Adam Queen

(no subject)

Hello there, it's been awhile. Not much, how 'bout you...

In other news, I have reached my breaking point with most social and mainstream media. I can't process any more vile, unsheathed hatred of everything and everyone.

As history goes, this is just an uncomfortable time of uncertainty. It will shake out, humanity (such as it is) will survive, and the planet will continue to turn on its axis.

Where have you gone, Marshall McLuhan? The medium - 'open' channels for instant, relentless, reactive commentary predominantly without knowledge or basis beyond whichever way anyone's amygdala is slithering - is the message.

If we are but players on this stage, then I ain't playing. I'm happy to draw the curtain, tho. So here I come to fandom again, where it used to be fun and fanciful and sexy and gorgeous and completely imaginary. Dangerous only to the point where my partner hides the remote after too many binge-watches of whatever it is that soothes me: Supernatural, Miranda, The Great British Bake Off. Troublesome only when I start talking about Dean and Castiel in my sleep or answering questions in Miranda Hart-ese.

I desperately want to cocoon myself in a world of fan fiction and squee as a way to ease the absolute terror in my heart. I'm trying so hard not to do the "old bat next door" routine, always finger wagging that "the world has changed, and things were so much better when I..."

Truth is, today's world is better than the one I grew up in. It's worse in some ways, but it is remarkably better for me, at least, with my dewy white skin and the privilege it affords me. Advanced technology is just one reason why. Millennials are another - as an old, badass cranky woman boomer, let me tell you -- these kids won't just rock the world, they will save it. They are marvelous creatures that don't deserve the financial ruin my generation left them in. They are passionate, whip smart, idealistic, beautifully flawed and so sick of our bullshit that it warms the cockles of my shriveled-up walnut of a heart.

There's plenty of reason for hope. But for me, I can't nurture that flicker as long as I'm glued to mainstream media. And that means not just the content aggregating sites, but Facebook, twitter, reddit...ugh. I'll chill here. And on Instagram (oceannietoo - please come friend me and I'll friend you.) and Tumblr (Lostakasha over there.).

Is there anybody out there...?
pearl clutching crowley

when SPN fandom and real life collide

So, I decide to visit one of my former Boston neighbors for a cup of tea and a catch-up. She's what you might call a character -- elderly, wonderfully kind, extremely smart, funny, and just a little off. Her wig is always a little askew but it suits her. Endearing.

For 8 years we lived across the street from one another and often chatted; but never once did we talk about religion. But last week during tea I said something nondescript about having to look into our hearts for answers to life's tough questions -- and the next thing I know, my neighbor is talking about the Bible.

And how Lucifer is locked in the cage.

So help me, I said "Right! He's in there with Michael!"

She lit up like I'd just given her a gift, and we were off to the races -- after she corrected me. Apparently, Michael is guarding the cage, not in it. (I don't know what kept the words "OMG poor Sam! And Adam is still there..." from dropping out of my mouth.)

Anywhoo, you can imagine how it went from there. She favors a literal interpretation of the text, which gave me a couple of small openings to toss plotlines from SPN and Dogma into the mix -- which I did, but only because they were actually helpful. Otherwise I'd have been sitting there with my jaw hanging open for the duration of the chat.

As wacky as it was, I left loving her just a weensy bit more.

You just never, ever know.
Jason

(no subject)

Those of you who've known me on LJ for years know that I wanted nothing more than to leave Boston for California. My hometown is full of contradictions, as all hometowns are, and there are lots of painful pockets and inhospitable neighborhoods that for years I ached to leave in the rear-view. I'm still glad that I left, despite the terrible knot in my heart that began yesterday with a tearful phone call from my mother that overnight has wound tight into a desperate need to go back, to make sure, to see.

My heart never belonged to "Boston." It belongs to the Back Bay. I grew up longing to live there, and while I could never make it happen, I did work there for many years, and from the time I was 16 until I was 35 I spent pretty much every day there. To me it is the best, most open, most beautiful part of the city. It's the part I cherish and think of as home.

There's no counting the time I've spent on those blocks of Boylston Street. Most of you would never know that one explosion detonated right in front of the old Glad Day bookstore. It's long gone now, but Glad Day existed in a time when a city just having a gay bookstore made it special and dangerous. (And it was dangerous; before moving to 635 Boylston in the early 80s, Glad Day and a related publishing enterprise were firebombed. Nice, huh?)

There's no way to explain how seeing those explosions from 3,000 miles away have made me feel. Horror, sorrow, disbelief, rage -- all words that lack the depth of feeling I want to express.

Never thought I'd ever say this, but I just want to go home.
john and david smooch

...awww you guys

Thank you to everyone who left such kind comments and warm wishes on my last post. It means more to me than you'll ever know.

I know I should reach out and thank each of you personally, but ... this will have to do for now. Forgive me.

And so we go on, yes? Yes.

It's somewhat of a relief to be bothered by trivial things -- like the SPN fandom over on Tumblr. It's equal parts shit-stirring cranks, 13-year-old 'sexperts,' batshit crazy shippers and budding political activists with zero sense of history (!) screaming at everyone about agency. The bad art has no humor or irony. (These kids today! Jeez!)

