I am fidgety and bored and antisocial. A friend of mine just poked me on AIM, but if I talk to him he'll want to hang out and I don't wanna. I also don't wanna write fic (because at the moment I am pretty sure that everything sucks*), read (Sense and Sensibility is not as fun as Pride and Prejudice), eat (I am...tired of Oreos? this does not compute), or sleep. Seriously, I tried to take a nap and failed. Who does that?

Anyway, grumpy Sarah is grumpy. That is all.

*Not fishing for compliments or anything. I'm sure tomorrow I'll wake up and go DAMN I'M AWESOME and write a thousand words of another random crossover that I'll be distracted from by the next shiny cracked-out crossover idea that occurs to me.

EDIT: Thanks for the kind words, y'all. Upon suggestion of one squeeful, I took a twilight walk that resulted in a scoop of dark-chocolate-peanut-butter ice cream in the largest waffle cone I have ever seen. My mood has significantly improved. :)

So this weekend was kind of awesome. Friday afternoon was my brother's birthday lunch, wherein the brother ordered his first (legal) beer, and my dad made good on his threat to make the Red Robin people sing to him.

After that, Reds game with Mom, the twins, and the Martin sisters, who are basically extra little sisters. The Reds were doing just fine when I toddled around in the seventh innning to say hi to rascante, a friend of mine from high school. That seems to be about the time that the wheels came off. I walked across the bridge (OMG you guys, the Ohio River is so pretty at twilight!) to meet up with my dad, who had the cameras all set up to take pictures of the fireworks, and all of a sudden we were losing 7 to 4. This can happen when you let the best batter in the National League hit a grand slam.*

The actual 4th was celebrated by, well...MOAR BASEBALL! Dad and Christie and I went down this time. It drizzled for the first six innings, and when it started coming down harder in the seventh we headed up under the overhang. Because for those first six innings? We were nine rows from the field, just behind first base. Seriously, we could see the first-base-coach's pantylines. I was actually thinking about getting Jay Bruce to sign the bobbleheads we got coming in, but then I figured that I'd hang back and let a little kid have a chance instead. Also, Bruce is two years younger than me, which just weirds me the heck out. But the Reds actually won this time, boosted by two home runs. One of these homers? Was hit by Micah Owings. The pitcher. For those of you who do not follow baseball, this is unusual. :D

There were no fireworks on the 4th, since it rained and stuff, but it was still fun. And by the time I left on Sunday, the six-pack of Elliott Ness beer I got for Joe was gone, so I guess he liked it. ;)

On a final note, I wrote a bit of doggerel for my ridiculously obscure fandom. And then I crossed said obscure fandom over with another ridiculously obscure fandom's one-time villain pair (played by the same actors) here.

*This, however, is nothing compared to Monday's game, which we apparently lost 22-1. Yeah...

Oh hai, this is the library system where I used to work.

Clermont library cuts 24 employees.

Some of these people are bound to be people I have worked with, people I like, people who obviously need these jobs. And cutting the library to eight hours a day? How the fuck are they supposed to remain a functional system like that? It would have to be from noon to 8pm, or something, because of the after-school, after-work crowds. But what happens in the morning? Storytimes. And the new Union Township building is desperately needed. I was a page there for my first few months in the system. Parking is ridiculous, and the shelves are practically bowed from the number of books stuffed on them. (This may be my astigmatism talking--but then again, the 640s were always, always crammed full.) I remember how excited my coworkers were at the prospect of a new branch, and I'm kind of heartbroken that it won't happen now.

Oh, and also? Apparently this isn't dire enough to dip into the $7 million rainy-day fund. Uh, guys? When you have to cut 17% of your workforce? It's fucking raining. And this is before those massive budget cuts, too. Branches will have to be closed if that goes through--there's no other way.

I just. Fuck you, Ohio. Now I'm going to have to move out of state for a decent job, which means I'll be far away from my family. And also my Skyline. Fuuuuuck.

Well, the housemate is on his way to the library rally now.

I am, well...not.

I woke up with an upset stomach (Thanks, ladyparts! Fuck you too!), and then about five minutes out of the apartment complex the housemate lights a cigarette.

Generally that doesn't bother me--he keeps the car windows rolled down so the smoke doesn't gather or anything. But today the smoke + period + guilt complex for skipping work = omgwtf carsick.

So the housemate, being the kind and awesome dude that he is, swung around to drop me off back at the apartment, even though it might make him late for the rally. (It won't, really--he'll just drive faster.)

I guess that's my karmic kick in the pants: I call in sick to work, and then I actually feel sick. Boo.

I just hope there's somebody else in the rally crowd who will take up the Buckaroo Banzai chant when he starts it, since that was supposed to be my job.

What do we want? LIBRARY FUNDING! When do we want it? REAL SOON!

