Meme responses to questions asked by belantana!
01. A fight to the death: giraffes or llamas?
I think llamas would win by default. Those are some frisky buggers, whereas giraffes are sort of...serene. The llamas would just go for their knees. I suspect, like myself, giraffes would just try to run away. Like, dude, what are you-- gerroff! GERROFF MEEEEE! And then it's running with a llama impaled on its leg. That is pretty much how I see that going.
Llamas are motherfuckers.
02. One Spooks character you'd've liked to see in the finale? (You can resurrect someone if necessary.)
INTERESTING QUESTION. ( spoilers for S10 )
03. If you could travel anywhere in the world tomorrow?
I am assuming the rest of this question is would you, and where would it be? I would! And it would probably be Melbourne (because I already have plans to do NYC in 2012 \o/). There places there I have a yen to see, and people I want to see. So. Melbourne.
04. Funniest LJ-related memory?
Actually, no, okay, this doesn't really count, but back when we both had far too much time on our hands and were on livejournal more often, wliberation and I would just...spiral off into lunacy fuelled by sleeplessness. There are posts somewhere in the archive where there's, like, 100-200 comments of us just going off on one. Good times!
05. I think you post your poem-recs elsewhere to LJ now, so, rec me the latest recworthy poem you've read? If there's a tie - a poem for a rainy Sunday morning.
I have fallen out of the habit of posting here because, yes, I do post daily on tumblr. But, this one is worth posting here today. I queued this one for Thursday (which was Gujarati New Year, hurrah!) because I love Imtiaz Dharker and the mood of her poems so often fits family events. (I'm sure I've posted This Room before, which I think is the bane of GCSE students across the country, but which I adore.)
by Imtiaz Dharker
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.
Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.
Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation : every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminium,
and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfection,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.
Oh god, I was supposed to do this pre-Scotland, I think? Jesus, I always forget my own plans. Anyway, powerof3 asked me: my five favourite things about London; my five favourite recipes; five poems I'd use to introduce someone to poetry; my five favourite icons; and five favourites from things I've written, oh god.
Okay, that was actually exhausting. Only a couple more of these left to do.
belantana asked me about my 5 favourite things about fandom; my 5 favourite items of clothing/jewellery; 5 things that begin with 'M'; and 5 completely materialistic things I would change if I were Supereme Ruler of the Universe for a day. Needless to say, these took me a while, not least of all because two of the things I wanted to take pictures of only just came out the wash.
No. No, no, no, no, no. You do not type a letter. You type letters to your bank or your solicitor or to your local government authority about the crazy woman down the street with the giant society-menacing dogs You do not type a letter to real people. To real people you get a pen and put your fuck-awful scrawl on paper. You make that effort. You give something away. You give it away by hand. From my hand to your hand; from my mouth to your ears. You smudge the ink on the line above as you move down to the next one. You make spelling errors; you join two words together out of habit. Your lines are not parallel, they are on a jaunt to the furthermost corner of the page. Your paper is cheap-and-or-ugly; it's torn from a spiralbound notebook; it's the inside of the envelope because you have one last thing to say and there's no more space on the paper, or it's the back of old wrapping paper because, fuck, yes, again you forgot to buy more letter sheets, even as you write your shopping lists on the backs of old receipts. You run out of paper; you run out of ink; the blue biro junks and leaves clots and then the only thing you'e got is something in black, gel pen probably, because god knows, if you're going to change it up now you'd best go all the way. You have no envelopes. You have no stamps. You don't know the postcode; you forget to post it for a week and then you think, is it still worth sending? and a month later you're writing another letter, all, "so, I scrapped my last letter because," you know, that's how it is, and this time, yes! you have stamps, yes! you have envelopes, yes! you have the address in full and you're going past a pillar box on the way to the store to pick up wrapping paper for someone's birthday and also cake and also, yes, okay, so I'll take two bottles of the red, no, thank you, I have my own bag. You push it into the postbox; it wavers; you have to push it further. And then it's gone, my hand to your your hand. My mouth to your ear.
You write a letter. You don't type it. You give something away.
The below poll is for someone else but I don't think it'd hurt too much if you want to reply. Numbers are numbers.
It's time for fic amnesty again because in time-honoured tradition I can get on a horse but I can't ride it to the finish. This analogy is bollocks, natch: I can't actually ride horses.
Anyway, will be cleaning up and off-loading what I've got. A couple for Spooks, one for Being Human, probably one for NCIS, one for Merlin, maybe, and drabbles for Fringe and Bones. I fail at actual productivity, and I have femgenficathon to write, too. (Whhhhhhhhy?! etc.)
Still haven't seen Robin Hood; pushing that to Friday.
Final call for postcards. Hit up the tag for the actual post and then drop me an address if you're in. For those of you that haven't played before: I send you a postcard! You send me a postcard! I gush over your handwriting! It's win-win.
