rhondacrockett: (Book nerd!)
Welcome to the 17th and 18th centuries: science has exploded with geniuses and modern banking is being born, while Europe's monarchies tumble through a series of interconnected wars and revolutions. Daniel Waterhouse is Isaac Newton's oldest friend but is collaborating with his great rival, Gottfried Leibniz, in a project to create a Logic Mill. Jack Shaftoe is King of the Vagabonds, a reputation he has garnered more by accident than design, and only has half a penis (don't ask). His brother Bob, meanwhile, is pursuing a more respectable career in the army, being kept very busy in said European wars. And Eliza has a head for high finance, an encyclopaedic knowledge of sexual techniques, and a fanatical hatred of slavery. So far, so multi-plotted historical narrative. Then the gold appears...

These are dense books. Stephenson has done his homework and it shows. Perhaps a little too well. I was often left feeling like I had walked in at the end of an in-joke, particularly in the first volume, Quicksilver. It doesn't help that this first book is split between three different narratives and two verb tenses: Daniel in the present tense (sailing from a newly-independent USA to Britain), Daniel in the past tense (flashbacks to his friendships with Newton and Leibniz, and the volatile politics of Britain from the Restoration on), and Jack and Eliza in the past tense (their adventures running in parallel to Daniel-in-the-past). I'm usually good at juggling multiple storylines and protagonists but this one led to headaches. Remembering who's who, how they know each other, which narrative they belong to... ugh. The dramatis personae list at the back helped a bit - but not much.

I couldn't get into Quicksilver; I had to keep breaking off to read something else and give my brain a rest from trying to make sense of all the historical allusions. Daniel is the nominal lead in two of our three narratives but doesn't do much except run into famous figures from history: Newton, Leibniz, King Charles II, the Duke of Marlborough, Blackbeard. And aside from the Logic Mill project and Eliza's coming from a non-existent country with an unpronounceable name (this latter bugged me throughout the series; why make up countries?), I didn't understand why this was filed in the sci-fi and fantasy section.

The Confusion is a more straightforward adventure story, with Jack and Eliza taking the lead roles. They are much more dynamic protagonists than Daniel; Eliza even manages to make explaining the stock exchange entertaining. There are no flashbacks, as the narratives occur contemporaneously with each other, and either there aren't so many of those historical in-jokes, or the ones which are there I understood more readily (there are long sequences set during the Irish wars of a certain King Billy, for example). It's in this book that the McGuffin of the gold comes into play (I don't want to say more than that for fear of spoilers), and with that, the plots start to cohere and the characters cross each other's orbits in a less random manner - another reason why I found this an easier book to enjoy than Quicksilver. Plus: globe-trotting multinational pirates!

But I still didn't understand why this was in SFF and not General Historical Fiction. Sure, the gold is alleged to be [REDACTED] but this was an age of quacks and fakes, as well as genius. The narrative doesn't confirm that the gold really is what some characters believe it to be...

...Until (maybe) you come to the end of The System of the World. Now initially I had the same problem here as with Quicksilver: I couldn't get into the story and had to keep stopping-and-starting in order to maintain my interest, particularly during the Tower of London sequences. But now the gold becomes the key force in everyone's plot line, and as the Hanoverian succession comes closer, the political landscape became much more recognisable to me. Daniel, who in the first two books was a mostly passive character - someone who has stuff done to him rather than doing stuff - comes into his own at last, taking the lead in a tale of political conspiracy, economic sabotage and that finally-maybe justification for the SFF label.

Except... when you've read thousands of pages of more-or-less regular-flavour historical fiction, does a few hundred pages at the end really change the genre of the whole? Do I even want it to? I had been waiting for so long for the sci-fi/fantasy element to become a clear factor - and when it did, I preferred not believing in the gold.