Tomorrow I'm playing hooky from work.

But wait! I actually have a good reason for it, I swear.

See, the state of Ohio is planning to cut library funding by about 50% over the next two years or so. And state funding? Is kind of the only way most of our public libraries stay open.

Yes, I know that the economy sucks. But when people can't buy new books, can't afford magazine subscriptions, can't pay for their Internet, where do they go to get these things? The frigging public library. Some job applications, for example, are only available online. If libraries can't afford to stay open, how are people without home computers going to apply for these jobs?

So I'm going to the Cleveland rally tomorrow against the budget cuts. Yeah, I know, a bird in the hand and all that, but I'm willing to put my 16-hour-a-week job at (very minor) risk in order to support the notion that I might be able to get a full-time job someday after I graduate.

Incidentally, if any other library-minded people would like to add their tuppence, the Governor's comment form is available here.

Bluh. I went up to CVS this week to renew my no-baby-no-crazy drug regimen, and found out that the no-crazy prescription has run out. This is...not exactly optimal. I mean, I could live without the no-baby half, because I'm not exactly doing the thing that makes the babies, but the no-crazy part is nice. I've got a couple of them left, so I was planning to do an every-other-day sort of thing to stretch them out. On Monday I can give my doctor a call and see if she'll call the prescription in for me, so I don't have to wait until the next time I'm home.

Anyway, the every-other-day thing is making me annoyingly spacey and kind of light-headed. So I'm hoping the office will be open first thing Monday, so I can pick up more drugs on the way home from work.

On the plus side, storms tonight! *tucks self onto couch with The True Confessions of Raymond Charlotte Doyle and a Mounds bar*

So...I'm pretty sure the LA Times completely missed the target with their Girls' Guide to Comic Con 2009. Like, missed the target so badly they shot themselves in the foot.

There are a lot of things I could say about the article, but most of those things are built around a four-letter root word beginning with F. So instead I'll just copypasta the email I sent off to the LA Times, expressing a small portion of my intense displeasure. If anybody else is interested, there's a link to contact info at the bottom of the article. I sent it to the website feedback address, and then CC'd it to the letters-to-the-editor address, just for shits and giggles.

I was thoroughly disappointed in the online article, "The Girls' Guide to Comic Con 2009." The picture it paints of female fans is more two-dimensional than a comic-book superhero's dead girlfriend. First of all, we're not all in it for the fangs. If you confront a female geek on the subject of Twilight, you're as likely to face a rant on Stephenie Meyer's writing and characterization skills as you are to elicit a chorus of joyous squeals.

The assumption that the substance of the convention has formerly been "just for nerdy guys" is both offensive and incorrect. The panels I have attended at conventions in the past have included Star Wars novelists, Firefly stars, young-adult authors, and fanfiction writers. While some do draw more fans of a particular gender, it would be impossible to suggest that a panel catered "just" to one gender. Both men and women are deeply involved in all these fandoms, and insightful discussions often spill over into common areas and hotel bars once the panel itself has ended.

I understand that the line about washing Jake Gyllenhaal's laundry was a riff on the "washboard abs" concept, but it comes off as demeaning and servile, a nerdcore equivalent of the barefoot-and-pregnant stereotype. Had anyone considered that some women might have played the video game on which Gyllenhaal's movie is based? Did anyone suppose that the female fans might have intelligent questions for the panelists? I suppose not--after all, it would be difficult to hear the answer over the sound of all that laundering.

To reduce the female interest and involvement in conventions to a shallow celebration of pop culture's pretty people misses the point entirely. Perhaps it would be possible to find a few real girl geeks at the convention, and ask them why they attend Comic Con.

--Sarah K

Title: From the Balcony
Fandom: The Professionals
Genre: Slashy and silly.
Summary: Bodie makes an apt comparison. Drabble.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bodie, Doyle, or the Muppets.
Notes: Crossposted to the_safehouse. Also, I don't know who started the Muppet thing, but I know who I'm going to blame for it.

So apparently the pool at the complex is all out-of-whack with regard to pH, to the point where the health department hasn't yet cleared them to allow people in.

It would have been fucking great to know that before Jon and I had spent like twenty minutes swimming. Well, he was swimming, I was huddled in the sunny corner going OMGWTF WATER IS COLD I HATE YOU HOUSEMATE WHY DID I LET YOU TALK ME INTO THIS.

So if I turn purple or die, we can totally sue the apartment complex, because...put up a motherfucking sign, yo. Say "Deck open for sunbathing and listening to Lady Gaga songs at obscene volume; pool temporarily closed." Oh well.

However, I currently smell like sunscreen and chlorine, and I taste like the mint-chocolate-chip cone that we drove off to get after our curtailed swimming excursion. I think this means that it is SUMMER.

Today I flounced up to the library to do independent research on male prostitution in the 1880s. And I did it wearing a dress.

