tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17677645840904522482024-02-21T10:28:14.831-06:00Asylum of LavenderThe voices in my head have stories. Let me tell you them.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-61974324545906764272013-03-01T00:58:00.002-06:002013-03-01T15:52:08.658-06:00So, I was in Italy, finale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I always start out these travelogues so enthusiastic and then peter out toward the end. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say I was at a club meeting a few weeks after school started, and when asked what I'd done over the summer, I completely forgot about going to Italy until someone else mentioned travelling.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Memory like a sieve, this one.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Sad, given that this last entry contains the highlights of the trip.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
More text and many images after the cut.</div>
<div>
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div>
There's this town in Italy, not far from Pontremoli by train, called Lucca. It didn't stand out too much from any of the other little towns, although it did have some neat big ol' walls, and some pretty (if fairly standard) Italian architecture.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-FtaStYhbueMOxUiYW_a4F383ljYOb72Iv4e9XBO_6wELNnQ12dp7P6GAqBfV95PcWx9mPK13x73vCor0zu9aOiJ8zZQBFzMHoeshE9FTZCa0sdgdeH4BR2VCtagqpy_eJvHXTIKqqc/s1600/IMG_20121102_152709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-FtaStYhbueMOxUiYW_a4F383ljYOb72Iv4e9XBO_6wELNnQ12dp7P6GAqBfV95PcWx9mPK13x73vCor0zu9aOiJ8zZQBFzMHoeshE9FTZCa0sdgdeH4BR2VCtagqpy_eJvHXTIKqqc/s400/IMG_20121102_152709.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">quote-"Standard Italian Architecture"-unquote</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Also, the Friday we visited, there was a comic and videogame convention being hosted. And, you see, unlike most American towns that host conventions, there aren't any convention halls or hotels large enough for that sort of thing... so instead Lucca Comix just took over the entire town. Large tents were set up in particular for artists and dealers and maybe some panels, although I don't know for sure, since all but one of said tents required a badge to enter. Otherwise, the convention-goers -- dressed in all sorts of costumes and carrying all sorts of props -- just milled around the streets or patronized the local businesses.<br />
<br />
If that doesn't sound awesome to you, then we can't be friends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoU8oYbJVmdv3cLoUOgV7Fzyi8Azg-SXEhKW6YyuadYW4UI83P3SppG00AI75FO1bZ2sCLEZK3yOfz-7TyMK0PcjxlYu2qLeBlMu9EgbfXmaz6HZhfLMHRPXA8eMxYK8Co66o7DefEHz8/s1600/IMG_20121102_152804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoU8oYbJVmdv3cLoUOgV7Fzyi8Azg-SXEhKW6YyuadYW4UI83P3SppG00AI75FO1bZ2sCLEZK3yOfz-7TyMK0PcjxlYu2qLeBlMu9EgbfXmaz6HZhfLMHRPXA8eMxYK8Co66o7DefEHz8/s320/IMG_20121102_152804.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4SMH87gQYAFpuq63OTZqbt5fA-4jWxADgOXifSEsMqkhq8tHoAkudtfkZEiYh-zQfxgFLLHV5I6Lzi1Ddb3AkjKWt46sUE2HmHI-xGPluFTcho2ehF1oZwNiDcshFyVhLkgOVjZZpWY/s1600/IMG_20121102_152845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4SMH87gQYAFpuq63OTZqbt5fA-4jWxADgOXifSEsMqkhq8tHoAkudtfkZEiYh-zQfxgFLLHV5I6Lzi1Ddb3AkjKWt46sUE2HmHI-xGPluFTcho2ehF1oZwNiDcshFyVhLkgOVjZZpWY/s320/IMG_20121102_152845.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF8Oti2b-WvudapC4vxIk3BYt-BijGQ3HKbLSrCiJIrpT6IP2YPHqVfgresbP5qdPinjFvmiyvf09waXYaRCjTjliz-hWu9e4AoY9I-CnzuuwxqXxYjTMV_OPQccR8DnRo8OvCwxhXeM/s1600/IMG_20121102_152939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF8Oti2b-WvudapC4vxIk3BYt-BijGQ3HKbLSrCiJIrpT6IP2YPHqVfgresbP5qdPinjFvmiyvf09waXYaRCjTjliz-hWu9e4AoY9I-CnzuuwxqXxYjTMV_OPQccR8DnRo8OvCwxhXeM/s400/IMG_20121102_152939.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a Corpse Bride and a Smurfette</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkXv33s7B1CXYljDGpcqdjnEL8qRE1e-B3Tmpmew8x5c1wB1chAgkN-hMGq0L4cR3MpngBzaYujc1GtIHlhQDpw9d9Lf6fD2hJEYQE8oztnuK6pIXRqFQL_pJRb8-DhCVbAdo8Y7jCyM/s1600/IMG_20121102_161122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkXv33s7B1CXYljDGpcqdjnEL8qRE1e-B3Tmpmew8x5c1wB1chAgkN-hMGq0L4cR3MpngBzaYujc1GtIHlhQDpw9d9Lf6fD2hJEYQE8oztnuK6pIXRqFQL_pJRb8-DhCVbAdo8Y7jCyM/s400/IMG_20121102_161122.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know they're not Slendermen, but the idea of <br />
'Free Hugs' Slenderman tickles me too much to care.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7eJrG7VgmKUjePxj2lrMMpsbsDeZj4iOAegAU9jw22Nlm7vUOIfZftnwJMqJ2iM8czKUdtEz3_R7tcQY2MmpTm0ZiANtjhSR4UzSLnlw1zpxYWYYj5jx34pYjkCvf3FvYKpEichZ4pw/s1600/P1010020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7eJrG7VgmKUjePxj2lrMMpsbsDeZj4iOAegAU9jw22Nlm7vUOIfZftnwJMqJ2iM8czKUdtEz3_R7tcQY2MmpTm0ZiANtjhSR4UzSLnlw1zpxYWYYj5jx34pYjkCvf3FvYKpEichZ4pw/s400/P1010020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were emergency personnel on hand everywhere, just in case.<br />
Also I find the Assassin's Creed tent in the small Italian town pretty cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPp9XtSDX-NYqNupcfXPI8OhCjabzICmyGznrdjHon_7IOM0wh9en5gmYQExU7a_1NPkZqTMPYAmELSXSJfOoaZbpSQ5KtFS2H-4DkM8CCSLJlI6-zn9HfVmJJRsCPZXbYGMMrw7w5e7w/s1600/IMG_20121102_171104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPp9XtSDX-NYqNupcfXPI8OhCjabzICmyGznrdjHon_7IOM0wh9en5gmYQExU7a_1NPkZqTMPYAmELSXSJfOoaZbpSQ5KtFS2H-4DkM8CCSLJlI6-zn9HfVmJJRsCPZXbYGMMrw7w5e7w/s320/IMG_20121102_171104.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cons are the same everywhere.<br />
Right down to the Homestuck trolls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was probably the first place in Italy that I didn't feel overdressed. In fact, sitting outside our restaurant in an ankle-length black velvet-and-lace-paneled pencil skirt, sleeveless black mock turtleneck, and thigh-high rainbow socks with matching (ex-sock) sleeves, and a black fedora with a bright purple band, I felt right at home.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSoZXoPsmGyNnNvx-PPaCsIRJC16O5hfa2cQH_KEnVi3gCLwouvZJWf8_pUMGgWurxU3l7fCGzlzF0ggw0htNbpeenajrN4paQd35amKhPogWsKvkZbvqhnyxlYfz1rz8VV7tfzZP7Qo/s1600/P1010019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSoZXoPsmGyNnNvx-PPaCsIRJC16O5hfa2cQH_KEnVi3gCLwouvZJWf8_pUMGgWurxU3l7fCGzlzF0ggw0htNbpeenajrN4paQd35amKhPogWsKvkZbvqhnyxlYfz1rz8VV7tfzZP7Qo/s400/P1010019.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the view while we had lunch. How rad is that?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Funny thing is, on the way there, we'd forgotten that Lucca was having the con -- so running into people in the train stations with shiny leather trenchcoats and multicoloured wigs was both cool and baffling. The comic-con cleared everything right up, though.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Getting out of Lucca at the end proved to be a bit of an adventure in itself. We wisely chose not to catch the *last* train, opting instead for I think the second- or third-to-last, or in any case one that was leaving while it was still reasonably light out. Unfortunately, we weren't the only ones to have that idea. Though we headed over with time to spare, the stop was already filling up with people -- many of whom had conswag or rather bulky props, including a multitude of ridiculously oversized anime swords, and one memorable person near us with a four- or five-foot papier-mache teaspoon with a (presumably sugar) cube in it -- and it only grew more crowded as it came time for the train to approach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The time came. The time passed. The tired, hot conventionists, packed in like sardines and ready to head home already, began to grow restless. Ten minutes isn't a long time under normal circumstances, but these were hardly normal circumstances.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When the train finally pulled into the station -- I shit you not -- a cheer went up. It was the greatest thing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, yeah. Conventionists are basically the same no matter what language they speak or what country they live in, and that's pretty awesome.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We then returned to Pontremoli, where it proceeded to rain heavily for the rest of the weekend, although it warmed up quite a bit in the process. According to my notes, it was Sunday that was the nicest, and I was more than happy to prance about in the rain with my rainbow umbrella and my big ol' coat unbuttoned. While prancing about, we passed by a little shop called Legatoria Artigiana -- the Legatoria being a pun on the fact that they had a very visible calico store-cat -- wherein mom bought me a little ceramic owl that I'd squeed over earlier in the week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTHv9vmW-J5Lc0TDBNS_AmWniTcO6pNqDmL1VxEp8eudSkh7ILGcCUMYe6qZiB2mTSFgxFgnCQTRiPqoKMgJ4lKUzEn-P3EZE08m3WRypRrm5G6PSnnwWwK1Meu3ivWAYB3k7gynLFZ8/s1600/FatLilOwl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTHv9vmW-J5Lc0TDBNS_AmWniTcO6pNqDmL1VxEp8eudSkh7ILGcCUMYe6qZiB2mTSFgxFgnCQTRiPqoKMgJ4lKUzEn-P3EZE08m3WRypRrm5G6PSnnwWwK1Meu3ivWAYB3k7gynLFZ8/s400/FatLilOwl.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fat Little Owl! I haven't decided if his name is Pontremowli or Pontrowlmeli yet. Or just Pontremowl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Also, consulting the business card that came with the Pontremowl, the Legatoria was on Via Garibaldi, which, having grown up on B5 and re-watched up through season 4 fairly recently, makes me happy.<br />
<br />
After the rain there was fog. Imagine that.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3ZTXpzAv-jyl6TdTpPa5Epah5FdYcOFwFYdD1OtRk20-_zESDLfVYR-9vCPHzBAsjTvH7nEyiqk-baBbecwYKMFiSsD69P1uiWFI46PJbHQIHxFfQ8KVRHg3UkTONf7Uy8hE6_iYHIs/s1600/IMG_20121104_110619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3ZTXpzAv-jyl6TdTpPa5Epah5FdYcOFwFYdD1OtRk20-_zESDLfVYR-9vCPHzBAsjTvH7nEyiqk-baBbecwYKMFiSsD69P1uiWFI46PJbHQIHxFfQ8KVRHg3UkTONf7Uy8hE6_iYHIs/s320/IMG_20121104_110619.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silly mountain, you're too big for hide-and-seek.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-SudLXC8giY-YYsrdZIT6h7WjDUUuM78yURbGkcdEFLV9MriGNXM_hav29mvAwVF8WZkPA7J4cs5pX74_CDGyudF5bSgaMSk3I8lEOzD_aCUnXNIs_vpBicRUN4M2mt8YheBfyNKZVY4/s1600/IMG_20121104_110636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-SudLXC8giY-YYsrdZIT6h7WjDUUuM78yURbGkcdEFLV9MriGNXM_hav29mvAwVF8WZkPA7J4cs5pX74_CDGyudF5bSgaMSk3I8lEOzD_aCUnXNIs_vpBicRUN4M2mt8YheBfyNKZVY4/s320/IMG_20121104_110636.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV6AOF0Ys7GtXDxY0GFRKNgodZEb6d-OvTZV9Q5HeKtNuAJu4dGNI4zGdmojLGH3vc8tMTo6r5I19pEkN1IK1YrhdnNe0dCsC9sOG_L7m2vBROhnFDxSMVF9XRl9cyiC9RFc3ffAi2VQ/s1600/IMG_20121104_110703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV6AOF0Ys7GtXDxY0GFRKNgodZEb6d-OvTZV9Q5HeKtNuAJu4dGNI4zGdmojLGH3vc8tMTo6r5I19pEkN1IK1YrhdnNe0dCsC9sOG_L7m2vBROhnFDxSMVF9XRl9cyiC9RFc3ffAi2VQ/s320/IMG_20121104_110703.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river is a tad more enthusiastic than when we arrived.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA15LCLt3X5aJLC_UAZ9yBDavFVC5FKrKEfcxtr9GXNOVfS-0xDfNjjaPca3A8sjEi5FenKfbClK_uete4S_hWN_DRDbPRU31jjKohjqErEfVjbNhr3AinPUcunhtsc7a3c6ggfEgApQ/s1600/IMG_20121104_110826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA15LCLt3X5aJLC_UAZ9yBDavFVC5FKrKEfcxtr9GXNOVfS-0xDfNjjaPca3A8sjEi5FenKfbClK_uete4S_hWN_DRDbPRU31jjKohjqErEfVjbNhr3AinPUcunhtsc7a3c6ggfEgApQ/s400/IMG_20121104_110826.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aforementioned me with aforementioned rainbow umbrella</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Also at some point there was a plate of appetizers than involved a fried leaf. I'm not in the habit of taking pictures of my lunch, but this was just weird.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3T85hkGThFLA1smwjYE3mgx5cjCC2WCeofBDeMJ83oKClMExw-whnLqmTpbv1B0O3fZCsqF9YFRZ6smPYPSnZTOW6IFPtZNrml6tHycsGRkWeQdOr3hZxP2U6Ki27XMAK7LjOnwfWmM/s1600/P1010022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3T85hkGThFLA1smwjYE3mgx5cjCC2WCeofBDeMJ83oKClMExw-whnLqmTpbv1B0O3fZCsqF9YFRZ6smPYPSnZTOW6IFPtZNrml6tHycsGRkWeQdOr3hZxP2U6Ki27XMAK7LjOnwfWmM/s320/P1010022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fried leaf. Not a terribly memorable flavour, just... fried leaf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One other thing I need to comment on from Pontremoli, although I only encountered it once: Turkish toilets. Be forewarned, if you ever travel to small Italian towns, that some of the places do not have what a contemporary American might consider a toilet. Rather, they have ceramic holes in the floor. The one that I ended up in also had little indentations in the floor for your feet. That one was also in an outhouse-y thing on a balcony and wasn't terribly well-insulated, so there was the added fun of a cool draft off the river.<br />
<br />
After that last weekend we returned to Alex's native Bologna for a couple days. Only one thing stands out to me from that time.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_jAeq168CjT2KXVDfY6fG5ZlKAU7h4xpQgtiEe9jVW4DhiNiHY7H8hyphenhyphenAB3mOtgSn_Ax1axuaj7rRVjEt1vA5f2SVaQf8N-iI0FvKw43kWbia5MIuBNNmac7fFsBwwTR313RijpRfYgU/s1600/P1010023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_jAeq168CjT2KXVDfY6fG5ZlKAU7h4xpQgtiEe9jVW4DhiNiHY7H8hyphenhyphenAB3mOtgSn_Ax1axuaj7rRVjEt1vA5f2SVaQf8N-iI0FvKw43kWbia5MIuBNNmac7fFsBwwTR313RijpRfYgU/s400/P1010023.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, two things, because there was this hotel with the neat clockwork thinger, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
See, we went to this outdoor cafe thinger for pre-lunch cocktails at some point (Wednesday, according to my notes). And there were pigeons.<br />
<br />
These pigeons were not only completely unafraid of people, to the point that they would regular need to be shooed <i>off </i>of the tables -- not <i>away from</i>, mind you, but <i>off</i>--<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQagFeylWIOwGAX1xyQUGYTBX96RCT2IHj4kECH2DKcx9RmzmXVH9LvJbIr2J2J6l5kuEua9nAXVOT0aQxM47PHtqu79apTI9a6r0rG8VuChfN4mk8fS-aXgVlVYqU6FxJbn0pQBy6Dc/s1600/P1010024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQagFeylWIOwGAX1xyQUGYTBX96RCT2IHj4kECH2DKcx9RmzmXVH9LvJbIr2J2J6l5kuEua9nAXVOT0aQxM47PHtqu79apTI9a6r0rG8VuChfN4mk8fS-aXgVlVYqU6FxJbn0pQBy6Dc/s320/P1010024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Not only were they bold, but they were also smart. Now, I don't remember if I explained this before or not, because I don't think it was relevant before, but at Italian cafes, if you order a pre-lunch or pre-dinner cocktail (or really any drink, I think), you get complimentary snacks, of some variety as decided by your server. At this cafe, you got chips, olives, and a bowl of peanuts.<br />