So in the end, I don't know what to make of The Baroque Cycle. Headache-inducingly-widescreen historical adventure with the vaguest tint of steampunk and some alternative geography? Hmmm.
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
I started using LJ when I was in university. Back then, I posted regularly (so long as it was a term-time weekday, since at home we were mired in the Dark Ages of dial-up). I haven't checked but I'd say it was usually every day. And since I went on to complete a Master's and a PhD, that pattern continued for a while.

Then I left.

And the postings dried up.

Now a bit of that is down to the internet situation at home. We're a slow-adapting household; as far as I recall, we were still using dial-up when I left uni in 2007. So I fell out of the habit of logging in on a regular basis. But the big reasons for the posting drought?

The loss of shared context. And confidentiality.

The latter is pretty obvious - or should be, given all the social media scandals. The former... lemme explain.

Education up to a certain age is compulsory throughout Western Europe and North America. Everybody growing up in those societies, therefore, has been to school at some point. So I could moan about my tutors etc. and be confident that most of you could nod your head sagely and say, "Yeah, I know the drill."

But once you leave the education system and enter gainful employment, that shared context disappears. Bar portrayals on TV or film, I have no freaking clue about the workaday lives of accountants - nurses - warehouse managers - IT technicians - police officers - lorry drivers - civil engineers - insurance staff - stockbrokers - fashion designers - dental receptionists - charity campaigners - town councillors - refuse collectors - fishing crews. And what the hell is a Special Advisor when it's at home?

But work takes over from education as the central day-to-day activity of your life. So if I were to write about my day... well, I'd have to spend some time setting up the context. I would have to explain about ICOS and FTR and what 'pulling the court' means. It's boring and long-winded and likely to end up in TL;DR territory. (Yes, I am aware that this entry is falling into that category too.)


I guess I'm old-fashioned in wanting/expecting my posts to be about my day-to-day life. 'Blogging' seems now to be about passing around quotations, stories, memes, photographs and pictures which originate with other people, not ourselves. Or it's an editorial column, made up of our musings on the topics which interest us. Or it's a reviews column on our chosen form of entertainment, from books to barbells, hardware to handicrafts, singing to sex toys. Or it can be an advertising hoarding for whatever it is we want to promote to the public.

Please note, none of these are meant as criticisms or as a in-the-good-ole-days moan. I'm only observing that social media has shifted away from the "on-line diary" idea that I 'grew up' with, and that I haven't shifted with it. I don't subscribe to Reddit or BuzzFeed or wherever else people get their "Share" links from, and besides, I tend to consume stuff like that and move on rather than telling others about it. I don't write editorials because I know I'm a poor arguer and am not prepared to handle any shitstorm that might result, even if it only fits in a teacup. I could do reviews, I suppose... but do I really read/view enough to justify it? I haven't been to the cinema in years and my TV watching falls into the territory of whatever-will-keep-everyone-vaguely-interested-and-or-entertained-but-not-necessarily-inspire-enthusiasm.


Lack of shared context is also why I'm crap at phone calls. I can't see what the person on the other end of the line is doing/experiencing, so I can't offer any comments on the same to gee the talking along. Once we're done with the obvious hi-how-are-you-this-is-the-news-where-I-am, I run out of conversational steam.

This inability to generate conversation is screwing up my chances with on-line dating too. My opening messages are banal to the point of pointlessness. Ugh.
rhondacrockett: (Am I addicted? - dava)
Our iPad is cursed. Excuses, excuses )

This is why I haven't been commenting or posting or otherwise in touch. So's you know.

I was going to talk about Prague but it seems so long ago now. Thoughts boil down to:

- Czechs seriously need to learn how to signpost better.
- Google Maps is awesome - we would never have found our way around without its guidance on the public transport system.
- Said public transport system is also awesome and stunningly cheap. You can buy a ticket that lasts three days and covers travel by the metro, trams and buses.
- It's a very relaxed city. The crowds are just as thick as they are in London but no one seems to be in a rush or like you're getting in their way.
- It is also kinda skeazy. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of very pretty buildings around, all cream walls and red tile roofs. But right next door, you'll find one in obvious disrepair or walls scrawled with graffiti. I've never noticed so much graffiti in any other city before, not even in London. There are also some brutal-looking blocks left over from Communism, which really jar with the Art Nouveau influences elsewhere.
- The souvenir shops sell cannabis lollipops and novelty condoms, which I thought was very odd, until Saturday night came around and we saw all the stag parties. Light bulb!
- Amber and garnet jewellery is everywhere.
- Czechs love love love their meat.