Of course, I know what you're asking. Sarah owns a dress? As a matter of fact...yes.

( Pics or it didn't happen! )

Of course, it's summer, so there's nobody on campus and it was like skipping around in a very well-manicured post-apocalyptic wasteland.

If you gotta lose at Jeopardy, and you gotta lose by $2, you might as well lose to a dude who, as of last Friday, is a seven-time champion.

And, according to The Jeopardy Archive, nobody else has come close to my $2 margin. *glee*

Also, I have an afghan, some microwaved Chewy Chips Ahoy cookies, and a rumbly night-time thunderstorm. Things are pretty good. :D

My sister is engaged, y'all!!!

Apparently she tried to send me a cell-phone pic of the ring, but my phone refused to download it like a punk. So I called her back and was appropriately shrill and squealy, although I had to admit that I knew it was going to happen. ;) I am just ridiculously happy for her and Jim.

Let me explain briefly about The Lisa.

Lisa is my best friend. I mean, when people ask me to name my best friends, I usually say other people, because I take it as understood that Lisa is absolutely the best friend that I could ever have, and nobody else stands a chance of comparing. We survived 16 years of sharing a room without killing each other, even though she is like the neater half of the Odd Couple and I am basically Oscar the Grouch.

Lisa has always had my back, even though I have not always been grateful for it. She's there when anxiety gets the better of me, when boys suck, when I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. She's also there to share moments of crazy glee, like finishing a thesis or hearing the Decemberists play the opening chord of "Red Right Ankle." Whenever I want my ass kicked at Scrabble? There's Lisa. A couple hundred miles between us is nothing.

She's had to deal with her share of rough stuff over the past few years. She is the strongest person I know, even when she doesn't think so. She is beautiful and amazing and brilliant, and she and Jim deserve every single happiness the universe can bestow on them.

Lisa, you will probably read this at some point, so you should just know that I love you. And I'm sorry I threw you out of the Little Tikes house.

I'm sad about California upholding the gay marriage ban, but I'm not really surprised by it. It seems almost like it's happening in another world--it'll be ten years before Ohio even thinks about allowing gay marriage. We're actually going backwards in that sense. A couple of years ago, Cincinnati passed a law that basically said that gay couples cannot have anything even approaching kinda sorta maybe anything that resembles marriage. Individual employers sometimes offer domestic-partner benefits, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy, but. We passed a law specifically for the denial of rights to a group of people and that is not cool, people.

But there is progress. Sometimes it's just really subtle. Today, it was the rear jacket flap of a children's book. It just said [The illustrator] lives in California with his husband. Like it was perfectly normal, as it should be.

And someday it will be normal. And that day will be a happy one.

So watching myself on Jeopardy was way more fun and far less nerve-wracking than I expected it to be. About a half-dozen of my friends showed up to cheer me on. I got a bazillion awesome Facebook comments from awesome people, and I just generally feel pretty good about life. The fact that I didn't have to pay for any of my drinks last night may have helped. ;) The bartender actually gave me the glass of Framboise on the house! Much insulting of the other players was had, and I toasted the housemate when "Janissaries" came up in the second round. Hell, even my brother, when I got home this evening, looked at me and went "What the fuck is a Janissary?"

It really was weird to see myself up there, though. I...looked like a grown-up. Granted, I was wearing heels and still they gave me a box to stand on, but I didn't look like a little kid standing next to two adults. And it's been a few months at least since I got carded going into an R-rated movie.

I don't really think of myself as an adult, but I think I might actually be one now. Granted, I'm a grown-up who goes wading in the Cuyahoga* at midnight and then runs back to the apartment to watch British cops in tight pants, so I think I've struck a nice balance.

*Oh, come on, it hasn't caught fire in years.

Title: Carry That Weight
Format: Short fic, ~1100 words
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle (slash)
Warnings: none
Summary: A suspect dies in custody, and it may or may not have been Doyle's fault. Bodie goes round to check up on him. (Set after "The Rack")
Disclaimer: I do not own Bodie, Doyle, or The Professionals.

Cross-posted to the_safehouse.

( Boy, you're gonna carry that weight )

Hosemate and I just walked up to the Greek restaurant in town. I am still not sure how I feel about cucumber sauce, but who the hell cares? I had baklava. It was delicious.

Yesterday I went up to CVS and got distracted by the rack of 99-cent Wet-n-Wild nail polishes. So I bought a shiny red, a black, and a clear topcoat. Painted my toenails for the first time, um, ever. I like it, but I still think that toes are funny-looking at best. However, my fingernails look like I have been having a slumber party with Elizabeth Bathory, so I'm happy.

