost city of Atlantis, where, I can only presume, he will wow the local populace by using an ancient sea turtle as a percussive instrument while singing a jazzy tune. No joke, this just may be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis, people. It's happening. And if there's a midnight release party at B&N, I will be going. Probably in a full body flounder costume. Mark my words.
brandywine28: (squid)
But c'mon, it's not like I wasn't gonna brag about it at all. You see Hamilton, you go home, you pass out face first into a bowl of late night cereal, and then the next day, you brag. It's a thing, a template, one I've been watching everyone else follow for months now and dammit, it's my turn.

So, yes. Hamilton. Actually, wait, no -- I'm getting ahead of myself. See, the magical and magnanimous [livejournal.com profile] sperrywink had a ticket she couldn't use, and I guess my constant, low grade whinging about the subway system reminded her that, hey! I live here! (Let this be a lesson to all you kids out there: always be complaining! The squeaky wheel, et cetera! I know what I'm talking about!) So she asked me if I wanted it and, because I am not in fact a drooling moron, I said yes. And I was trying so hard to keep my high-pitched nonsense in check and not accidentally slap anyone in the face with my wildly flapping hands, but when I met up with her (adorable, Oz-literate!) friends, one thing I couldn't resist doing was asking whether they'd been tempted to scalp the extra ticket rather than handing it over to some random fan they'd never even met. And they...looked at me like I was an idiot? Which FLOORED me 'cos, for real, I can say with the utmost confidence that 94.7% of the people I know in my day-to-day life would've, in the very same situation, happily pulled on their scalpin' boots.

So obviously all of this ninja-kicked me into a place of Serious Ponderings, ponderings I will elaborate on...hmm...NOW:


Theory: Fandom peeps are just plain better than regular peeps. They're kinder, lovelier, less all-around sleazy and should probably be running the world.*

Evidence: Uh... *flings arms wide open and does a bunch of Fraulein Maria spins*

Confirmed? Confirmed.


I'll be presenting my findings to a reputable scientific journal within the fortnight. *clears throat, shuffles papers, adjusts spectacles*


* * *

As for the show itself, I honestly don't know if I have anything all that valuable to say! There's a reason I'm not a professional arts critic; I'm only articulate when I hate something. You people are lucky this isn't just three to five paragraphs of exclamation points and smiley faces.

But, maybe some scattered impressions? I can do that. I can definitely pull off 'scattered'. :) Well, first of all, I thought Javilton was pretty excellent, and I agree with everything I'd already heard about him going in (basically that he's slightly less charismatic than Lin, but a much better singer.) The new Burr is intense, yo, and the guy they've got playing Lafayette/Jefferson is great, but so much shorter than Daveed Diggs I spent most of Act II terrified he was gonna trip on the hem of that long purple jacket (no, really, I don't think it's been tailored to fit him yet! Someone needs to get on that, like, yesterday.)

Gah, I used to be such a snob about seeing shows with their OBCs, I'm clawing at my face in embarrassment just thinking about it. It's amazing what time and maturity and years upon years of a ramen-for-dinner lifestyle will do to you.

Let's see, what else? Staging: A+. Choreography: tight, but also kind of shockingly inventive? So much so that I have decided to officially cease my grumbling about how Savion Glover clearly deserved the Tony for Shuffle Along. I don't love the man any less than I did three days ago, it's just -- it's a complicated issue, okay??

There really is something to be said about seeing a live show when you already know almost all the songs by heart; it gives the whole experience kind of a rock concert-like vibe. It's true of Sondheim and it's true of LMM. Back in September when the cast recording first came out, I remember I spent about two solid weeks telling myself "no. No, you're not gonna listen to it ahead of time, because that way, when you finally manage to see the damn thing, it'll be with virgin ears and a virgin heart and -- and because PURITY." Wasn't I cute ten months ago?

