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The Further Adventures of a Flidget in Europe. "Si no te pones los pantalones" Quick social blog - The new layout is almost ready, there'll be a long, pointless ramble with that. Since this entry is rather run of the mill, I'm going to give it a kick. That's right. . . Supeingo Supeingo, to give you innocents some sort of warning, is all the stupid charming fun of Engrish combined with all the charming, funny stupid of Spanglish. Supeingo shakes me. All. Night. Long.
Neuvos blogs para su ultimo diversion! La curiosa Señorita Lexx va a crear para usteds muchas horas de risa y sabiduria a veces. Las Señoritas Catt y Sophia asociarses en su mente con la Thorne como un veinto rosa en una suave dia de verano. Y es muy verda que el pequeño mundo entero aman a los chispeantas Señoritas de Technomancy y su gracia original como una sonrisa sincera. Y finalmente, un felice graduación para Twig, y esperenzas que tu dia es llena de todas cosas bienas como la cabeza de la llama. "And let the rain come flooding in" Watching the current round of ranting against bad fanfic, it occurred to me that I have never seen a fraction of that vehemence and passion directed towards bad fanart. I’d like to ask you all why? God himself knows that it’s just as deserving of your hate. I came up with several theories of my own, the most likely one being that I’m simply reading the wrong cross-section of blogs and webpages, and that out there, somewhere, are people getting up on soapboxes and launching into tirades about how if they see one more artist photoshop a crudely drawn pencil sketch onto a background of raging flames and than giving the whole thing a sepia wash, they were going to personally hunt down and shoot every programmer Adobe has ever hired. Furious, elegantly-argued essays about how artists should not be able to use texture filters without signing Covenants in their own blood to not abuse them. A virtual community where sticking wings on a character is a faux-pas on the level of a songfic. People you would never, ever dare mention lens-flare around. Or maybe it’s because the most eloquent debaters in the fanon communities are the writers, who naturally care most about their own mediums of expression, and we artists simply sit here quietly and occasionally post pictures. But really, please, go down to Elfwood tonight and scrounge around until you find a picture that is badly in need of some honest C&C, and, damn it, give it what it needs. It’s not going to take you all that long. Think of the Children! It doesn’t matter if you can’t draw. I can’t write, that’s never stopped me from being able to tell when someone, for their own good, might want to stop huffing the euphemisms. "Hey, na-na-na-na, hey that's something"
Suffrage Food and Drinks Wenzel’s Strawberry Tarts – Wenzel’s is the neighborhood bakery. Their tarts are just sweet but not too sweet pastery filled with freshly whipped cream that has never seen the inside of a spray-can. This is than topped with three whole fresh juicy strawberries arranged into a pyramid and thickly glazed with clear red strawberry jelly. Like an utter moron I spent a minute standing in a stairwell today just admiring how the jelly caught the sunlight like a jewel. I am convinced that humans have nothing to do with its production. Rather, an elite team made up of genius monkey scientists and Iron Chefs who just happen to be lop-eared bunnies is assembled and they bake these using mystic Tantric baking and a recipe including the secret ingredients sunshine, love and crack. Late last night, after I logged off, I noticed that Ruby was dancing giddily on top of a table while balancing a wing bottle on her head, Gambit’s legs were sticking out from under said table, and Wind’s Phantom was sitting at the bar coolly knocking back shots of bourbon. Being that this was Phantom, I assumed that he had somehow managed to stay sober, until he launched into a perfect drunken soliloquy on how, really, a cold, abusive, mind-game playing seme is one of the most pathetic things in the world, because, if you really think about it, a mature man should not need to be seeking emotional satisfaction by making himself the center of a young boy’s world by any means necessary. He went on to extrapolate that the only thing more pathetic in the universe than an abusive seme is an idealistic, pure-hearted uke who grows up, gets a firm grasp of reality, and realizes that he’s wasted the best years of his life on a infatuated childish crush. He had valid points, but I got out of there quickly because, honestly, I didn’t think I could handle it if he suddenly burst into tears. Smooshy I do not have soul-bonds – my characters have drinking buddies. Which is why, currently, Remy LeBeau is passed out under a table in the seedy tavern at the back of my mind. He and Ruby spend most of their time exchanging grandiose war stories, hitting on the bar wenches, and trying to drink each other…well…under the table. Monsieur LeBeau does not speak to me. Rather, he tries to speak to me, but in the incomprehensibly slurred accent of the drunk, and usually in a language other then English. It’s never been a very successful endeavor. Jowy Atreides, in contrast, comes by for Tea with Blossom on the balcony of her study at 4:30 every afternoon. They discuss books, history, current plays and the best ways to take over a decently-sized nation. Jowy doesn’t talk to me either. He tries to avoid me whenever possible, because we both know what would happen if I got my hands on his bony ass. No, not that. Okay, well, yes, that would happen too, but he’s less worried about that than the high probability that after that, I’m going to attempt to feast on his lovely, lovely, lovely cerebrum. Mmmm, genius brains. POOOOOOORN and Muffins! I was going to blog about the recent US Supreme Court ruling overturning the ban on "virtual" child pornography, but than I remembered I hadn't formally wished Muffin happy