OH MY GOD!
hestia8, I was looking at Archie Panjabi's wiki page (because, because, not important) and I discovered this AMAZING tidbit:
In 2009 she had an important role as a MI5 agent in the acclaimed French movie Espion(s), supporting Guillaume Canet.
SHE WOULD BE SO PERFECT OH GOSH. The only saving grace is that she's off doing AMAZING roles and would be ruined by Spooks. But still. Must see/crossover, OBVIOUSLY.
I need an Archie Panjabi icon, obvs.
I am currently listening to this year's Proms performance of Beethoven's 9th Symphony which is a piece of music that I absolutely adore. It's a great Proms tradition to perform it every year and I am a little bit obsessed with it. But my gosh: amazing.
Sometimes I am like this. And sometimes I'm obsessed with Lady GaGa. So, you know.
That's really all I had to say.
I'm about to go to sleep so naturally this is the best time to post. Here: have a meme. This is my current desktop; what's yours?
Currently I am listening to Brandi Carlile's My Song and am contemplating what to do tomorrow that will keep me out of everyone's way. I am also fuck behind on sending out the cards for the exchange and this makes me feel crappy. Trying to be better, guys.
Frank O'Hara is something else entirely. The end.
Phantom posting did not happen; rejoice, rejoice!
Happy birthday, fizzawrites! I wish you many things of glory, luck with your endeavours and most of all, a sense of well-being and happiness. Have a great day!
Annnnd I have to go get ready now.
Okay, so, I've been trying to do that 'all about me' post for new flisters for AGES now and I basically fail like a squirrel lost at sea (zeitheist, I envy your ability to be concise and interesting; I have flunked at both). So I figured instead I could do that meme where y'all just ask me shit about myself that you're curious about. That way if no-one gives a shit, I don't waste time, and if there's something you actually want to know, you don't have to plough through a metric tonne of nonsense to get to your answer. That's no guarantee that my answers won't be summarily verbose, but hotdamn, women, I'm ~trying~.
Um. So. Yes. Ask me, you know, whatever. No topics barred! I will be truthful! Or something. Idfk.
Did I mention the part where the acronyms for "I don't (even) (fucking) know" in their various permutations make me REALLY HAPPY? Because I say, "honey, I don't even" in RL and it's used to be difficult to accurately convey that tone online. AND NOW THE ACRONYMS. As someone who can't read emoticons and hates most online abbreviations (lols, btw, idk, wtf, ilu are exceptions because... because I am contrary and also because they're so everyday and I never had to ask to work out what they meant; I cannot fucking stand im(h)o &/or fwiw, although ymmv makes me laugh like a drunk dog). So. There's that.
Am about to head out but I just wanted to make a quick post before I head off.
Happy birthday inoue130! I hope that you have a wonderful day, and a year to match it. Much love, and hopefully a balloon! x
Sekrit message to daygloparker and fizzawrites: hit a temporary roadblock (in that the whole thing crashed last night) but will set it up whilst I'm out so there should be more there. Hopefully. /cryptic
So, at closing, more than half of y'all don't even know the song I was talking about in the poll, and the rest of you - save one - hit up the first lyric. Plus, twincy helpfully found me this marvellous Wikipedia entry.
The Burl Ives/Disney version uses the first lyric (but also talks about grandmothers and grandfathers, so I don't know what that is); Baby Cousin's sing-along book uses the version tigertrapped left in the comments (and the one that Wikipedia 'endorses').
Guys. GUYS. I have always - always - used the second lyric. FOREVER. AND EVER. Lavender's blue, rosemary's green. (Wikipedia says that those were probably the earliest lyrics?) I thought that maybe it was a regional thing, but then wishes_of_stone voted different. So. Maybe my nursery teacher was just a traditionalist?
It is SO DEPRESSING to row against consensus!
The melody gets into your head and never goes away. Witness!
Being home has its advantages: sleep patterns. Get to be early, wake up at reasonable time. Am well-rested if nothing else. Well enough that I'm actually remembering dreams quite vividly. Yesterday it was a SGA/Buzzcocks fest (with DANCING) and last night it was a Mad Men dream. Peggy got ratty at everyone, tried to prove Joan's worth to her, and then got fired (even though Don didn't want that; idk). It was weird. I woke up unsure whether or not it was a real episode (obvs. not because the whole thing took place in a super-super-long conference room, wtf). So, that's that.
I also had that fucking Forlani/Harmon/JDM dream again. OH BRAIN, WHY SO FUCKED UP?
Am waiting for things to turn up: shows, books, etc. Think I'm going to sit back and read until things are ready, which is a Good Plan. Was thinking about watching Standoff at lunch time but in order to fit the run into the 2-week slot, Sky3 isn't showing the best episodes. So it's a good thing I caught One Shot Stop otherwise there'd have been no point. (I mean, come on - why wouldn't you show Lie to Me?)
Goshdarn, I thought Spooks would be out by now, but it looks like they won't be airing until the last week of October, wtf.