Exploding Poohsticks

now everything is new...

2009-11-19T19:40:44Z

... 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*

happy birthday, lore!

2009-10-31T19:07:44Z

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*

yet more evidence that online fandom has corroded my brain

2009-10-30T06:40:50Z

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?"

wherever you may run away, there will be squid

2009-10-21T13:53:27Z

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...

hey, there's chocolate in my peanut butter! :-)

2009-10-05T03:08:30Z

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*)

two links and .02 on the Polanski ugliness

2009-10-03T16:59:10Z

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.

I think I've found my new tagline

2009-10-01T19:28:58Z

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'"

signal boost: Halloween poetry contest

2009-09-29T15:44:08Z

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.)

signal boost: muppets

2009-09-28T18:20:44Z

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

YAY!

2009-09-28T15:29:20Z

KIMIKO DATE KRUMM FTW!!

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

three ficlets (tennis, Snupin, and more tennis)

2009-09-25T18:23:58Z

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

Mirka's first reaction to Xisca's request is to demand, "Are you sure? I didn't want to get married when I was your age."

Xisca points out, not unkindly, "You were busy playing tennis, and Roger wasn't a superstar then. Rafa got started early, and I have always planned on a business career."

Mirka frowns. "Not just because of him, I hope."

Xisca retorts, "You don't think he is enough work by himself?" Her smile sharpens as she adds, "If he's ever stupid enough to drop me, there are plenty of other ships in the Armada that need steering."

"Do they ever," Mirka mutters. Roger has certainly been enough work by himself, and now there are the girls, but Mirka still sometimes fantasizes about taking one or more of the Spanish boys under her wing. Considering what a headcase and airhead Roger himself can be, there's nothing wrong with Feli or Tommy that truly competent management couldn't sort out. And if she could somehow persuade them to play for Switzerland…

Xisca is smirking at her. "You understand me."

Mirka holds up a hand. "Not entirely. You can do all that without getting married."

Xisca shrugs. "Sure. But not being married is a distraction too, you know? I think settling this would be good for Rafa. And fun for me. Especially with me doing the proposing." She lightly taps the rock on Mirka's ring finger. "You will help me, won't you?"

Mirka sighs. As if that had really ever been in question.

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 would have never bet on a litter of puppies producing that effect. To be fair, it was the wizard cradling the puppies who had produced that effect: Remus Lupin had been dead for eleven years, and yet, here he was.

Hooch knew Snape was really upset when the first word he finally squawked out was "Tree?"

"What…? Oh, my shirt. Just something Juan Carlos had around. I promise you, I'm not attached to the Willow in the slightest. No more than you are, I'm sure. What brings you here, anyway?"

"Juan Carlos's cousin is a wizard specializing in culicidaedal extracts," Snape automatically answered.

"In other words, mosquito bits," Hooch explained. She paused, and then narrowed her eyes at their find. "I wondered about Juanqui's comeback. Body-subbing is not cricket, Remus Lupin."

"Of course it isn't. I'm hurt that you think I would cheat like that." Hooch continued to glare at him. "I promise you, it's really Juan Carlos out there. At least when he's playing Muggles. I only fill in against Echizen and Tezuka."

"So which one of you plays against Federer?" Snape demanded.

Lupin looked insulted. "You think their head-to-head would be 3-9 if it was me out there?"

"So who was that back in England?" Hooch retorted.

Lupin said, "Spanish spy. We swapped places a few months before Dumbledore died."

As realization dawned on both Snape's and Hooch's faces, Lupin heaved another indignant sigh. "Honestly. You should have known better. I don't talk like that, and I don't forget contraception spells."

Returning his gaze to the puppies, Snape sneered, "Is not spaying a form of contraception?"

Lupin tossed one of the furballs at Snape, who instinctively fielded it. "Far be it from me," Lupin cheerfully intoned, "to interfere with the true workings of fate."

Snape wordlessly stroked his catch, his eyes boring into Lupin. As Lupin's smile faded, Hooch silently beckoned to the mama dog, who obediently trotted to her side.

As they walked away, Hooch deliberately tried not to listen to the choked-out whispers and the rustle of fabric behind them. As indecent as it felt to overhear any of it, using magic to shut out the sounds was out of the question: she knew better than to erect any barrier between mama dog and her pups.

She hoped, whatever was between them, the men would remember that too.

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

"What's that, Juanma? I haven't won the tournament yet, it's too early to celebrate."

"We are not waiting until Sunday to eat this. Especially not when Novak and Rafa air-shipped it from the new restaurant."

"They did? Sweet of them." Pico peers around Juanma as the latter carefully removes the waxed cardboard brace protecting the cheesecake. "Think they'll play together in China?"

"Oh, they'll play together. Just not necessarily on court." Juanma smirks as he places a slice of cake onto one of the napkins he brought along. "Either way, it'll be fun to watch."