<br />
Now, these pigeons wanted those snacks, especially the bowls of peanuts. And they would watch the various patrons. And if you weren't actively paying attention to your snacks, they would land on your table -- and if you didn't shoo them away <i>immediately</i>, they would leap into your snacks and wreak havoc upon your table. Didn't matter if you shooed them away at that point, because they were in the <i>zone</i> at that point.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, my umbrella has a little button that snaps it out to full length, and that served to dissuade any pigeons from pillaging our table.<br />
<br />
While hanging out at this table, we happened to hear music, which I found quite familiar -- after a bit I realized that one of the pieces was the Imperial March as played by classical instruments. Thinking this was pretty darn cool, we sought out the source of the music and discovered a string quartet playing various pieces of pop culture music. We tipped the band well and continued on our way.<br />
<br />
Nothing else stands out now from the trip, but upon returning home I was greeted with this little gentleman, and I know how the Internet loves kitties.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpU9Iw426f1FwSyFYzwMuNyUao3yVa0pxnmnzw1BPCQE6c3nXWQq5nE-pQ9lq0PMXh3c7kRtjaGjUR5lYzJNquVFBh-abFywcUFvixFbYBXtZ3BYjF4zbFSRf_-BwaNW9Qsr3SnlJzU8/s1600/P1150025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpU9Iw426f1FwSyFYzwMuNyUao3yVa0pxnmnzw1BPCQE6c3nXWQq5nE-pQ9lq0PMXh3c7kRtjaGjUR5lYzJNquVFBh-abFywcUFvixFbYBXtZ3BYjF4zbFSRf_-BwaNW9Qsr3SnlJzU8/s320/P1150025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDYraagOJ-jZ8twOjS69U5z8KhmVBFpWNPJnsO_C4lpCjGFd2fMHVphrM6WXnrwaRJZcX1y8BlbV-KEuAvEhavX8-rSbon0x4re0gRw7KdZIz7-hp5JNJF22Fmwe8c7WE0vEcmTGotds/s1600/P1170026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDYraagOJ-jZ8twOjS69U5z8KhmVBFpWNPJnsO_C4lpCjGFd2fMHVphrM6WXnrwaRJZcX1y8BlbV-KEuAvEhavX8-rSbon0x4re0gRw7KdZIz7-hp5JNJF22Fmwe8c7WE0vEcmTGotds/s320/P1170026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Skittles is the best at being adorable.<br />
<br />
Thus ends the much-prolonged Italy Travelogue. Now I can go on to other things. (Didn't I promise Bunraku fanfic? I should either post what I've finished or re-watch the movie so I can finish the other parts... hrm...)<br />
<br />
In the meantime, as long as I have you (imaginary though you may be), and since I'll take any chance to pimp out my other project, go check out my other blog, caseofidentity.blogspot.com . I'm running a sporadically-updated adventure game over there and it's in need of participants.<br />
<br />
Until next time: Cheers!</div>
Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-38748479688393237552013-02-04T12:28:00.000-06:002013-02-04T20:03:22.792-06:00Art History Rambling<br />
I have an Art History class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 8 AM. We're talking about modern art, mostly from the 1940s and beyond, and most of what we've covered so far has been abstract expressionism, after a brief cover of the art leading up to it.<br />
<br />
For today's reading, we got to Francis Bacon. And I found that I had quite a lot to say about Francis Bacon. So much, in fact, that when we ran out of time and tabled the discussion for Wednesday, I went back to my dorm and wrote down what I was thinking so that I wouldn't forget it.<br />
<br />
And then the writing just kept growing.<br />
<br />
So I'm making a blog post about it.<br />
<br />
The first thing that I have to say is that flat art doesn't do much for me, particularly when it comes to abstraction or surrealism. My mind doesn't really connect unless there's at least the illusion of depth -- I tend to prefer abstract sculpture for precisely that reason, because my mind can actually connect to it as a <i>thing </i>that I should consider, but even then it's iffy. So most of the artists we've been covering aren't doing it for me. I'm honestly trying to keep an open mind, and I appreciate the idea behind the movement and the meaning of it all as a whole, but I look at Pollock or Kandinsky or Dubuffet or de Kooning and it means nothing to me, and even knowing (and in some cases seeing through video) how much work and thought really goes into these images, and how much formal talent the artists really have, the deep metaphors mentioned in the text just feel like pretentious bullshit.<br />
<br />
Maybe I just really need to see them for myself, up close and personal, and not just pictures in a book. I don't know.<br />
<br />
But then I turned the page to Francis Bacon's triptych <i>Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion</i>, particularly the third one with the overly wide mouth, and for the first time reading this book (<i>Art Since 1940: Strategies of Being, Second Edition</i> by Jonathan Fineberg) I had an immediate, gut reaction to an image. Even more so when I turned the page and found <i>Study After Velazquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X</i>. Nowadays it's comparable to your average well-rendered zombie, but with the heavy-but-not-total darkness and the unnatural skin tone and the way it sort of blended into the background, it has quite the character of its own, and with the rest of the chapter having covered Dubuffet's intentionally childish works and Giacometti's anonymous figures, I was not expecting a zombie pope.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipViNIv86NrmmXp-8irQjt3BRhhweFuIfN1ZY-Mvu4fkr8xXuoJD28Ia6G8uUW_w8dgGtSrl6HtuNYf577obWIv_AKrrZrNQj50Ps_04ef2on482UCri520KfNC-1MT9J7xWJTu9HmU0xc/s1600/1838223-francis_bacon___study_after_velazquez_s_portrait_of_pope_innocent_x__1953__super.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipViNIv86NrmmXp-8irQjt3BRhhweFuIfN1ZY-Mvu4fkr8xXuoJD28Ia6G8uUW_w8dgGtSrl6HtuNYf577obWIv_AKrrZrNQj50Ps_04ef2on482UCri520KfNC-1MT9J7xWJTu9HmU0xc/s400/1838223-francis_bacon___study_after_velazquez_s_portrait_of_pope_innocent_x__1953__super.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SUDDENLY<br />
zombie pope</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We had an assignment to look up a short Youtube video relating to one or more of the artists in this chapter. I, and much of the rest of our little class, chose to research Bacon (as opposed to Dubuffet or Giacometti). Looking through such videos exposed me to even more of Bacon's work as well as his goals with and attitude toward his art.<br />
<br />
I have a particular fascination with a trope known as the Uncanny Valley. The Uncanny Valley is this idea in psychology that as something approaches recognizable humanity, it becomes gradually more acceptable, until it reaches a certain point where the acceptability suddenly plummets, because the thing is simultaneously human but not human enough, and the parts that are recognizable and familiar only serve to heighten the sense of wrongness in the rest of it. The point of the plunge is different for different people -- that's why some people are particularly afraid of clowns, or ventriloquist dummies, or RealDolls, or anthros, or whatnot. It's part of the driving force behind Slenderman. Me, I'm not terribly sensitive to it, and am completely comfortable with a lot of things that others find creepy, but I still find it fascinating. (Although I do have a thing about mouths. Images where the mouth is open and totally black and just sort of melting open way too wide just creep me right the fuck out.)<br />
<br />
I think that the Uncanny Valley is a keystone of horror -- not shock or disgust or cheap thrills, but real, deep horror -- and Francis Bacon cultivated a very good sense of it. In a few of the videos the word 'triggers' is mentioned, and I think it's appropriate -- Bacon explicitly referred to images in film, to pictures from slaughterhouses and meat packing plants, and even color plates of human diseases for his inspiration. Dubuffet and Giacometti and de Kooning and Picasso all have figures in their works, but even when those figures are twisted in terrible ways, they're stylized, safe -- neutered. You can disconnect. You can look without being drawn in. Whereas Bacon has these realistically rendered, recognizable, human elements in most of his works, particularly ears and wide open mouths with straight, white teeth, and his figures (sometimes using the term in the loosest possible sense) have depth and proportion and muscle and flesh, and he gives you something that's just real enough, just human enough, that you connect with it -- and in connecting with it, the horror smacks you full in the fact. You get an immediate sense that there is something very wrong here, there is something horrible going on, and maybe you don't know what it is or why it is, but you want to get the hell away from it -- or not, because at the same time it's both horrible and fascinating.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://classconnection.s3.amazonaws.com/827/flashcards/942827/jpg/14_francis-bacon_three-studies-for-a-crucifixion_19621332263106675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="http://classconnection.s3.amazonaws.com/827/flashcards/942827/jpg/14_francis-bacon_three-studies-for-a-crucifixion_19621332263106675.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OHGODWHATISGOINGON</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In a way, compared to the other artists at the time, Bacon's works are exploitative. And despite the connotations of the word, I don't mean that in a bad way. I mean that rather than rely on people stopping to consider the deep meaning of his works, Bacon was exploiting human psychology to get an immediate, visceral reaction from his viewers, not to shock or disgust them, but to show them the world that he had lived through -- that the horror juxtaposed with the humanity wasn't a juxtaposition at all, but a simple fact. The man lived through both world wars and in the midst of revolutionary Ireland, after all.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, art like this is relatively easy to find, and some of it's wandered more into shock or gross-out value in an attempt to shake up an increasingly jaded audience, but Bacon's early contributions certainly shouldn't go unnoticed. Personally, I'm not at all a fan of shock or gross-out works, but I love macabre realism and illusionistic surrealism, and I'm a fan of any artist who can work the Uncanny Valley.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.studio-international.co.uk/studio-images/bacon/Three_Studies_of_Isabel_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.studio-international.co.uk/studio-images/bacon/Three_Studies_of_Isabel_b.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The colors are all so deceptively sedate, considering it looks like she has no skin on her face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-60940147262238936442012-12-24T03:42:00.001-06:002012-12-24T03:43:41.129-06:00So, I Saw an Episode of Elementary'Leviathan,' if anyone's curious, and other than a few opinions from my Ffnet friend and from the Ghostbees tumblr, this is my only experience thus far with this series.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Initial thoughts?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's alright. I'd watch more of it. Pretty decent procedural. Not much in the way of action or excitement, for a change, which could be a boon or a bane depending on your tastes -- personally, I don't mind the slower pace. The mystery-of-the-week seemed to hold together fine, had a twist or two and a decently-handled red herring, no obvious plotholes, and was neither so easy that the viewer was yelling at the detectives nor so mystifying that the answer came out of left field, but even so it was far from perfect. There never seemed to be an emotional drive in the story -- this case didn't mean anything in particular to Sherlock or Watson, there was no reason to feel anything toward the client, and there was never an emotional connection to any of the potential (or real) antagonists, which means that the extremely sedate 'climax' of serving a court order to a man in an interrogation room had absolutely no impact. Two people were murdered in this episode and I <i>never cared</i>, because they weren't so much people as they were props.</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Then again, this episode's mystery could have been taking a backseat, since there was a fairly strong subplot about Watson's relationship with her mother and brother, which lead into being about her relationship with Holmes. Those parts came across as a bit heavy-handed, but not bad -- I feel like I'd have to see more of her interactions before I can really judge them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The real high point of the whole thing was Lucy Liu's Joan Watson, both in how she plays the character and in how the character is written. I love Lucy Liu and she does a great job here, both as Holmes' foil and as a character in her own right -- although she could stand to lighten up a bit. The 'sober companion' drug-counselor thing seemed a little weird at first, but as the episode played out and I gave it more thought, it actually made perfect sense as a take on Watson. Why not? He always did disapprove of Holmes' more self-destructive habits and made some effort towards taking care of the man, so why <i>not</i> take it a step further and just introduce <strike>him</strike> her in a caretaking role?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jonny Lee Miller's Sherlock, on the other hand...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Okay, when things got down to business, he played the role well. He's not abrasive like Cumberbatch or manic like Brett or petulant like RDJ, but he does bring a certain <i>je ne sais quoi </i>to the performance that I kind of like. Elementary's Sherlock is smart and not-quite-right, but his observation skills weren't underlined with fancy effects, he didn't feel the need to deride everyone around him for existing, and his social skills weren't too shabby -- in effect, the audience was never bludgeoned with HOMGQUIRKYGENIUS. He certainly doesn't have the sheer force of presence of the likes of Cumberbatch and Brett, but he's not a bad variation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...When he's working. The episode, however, opened with Watson finding that he had not one, but <i>two</i> women (sisters, apparently) in his apartment in t-shirts and underwear, both very perky and more than happy to engage Watson in conversation. Sherlock later explained something about studying differences in identical genetic sources. I... the less I say about that the better, I think. I don't have a problem with a sexual Holmes, per se, even a heterosexual one, but... that whole scene was all sorts of surreal.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Although, even with a heterosexual Holmes and a female Watson, I didn't see a whole lot of subtext going on. Sure, there was plenty of fuel for the inclined shipper, but I never got the feeling of sexual tension added in just because the leads were of the opposite gender. Maybe there just wasn't as much in this episode. I wouldn't really mind if that sort of thing developed, but I kind of liked them interacting just as weird semi-friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two further points, more on Jonny Lee Miller himself than on his portrayal: I was seriously thrown for a few seconds when he came on screen, because he looks a <i>lot</i> like BBC's Moriarty at first glance, and that was <i>weird</i>. This was not helped by him spending the entire episode with a layer of stubble, which is my second gripe. I'm slightly more okay with him having stubble than with RDJ, because at least here it's an explicit AU, but I'm more bothered by the fact that the stubbly look doesn't really suit Miller, and it's a shame because he looked to have some nice, boyish features that would show best with a clean shave.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, yeah, that's my not-so-in-depth take on Elementary after having seen one episode in the midst of a season. Even if I wasn't planning on my Sherlock Showcase, I think I'd give this one more of a chance before I judged it too harshly. It's certainly got some potential.</div>
Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-64022402400620542562012-12-06T15:20:00.001-06:002012-12-06T21:48:04.406-06:00So I was in Italy, part threeFixit notes on last couple entries: It's 'Castel Maggiore', with a 't', and the cat's name is spelt Emilia, not Amelia. Also, the last few entries are being updated with pictures where appropriate. I'll apply cuts in places so as to avoid loading issues.<br />
<br />
Anywhoodles. I need to hurry it up so I can get to posting Bunraku fics, so let's see if I can get the rest of this in one go, and how obnoxiously long this entry gets as a result.<br />
<br />
Obnoxiously long entry and a few pictures after the cut.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
After lunch on Sunday I crashed again at the hotel for a bit and then joined Mom and Alex at the villa while we waited for the laundry to finish in the aforementioned terrible washer and broken dryer. And that sentence is bad and I should feel bad.<br />
<br />
We set back for the hotel around 7, intending to eat dinner at the hotel restaurant, but it was closed, because it was Sunday. Despite the general attitude about Sundays, the restaurant being closed for dinner was unusual, and also rather annoying. So instead we fell back on the pizza leftovers, which the hotel staff was nice enough to warm up for us.<br />
<br />
Alex covered the hotel bill, whereupon we discovered that the lovely continental breakfasts were not actually free, as had been believed, but were six euros a head per meal, and in a week this had amounted to quite the tidy little sum. (A note about prices: At the current exchange rate, the euro is worth about 25-30% more than the US dollar.) This was less than ideal, and although we were paid through for Monday morning as well, there would be no further continental breakfasting when we returned on the next Monday.<br />
<br />
Packing commenced for Pontremoli. That's boring and nobody wants to hear about that. Also, I started writing my first Italy post.<br />
<br />
I was not present the next morning when the rental car was picked up, but reportedly it was quite exciting: the rented car was a stick shift, which Alex hadn't driven in some years -- Mom had, but refuses to drive in the city due to unfamiliarity with Italian driving laws and etiquette. Oh, and they were also nearly hit by an eighteen-wheeler while taking an unprotected left.<br />
<br />
We packed up the car, and I listened to my headphones for most of the three-odd hour trip. We stopped at a few rest stops for bathroom breaks and to let Alex smoke and caffeinate, and to pick up some music for the adults to listen to. Mom expressed some impatience when Alex took his time smoking, which I didn't understand until we reached Pontremoli.<br />
<br />
Rather than stay at a hotel here, Mom had rented an apartment, and the guy we rented it from had a train to catch as soon as he'd gotten us shown around.<br />
<br />
The apartment was at the top of the stairs, three flights up, and was a lovely two-story setup with an open kitchen, dining, and living room area downstairs connecting to a master bedroom, while upstairs was an open loft bedroom with a more extensive bathroom. I'm sorry I didn't get any pictures of the loft room (where I ended up sleeping), because it was a fairly nice, spacious setup, with a 'rustic' feel given by gnarly wooden 'beams' across the lower edges of the ceiling. Unfortunately the beams were also a bit on the low side and I smacked my head into them more than once. The door to the bathroom was similarly short and I quickly learned to duck a bit more than necessary while going in and out of it. A couple of sun windows in the ceiling let in light as well as giving a view of the castle sitting up on the hill, which was pretty cool.<br />
<br />
Alex overheats easily, but unlike other people I know who solve that by wearing a bare minimum of clothing whenever possible, he likes to sleep in two-piece jammies and frequently wore long underwear (so he wouldn't get cold when we went outside). As such, he prefers to keep a cold house, which is more than a little uncomfortable for a freezebaby like myself. Worse yet, the heaters in the upstairs barely functioned, I suspect the presence of the sun windows indicated rather a lack of insulation up there, and unfortunately there was no way to close off the loft from the downstairs and try to regulate temperature that way.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, it was warm enough in the bed, and I took to it early that night.<br />
<br />
Tuesday we did some driving in the mountains, which involved lots of twisting roads that made me very glad to have gotten ahold of some Dramamine before we left. There were some lovely views, though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCS9sc-mixaNOYGvfw0oW-Fl8TThuYUvpSpec2Ccdf-NoqP5hMgUFD711utPZinmatE2GpMVXahAGr0IlAyOf6h-qe2eN07ovgMQi65VBhzWAUtOM9-2NQNF01ph1xr7i5UR6p2SLA-hM/s1600/P1010008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCS9sc-mixaNOYGvfw0oW-Fl8TThuYUvpSpec2Ccdf-NoqP5hMgUFD711utPZinmatE2GpMVXahAGr0IlAyOf6h-qe2eN07ovgMQi65VBhzWAUtOM9-2NQNF01ph1xr7i5UR6p2SLA-hM/s400/P1010008.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Afterward we hit up the local Internet Cafe, whereupon I posted my first Italy entry, the one that was actually about cats and the Amsterdam terminal.<br />
<br />
Much of the driving around of the next few days blends together. There's some very pretty country in that area and some lovely buildings, but when we weren't in a town it all seemed sort of the same, so I might get a few things out of order. Not that anyone but Mom would recognize the difference. (Hi Mom!)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojNLDvLfKP5PQO2egrcusqnYzb8IZS93ffmL5iGMwAcCk-Q7-yTJn-8OE6stm675WHel2HmC0mL84fXsE2VBWeyKTNWWI4facwmQ6WaZXRwt1aOWo7SJJq8wZzOL5nh2bwHard40z9po/s1600/P1010009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojNLDvLfKP5PQO2egrcusqnYzb8IZS93ffmL5iGMwAcCk-Q7-yTJn-8OE6stm675WHel2HmC0mL84fXsE2VBWeyKTNWWI4facwmQ6WaZXRwt1aOWo7SJJq8wZzOL5nh2bwHard40z9po/s400/P1010009.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
One small town in the mountains, we stopped to look around and asked a local woman about any local cafés where we could stop for lunch (there weren't any, as it turned out; tourist trade was pretty minimal in these areas). While Alex and Mom talked to her, I found myself distracted by some of the outdoor ornamentation. These little nooks were all over the place:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8T5rXhGsU8SrjKS23GiTnq5xvB4yDoL7YmgnGZuqHevIeYQPbjBdBx9N2FBJDm74IPcPQQmnAlp6Za1MZKUlJjjnTHeEp1XAggMGk4kLOVk7ISqyJW5FcN-S1u7qeFG9L9OoEkX_1f4/s1600/P1010011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8T5rXhGsU8SrjKS23GiTnq5xvB4yDoL7YmgnGZuqHevIeYQPbjBdBx9N2FBJDm74IPcPQQmnAlp6Za1MZKUlJjjnTHeEp1XAggMGk4kLOVk7ISqyJW5FcN-S1u7qeFG9L9OoEkX_1f4/s400/P1010011.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Along with stumps that had been hollowed out in places and spilled over with planters.<br />
<br />
I think this may have been the same town where we were held up for a few minutes by a pony.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJg2qu_OJgxOJQZVKg0lq6FaNTJv2lN6mh7KLWYG9DvgrzZCXpwBRa9g7adKW1aNijUWOdW5IUi9IY6HZWrNE40BZA4IsUcADM_HBQXdJ3yBobl2OdxzQoVP39s43l00gs1nZ4lcq6Fg/s1600/Pony01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJg2qu_OJgxOJQZVKg0lq6FaNTJv2lN6mh7KLWYG9DvgrzZCXpwBRa9g7adKW1aNijUWOdW5IUi9IY6HZWrNE40BZA4IsUcADM_HBQXdJ3yBobl2OdxzQoVP39s43l00gs1nZ4lcq6Fg/s400/Pony01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
It even licked the car.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMbyL8IHW67hiFEJsqMb6dgs-Xskqe5H6Krzz62_44ggLAhvivBgey_XRB-EeJYvz5j1sulut28NJvwMa-lWLHVYPiVCwvB9RThGVIf9nQGNXM7-gbVtQKbCwt4yvpXCa94ilncdtBbM/s1600/Pony02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMbyL8IHW67hiFEJsqMb6dgs-Xskqe5H6Krzz62_44ggLAhvivBgey_XRB-EeJYvz5j1sulut28NJvwMa-lWLHVYPiVCwvB9RThGVIf9nQGNXM7-gbVtQKbCwt4yvpXCa94ilncdtBbM/s400/Pony02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Eventually the guy in the background there, an old and very slow man with a cane, threw his cane onto the cobbles near the pony. The clatter startled it and sent it off down a side-street, thus clearing the road.<br />
<br />
I believe this picture was when we were back in Pontremoli, and is a pretty typical example of the architecture on the side-streets both there and in many of the other little mountain towns:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSbLlwo3XNw3KmZVXR-GKcf46WwTiYsBG8MY1HukwqdW4nOrWZ38Pq6GOL9vJ55_Ua_JlvhHXJ8f-0iO58jVhlBV_dRtHIR6GKdQSs3D7STYjNFdENKdGa2k25ZI205yw8xhnL4x54S8/s1600/P1010012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSbLlwo3XNw3KmZVXR-GKcf46WwTiYsBG8MY1HukwqdW4nOrWZ38Pq6GOL9vJ55_Ua_JlvhHXJ8f-0iO58jVhlBV_dRtHIR6GKdQSs3D7STYjNFdENKdGa2k25ZI205yw8xhnL4x54S8/s400/P1010012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a~all downhill from here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Pontremoli was also marketed to me as being the 'City of Used Books', due to frequent little bookselling festivals and to the tendency for shopkeepers to leave racks of books outside during nice weather, with the understanding being that one can both take from and add to the shelves as they please. There weren't many out while we were there, it getting along toward winter and being generally wet and rainy out, although we did happen upon one under a covered walkway later in the week.<br />
<br />
To go with the books, Pontremoli has a lot of benches, many of which have been decorated in various fanciful ways. While coming down from the castle on the hill, we encountered this bench with a little board game, complete with a spinner on the back there, and we ended up stopping to play it for several minutes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm948fZsqCpxVklFjsBPGFof5qIsDlwOxA3s3InMAnKJtG3sH8S6Fort2jLYgAydJcA2rddwSvk4M0r_n1JEmj8n9A-1ncfo7N3XJqPQovH6ZTtHN5dSmbtYk2LZhx5AiP7XQtQXZWptM/s1600/P1010013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm948fZsqCpxVklFjsBPGFof5qIsDlwOxA3s3InMAnKJtG3sH8S6Fort2jLYgAydJcA2rddwSvk4M0r_n1JEmj8n9A-1ncfo7N3XJqPQovH6ZTtHN5dSmbtYk2LZhx5AiP7XQtQXZWptM/s400/P1010013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's even a spinner there on the back.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Wednesday involved more driving, and an amusing rest-stop at what turned out to be a Hot Chocolate specialty establishment with an extensive selection of flavors, including Cannabis. I was tempted to try it, but ended up opting for Orange Cinnamon instead -- amusing as it was, I didn't think I'd find the Cannabis as tasty.<br />
<br />
Hot Chocolate in Italy is served very thick, almost but not quite the consistency of pudding in some cases. Although this stuff wasn't quite that thick, I did on a few other occasions default to eating it with a spoon.<br />
<br />
We headed back to Pontremoli a little late, which was a problem because Alex has very poor night-vision and driving in the dark was less than ideal.<br />
<br />
Thursday I awoke obscenely early, though I'd been doing a lot of that during this trip. We hit the internet point early, wherein I downloaded some reviews to watch later, and then headed out to a nice seaside town.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismxZXvwWpdW8Aind8-IeuQwy-KBBIufBEpd2LLf5M0PblSbY9LTsYDSt3I5fIdtngmoRBXWkgnaYoDSiW5BkvZ3L8YxGJ2lFpRZjFkSGQ3J8XgJhHUQCAbUww7-yHLcM5Yp3bxyWmNPo/s1600/P1010017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismxZXvwWpdW8Aind8-IeuQwy-KBBIufBEpd2LLf5M0PblSbY9LTsYDSt3I5fIdtngmoRBXWkgnaYoDSiW5BkvZ3L8YxGJ2lFpRZjFkSGQ3J8XgJhHUQCAbUww7-yHLcM5Yp3bxyWmNPo/s640/P1010017.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
With elevators.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieemgOAhXfuH_ftlfjGZN6lCnd8cOU7C8_R8AcuXpo_KWgRj2xSxxFXFow152ko7UmjVOWIuM0EMaMa4qgSwbr-_ubSrtk3uwsW8_XiwqM81V7tJGLBfW1o8LqYFZbMuLzpwkXLas6zsI/s1600/P1010016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieemgOAhXfuH_ftlfjGZN6lCnd8cOU7C8_R8AcuXpo_KWgRj2xSxxFXFow152ko7UmjVOWIuM0EMaMa4qgSwbr-_ubSrtk3uwsW8_XiwqM81V7tJGLBfW1o8LqYFZbMuLzpwkXLas6zsI/s400/P1010016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And a Megachurch.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DQD8ar9jOic-93lxDS7zpMOrgq5PHcIl04Pi-O-ARbmXfJPZHtwK-O2rCdOg8L7cSG68Lq1CFL5jAityBfDwfGZg5RmEJSV2N9kgctu9IE1WPQXXdqa3acJO6tEn_CjwSZRAbzFOkYI/s1600/P1010014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DQD8ar9jOic-93lxDS7zpMOrgq5PHcIl04Pi-O-ARbmXfJPZHtwK-O2rCdOg8L7cSG68Lq1CFL5jAityBfDwfGZg5RmEJSV2N9kgctu9IE1WPQXXdqa3acJO6tEn_CjwSZRAbzFOkYI/s640/P1010014.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Those are shops along the bottom there. I really have no idea what this structure is supposed to be -- I'd have assumed it was a stadium if it wasn't for the massive cross on the front there. It struck me almost like something from Futurama.<br />
<br />
