bironic

(Back to the strategy of posting about single, manageable topics. If "tell friends about Readercon!" feels like too much today, I shall instead share a happy discovery.)

I don't know why any of you would remember this, but hey, anyone remember a year ago spring when I admitted to a 24-hour crush on a long-haired actor in a music video*--one with just the right combination of sexy and scary (+ minor chords) to coincide with That Feeling**?

*"I Found" by Amber Run; warning for abduction plotline

**which at this point I should just call "maybe-aura" or something more articulate

Well, last night I was going through some favorited YouTube videos--which I don't remember to do often enough; it was nice--and watched that one some more. It inspired me to try again to find the actor's name. I hadn't had any luck last year, but this time either I did it right or there was new information out there. Lo: His name is Jon Campling.



Knowing a name means being able to check IMDB, which says he's been in a bunch of indie movies and commercials, so there are more things I can check out to enjoy his face. And, hey--turns out I already have, because he was the Christopher Lee-looking Death Eater who stopped the Hogwarts Express train in Deathly Hallows Pt 1! See also this. And I guess Final Fantasy XV players might know him as King Regis?

It also transpires that he's from my extended family's hometown in Hull, England. ♥

Today I learned that he has a Twitter. A quick scroll revealed that a fringe play he's in is coming to NYC in September! So, uh, I'm quite tempted to go see it, since this 24-hour crush doesn't seem to be 24 hours anymore and tickets are all of, appropriately, $24. It doesn't sound like something I'd normally pick out of a lineup, but Campling does play Satan....

NYC friends, does anyone want to see a random off-Broadway play called TRIPPIN on the evening of Saturday 9/9? There's another interesting-looking one that afternoon called MENGELE.

ETA: Reader, I met him.

One of the local Little Free Libraries had a copy of The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman and that finally motivated me to start reading His Dark Materials after all these years. People were super into them around the time we were going to Harry Potter aca-cons and of course there've been a million fannish AUs but I never got around to trying the series, other than going to see that forgettable film adaptation.

After an uncertain start, I got really into it, especially the human-dæmon relationships. I hadn't realized how into it until I found myself choking up at the descriptions of ( spoilery ). Also I hadn't realized how explicitly Pullman described what happens between dæmons when their humans get frisky together. Many years late to this party.

I bought the other two books yesterday and will read them in & around the new Harry Potter one that I pre-ordered but haven't picked up yet.

Obv. there are things to enjoy and things to critique and thinky stuff about Pullman's reaction to C.S. Lewis and the Church but we are not here for in-depth analysis right now. Work is rough these days as we undergo managerial transitions and as a result my entertainment has swung toward pleasure and comfort. See also: I've taken a break from vid-research movies and just rewatched the Twilight series. Well, that's sort of for vid research too, but a different project, and I wasn't taking notes. And I rewatched the beginning of the terrible-but-I-don't-care TV show Roar from 1997, because my heart.

Was sad to miss con.txt this weekend and all the friends who go with it. At least there's only a week and a half 'til Vividcon. Hang in there, self: Hugs and vids and conversation and mini-vacation are nigh.

Just back from 10 days in NY with family. Tired. Glad to be home.

The first weekend was fun. ( Caught up with my dad, took a fantastic boat ride alongside Manhattan with my mom )

( pix )

( Surgery went well )

I brought podcasts and stuff to read out loud, but she couldn't concentrate on them. We watched/listened to/napped through a lot of TV. Mostly unengaging cooking and real estate shows, unless you count HGTV Bingo (stainless steel appliances! granite countertops! open concept kitchen! I can't buy this house, I don't like the interior paint color!) but by the end we did manage some good stuff IMO. Like Galaxy Quest, which we'd all seen enough times to know everything that was going on without needing to actually see it, and the second half of Jurassic Park and the first half of The Lost World. They hadn't seen The Lost World. I reminisced about reading the book back when I was a teenager mooning over Ian Malcolm and delighting in the suspense of the trailer scene in particular. I remember re-reading it on a day trip tour bus while on a family vacation in England. My dad probably kept elbowing me to put the book down and look out the window like he'd been doing on trips for years.

Also caught part of a Jesse Stone movie marathon. My mom liked Magnum PI Tom Selleck. My sister liked the golden retriever. My ears pricked up when commercials promised a new one at 9 p.m., but it turned out to be the "cable premiere" and I'd already seen it on Netflix. Alas.

And a Harry Potter DVD marathon from Prisoner of Azkaban to Deathly Hallows Part One. That was great. My mom got really into Deathly Hallows. I… thought I would have more to say here about HP, particularly regarding the experience of rewatching after so long away, and also about the Marauders generation on film, and also also how nifty it was to see the films for the first time since going to visit the sets in Watford, but either that was wrong or it's too close to collapsing-into-bed time to collect ruminations right now. TBD.

