Holy Christ, I’m going to hell… (the fan fic edition)

yep… sherlock has a military kink

Speaking of military kink, I don’t know why the fandom insists upon it, but I know that retired / invalided military types don’t tend to wear their dog tags. They might if they’re active (I don’t know and never asked), but I’ve never seen an ex-military person wear them. There’s a bunch of fan fic out there where John is still wearing his tags and he takes them off his neck and gives them to Sherlock to wear. I don’t see that happening at all. Maybe he takes them out of a box and makes a romantic gift of them, but every time I see John wearing them, it makes me feel weird. Like the writer doesn’t understand the enormity of the symbolism behind those pieces of tin… I know what my dad’s tags meant to him: they were an unhappy reminder of the things he did in Viet Nam and he never wanted to see them again. I can’t imagine John - sweet, scarred John who has nightmares, a psychosomatic limp, hand tremors, and is possibly suffering from depression / PTSD - wearing them at home. AT ALL.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve found the one ‘normal’ thing that makes me all squicky.

And there’s been a development in the world of Sherlock fan fic that absolutely pisses me off to no end.

There was a huge screening of S3, E1 “The Empty Hearse” yesterday in London, with a Q & A with the cast…

The fucking moderator had Benedict and Martin read some fan fic. EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE ON RECORD AS NOT BEING COMFORTABLE WITH IT.

And, and, and, and!

IT WAS ROMANTIC, LEADING TOWARDS PORNOGRAPHIC. (I’ve read the fic, I like the fic, but really?!?! They didn’t get to the dirty part, but the part she had them read was obviously leading up to it.)

So - yeah - it got a lot of people up in arms. People hating fan fic writers, fan fic writers hating people like her, fluff vs. porn, I’ve seen it all in the past barely 24 hours. And this isn’t the first time publicity about fic has gotten out of control (look at all the Destiel shit going around, and around, and around, in the Supernatural fandom), which makes this all the more tragic.

I can’t even say what’s going on in my own head… but I guess the short version would be that fan fiction exists, it’s not going anywhere soon, and that we all need to be a little more respectful of ACD / Mofftiss’ creations and the actors who have brought them to life. Does that mean that the PWP writers need to stop? Not necessarily… If the media would let it go, we’d all be better off. The actors are aware it’s out there. The press is aware it’s out there. Can we just leave it at that? When was the last time you saw JK Rowling answering questions about Drarry? OR Romianie? OR Forge (twincest, dude! TWINCEST!)? The Harry Potter fan fic is just as crazy, just as dirty, just as ridiculous as Sherlock’s, but for whatever reason, everybody’s interested in Benedict and Martin’s reactions. Which is such bullshit that I can’t… I just can’t.

And… while we’re on the topic of squick and porn…

MY FUCKING BETA IS FIFTEEN. FIF-FUCKING-TEEN. ONE-FUCKING-FIVE.

Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking pogo stick.

I knew she was young - they all are compared to me - but I didn’t think she was that young.

The scary thing is, she’s actually pretty good. She’s read the first four out of the thirty prompts, and holy shit, does she know the Cabin Pressure canon inside and out. l couldn’t ask for a better beta, but the age thing… Wow.

I guess it’s a good thing that all my attempts at porn in the 2013 Johnlock NaNoWriMo Experience From Hell, no matter how much I tried to dig in and really write it, went something like this: John kissed Sherlock. Sherlock kissed him back. “Bedroom?” “Oh, God, yes!” /// The next morning, John woke up to the sound of something exploding in the kitchen. I can’t imagine giving a fifteen year old some heavy duty porn to proofread, even if she’s reading it on her own elsewhere. I will willingly corrupt the youth of America, but even I have boundaries!

And let’s end this on a happy note: I just read the most beautiful piece of fan fic that didn’t make me cry. Father_Christmas is just amazing. And yeah, again, I saved the PDF of it to read later. As I told the author in the comments, it was a nice reminder that Christmas shouldn’t always be about the empty chairs at the dinner table. It should be about Luke and Han and hope and those that are still sitting at the table.

Even if you’re not a Sherlock fan, it’s good. (No Johnlock - just a little boy’s letters to Father Christmas and the results.)

The dangers of candy canes

I’m sucking on a candy cane and well… being me.

I pull it out of my mouth, and go to put it back in (trying to be sexy, which is laughable in and of itself, as you’d know if you ever spent any quality time with me).

It does not end well.

Let’s just put it this way:

A candy cane up the nose is decidedly NOT sexy. And peppermint burns.

They are such bad influences…

this never fails to make me smile

I have no idea who I am anymore.

And for the first time in my life, I think I’m really OK with that.

Normally, I try to channel the mania when I go to Albany so that I can ensure I have a good time. It’s not always possible, and it might have more to do with being an introvert and simply having to conserve energy in order to be social, but last night? Last night was ME. Stable, grown up, me in my truest form.