Downtown, we found this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAyMcDM7E_WojEJizGKZwG732crmn36ZbELzCtR_BlOaT25MFKZGYvb0yE9e18XlyMx4oon3fds1kfzRCQFokPd0Fivx3CzKqaAtf_PyUpyiaqdvj99wHeKo28u4X8dfdfspf1VhFcaw/s1600/IMG_20121101_125034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAyMcDM7E_WojEJizGKZwG732crmn36ZbELzCtR_BlOaT25MFKZGYvb0yE9e18XlyMx4oon3fds1kfzRCQFokPd0Fivx3CzKqaAtf_PyUpyiaqdvj99wHeKo28u4X8dfdfspf1VhFcaw/s400/IMG_20121101_125034.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have no idea what it says. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's a fairly lowscale apartment building, by the way. Italian architecture is weird sometimes.<br />
<br />
And finally, to close out Thursday, some cool lighting effects.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cJVwRrEALFYRv-fCsplJhtVLhBZ9XImuZxihL6N6yO2IeWKVgm6jQTJHRYMLpFDgwHjPJFLCxey0uhZXtZ6v1phxFbCh64HvlPPjW_Ih5Q0BI3nRAjKNhIO8F0s0sJgmylKHcfYyWqE/s1600/P1010015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cJVwRrEALFYRv-fCsplJhtVLhBZ9XImuZxihL6N6yO2IeWKVgm6jQTJHRYMLpFDgwHjPJFLCxey0uhZXtZ6v1phxFbCh64HvlPPjW_Ih5Q0BI3nRAjKNhIO8F0s0sJgmylKHcfYyWqE/s400/P1010015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even my shitty camera skills managed to catch it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
This is running longer than I like, so I'll wrap up next time around, methinks.<br />
<br />
Next time: Lucca, comic conventions are the same everywhere, some last thoughts on Pontremoli, back to Bologna, and a few kittens for good measure. Bunraku will have to wait.<br />
<br />
Images will be edited into the old Italy posts.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-15954037098081323832012-12-06T15:01:00.000-06:002012-12-06T21:49:05.527-06:00So, I'm moving soon, but...It's starting to get a little nerve-wracking, realizing how little time I have left to finish things up at home here. I've only got one more day of work left, then another week before I have to have my bus tickets bought, and then two weeks and it's off into the wild blue yonder.<br />
<br />
What makes it worse is that the validation deadlines at my school are coming up hard, and I haven't heard <i>anything</i> about my housing in about a month. Last I heard it was 'under review'.<br />
<br />
Augh.<br />
<br />
Edit: And just a few hours after posting this I hear that it's finally gone through. Turns out I'll have somewhere to stay, after all!Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-8567624128802051642012-11-22T14:44:00.001-06:002012-11-22T17:44:29.740-06:00Om Nom Turkey HeartHappy Thanksgiving, American readers! And a merry Thursday the 22nd to the rest of yas.<br />
<br />
I swear, I have been working on my third Italy entry, despite being now over a month behind on it. Unfortunately, I have a longstanding relationship with losing focus and wandering away from projects, particularly when I have easy internet access and oh-so-distracting review shows (that reminds me, I still haven't gotten to this week's At4W...)<br />
<br />
Oh, and fanfiction, too. I inflicted Bunraku on the boy not too long ago and remembered how fun Yoshi/Drifter is, so expect some Bunraku slash soon involving various levels of fluff and porn.<br />
<br />
But there will be a conclusion to the Italian portion of the Incredibly Mundane Adventures of Cryptix! Eventually! <br />
<br />
Anyhow, I need to go fix some candied sweet potatoes, so it's a short entry for now, I'm afraid.<br />
<br />
Edited: Also, I'm cleaning up my tags a bit. 'News' and 'OOC' are going away for all but the oldest entries, and instead becoming 'Journal', because otherwise is rather silly. Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-42058275526127970512012-11-01T03:33:00.002-05:002012-12-07T00:08:26.800-06:00So I'm in Italy, part deuxDeux is french, not italian, but 'part due' (doo-ay) just reads funny.<br />
<br />
I intended to add more to my last entry, since I posted on Tuesday and had written all but a few words on Sunday, but by the time we'd hit the internet café I was tired and not thinking too clearly. I chalked it up to jet lag and possibly having spent part of the morning driving up in the mountains, so when we got back to the apartment I took a nap before dinner.<br />
<br />
I woke up feeling a little off, a bit dizzy, little nauseous, and the feeling slowly worsened, until I was quite sure that no, that wasn't hunger pangs (my stomach is very, very annoying in that it likes to flash the 'SICK' flag when actually I'm just hungry), I was actually feeling sick. Mom promptly put on water for tea and then went to get me soup, which she stayed and made for me while Alex went out for dinner.<br />
<br />
I felt better after curling up on the couch while the soup cooked, ate a couple bowls, and then headed off to bed. By morning I felt quite fine.<br />
<br />
Still, suppose I should take this opportunity to talk a bit more about Italy. Cutting this entry for length, but no pictures, as Lucio doesn't want pictures of the baby on Facebook and I assume that extends to blogs as well. I don't blame him.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
First I have to explain one thing: I have two stepfathers. One of them is the guy who pretty much raised me since I was three. I refer to him as my stepdad, stepfather, etc, but he's the person I consider my father figure. The other one is my mother's husband. While he and I get along alright, our relationship is more of acquaintanceship than familial, hence why I generally refer to him as my mother's husband rather than as my stepfather.<br />
<br />
Mom's husband -- whose name is Alex, for the sake of brevity -- is a native of Bologna and has a couple of kids in Italy from his previous marriage. Both of them are older than I by several years, and as I'm given to understand it, were mostly raised by their mother. While I've met them both on occasion (and we stayed with the son on my first trip to Italy some years ago), I'm even less familiar with them than with Alex. Still, the son, Lucio, recently had a kid with his commonlaw not-wife, Elena, so part of the reason for this trip was to meet the new grandson/step-nephew.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Mom and Alex had already been in for almost a week when I arrived on Saturday -- they would have been happy to have me in earlier, but I had work on Thursday and I really can't afford to miss any of it before my move. We were driven from the airport by a young man who was introduced to me as the driver (I've forgotten his name), later amended as Lucio's assistant. He was only around for that day and didn't make much of an impression, despite joining us for lunch.<br />
<br />
We stopped at the hotel first to get my room and drop off my luggage. I was confused when I had to turn over my passport; apparently a number of European hotels have a rule to take their guests' passport information. Mom mentioned that it was something Americans tend to make a fuss about and are very strongly against. Personally I don't understand it well enough to know if it's something to rebel against. (Considering that the last few U.S. hotels I've stayed in required credit card information just to book a room, much less to actually stay there... Also, yes, I did get my passport back shortly.)<br />
<br />
Speaking of practices I don't quite understand, this hotel also made you hand in your room key when you left the premises, and you had to ask for it back when you returned. The keys were actual keys attached to little etched plates, too, rather than the key cards that I'm used to.<br />
<br />
Once I'd dropped my things off and gotten my computer plugged into the squid in Mom's room, we headed out to a local pizzeria. I had no concept whatsoever of the time, so my mind read the meal as 'dinner', although actually it was just about lunchtime. The pizzeria was quite small and perhaps the worst of the heating offenders, partly due to the open kitchen I'm sure, but it was a nice sort of neighborhood place. There I met Edoardo, the aforementioned step-nephew, who is about five months old now and is adorable and squishy, though he doesn't do much other than demand attention and fuss if he's not being carried around. He's not content to just be held, no, he wants to be walked around. Fortunately he fell asleep fairly early and so wasn't a problem.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Conversation was interesting, since four of the people at the table were native Italians, Mom speaks it but can't follow it too quickly, and I don't think Elena or the driver really spoke English. I know just enough Spanish that I can sometimes follow what Mom says, since the romance languages have some overlap, but I'm definitely not conversant.<br />
<br />
Lunch was preceded by quite a few 'antipasti', or appetizers, including some form of small clams in a slightly spicy oil, which I ate quite a few of. I don't recall what else was ordered except that there were a few too many antipasti, so by the time the pizzas arrived, I only had room for a little bit of mine. Lucio had insisted that the pizzas were quite small, as well, but while they were reasonably small for pizzas, they were hardly what I would consider 'individual'-sized. We ended up getting a to-go box for mine and a bit of Alex's as well.<br />
<br />
Sometime during lunch I made a comment about my quest for a green hat, so once we were done there, Mom took me out to an open-air market on the piazza. On the way there I remember seeing 'Rache' among the graffiti and was quite tickled. There were a number of hats, including a few top hats that I was tempted by, but it took finding a proper haberdashery to find the sort of hat I'd been looking for. It was quite a bit more steeply priced than I'd expected, as well, but we agreed it would be an early Yule present, and so now I have a green hat. (Now I just need a blue one, and a brown one, and a straight black one, and a checkered one, and one with a rainbow band, and maybe a fuchsia one, and a top hat, and... shutupIlikehats.)<br />
<br />
After the haberdashery we returned to the hotel, where I crashed hard and slept until 7-ish the next morning. I thought after sleeping so long that I'd equalized, but further crashes proved otherwise.<br />
<br />
The next day I was awoken by Mom tapping on my door on her way out, though I'd been half-awake for some time before that. I showered, dressed, and had some of the continental breakfast offered by the hotel. Like the hotel in Billings, the continental breakfast offered was fruit, baked goods, and yoghurt, but unlike the Hilltop, the baked goods weren't teeny muffins, donuts, and bagels, but some much more substantial Italian pastries, most of which had a creamy fruity filling, possibly lemon, maybe peach or apricot. I have a particular fondness for sweet pastries, and this was one of the things I remembered fondly from my first trip.<br />
<br />
Since it was Sunday, and apparently there's an Italian thing about closing all but the absolute essentials on Sundays, we took a walk down a ways to the nearest newspaper place, picked up a newspaper for Alex, and hit up a café for coffee and some juice. Because in Italy, newspapers and coffee are essential. Grocery shopping, not so much.<br />
<br />
On the way, Alex mentioned that the area we were in was the 'Cassel Maggiore', or the Big Castle, which was silly considering that Bologna had no castles, big or otherwise.<br />
<br />
As mentioned before, Mom and Alex had been in for about a week by this point, so Mom packed up a bunch of laundry and we carted that across the way to the villa Lucio and Elena are living in. The villa is friggin' huge, full of some very cool furnishings, although it's one of those places where the space doesn't really feel filled or lived-in, so you feel awkward speaking at anything louder than a hush. They need some more animals or more stuff or something, since it's way too big for two people, a baby, and a cat, even if said cat may be the fattest I've ever seen. They also have live-in help, but he lives in another building on the grounds, so that doesn't help so much with the atmosphere.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The laundry took forever. For some reason the machine there worked really slowly, with a small load of whites taking 90 minutes, and the dryer being outright broken. It didn't help that neither of them actually knew how to work the machines, since said live-in help apparently does their laundry as well.<br />
<br />
Eventually we went out to lunch again, and once again Lucio ordered a whole lot of antipasti and I had a bit too much of it so that I didn't have much room by the main course. Lucio commented on the fact that he only eats one meal a day, hence why he orders and eats so much, although this time he had trouble with the main course too. I personally didn't mind so much this time around -- due to my still not being entirely clear-headed and the fact that the menus are all in Italian, I'd ordered a gorgonzola-and-walnut dish that I wasn't too sad to not have room for. The ricotta-filled pastas weren't too bad, but yeah, not a fan of either gorgonzola or walnuts.<br />
<br />
I'll continue later, as I have internet at the moment and I'm not sure when I'll have it again, so I'll post what I have now.<br />
<br />
To come: Mountains, Pontremoli, and lots of pretty landscapes for me to fail to describe.<br />
<br />
Edit: So apparently I misheard, and the baby is five weeks old, not five months. Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-81190473536297629562012-10-30T10:39:00.001-05:002012-12-06T15:33:38.786-06:00So I'm in ItalySo much for finishing talking about Montana before my next trip. The highlights of the last portion can be summarized as follows: Had breakfast at Perkins. Hung out in hotel lobby between checkout and bus trip watching To Boldly Flee and other net shows -- brief interruption when a random friendly dog ran into the lobby and was ushered back out. Trouble with the bus, stopped at Miles City and we played Musical Buses for a bit so our bus could take the short route back and get fixed up. Discovered most comfortable sleeping position was laying with front to back of seats, leaving me vulnerable to sudden brakes and whatnot, but whatevs. Brief but rather intense and unpleasant dream involving discovering that I had some kind of neurological condition. Adorable young les couple across the aisle from me. Got home, mobbed by cats, crashed for several hours.<br />
<br />
Okay, that's not much of a summary, few too many extraneous details. Oh well. I thought they were important.<br />
<br />
