Exploding Poohsticks

... or so the song goes. Actually, the difficulty is that life careens on no matter whether I'm paying attention or not, which means I'm nowhere near unpacked, I'll be sightsinging 11 pieces at tonight's rehearsal (and learning one by ear; the remaining two I've sung before), and I'm daunted at the necessity of getting my house company-ready by Monday.

Also, I ache all over, and I'm not sure if it's residual jetlag, residual-falling-off-a-horse-in-Jordan (I did get back on, go me), climate shock (I wore a bikini top in Tel Aviv last Saturday; today, I'm swaddled in my fleece robe and flannel nightgown, and I'm still cold), resuming my acquaintance with Tennessee Valley allergens, or if I'm succumbing to one of the many colds lurking around me (the BYM has been complaining of a scratchy throat). I better not be - I have high notes to hit! - but I've had to defer catching up with people, just in case, and that's a bummer.

Mopiness and munched-up-by-obligations-ness aside, HI! (For those of you just tuning in, I was in Israel for a month - primarily to attend a friend's wedding in Tel Aviv, but also to indulge my wanderlust while I have the legs and flextime to give it rein. There are more details and photos at my general journal.) I couldn't help but think of y'all while I was over there - there was a sushi restaurant in Jerusalem with a manga-styled girl in its ads; cartoon crustaceans on subway walls; shiny, shiny beach structures and a gorgeous library at the Israel Supreme Court, both of which made me miss marginaliana like you wouldn't believe (and so did seeing the Sesame Street stream of Google-logos (November 4-10) every time I hopped onto google.co.il to figure out buses, trains, and other logistics); and a Woodpigeon cover of "Lay All Your Love Down on Me" that had me remembering geoviki's lists.

(I have been unnaturally obsessed with that song for the past nine days - the Information Society version happened to be playing while I was at the Japonika in Haifa, and somehow rooted itself into my system before I was done with my coffee, and the plane home had the ABBA original in its database, so I ended up playing it over and over from Turkey to Quebec in tandem with dance mixes of "All Out of Love" and "Don't Leave Me This Way." It was weirdly soothing to doze to, although the teenage girl in the seat next to me probably thinks I'm a sad, sad freak. I'll just have to riff on it for My Poem Rocks or some other venue - something in my psyche wants its turn on the dancefloor...)

Um, so, yeah, lots going on, and lots more to say, but I've definitely exceeded my babble quota for the day. Plus, lunch to make and cards to send and files to edit and submissions to assemble. Speaking of the last, there are now poems scheduled to appear at Strange Horizons and Dead Mule in the near-ish future, and just a couple hours, qarrtsiluni went live with both the text and audio versions of I am waiting for the right instant to say your name. (For what it's worth, I feel this is my best reading to date of anything I've written, so I'm extra-pleased about that.)

*hugs you all, bounds off to terrorize the mailman* *eg*

You deserve so much more, but this is all the fic my brain is willing to yield right now:

Their lives on the farm were peaceful, for the most part, although both men remained in fighting trim well into old age. Their superlative fitness was in part due to Lupin's inability to resist teasing his partner on occasion, resulting in few-holds-barred duels until they were both exhausted. Lupin never did find out why, during Snape's turns to milk the Guernseys, the word "cow-ward" was such a trigger.

*grins* *HUGS* *flees barrage of pumpkin seeds*

Seen on the outside wall of a Tel Aviv pub: "Restrooms for costumers only."

Brain, pre-fandom: "Ack, typo!"

Brain, current: "Wicked! Why didn't I bring my hat?"

Space squid, at that. (Hi Valis!)

From misc

(On an outdoor wall of a cafe in Tel Aviv.)

Also emblematic of wrongness, albeit in a different realm: LJ:azdak offers the start of a Bunter/St. George in LJ:nineveh-uk's Yuletide Hell Game. Ulp...

So, I was reading through parts of the Fall 2009 UU World over dinner, when I came across this:

From misc

See the guy in the upper LH corner? He has a degree in physics and worked in banking before becoming a UU minister.

More to the point: "Live long and prosper" at our national assembly. Glee!