I bought drinks for the first two band members who spent time with me (and before the band tab started). I would have bought for the entire band, but I never got the opportunity… and given my history with alcoholism, it’s a constant source of amazement that I spend so much time in bars, let alone encourage others to drink. So yeah, beers for all!

It was a celebration of the end of my unemployment.

It was a celebration of me finally finding the right place.

From making comments about looking at Bill’s chest instead of his face (he’s fucking tall), a really inappropriate conversation about an older woman who wasn’t wearing panties under her dress, to the LOOK On Bill’s face when all he heard was the tail end of a conversation where I said “Rape me!”, he and I had a pretty good time. I even sat on his lap at one point! I may or may not have also said I wasn’t married last night. (You know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.) He even did something completely out of character and invited me to crash at his place.

Rollz, who never ceases to surprise me, came over to me and instead of saying hi like normal, he said something like, “Hello, gorgeous.” I looked at him and was like, “WOO! An upgrade!” I guess learning piano is easier than learning the guitar, but it’s the one instrument I want to learn that I can’t. All the keys look the same - it’s a never ending sea of black and white. I was called a racist, which cracked me up, and then I listed all the instruments I played, ending with the flute. The skin flute.

Rollz, Charlie, and I were talking about how I was driving home after the show, and I said that I have a blanket and pillow in my car in case I have to crash at a rest stop. Charlie said something about being responsible and locking the car doors if I do that. Rollz suggested that I leave them unlocked and I said that I’m just going to hang a sign on the side of my car that says “Rape me!”

I met a big cuddly teddy bear who has been a friend of Annie’s forever and he told me that the ten years I have on them doesn’t make me old, it makes me superior. Because I’ve lived through things they can only read about. The only reason that even came up is because he said that he used to love R.E.M. when they were still ‘dangerous.’ (Dangerous? Really?) He remembered Monster coming out when he was in ELEMENTARY school. I was in my junior year of college, and waited outside a record store, so I could buy it at midnight. Looking at the time frame, I think he was a little confused. He would have been around what? 10 or 11? Is that still elementary school? I have no idea. At any rate, I felt SO FUCKING OLD.

I’m sorry. I felt SO FUCKING SUPERIOR.

For the first time in a very long time, it was nice to be myself… I don’t dance in small clubs where I’m visible, but I did allow myself to sing along.

I need more nights exactly like last night.

Feeling content…not content

IT CAME TODAY! (but that’s the real deal above, not the doll)

The English language is the most fucked up language in the world. No one can convince me otherwise.

Now that that’s out of the way…

My limited edition Ten doll came today. And if you’re my friend on Facebook, you already know that I freaked out and channelled my inner Guinness. The SECOND I saw that damn FedEx truck, I jumped up and ran to the window. When he stopped in front of the house, I jumped up and down and yelled, “IT’S HERE! IT’S HERE!”

And then I did what any good grown up would do when faced with a limited edition (and very fucking expensive) collectible doll of one of the Whovians favourite NewWho Doctors: I took # 721 / 1,000 out of the box and played with him. I changed his hands. I gave him his sonic screwdriver. I put his glasses on his face. And. It. Was. Awesome.

He’s on the same shelf as Katniss and some of my more sentimental toys: Dad’s mooses, the platypus that looks eerily like my most, most, most favourite British man (and yes, you are my favourite), Cute Printer Boy’s devil duck, the minion L gave me… yeah. My toy shelf just got a new family member.

With that out of the way, I decided to go to Albany tonight for a Black Mountain Symphony show because, well, DUH! It’s time to par-tay!

Dog is in the heavens and all is right in the world.

For now, at least.

——

I want to get a sneak peek of the Cabin Pressure OTP Challenge off to my proofreader before the holidays, so I should probably stop stalling and work on it…

Welcome, brother, to our world…

ah, hellatus, how i’ve missed you…

Today started out great, went downhill ridiculously quickly, was redeemed, and then, I don’t know what to call this mood I’m in.

Melancholy?

I woke up EARLY because I was so excited! I was supposed to get my limited edition David Tennant as Ten doll today. (Oh. Shut. Up. He will look awesome next to Katniss!) Stupid weather delayed the flight from Memphis to wherever the fuck it was supposed to go on its merry way to me.

Then, in my long-running, never ending battle with iTunes, we came to an impasse. I was trying to download Star Trek Into Darkness so that I could watch it on my iPad when I travel, and it kept maxing out at 4.0 of 4.44GB.  I couldn’t figure out why and it was pissing me off. I got in contact with iTunes Tech Support and - even though I told them a thousand times that my library was on an external drive - they found a few things wonky with the back end of my account, but nothing that would fix the download issue.

Today’s email was, “Sorry. You’re completely fucked. Here’s 15 song credits. Good luck trying to use them!”

I screwed around with my laptop (which I’ve never used iTunes on) and came to the conclusion that, while the major problem was FINALLY gone, I still can’t download directly to my iTunes library.

So, I called AppleCare.

Guy figured it out in under an hour. (Seriously, there was MUCH rejoicing in the kingdom. Dancin’ and hootin’ and hollerin’.)

