So today is my birthday. Last year was a good year. I got a scooter, got my license. Went to Malaysia, signed up for karate classes. Did six months of uni.

I have no idea what this year will be like. I tend to take the month of January as all mine, to do with as I please. I'm very peremptory, very self-indulgent. It's a good month, a slow month, where Christmas turns into New Year which changes to my brother's birthday which merges into mine. There are the birthdays of two other good friends this month, and my cousin as well. This month I'm hosting a barbecue, having siblings stay over, putting up a friend from intercity and welcoming my cousin home. Last week my mother, stepfather and brother visited for an early birthday celebration, which helps with that perception of week after week sliding into each other as one big holiday. Because January, for me, is always that kind of month. And I like it.

Of course, I have a number of things to worry about this January as well. I've been moving house. I have a week until I find out if I'll get to continue uni and start my degree next year. It's an interesting month to be sure.

But today, on my birthday, it was nothing but relaxing fun. Sleeping in, watching some of my hristmas DVDs, fielding phone calls and text messages, riding into town, meeting up with friends, having a beer with the fraternal parent and rounding it off with banana daiquiris with the family. (And dinner. Dinner was also awesome, because, amarillo chips, awesome y/y?)

I've finished up at my dad's place and now I'm rocking on home, where I have not doubt I'll end the night watching NCIS and basking in the warm, content feeling of a day spent calmly doing the things I love to do, with the people I love to spend time with.

January is a good month, and it is mine. Wherever you are, toast yourselves, and have a good year.

So. A fun year so far. On Saturday I finally got my licence, complete with little picture of me looking like I'm stoned off my face and/or suffering severe bloodloss. It was meant to happen on Friday, when I have no doubt it would have appeared that I had some kind of rare Amazonian disease that had made my face break out in vivid rashes, but the RTA's computers were down. So vampire victim it is.

It meant that I've had the whole weekend to be puttering around and getting to know the streets. Trying out my first roundabout. Trying (and failing) to park in carparks. Twice.

It's been good.

Today, however, I get to try to ride home for the first time in weekday traffic, and to be honest I'm not entirely happy about the idea. I'm not yet good at riding at consistent speeds. And I sometimes turn too wide. This is all fine. When there's no other cars on the road. So. It could be interesting.

I finally managed to watch End of Time last night. Lets talk about that. ... Ok, lets not. I will write up a reaction to this, because, card-carrying geek, hello? But right now I need to go and see if I can get my scooter home without crashing and killing someone, or worse, myself. So I'll just say ... it was better than I expected. And there is a lot of meat for discussion. A. Lot.

TO THE BIKEMOBILE, RASSILON!


I always liked Omega better anyway.

Merry Christmas internet. You done good this year. Much entertainment and boggling was provided. We appreciated almost it all.

- Posted from my brand-fucking-new netbook, Tyrell. Tyrell, internet. Internet, Tyrell. Try to play nice.

What the hell, Loups-Garoux??? What the hell?

I have been listening to the Big Finish audios, and I must say so far they are deeply delightful. I've caught the first four Eighth Doctor audios - Storm Warning, Sword of Orion, The Stones of Venice, and Minuet in Hell. Paul McGann is fantastic, and Charley is good character to have accompianing him. Storm Warning is an excellent start to his run, a satisfying stand alone story as well as setting up some long-term conflicts which I'm looking forward to seeing play out. Minuet in Hell, whilst it started a little oddly (over-acting much, Mr. McGann? 'IIIII'MMM INNNN MY OOOOWWWWNNN PEEEEERSONALLLL HEeEeEeEeELLL!!!' *wavering voice wavering voice*) and occaisionally dropped into diatribe, is good fun. And Brigadier Brigadier Brigadier-dier-dier! *dances* I think I can see the beginning of a pattern with memoryloss!Eight, though. Frankly I can take or leave Sword of Orion. It's nice to hear the Cybermen again, and it was a fairly solid story, but ... that was it. It was a fairly solid, standard story. The voice acting was decent, the characters well-built enough but there was no challenge to it. It didn't even have to pay attention to the whole thing to see the ending coming. The Stones of Venice is fantastic, cracky fun. I love how wonderfully genre-savvy the Doctor is, the music is delightful and the whole thing is saturated with drama and pomp. Also, the Doctor is thinking of the Master in the last two minutes, y/y?