Going to see my sister Sharon in Boston - that's the Boston in England, everybody, sorry - the week after next and looking forward to it soooooo much.
rhondacrockett: (The fourth wall... it broked)
Watching Toddlers and Tiaras (not my choice of viewing, I hasten to add). There is a child on here called "Rainbow Dash".

rhondacrockett: (Book nerd!)
I have two guilty-pleasure reads. These are book-series where I have solemnly promised myself that I will (a) never buy them new or full-price, (b) never hold on to or read them a second time, and (c) never read anything else by the author except that particular series. I borrow them from the library, I pick them up in charity shops or remainder stores like The Works, and once I'm done, back they go.

One of those guilty-pleasure reads is the Arcane Society paranormal romance series by Jayne Ann Krentz (or Amanda Quick or Jayne Castle, depending on the time period of the story in question). All the books are stand-alones, which is useful because I never read my guilty pleasures in sequence, although there is a wider plot arc, sorta like the nu-Doctor Who thing of self-contained episodes dotted with hints about the finale. The stories take place over three different time periods - Victorian England, modern-day America and a far-future alien world called Harmony - forming a Marvel/DC-esque "shared universe", which I haven't come across in novels before (though Kelley Armstrong's Women of the Otherworld comes close, I guess). The Harmony books are probably my favourites, if only for the dust bunnies: six-legged, four-eyed alien balls of fluff with a habit of adopting humans and wearing silly outfits.

Now, problems. Because frankly, I find it easier to tell you what I find wrong with these books than what I find right. The Arcane Society is a secretive organisation of psychics - and before you go all "mind readers yay!", no, unfortunately telepaths do not exist in this world. These people are just a bit more intuitive than the rest of us, more linked-in to their instincts, sharper on the uptake. The definition of what qualifies as a psychic is kinda loose and muddled. There are those which I would accept as properly psychic - the illusion-talents, the para-hypnotists, the aura-readers - but for pity's sake, some of the characters are just really, really good at coming up with a business plan!! That, to me, does not a psychic make. And the hunter-talents' powers are largely physical, they're basically Wolverine without the claws. I've never seen anyone claim that Logan has psychic powers just because he's strong and he heals fast!

The plotlines keep ending in the middle of the book. Seriously, you think you're reading one particular story but it ends around chapter 20. Well, there's half of the book still to go, so she pulls up a new story - which ends at chapter 35 and you've got dozens of pages left. I have no problem with multi-stranded storylines, what I have a problem with is that Plot Two only seems to pop into existence once Plot One is finished. It's disconcerting, being jerked from pillar to post like this. There may be a little throw-away hint about Plot Two during Plot One, but that's what it is: throw-away, promptly forgotten about, never mentioned again - until of course, she's run out of Plot One. I like my foreshadowing a bit more sustained, thankyouverymuch.

And the heroes - well, I would complain that they are all the same character, just labelled with different names and different powers, but that's a fault/characteristic of the genre in general, so we'll let it lie. What really pisses me off, is that the lead men always - ALWAYS - fall instantly and totally in love. And they always KNOW that they've fallen instantly and totally in love, they always KNOW that they and the lead lady are DFEO ('Destined For Each Other'; I don't know if this is an acronym actually used within the genre, I just made it up). But the women don't. Oh, the women feel the instantaneous attraction alright, but they take convincing that it's love. They tell themselves and the heroes that it's just physical, driven by the tension of the plot, of being thrown together by events. I believe in people being confused about whether they're in love or not, or at least trying to convince themselves that they're confused. But I don't believe in people being 100% certain of it from the get-go. Doesn't anybody take their time to fall in love? For that matter, doesn't anybody take their time to develop an attraction to someone? It's all BOOM! INSTANT OVERPOWERING LUST! *rolls her eyes* Sorry, don't buy it.