Pico accepts the slice, smirking back. "Sure it will - but only when I'm not watching you."

Juanma twists down to tap his forehead against Pico's. "Why are you wasting time stating the obvious? You could be using it to eat cake."

"Why are you wasting a napkin on your own slice when you could be sharing mine?"

"Oh. You have a good point there." Juanma sets his portion aside, chuckling as Pico waggles his eyebrows. Ignoring the fork Pico's holding toward him, he instead licks a crumb from the corner of Pico's mouth.

"Oh." It's the only syllable Pico can manage.

"Mmmm," Juanma hums.

meme

2009-09-24T16:57:05Z

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 ~~person~~people who tagged you:

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

puppies and poetry

2009-09-23T02:52:19Z

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

FICLET: "Not Yet Cooked"

2009-09-16T16:45:47Z

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. At first glance, he assumes it's a "welcome to Italy" present from the hotel or an ITF rep or one of the Davis Cup sponsors; it's Mirka's gurgle of laughter that brings him over for a closer look.

She hands him the card, smirking:

You play like a noodle yesterday. - Rafa

Roger rolls his eyes at his wife. "When it's not you, it's him. Can't a guy have an off day without either of you rubbing salt into the wounds?"

Mirka grins, showing Roger the jar of Italian sea salt she's pulled out of the basket's depths. Roger mutters, "You two think you're so funny."

"Whatever it takes to poke you into playing smarter," Mirka shoots back. She affectionately, lightly bops Roger on the nose with her fist. In spite of himself, Roger's scowl instantly dissolves into a giggle.

"I hate you," he says.

"Of course you do," Mirka replies. "Just remember, before you know it, the twins will be old enough to watch."

She doesn't add, I didn't bear two babies for them to watch you serve like a schnitzel. She doesn't have to. Roger simultaneously rolls his eyes and mimes the twisting of a knife in his gut. Mirka cheerfully scoops up the basket and heads out of the room, tossing Roger's phone to him just before she glides through the door.

Roger dials Rafa's number.

"Hola."

"Noodle?"

"Nicer than 'mashed-potato-brain,' no?"

"I seem to recall that the same guy beat you too."

"Believe me, Mirka no let me forget. She send me business cards."

"She. . . business cards? Um, what did they say?"

"Cards are fine. They are amazing - they match my yellow shirt. I like them a lot. But Mirka, her note. . ." Roger hears the rustle of Rafa rummaging for the note. "Ah, here it is. Mirka, she say, 'If you're going to play that far behind the baseline, you should introduce yourself to the linespeople properly.'"

"Ouch."

"You tell me. Xisca give me box of breath mints with same message."

"We never should have let them meet."

Rafa snorts. "You really think we ever had say in that?"

"No, of course not." Roger heaves a sigh of resignation. "How's your ab?"

"Same as yesterday," Rafa answers, gloomily. "Not helped by someone playing like noodle."

"Who in the world did you learn that from?" Roger demands. "Novak?"

"No, Dudi. His fans, some of them yell 'You noodlenick!' when he lose to Kevin Kim."

Roger really is tired. He's not feeling up to explaining Yiddish invective to Rafa, and Spain is supposed to win this weekend. Besides, he doubts Rafa will be hearing "nudnik!" directed at any of the Israelis during the tie -- if Polaris World is like any of the other Spanish stadiums he's played in, any non-Spanish cheering will be easily drowned out by the home crowd.

"You practice today?" Rafa asks.

"Have a heart," Roger says. "I got here an hour ago."

"Already an hour before you call me?"

"Had to settle the twins first. You know that."

"Was joke. You know that."

Roger scrubs at his face with his right hand. "I know. Too defensive."

"Yes, you were. Next time, show up to match with better plan."

"Next time, show up to the match, period. I don't want to read 'I wasn't really there' in your blog ever again."

"Next time I send wet noodle if you play like one. The better for Mirka to beat you with."

"Next time, get to the damn final so I can beat you."

Roger can practically hear Rafa's smile.

housekeeping

2009-09-12T17:20:24Z

(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.

scramblings

2009-09-11T04:39:45Z

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:

"You forget?"

"Never. Miss me?"

"Love the blue trunks."

"Tight, on the plane."

"Fuck. Bend over."

"You... your hand..." The grin. The gasp. Roger telling Rafa, rough and deep, "Open. Mine." Rafa, heated: "Rogelio, I no forget."