The only other audio-play I've heard all the way through is The Sirens of Time, and I highly recommend it to anyone with any interest in Doctor Who ever. It reminded me how much I love multi-Doctor arcs, and how sad I am that they're not doing any more. (No, Time Crash doesn't count. It's not proper, it's not whole.) You can tell that Five in particular has gotten older, but he still gives a good performance. The love I have for Six and Seven, though, is whole and unreserved. Oh Six. You ride that practicality. You ride it straight to hell.

Anyway, right now I'm listening to Phantasmagoria (rather than listening to the Doctor's in order, I'm listening to them in the order Big Finish released them, so this story is Five, then Six, then Five again then Seven and so on and so on. Eight's a little different, because for me he doesn't have a continuity but for the Big Finish Audios, and I like the thread they have continuing through his arcs.) *coughs* Digress, much? So, so far it's good. I'm liking Turlough more than in the TV series, and actually I'm liking Five a bit more too. I love this setting, 1702 is just squeezing into the end of my area of English History, so I'm still a little uncertain where we're heading, but I know all about the historical forces that have shaped society to this point. Bitching out James II makes me lol.

One thing that's throwing me, though? David Walliams voice acting. He's doing it posh, and every time he says anything I just keep hearing "But I'm a lady."

So I made icons. Not great icons. Not even good icons. OK, actually, I quite like the meerkat ones. Because it's so very, very true. And I want to add 'what?' to my icons, but I love all the icons I already have, so I might just wait until I need it and see how I act under pressure.

OK, so. I really should have posted this last night, but I was tired and thought I could better spend my time reading doctorwhy (the worst of the Time Lords.)

Previous episodes back thatta way.


( The Tomb Of The Cybermen, Episodes 3&4 )

Am almost completely not!sick again, which is nice. Still plagued somewhat with headaches and churning-gut, but am choosing to believe that that is purely psychosomatic. My internet degree, let me show you it.

Anyway, in an attempt to distract myself I've been dredging through my old files, and on opening this (actually relatively recent one) I realised I'd never posted it, despite my not-so-good intentions. Before I go any further I would like to say that this is not entirely my fault. Anyone who knows me knows I am ridiculously herdish in my behaviour, and whenever I see anything new or interesting I at least want to give it a go.* Normally I get distracted, or it involves equipment out of my price range/local area, or someone has the good sense to stop me.

Not so this time.

This time, when I was inspired by shaxophile's awesome liveblogs, I happened to have a brandnewshinyandridiculouslycheap** copy of The Tomb Of The Cybermen on hand. And I had J, who hasn't seen a lot of Old Who, but who is amenable to the idea. And who also has a netbook and a reasonably comfortable couch. I knew I liked Two, I knew I liked this arc, and I knew I had some spare time.

And thus this terrible mess was born.

It is very very clear, on rereading this, that it took me a while to get into my stride. I've also done some for The War Games (yes, I WILL be posting it. My LJ to abuse) and I think they were ... clearer. This liveblog was mostly made up of oohs and ahhhs and hees. And hearting over tiny little things like how often Two and Jamie cling to each other, and how much I love Two's facial expressions. There's lots of unconnected sentences, not so much of the incisive commentary.

But, you know, I really enjoy The Tomb Of The Cybermen. It works as a coherent story in and of itself, and also makes a good introductory episode for a new companion. Jamie and the Doctor are consistently characterised without GIANTFUCKINGENDLESSWHATISWRONGWITHYOUTEN?? unnecessary exposition, which is a good balance for both those who have seen previous arcs, and those who haven't. The story makes it clear why the Cybermen are by fuckery able to match the Daleks in the scary stakes*** and while it is silly and fun and twee and a lot of (the Doctor's. Really, just the Doctor's.) the actions people take don't necessarily make sense, there are also a lot of varied and believable characters. These are professional actors doing a dedicated job. And like much of Two's era, it's a mixture between funny and fearsome, with a dash of sweetness thrown in.

And you know what, no matter how terrible the outcome, liveblogging is a hell of a lot of fun. Try it with your favourite TV show today!



( The Tomb Of The Cybermen, Episodes 1&2 )







* This is how nano happened. The first four times.