So with all these issues - the fuzzy world-building, the clumsy multiple endings, the irritating love-at-first-sight fallacy - why the hell do I enjoy them?!? The closest I have to an answer, is something I wrote in one of my random-scribbling notebooks:

"Jayne Ann Krentz's books are the literary equivalent of candyfloss: a few simplistic ingredients overheated and stretched as far and as thin as they can go, to create a substance more air than actuality and full of artificial colouring, which tastes too sweet and dissolves to nothing the instant you consume it. But if you're going to a funfair, a carnival or a seasonal market, candyfloss is all part of the experience."

...I guess I just like candyfloss.
rhondacrockett: (The fourth wall... it broked)
So, I feel like I ought to post and say something...

I had forgotten how much fun trashy vampire novels can be! Although, seriously, having vampires as slaves? Ok, I can see the medical research and the military and even the titillating-entertainment-for-the-super-rich angles - but having them in our houses? As our secretaries and nannies and cooks and busboys?! Isn't that like a herd of antelope keeping a lioness around? No sense. Does this make.

Still a lot of fun, though :)

Work is the usual. I haven't had any more night-seizures but I still don't have an appointment with the neurologist. Not surprised at that, though; I suspected that it could take a while.

One big thing has been my sketching. I have fallen WAY behind: a whole month! *slaps her hand*

The other big thing is I've joined a penpal site. It was my mum's idea, inspired by a book she was reading of a woman's letters to her penpal during the 50s. I am... cautiously optimistic so far. I'm using a separate e-mail account from my usual, trying to keep any identifying info to a minimum. So far, most of the contacts have been from (alleged) men... Not sure what's with that...
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
Your Drama Style is Dreamy

There is a lot of drama in your life, but no one would know it to look at you.
You have so much happen, all in your head. You have a rich imagination, and you feel everything deeply.

On the exterior, you are emotionally guarded and reserved. You're the last person anyone would ever think of as dramatic.
Deep down, you are artistic, expressive, and easily moved. There are many moments from your past that still feel real to you.

That is... surprisingly accurate for a pick-your-favourite-image quiz. The dramas that run in my head every day are just so big compared to what actually happens in my life.
rhondacrockett: (loneliness & the assassin)
Hmmm. Reading an on-line article about recognising the symptoms of depression, scrolled down to the comments, and got the weirdest feeling of deja vu when I came to the last comment on the page, could've sworn that I had seen it somewhere else last week... except I couldn't have, because it's all about the death of Robin Williams...

On a different note, my parents and I are sitting here in telephone conference with Philip, groom-to-be, trying to puzzle out what version of "Be Thou My Vision" we think has the nicer lyrics/has the easier rhythm for a congregation. Every now and then, we'll burst into song to try it out. I think we'll end up with our own pick-and-mix version.
rhondacrockett: (scribble scribble)

This... fits with a lot of stuff that's been occupying my mind recently. The line about being "stuck at home with only my own opinion of myself as it wavers between the apocalyptic and the grandiose" is particularly pointed.


(This is aimed entirely at myself, btw, not at anyone else.)

[Edit to add:] And after all that thoughtfulness, have a couple of pretty space pictures to make you go, "Wow!"

rhondacrockett: (scribble scribble)
Ok, I may be slightly obsessed with flowers at the moment. I blame all the wonderful spring sunshine we've been having lately. Anyway, this Monday, I like... gorse.

I Like Monday - whin blossom photo 640px-Gorse-Ulex_europaeus_zpsbea60b6f.jpg
Image taken from Wikipedia. Photograph is copyright Andy Rogers

Although I know it better by the local name of "whin", so that's the term I'll use for the rest of this post. I prefer "whin" anyway; it sounds... well, windy and airy and fairy-like, where "gorse" sounds drab and harsh and earthbound.