Anyway, onto more immediate subjects. (After the cut, since there are pictures now.) <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8YyZF3ZCQr65wx-DM6ECaCuCfxjkZV3ktYRGmsm5TX9XKJMXrHcVWAQUlRkGduMihnICMFwEZHtL3Yi4eKbzEn22vMEhLscDL04fMOHRVGc24y3-ObddYBo5gHt70rILCJK2uocg7Tw/s1600/Pictures+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8YyZF3ZCQr65wx-DM6ECaCuCfxjkZV3ktYRGmsm5TX9XKJMXrHcVWAQUlRkGduMihnICMFwEZHtL3Yi4eKbzEn22vMEhLscDL04fMOHRVGc24y3-ObddYBo5gHt70rILCJK2uocg7Tw/s400/Pictures+017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got home from Montana to this. Squeee~</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It looks like I need to seriously curb superfluous spending for awhile, since between the four of them (two growing kittens, a nursing mother, and Clyde who's just fat), these cats managed to go through an $11 bag of food in about ten days. To say nothing of their cat litter (how can such little animals produce so much waste in one day?) and medical costs. I'm definitely getting Molly fixed once she's done nursing, and probably both kittens.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-g4h4kkOGpWYM3IzurbIae_-cH1QmnUxF8GQ5ftqonr9ImNLyPbsfkDLDAe-fwq2GtjOCR85wGq2-__zzo5qeFnH5BDKJf4qMgSde0VIJw05p1MX_I22t6zyIi2mhW_JEFxokLIeagWA/s1600/Pictures+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-g4h4kkOGpWYM3IzurbIae_-cH1QmnUxF8GQ5ftqonr9ImNLyPbsfkDLDAe-fwq2GtjOCR85wGq2-__zzo5qeFnH5BDKJf4qMgSde0VIJw05p1MX_I22t6zyIi2mhW_JEFxokLIeagWA/s400/Pictures+035.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clyde (and stalker)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm considering looking for a new home for one of the kittens. I've gotten attached to Skittles, but Bitsy not as much, and three cats will be much easier to care for and eventually relocate than four. And now is the best time to find a new home, since she's still little and cute. I'm kind of hoping the stepdad will want to keep her, though.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwUzkBI1wYcLDWAApBuXel9qMWazlEC0obVT7goo6X6uveYhsPcym1rlXJ9dn2VwgBcN949gKk5opr6yPDPB9qd6RcNFzlWq8jHIY675kQY6KP90A3XiHqxyO87XGZqA2f8Uim-Zzp4s/s1600/Pictures+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwUzkBI1wYcLDWAApBuXel9qMWazlEC0obVT7goo6X6uveYhsPcym1rlXJ9dn2VwgBcN949gKk5opr6yPDPB9qd6RcNFzlWq8jHIY675kQY6KP90A3XiHqxyO87XGZqA2f8Uim-Zzp4s/s400/Pictures+011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skittles is better at being adorable than Bitsy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
'Immediate subjects' turns out to be the cats I haven't seen for a couple days. Psh. I'm good at this.<br />
<br />
I miss my kitties. The cord to my headphones was hanging over the edge of the other bed in my hotel room and I thought that I should adjust it so that the Skittles wouldn't try to play with it. Then I remembered I didn't have any cats with me and I was sad.<br />
<br />
Lucio and Elena have a cat. Her name is Amelia. I have never seen a cat that fat. She's grey and vaguely tabby with some white marks (paws, belly, and a little on the face, if memory serves), and she's apparently around 16 pounds and has to waddle everywhere. And here I thought Clyde was a fat kitty, he's downright svelte in comparison.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmqyCHwmgVOORY3YMZTMjg6hEI6-2bWQgTOScSrQ9Knx7IW9oTF-qd-zMqWdedMS-VUGYhcuh5qWLwXF4HY_Gb9zoGCm0aIRors1Zx27Xh97q123TgU4bQ7LOUPpgaYZQQPDNirGg_JY/s1600/IMG_20121106_165801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmqyCHwmgVOORY3YMZTMjg6hEI6-2bWQgTOScSrQ9Knx7IW9oTF-qd-zMqWdedMS-VUGYhcuh5qWLwXF4HY_Gb9zoGCm0aIRors1Zx27Xh97q123TgU4bQ7LOUPpgaYZQQPDNirGg_JY/s400/IMG_20121106_165801.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fat kitty!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But I get ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
I am, in fact, now in Italy. By the time I get this posted I will probably be in Pontremoli, unless I decide to go over and bother Lucio for his wifi password, but at the time of writing (that being Sunday at 9:37 in Italy, which is around 7 hours removed from Minnesota) I'm in a hotel room in Bologna. There's wifi here, but it costs money and I've always been adverse to paying for wifi, not to mention the previous note to cut excess spending.<br />
<br />
Although I managed to completely forget about that resolution while I was in the Amsterdam terminal. My bank is probably having a panic attack about me using my card overseas. (Amusing sidenote: I keep miswriting Amsterdam as 'Amsterdamn'. Silly mental autocorrect.)<br />
<br />
And I continue to get ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
So I got to the terminal just barely in time on Friday, since according to the baggage check clerk I just caught the checking cutoff for my flight. In turn, I reached my gate just in time to start boarding, which meant I didn't have any time to stop at a shop and grab a soda.<br />
<br />
This became particularly vexing when the flight taxied out, then returned to the gate due to some kind of computer problem that took them around forty minutes to fix and do paperwork and get refueled and all that BS. The captain at least was pretty cool, commented about the fueling folk that "We just called them, they said they'd be here shortly... they lie."<br />
<br />
I then proceeded to use up all my power listening to music, figuring that I would recharge in the terminal during my layover. It was only once I'd reached the terminal that I recalled that I was in Amsterdam and that other countries use different outlets so my power cord was useless. FFFF--<br />
<br />
So instead I wandered around being a dumb American. Stupid American Traveller passes half a dozen Dutch chocolate shops only to impulse-buy an extra-large Twix. -facepalm- Also a Coke, because of course this terminal had to be sponsored by Coke and not Pepsi, and for some ungodly reason they didn't carry bottled Sprite anywhere, just Fanta and variations of Coke. Also vitamin water but I don't drink that. Suppose I could have, it's not like it's terrible or like I'm particularly fond of Coke or even wanted caffeine, but you know what they say about hindsight. Bah. (At the time I found it amusing that my nerd stereotype was forced to revert to American stereotype due to airport offering Coke and no Dew.)<br />
<br />
There was a little cafe/bar thing near my gate in Amsterdam and I had a pretty good layover, and for some reason (possibly sleep deprivation) my nerves were on the fritz and I was shaking liek whoa, so I hit them up hoping for a margharita. It turned out that they didn't have the materials so instead I ordered a coffee. Because that makes sense. I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time, I hadn't slept so well on the six-hour flight over, and I didn't want to make the barista wait while I figured out what I was willing to drink. I also ordered an egg-and-salmon sandwich, which made more sense, and turned out to be just as good as it sounded at the time. The bread was dry and kind of meh, so I just ate the salmon (nice red strips, rather than the may-as-well-be-tuna-salad-with-red-coloring that I got last time I ordered a salmon sandwich) and the egg salad (which had capers, which were really good).<br />
<br />
Once I was done with those I was still nervous and shaky, so I went to one of the little shops and bought a couple little bottles of 'Rosé' wine (they had that and white) and drank most of one of those. That did a little more to quiet my nerves than the coffee and Coke, no surprise there.<br />
<br />
Although it's possible that mixing caffeine and wine (and/or jet lag) makes me more susceptible to motion sickness. I had some issues with it on the flight from AMS and on subsequent car rides, and then it flared up again after lunch today, when I had a little wine with the meal and a shot of espresso after. It's also entirely possible that it's just jet lag, or it's being exacerbated by the heat/cold shock, and the wine and caffeine have nothing to do with anything, since I experienced some of it on the way to lunch, too.<br />
<br />
Heat and cold: It's kind of coolish and rainy out. Reasonable late-autumn/early-winter (so, October) levels by Minnesota standards. Apparently by Bolognese standards it is ZOMGCOLD and so they insist on cranking the heat friggin' everywhere, which means some fun system shock when I go out bundled and prepared for the cold and then ride in a car/bus or hang out in a café or restaurant. Eurgh. They do that in Minnesota, too, but it's usually more of a problem in the summer with places air conditioning you to death. I took a summer semester at MCTC once and I seriously had to bring a sweater along because otherwise I would freeze in class.<br />
<br />
And... this is a really long, rambling entry about nothing in particular. Mostly cats. I think I'm going to cut it here and write more later about what's actually happening. For the moment I think I'm going to crash for the third time in the day and a half I've been here. Sidenote: Based on my experiences, Italian beds are really, really hard, and so are their pillows. D:<br />
<br />
To come: Fun with romance languages, green hats, graffiti, squishy babies, shmancy houses, Sundays, way too many appetizers, who the heck Lucio and Elena are, mountains, and 'the City of Used Books'. In other words, actually talking about being in Italy rather than rambling about cats and airports.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOYLMdTuvNv2vCLE5H4xBwieWhbH0e2l-gXeJSDiIMhGjcRFlYw6N-Jj-OBwOt92CO-np1ZN_FvoRen2zGiegx17TYwd7rLulQL1uiTE0LDUHj_0isGRHbNWl6ytCvFS3KggxsRSzrBw/s1600/Pictures+028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOYLMdTuvNv2vCLE5H4xBwieWhbH0e2l-gXeJSDiIMhGjcRFlYw6N-Jj-OBwOt92CO-np1ZN_FvoRen2zGiegx17TYwd7rLulQL1uiTE0LDUHj_0isGRHbNWl6ytCvFS3KggxsRSzrBw/s400/Pictures+028.jpg" width="376" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One more picture of kitties. You can never have too many pictures of kitties.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-36429916991415450462012-10-24T15:41:00.001-05:002012-11-01T03:34:43.976-05:00So I went to Montana: Part HatI had a dream yesterday that I ran into my friend Zach at something resembling a Con and was trying to convince him to watch some of the reviewers I follow. I chose what I think was an NC episode at random to convince him, only it turned out to be a boring episode (what is this blasphemy, subconscious?), so instead I looked for one that I knew was good: the Alone in the Dark triple-crossover review. Which then turned out to have been removed from all three sites for some unspecified copyright reasons.<br />
<br />
That was a very distressing dream, and as soon as I woke up I tweeted Linkara about it. I then felt like a huge dork for doing so, but eh, I'm used to feeling like a dork in some measure.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, I may have figured out a new opening for the first chapter of MASQ, which also incorporates the dream imagery I wanted to use but couldn't work in before. This means nothing to anyone else, I realize, but it's a good thing for me and I felt like mentioning it, and it's my blog. So there.<br />
<br />
Also, Gmail needs to get over its goddamn failed scripts, because it keeps dragging my browser to a standstill for ten minutes just to finally tell me that HEY A THING'S NOT WORKING. Well then STOP TRYING TO RUN IT. GODDAMNIT GMAIL YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS INCOMPETENT.<br />
<br />
Grr. Anyway. More Montana stuff under the cut, though I doubt anyone cares anymore.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>The Tour (Finally) and HAT</b><br />
<br />
I am always stupid proud when I manage to navigate myself somewhere new successfully, and getting to Rocky Mountain College by 9 AM Friday was no different. The day began with a heavy fog and a respectable chill, so that I actually resorted to wrapping my scarf around my head and putting my hat over that just to keep warm enough.<br />
<br />
Despite bringing along my backpack and little notebook, I didn't really plan on taking notes at the tour, but when the words 'Cadaver Lab' came up in the opening, I grabbed the notebook and started jotting. Later I sent a copy of RMC's virtues off to my FFnet friend, in the interest of possibly enticing her to join me when she gets into the college range. (There are tentative diabolical schemes that mostly revolve around us both being huge Holmes nerds.) Unfortunately, I asked, and the aforementioned cadaver lab is only open to Bio majors taking certain classes, so they probably wouldn't take kindly to a random English major hanging around with a hunting crop, but the fact that it exists at all amuses me.<br />
<br />
Most of the tour consisted of talking about stuff that I already sort of knew about the school. I did learn a few things, though, like apparently Rocky Mountain predates the state of Montana, and it was originally built by its first students -- with much of the original architecture having been preserved. The big thing that really stood out about the tour, and the only thing that made me worry about my choice of school, was when we hit the 'mock classroom' and met the Literature teacher.<br />
<br />
He seemed alright at first. He wasn't entirely prepared, was very blasé about it... and then he started talking about how the standard campus was set up to block out the real world so as to 'disabuse us of what we learned in high school.' Okay, sure. But he wrapped up by talking about zombies. Which should have been cool... but he showed us a brief clip of someone playing a zombie game (I have no idea which one), where they were in a mall and smacking something vaguely ball-like at zombies with a baseball bat.<br />
<br />
The professor then proceeded to say that zombies were 'always found in malls' (or malls were always a location in zombie stuff, or somesuch broad generalization), made their condition into a metaphor for mindless consumerism/greed, equated that mindless consumerism to selfishness, and essentially called that the human condition, whereas the trait of The Hero was to overcome that base selfishness/greed/sheepleness (he listed Beowulf among the examples, I don't recall what others). He then went on to illustrate how baseball is the only sport that, rather than being based in military strategy, was a metaphor for the classical Hero's Journey.<br />
<br />
The whole thing was basically an amazing line of shallow anti-establishment We-Are-All-Jesus-In-Purgatory bullshit and I wanted so badly to argue with him. I predict many debates with this teacher.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, RMC itself still looked pretty awesome, especially their outdoor and activities program, and even if some of the professors are suffering some recto-cranial inversion, the environment was very friendly and fun.<br />
<br />
I left with a generally good feeling about the school and a generally hungry feeling in my tummy, since it had been several hours since the brief continental breakfast at my hotel. The only place near the school was 'The Granary', reputed to be good but a little on the expensive side, so I hemmed and hawed about possibly going there, in between silly thoughts about 'Holmies' and the possibilities of a Sherlock Holmes club on campus. Because, yes, I am that much of a nerd. Eventually I started walking back, making up my mind to hit The Granary unless the bus showed up first -- which it did.<br />
