the importance of body language

Lou Pearlman is dead and I don't really know what to say about it. Lance gave Twitter a polite, mildly-worded piece of his mind, which is giving me mixed feelings because 1. he had absolutely no obligation to take the high road, or even bring it up at all and 2. coming from Lance -- i.e. one of the ones whose mom was always hanging around and who therefore most likely went unfondled -- it's like "whoa, there. Easy for you to say, fella." Y'know?

But I will say: this timeless classic, in which Lou is cast as a vengeful sea witch, is probably the fittingest tribute I can think of.

(What's wrong with me?? Why can I only communicate through fic linkage? Am I just that stunted??

...yes. Yes, is the clear answer. And I should either learn to own it, or get out of the way, I guess.)

ALSO. Apparently Lou grew up in Queens, which I'm pretty sure I already knew, but...but...ew. No. Why.

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So, since the late summer blahs are far too real a thing, and also since I'm apparently so suggestible I can even be swayed by my own ramblings, I've been rewatching Sense8. And it's just as good as it was last year, no complaints there, but here's a thought that somehow did not occur to me last year: as with everything else that is true and pure and beautiful in this world, popslash did it first.

Just sayin'. :)
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Since I'm still stuck in a pop daze (twelve hours and counting!), I figure I may as well share this. Presented without comment, because the last thing I need is a bunch of bitter Lance fans chasing after me with pitchforks.

Fic-wise, ha! I knew someone had written this! And written it damn well, too. Marzipan!JC is gladdening my heart even further on this already joyous day. And I don't even like marzipan!

(As for what we know went down last night for real, I'm hearing there was a Justin-led roast of JC and also some serenading, but I'm not finding any footage! Anyone? Twitter and Tumblr peeps -- little help, please?)

And finally, while I'm still in a linkin'-to-things mood: this has absolutely nothing to do with NSYNC, but is kinda great anyway.

it's the birthday, it's the birthday, it's the birthday boy or girl!

Gasp! My heart! She explodes!

So I know there's no way I'm the first to link to The Photo today -- in fact, I may be the very last -- but, c'mon. Like hell I wasn't gonna call attention to the greatness, or the majesty, or the foreground TrickC. LIKE HELL.

(But seriously, when they're writing out my obituary, tell them to put down "casual boyband intimacy" under Cause of Death. Or maybe "Possessive!Chris". Either one is good.)


Also! For someone who, at any given moment, is probably thinking about JC Chasez in a cravat and riding boots, it's taken me an embarrassingly long time to realize his b-day's on August 8th. THE 8TH. Meaning: he could be a Sensate!! THIS EXPLAINS SO MUCH.

the seaweed is always greener

An unexpectedly big day for mermaid news!

Okay, first of all, apparently they're remaking Splash and Channing Tatum's gonna be the merlady/merman/merperson, which -- holy crap. I've chosen my flist wisely, so I know -- I know -- I don't have to explain why this is a very, very good thing.

Please, Jebus, please, let him wear a seashell bra!

And then, OMG, on the literary front: I have just learned that Anne Rice is about to publish a book that will send Lestat to the friggin' lost city of Atlantis, where, I can only presume, he will wow the local populace by using an ancient sea turtle as a percussive instrument while singing a jazzy tune. No joke, this just may be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis, people. It's happening. And if there's a midnight release party at B&N, I will be going. Probably in a full body flounder costume. Mark my words.
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because it ended up taking a good 48 hours for my brainpan to settle

But c'mon, it's not like I wasn't gonna brag about it at all. You see Hamilton, you go home, you pass out face first into a bowl of late night cereal, and then the next day, you brag. It's a thing, a template, one I've been watching everyone else follow for months now and dammit, it's my turn.