** Unless one argues, as I normally do, that the standard Classic Who DVD prices are hugely exorbitant.

*** God those mouths.

I am still catching up on news from around the internet. So I've only just gotten around to reading this article regarding Egmont's decision to publish children's books on the DS. (For your elucidation, they own the rights to Winnie the Pooh, Rupert Bear, and various other non-bear related children's classics.)

I don't necessarily think that this is a bad idea. But then, my attitude to the whole 'Oh Noes The Publishing Sky Is Faaaaaaaaalling!!!' is a sort of 'oh.' I'm very inclined, much as I am with Stephen Moffat and Matt Smith, to wait and see. However, if you ARE one of those people who are part of the handwringing masses and the best way you can currently think of to reassure yourselves is a vague 'there will always be a market for traditional books and magazines', do not, for the love of man, then explain that you are marketing your e-books to children because you want to 'encourage them to read'. Or to ensure you remain in touch with them. Because when you start doing that, you have already lost. (Or won. I'm not going to slam e-books wholesale, I'm mainly talking from the point of view of the e-book naysayers here.)

Because while it is true that I will always want a nice paperback in my hands, I grew up on them. If I'd grown up experiencing my literary conquests on a screen, I wouldn't give a toss about paper editions or the money you were making/losing on them.

In other words? You are erasing your own customer base. Think about that.

Or alternatively just watch this video.

So. I have actually consumed food. This was not part of the initial plan, due to illness and nausea and a general incapability to do any more than keep ones fluids up and plot.

karenhealey (who I obsessively stalk and think is the bestest person in all of Australia* and aspire to one day assume the identity of) wrote an interesting post that touched on racism and some of the historical wrongs against the first inhabitants of both New Zealand and Australia and. It was interesting, and as always, very, very awkward.

Whilst in Malaysia we had a number of discussions with the (Chinese) owners of the guesthouse we were staying at. They would range from the state of the world to the genetic makeup of the Baba Nyonyas, and we would often find ourselves suddenly faced with statements like 'Of course, the Chinese women (when in historical relationships with Malay men) were of course dominant, coming from the superior civilisation.' In this particualar case it was quickly corrected to 'more advanced' civilisation, as if that didn't have it's own ship of connotations, but that's really not the point. We were talking to intelligent, educated, intellectual, self-aware people, who were willing to probe the issues at hand and evaluate their own situation and prejudices. The cultural makeup of Malaysia is complicated as well, with a number of divisive laws that add fuel to the already-burning fire that always seems to spring up when different races try to share the same space.

It's not always easy or comfortable to try to analyse your own history, especially when it is still very much alive around you. We once had a class discussion** in which many people were getting indignant about the plight of the Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders. To which the point was raised that of course, it's very easy to become impassioned about something that's already happened. There are not many people now who would argue the Stolen Generation is justifiable. Or that Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders shouldn't have the vote. But it's very hard to know what to do now, when you grow up in a priviliged white area in the south of the country***, even if you are aware enough to note that there isn't exactly a state of blissful equality being enacted. And that part of Australia's past is hugely shameful, and it does make me feel sick and let down whenever it's mentioned.

But it's still important to discuss it. To make sure we don't forget. And that we keep learning and acting, because as Pauline Hanson was so very considerate to show us, it's not dead yet. Even if all we can do is calmly explain to our friends that what they should have said was that they didn't walk through the park at night because they saw a group of teenagers, not aboriginal kids.**** Even if we do make mistakes and slips of tongue and refer to ourselves as the superior civilisation. Even if we only improve on that by changing it to 'advanced'. We need to own our history. And better it.

And yeah, sometimes it is just patting ourselves on the back for agreeing with what everybody already knows. But baby steps. So that we can keep doing it even when we don't have the comfort of the herd behind us.






*Yes, that includes you Justine Larbalestier. As much as I admire and adore you and have actually read your work, you spend half of the year in the USA with your lovely husband, so. I'm choosing to disqualify you.

** In Australia. Despite its flaws it was much more productive than the ones in England where I had to explain that, yes, Australia does have a class system and class conflict, and, yes, there is racism in my country, has nobody heard of the Stolen Generation? And then to explain what the Stolen Generation was. (Which would not have been so bad had the teacher in question not then gone on to explain that the Indians deserved to get syphillus because of their poor morals. O.o)

*** This is not in any way to say that there are no Aboriginals in the southern half of Australia, but I would argue that white Australians have more of a cultural awareness of their presence in the north.