My stupid hard drive is formatted FAT 32, and can only take a file that is 4.0 GB or LESS.

Fuck me.

I emailed iTunes back and let her know. They either didn’t have access to that kind of information, or the AppleCare guy knew it from somewhere else. Either way, I’m moving my library to a hard drive that’s less fussy.

So redemption.

Then, I made the mistake of watching “Third Star”, which is a Benedict Cumberbatch film where he plays the lead character. A guy dying of cancer out on one last trip with his friends… Yup. Pretty much went the way you’d figure it’d go. The ending’s a no brainer, but the journey he takes to get to that point? I was in tears. Ugly, messy, snotty, tears. The film broke my heart. Shattered it into itty, bitty pieces.

Then, I was feeling all… I don’t know… Christmassy?

It’s a weird feeling. I never get into Christmas. NEVER. It was ruined for me a long time ago, and now it only makes me sad. Wistful. Melancholy. Depressed. Disappointed at how my family disintegrated and fucked me over.

Whatever.

Christmas just fucking sucks and it’s my least favourite time of the year.

I have to build up to the 25th all fucking month, and during that time, I avoid everything Christmas like the plague. I’m dead serious. Christmas carols are not allowed until the 24th at the earliest. I tolerate a tree early in the month if only for the lights. (We can’t do ornaments. The dogs and cat would destroy them. Which is a good thing. The majority of my ornaments are sentimental. I have very few that don’t mean anything - emotional fucking land mines in that box. I mean, all the feels, kids. All. The. Fucking. Feels. But I like the lights, so the tree’s OK.)

At any rate, during one of my test film downloads (also thoughtfully provided by iTunes), I bought “Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas”.

This was my favourite Christmas film growing up, and I do still have a soft spot for it. Even after all these years, I remember watching it with my dad on HBO, sharing a bowl of popcorn, and how he’d whistle some of the songs for days afterwards.

It’s the only thing about Christmas that my mother never fucked up. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is. Emmet, Ma, Wendell, and all their friends, live in this little bubble that she was never able to pop… and I love that fucking film like I can’t even tell you.

So, I thought I’d watch it.

Not my best idea.

Normally, I can feel my father when I watch it. Smell the popcorn. Hear his whistling.

Gone. All of it.

*poof*

So there I am washing dishes and watching “Emmet Otter” like the sad suburban housewife who is trying desperately to cling to her youth I’ve obviously become.

Is it January yet?

——

I caught shit because I write my dates “12 December 2013” when I fill out paperwork unless I have to use mm/dd/yyyy… This is all Martin at DGO UK’s fault. (Dude I used to work with in the dark ages… ) He would make fun of my American way of doing things and once we both got fucked up with a date that was like 03/12/14. He thought it was December. It was March. We reached a compromise, if you want to call it that, and I’ve been writing it out in words ever since.

I also almost got in trouble because I called my new workplace the “[something] Centre”. It’s CENTER. Of course it is. I’m an American living in the US. There’s no reason for me to spell it the British way, but writing almost 80K words of fan fic based on British shows will make it a habit. If I had done my Johnlock using the British spellings, I’d be at close to 100K words. Yeah, I could write in American English, but I’ve found it’s jarring to see American words, spelt the American way, when British characters are speaking. So. I’ve gone as British as I can without a brit-picker and it’s starting to show. A lot. Apparently, it makes me ‘poncey’. Which I needed to look up, thankyouverymuch. But, hey, one day I’ll live over there and it will be normal. So suck it.

——

And finally… found when I was looking for a EOJBC quote:

Title: Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas

Year: 1977

Synopsis: Young Emmet and his ma, Ma, are super-duper fucking poor, thanks to their dead dumbass father/husband, who they deify even though he was a failed snake oil salesman who left them with nothing but a broken-down shack, a toolbox, and a slide. Ma washes clothes and Emmet does odd jobs, but since they’re both so “nice”, they have problems obtaining fair payment. They hear that there is a talent contest at the Frogtown Hollow City Hall, for which the winning prize is $50. Since O. Henry can’t sue for copyright infringement, Ma sells Emmet’s toolbox for a pretty dress, and Emmet drills a hole in Ma’s washtub to make a bass. They each want to win in order to buy the other an instrument for Christmas (clothes and food and college savings never come up). They both perform well in an poor-man’s-Allison-Krauss-kind-of-way, but a group of hoodlums called The Riverbottom Nightmare Band proves that evil, i.e. electric instrumentation, always wins. On the way home, Ma starts singing with Emmet’s band. Doc Bullfrog, the owner of a riverside restaurant, overhears them and offers them a job. They happily head into a future of entertaining at Frogtown’s equivalent of Applebee’s. Since Ma was a week away from giving handies to swamp animals at $2 a throw, it’s probably for the best.

If the film hadn’t already been ruined for me, this might have done it.

I will never be able to watch it again without thinking about how Ma might have given a handy to Yancy Woodchuck backstage at the talent show.

*shudders*