(On a side note: my church now has an "Over 30 Gaming Group." How cool is that? If it weren't for the need for sleep... *wistful*)

Ed Benerno: "Another popular justification seems to be, 'The victim forgives him.' As a former police officer I can tell you unequivocally that the victim of a crime is often the person least capable of making that decision. They are frightened and humiliated. They just want it all to go away."

Via LJ:ky_expatriate: chrismm's ongoing list of celebrities who aren't giving Polanski a free pass.

My .02: The girl said 'no.' I just don't see any acceptable apology around that. And, on a similarly basic level: my niece is that age. I don't care how tragic and/or brilliant and/or nice-the-rest-of-the-time someone is - if they do anything like that to her, I'll be going after them with a shotgun.

Or, No Fandom Is an Island, Exhibit JT:

The unforced error is when you beat yourself. The ball comes to you and you hit it into the net. Or you hit it long. Or you hit it onto the roof of Gary Burke's car, in the parking lot, which I do, a lot.

But the worst error of all is when you don't even try.

On game day, I knew our opponents were going to be tough. During warm-up, the tall one kept hitting fast, spinning serves. I knocked a couple toward Gary’s parking space just to show her that she didn't scare me. But of course, she did.

During the match, however, I stayed tough and maintained my focus. When she hit a 400-mile-an-hour drive straight at my kidneys, I played my game: the dink. Soft returns, ridiculous loopy lobs and a serve that floated across the net like a matzo ball made with love.

But a funny thing happened. My opponents kept overhitting. Meanwhile, my partner, Cheryl, and I got most of our shots in. At one point in the second set, I even heard one of our opponents hiss to the other, "But her serves are so soft ..."

"Float like a matzo ball, sting like a bee," I thought. And wafted another of Nana's seltzer specials over the net.

- Michelle Slatalla, There is a 'Me' in 'Team'"

Don Kingfisher Campbell runs some entertaining contests. Here's the latest: "PREMISE: Submit a 10 line poem with a grand total of 31 words (any number of words per line as long as the total number of words in the poem is 31, stanza breaks count as lines) that fits any of the themes listed below by 10-10-09 with an electronic payment of $10.31 via http://paypal.com to kingfisher1031@charter.net (paste poem into message box or send in a separate email). If your poem is chosen the winner you get 100.31% of the contest money submitted."

(Full disclosure: Don's published a handful of my poems over the past two years, one of which was nominated for a Dwarf Stars Award; the most recent one appeared last month at my poem rocks.)

some stuff from/at Jim Henson Studios current on offer at the LJ:care_faith_hope charity auction.

KIMIKO DATE KRUMM FTW!!

(She won the Seoul Open yesterday, and turned 39 today.)

You can blame my commenters (specifically dru and meretricula) for these. (That, and it's easier to nosh on leftover crabcakes indoors, where the sand is not... [/last true day of vacation, wah])

Title: Sisterhood
Fandom: Tennis RPF (Mirka and Xisca)
Prompted by: meretricula's "wish for fic where [Mirka, Xisca, et al] are all BFFs and hang out at tournaments and talk trash about their respective husbands and boyfriends." And a fresh upswing in Rafa-proposing-to-Xisca rumors all over the tennisphere.
Useful background info: Mirka's parents are jewelers.
Wordcount: 200

( Are you sure? I didn't want to get married when I was your age )

---

Title: Furthermore
Fandoms: Harry Potter and Tennis RPF (with a nod to Prince of Tennis)
Characters: Hooch and Snape/Lupin
Prompted by: drusilla rain's request for "crack-fic involving Remus, puppies, that pic and Snape"
Side info: Juan Carlos Ferrero's nicknames include "Juanqui" and "Mosquito"
Wordcount: 400

( Hooch had seen Snape speechless before, but she never would have bet on a litter of puppies producing that effect. )

---

Title: In the Present
Fandom: Tennis RPF
Pairings: Juan Martin del Potro/Juan Monaco; background Nole/Rafa
Prompted by: meretricula's wishlist
Warning: outright fluff
Side note: I actually looked at everyone's tournament schedule to confirm that all four of them plan to play in Beijing. For a double drabble. Is it any wonder why it takes me so freakin' long to finish fics? [/rolls eyes at self]
Wordcount: 200

( We are not waiting until Sunday to eat this. )

Gacked from several locked posts hither and thither. Tagging whomever wants to play.