**** And I would also totally not walk through a park at night if there were a group of teenagers around. It's only been a few years since I was a part of that esteemed age-group myself, and I have no qualms to tell you that teenagers are BAD PEOPLE. In fact, I would have told you that then as well.

Alright, so I spent most of my day reading fanfiction (as you do. Or I do. This is a thing that I do.) and I came upon this excellent remix fic. The Eighth Doctor and Delgado!Master and all sorts of goodies. The original is also excellent, but I am discussing the remix, because it brought up an idea that completely contradicts one that I have held in my personal canon since .... um, Utopia? Before then it was just in my 'I will write AUs about this*' box, but RTD did the one good thing in his reign and went and changed that for all us bleeding heart fangirls out there, so that's alright.

To recap: The Master was given a new set of regenerations by the Time Lords** because of his assistance in the Time War. Or rather, he was given his new regenerations so that he could assist with the Time War. On the side of the Time Lords. To defeat the Daleks. I think this should be made clear, because with the Master, you just never know.

In my personal fanon the Master definitely wants the extra lives, but he also understands the seriousness of potential outright genocide in all timestreams for his entire civilisation, and even worse the universe-wide domination of the Daleks. Because if they were in control everything would just be so boring. And the Master is made a special case of and given extra regenerations because he is a demon of a fighter, especially when trapped, and he has no qualms about killing things and he's actually been out and had experience with the universe (and the Daleks) in the past few centuries, and basically, it's probably a smart idea to keep him on your good side. But. I also quite like the idea that this war is such a disaster that every Time Lord in every time stream ever is called back to help with the efforts. (Or even not called back. The Daleks have time travel, they are going to hunt down and kill every Time Lord they can find, so as they're probably going to find themselves under attack anyway, it's probably better to run back to Gallifrey where there's at least backup of some kind.) So not just the Master but the Toymaker, the Meddling Monk, the Rani and so on will all be part of this effort. (Ok, ok, I also like the idea that some of these renegades that we've met manage to escape detection, but my fanon is twisty and not entirely rational.) All of this is also pleasing in that it reconfirms the power of the Time Lords as a species, when they actually pull their shit together. If/when necessary they can find and summon their little runaways, and that adds a nice little edge to the fact that, actually, they also could have at any point tracked down any of the renegades if they'd wanted to, and pretty much the reason all these Time Lords are running around is because the Council have let them. Which makes sense seeing as TARDISes all seem to run off the same energy source.

SO. This is just my personal fanon. But what aralias has rather brilliantly suggested in 500 Bottles of Beer is that the Master was brought back to life specifically so that he could be handed the resources of Gallifrey and devise the stunning strategy that would save them all.

Which, considering he used to be beaten by the Doctor every other week ... is maybe not so much of the best idea.

This is probably the best time to make a very important differential. I don't have to agree with an idea to think it's brilliant. But if it's one I've never thought of before? If it's completely revolutionary (to me)? Then I've got to admire it. And I really, really don't think that giving the Master the virtual keys to the city is in any way, shape or form a good idea. The Master's no Sulla, he's a Caesar, and I cannot see him giving up that kind of power once he has it. But the idea is intriguing.

Actually, in an odd kind of way it's almost a throwback to most of his Three-era plots, i.e. 'The Master allies himself with another species who's goals seem to align with his and proceeds to use their firepower/army to take over the planet/universe, betraying his so-called allies at the crucial moment whereby his victory is still assured but he is the one to take supreme power alone and without their interference.' Or as it actually played out: 'The Master allies himself with another species who's goals seem to align with his and proceeds to be beaten by the Doctor.' It sometimes gets to the betraying bit first.

And somehow, magically, the Master has managed to do that in this scenario, except that 1) he actually succeeds, and 2) he didn't have to go through all of that tedious work and plotting and so on and so forth first. In fact, if I were a particularly nefarious 6Ber*** I could even subscribe the whole TV Movie to some bizarre Xanatos Roulette on the Master's part, wherein he gave the Daleks just enough technology before/during his trial to set in motion their eventual threat to the stability of the universe should his initial attempt at a comeback not be a success. He was then able to either stop them early in the game should his initial revival attempt be a success (which, since he was up against the Doctor, clearly was not going to go that way so much) or he waits a hundred odd years until the Daleks have developed time travel to the point where they seriously threaten the Time Lords, and out of necessity he is brought back and given the keys to time!the city!****

Oh my god did he plan his entire capture so he could set this in motion???