<br />
I'd intended to head back downtown (which I was at least a teeny bit familiar with) and get something to eat there, but after consulting my map, I realized I'd taken the bus going the wrong way, and was headed toward Rimrock Mall instead. I decided to heck with it and figured I'd get something to eat at a restaurant or food court over there.<br />
<br />
I was amused by the unintentional irony with the whole anti-consumerist spiel, too. This may have had more than a little to do with my buying a couple sets of earrings from Claire's and a hat from Icing after I'd grabbed lunch, although it helped that I found a hat that happened to match the sweater I'd be wearing the next day.<br />
<br />
By this point it was nice and warm. While I'd started out that morning with a long-sleeved shirt, dual-layered elbow-length gloves, tights under my jeans, and my leather jacket, by the time I left the Mall I'd stripped down to my purple undershirt and was regretting not hitting the bathroom to remove the tights or at least change into a skirt. The weather out there's damn near Minnesotan.<br />
<br />
Back at the hotel, I spent awhile squeeing over the new hat, since it turned out to match the sweater perfectly. ZOMG PERFECT HAT. Squeeee~.<br />
<br />
After napping for another three hours, I wandered out to the nearby Perkins for some surprisingly tasty steak and eggs. I didn't expect the big chain to be as amenable to my 'as rare as you can make it' request, but the steak showed up quite rare indeed. I finished off with a slice of lemon meringue pie, although I peeled off the meringue (I've never been fond of meringue, ever since I first mistook it for whipped cream and was sorely disappointed) and ignored the crust. I just wanted my lemony filling.<br />
<br />
I made sure to pack everything up and then curled up to watch more reviews until I fell asleep. Unfortunately I made the mistake of watching the Projector review of Sinister, which showed just enough to send my rather sensitive pareidolia into overdrive, so I didn't end up sleeping for several more hours. Stupid oversensitive pareidolia, trying to pull meaning out of random information.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in there I realized that I'd lost one of the nose-pads to my glasses. I'd noticed a minor irritation in that area but hadn't thought much of it until I saw the lack of pad in the mirror. Never did find it.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-66683915839384147232012-10-23T01:35:00.000-05:002012-11-01T03:34:53.182-05:00So I went to Montana: Part ThreeI should probably finish talking about my last trip before I leave for my next one on Friday. Going to Italy to meet up with my mom and her husband and meet my new step-nephew. I'm sure I'll have plenty of long rambling stories from those two weeks.<br />
<br />
Also I finally drew something new. I'll finish working the kinks out and then post it up here and maybe on dA, since I've a few things to say about it.<br />
<br />
One last thing, because I found it funny: "This debate is mostly two men agreeing with each other angrily" -- Todd in the Shadows. This sort of thing makes me glad I joined Twitter.<br />
<br />
Anyway, more mundane adventures in Montana after the cut.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><b>More Buses</b><br />
<br />
A cab was called for me from the Billings Greyhound station. Upon reaching the Hilltop Inn, there was some fun getting the room set up -- it was going on my mother's card, but they needed information faxed from her to verify and all that. It continues to amaze me that people still use fax machines when there's perfectly good scanners/digital cameras and email to be had; heck, mom used an online faxing system, and last time I had to fax something I used one of those, too. I guess it's something to do with being able to verify the number it came from, but it still seems silly.<br />
<br />
After reaching my hotel room, freshening up, adjusting my clocks to the time zone change, setting some alarms for the next morning, calling both parents to give status updates, and generally goofing off for a bit, I finally looked up the local bus system to figure out how to get to RMC the next morning. Like Metro Transit, the Billings bus site had a 'Trip Planner' option, but apparently they do it personally there rather than with a program, so you had to submit the request early and they'd get it back to you when they could. I was thus forced to try and figure out the maps on my own.<br />
<br />
Once I had some idea of where I should go, I changed into clothing appropriate for the 37-degree day and went on down, intending to run the course while I was awake and fully-functional, rather than attempt it for the first time at 7-ish the next morning.<br />
<br />
The employees at the front desk, both women, were unable to help when I asked about the nearest bus stop. One was just straight-up confused, the other one said she hadn't ridden the bus in years. They suggested I check at the local gas station instead.<br />
<br />
I headed out into the day, quite glad to have gotten a weather report ahead of time and packed many warm accessories for the day. The gas station (a Cenex, IIRC) employee didn't know what I was on about either, but a woman whom I remember as having a lot of facial piercings directed me to what I later learned was the downtown transfer station, the closest large terminal. I thanked her and started walking that way, but was spared the long walk by spotting a bus sign and waiting there.<br />
<br />
The bus I caught wasn't the one I needed, but the driver -- an old, skinny, white-haired caucasian man -- was very understanding and brought me to the aforementioned transfer station, pointing me toward the right bus and even talking to the second driver to make sure I was taken care of.<br />
<br />
The second driver was a large jovial black man who was downright eager to help out. He not only gave me a bus schedule and pointed out my stop, but also pointed out a number of landmarks and where to catch the midday bus I'd need to heading back from the visit. He even gave me a handful of Free Ride passes for my stay, and pointed out a good place to have lunch when I finally hopped off, after hanging out on his bus for almost the entire route.<br />
<br />
While the bus system is nowhere near as comprehensive as Metro Transit, the fact that the drivers in the Billings Met all knew each other by name and route left quite an impression on me.<br />
<br />
I had lunch at the place the driver suggested -- a 'Tiny's Tavern', with a mascot modeled after one of the Seven Dwarfs. It was a dim place, and I sat at the bar with most of the other patrons, which made it feel very close despite there being a fair amount of space with empty tables. The other patrons were friendly with the female bartender, and the man that showed up later, which made service a little slow at times but was interesting to listen in on. I ordered a margharita on the rocks and a cheeseburger 'as rare as they could make it'. The margharita glass was huge and rim unsalted, but it was still tasty, while the cheeseburger didn't seem less than medium-done, but at the time was about the most amazing burger I'd ever had. It probably helped that I hadn't eaten anything proper since sometime the night before on the bus. Hunger is the best seasoning, they say.<br />
<br />
I caught another bus going past and managed to find my way back to the hotel despite being more than a little buzzed from the large drink. I was very proud of myself.<br />
<br />
Back in my hotel room I changed into my lounging clothes and continued catching up on Tehsmarty's Youtube Channel. I glanced at the room service menu and considered ordering it for dinner -- mom had budgeted for such a thing -- but curling up and sleeping for six hours put the kibosh on that, since I woke up at eighteen to midnight and room service ended around 6:30.<br />
<br />
So instead I bought a cup ramen from the vending machine just down the hall. Since I had no utensils and didn't want to bother the front desk at midnight, I just ate it with a pair of Sharpie pens as chopsticks. Worked surprisingly well, actually.<br />
<br />
I curled up with my ramen, improvised utensils, and silly internet videos, and proceeded to stay up until around 4, when I figured I should get some sleep since I had to be up and about before 7:30.<br />
<br />
I don't have dinner to get to this time, but I do have Columbo, and it's half past one in the morning, and I don't feel like writing any more right now.<br />
<br />
Next time: The RMC tour, successful navigation, ironic mall trips, and Perkins.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-32894893568239483182012-10-18T22:44:00.002-05:002012-11-01T03:35:04.264-05:00So I went to Montana: Part TwoGot up in reasonable time today, so I spent the morning cleaning and unearthing stuff, although I never did get around to giving Molly a bath. Not that I'm looking forward to attempting to bathe a fully clawed adult cat.<br />
<br />
Among other things I unearthed the cover for the litterbox and moved the litterbox to an area that was more convenient and less of a visual or olfactory offense. The kittens haven't taken to the move just yet. Relatedly, kitten poop is distressingly pungent and very annoying to get out of carpet, and even more annoying to get off power cords and ethernet cables. >[<br />
<br />
Anyway. Continuing the incredibly mundane adventures of Cryptix after the cut.<br />
<br />
<b></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b>They are the bus</b><br />
<br />
Despite my concerns, I got to the station well before boarding time -- about 6:30 -- and got on the bus. Having been promised outlets by the Greyhound website, I started to look for one, in what increasingly proved to be in vain. Only after the bus was fully seated and had set off were my fears confirmed: the outlets are only under 'most' (read: a few) of the seats, and I had chosen one without.<br />
<br />
Normally this would not have bothered me, as I didn't expect there to be outlets at all until I checked the website. The thing was, though, that the website promised outlets. It also promised wi-fi, but warned about <i>that</i> being unreliable and not guaranteed, so why not warn passengers about the outlets?<br />
<br />
Worse yet, this first trip only went so far as Fargo, where I was to transfer to another bus that would take me the rest of the way to Billings... the long leg of the trip, and those buses had <i>no</i> outlets to speak of.<br />
<br />
It's a small point, I suppose, and I survived alright on the bus into Fargo by watching Great Mouse Detective. The driver put in a movie that I didn't pay much attention to, except to note that it had Denzel Washington and the dad from Inventing the Abbotts and was about football. I didn't care for it, but there was a speaker nearby and one of the screens was just at the edge of my vision, so I couldn't help but notice it. It did briefly become relevant to my interests during a locker scene where one dude grabbed and kissed one of the other dudes, but then that scene ended and I stopped caring again. (The movie was Remember the Titans, for the record.) I loaded up iTunes instead.<br />
<br />
I hung out on the bus at the rest stop, partly because of some wariness about leaving the bus, and partly because I just didn't feel like putting my shoes back on.<br />
<br />
Around 10:30 I lost power and spent about an hour being bored, during which time I found that Greyhound seats, despite being roomier than coach airline seats, are more difficult to sleep on. Around 11:30 we hit Moorhead and dispatched some folk, though, including the girl across the aisle from me who had a seat with an outlet, so I hopped across and resumed listening to music, attempting to ignore the new movie, 'Pursuit of Happyness'. Which is very annoying to write. There was an amusing moment with Will Smith musing about 'How did Jefferson know to make it [i]the pursuit of[/i]' and I'm just like 'Dude, life sucking is not your invention.'<br />
<br />
It was only about twenty minutes from Moorhead to Fargo. I had some minor anxiety getting off the bus, since I didn't get my checked bag properly tagged and wasn't sure it would be re-routed properly. I was going to ask the driver about it just after I'd gotten off, but in a stroke of luck my bag got passed up just as I walked up, and the driver tagged it for me. I hung around for a few minutes anyhow to see if I could do something useful to that end, but I think it just annoyed the driver, so I headed inside. A nice man let me take a chair next to an outlet, so I had plenty of power while I killed two hours.<br />
<br />
I checked three of the available networks before finding one that could handle Youtube, which went on to play political ads before giving me my gaming derps with Tehsmarty. While I was waiting for said ad I caught one on the TV for an upcoming TBS show 'King of the Nerds'. I remember being frightened and probably a little insulted.<br />
<br />
Worked out a message to my FFnet buddy while I was there, too. I rambled a lot. Surprise, surprise.<br />
<br />
The bus to Billings was late, supposed to set out at 1:15 but the driver only started gathering tickets at 1:24. He was very short when someone behind me commented on it -- 'I don't want to hear it', or something along those lines.<br />
<br />
Some prepared folk had pillows and even blankets with them; I hadn't thought that far ahead, since I usually don't have trouble sleeping in odd places. I worked out an improvised pillow out of my wool vest and crumpled scarf, set up some music, and managed to sleep through most of the rest of the trip. There was some issue with my hip cramping if I lay on it for too long, so I had to shift around every so often, and the sleep was less than restful.<br />
<br />
Around noon on Thursday, not far out from Billings, I watched the landscape pass by the windows. The rain from the night before had formed into a low-lying fog, and the land rose up on either side of the road into hills that faded into the fog.<br />
<br />
And now I again have food and a movie, so I shall again take my leave.<br />
<br />
Next time, dear readers: MORE BUSES. HOMG.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-48255831358864416572012-10-17T20:45:00.001-05:002012-11-01T03:35:15.708-05:00So I went to MontanaLast Wednesday, shortly after my 'so I should post more' entry, I boarded a Greyhound to go to Billings, Montana. I returned last Sunday. S'about time I whip up a blog post on the subject.<br />
<br />