[Original instructions:
FIRST: If you've been tagged, you must write your answers in your own LJ and replace any question that you dislike with a new, original question.

SECOND: Tag eight sexy people.]


Who sleeps in bed next to you?

The Beautiful Young Man.

What's one of the strangest things that has ever happened to you?

Skydiving. Turns out I don't enjoy it - not because it's scary, but because it's bloody murder on my ears. (And because I didn't find it scary, it was less of a thrill than I'd expected, plus it meant I was getting irrationally yet thoroughly annoyed with my companions rabbiting on and on about how terrified they were.)

What kind of magazines do you read?

I have subscriptions to Shape, Fitness, and Star*Line. I also like O, Real Simple, Marie-Claire, and other glossy "lifestyle" junk-food-for-the-brain mags, and poetry journals such as Shenandoah, but I'm deferring new subscriptions until my time/money budgets are back on keel.

If you could see one band music group in concert right now - any group, dead or alive - which would it be?

I'd love to catch Les Enfoires. Preferably a year when both Francis Cabrel and JJ Goldman are participating.

What's really creepy?

Any gooey stain that I do not know the origin of. Yeah, squeamish est moi.

Name one odd item within five feet of you.

The BYM? (ba-da-bum!) I'm actually in a friend's condo at the moment, so the odd quotient is seriously down -- oh, I know! My toenails are painted! (First time in years. Vacation is a very, very good thing. I can tell it's been too long because the BYM keeps chirping "Toes!" whenever he registers them anew.)

What's your current fandom/obsession/addiction?

I'm not reading or writing much of anything at the moment, which will probably continue until March (no Yuletide for me, WAH), what with assorted offline obligations (yes, I'm on vacation, but I brought two laptops and a filebox with me. My whole year has been like that). I have FAKE, Snupin, Prydain, and Harudaki WiPs/IOUs to get back to (plus honoring my end of the "handmade gift" meme that went around earlier this year), but they're all at the "too intense" or "too intricate" or "fuck, I need to study up on ___, ____, and _____ to do right by this."

Where would you like to go right now if you had enough money?

Paris and southern France.

What are you most excited for?

Going to swim in the Atlantic this afternoon.

What websites do you always frequently visit when you go online?

The New York Times; Tennis World; assorted friends and associates.

What was the last thing you bought?

A mediocre salad from a local supermarket. Before that, beef broccoli at Lucky Panda (notable for the bamboo saplings serving as table- and top-of-soda-case decorations. The vases on top of the soda-case were these porcelain fish with gaping mouths, such that it looked like they were deep-throating the bamboo - somewhat disconcerting, that).

What's your favorite season?

Spring. Especially before the mosquitoes show up.

Does the weather affect your mood? Do you use music for special moods? How do you do it (f.x. enforce or counter)?

Not significantly, since I'm such a mouse potato to begin with (that, and susceptible both to pollen and bug bites). Much as I love music, I'm more likely to self-medicate with writing than listening.

What is your zodiac sign?

Taurus. I pretty much match the classic personality traits.

Do you want to learn another language?

Trying to pick up Hebrew at the moment.

5 things (not people) you can't live without?

1. hot water
2. clean towels and sheets
3. rice
4. soy sauce
5. paper

Do you have any siblings?

a brother

What's something you'd like to say to someone right now?

Hey, remember me?

What's your earliest memory?

Dragging a giant stuffed panda through the snow. (c. 2 years old)

Say something to the personpeople who tagged you:

Gmar chatima tova! / Miss you. / Good luck with it all!

The puppies: I believe it is Spanish tennis player Juan Carlos Ferrero in this picture.

...what a Remus Lupin he would make, hein? (*adds him to my pile of reference images for Hold*)

The poetry: Greta Cabrel on challah and sushi at Clean Sheets

Title: Not Yet Cooked
Author: bronze_ribbons
Fandom: Tennis RPF
Characters: Roger, Mirka, Rafa
Wordcount: 617
Disclaimer: Fic is fictional. No malice intended, no profit expected.
Rating: worksafe
Notes: Originally posted to LJ's fedal_slash comm (locked). I'm essentially on a hiatus from fic-writing until mid-February, but it would appear that I had some USO angst to get out of my system.