Actually, both names suit it rather well. Whin grows on land that is otherwise pretty bleak: bog and rock and moor and peat moss, the kind of place where the predominant colours are shades of brown muddied with grey-green, and the soil is poor. Its leaves are replaced almost entirely by wicked green thorns, long and straight like needles. Exposed to the worst the weather can throw at it, it has remarkable resilience. For instance, there was a great hedge of whin growing along the upper end of our road. Then about five years ago, we had an extremely bad winter: snow, ice, the works. It looked like the whin had been killed completely. A few scattered skeletons of bushes remained but there wasn't a hint of green. And yet... those skeletons didn't break or rot away. They stayed. Two years later, some of them started to look green again. Two years after that, new bushes had grown. This year, all the bushes are out in bloom and it looks like we're getting our hedge back.

So yeah, it's tough and it's windswept and it looks awesome covered in cobwebs. But let's talk about the flowers because they're my favourite part. It's not just their colour - that gorgeous rich yellow - or their shape - those pert little capsules like ladies' bonnets. It's their smell. Whin smells liks coconut. Really, really like coconut. Before that bad winter I talked about earlier, I loved being along the upper end of our road when the whin was in bloom because the perfume was so strong. It was like walking into a tropical paradise - apart from the fact that I was surrounded by rush-encrusted fields and scrubby brambles, not white sand beaches and palm trees.

I would later come across an interesting twist on this in The Mermaid's Child by Jo Baker, where the protagonist encounters the scent of whin first and only years later smells a coconut, stating, "Coconuts, to me, will always smell of gorse." It startled me to realise that I really ought to think that way too, but don't... So now when I breathe in that dry, soft, sweet scent, it kinda twists my thinking upside-down, makes me consider all the knowledge and experiences I have just because I happen to live at the right time in the right place.

Whin is a golden blaze of defiant sweetness in places where sweetness is the last thing you expect to find. Maybe in two more years' time, I can walk up the road and plunge into the full coconut experience again. I live in hope :)
rhondacrockett: (Take a bite)
Wow, for once, I actually agree with a Blogthings quiz result!

You Are Unusual

Like many of those who are drawn to the color purple, you feel like you just don't fit into any one group.

You are highly idealistic and even a bit dreamy. You would rather think about how things could be than how they are.

Some may consider you to be a bit impractical and even distant. You prefer to buffer yourself from the ugliness of the real world.

Your true friends share your ability to imagine and paint beautiful mental pictures. Nothing delights you more than imagination.


Mar. 27th, 2014 09:05 pm
rhondacrockett: (loneliness & the assassin)
I've spent all my evenings this week at home alone. I can watch what I like, read what I like, do what I like.

... It's been rather boring. And I'm not doing anything much different from what I would do if mum was at home. I am no party animal and I don't socialise easily; I'm generally a loner. But I'm generally a loner who has people around her. Being ALONE-alone is unsettling and demotivating.

March has been a weirdly depressing month. Weird because the weather has gotten so much better lately - warmer, brighter and drier - and because nothing obviously bad has happened. But the story I'm writing has stalled, I haven't been sleeping well, and I haven't been happy with my doodles recently.

Watching a lot of music TV isn't helping. See, our dog Lottie like to play tug-of-war but she's very noisy when doing it, so turning on a TV drama or whatever in the background doesn't work. Music TV, on the other hand, is just radio with pictures, so that's what I've been doing. The channels I prefer seem to have turned into semi-permanent My Chemical Romance memorials. I have no problem with My Chemical Romance - truth is, I didn't know any of their music until this week and I have enjoyed what I've heard. But it gets repetitive after a while and then I find out the reason they're playing it so much is cos the band split up a year ago (yes, I am spectacularly out of touch with popular music culture, sue me), so it just becomes sad then...