...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 word pool (consisting of community member nominations): blue we evening turgid euphoria he impatient wear forget glass let me trunks swear sweat savage tight like heart know stars hand forget over gentle to on the silence deafening lost enthralled in beautiful bed go shirtless night at from he miss ask light sun mild pretty smile say when his hard empty sight lust ours with media yellow knees chocolate them brush and spurting throat mouth hair ass brush leather skim lick sea both your would if will is love drunk but just love future Toni light cock the I deep grin stare fuck restless home boat car plane room court heated chilled wet dry wanton lullaby crash come sunlight nipples Jane Austen play our when some from are mine cute No! tongue remember bend fluid you rough love motorcycle hair lips never no nasty cheer bacon butter mist you know into his try taste teeth mark make understand how my the he said hand racquet hold rafa they were fucking telling words roger rogelio open restless clay victory please suck gasp defeat frustrating Words could only be used as often as they appeared in the pool. And yes, I did try to incorporate "Jane Austen" into another entry, but the soppy closing line tanked it. Which, again, is only to be expected when one starts playing with the words the day of the deadline.]

Also? BBC livetexts and usopen.org radio are lovesome things. I'm on self-imposed exile from the TennisWorld forums until the Open is over, partly due to overworkwhelm and partly because I can't trust myself not to snap at a number of regulars there who don't know when to STFU. It was not good when I found myself hoping for a Soderling-Murray final out of sheer vindictiveness -- Roger and Rafa both have fans who don't do them any favors, and so do Caroline Wozniacki and the Williams sisters, and I'm not above sometimes wishing they'd all lose just to spite the fans who are going to be obnoxious and obtuse no matter what (i.e., the ones who can't tolerate any dissent about the greatness of their player, who incessantly harp upon inferiority of said player's rivals and/or fans of other players, and/or who constantly moan about how said player is treated unfairly by tournament directors or the undiscerning public or WHATEVER). [/rant]

On the other hand, there are some highly entertaining folks over there as well - stats geeks and skilled matchcallers and some very dry wits. I did peek in during the DelPo match earlier today to find these responses to yet another complaint about preferential treatment for Federer:

Grant: Look, we tried to get Rafa into the Illuminati but he keeps messing up the handshake.

Hart: In his defense, it's really hard to concentrate on that handshake when the candles aren't lined up correctly, no?

Grant: I know! I was all like "Dude, we need you to figure out if you're left- or right-handed so we can get on with rigging tennis majors and installing puppet governments around the world," but he was too busy lining up the candles based on height and alphabetizing the incense to pay attention.

*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.

another reason to adore Amelie Mauresmo

2009-09-04T00:09:20Z

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.

Oh...

2009-08-27T05:08:27Z

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*)

Disconcerting

2009-08-15T01:31:41Z

Moi, a la "Mad Men":

From photoblogging

support a sexy independent press, enjoy a tarot reading bonus

2009-08-09T16:34:38Z

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."

calls for entries

2009-08-04T13:28:52Z

Dichroic is sponsoring a poetry contest. First prize is a year's membership in the Science Fiction Poetry Association.

qarrtsiluni invites would-be contributors to send art and literary pieces about "words of power: curses, spells, charms, prayers, incantations, mantras, sacred scriptures, explicit performative utterances, oaths, or legal instruments. " I do believe many of you have things to say or show that would fit this theme, oh yes I do.

a handful of notes, mostly on tennis

2009-08-03T23:40:11Z

(1) Andrea Petkovic - interesting, personality-wise

(2) Andrew Broad at the TW boards says, "Monica Niculescu is the WTA version of Fabrice Santoro: she has two hands both sides, but unlike Marion Bartoli, she has Santoro's forehand slice, and plays lots of dropshots."

(3) Also in the TW forum, from Jenni, a disgruntled St. Louis fan: "I'm not even that upset that they got rid of Washburn. It's that this team is always trading away cows and then expecting us to be excited that they got a handful of magic beans with 'great fastballs.' Ridiculous. But then again, this is the team that traded our Hall of Fame manager for Randy Winn."

(4) "Lendl" was an answer in this morning's UPI crossword.

(5) The NYT had an article on Andrea Jaeger, who became a nun after she retired. Sadly, the article's about a property dispute between her children's charity ranch and its neighbors.

According to the dentist's assistant, the 3/16" chunk I dug out of my gum on Saturday was some of the concrete used in installing the temporary crown. In any case, I got through the morning with a combination of ibuprofen and folk remedies (some saltwater rinsing, followed by gauze plastered with a paste made from Becherovka and ground cloves), and by sacking out (having been awake since 3 a.m. was a factor in that as well). Post-dentist, I stopped at two grocery stores, the art supply store, and the library, and the rest of the evening will be spent at the easel as soon as the contractor working on my bedroom window clears out (long story). Onwards...

when fandoms collide

2009-08-03T00:57:01Z

From:

http://newballs.wordpress.com/2009/08/02/gstaad-thomaz-bellucci-has-a-big-rock

Gaul's comment on the trophy: "...why does it have a Golden Snitch inside?"

