So, after being nagged by two of the more powerful influences in my life (my dad and my boss), I got a flu shot on Monday. Having never had a flu shot before (I HATE needles, and I think my parents knew that the battles to fight were the ones involving life-saving inoculations and things), there was some wackiness involving uncertainty as to whether or not I was allergic, but despite feeling a bit headachy and strange a few hours later, it was okay. I took a DayQuil that evening and felt right as rain the next day.
Now, however, I've gone from feeling great to feeling like ass in about half an hour. Headache, chills, sore throat, blech. Hopefully, the two DayQuil I just downed will make it all go away. But I'm still going to be on the road all afternoon and evening, behind the wheel for most of it.
I like short work weeks. I really, really do. I like Mondays that feel like Wednesdays and Tuesdays that feel like Thursdays and Wednesdays that end at 2 PM. I like burning CDs for the drive home and thinking of cute places to stop for dinner along the way. I like long drives after so long without. I like going home.
It'll be my brother and me, lost on the open road. His iPod and my CDs and maybe some actual conversation. We're braving the 5 on the day before Thanksgiving, so I imagine we'll have plenty of time to kill.
Das Roomie went home herself, last Friday, and it was a quiet weekend as a result. Cold, too. I had my afghan and pajamas and a thermostat I dared leave at 70, but the chill still crept in.
My room's always very cold in the winter. It makes mornings all the more painful.
I've been sleeping in and oversleeping a lot more recently. My alarm's either broken or on the fritz or I've just exceeded my level of caring. I'm not sure. I just want to sleep. Breakfast, showering, getting to work on time -- these things are beginning to seem more trivial than they should.
On Friday, I fell asleep around midnight, and woke up at three. Couldn't get back to sleep, so instead I lay in bed and watched TiVoed West Wing and listened to the wind blow until I fell back asleep around dawn.
It was a magnificent wind, rustling through the trees, setting off car alarms, setting off change. Hale and hearty, stirring up cyclones of leaves and candy wrappers and dust and dreams. It was a centuries-old wind, rustic, the kind of wind that moves ships forward, through the fog towards land.
Some days, these days, I do feel adrift. Lost on the ocean. Letting the waves rush over me.
So, four days later, everyone's spreading the news about Mr. Brandis. It's been kinda cool, to see a story explode over the past few days -- my hits tripled over the weekend due to passers-by, the internet exploding with articles and new revelations. Most gratifying -- part of the story has been the lack of story. Thank you, mass media, for noticing the oddity of it all.
I wrote the previous entry in a bit of a daze, shell-shocked by the news. Hence the melodramatic nature of it. Since then, two things have been proven to me, more than well:
People do care about the Brandis
To paraphrase West Wing, you do NOT mess with the fangirls. Especially the twenty-two-year-old fangirls. Because we will own you.
So now, I'm moving onto other things. But his memory lives on. Especially the next time I get to the DVD store.
Because I really have been meaning to watch Ride With the Devil.
So, rushing through the chaos of the internet today is the news that Jonathan Brandis is dead. What's odd about the story is that it's gotten no news coverage -- the best wrap-up I could find was by this blogger here, where the girl actually called the morgue to make sure there was a dead guy in it.
Jonathan Brandis. My first celebrity crush, who made me want to be smart and funny because his character on Seaquest seemed to like that in a girl, his character who made being a geek awesome, who made me want to be more.
I didn't see his later work. Maybe I should have. Maybe this is a sign to finally sit down and watch Ride With the Devil. As well as Sidekicks.
Jonathan Brandis is dead, and no one cares. Something is wrong with the world.
The one where sleepiness makes Liz a little conceited
So last night, there was no concert -- turns out, it's next Tuesday. Which meant that after coming home from the gym, I was able to sit on my bed and watch a West Wing rerun while eating salty pasta and applying body lotion. And then I blow-dried my hair. My new haircut? Still fabulous. Usually, these things do not last, but the addition of layers plus the maintaining of some length looks pretty damn good.
Tonight's going to be busy -- there's the mundane life stuff, like straightening up my closet and assaulting the crisper drawer (which, sadly, I didn't get done last time). Then there's the writing to be done, including my Bookslut column and review, not to mention a treatment I owe a friend and oh, yeah, my own screenplay. And then there's the fact that I rented The Muppet Movie last week, and it's due back tomorrow. Man, that'll be a trial to deal with. *g*
On top of all this, though, is a new jones for redesigning the website. I don't quite remember when I put together the current look -- sometime this summer? All I know is that it's fall, it's cold, and the holidays approacheth. I may be ready for a new look.
Are you? Feel free to lemme know, especially if you've got complaints with the current design. I am not without flaws, despite all evidence to the contrary.
These days, I don't get my hopes up about issues like gay marriage -- I can barely dare to dream of a Democrat in the White House. But as August points out, this country's pretty gay-friendly already, even if it doesn't know it yet.