So, yes. Hamilton. Actually, wait, no -- I'm getting ahead of myself. See, the magical and magnanimous sperrywink had a ticket she couldn't use, and I guess my constant, low grade whinging about the subway system reminded her that, hey! I live here! (Let this be a lesson to all you kids out there: always be complaining! The squeaky wheel, et cetera! I know what I'm talking about!) So she asked me if I wanted it and, because I am not in fact a drooling moron, I said yes. And I was trying so hard to keep my high-pitched nonsense in check and not accidentally slap anyone in the face with my wildly flapping hands, but when I met up with her (adorable, Oz-literate!) friends, one thing I couldn't resist doing was asking whether they'd been tempted to scalp the extra ticket rather than handing it over to some random fan they'd never even met. And they...looked at me like I was an idiot? Which FLOORED me 'cos, for real, I can say with the utmost confidence that 94.7% of the people I know in my day-to-day life would've, in the very same situation, happily pulled on their scalpin' boots.

So obviously all of this ninja-kicked me into a place of Serious Ponderings, ponderings I will elaborate on...hmm...NOW:

Theory: Fandom peeps are just plain better than regular peeps. They're kinder, lovelier, less all-around sleazy and should probably be running the world.*

Evidence: Uh... *flings arms wide open and does a bunch of Fraulein Maria spins*

Confirmed? Confirmed.

I'll be presenting my findings to a reputable scientific journal within the fortnight. *clears throat, shuffles papers, adjusts spectacles*

* * *

As for the show itself, I honestly don't know if I have anything all that valuable to say! There's a reason I'm not a professional arts critic; I'm only articulate when I hate something. You people are lucky this isn't just three to five paragraphs of exclamation points and smiley faces.

But, maybe some scattered impressions? I can do that. I can definitely pull off 'scattered'. :) Well, first of all, I thought Javilton was pretty excellent, and I agree with everything I'd already heard about him going in (basically that he's slightly less charismatic than Lin, but a much better singer.) The new Burr is intense, yo, and the guy they've got playing Lafayette/Jefferson is great, but so much shorter than Daveed Diggs I spent most of Act II terrified he was gonna trip on the hem of that long purple jacket (no, really, I don't think it's been tailored to fit him yet! Someone needs to get on that, like, yesterday.)

Gah, I used to be such a snob about seeing shows with their OBCs, I'm clawing at my face in embarrassment just thinking about it. It's amazing what time and maturity and years upon years of a ramen-for-dinner lifestyle will do to you.

Let's see, what else? Staging: A+. Choreography: tight, but also kind of shockingly inventive? So much so that I have decided to officially cease my grumbling about how Savion Glover clearly deserved the Tony for Shuffle Along. I don't love the man any less than I did three days ago, it's just -- it's a complicated issue, okay??

There really is something to be said about seeing a live show when you already know almost all the songs by heart; it gives the whole experience kind of a rock concert-like vibe. It's true of Sondheim and it's true of LMM. Back in September when the cast recording first came out, I remember I spent about two solid weeks telling myself "no. No, you're not gonna listen to it ahead of time, because that way, when you finally manage to see the damn thing, it'll be with virgin ears and a virgin heart and -- and because PURITY." Wasn't I cute ten months ago?

Oh, and lastly, while I knew I'd be leaving that building with a crush on someone, I could not have predicted it'd be on Oak. But he's just so...energetic. :)

*A slash-ocracy -- that's what I propose! I bet a lot more people would be excited about Hillary if she'd shut up about hot sauce and just start quietly filling up her cabinet with rpf writers. I'M NOT WRONG ABOUT THIS.

young, scrappy and hungry



This bitch, that's who!!

Details to follow (*puts on whiny five-year-old voice* It's hot out! Don't make me analyze stuff!) but for now just know that sperrywink is a goddess who walks among us.

Oh, also! I can tell you right now that LMM most definitely 'ships Hamilton/Laurens. There was cheek cupping, I tell you. CHEEK CUPPING.

in the midnight hour, I can feel your power

So. Today on the F Train, a very nice older lady put her hand on my knee and asked, concern in her voice, what was wrong, which, I didn't think anything was?? I mean, all I'd been doing was sitting there, y'know, zoning out on the Zizmor ads and thinking about all the AUs I'll never write: the usual. And then she squeezed my knee and told me not to worry, she'd say a rosary for me, so I guess...