Since, as noted in my last post, this was a new experience for me in several regards, I kept a running log of events and initial impressions, which I hoped should refresh my memory later when I got around to... well, this.<br />
<br />
I had a much more eloquent opening planned out in my head earlier. Bah.<br />
<br />
In any case, long-winded story time after the cut.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>Before the Bus</b><br />
<br />
I made sure to pack everything Tuesday night, other than the stuff that required refrigeration or that I needed to be charged -- note to self, get around to getting a new secondary power cord, already! -- and ended up with two bags and a purse. As per usual, my carry-on bag weighed more than my checked bag, as my checked bag was just four outfits and my toiletries/jewelry bag, whereas my carry-on had my laptop, charger cord, sketchbook, the maps RMC sent me, a book, no less than seven DVD cases and two CD cases, foodstuffs (including Bacon Jerky and Garlic Triscuits), a bottle of Mtn Dew (which is still a silly abbreviation), a bottle of Powerade, and my two 'travel kitty' plushies.<br />
<br />
Yes, I am twenty-one years old and still sleep with stuffed animals. Mostly cats.<br />
<br />
I picked up my tickets before noon, because for some reason you're supposed to do that. I don't know, I probably could have picked them up when I got on the bus, but I wasn't about to risk anything on my first run.<br />
<br />
Since the bus wasn't supposed to leave until 7, I had dinner at home, and despite setting up the grill and starting the pork chops early, they took forever to actually get done. I would've been alright with them less well-done, but my stepdad has a thing about underdone pork chops. I kept putting them back on for a few minutes more and a few minutes more, getting frustrated because it was getting later and I wanted to be at the station well before boarding time. After a bit the dad came out and checked -- turned out the lower vent was closed and it was preventing the coals from breathing properly.<br />
<br />
So, that was terribly annoying. I did watch part of Coriolanus during dinner, though. Kinda so-so.<br />
<br />
And now I have a plate of homemade wings and the rest of the Russell Crowe 'Robin Hood' to get to, so I will continue this later.<br />
<br />
To come: Running log, outlet frustration, Great Mouse Detective, fax machines, cool bus drivers, campus visits, ironic hat purchases, and a surprising lack of cable cartoons or forensics shows.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-90480926042080460892012-10-17T15:50:00.000-05:002012-11-22T17:42:30.229-06:00Posting to postBrief update.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I went to Amsterdam Bar to catch a <b>Bad September</b> show. The opening band, <b>Clocks and Clouds,</b> was awesome -- instrumental, just three members, with a cello, violin, and drum set. Kind of awesome watching the cellist and violinist rock out while they played.<br />
<br />
The second band was <b>My God, The River</b>, and... I don't know why I expected a band whose premise was 'the river is coming for us all' to be more upbeat, but I did. They turned out pretty dreary, with some weird tonal whiplash in some of their songs, and some dissonance between the instruments. Some seemed to enjoy it, but not to my tastes.<br />
<br />
<b>Bad September</b> was awesome as expected. I'll be working on Sunday, their next scheduled show, but I'm recommending my friends in that direction.<br />
<br />
Also I made a Twitter account. Once Case starts up again I'll post about updates there, and I might post updates when I post stories and whatnot in here, and otherwise I'm mostly using it to more easily stalk certain internet celebrities.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-29083307992885906542012-10-08T23:58:00.000-05:002012-11-22T17:41:09.102-06:00So I decided I should post here more oftenIt occurs to me, as I take my leave from various forum roleplays in order to focus on other things, and as I wonder who I will unload all my random thoughts and experiences upon, that I have a blog.<br />
<br />
I should probably post in it more often.<br />
<br />
For those what care:<br />
<br />
Most of my fics are not dead, they are sleeping. I will pick them back up at some point when my focus swings back around their way.<br />
<br />
'A Case of Identity' is not dead, it is merely on hiatus, as the computer that I do the images on has been taken over by my stepdad and kicking him off of it on a regular basis is just entirely too much work. Case will, however, be continuing sometime in January.<br />
<br />
Related to the last point, I am moving to another state sometime in December, for schooling purposes. I'll be visiting the campus on Friday, and for this purpose am hopping a Greyhound on Wednesday.<br />
<br />
This will be my first time traveling somewhere entirely unaccompanied. I'm excited. Since my mom remarried I've traveled alone plenty of times, but I've always met someone once I reach my destination -- usually my family, once my girlfriend's family because I was visiting DC with her. This time it'll be about two and a half days alone in an unfamiliar state. I'm a little trepidatious, naturally, but I'm looking forward to the experience.<br />
<br />
It's always been on planes, too, so the Greyhound's another first.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Also for those what care, I have in the works an intention to set up a Sherlock Holmes Retrospective/Review/Showcase type 'net show, tentatively to be launched sometime after I'm settled in at the new school. My goal is to find and talk about every piece of Holmesiana in existence, in roughly chronological order. Given that Holmes, since his inception, has become one of the most prolific figures in our modern pantheon, I expect I'll have quite a job -- and I intend to have a lot of fun with it. :3<br />
<br />
The show is tentatively called 'However Improbable', but that's a tad obvious, so I'm open to suggestions.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I have two new cats I need to see to, and a bunch of preparations I need to do tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Cheers!<br />
~CryptixCryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-32213757527807106992012-08-29T01:13:00.000-05:002012-11-22T17:38:44.204-06:00HPN: Good Morning, Sunshine<b>Fandom:</b> Half Past Now Roleplay<br />
<b>Summary:</b> A Natina drabble. Lina feeds the birds.<br />
<b>Rated:</b> General<br />
<b>Word Count:</b> 100<br />
<b>Disclaimer:</b> Post-evil-plot, but no particular spoilers.<br />
<b>A/N:</b> This is meant to be subtle, but it seemed to barely register with the people I was actually playing with who knew all the backstory and characterization, so don't be alarmed if you're mystified.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The schoolyard was still, the sky still pink with dawn, when she arrived to assume her usual seat. The plastic bag went in her lap, and she dipped her hand in, scattering the contents over the courtyard.<br />
<br />
Slowly the trees before her began to shiver. One bird, and then another and another opened beady eyes and fluffed gold-brown feathers, until the entire treeline seemed to come alive with rustling.<br />
<br />
As one the flock rose, and a thousand sleek sparrows alighted on the asphalt and bench. Tiny claws prickled her shoulder. She smiled, offering a palmful of seed.<br />
<br />
"Good Morning, Sunshine."Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-75344895177569406022012-03-27T02:15:00.000-05:002012-11-25T15:25:57.219-06:00So I've Noticed a TrendA lot of webcomics these days have gay characters. This is unsurprising, given that webcomics often like to tackle social issues and/or provide fanservice and/or serve as author appeal. In my long career as a webcomic connoisseur, I've found that there's a trend in these gay characters.<br />
<br />
Quite simply: The first (or first major) outed character of a male author tends to be a girl. The first (or first major) outed character of a female author tends to be a guy.<br />
<br />
This trend may also exist in other forms of media, but it's easier to see in webcomics because one can often observe the full evolution of the author.<br />
<br />
The freshest examples off the top of my head are from The Walkyverse (male author, first gay 'Daisy' from 'It's Walky') and DMFA (female author, first gay 'Jyrras'). I'm pretty sure Nanase from El Goonish Shive counts, but Justin may have come first. There've been more over the years, but I've lost track of them. I shall have to remedy that at some point when I have time to hunt them down because I'm not supposed to be studying.<br />
<br />
The obvious conclusion to draw from all this is that my first non-fanfic published work needs to have an outed lesbian.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-78628356922294079152012-03-08T00:04:00.003-06:002012-11-22T19:18:07.993-06:00So, Todd is a WeaverI tend to fangirl over things that have small (if not nonexistent) fanbases, and/or which my real-world friends don't even know exist and are resistant to learn about. This makes it very frustrating when I hit upon fanon revelations and want to share them.<br />
<br />
Then I remember that I have a blog, and what else is a blog for if not for bringing pointless shit to the attention of whoever happens to stumble across it?<br />
<br />
Anyway, today's topic concerns the That Guy With The Glasses site, specifically one reviewer known as 'Todd in the Shadows'. He does mainly pop-music reviews and other music-related things. His shtick is that, unlike other reviewers who actually, you know, face the camera, he sits perpendicular and keeps his face entirely in shadow. He also plays the keyboard. When forced in front of a camera elsewhere, like in the various crossovers, he wears a mask that hides the top half of his face, including his eyes. He usually wears a hoodie with the hood up.<br />
<br />
Now, recently, I began reminiscing about the LucasArts game 'Loom'. It was a pretty great game, all around, though I didn't really like the ending -- kind of a downer. Anyhow, it's been awhile since I've played, but I remember a lot of it very clearly. I remember that the main character is a kid called Bobbin Threadbare, a member of a group (a 'guild') called the Weavers. They all wear hoods that, other than their eyes, obscure their faces entirely. This is a good thing because, as we later find out, seeing a Weaver's face apparently <i>kills you</i>. Painfully. Bobbin carries a staff that allows him to cast magic spells that consist of particular four-note arrangements.<br />
<br />
Wait a moment. Constantly obscured face? Hood? Works with music?<br />
<br />
But wait! The Weavers show their eyes and not the rest of their faces, and in public Todd only hides the top half of his face, <i>including</i> his eyes, right?<br />
<br />
Well, that's another thing. See, if you search up some of the close-up shots of the Weavers, you do see their eyes -- and see that they have <i>blue sclera.</i> Naturally, this would tend to stand out. For whatever reason, Todd is trying to hide his Weaver identity, and those blue-tinted whites would be a dead giveaway.<br />
<br />
As for showing the bottom half of his face, well, that's just to throw us off the trail. He somehow discovered that the nose down doesn't kill people, and so to further confuse his enemies, left them uncovered.<br />
<br />
It's a tenuous connection, to be sure. Further investigation, however hazardous, will be necessary before a definite conclusion can be made. For the time being, though...<br />
<br />
<i>I'm on to you, Todd. </i><br />
<br />
Update: As of To Boldly Flee, Todd's unmasked face was exposed to both Obscurus Lupa and the borg'd-up Nostalgia Chick. While Lupa exhibited no ill effects, the Chick exhibited a strong negative reaction that caused her to un-borg. Despite this reaction, since neither of them died, this would seem to negate the Weaver theory.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-65501546755805674192012-03-02T23:47:00.000-06:002012-11-22T17:30:29.200-06:00New ProjectI mentioned this in an older post, but finally decided to go through with it over my last break:<br />
<br />
http://caseofidentity.blogspot.com/<br />
<br />
'A Case of Identity', as explained in a couple places in that link, is an adventure game that I'll be working on in my free time as a de-stressing agent. Anyone who happens to be watching this blog is encouraged to head over there and maybe kick off participation. If not, well, I'll BS stuff to post until I find someone I can browbeat into playing.<br />
<br />
Hopefully, it'll be as fun for other folk as it will be for me.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-52556724897921066152012-02-03T15:56:00.000-06:002012-11-22T17:30:00.244-06:00I am so completely confused right now.Why is there a link to <i>Triangle</i> on a site called 'kidsbelief'? Who, according to their 'about us', 'provide links, with summaries, to articles from great sites across the web that are related to Bible stories for kids.'<br />
<br />
What makes it even better is that the link is from when the fic was still called 'Kidnapping, Murder, and Amnesia'. Pfft.<br />
<br />
Somebody must have been trolling. That's all I can figure.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-61489495652401135382012-01-26T10:55:00.000-06:002012-01-26T10:55:59.800-06:00BWOC: No Consequences<b>Fandom:</b> Big Wolf on Campus<br />
<b>Summary:</b> A short missing scene from episode 1x14, 'Time and Again'. Merton uses the watch to do something he's always wanted. Slash.<br />
<b>Rated:</b> General<br />
<b>Word Count:</b> 625<br />
<b>Disclaimer:</b> BWOC and related characters do not belong to me, etc etc.<br />
<b>Warnings:</b> Un-beta'd.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
"That's incredible!"<br />
<br />
"I know!"<br />
<br />
"Do you realize you can change the whole world with that thing? What are you gonna do with it?"<br />
<br />
Struck with a sudden inspiration, Merton reached out and grasped a handful of Tommy's shirt. "Whatever I want," he said, and with a yank, brought the jock's lips down to his own. They felt strong and soft and unyielding, exactly how he'd always imagined they would be -- though perhaps a little less responsive than he'd hoped. His tongue darted out to taste them, and he nearly laughed -- as much of a cliche as it was, Tommy did taste rather like chicken.<br />
<br />
He let it last about five seconds before he pulled away, and before Tommy had a chance to wolf out or punch him or even recover from the shock, Merton had the watch wound.<br />
<br />
"Do you realize you can change the whole world with that thing? What are you gonna do with it?"<br />
<br />
Merton grinned and replied, breathless: "Pick up girls, mostly."<br />
