leahbobet: (gardening)

Longtime readers will know that it is officially spring in my house when I get the inexorable urge to put on The Sisters of Mercy’s Floodland, open all the windows, clean house, and dance around in my socks.  This, um.  Happens every year.

Apparently I was late on it this year, because I was all the way to the white house in the red square before I realized I was humming it to myself.  With the window open.  Making bread.

So apparently it’s spring, guys.  Happy spring!



Originally published at leahbobet. You can comment here or there.

Home! Got in about two hours ago -- and that worked out because I shamelessly begged a lift home from my parents earlier in the week, rather than taking TTC like I usually do -- and sifting through e-mail/eating pizza/being in my apartment.

It is too quiet. I miss my writers and kitties and scenic cacti.

I do have some last dribs and drabs of trip pictures, though:

This is that one picture I snapped at Colossal Cave on Thursday before the cellphone battery gave out. As you can tell, it is a cave that is very large.

Yours Truly, post-gothing on Friday night. This was actually right when I was taking off my makeup. Really, I love the new Goth blouse and the steampunky way it works with the glass pendant and I was just proud that I pinned my hair up and it stayed up through all that headbanging.

Another trip to the Red Velvet Cupcakery before we descended on the Tucson Festival of Books yesterday morning. [livejournal.com profile] coffeeem and [livejournal.com profile] willshetterly can haz cupcakes.

A wide shot at the festival, and our very own [livejournal.com profile] jennygadget, complete with home-baked blood-spatter cupcakes, after the Shadow Unit panel. I shot that one from the panel room stage, so it's a bit wonky.

And finally, the last Tucson installments of Signage: An Occasional Series.

And that is that for CupcakeCon 2010.

Needless to say I'm bagged -- we were up this morning at 4:30 to get to the airport in time for various flights -- but if I owe you e-mail or whatnot, I will endeavour to have everything caught up by Tuesday evening.

(And then she fell down with an audible fwump.)
Gothing! Minus a [livejournal.com profile] truepenny, who was not feeling the dancing thing, last night we headed out to The Surly Wench, which is a combination pub/club sort of thing, or maybe just a pub with a dance floor in the back. It had tiny, tiny speakers, but people did not filch your table and danced with enthusiasm. Despite a one-hour detour into eighties stuff (Pet Shop Boys? Frankie Goes To Hollywood? On goth night?) we closed out the club. Also, you cannot dance to "Bela Lugosi's Dead".

I don't have pictures, but I assure you we looked awesome.

A bit underslept this morning, but there is oatmeal with Stuff (tm) in it, and shortly we shall be off to the festival of books. See you there if we're seeing you!
1) Losing in overtime is still a much more gripping hockey game than just losing. And that way, you get a point.

2) I am now officially a Soulsavers fan. I picked up the album before last today and it? Also awesome, although I still think Broken holds the awesome all-time title. Case closed.

3) All goes well and the creek don't rise, I will be picking up my glasses tomorrow. Pictures of my creeping hipsterism will follow shortly thereafter.

4) There was a little reception at the Dayjob tonight for some visiting Queen's University students put on by Queen's alumni at the Dayjob as well as the head of the press gallery. An intrepid coworker and I nosed down there after work to see if there was any food (chilled shrimp, pita, brie wheel and veggies FTW) and ended up staying for an hour, being asked eagerly about After Graduation (tm) and working life and government/political jobs and all that by a bucket of polished, friendly, extremely pleasant Queen's University poli-sci undergrads.

I felt...old. And actually, kind of glad to be useful.

God. It's only been a year and a half since I graduated, y'know?
August 28, 2009 Progress Notes:


Words today: 600.
Words total: 12,000.
Reason for stopping: It's like going through the trackless marshes tonight. But quota, and above quota, and I can ethically bail.

Darling du Jour: Zeke had never tried to figure out how Gregory did what he did to women; he'd tried to explain it once, rambling and drunk one late, late winter night, sacked out on the floor with both of them passing around a bottle of gin under diffuse gibbous moonlight. He'd never been able to get past vague handshapes and metaphors – no, really, a woman's like a bass. It's all about knowing how it's tuned. But once he got them to look at him, really look, it was usually time to start checking for socks on the doorknob.