So, what better celebration of the Commonwealth's decision than a new episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy tonight? Really, I can't think of any.
Slowly but surely, Das Roomie and I are creating the Ultimate QEFTSG Drinking Game, which accounts for the use of words like "jegue" and occasions of "One or more viewers contemplates a blissful existance as Kyan's beard." We've been on hiatus for quite some time, I fear, but that shall come to an end soon.
In other news, life is short and I've got a fair amount of padding to cushion the needle. Why NOT get tattooed?
Well, the usual reasons. But I'm considering it more seriously than I was yesterday. Which is a step forward, at least.
The TV Roundup:
Watching West Wing 5.0 die a slow death has been distracting me from one interesting fact -- the misogyny has been absent and not-so-much-missed. Which is almost enough to make me not miss the Sorkin. Almost.
Angel keeps making my head hurt, what with the alternate realities that don't compute and the bad filming and editing and the stories that JUST DON'T MATTER, BECAUSE EVERYTHING'S THE SAME EVERY WEEK. But Wesley got to be a bad-ass last week. And that was pretty swell.
Okay, Ed, I'm willing to go to New York with you. But I have no idea what you're gonna do when you get there. And what's the big surprise of the season, anyways? C'mon, one hint?
I don't know if I'm allowed to watch Joan of Arcadia anymore. Last week hurt too damn much.
My boyfriend Michael J. Anderson described Carnivale as "Twin Peaks with logic." Which makes sense, because apparently Daniel Knauf's got a plan all worked out, and I can't wait to see where it goes next. Remember when it looked like Nick Stahl was gonna hook up with Clea Duvall? And instead he hooked up with Adrianne Barbeau? I mean, come on -- what's more awesome than that?
Well, yes, okay. Not counting Jon Stewart. Even if he doesn't like The Matrix
In comic book news, Stuck Rubber Baby dragged on a bit, but the ending was almost transcendent. If you're looking for a depressing graphic novel about growing up gay and white in 1960s Dixie, it's the story for you.
A busy night tonight, and mostly away from the computer -- first to the gym, then home to shower, then to see a friend sing at Molly Malone's. Grocery shopping on the way home from that, followed by some Bookslut work. Not much of a break for my wrist, which is starting to feel the burn today, but some, nonetheless.
It's not like I have to get it on my forehead -- somewhere discreet will be fine
In all documentation, I'll be officially referred to as a "word"
I could stop feeling guilty for a few months about not donating blood
If I die before Shelley Jackson does, she'll come to my funeral -- and I worry about attendance volume at times.
Doing her connect-the-dots puzzle not only entertained me mightily one lazy summer afternoon, but continues to delight, amaze, and disturb visitors to my room from its vantage point on my bulletin board.
It means that I would become a part of a work of art, which would go a long way towards staving off that nihilistic crisis of mine
Okay. Let's say that ten years from now, I'm fulfilling my destiny as a boozehound layabout with loose morals. As I drag yet another one-night-stand back from the seedy bar to my seedier apartment, however, I'm forced to brace myself for the inevitable question: "Hey, why do you have AND tattooed on your ass?"
Because without a doubt, I will end up with the word AND. Or IS. Or THE.
Actually, wait. That's almost kinda cool.
But they'd have to use NEEDLES?!?
In the end, it all comes down to first impressions. And I thought this idea was just too awesome for words (gah, puns) when I first heard about it, but figured that she'd be overloaded with participants and there was no point in trying. So I didn't think about it.
Now? Now, I'm actually thinking about it. Because it really is kinda awesome.
Really, the only way to read a comic book is on your belly, on your bed -- sunlight pouring in through the window, the sound of kids playing outside, maybe some conversation coming in from another room. A bag of chips or a bottle of water or some airpopped popcorn at your side, and nowhere to be for hours yet. Just you and the pictures and the words in sequence.
There's a painting by Ian Dale, a friend of mine, of a little girl lost in a gallery of art. Cowed by the brilliance before her. And disconnected from it, because of the images exploiting women, not created by them.
It's a story told in panels, but it's nonsequential. That's why I thought of it.
I had an awesome day yesterday -- haircut and writing screenplay in a coffee shop and buying comic books and eating Chinese food and crashing early, crashing hard, while watching the very silly The Quick and the Dead (notable for: Sam Raimi directing, Russell Crowe below the title, and Leonardo DiCaprio looking very, very boyish). Today, it's the gym and a reading group meeting and later, meeting some folks for drinks at the Blue Room. Who needs to worry about work, after all? Huh?
I'm running out of bookcase space, which means I need more bookcases. I'm operating on limited room space, however, and I like things the way they are. I just happen to like my books even more. Every problem got a solution, I'm sure. Just can't figure this one out yet.