two more Japan-related things currently open on my Chrome tabs

2009-08-01T04:10:03Z

(1) meretricula's
four reasons Roger Federer wished the Japanese Davis Cup team would fall into a really deep hole (and one reason they weren't that bad after all). Tennis RPS / Prince of Tennis crossover, 2800 words, absolutely hysterical, and with mentions of the Spanish Davis Cup team as well. Its opening lines:

To be fair, Roger actually liked playing Echizen. The kid was good, he was getting better all the time, and the stretch of trying to beat him was satisfying. The problem was that whenever he played Echizen, he would almost inevitably have to talk to Echizen, and as soon as the brat started speaking Roger felt an extremely uncharitable urge to punch him in the mouth. Since Echizen was seventeen years old and less than five and a half feet tall, Roger thought that this might be problematic for his reputation.

(2) There's a teacher in Nevada seeking donations in order to purchase a gyotaku (rubber fish) printmaking set for her students.

(2a) The anonymous donor from LJ's fandom-of-one comm is still making contributions to charity in honor of New Year's Resolution fic. She or he donated $5 to the rubber fish project in honor of Deserving. This has made me ridiculously happy, as did his/her earlier donation to a tennis-equipment-for-kids project (now fully funded) in honor of Interrobang.

(2b) [blatant hinting] There are still 3625 prompts up for grabs at the Yuletide archive. You do not have to be a previous participant to play. You do not claim a prompt - you simply submit the story when it is done. (You do have to write the story specifically for NYR, and it has to be 1000 words minimum.) The open prompts currently include one for Harudaki (*cough* - yeah, it's mine) and others for Three Investigators, Bujold, the a-ha "Take on Me" video, and a bajillion manga/anime titles I've never even heard of...

good things

2009-07-30T23:00:03Z

(1) Project P finally delivered to client this afternoon. Yay! I am looking forward to sleeping through the night!

(2) While it was not a good thing to hear the dentist say, "That fracture went deeper than I thought," nor to feel said dentist's drill against said fracture, the repair has been made, I have painkillers at hand, and also a blenderful of homemade tomato soup. And because of good thing #1, I can also indulge in shots of St. Germain.

(3) I also had a jar of sardinade au thym I'd brought back from France. Lovely on toast.

(4) Listening to Stile Antico's recording of Byrd's "Vigilate."

(5) quantumseraph's Exchange, a Tokyo Babylon fic at Yuletide:

"I," Subaru said, getting out, looking up. "I -- it's not a complicated job just a purification I won't be long you could -- come over afterward I'm sure Hokuto would like to see you on Christmas Eve --"

Seishirou's smile was -- quiet. Intent. "I believe I'd like that very much, Subaru-kun," he said.

Maybe Subaru could blame the cold for the color of his cheeks.

"I'll wait for you here and drive you home," Seishirou went on, cheerfully. "Where did you say you were working?"

"Er," Subaru managed. "Just. Over there." He waved an arm vaguely and hoped Seishirou wouldn't guess he was pointing at the bright neon lights of the love hotel.

"Subaru-kun! Are you sure this isn't a date?!"

(5) Geri-chan's Comeback series (Haru wo Daiteita) (and some of the discussions in some of the comments). It has a lot on offer to different tastes and interests -- there are episode with hot m/m sex, there are actors struggling with the challenges of (not) being out, there are actors discussing their (lack of) opportunities as actors (including as Asians), there are internal and external power struggles, there is much mention of food... Here is the opening of "Unexpected Opportunities":

Kikuchi stormed into the apartment and slammed the door behind him, causing his boyfriend Daniel to look up with a start from the script that he was reading.

"Hey babe, what's wrong?" Daniel asked, setting the script aside. "Did the audition not go well?"

"I didn't get the part," Kikuchi growled through gritted teeth.

"But I thought that the audition was only a formality, that the director wanted you for the role."

"He did," Kikuchi snarled. "That is, until Keanu fucking Reeves decided that he wanted to play at being a samurai."

(6)Rachel Manija Brown's River of Heaven:

Fulfilling our mission would undoubtedly be the most important thing to happen on Earth that day, but Seiji seemed more interested in window-shopping.

I tried to hurry him up by indicating the faint but present glow of my ring, but he continued babbling about the elegance and charm of the Shibuya train station and its stalls of books and bento boxes and knockoff handbags. I lifted my hand again. He promptly darted into a tiny shop selling luxury sweets. Perhaps his human body was experiencing hunger. Mine was experiencing heat. The air smelled and felt like sweat. I wrapped my arms tighter around my body and edged into the chill radiating from the sweet shop's glassed-in case.

Seiji pointed to a square of clear gelatin with a gelatin goldfish plus a tiny frog on a lily pad suspended in its center. "What's that one called?"

"Wakabakage," answered the saleswoman. "Young leaves' shade. Very popular in summer."

"I'll take two," said Seiji.