Things Yet to Cough Up Their Names: The band name Zeke and Gregory have been gigging under; the somewhat tragic singer of Gregory's old band; the name of Gregory's old band, for that matter; some song titles penned by Zeke.
Mean Things: The inappropriate jealousy of grown adults is probably the worst kind. Because they know they're too old for it, and they know it's not okay. Also: a Gothic Premonition of Evil (tm), which may also be not okay, but screw it, it's a Gothic.
Research Roundup: The article on Saturnalia again, to refresh some things; the Penates; daylight savings time; a reference photo or two; batons and truncheons.

Books in progress: Daniel Rabuzzi, The Choir Boats; Catherine Bush, Minus Time.
The glamour: Harrying of the head cold continues. Wonton soup and pork buns have been deployed, and snot has retreated to the caves of Afghanistan for what will hopefully be a short mop-up campaign.

Got a horrific hankering to get the Stitch in Time EP this afternoon. This ended up meaning that [livejournal.com profile] stillnotbored got it for me -- since Amazon mp3s can't be sold outside the continental US -- and sent the files over AIM while I Paypalled her the pertinent cash. It was a half hour operation. And they wonder why people pirate.

This is not the song I bought it for. But it's perhaps one of the more brutal So, it appears I completely fucked it up songs I've ever heard in my life. Not on the first listen. It was only when I could decipher the answering machine messages in the bridge.

It is now tucked in my book soundtrack, another card in the deck.

I have the terrible urge to apologize to my characters for that. :p
August 2, 2009 Progress Notes:


Words today: 800.
Words total: 5700.
Reason for stopping: I need to figure out what it is that Kaira's mumbling about in her sleep that's so important. If it's to be so important and all.

Darling du Jour: The screaming in the alley tapered away. A man's voice, two, flickered on like lit cigarettes.

Things Yet to Cough Up Their Names: Some club two levels up; its owner, who apparently owes Zeke precisely two favours; the band name Zeke and Gregory have been gigging under.
Mean Things: I'm pretty sure someone just got raped and killed two stories down. Fresh bodies in the alley tomorrow morning! Guess we're leaving through the back door!

Books in progress: China Mieville, The City and the City.
The glamour: Took a bunch of stuff off the to-do list today, cooking and some crits and some cleaning and the like. I think I need to crit more people who aren't my friends of many years. Doing it outside of our own shorthand takes thinking these days.

Also, redyed my hair this afternoon. The streaks are back to brilliant deep blue; they'd been going turquoise and white at the ends. And this time, it's really noticeable how the rest of my head goes about four shades darker. If I'd been thinking, I'd have done some before and after pictures for you.

Because I love you and I want you to be happy, here is Greg Dulli vamping blues-style on "If I Only Had a Heart". With flirty hand gestures and a lit cigarette.

I have never understood until now why people find Greg hot. But...yo. This makes me want to wear off-the-shoulder dresses with matching black widow hats and write hard-boiled 1920s murder mysteries in fountain pen ink while the rain hisses down on the city streets. Or be 1920s murder mysteries. Either way.

You're welcome. *g*
I have realized why I've had an inexplicable and enduring inappropriate crush on the guy from the Building a Mystery video for all these long years.

It's small David Usher.

All becomes clear. *g*
leahbobet: (bat signal)
A novice once sought the advice of the spam in his inbox, while in great distress.

Spam said: "The size of your tool matters more than the size of your wallet."

The novice thought upon these words, and realized that we are rich in life so long as we have Maynard James Keenan.

At that moment, the novice was enlightened.
(See, [livejournal.com profile] tanaise, I called it NIN|JA.)

NIN is awesome. We love our Trent with the love. It was not really a standing-up kind of set, so we mostly spent it flopped out on the grass, just letting it roll on through, except for the encore. Which was "Hurt", played as the sun was setting, with all these people's lighters out. There's one to cross off my Must Do Before Dead list.

Didn't stay for the whole of Jane's Addiction, because I am old and was seriously just crashing out. (Also, had we stayed, getting a streetcar would have been impossible. It is self-preservation to ditch before the encore when you're at the Amphitheatre.) It was recalled to me that Perry totally can't sing, but he and his man-corset had enough energy for three other bands, and he was just bopping around the stage in a way that made things fun.