I guess...

The moral of this story is that my RBF is really more of an RTF (Resting Traumatized Face)? Which, uh. Okay.

So now that I know about it...how do I fix it? (And please don't tell me to imagine something soothing, like dolphins and sea lions cavorting in a calm, blue ocean because 1. dolphins wig me out. They're too smart. You just know they're plotting something.* And 2. I'd say I already think about sea lions about...hmm...5-7 hours per day, at least. Any more would be ridiculous.)

*What?! They ARE.
ouran hugging

yo ho ho, it's an alternative lifestyle for me

I stayed the hell out of Midtown today, 'cos I knew there was no way I could handle a crowd that size in my current delicate-as-a-daisy headspace. So, unfortunately, that means my big contribution to Pride this year was eating a rainbow sherbet popsicle and watching the film version of Rent (that I DVRed off of Logo the other day for...reasons?) But! I sat through every single commercial break! I didn't even fast-forward through Rosario Dawson's solos! I did it right.

For Pride!
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This Orlando thing is kicking my ass. I don't know what's going on, all I know is all my precious, carefully honed distancing techniques are failing me -- like, all of them, all at once, which may just be a first for me -- and I've been a snarling, bitchy mess since last Sunday. My face hurts from scowling at everything. I'm not even kidding, my jaw is actually killing me.

And then I went and watched this the other day, which, my God. Tenors. If they're not making you whip off your bra in public and twirl it around in the air like it's a lasso and you're an extra-slutty cowgirl, they're making you sob into a pillow, I swear.

So I thought I'd do a quick rundown of small-but-good things 'cos 1. I haven't done one in awhile, and 2. lists are the best. They just are. Lists let you sweep clean the streets of your mind, yo. I like lists.

And lists of nice things are, well, y'know... *inarticulate hand puppetry* Nice things are nice, is basically what I'm getting at. Wow. Profound. (I dunno. The idea made sense for one single, shining second, and so I clung to it.)

Onward? Onward!

Books: Still riding that Captive Prince high. There's some pretty rad fan art out there if anyone's into that. (Warning: BUTTS.)

I was gonna start The Raven Cycle next -- 'cos I keep hearing it's amazing and full of slash appeal and I'm a lemming with no will of my own -- but then I woke up yesterday with the weirdest urge to re-read Helter Skelter, a book I was obsessed with for a hot minute back as a mopey high school gothling and have barely thought about since. I mean, I guess I could just go with it, but...I wonder if this isn't something I can satisfy by listening to the cast album of Hair while Google searching photos of expensive knives?

TV: 'Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt' (late to the party, I know, I know!). It's not a perfect show, but Lillian the landlord is a perfect character. She is my past, present and future. The Voldemort to my Tom Riddle. I am this woman.

Beauty: It's not something I ever really talk about in polite company, but I have a problem. A lip balm problem. I'm currently using a shampoo that gives me hives 'cos I'm too cheap to throw out a half-full bottle of anything, all my underwear is falling apart at the seams, but what I do have is a bedside drawer literally overflowing with booze-themed lip balms made by this woman. Because yes.

Music: I'm taking my mom to see Dylan at the Tennis Stadium next month! And after, we'll go grab a drink and she will repay me by once again telling the story about how they almost slept together in the eighties. Joy.

Culture: Bobby Brown had sex with a ghost, and Matt Bomer ate a cupcake. Both of these are excellent things.

Bird News: Now that I'm living farther from the Blvd and a little closer to the park, I'm seeing fewer dead-eyed pigeons in my day-to-day and more actual wildlife. I'm kinda loving it. The same bird pops around my fire escape every morning at seven-ish; I couldn't tell you what kind he is, but he's very distinctive. He's got a fat little body and a shrill little scream, and I have decided to call him Gerald.

Done! But the question is, do I feel any better? Um. Hard to say just yet, but I do feel slightly less tired! That's just as good, right? Right?