Oh, and lastly, while I knew I'd be leaving that building with a crush on someone, I could not have predicted it'd be on Oak. But he's just so...energetic. :)

*A slash-ocracy -- that's what I propose! I bet a lot more people would be excited about Hillary if she'd shut up about hot sauce and just start quietly filling up her cabinet with rpf writers. I'M NOT WRONG ABOUT THIS.
brandywine28: (squid)
GUESS WHO SAW HAMILTON LAST NIGHT?

...

This bitch, that's who!!

Details to follow (*puts on whiny five-year-old voice* It's hot out! Don't make me analyze stuff!) but for now just know that [livejournal.com profile] sperrywink is a goddess who walks among us.

Oh, also! I can tell you right now that LMM most definitely 'ships Hamilton/Laurens. There was cheek cupping, I tell you. CHEEK CUPPING.
brandywine28: (squid)
So. Today on the F Train, a very nice older lady put her hand on my knee and asked, concern in her voice, what was wrong, which, I didn't think anything was?? I mean, all I'd been doing was sitting there, y'know, zoning out on the Zizmor ads and thinking about all the AUs I'll never write: the usual. And then she squeezed my knee and told me not to worry, she'd say a rosary for me, so I guess...

I guess...

The moral of this story is that my RBF is really more of an RTF (Resting Traumatized Face)? Which, uh. Okay.

So now that I know about it...how do I fix it? (And please don't tell me to imagine something soothing, like dolphins and sea lions cavorting in a calm, blue ocean because 1. dolphins wig me out. They're too smart. You just know they're plotting something.* And 2. I'd say I already think about sea lions about...hmm...5-7 hours per day, at least. Any more would be ridiculous.)



*What?! They ARE.
brandywine28: (ouran hugging)
I stayed the hell out of Midtown today, 'cos I knew there was no way I could handle a crowd that size in my current delicate-as-a-daisy headspace. So, unfortunately, that means my big contribution to Pride this year was eating a rainbow sherbet popsicle and watching the film version of Rent (that I DVRed off of Logo the other day for...reasons?) But! I sat through every single commercial break! I didn't even fast-forward through Rosario Dawson's solos! I did it right.

For Pride!
brandywine28: (squid)
This Orlando thing is kicking my ass. I don't know what's going on, all I know is all my precious, carefully honed distancing techniques are failing me -- like, all of them, all at once, which may just be a first for me -- and I've been a snarling, bitchy mess since last Sunday. My face hurts from scowling at everything. I'm not even kidding, my jaw is actually killing me.

And then I went and watched this the other day, which, my God. Tenors. If they're not making you whip off your bra in public and twirl it around in the air like it's a lasso and you're an extra-slutty cowgirl, they're making you sob into a pillow, I swear.

So I thought I'd do a quick rundown of small-but-good things 'cos 1. I haven't done one in awhile, and 2. lists are the best. They just are. Lists let you sweep clean the streets of your mind, yo. I like lists.

And lists of nice things are, well, y'know... *inarticulate hand puppetry* Nice things are nice, is basically what I'm getting at. Wow. Profound. (I dunno. The idea made sense for one single, shining second, and so I clung to it.)

Onward? Onward!

Books: Still riding that Captive Prince high. There's some pretty rad fan art out there if anyone's into that. (Warning: BUTTS.)

I was gonna start The Raven Cycle next -- 'cos I keep hearing it's amazing and full of slash appeal and I'm a lemming with no will of my own -- but then I woke up yesterday with the weirdest urge to re-read Helter Skelter, a book I was obsessed with for a hot minute back as a mopey high school gothling and have barely thought about since. I mean, I guess I could just go with it, but...I wonder if this isn't something I can satisfy by listening to the cast album of Hair while Google searching photos of expensive knives?

TV: 'Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt' (late to the party, I know, I know!). It's not a perfect show, but Lillian the landlord is a perfect character. She is my past, present and future. The Voldemort to my Tom Riddle. I am this woman.