At some point I'll catch up on Doctor Who etc. Just have to get through four workdays, a networking event and an Atul Gawande book reading/signing first. Then a holiday weekend and a Vin Diesel movie night at thedeadparrot's. Woo.

Five years ago (eesh), I dropped out of Remix because I felt what I'd written so far was too close to the original story and also because I didn't know how to end it. bell, who volunteered to beta at the time and who is smart, intuited that part of the problem lay in my not knowing what point I wanted to make about young women who develop crushes on their teachers.

It was a Hermione/Remus story. I read the draft yesterday for the first time since 2009 and found a lot to like in it, prose- and emotions-wise. But once more, I am drawing a blank on how to rescue it.

In the meantime, it's given me a hankerin' for Hermione/Remus stories. Or Hermione/Remus/Sirius. Trouble is, hardly any of them are on the AO3 because of their age. What's still around from mid-2000s HP fandom? What was that overwhelming archive with the mauve background, Adult Fanfiction dot net or something? Whoo, memory lane. I was so into Snape/Hermione back then, plus of course Remus/Sirius.

Long story long: Any recs to satisfy this little pang of nostalgia? Any rating would be fine.

Wrote 3,600 words or so this weekend. \o/ Will write some more tonight, if all goes well—John/Radek for Kink Bingo.

Took a long weekend in Florida to visit my grandparents, coinciding with my father and his fiancée's visit. Was… interesting. The daily thunderstorms were most exciting. One blew in while we were visiting the Miami Seaquarium; the wind started to gust, the parrots and macaws started squawking like nobody's business, and the whole thing felt like an avian version of Jurassic Park as the hurricane rolled in. The next day, a mid-morning storm hit while we were trying to sneak in some beach time. It was fine at first (there were these cute little swimmy ankle-kissy fish in the water, for one thing, and it was sunny and the water was warm), with most of the looming clouds and curtains of rain off to the south or out at sea, but then the wind blew—these storms seem to come in fast and hard—all the beach umbrellas uprooted themselves and went flying, kids screamed, shins and ankles got sandblasted, the palm trees whistled, the gaps between the rain bands closed, and when the lightning started flashing a few miles out the lifeguards called everyone in. Then it rained for hours. Oh, well.

( a few pix: storm, friendly lobster, bendy skyscraper )

.

I found these Harry Potter doodles in my photo folder and felt like sharing, now that the movies are done and all. I dashed them off with a mechanical pencil one night in… 2004, must be, the summer of Convention Alley and The Shoebox Project. My sketching skills haven't advanced beyond, oh, third or fourth grade, but I think these turned out really cute.



( 3 more doodles )

So, let's see: That'd be Dumbledore with McGonagall and Hagrid; Harry, Ron and Hermione with their pets; a Marauders scene; and Snape brewing wolfsbane for Lupin. ♥

Those were the days.

I still don't have a poem for you, but I do have a McSweeney's article: Waldageddon. That's right: Walden Pond, zombies, Hawthorne and Harry Potter.

"A werewoodchuck! It wished to suck out all the marrow of life."

You may recall my adoration of Salon.com advice columnist Cary Tennis. Today's pleasantly surprising article is no exception, both in subject and in response:

I'm addicted to Harry Potter fan fiction!

The supplicant is a post-doc in her 30's who's afraid her obsession with reading fanfiction is impacting her professional and familial lives. In his lamentably brief but characteristically incisive response, Cary asks her some pointed questions about why she feels it is shameful and wrong to be immersed in these fantasies, invoking perceived social expectations of wives/mothers and academics and readers/writers and people in general, highbrow/lowbrow tensions, the suppression of imagination, and why it is a bad thing that she is not perhaps perfectly well-adjusted:

Is it you, I'm saying, or is it the world you're living in? Addicted? Full of shame? Shame about what? You say it hasn't killed you yet? No, it's keeping you alive, I dare say.

And who could blame you for crossing the line, when the fences between reader and text and writer have rotted and fallen anyway, when we are all enmeshed like strangers on a train in the same humming engine of creation and retelling?

(Also, I confess I'm a little in love with his reference to "the clitorectomy of the Ph.D.")

Hey, folks. Sorry for prolonged radio silence, both on the posting and the replying-to-comments fronts. Haven't been feeling quite myself lately; not so good for the creativity or the sociability.