... Seriously, there are easier ways to get the Doctor's attention. *eye roll*

OK, so, as you can see, it's a crazypants (though incredibly fun) theory, and that's why I love it. I can't really see the Time Lords ever, ever putting him in charge of anything though (ok, maybe a battalion or something, but seriously not anything they can't afford to lose. Messily.) because a) cannot be trusted and b) seriously. Can't even out think the Doctor. And there is no way they'd ever put the Doctor in charge of all their lives, so.... you see where I'm going with this?

It is a beautiful fic though.





* This is clearly a lie. I do not write AUs. I do not write. (Particularly ironic since this journal was originally started as a Nano blog.)

** And I really have to make another post explaining how this is the ultimate proof that the Doctor can't just 'keep regenerating' once his thirteen are used up. Or I could just say it there. Yes. There you go.

*** Here I mean one who likes to have every bit of continuity tied to every other bit no matter how many crazyknots are involved.

**** OK, yeah, my immediate reaction was there is no fucking way that he actually planned that, so definitely a Roulette. Nevertheless.

I blame the fact that I am awake at this ungodly hour completely on Sister Apocalypse.

01:05am

*phone rings*
ALEX: ...bwa...?
ALEX: It's one o'clock in the morning, what the hell?
SISTER APOCALYPSE: ......... do you ... do you want a poster?
ALEX: .... yes?
SISTER APOCALYPSE: I'm going to go now.
ALEX: Yeah.
SISTER APOCALYPSE: Yeah.
ALEX: ...Yeah.

I'm glad she's having fun in England, I really am. I do feel that as the one on the awake side of the equator the responsibility of looking up the time fell with her though.

Then being awake, and apparently having been sleeping on my book, it came to me that I should really get changed into more appropriate clothing for sleeping. Finding myself in jeans and a shirt was not, I'm ashamed to say, a surprise though. I have a history of unplanned unconsciousness.

Midnight, Approximately Three Years Ago

BABY ALEX: *springs to wakefulness*
BABY ALEX: It is dark. Everything is quiet. I am still in my school uniform, what?
BABY ALEX: ... Why didn't anyone wake me for dinner??

So. Unfortunately another theme seems to be the missing of important meals. (Or not-so-important, your doctor's mileage may vary.) I was actually very ok with this fact and once I had changed into my sleep-armour had planned to fall semi-gracefully back into a state of blissful unawareness. However my stomach decided that it could not survive on lunch alone, to which I pointed out that it wouldn't, we would be having breakfast relatively soon. It argued that it had been promised dinner, that I had even gone out and bought food especially to cook something nice. (As compared to, say, the usual baked beans or noodles.) I conceded this and offered to make toast. Apparently it was going to be satisfied with nothing less than One-Eyed Jack. Reluctantly I agreed to its demands and made a mental note to have words with it about its language later.

And having had my eggs and toast, I am going back to bed.

So, as mentioned, 30 Rock. Good times.

Yes, this would be a gratuitous posting made only to show off my new icon.

Fun times, Jacky Boy. Fun times.

It's really embarrassing and a little amusing when you find someone favouriting your really, really bad fanfiction from eight years ago. Like, 'guys? even I know that's bad shit. seriously. thank you. but - go outside. read a little. scrub this from your mind and never speak of it again.' And then I feel like I can't take it down in case it upsets them. *sighs*

Religion and teh gays have been squatting in my conversations recently. I read about an awesome protest sign 'Jesus had two dads, so why can't I?' and also heard about the ill-dubbed 'atheists in foxholes' concept. As it has been explained to me, the movement supports atheists who serve in wartime receiving higher accolades than the religious. The reasoning goes that the religious give up their home, loved ones, body and mind, and possibly their earthly lives for their country or cause. However the crucial difference is that the religious believe in life after death. They know that even should they die, it is not the end. Atheists have no such cold comfort. They know that when they are killed by that stray bullet, that is it. No choirs of angels, not even eternal damnation to look forward to. Unlike the religious, the atheists who go willingly into war knowingly give up everything for a future they will never experience.

That's pretty bloody brave.