Beauty: It's not something I ever really talk about in polite company, but I have a problem. A lip balm problem. I'm currently using a shampoo that gives me hives 'cos I'm too cheap to throw out a half-full bottle of anything, all my underwear is falling apart at the seams, but what I do have is a bedside drawer literally overflowing with booze-themed lip balms made by this woman. Because yes.

Music: I'm taking my mom to see Dylan at the Tennis Stadium next month! And after, we'll go grab a drink and she will repay me by once again telling the story about how they almost slept together in the eighties. Joy.

Culture: Bobby Brown had sex with a ghost, and Matt Bomer ate a cupcake. Both of these are excellent things.

Bird News: Now that I'm living farther from the Blvd and a little closer to the park, I'm seeing fewer dead-eyed pigeons in my day-to-day and more actual wildlife. I'm kinda loving it. The same bird pops around my fire escape every morning at seven-ish; I couldn't tell you what kind he is, but he's very distinctive. He's got a fat little body and a shrill little scream, and I have decided to call him Gerald.

Done! But the question is, do I feel any better? Um. Hard to say just yet, but I do feel slightly less tired! That's just as good, right? Right?

...

Dammit.
brandywine28: (squid)
My mother is too much. She went to Sephora today and bought herself a Nars blush: "Super Orgasm". Except she refuses to say "Super Orgasm", so when I asked what shade she got, she sorta just shoved the bag at my head and walked away.

This from the woman who once told eleven-year-old me the vilest, most upsetting story about groupie-ing for Aerosmith I have ever heard. (Be prudish! That's fine! Just be consistently prudish, is all I'm saying.)
brandywine28: (squid)
I think I may have accidentally moved into Melrose Place.

I dunno, all I know is I was taking out the trash at around six a.m. a few mornings ago when a woman wearing just a towel came out of apartment 3H (I'm 3F), zoomed across the hall and into 3G, and deadbolted the door behind her. She stopped when she saw me, just for a second, and the look in her eyes was way more "deer in the headlights" than "no big deal, just using the neighbor's shower 'cos mine's busted, fiddle dee dee!" -- or whatever.

And now I feel kinda bad, like she's sitting around, wringing her hands and worrying that I'm calling her a hoe behind her back, when, if anything, my stance on hoe-age is firmly pro! Except it's not like I can just knock on her door and tell her that, 'cos I don't even know which one of those apartments she actually lives in. If either. (And even if I did, just -- no.)

One thing I do know, though, for real and for true, is that my new street is about 45% pilots and flight attendants. I mean, it definitely took me a good two, two and a half weeks to notice this, such are my lazy observational skills, but it finally got to the point where even I couldn't ignore all the neckerchiefs and roll-y suitcases anymore. There's a lot of 'em, is what I'm saying. And I guess it makes sense; the express bus to LaGuardia stops right down the block, in front of the all night diner. Convenience, etc.

I got to talking with a couple of stewardesses in the laundry room yesterday, and...I think they may have mistaken me for one of them? I've decided to be flattered that I apparently look like someone who can stand and smile and act reasonable and friendly for twelve-to-sixteen hour stretches. Mostly because I know I really, really couldn't.

Let's see, what else? Hm. Oh! I just started Book Three in the Captive Prince series and I'm feeling increasingly certain that the flailing and the hand-flapping will soon be upon me. It's a-comin'. I can sense these things. I'll be sure to check back in and let you all know if my high-pitched noises ended up attracting any feral neighborhood dogs.
brandywine28: (squid)
Nia Vardalos Surprised Joey Fatone With LGBT Plot Twist in 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2'.


Oh. Oh, my.

Okay, so fic idea: Joey's character (Greeky McGreekington? ...nope, sorry, Google is telling me his name's "Angelo". I like mine better, though.) gets set up on a blind date with Kevin Whitebread from On The Line and, after ninety minutes of awkward conversation, they consummate their passion inside a rose-strewn gazebo for some reason and then go back to Kevin's place and eat baklava in their underwear. Dual sequel! THE SEQUEL WE DESERVE.*

Yeah, I know Fatone was in On The Line too, but that's the kind of thing that can be handwaved away! Temporal paradox something something, I don't know. I don't care! GIVE ME SMUT.