birthday yet, and some things just shouldn't be mixed, so - Happy Birthday Muffin! and I'll spare you all my disjointed rambling on kiddie pr0n. Death and Taxes So anyway, Luny and I had an conversation to the effect that I didn't know whether to do my taxes or the next page of the manga, because at this point, they're looking equally unattractive. Lunar, ever my voice of reason, said taxes. And you know what? I bloody agreed. After a futile search for my W2 form, I actually sat down and read IRS packet 1040-7 like a sensible girl and, what do you know, I'm exempt from filing. I would be extremely happy about this, except now I have to face down the manga and I really, really don't like this page but I can't. get. rid. of. it. Slate and Shell The odd thing about Lorelei's catastrophic crash Wednesday night is that, thanks to my jury-rigged fix, I lost my desktop settings. For some reason, apparently my wee 9x9 Go board counts as a "desktop setting" because I've been dropped back down to a 5 stone handicap. It's pissing the hell out of me because I'm horrible at playing aggressively and so all those extra stones keep getting captured. The fact that I still need 3 stone handicap on a learner board is something I try not to think about. And all this leads to- Happy Birthday Ann! Because it's her fault I'm worried about this in the first place. I was talking to Thorne last night about FF7 and its numinous cast. Still thinking about it this morning, it struck me that, even though M. Strife is definitely my favorite character in the series, it’s FF6 that’s my favorite Final Fantasy. Thinking about it all made me nostalgic. It hasn’t aged visually as well as Chrono Trigger has, but you can still see Amano-sensei’s touch everywhere. That, combined with the tragic storyline, gave the entire game a bittersweet melancholic atmosphere that I found enchanting and have yet to see equaled. And Damn It, it had Magitech. And Magitech Walkers. And Terra, my favorite heroine ever, which leads me to Maduin, my favorite summons ever (I still wish that Square could have made some sort of combo between them possible, because really, it feels like something’s missing). The Odin sub-quest. The ever-handy portable Figaro Castle. The Phantom Train. The Opera, sweet mercy, the Opera! Cyan and his family. Shadow and his dreams. Celes. Locke. Celes and Locke.
Damn you Square, bring back that airship. Diddya miss me? Incidentally, yes, I'm back from Manchester. Aside from for once actually doing what I needed to get done, I also, with the aid of the cousin's pokemon, geeked on Saturday. I have the first of SIP, the last of the Nightrunner trillogy, and Island. I remember muttering to myself in the store something about the absurdity of having to go all the way to Manchester to find all this stuff. Anyway, I shall now pimp Island as Flidget's Obsession of the Week (TM). It's a manwa; since I don't know the proper terminology, I'm going to describe it as shounen but with a shoujo aftertaste. . .which is an odd way to look at it, considering there's demons and tenticles and blood by the bucket. But the heroine is a bitchy and gorgeous corporate princess who knows when to bribe, when to kick ass and when to scream for help the way the only main character without superpowers in a supernatural series can scream for help and not be wussy. To put it this way - MIHO ROCKS MY WORLD. Toss in a psychopathic bastard with eyes so sexy I bought the first book for them alone, and I was hooked and went back for the rest. I was sold when they started messing with Catholicism in volume 2, but the fight at the end of volume 3 and oh WOW . . . Ehehehehehehehehehe . . erm, ok, I'm alright now. Join me next week when I call down seven curses on Twig and her descendents for aflicting me with Strangers in Paradise. The Rampage goes pusudo-intellectual As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs-- CHORUS. He's got 'em on the list--he's got 'em on the list; There's the banjo serenader, and the others of his race,
CHORUS. He's got her on the list--he's got her on the list;
And that Nisi Prius nuisance, who just now is rather rife, CHORUS. You may put 'em on the list--you may put 'em on the list; (From the Mikado, by Gilbert and Sullivan) Muffin darling, it was late and he was tired, plus that whole Revolution thing, overthrow of the aristocracy, renouncement of the bourgouis, all a bit stressful. The problem with the whole field of conceptual art is that it's only valid in context, and once taken out of the context it's not a statement against the superficial values of dominant culture but a fucking black square that's worth a small fortune because art critics say so. Which sorta negates its meaning in the first place. Ask me about my rant where I go on about how Warhol was a terrible artist but a brilliant phillosopher who was too damn easily amused.. or, fuck it, let's dig up his corpse and you hold him while I kick him in the nuts. I am filled with tinier men! (And they're filled with hate) Things that can currently suck my wang; You. The rest of the human race. (Including me. Mmm, auto-fellatio) Why yes, I am a wee bit cranky. Needs a dash of soy Not much, not much. Just updated my links to Muffin's new blog (Now you can get your dose of 100% pure acid wit and raging hate any time of the day!). Added Satsuka to the links too, because she's a damn good artist who's brains I may wish to eat someday. Plus linking to her, along with the ever-entertaining Rachel O, marks another step in my creepy "Single White Female" attempt to appropriate Muffin's life. And eat her brains. Always, always with the eating of the brains. The sound of my own voice So anyway, yesterday I went to the British Museum, which is one of my favorite places in London, and possibly the World. It’s like the curiosity cabinet of the collective country, where we stick stuff like stolen Greek architecture and cursed Egyptian mummies and incidentally if anyone wants to hear about historic tentacle porn, feel free to ask. The following rant has, as usual nothing to do with anything, but I cleaned my house today and so had time to mule obsessively over unimportant issues while resolutely ignoring the continuing med school crisis. I’ve been thinking about the eternal debate over bad fanwork since Mooncalf’s blog last week, and her opinions on the matter are almost identical to mine. To echo her, in summary - I hate the vast majority of fic writers and fic artists, but I believe they should have the right to inflict their work on humanity even if they make me lose all faith in my own species. I’d like to add two corollaries to this;
