Umbra: Shadows in the Waiting Room

And now that I've got your attention ;^)

Utterly utterly losing it to my dance files. "Pumpin' the bass, play it loud!" a grainy stereotypical partier's voice insists, over and over to a wicked chop. Bang bang bang-hiccup-up-bang bang bang. And it don't ever, ever quit. The kind of thing where you throw up your hands, straight to the ceiling, because you cannot take it anymore, and your whole body becomes a point of heat and light in a dark Universe and you sweat your butt off in the name of the rhythm-gods.

Get what I mean? Nah, didn't think you did ;^) That's me, off in my own little corner of the world, having fun without all the losers and letches and chemical-eyed pushers.

Dancing is one of the few forms of commited exercise I enjoy. Every weekend for about three hours total, (hour to an hour and a half a night if the Elder Gods are smiling on me. ;^) ) I set the right discs in the stereo or the computer and just keep going and going. A multi-hued blue flame out in the darkness of the cosmos. And then I'm a well-behaved mortal girl for the rest of the week.

I would so utterly kill to go to the Groove...I don't give a damn if it's trendy, I've heard the sound coming out of those doors, felt it in my skeleton. The clientele doesn't matter. The music is the only thing about any of it that matters. This is what frustrates me--people go to clubs to see and be seen. I don't understand, or want, any part of it. I'm an odd little girlie that way. It can only be about the sex, or the music, but not both. And for me, it's about the music.

No, OK, let's be honest here, it's about the endorphins which come from dancing to said music. MMmmmmMMMM, endorphins....Heheehehehehehehehehe :^)

I would say Rave On, but everybody says it nowadays =^P

So instead, may I leave you with "Party on, dudes! Be excellent to each other!"

*Lifts Her Hands And Takes Off Into The Night, Shaking Her @$$*

~Jheti

Driftwood

I feel aimless at the moment. Rather like a bit of wood, floating on the sea. Hence the title of this post.

What about the weird, jagged addendum beneath it? That's the sort of thing that happens when company knocks at the door and you're only halfway through a post. ;^P

Me and a friend are tossing words back and forth. Not like in a bad way, but I get a sense of friction, like we're essentially agreed on everything but the fine-print and that it's the fine-print that's getting in the way. Bleh. I hate fine-print. :^P Still, this too shall pass. "How can two walk together, except they be agreed?" So it'll handle itself. I'm paranoid, anyway ;^P It's probably nothing.

Hmm...

Another friend of mine surprised me with a gift. I confess to being embarrassed--I haven't the financial or resource capability to respond in kind. It feels--awkward. Which has nothing to do with her; the trouble is with me. I have a hard time just accepting stuff. I feel like I should be negotiating a trade, at the very least. Like I should be able to do something in return. Of course, there might be a way, if I can ever find that one website with the John Tobais depictions of Jax and Sonya ever again... That and the MK movie pic that a friend of hers has been searching for since the beginning of time--I've about given up on that one, though. It'll have to be Jax and Sonya, then. Now if I could just find that damn site...

*Goes about searching for it*

Oh joy, and suffering, and both together...thou hast a name: fanfiction.

Meaning? Oh nothing. Kitana and Liu are fighting and have just finished getting rounded up in rather short-tempered fashion by Rayden. These three, plus Kung Lao, show up uninvited and unnanounced to demand the return of Johnny Cage and Sonya Blade by the Emperor.

And it's frozen there. I know how the scene ought to go but it just is--not--going--that way.

Same way with Mileena. She utterly refuses to play along.

Me: "Tell me, dearie, what good's a scene of action in the Netherealm if you're not there to see it?"

'Leena: "It's perfectly fine. How else is the audience going to know what's going on?"

Me: "You're the focal character; it's YOUR JOB to tell them!"

And etc.

Why Songfic Is Evil ;^p

No, it's not a rant against songfic. I just randomly burst into song throughout the entry. Which of course takes the piss out of some people. To which I say, too friggin' bad for thee, because 'tis my log, not thine.

Mood music for two:

We'll fast-forward to a few years later,
No one knows except the both of us,
I have honored your requests for silence,
And you have washed your hands clean of this...

--"Hands Clean", brand new shizat from AM.

Who's AM? You, gentle reader, you would laugh me off the page if you knew. However, fortunately you don't, unless you personally asketh ;^)

Heh. I actually have acid-irritation on my hands from peeling grapefruit. (That's citric acid, for you amatuer chemist aspirants.) I put baking soda paste on them, and they came out okay. Except for one spot on my wrist that I missed last night--now it's all red and itches like Hell.