Elsewise, life is beautiful. I've now been awake for approximately eight hours, and will shortly return to bed. Resetting ones body clock is so easy to do initially, and then so difficult to rectify. *le sigh*

In Pop Culture, 30 Rock grows increasingly charming the more you watch it, and Wings is a terrible, terrible, heinous book.

No, not yet. Hopefully not ever. Especially not the Heimleich maneuver. I've heard enough mixed info about whether or not it works, or works only when done a certain way, that I'm just not confident to go there. I used to have my First Aid Certificate - I really need to get that renewed. Just one more piece of paper asserting my competence.

You know what's a sad story? Seeing a cute girl on the train and going to start up a conversation with her, then seeing her pull a copy of Eclipse out of her bag.*















*Appropriate music is appropriate.

Hmmmn. I think that someone has used my email address to sign up to one of those match-making sites. This is just ... well, a little sad really. *shrugs* Oh well.

In other news, my fridge is better! I admit it, I have not mentioned the illness of my poor fridge here, but suffice it to say that with the slamming waves of heat we had a few weeks ago, the poor dear simply gave up. By which I mean I was able to use the freezer as a fridge, and the fridge as, well, nothing really. I suppose if I'd wanted I could have made it a cupboard.

But then a few days ago, to my utmost delight (tinged, I confess, with a slight edge of horror) I found that the left-over champignons I had left there for breakfast had frozen. So had my pasta. So had my milk. Did I mention that my boundless joy would have been replaced with a large chunk of irritation had I not been so overflowing with the joy that is boundless?

However, I have a freezer that freezes, a fridge that cools, and I have proved that once again sheer laziness positive thinking in not calling a tech will win the day! Why? Because it's maaaaaagic children. Maaaaaaaaaaaagic.



I have been watching more of my Granada Sherlock Holmes, and I really do believe we are getting up to the peak of the series. Edward Hardwicke's Watson plays perfectly off Brett's Holmes, and they both have that feel of actors with a common purpose who have grown comfortable with each other. ( The Six Napoleans. Foreign and emotional? How very OOC. )

( The Sign of Four. No really. We're not gay. )

( The Devil's Foot. Ok, you got us. We really really are. )


Three days til The All-American Rejects! And I should really write up what I thought about Wicked. And those book reviews. I have a hella backlog on those book reviews. (Oh, yes, I am still doing those. Delay of eight weeks you say? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.)

But now? I leave you with this. My absolute favourite song from Wicked. Well. Absolute favourite for now.

So, just to start this story off on the right note, I'm bi. In general it's completely irrelevant, except that it's touched upon in the next story. As I belong to a culture that is both heteronormative and polarising, and I am easily irritated by this fact, I normally don't clarify unless people have the perspicacity to ask. However in this case I think the only response to that attitude is: Hello? Internet! It's fairer not to play games.

Anyway, Work S gave me a lift home last night, which was lovely and kind of her, and we got to talking, and this came up: 'I've been in a relationship with a female by the way. I don't mention it in the workplace...'

I had to grin. 'Me too.'

Then it all came came tumbling out, very quickly. We're both bi, we've both experienced the same attitudes, and we both seem to have the same natural viewpoint on the topic.

'People don't ever think that it even exists, they assume you're one or the other...'

'Yeah! They want to know when you'll choose! Then they assume that it means you can't stay in a monogamous relationship...'

'...because obviously you're always wanting sex from both genders. And when women find out...'

'THEY ALWAYS ASSUME YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO THEM!!!'

That last bit was half-shouted by both of us.

And that was it really, what I loved. The topic is one I have fairly firm views on, and I've discussed it a number of times with various people. That wasn't what made my heart leap. What caused that was that sudden sense of having found someone you can get along with, and that you share so many experiences and opinions with straight off the bat. The experience of meeting someone who you just know that even when you differ you share enough of similarity that it'll not sink you. I'm not trying to say we're BFF, but ever since I've left school I've found that ease of making friends has gone. I have made friends since then, often good ones, but they have been more the 'awkward chatting, feeling each other out, then discovering mutual interests, forcing more conversation and eventually bonding' than this was.