First, a very happy and very belated birthday to lysa1 and noydb666. Lysa, I miss your wonderful sarcasm and wish you didn't live half a dozen time zones away. Here's to another year of your deliciously naughty fic and beautiful art. Noydb, you've got some fascinating insights and I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. Many happy returns to both of you.

Quick update on life: Thanksgiving weekend was nice, if too short -- got to meet some new people and see old friends, cooked and tidied a lot, attended a concert (Ryan Star), saw a play (Little Dog Laughed) and rented a movie (Amores Perros -- unofficial Oscar nominee for Highest Number of Dead or Dying Dogs on Film Ever). And brooded, but that's not much fun to talk about. I hope those of you who celebrated had a nice holiday and those of you who didn't celebrate had a nice not-holiday.

Watched Goblet of Fire Wednesday night and noticed for the first time that Voldemort's tongue is forked. Guess I was always too distracted during the part where he's pressing his thumb to Harry's scar and imitating his cries to see the double tip when his tongue slides out. Very cool.

My brain also pinged on the foreshadowing of Arthur's "That's my boy!" at the World Cup, after Crouch et al fire their collective "Stupefy!" at the trio. Man, that line still wrenches the proverbial guts at the end. Relatedly: kabale, you may be pleased to know that there's a little post-Patronus you-voice in my head that comments on the painful irony when the band strikes up at Harry's reappearance.

Hey, yeah -- remember when I used to post about fandoms other than House? Here's a little something to make up for it. Sort of a disjointed and hastily-written musing on heroes, solitude, teamwork, facing enemies and hitting rock bottom that I want to try to get down before any more Tritter episodes air.

( Cut for discussion of *previously-aired* House episodes *only*, with references to BtVS, Angel, Harry Potter and Star Trek. )

My suspicion that today would be a waste was confirmed when I arrived at work half an hour early and was already slacking off at 9:10, reading today's issue of Salon. One of many film reviews was for "The Old World," the pretty-looking one about Pocahontas with woodland chases and bare-chested natives; the review was soundly negative but made me laugh when it said "At one point high muckety-muck David Thewlis is summarily executed for being a jerk." I trust that wasn't an upsetting spoiler for any of you.

It really was a terrible idea to make us work all day when clients were clearly not in their own offices to call us. By early afternoon I'd given up and started skimming Sam's archive at sam_storyteller, the shorter stuff, all Marauders- or Remus-centric, mostly things I hadn't read already (though I gave "Pilgrimage" another go because I'd liked it so much back in the paper-writing days when I didn't have the time to appreciate it properly). I liked this little bit from a Remus/Lily story, "The Bowl of Lilacs":

"Father!" James announced proudly, turning to them.
"Dibs on godfather!" Sirius shouted.

It struck me as very Sirius, and a lighthearted but entirely plausible take on how he would have reacted to the news. But, being tired more than anything, I gravitated towards the more melancholic stories, and bless Sam, he portrays humor and sadness with equal skill. This passage stood out so much that I wanted to share it with you specifically. From a quiet post-OotP story called "You That Have Whetted Consciousness":

Crouched that way, eyes searching for something, Lupin looked like Harry imagined he did at school -- happier, full of mischief like his father and Sirius, young. James was twenty-one when he died, which means -- adding Harry's age onto that, less one -- Lupin is only in his thirties to begin with. Everyone his father's age looks older; Snape from bitterness, Sirius from prison, Lupin from his disease. A wrecked generation, Harry will think later, though for now he merely thinks it weird.

Good fic like that pulls at my chest in the same way the half-unaddressed tragic Marauder moments do in the books. If anyone has quiet, melancholic MWPP recs, not tipping into angst if you can help it, please pass them along; I'm in the mood.

Off for a hopefully rejuvenating Friday night with Hogfather (thanks, Cat, for the rec) and Jeremy Irons' syndicated radiocast from the Salzburg Mozart festival.

ETA: Oh yes. Also in Salon this morning, Wil Wheaton wrote in an editorial about the War On Christmas as seen through the lens of his annual family get-together that he is one of many people who "use 'Merry Christmas' and 'Happy Holidays' and 'Season's Greetings' interchangeably, hoping that the recipient of my good wishes will understand that I'm really saying, 'I'm not religious, but I hope you have joy and love in your life, good health and happiness.'" That's what I hope each of you to whom my belated holiday cards are soaring through air mail at this very moment will understand if you open them up and discover that my sincere, if stilted, messages sound like they belong on a Hallmark product (or whatever the equivalent prefabricated greeting card company is in your area). The holidays, even if not celebrated by all of us, for me are a time to indulge in some healthy sentimentality, and if that means getting sappy on a card, so be it. I love you all and want you to know it.

Good night and happy holidays!