I love turning people onto the LJ of Lady Sisyphus, which deserves to be read on the level of Tom Tomorrow and such -- my dear Dillweed offers fascinating perspectives on issues concerning religion, homosexuality, and politics. Oftentimes, what with the twice-daily NPR dosing and the blog-reading, I don't feel the need to discuss a lot of the things happening right now. Especially because Dillweed does it just fine for me.
But from her blog, I nabbed this article, and while I knew about the Pentagon no longer reporting the number of wounded, this... This is just inhuman. People are dying, and we don't honor the dead. Soldiers are dying, and their commander-in-chief doesn't attend their funerals. Men and women are dying, and we're... What? Not supposed to think about it?
I'm generally driving to work when NPR does the headlines for the day, and at the top of the hour, there's usually an annoucement of the latest casualties. And every time I hear it, despite how predictable it's become, I think about a soldier with a family, with a past, with no future. I think about the costs of war.
By the time I arrive at work, the anger fades. But the impression remains.
Forgot to plug the new Bookslut earlier, wherein you can find tworeviews and a column -- all by me!
Today, I'm going to the library, the gym, Jiffy Lube, and Irvine, and at least two of those things will be fun. I just spent a delightful hour catching up on most of my email, but still on my list are Caz and Not-Jason-Shiga. I'm listening to the Black-Eyed Peas on repeat. The two comforters on my bed make it very warm indeed. Thanks to Amanda, I can now recommend that last Fiona Apple album as awesome. And I got almost eight hours of sleep last night.
So I've been out of sorts, of late, regarding Movies Today. Call it oversaturation, call it a heavy-duty come-down after a very exciting summer, whatever. I wasn't going to the movies as much; when I did go, I wasn't impressed.
But slowly but surely, the air is getting colder, the days are getting shorter, and I do think that the movies? Getting better.
Matrix: Revolutions Okay, here's the thing. If you loved the second one, you'll probably love this one just as much, if not more. If you hated the second one, you'll enjoy this one more. If you liked the second one but had some problems with it, you'll be BLOWN AWAY.
Taken on its own, it's a better movie than the second one on so many levels -- intensity, characterization, dialogue, action... It's just plain awesome. Taken with Reloaded, I'm not sure. I can't wait to sit down and watch them together. DVD comes out when?
Anyways. Yes. Give it a chance. Screw the reviewers. Only pay attention to me. Read about philosophy. Reread the Bible.
And be prepared for some pain.
Love Actually Saw a preview of this a week or two ago, and while a few lines of dialogue were predictable, a few Big Important Scenes could have been executed better, and overall the reach is a little far -- it's a damn cute movie. Just -- ridiculously cute. Sticky sweet, but not to the point of illness. Adorable, really. British and undignified and did I mention cute?
Yeah. It may well be the Ultimate Romantic Comedy they're billing it as. And it's really goddamn cute. So if you like cute...
In an interview at Slashdot (thanks Dad!) Neil Gaiman was asked about the current status of any and all Sandman film adaptations. His thoughts?
In a perfect world, a director who has the same kind of passion for the material that Peter Jackson had for LOTR, or Sam Raimi had for Spider-Man will come along and sweep everyone up in his wake.
I suspect that Joss Whedon's probably got his plate filled with his own projects.
And... Yeah. Yeah. I can totally see that, because Joss is the KFC of dream sequences -- he does 'em right. At least, he used to. He used to be quite good at that sort of thing.
This is the first happy thought I've had about Whedon things in quite some time, what with the Angel pissiness and general ennui. But soon there will be Firefly DVDs and perhaps less-sucky Angel, and maybe, with luck, something fresh and new and still utterly Joss.
Books from libraries (two, at last count). Books new from bookstores. Books used from bookstores. Books on loan from family and friends. Books books books. Only three of them currently sport bookmarks. Those are the three I'm not actively reading right now.
I went to a used bookstore in NoHo today, and the place was like CRACK. Their $2 table was near-suicide, really. I have horror stories, rock criticism (edited by Nick Hornby!), The Professor and the Madman, and just for fun, the best erotica stories of 1993. I plan on reading those under a blanket and giggling a lot. Hee.
Bookcases up to the ceiling. The smell of dusty paper. Twelve copies of The Haunting of Hill House. 1 too-expensive hardback of Eggers. Shelves of Mark Twain. Bad celebrity bios. Hershey Kisses by the front counter. Seven books for fifteen dollars.
My name is Liz. And I am a bookslut, indeed. And I shall celebrate this fact with an afghan and candles and tea and my cozy armchair. I shall ward away the winter chill with the words of others and my own. I shall create a fort of thought, totems of sentences and chapters and writers.
And just as soon as my nightstand deflates, just a little more, I'll be back to the bookstore again.
I'm kinda sad that I missed so much of the day. I was looking forward to starting NaNoWriMo in bed (I'm just trying it, okay? One day at a time, see what happens). Now I'll have to start it tonight, after dinner with the brother.