And I should note, as a caveat, that I am not trying to push the idea that school was a paradise of friends and the people I met there immediately bonded and we have never parted since, oh my! However my own experience of school was that when large groups of people are forced to be around each other all day every day, you bond better and quicker than you do out in the 'real world' where encounters are a choice. I also belonged to one of those families who moved a great deal, and so every other school year I was forced to reach out and open up to complete strangers if I was to have any friends at all.

So yes. Today's letter is F. F - Friend. ^^




F is also for Fire, which is still a massive threat at the moment. (We've finally gotten rain here in Newcastle, which calmed one of my fears for a while, but ironically its now tipped over the opposite difficulty, and many of the surrounding areas (Port Stephens, Singleton, Muswellbrook, Upper Hunter) are flooding. Have I mentioned my country is making a concerted effort to kill us? I blame Western Australia. It hates us East Coasters. (Kidding BB! U no I love u!) Also I am going to try not to use the phrase 'East Coasters' in reference to Australian geography again.)

I digress. It's absolutely terrible what's going on down there. And I urge anyone and everyone who doesn't read this blog to donate to the Red Cross. (I reason that that is the entire earth's population bar me, and therefore should be quite useful if fulfilled. And I am already donating, so that's the one misfit dealt with. ^^)




In other news, and touching upon the first topic, I love musicals. And whilst listening to Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, I again pondered the myth that a gay man can't play a rockin' sexy straight man, god forbid a straight lead. Which is just silly. I'd do Neil Patrick Harris. Not that, of course, that's the important thing. *coughs* Anyway, I compared it to the inverse - that of course a straight man can play a gay (lead or otherwise), assuming he is willing to take the risk to his marketability. And now I'm wondering if it's because it's assumed that playing a gay man is just acting, where as to play a straight man you have to actually know what it feels like to lust for a woman! YOU MUST HAVE EXPERIENCED THE UNCONTROLLABLE BURNING IN YOUR LOINS!!!! (At which point I'd say, uh, see a doctor.)

If this is the case, though, it's terribly unfair, not just for the obvious but also because it cuts both ways, and in both cases it's the homosexuals at the sharp end of the knife. Firstly, it presupposes that gay love is so meaningless, so lacking authenticity, that anyone can parse it without having experienced it, because there's nothing really there to experience. It's all fake anyway, so anyone can fake it. (See the 'you can be cured of your homosexuality! Ask me how!' camp.)

This is based on and linked to the second edge of the nasty slicing knife, which is that gay men are unable to act. Because if you've never loved the fleshy thighs of a woman, you just don't know what love feels like. And obviously if you don't know what love feels like from experience, you certainly can't act it. That's why we don't have any movies set in space or in other worlds or before 1898 .... Oh, wait.

I don't agree with either of these viewpoints. I don't believe you need to have experienced love in any form to act it, and I don't believe being able to fake something makes that thing fake in and of itself. But who am I to say? I'm just pondering to the wind.




In final thoughts, I was listening to Maximo Park today, and I remembered that they are one of two bands my sister introduced me to. In both cases she was terribly excited about one song, which I inevitably dissed (letting her down horribly) and then came back later loving an entirely different song, by which time she had moved on and was no longer interested. She was always the more musically up-to-speed of us.

And here are the songs, for your listening comparison.

She showed me Move Along by the All-American Rejects.
I liked Dirty Little Secret.

She showed me Our Velocity by Maximo Park.
I liked Books From Boxes.

So there you go.

There are two things and two things only that I fear in this life.* Crocodiles. And fire.


There is a lot of fire in my country right now. People don't read this journal. But if they did they should go the Red Cross website, and they should donate. I am. And I sincerely hope that I never have the kind of encounter with either of my fears that these our sorry countryfolk are having.









*For this purpose 'fear' refers to gutwrenching, panic-inducing, sweaty, mindless terror. I have minor concern about other things that occur in life, such as pain of any kind, and other natural fears that crop up as the situation calls for them, such as job security, family sickness, etc. etc. Those are reactive fears. The two fears mentioned in the entry arise whether the precursor is present or not.

So I have a new layout, courtesy of gossymer at noveltybox. There are also some really nice layouts in the currently spotlighted thefulcrum, which prompted me to go looking for a layout in the first place.

And I've updated my journal title, which is now officially nicked from The Guesthouse by Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne).


This being human is a guesthouse.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


And now I'm going to shower before work. And then at some point I'm going to work out moode themes, and if I can do them. Because journaling can be pretty too.