So. Frambois--raspberry beer. I do not like beer, and I do not like raspberry, yet somehow the combination is fucking delicious. I cannot quite feel my lips? But then I had two glasses of hard cider followed by the Frambois. Our excuse was celebrating housemate's final exam of the semester. There was singing along with Allman Brothers and some air-piano to "Piano Man," and bragging about how I saw Elton John and Billy Joel in concert together. After which the bar immediately and randomly played "Rocket Man." XD

Er. Yeah, I'm going to drink a couple of glasses of water and watch an episode of The Professionals with Elizabeth, and hopefully rope the housemate into watching it, too. Because "Hunter/Hunted" is THE SLASHIEST EPISODE EVER.

No more goddamn shortcuts.

See, I decided to cut across a campus parking lot on my way back from work today. Our campus parking lots feature those bars that rise up when a car approaches and drop when the car passes, mainly so they can splinter impressively in action movies.

Well, a car was going under one of the bars, and I was walking past, grooving to Zeppelin and hoping to get home before the rain started.

The bar came down on my head.

I assume that the fraternity cookout happening across the street got a kick out of it, but my high-volume attempt to construct a sentence using only various forms of the word "fuck" prevented me from noticing.

I just...I don't even know. It hurt like hell, and actually sort of brought tears to my eyes, but I wound up just rubbing my ear and cracking the fuck up, because--what else was there to do?

So I am sitting in the apartment holding ice to my head and hoping I do not become a cautionary tale a la Natasha Richardson. If I do, y'all do me a favor and nominate me for a Darwin Award. Because seriously--who does shit like this?

EDIT: I went to the health center. Dr. Hot-and-Sadly-Married says that I will live. The nurse and I discussed the fact that Liam Neeson is hot, even though that is a) kinda disrespectful considering his recently deceased wife, and b) really weird because the nurse was old enough to be my grandmother. ;) Then the student receptionist and I got to have a Firefly squee, because I was wearing my Browncoat shirt. Uh. One of my Browncoat shirts... :D

May 4 is known to the geek world as Star Wars Day--May the Fourth be with you, and all that.

But it's different when you're at Kent State.

I thought it was something that everyone knew about: In May of 1970, student protests at Kent State began to get out of hand. One group set fire to the local ROTC building, and the National Guard was called out to quell the protests. On May 4, the National Guardsmen opened fire on a crowd of protesters, killing four students and wounding several others.

Nobody knows why they fired. Nobody knows if someone gave the order. Nobody knows which Guardsmen's shots hit the students.

And today, most often, it's just that: Nobody knows. Even here in Ohio. My best friend, one of the most socially-conscious people I know, didn't know about it until after high school. It was never taught--after all, no history class ever seems to get past WWII, and you're lucky to make it even that far.

I suppose I wouldn't know about it either, if it weren't for my mother. She was 16 at the time, still in high school in the opposite corner of the state. She remembers hearing about it on the news, wondering why anyone would ever want to go to Kent State again--after all, "they shoot people there." And that was always what defined Kent State for her, until I applied.

The people in my mom's generation were aware of it--the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song "Ohio" was written about the shootings. Apparently the writers of 30 Rock know about it, too, although their decision to make a joke about it, this close to the anniversary, is in questionable taste.

This is the picture that is eternally associated with Kent State--in fact, when you put those two words into a Google image search, it's the first result returned. It's under a cut of its own, because it's a troubling image, but chances are you've already seen it, even if you didn't know it was Kent State.

( May 4, 1970 )

I went up to the site over the weekend, to try and put it all into context. It's not a part of campus that I really have a reason to see--my path is generally between my apartment and the library, and the hill where the shootings happened is on the other side of campus. I took a few pictures, which are under the cut.

( Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming )

The point of this post is not to point fingers, not to lay blame on anyone. The point of it is to remember--because this sort of thing should never have happened, and it shouldn't be forgotten.

And then some days my university has a riot, and I miss the whole damned thing. *sigh* I even had my window open all evening, so I should have at least heard the sirens! I walk past that street on my way to work--I'll have to peer down it and see if there's still debris from the bonfire.

Maybe part of the reason I missed the drama was because I was doing a fic-meme. sarahsan did it a couple of days ago, and it looked like fun. And I figured it would be a challenge for those of us with a slight tendency to procrastinate/dawdle/just not finish thi--

Anyway.

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn your music player on and turn it on random.
3. Write a drabble/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the length of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts and stop when it's over. No lingering afterward!
4. Do five of these and post them.

So below the cuts are five ficlets to go with five songs.

( Confidences: Professionals, Bodie/Doyle, mild slash )

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( Blaze Away: Professionals, Bodie/Doyle, explicit slash )

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( Windswept Afternoon: Vaguely original, gen )

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( Pyrrhus: Richard II (play), Richard II/Henry IV, mild slash )

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( Still Fly Seaward: Silmarillion, Finrod/Amarie, mild het )

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