( When Roger arrives at his suite in Genova, there is a beribboned basket overflowing with pasta sitting on the coffee table. )

(1) Major list cut today. No one's offended me, honest; it's a combination of limited time + upcoming limited wi-fi access.

(2) If you have me friended and/or if we've met in person and/or interacted significantly, odds are I'll peek in from time to time anyhow. You know, the way I do with the majority of my offline friends.

Owie, owie, ouch. I burned my left pinkie while baking tonight. That makes two weeks in a row with cooking-related injuries. (Last week it was jalapeno burns.) Let's see if I can make it through tomorrow's dinner prep...

On the bright side, I now have warm-from-the-oven chocolatey oatmeal cookies, just because I felt like it. Which I am having with my third glass of red wine. I do love being a grownup. Even though, at the moment, I would much rather be working on the monster WiPs or angry/sexy/GTFO-my-head-NOW poems instead wading through twenty-year-old tax paperwork.

Speaking of poetry, "I Hear You With Half of My Heart went up at My Poem Rocks last month, and three very short poems up at 7x20 over the summer.

To my considerable startlement, I also picked up this...

From tennis

for this:
( NWS fridge-magnet ficlet under the cut )

...which, you know, not bad for something pulled together three hours before the deadline. Now if I can stop living the rest of my life like that... *grimace*

( the words on the fridge )

Also? BBC livetexts and usopen.org radio are lovesome things. ( And then there are the aspects of fandom that are not. )

*glee*

Not that I have any room to talk. I had lunch with a colleague yesterday, and we got to talking about my upcoming month in Israel:

J: Are you going to visit any other countries while you're there?

R: I seriously considered Egypt and Jordan, but probably not. The problem is that I don't have time to learn enough Arabic before I leave. [beat] Um. Yeah. I know I don't have to, but...

J: Yeah, but I know you well enough for that to actually make sense.

From her US Open press conference yesterday:

Q. You had a very accomplished career, and it took you a while to finally win a Grand Slam title. What advice would you give to the other players in the draw in the same situation?
AMÉLIE MAURESMO: Advice regarding what?

Q. As far as...
AMÉLIE MAURESMO: Taking time to -- you know, everyone's road is different. We all have different things that we went through, even before the tennis career started and everything. It builds you as a human being, as a player. It's really hard to say you should do this or that.
When you're in this position, it's better to go this way or to take this road or make this choice. It's really personal things. I'm not sure there is one answer really, just one answer to each of those questions.
It's a matter of each one adjusting to the situation you are given. You have to make the choice.

Q. Do you think they have some flaws in their games or they have been unlucky or they're not there yet?
AMÉLIE MAURESMO: Who are you talking about?

Q. Jankovic, Safina, Dementieva.
AMÉLIE MAURESMO: You know what? I don't know. I don't know. Who am I to just -- I don't know how they're working. I don't know in what state of mind they are. I don't know how they feel physically.
I just you know, they know the best, and they can the best choose and see who's better to help them and how and what. It's so personal. I'm glad I'm not a journalist to write on this.

There once was a fan named Valis
renowned for her absence of malice
as through each vacation
with lens and crustacean
she analysed Snape's busy phallus.

(Happy birthday, sweetie! *grins and flees*)

Moi, a la "Mad Men":

From photoblogging

No Tell Books is offering a free tarot reading or dream interpretation to you if you purchase a book from them before the end of this weekend (August 9; publisher is based in the Eastern U.S.).

(Sorry this alert is so eleventh-hour-ish, but I've been somewhat occupied with other things, so I only spotted the offer an hour ago meself.)

My connection: one of my poems, "Coat," appears in The Bedside Guide to No Tell Books - Second Floor. "Because It Makes Me Ha--" appears in the first Bedside Guide. The archives of the online journal include four other poems by me.

A recommendation: Wanton Textiles by Reb Livingston and Ravi Shankar, a collection with a beautiful cover and tremendous fun both to read and react to -- my copy is covered with my own scribblings (and water-wrinkled from keeping me company in my bathtub), which included the beginnings of two poems eventually published by flashquake.

No Tell's catalog also includes a collection by Jill Alexander Essbaum, author of "On Reading Poorly Transcribed Erotica."