Makes the crappiest bits of the BTVS fandom seem like paradise. And I miss Tentacle!Spike and Unicorn!Xander.
pearl clutching crowley

Shameless pimp an oh HAI THERE EL JAY

Firstly, may I just pimp my darling friend Jon Gale? He's going to be on Criminal Minds tomorrow night -- it's his big break on network TV, although he's done lots of stage work and a fair chunk of movies. I'd rather read the police log while covered in red ants and honey than watch Criminal Minds, so this is a BIG DEAL. (Sorry, CM fans -- I just get so triggered that I can't bear to watch most gristly procedurals. Nothing personal.)

Photobucketlet's try this one -- see how handsome!

We're having a friend over to do a Jon Viewing Party tomorrow night; she doesn't care for procedurals either and loves her some SPN, so my guess is that we'll be flipping back to the boys as soon as Jon says his line. :) Yup, that's it -- one line. That's the horror of Hollywood, though -- acting is fairly easy; getting work is what's hard. I don't know how he keeps plugging, but he does. That's why we all moan around looking for our favorite actors to no avail (looking at you, Jason Behr) -- you can't just be gorgeous and talented and relentless, you must be fucking lucky. (Being bendy and indiscriminate might help, but luck has a role there as well.)

Speaking of horror, Jon's latest movie is called Revenant. It got great reviews at the LA Shriekfest and hopes are high for a distribution deal. You can find out about it here: http://www.revenant-themovie.com/

In other news, life in the west is so fine, so far, so good. (Bonus points if anyone gets that song reference.) We went pumpkin picking Sunday and OMG WTF WHY IS CALI SO HORRIBLY HOT? Oh, right. That's why we moved. :::headslam:::

We drove a few miles south to Hayward because there's a Sonic there...haven't had Sonic since sweptawaybayou took me there in Kansas (oh, Snow how I miss you) so a couple of years and couple of thousand miles west and AHOY cranberry lime fruity goodness. That said, we got lost and with gas prices at an apocalyptic $4.59/gal, we will forever refer to the event as "our $60 burger."

I do not like the butter here. And WTF is a ball tip roast? Do not want. (And I do love me some balls, but really....)

How are you??????
Misha KItty

an august start to august? guess so...

or not, really. Just some blather for a Tuesday.

We're getting settled in; almost all of our boxes are unpacked, and our everyday lives are mostly neat and organized. To keep moving costs down we got rid of a lot of stuff, and as a result we have barely any furniture in a big, echo-ey apartment. Which has a way of making me feel all new and tingly, so all to the good!

We went into the People's Republic of Berkeley this past weekend, and it was as great as I'd hoped. Found a few amazing furniture stores -- amazing as in great design and seriously great prices -- but the one of the best parts of the day was finding parking spots reserved for Nobel Laureates. That is so unbearably nifty. And where else would you find a Mexican-Pakistani-Indian restaurant? Mexistandian cuisine FTW.

It's probably very different these days, but Berkeley of today reminds me of how Cambridge, MA used to be before it became a homogenized mini-mall.

That's what I love about my new community -- lots of mom and pop shops, only a couple of chain stores. The obligatory Starbucks, naturally -- and excuse me, but if Peet's Coffee is HQ'd here, shouldn't we pay less for it than in Boston? Apparently not. (I feel a 'get offa my lawn' old geezer moment about to erupt.)

To counteract the old geezerism, here's a tip for all of you rebels out there who may be considering relocation: I've had my great grandmother's xmas cactus plant since her death in 1970 and when the movers told me it couldn't cross state lines I was brokenhearted. But...they would take my dry goods and canned goods. So, I packed a large carton with cereal boxes, dry soups and the remains of my pantry. I watered the holy fuck out of the plant, drained it well, and set it into a disposable litter pan in the center of the groceries. A little packing paper held it in place, and a pillow over the top kept it from breaking. It survived two weeks in transit and now sits on my patio! And as an added bonus, the last of my herbal remedy *cough* made it through just fine -- I accidentally left my stash in my nightstand. So yay for hiding in plain sight.

I really do belong here.

Oh! I cut my hair. As in OFF. It was at my waist when I left Boston, and now it's above my ears. Wheee!
Misha KItty

Dear Fanfic Author:

If your character is taking a breath, or respirating, or inhaling and exhaling repeatedly, they are breathing. They are taking a moment to b-r-e-a-t-h-e.

Breathe that in for a second. Get a whiff of that.

Breathe is not spelled b-r-e-a-t-h.

When we say breathe, it sounds like "breeth." When we say breath it sounds like "breth."

I have no breath left in me to explain transitive and intransitive verbs to you, so I'll just say this:

BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E
BREATHE HAS AN E

Damn, that looks like Gaelic. Or Enochian.

BREATHE ENDS IN A FUCKING E
BREATHE ENDS IN A FUCKING E
BREATHE ENDS IN A FUCKING E
BREATHE ENDS IN A FUCKING E
BREATHE ENDS IN A FUCKING E

Signed,

Your mentor and dispenser of vry srs bsns about wrds,
Akasha

PEE ESS: To everyone who sent comfort and kindness to me about Pyewacket, thank you. You guys are love. xoxoxo