*(I feel like someone actually-maybe DID write something along these lines once, but I just. Can't. Remember. Who. Gah!)
brandywine28: (squid)
Is anyone else with an unpaid LJ account seeing a huge influx of ads lately? Or is it just me? I mean, I guess I can learn to live with them, if I have to. But damn, are they ugly.

What's that you say? I should just start paying? Oh, yeah, I'll get right on that. Totally. *laughs uncontrollably for 3.5 years*

ETA: Did I forget to mention that I live across the street from an Irish pub now? People have been puking right underneath my living room window all afternoon. Happy St. Patrick's Day! Woo!
brandywine28: (squid)
Just popping my head up out of Box City like a boyband-loving gopher to briefly draw attention to the fact that AJ was in Vegas last weekend and the thing happened! That's right, like Lance Bass before him, he went to see Britney's show, got pulled up on stage, harnessed, and was forced to do the thing! The thing!!

Also, if Aaron Carter's twitter can be believed, he officially endorsed Donald Trump, renounced him (I think?? I'm not too clear, to be honest), and watched The Revenant, all in a span of about six hours this past Saturday -- but, oh God, please don't make me go back through his timeline to find the relevant links. I don't think I can do it. I'm not strong enough. All I'm fit for right now is sitting here and fantasizing about The Thing.

P.S.

Feb. 29th, 2016 11:39 pm
brandywine28: (squid)
Oh. Also, seriously, remind me to tell you all about how the movers I hired turned out to be affiliated with the Russian mob (At least I'm pretty sure?? In any case, it was heavily, heavily implied) and about how they extorted and threatened me, and how one of them did that thing where he, like, reaches meaningfully for his boxcutter while making intense eye contact, but doesn't actually pick it up, not that it even matters by that point, 'cos message received, buddy. And about how even though they're gone now, and it's over and everything's cool, they still KNOW WHERE I LIVE, because

because...

It's definitely something I wanna talk about, just --

not right now.

*falls asleep in a crouching position, clutching an extra-large shard of glass*

Day One

Feb. 29th, 2016 11:26 pm
brandywine28: (squid)
Back: aching.

Nerves: shot.

Cat: pissed.

Nearest sign of civilization (i.e. pizza, pizza being the most important part of civilization): approx. 10,000 miles away.

Crunchy-looking hippie market the next block over: noted, but unexplored.


More tomorrow, after I've slept for eighteen hours and come up with a way to make this damn cat love me again.
brandywine28: (squid)
Packing, packing...

Oh my God, I just remembered the stupidest thing. A nugget of embarrassment from moving days past. This was back when I still expected everyone everywhere to find me adorable, always, so I'm guessing I was around nineteen or so? One of my first moves. Anyway. I had a lot of books, enough to fill up over a dozen boxes, easily, and somehow I decided it'd be the best idea ever to label each and every one of them 'Very Important Pornography, Box #? of [however many]' (because this was long enough ago that porn was still a tangible thing you had to walk into a store to buy, yes, I am older than dirt, thank you for noticing).

It took me weeks to sort out which books were in which boxes. Much annoyance. Many hours wasted. Also, I'm pretty sure the moving men thought I was insane rather than, y'know. Winsome and droll. Which, point.

I'm not gonna be doing that this time around. I'm, like, 97% sure.

I keep falling into these prolonged, grey-ish funks and then popping back out of them at the drop of a hat when it occurs to me that, hey, this isn't happening because of anything I did. It's not 'cos I'm some deadbeat, you know, one of those people who's always sweatily promising everyone that the check is in the mail. It's not my fault at all! I'm the one getting screwed over here! Me!

...I don't know, though. Is that really something to get all elated over? I have a knack for squee, I know, but this squee feels kind of...misplaced? Like I'm setting the bar really low for myself.