My brother's wedding plans continue apace. The date is set for the end of August and we've booked ourselves into the same holiday bungalow we had last year. It's a beautiful house and big too - there will be six of us in it, possibly seven. I'm not going to be part of the bridal party which is (mostly) fine by me; at the same time, if I was a bridesmaid, I wouldn't have to worry about what I'm wearing. Yay, formal clothes shopping, be still, my beating heart. -_-'

Remember the stray cat I talked about back in February? The one we were going to get a new home for cos we couldn't possibly take on another pet? Yeah, big shock, we ended up keeping her *rolls eyes, shakes head*. Her name is Maggie. Holly and Ivy are increasingly not impressed at her presence but they'll get used to her, same as they got used to Oliver, and Holly has at least stuck around rather than vanishing as we feared. Lottie thinks she's great, though, because Maggie plays chase with her. :)
rhondacrockett: (blood & claws)
This Monday, I like... "A Man of Words and Not of Deeds".

I Like Monday - garden of weeds photo gardenofweeds_zps6a328dce.jpg I Like Monday - penknife photo penknife_zpse293d879.jpg
Left hand image taken from Southwest Landscapes; right hand image taken from Aceros de Hispania

Ok, I know I said some time ago that Mondays were to be reserved for Nice Things Only so people may find today's choice rather odd, if not outright inappropriate. But "A Man of Words and Not of Deeds" is one of my favourite nursery rhymes. Yes, it creeps me out, but it creeps me out in a good way, in a weirdly reassuring way, like having a vivid dream about being a survivor in a post-apocalypse scenario...

I'm not explaining this very well, am I? I guess this rhyme appeals to the same part of me that adores angst in stories. Angst in real life can be draining, irritating and miserable, but in stories it can make you love characters even more than you thought you did already. It makes heroes more heroic, gives their sacrifices, actions and decisions more weight. (Another reason for liking Batman: everything the guy does oozes angst.) Angst in stories shows that being 'the good guy' is not easy and is therefore more important. "A Man of Words..." does something similar - not by focusing on the 'good guy', but instead zooming in on the 'bad guy' until he becomes not a mere person but an all-encompassing, inescapable, natural phenomenon. How are you supposed to defeat or defy something so big? Suddenly goodness is not a matter of just being 'nice' but an act of desperate necessity, of survival.

I love the imagery, the slow accumulation of similes as each one grows out of the one before. I like the way it starts so gently, so dreamily - and then takes that abrupt left-hand turn in the middle into much darker territory. And yes, I admit, I like the way it zeroes in so vividly on physical pain towards the end (touch of sadomasochism, anyone?).

And yes, I also admit, I like the fact that it's rather obscure and therefore more exclusive. I didn't know this rhyme as a child - that is, when I could count my age in single digits, which is when we traditionally become familiar with nursery rhymes. I heard it for the first time when I was around 10 or 12, maybe a bit older than that, on a cassette tape of other rhymes and songs. (Don't ask why a 10-to-12-year-old was listening to a tape of nursery rhymes; I just was, ok?) I knew all the other rhymes on the tape but this one was new to me and it captured my imagination. I suppose it helped that I was old enough to appreciate how clever the rhyme was, how 'literate' in comparison to, say, "Little Miss Muffett". Some people think that it might be the work of, or inspired by the work of, John Fletcher, an Elizabethan author and contemporary of Shakespeare, or that it might be a Puritan satire on Charles II. (You can google for more info on both theories; I'm not convinced by either, personally.)

Powerful. Vivid. Angst-ridden. Relatively unknown. And strangely appealing in its own ominous way. Yes. This Monday, whatever the reasons, I like "A Man of Words and Not of Deeds".


