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I just wanna climb Vin Diesel's abs like a tree
Friday, 18 July 2008 06:31 amHah! Ursula Vernon shares my guilty fondness for The Chronicles of Riddick. I love that movie, it's so perfectly and excessively ridiculous, and I can never believe that it's actually taking itself seriously. As she says, Evil should always be Art Deco. Also, Goth as all get-out, and mostly undead. In a bizarre coincidence, I ordered a copy last week, together with Pitch Black and the Ang Lee Hulk. Because I'm that fangirly. (And, apparently, fascinated with giant abs).
The eagle-eyed who are also able to interpret LJ's fascinating take on global time zones will be able to detect that I type this at 6.30am, from my campus office. I randomly woke up at 4am this morning with a dose of aargh-my-life-is-buggered, and once my heart-rate had slowed, could not get back to sleep. (Actually, I blame the phase of the moon - I seem to do this sort of thing far more often when it's close to full). Normally I'd make tea, ensconce myself in my study and commune with Teh Internets for a couple of hours, but guess what? No computer. So I'm at work, conscious of the warm, smug, superior glow which comes from being able to email one's superior a chatty reminder with a time-stamp of 6am.
My mother arrives from Abroad tonight. There is rejoicing. Also, as usual she carts with her about half of Amazon UK. Please chalk the relevant pentacles on the soles of your feet posthaste, to assist in my sustained occultic effort to make sure customs doesn't ding her for the import duty.
And, just for the record: todays XKCD? Rude. Also, not true of my field. I've never taken deconstructionists seriously, which possibly explains the toxic wastes of my academic career. Undiluted deconstruction is not literary criticism, it's narcissistic intellectual malingering.
Last Night I Dreamed: I was leading an expedition on board old sailing ships, to access some fabulous buried find on an island somewhere. Breaking through the roof led to a huge underground room stuffed with the treasures and artefacts of some bizarre religion involving giant jewel-decorated statues of interest to the SCA. Strange forces attempted to stop us, but no dice. Later, jo&stv moved into a new house in a shopping centre, in which Naga was operating out of their front room.
The eagle-eyed who are also able to interpret LJ's fascinating take on global time zones will be able to detect that I type this at 6.30am, from my campus office. I randomly woke up at 4am this morning with a dose of aargh-my-life-is-buggered, and once my heart-rate had slowed, could not get back to sleep. (Actually, I blame the phase of the moon - I seem to do this sort of thing far more often when it's close to full). Normally I'd make tea, ensconce myself in my study and commune with Teh Internets for a couple of hours, but guess what? No computer. So I'm at work, conscious of the warm, smug, superior glow which comes from being able to email one's superior a chatty reminder with a time-stamp of 6am.
My mother arrives from Abroad tonight. There is rejoicing. Also, as usual she carts with her about half of Amazon UK. Please chalk the relevant pentacles on the soles of your feet posthaste, to assist in my sustained occultic effort to make sure customs doesn't ding her for the import duty.
And, just for the record: todays XKCD? Rude. Also, not true of my field. I've never taken deconstructionists seriously, which possibly explains the toxic wastes of my academic career. Undiluted deconstruction is not literary criticism, it's narcissistic intellectual malingering.
Last Night I Dreamed: I was leading an expedition on board old sailing ships, to access some fabulous buried find on an island somewhere. Breaking through the roof led to a huge underground room stuffed with the treasures and artefacts of some bizarre religion involving giant jewel-decorated statues of interest to the SCA. Strange forces attempted to stop us, but no dice. Later, jo&stv moved into a new house in a shopping centre, in which Naga was operating out of their front room.