<br />
He still couldn't help but reach for Tommy's shirt as he said it. <br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
<i>A/N: I'm amazed no one got here before me, given the abuse potential of that watch... but hey.</i>Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-29151770828881050562012-01-26T10:45:00.001-06:002012-11-22T17:29:25.405-06:00So, Molly and John Need to Get Married Immediately<i>(Cross-posted from my dA, like all my stories are cross-posted from FFnet.)</i><br />
<br />
Well, maybe not immediately, but definitely after whatever BBC does for EMPT.<br />
<br />
"What's this?" certain readers cry. "The Slash-hound supports a Het pairing?"<br />
<br />
Actually, there's several I support, but I can see where this would come as a shock, considering that there's maybe three het-ships among my long, long shipping list.<br />
<br />
Lately, however, I've been considering, and even with all the fun ship-teasing that goes on in the show... Sherlock, at least the BBC version, is really written to be asexual. And I honestly believe John when he insists he's straight -- maybe more of a Kinsey 1 than a 0, and he might be open to some experimentation down the line, but, physically, attracted largely to women. And you know what? Both of those are completely okay, and oddly enough, still fit completely into my fanon. Because Shwatsonlock, no matter the incarnation, is about far more than mere sexuality -- it's about the commitment and the intimacy, about the Companionate Love that I would challenge any fan to deny that they have for each other. (Except in adaptations that completely miss the point, like the Roxburg HOUN.) So, there's that.<br />
<br />
Then there's Molly. I've been a Molly fangirl since shortly after seeing Great Game, after a random picture on dA made me consider her character a little deeper and realize that she isn't just a reflection of the horde of fawning Sherlockian fangirls -- she had the potential to be really amazing, if only she was given the chance. Thereafter, Molly getting her 'Let's Get Dangerous' moment became something of a theme in several of my (yet-unfinished) stories. (Validation for this Molly-fangirling has come with 2x03, The Reichenbach Fall. Hell to the yes. <3 )<br />
<br />
Anyway, get to the point, right? What does all that have to do with Molly and John getting married?<br />
<br />
Well, as a few people might be aware, my main ship in Holmes fandom (focusing on Canon and Granada) is Shwatstrade -- Holmes/Watson/Lestrade. Oddly enough, it's the concept of a similar dynamic that leads me to ship John/Molly.<br />
<br />
Simply put: Both of them would understand that Sherlock comes first. John and Molly both are heavily emotionally invested in a man who is virtually guaranteed to never feel romantically inclined towards either of them -- and this is a problem, because this emotional investment colours and disrupts all their other relationships. Neither of them can manage to carry on a relationship with anyone else because they're too ready to drop everything and run to Sherlock's side the moment he needs them. Sure, they'll put up some arguments, but in the end, Sherlock trumps.<br />
<br />
Additionally, although Sherlock may be asexual (or at least, in other adaptations -- and in my Shwatstrade stuff -- possessing of a very unobtrusive libido), it's obvious that he feels very protective of those few he becomes close to, and even (subtly in canon and less subtly in certain adaptations) feels very jealous and possessive of them. This was a point of serious contention when it came to Watson/Mary, and when it comes to Watstrade and Shwatstrade interpretations. However, since he, in all likelihood, files both John and Molly loosely under 'Mine', and since he clearly trusts them both, he's unlikely to feel threatened by their marriage, as he might if either (particularly John) somehow managed a serious relationship with anyone else.<br />
<br />
So, yes, it would not be marriage of romance or passion; it would be a marriage of practicality, comfort, and companionship. Considering how many 'romantic' marriages end in divorce, I don't feel particularly bad about suggesting one that isn't very romantic.<br />
<br />
As to compatibility, since that's kind of important in a marriage, John and Molly are both very nice, very sweet, very intelligent people with mediator streaks, who already have a history of friendship; both are medical professionals but in different fields, so they have further common ground but probably wouldn't have rivalry issues; neither, as far as I am aware, have any odious personal habits that couldn't be worked around. Molly has Toby, but John hasn't displayed any distaste for cats in general (the Sphinx doesn't count, even some cat people think they're creepy). Sexual compatibility may or may not be an issue -- Ultimately, I don't think they'd be particularly passionate, but without that pressure, I can see them becoming very comfortable and even playful in bed. The best thing would probably be to keep it an open marriage, of course, so that sexual compatibility can be found elsewhere, but both of them strike me as very monogamous, so I consider this unlikely. (Well, monogamous until such time as Sherlock expresses interest one way or another, at which point all bets would be completely off.)<br />
<br />
Jealousy over Sherlock's attentions would, of course, be the major source of contention for this pairing. Optimistically speaking, I think both John and Molly would be able to work around that (perhaps even with Sherlock's help, if he manages to clue in to their emotional well-being), but it would probably be the basis for most of their fights.<br />
<br />
I'm undecided on whether they would be more likely to try and get their own place, to just move Molly into John's room in Baker Street, or to get a larger place for both of them and Sherlock. I'm leaning towards Baker Street, even if it would be a tight fit, but that's just because the possibility of them leaving behind either Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson just seems wrong.<br />
<br />
Thoughts?<br />
<br />
Edit: After some consideration, Molly and John should fix up and move into 221C. That gets rid of the issues of leaving behind either Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, but allows them the space to set up a home and family (and to keep Toby) without all of Sherlock's experiments and weirdness being directly in the way. (Also Toby + Sherlock's experiments just seems like a bad combination.)<br />
<br />
Edit2: So apparently 'Molly' is actually a pet-name version of Mary. BRB squeeing forever.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-80264966736525659002012-01-24T22:01:00.000-06:002012-01-24T22:01:22.632-06:00BBC Sherlock: Norbury<b>Fandom:</b> BBC Sherlock<br />
<b>Summary:</b> There came a buzz from Mycroft's phone. The number was unlisted. His screen said: 'Keep Calm and Stop Antagonizing Molly'.<br />
<b>Characters:</b> Molly, Mycroft<br />
<b>Rated: </b>K/General<br />
<b>Word Count:</b> 670<br />
<b>Disclaimer:</b> Characters belong to ACD, Gatiss/Moffat/BBC, not me.<br />
<b>Warnings:</b> Post-Reichenbach Fall, so Spoilers. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a> It was two days before Mycroft came to identify the body.<br />
<br />
Aside from his height, he didn't look much at all like Sherlock, but from the way he swept in, detached and superior and making everyone he looked at feel as though they had inexplicably shrunk three inches -- in that, the family resemblance was uncanny.<br />
<br />
They had the same eyes, too, Molly noticed. She would know.<br />
<br />
Masking the nervousness in her gut with grief, she lead him to the viewing room, watching his expression carefully out of the corners of her eyes. He wore the same mask as his brother, too; she didn't know him well enough to tell what he was hiding under it. She pulled the sheet away from the body on the cold steel table, quickly looking away from Sherlock's pale, lifeless face. It didn't matter how many times she saw it or what she knew, the vision still made her heart hurt.<br />
<br />
"Miss... Hooper, was it?" Molly looked up, expecting to be asked to give him a moment alone, to find that the elder Holmes was staring straight at her, his too-familiar eyes hard. "Where is he?"<br />
<br />
Molly didn't have to fake her surprise. "S-sir?"<br />
<br />
"You heard me, Miss Hooper. Where is my brother?" She started to gesture at the body, only for him to stab his umbrella into the linoleum with a sharp <i>crack</i>. "I know my brother."<br />
<br />
Molly swallowed, trying not to tremble under the force of those cold, hard eyes. "I-I-I don't kn-know what you're--" The denial cut off with a squeak as Mycroft suddenly advanced on her. She backed away, but he matched her step for step, looming over her in more than merely height.<br />
<br />
"Do <i>not</i> lie to me, young lady." He smiled, a diplomatic mockery of pleasantness that was somehow more terrifying than any expression of anger.<br />
<br />
"I..."<br />
<br />
"Think hard, Miss Hooper."<br />
<br />
Molly closed her eyes. She'd given up trying not to tremble; now it was taking all she had not to start crying. "N-Norbury," she whispered, edged with desperation and fear. "Norbury. Norbury."<br />
<br />
Mycroft's smile vanished. "Norbury?" he repeated incredulously. He raised his nose and considered her at the end of it. After a moment, he said, "You're lying." He flipped up his umbrella and pressed the tip under her chin like a sword. She squeaked again. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you? Tell me where my brother is, <i>now</i>, Miss Hooper, or you <i>will</i> live to regret it."<br />
<br />
"I-I don't -- I swear I don't--"<br />
<br />
She was cut off this time by a buzz from Mycroft's suit, and then another. Mycroft lowered his umbrella and fished the phone out of his pocket. <i>2 New Messages</i>, the screen informed him.<br />
<br />
<i>Keep Calm and Stop Antagonizing Molly.<br />
<br />
She doesn't know.</i><br />
<br />
Mycroft's gaze flickered back to the woman cowering before him, coming to rest on the butterfly brooch on her lapel. He snorted. "And she's wearing a microphone in her new butterfly pin." To the pin, he said, "Tell me where you are."<br />
<br />
Buzz. <i>So you can pass it on to the next criminal mastermind?</i><br />
<br />
"So I can help you!" Mycroft snapped, his lips pulling back in almost a snarl. Molly whimpered and tried to melt into the wall behind her.<br />
<br />
Buzz. <i>Don't yell at her. When I want your help I will contact you. Now leave.</i><br />
<br />
Mycroft's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, the phone buzzed again. <i>Leave</i>. Mycroft shot a final glare at the pin, turned on his heel, and marched out.<br />
<br />
Without his gaze pinning her in place, Molly slid to the floor and hugged her knees tight to her chest and tried to keep from sobbing right in the middle of the morgue. She was less than successful.<br />
<br />
Her own phone beeped.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm sorry. Please go see John. He's good at this sort of thing.</i>Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-34624787505909201412011-10-04T12:45:00.000-05:002012-11-22T17:28:26.083-06:00Fandom Attack!Remember how I said the contender for my Fandom Drift was Dark City? Yeah, it's already moved on. It was Deadwood, but we just finished the second season of that, so not anymore. Now? Now it's Big Wolf on Campus. This show is such adorable crack, I swear.<br />
<br />
I really want to write a Cursed/BWOC crossover. We'll have to see how this goes.<br />
<br />
Dammit, too many ideas, too little writing ability... I wish I had time to read something good right now. My writing always sucks when I can't read. D:Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-54934010288019690962011-09-26T16:20:00.000-05:002012-11-22T17:27:56.725-06:00Ohgodwhyismynameontheinternet D:So Blogger has this neat little thing that'll let you see how people got to your blog. Most of my hits are from strange Russian search sites and from the link in my FFnet account.<br />
<br />
Two recent hits, however, were from someone searching my full name on Google.<br />
<br />
It occurred to me that perhaps I ought to consider if I'm ready for my name to be forever connected to porny fanfiction.<br />
<br />
After some thought, I've decided: Fuck it. Yes, hypothetical reader, your friend/student/classmate/family member/co-worker/prospective employee writes about fictional men doing the nasty.<br />
<br />
Deal with it.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1767764584090452248.post-15635648336426858092011-09-15T15:44:00.001-05:002012-11-22T17:27:02.546-06:00Checking InSo, it's not like anyone really reads this, but I feel like posting something. In essence, I feel like talking to myself. I should probably not be doing this in the middle of my newspaper meeting, but they're talking about budgets and I don't really have anything to weigh in with.<br />
<br />
Random shit, ho!<br />
<br />
I'm working on the third installment of <b>Triangle</b>, as well as a coda, but my connection to the characters started slipping and I haven't had time to properly re-watch the movie. I'll try to get it out as soon as I can, but I'd rather take more time than turn out a shoddy story. Then again, I have a tendency to turn out nothing at all for months (years?) at a time due to writer's block and/or fandom drift... I'll try to finish this one before I let the next fandom encroach on my time.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, there is already a contender for the next fandom, that being <b>Dark City</b>. Yet another obscure movie, but hey, at least this one <i>has</i> a discernible fanbase.<br />
<br />
My Wednesday gaming group -- the folk that were doing the World of Darkness game where I was John -- has started playing an Inception game using the Mutants and Masterminds system. If I have the time and inclination, I might start work on scripting and/or drawing up a comic based loosely on our exploits. The first adventure, at least, had a bit more coherence and a more realistic timeline than the WoD stuff did, so it might not fry my brain quite as quickly.<br />
<br />
I really wish I could find our copy of Jasc PSP so I could reinstall it. Then I could start posting art again. At the moment, the lack of decent graphic editing software is making me sad. D:<br />
<br />
Also, if at some point in the future I come into some free time that I can spend at home, I may start running my text adventure in here. Or I may create another blog to run it. This assumes I'll have a readership by that point, but hey, if all else fails I can poke people I know.Cryptixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07116307940002870851noreply@blogger.com1