A man of words and not of deeds, is like a garden full of weeds -
And when the weeds begin to grow, it's like a garden full of snow -
And when the snow begins to fall, it's like a bird upon the wall -
And when the bird away does fly, it's like an eagle in the sky -
And when the sky begins to roar, it's like a lion at the door -
And when the door begins to crack, it's like a stick across your back -
And when your back begins to smart, it's like a penknife in your heart -
And when your heart begins to bleed
You're dead -
And dead -
And dead indeed.*

*The line layout and punctuation here are more or less of my own invention. Up until I wrote this post, I had only known this rhyme as recited orally, not written down, and when I went looking I wasn't satisfied by the way others had laid it out.
rhondacrockett: (Am I addicted? - dava)
According to the new stats on my home page, my LJ is at number 1 003 632 in the Top LJ blogs list.

...Really? I didn't think I was that popular. I expected to be down at the two-and-a-half million mark at the very best.


Yesterday I listened to a man demanding to get an ice-cream for 45p. The sign displaying the prices was supposed to read £1.45, but the £1 bit had dropped off or been removed. Technically, yes, the stand had to sell him the ice cream for 45p, since that was what the sign said, even if it was incorrect. But the man banged on so much about "this is my right," "I know my rights," that I got thoroughly sick of him. It was an ice cream; that's not a right, it's a privilege - an extremely rare privilege, which he only has access to because he happened to be born in the right culture at the right time.

He got his ice cream eventually - for a long time the guy manning the stand couldn't believe that he was being serious about the whole thing - and it was only after I had walked away that I realised that what I should have done was to walk up the counter and slap down a pound coin myself. And if the man wittered on any more about his "rights", I should have told him, "You also have the right to remain silent. Please exercise that right."

...I hate only knowing what I should have done after the whole thing is over.


Jun. 18th, 2004 11:12 am
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
There are men in suits, with those little ear-piece radios with the curly phone-line, on Elmwood Avenue. They're all standing around a big silver car, looking solemn and bodyguard-ish. There's also a policeman not far away.

Who on earth would be on Elmwood Avenue, who would need bodyguards with ear-piece radios? Where on Elmwood Avenue would anyone who needed bodyguards with ear-piece radios be going? More importantly, when do I get to see the assassination attempt?(!)

*Feels giddy at the thought of rooftop snipers in black, bodyguards flinging themselves in the firing line, and important personages being bundled into silver cars while security agents chase the guy down.*

Warning! Biohazard! )

Liz, I'm so sorry for your loss *hugs Auntie*
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
How to make a rhondacrockett

3 parts competetiveness

1 part brilliance

3 parts
Stir together in a glass tumbler with a salted rim. Top it off with a sprinkle of caring and enjoy!


Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

Three parts? Three parts what?! o.O
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
Accommodation for next year is settled. Leaonia decided she wanted to look further afield, I e-mailed the Accommodation people, and I got a letter this morning offering me a room in Mount Charles, which is one of two exclusive-to-postgrads houses. For the summer months I'm going to sub-let from my brother (if he can remember the number of the house!).

The handwriting meme looks interesting, but I am scanner-less and webhost-less lol. I would love to get my handwriting analysed, by all the proper psychological guidelines and stuff.
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
Yay for another Tuesday night with nobody in except me!!! *Dances around enjoying her US cop shows without subtitles* When Goren starts laying on his psychological-manipulating shit, he makes me think of pondweed. I've been thinking: how come no one notices that Goren is the Giant-Cockroach-Disguise in Men in Black? Or that Briscoe is Jennifer Grey's dad in Dirty Dancing? Did those parts go to different actors? Or do "Vincent D'Onofrio" and "Jerry Orbach" just look different in the Law & Order universe? (I had similar thoughts about the Friends episode with Brad Pitt: how come no one notices that it's BRAD PITT?!?) Oh yeah, and the clown-fixated couple in CSI were dumb. All TV murderers are dumb! Don't they watch cop shows? Don't they know that blood and semen don't wash out?!? Don't they know you DON'T KEEP ANYTHING BELONGING TO THE VICTIM LYING AROUND YOUR HOUSE FOR THE COPS TO FIND?!?!