Feeling alright. It's Tuesday, and the Nomads are "talking" to me again--they got pissed and "left" when I started concentrating on the final draft of Mirrorworld's fourth part, and the notes for the next part...

Holdup, waitasecond. Explanation time.

See, I write the way a method actor well, acts. Meaning, I "be" whoever I'm writing about, think as they would, say what they would, etc. and write about how the world looks for them. Backgrounds frequrently consist of pretending to sit down with the character and ask them questions. E-TV, Outworld style ;^) So to say that they're "talking" to me just means they're on my mind and "in my hands, in my hands again..."

*Gets up and dances at random to one of the best cartoon themes ever*


[guitar pounds out an intro]

Somewhere in the future (far away from here)
Trouble is awaiting, on that last frontier
Into these worlds of unknown danger they ride...
........................
No guts, no glory,
No pain, no gain,
.........................

We're taking a stand,
Ready to prove it again

No guts, no glory...

[ripping guitar, to a fade]

*Finishes her dervishistic dance with the B.E.T.A. salute*

What's B.E.T.A.? *Grins patiently* Why, the Bureau for Extra-Terrestrial Affairs, of course.

Oh wait, I'll stop, I just don't think you want to hear anymore.

Did you know, I've met, and discover that I'm friends with, quite a few people who do not give a damn about science fiction or fantasy of any sort? It just, it hit me as a shock. Sci-fi was the first thing I watched as cartoons as a little girl, the first kind of book I learned to read, and my favorite kind of movie. It is, basically, the only kind of stuff I really like . It never once occurred to me that there are people who completely don't give a sh*t. Not like that's bad or anything, it's just completely foreign to my mindset. I guess you could even say it's...well, alien.

Ah, adrenaline =^) I like it. Always have. I wouldn't say I'm a junkie. I don't skydive or snowboard or do any of that stupid sh*t that could get me killed.
I do, however, wish I could surf. Our Atlantic coast has a very cold, very rough, very MEAN surf and I wish I could ride it with more than my front. I do bodysurf, but these damn chest-bumps get in the way, LoL ;^)

(I refuse to call them breasts on the grounds that they're a bit small for that. A B-plus might be a good grade in school, but as a frontal estimate, it's a bit humbling, LoL).

Uh, what was this about originally?
I have no idea, either.

One to beam out ;^p

Rearden Metal

Thoughts about my latest quasi-assignment, Atlas Shrugged. It's an Ayn Rand book. Steep stuff for an intellectual puffball like me ;^p
The person who reccomended it to me also turned around and derided what he called, oh I don't remember exactly, "extreme Leninism" or "extreme Communism" or something like that. (And no, it wasn't Tenchi who suggested I read it ;^P) Which is stupid, to me. As far as I've read, the damn book is all about individualism and the ideal man ad nauseam . So that remark wouldn't have pissed me off so much if it weren't 180 to the actual book. I felt like asking him if he'd read the damn thing.

What the Hell is it? So far, basically the tale of three Great Ones, the real movers and shakers of society: Dagny Taggart, the railroad daughter's tycoon who's fighting to keep the Taggart system (the biggest and best in the entire world) running and on time. Henry Rearden, who raised himself up from a miner's child to become founder and CEO of Rearden Steel, creator of Rearden Metal, which holds up the Taggart tracks. Francisco D'Anconia, born into the high life. He was to be the brightest, the best, the one who could shape the entire world if he wished--and he instead squanders his wealth and his power, convinced that society is going nowhere.

Atlas Shrugged basically, so far, has dealt with these three and apparently will deal with what happens when they finally decide to stop keeping the world moving (on several levels). Although there's also the question: "Who is John Galt?" and I dunno, having not read far enough through the book; 'tis a massive undertaking. I do know he's important later in the story though...

So what's good about this book? Well, when the writer isn't smacking you over the head with her all-important Theme, it's pretty friggin' entertaining. And she had a sharp sense of imagery and a beautiful, musical style; again when she isn't smacking you over the head with the Theme, you get dazzled by the imagery. It's a pretty novel and a lot of planning went into it.

So, if you're up for enjoying what amounts to mentally "looking at the pretty pictures", and can bear with the didactic parts, it's pretty good.

Henry Rearden is my fave so far :^) He's cool :^D