And -- ugh. Why can't I stop whining? I swear, I've had about a hundred small-but-good things happen to me over the last couple of years, and I haven't felt the need to talk about any of them in public! I can't believe this is what it took to push me into sharing mode. Whatever, just ignore me (she says, hitting the 'post' button with decisive finality.)

oh, and

Feb. 18th, 2016 06:37 pm
brandywine28: (squid)
In case it didn't go without saying, anyone who wants my new address? Let me know.

And to those of you just dying to send me snail mail nudes (which, let's be real here, I know is most of you): you'd better wait 'til I give you the go ahead on the new coordinates. Just to be safe. WHOEVER BUYS THIS APARTMENT AFTER I LEAVE WILL ALMOST CERTAINLY BE YUPPIE SCUM. THEY DON'T DESERVE TO SEE YOUR AWESOME NUDES.

:)
brandywine28: (trickc)
I found an apartment! And -- it exists!

Which, honestly, may be the nicest thing I can say about it right now. Sigh. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna fall back into my mopey teenager schtick, no, sir. Existing is pretty much the most important thing an apartment can do. I know when to shut up and be grateful.

And anyway, it's not a bad find for such short notice. The view's no better than the one I have now, and the bathroom is tiny and...oddly shaped, but there's hella counter space in the kitchen and we all know what that means: I CAN START BAKING AGAIN. And I'm gonna. Oh, yes.

If there's anything to get legitimately surly about, it's the location. It's less than a mile from my current place, but by NYC standards it might as well be in goddamn Siberia. It's just outside the delivery zone for my favorite pizza place! I have to take a bus to get to the F train. A bus! Like some kind of crusty medieval serf! Or I guess I could walk, but it's uphill the whole way and --

I'm sorry, but as an incredibly lazy pedestrian, that is exactly the kind of thing that makes me want to back myself into a corner and hiss.

So. I don't love it. I hate feeling cut off from things. And I know I can always move again in a few months if my surliness levels don't decrease, but that idea's making me feel more tired than relieved at the moment. I really did think my nomadding days were over.

I don't know if I've ever talked about this here, but when I first discovered popslash I was living in a basement in Brooklyn during one of the hottest, grossest summers I can remember. I didn't have A/C, my landlord kept sending his ten year old son to spy on me (???) and I was sweaty, miserable, broke and lonely. (It was more than just the living situation making me that way, but looking back, that's definitely what sticks out most.) And I have this weirdly distinct memory of sitting up all night during a thunderstorm, reading From the Path by Lilysaid. The windows were rattling, the lightning was flashing -- I should have been terrified. (I mean, I really should've been terrified. I was underground. Flooding would've meant bad, bad things for me.) But instead, I was swooning. It kinda ruled.

I wonder what I'll discover this time?
brandywine28: (squid)
OK, so here's a sentence that, at first glance, just looks like a bunch of random words thrown together on the page:

Some guy pointed a gun at my mother's head today while she was...at the Medicare office?

But it's true. It's true and it happened and OH MY GOD. She'd just gone back out into the waiting area after her appointment, was pulling on her coat, when a dude walked in -- possibly upset about his benefits? I have no idea -- pulled a gun out of his jacket and waved it around a little. Then he looked straight at her and said "get outta here, lady, this has nothing to do with you", and...she did. She jetted. She ran like a gazelle. Knee problems? What knee problems?

The whole interaction lasted maybe seven seconds, and she passed a big clump of security guys heading upstairs as she was going downstairs, so presumably this all got shut down before it could turn into A Thing. And I didn't see anything about it on the local news, which, good. Good. But, still -- the Medicare building? Really? So, what, then? Should I just forbid her from going outside, ever?

Oh, Jesus, is this what it feels like to be a parent?

I think the adrenaline left her kinda punchy. We were talking about Bernie Madoff earlier (again: no idea), when her brain-to-mouth connection slipped up and she accidentally called him "Hurdy Burdy". It's been two hours and she's still giggling about it.

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