Had a nice phone call from the Student Accommodation Office, asking me about my application form. I'm looking at 2-bedroom flats at the moment. They're all so expensive! Like, £400+ - that's £200 per month EACH. And I'm betting that any under £400 are really shitty and/or in avoid-at-all-cost areas. Mark's nurse hasn't been in contact, so I don't even know if I've got anyone to move with yet. *Sigh* I haven't had to do this in so long. I've been living in the same group for 3 years now. I'm all out of practice at looking for somewhere, and I've forgotten where the no-go areas are (apart from the obvious - Tates Avenue, the Holylands, Donegall Road).

I should go now, and look for accommodation some more.

::Edit:: I reckon I could maybe stretch to £200 per month. My problem is knowing how much this other girl is prepared to pay. I did find a property which would be £170/month, which is what I'm currently paying, but it's in the Botanic Avenue area, where I've never been before, and don't know anyone who's been, and where I heard there's been some trouble with rowdiness. There's another property on a street where I have stayed before, and is very very convenient for both uni and the hospital, but again, it will be £200/month for each of us, and I don't know whether this other girl will want to pay that or not.

Now I'm hungry. ::End Edit::
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
How can life be so busy and yet supremely uneventful?

Saw Dawn of the Dead. Guns! Gunsgunsgunsgunsguns! Damn, I love guns! It's the way they make people look when they're holding them, especially when firing them. Arms out, legs braced, eyes focused. That, and the noise >:)

Spoilers )

And yay for making people sit through the credits! I always try to sit for as long as I can through credits. Hey, I feel I owe it to all those people who made the movie! Besides, I like reading the soundtrack listings, which are always right at the end. But there comes a stage where I'm thinking, "OK, better get up before the staff start trying to poke me out with their brooms."

One question does bug me though: once the whole population's infected, what do zombies eat? :/ I mean, clearly they're interested only in uninfected, living human flesh, soo... do they eventually deteriorate, and decompose completely while they're walking around? Or is it an immortal deal, and they just starve but never die? Are they even aware of being hungry? Or does the sensation of hunger only strike when there's legitimate prey about? I'm thinking about this too hard, aren't I?

Now I just want to see Shaun of the Dead sooooo much more :)

Why do they call it a "concession area"? The food there's more expensive than outside the cinema; where's the consession? I miss the Dublin Road cinema being UGC. The Movie House intro-pieces are too neon and flashy, and have crappy synthesiser music. And I miss the Pearl and Dean intro music. Bappah-bappah bappah-bappah bap-bap-bah!


James is gone. I miss him. I didn't think I would, because it wasn't like he was in the house much. Maybe it's just that now it's a house full of girls. Or maybe it's because I'm now living with people who I don't know. OK, so I've been living with Joanna and Pamela for two years now, but I still consider them as Ann's friends rather than mine. And Dee is a completely unknown quantity. And a creepily silent, unknown quantity, at that.

Dammit, Philip's gonna be playing Max Payne 2, and I won't be there to watch and laugh with him over the incredibly bad writing they have for the graphic novel bits.
rhondacrockett: (Lookit me)
Terpsichore, the Whirler, muse of dancing, is your
muse. She is commonly depicted dancing with a
lyre, which I can be pretty sure you do not do.
However, you do like dancing, in most any form.
You may be the next Pavlova, who, we must
remember, was not great because of her
technique, but because of her passion for

Which of the Nine Muses is your muse?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hmm. Well, I do like dancing, and I have been in a very dance-y mood lately, but I wouldn't consider it my muse. Of course, the Greeks and Romans didn't have a muse for prose fiction or novels - it was all poetry and drama with them. If there had to be a muse to represent fiction, I'd say that it was Clio. History was the closest the Greeks and Romans got to prose narrative, and it's only a little stretch from "real" history to fictive "history".

(*checks* Hey, no muse for pictorial art or sculpture either! Stupid Greeks.)
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