So, the thing where a harried high school teacher in charge of a large brood during a field trip tries to herd you along with a bunch of kids well over six years your junior and gives you doubtful looks when you insist you’re not with their school or any affiliated schools? Got old about three years ago. Just sayin’.
This past weekend. Shopping in the dealer’s room at the con for slash zines for my sociology professor. “Hello, ma’am… I’m looking for an early edition Kirk/Spock. Something with illustrations, please. On a desert island.” *confers for a bit* “Or a cave. Wounded in a cave is okay, too.”
If I have to read one more essay on 17th century metaphysical poetry, I will hurl myself off a roof. I mean it. Sure, the flying monkeys always manage to catch me, but that doesn’t lessen the intent any. Yeeearrrrgh. Mumpfh.
Maybe it’s just that I’ve been up since 3AM, but Elizabethan fanmail, complete with meter and rhyme, just seems to be the funniest thing in the world right now. I want to start a petition that it come back in vogue. *I’d* do it. You should, too. It would make life ever so much happier.
Two little excerpts from my Comp Lit/Sociology class, which I’m really going to just start calling Slash 101. Because it is. And my professor seems fully intent on converting each and every last student by the end of the quarter. Hee. Second week: “So if you ever go to Star Trek conventions, you should keep an eye out for this one particular group of women… They usually wear these themed t-shirts with actors kissing and they’re from all sorts of backgrounds, but they basically got together because they like the idea of certain characters together in more than friendly ways. …
Does anybody else, when in the middle of writing something, feel the need to obsessively click on word count every other sentence, in hope that the number will have multiplied by some magical means during those last few minutes? And then get all disappointed when it only shows seven more words? Okay, this is probably why I never touched word count or any of those other features all these years, even when writing essays for classes. Now I have to wean myself off it again, after having fiddled with it too much for the last few projects. Bah.
I’m listening to the BSB Millennium album right now. It’s been on random for the last three hours, I believe, and I can’t bring myself to take it out. It really is horribly catchy. This was the happy fluffy soundtrack to our apartment for a year. Back when we had the Structure boy name-matching poster wallpapering our living room, took random road trips to see albino colonies, got excited over finding change in the couch for McDonalds vanilla cones, and lit candles to sway to whilst watching Madison Square Gardens for the first time on TV. Gads, I miss my …