And then we got to talking with these two girls on the streetcar and apparently Eagles of Death Metal are coming through in August, and that's worth doing.

Oh my god, bed now.
Home from Ad Astra; a little early, but between the dryness of the hotel (and the headache that caused) and some general introversion, this was for the best. It was an interesting experience doing this as an attendee/panelist after so many years of doing it as a dealer with the bookstore. I will possibly talk about this later after I get my inboxes shovelled and my dishes washed.

Also? I have NIN|JA ([livejournal.com profile] tanaise says I can't call it "the NIN concert" because the other way is much cooler) tickets. Yes, they're lawn tickets. I don't care. It'll be June, and besides, I'd do a hell of a lot more onerous than parking my delicate flower of a butt on some grass for Trent Reznor.

So. Mwahahaha.
Because when I get home and read LJ, I will find out that one of my longtime favourite creepy quasi-goth bands, non-con lyrics a specialty, covered Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill".

I am putting this in the file where I keep the Johnny Hollow cover of "Nova Heart". And then I will hug it and hug it and make little squeeeeeee noises.

And write it a story.

In fact, I think I already know which story.

So there.

[livejournal.com profile] cristullmonster performs The Internets a public service: Trent Reznor's Hair: A Retrospective.


Bunk now. Bakson.
Yes, I know nobody wants to come ogle Mark Lanegan with me.


The (motherfuckin') Cure. Air Canada Centre. Thursday May 15th.

If I in seriousness do not have one friend here who will come see The Cure with me, you are all fired and I'm getting new friends. :p
1) I have realized why goth dancing is so self-involved and isolated (aka, showoffy). If anyone at a goth club actually looked at each other dancing, they would realize all goths dance like fantastic nerds and critical issues of self-image would arise.

2) Like professional petty thieves, nightclub sexual predators can be picked out at fifty paces. I am simultaneously grateful for this and irritated at the lack of dedication people put into their work. Lazy, lazy unsubs.

3) I don't actually like the look of myself tarted up. I look like someone else and I am wary of her.

4) The awesome Docs with skulls on them are officially broken in, because I danced in them for a few hours and there was no pain, no fuss.

5) The universe is interestingly fickle. Yes, that's all I'm saying about that.

6) Pursuant to its fickleness, it is sometimes good for us to be reminded that we are not as in control of the world -- inside our heads or out of it -- as we think we are. There will be some serious rethinking of what I'm doing in some aspects of my life this weekend. Because wow, am I ever playing with fire.

That's all I'm saying about that too.
...you think you know fanvids? This is a fanvid. [livejournal.com profile] mekkavandexter showed me it!

(Yeah. It has metaphor and theme and unifying imagery and everything. I'm stunned.)

[Error: unknown template video]

So now who wants to go to the concert with me? *g*

Doesn't matter if you really don't. I decided if nobody bites, well, I'm just going by myself!

ETA: Too bad! Tickets are selling out, so I have bought one! If you are coming, you sit not with me!

*gleedance* I'm gonna see Matt Good!

Eee! Eee!

Jul. 30th, 2007 04:34 pm
Matthew Good at Massey Hall, Friday October 26th, 8pm.

(Eee! Eee! Eee!)

Who's coming with me?
1) [livejournal.com profile] sosostris2012 is my goddess of all things black and fishnetty. Thank you. :)

2) I shouldn't even bother showing ID for my drinking tag at all ages shows. Nobody likes a bar that's only serving four-dollar water and Miller Draft, and nobody likes being herded out by angry-faced security ten minutes after the band leaves the stage since they figure nobody's going to hang around and drink.

3) I need less cute perkygothy clothes and more Elegant Queen of the Night clothes. Although there were people wearing jeans and denim jackets, that is not an excuse.

4) Someone at the Kool Haus really, really likes that fog machine.

5) Andrew Eldritch could read me the phone book and my knees would go weak from it, culminating in me offering to bear his love child.


6) I am enough of a nerd that when he came out on stage with shaved head, dark sunglasses, black leather thigh-length coat on, and cigarette in one hand, I thought "Oh wow, Andrew Eldritch is really Spider Jerusalem!"

Concerts are fuuuuuun. :D

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