Super Shounen Shouta This Blog is brought to you by Lunar, who put up with my mealy mouth bitching and let me move some stuff to Dreamhost early. I've been meaning to update my blog since Monday. I was, initially, going to blog on the current med school crisis (a week ago, my mother decided I should be a doctor. Since then, things have gotten weird and odd). However, the ensuing whining rant, covering all the pros, cons, motivations, traumatic formative events of my life, etc, was three and a half pages long and I hate myself when I'm being self-pitying, so I mailed the entire thing to my parents instead and will now return to my regularly scheduled flippancy. Incidentally, the new blog design was going to be goldfish-based, but then Toriyama's World updated and I got Hunter x Hunter Chapter 88. I think I told everyone unfortunate enough to cross my path that night that it was Christmas come early, then subjected them to the above image. I would like to apologize for that by the way, every now and then I become so inured to shounen manga that I forget how damn ugly it is. Not that this realization stopped me from designing this new blog layout. Avert your eyes, children!! My excitement over the image surprised even me. I didn't ship this pairing until recently because I'm shallow and it took 60 chapters before I found the art style attractive and Gon stopped reminding me of that farting dinosaur from Tekken. It's an odd choice for me - I like smut and angst and they're too young for any sexual tension, plus by the time they get old enough for it, there's not going to be much anyway. They're so completely honest with each other that if they eventually feel like snogging, it's going to happen with minimum prior navel-gazing self-torment. It's sweet, they're sweet, adorable to the degree that two romping puppies are adorable. The top image is only a splash page, and the Pitas link is the first time they met. The small images to the right, though, are my favorite moments from the manga; specifically, the scene on the ship in chapter 23 and the camping scene from chapter 64. Mind you, most of the time HxH is super macho and yet damn gay, in that very special way that rippling muscles, manly beards and lots of leather can be super macho and yet damn gay. In that very special way that often makes me want to never ever read it again and run screaming back to bubbles, feathers, and weepy coded-female super ukes. It took me a couple of days to get this new blog layout together and it gave me time to ruminate. Strangely, the following two-part rant has nothing much to do with HxH or med school at all. Recently I've noticed I've been moving away from non-canon slash. In part, it's because it's a lot easier for me to get my hands on yaoi and shounen-ai titles, but much of it is also because there are series I love but can't slash without violating core elements of the plot. I should emphasize that I see a fundamental difference between loving a series and loving elements from the series. I can happily pair the Trigun boys together because I think they're cool beans and don't give a damn about the storyline, but I don't slash Kenshin because Watasuki-sensei makes it quite clear that Kaoru is the only one who can keep him from falling, which would ruin all that entertaining emotional inner conflict. I don't slash Spike, as much as I'd like to, because if he wasn't intensely and illogically in love with Julia, it would throw all the things Bebop tries to say about the intensity and illogicality of human love out the window. I do slash Initial D, but I didn't start to until after I saw the movie and all the possible non-sequiturs had wandered away and left me alone with the pretty. I do slash Naruto, but on condition; any future relationship I can see happening between Naruto and Sasuke is going to involve Sakura too because she's a necessary part of their dynamic. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that for me, to love a series is to love it for what it is, not for what it could be if Tamahome would just notice that Miaka has no redeeming values whatsoever and Nakago's a sexy bastard indeed. Alot of my favorite series, Utena, Oniisama E, Eva and, yes, Yami no Matsueri (still the guilty favorite) all kindly slash themselves and save me the effort. The possible exception is DNAngel, which stops just short of slashing itself and leaves it to the fandom to take it the rest of the way. God yes, I slash this, but conversely the only thing that keeps Satoushi from being disgustingly perfect is that he's in love with Daisuke and both he and we know that it's almost certainly a hopeless case. Thus he mopes, and we all go "awwww" and put him on winamp skins. Eventually this train of thought led to what I think of as "semi-canon", those pairings which could be interpreted either way. It helps that I've been replaying Suikoden II again, and Jowy/Hero2 is one of these grey-area pairings that I cooked up the following test to use on. The Flidget Jerome Semi-canonical Slash Acid Test
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Random Acts of Cartography presents Gon and Kirua, because every now and then, Togashi-sensei slips me something sweet like the splash page for chapter 88 and I remember why I read Hunter x Hunter in the first place.
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