zfreelance: (Watch the World Burn)
Eh. I'm pretty sure I fail as a 'sensitive human being'. And I care not at all.

My school has had a recent outbreak (read: two instances) of finding small nooses hung in random places. I saw one of these hanging on a sign, myself, and remembered thinking, "... I wish I knew how to tie a noose. Nooses are cool." And then I went on my way.

But apparently nooses in trees have racial implications. Or, that's how my school is interpreting it. So, after 6 separate e-mails from the school about how seriously they were taking this, I had to sit through a nice, long, touchy-feely meeting for the RAs to discuss why such things were unacceptable. And I was blown. Away.

People were freaking terrified of these little nooses. And I just can't wrap my head around it. There are no leads as to who placed the nooses. There was nothing to imply that it was racially motivated. And when I said as much, I got stared at like I kicked a homosexual puppy.

The conversation I was forced to endure went from the nooses to the god damn Laramie Project, and I wanted to scream.

I'm almost positive that the Salem Witch Trials predate the KKK, but you don't hear me screaming about The Crucible. Not to mention that having conversations like this are like discussing religion. You're either preaching to the convinced or you're not making a dent.

Part of this is clearly the fact that I'm white, yeah okay. Goody for me. But part of it is that I am a bitter realist. People suck, and getting upset when things happen is just dumb. Either do something about it or get over it, because the only thing you can control is yourself.

But what really bothered me was that people started talking, seriously talking about censoring and monitoring student and employee social media, as well as the installation of cameras in all the residence halls. And the Powers That Be facilitating the conversation sighed, like they agreed, like this was something that should happen.

And all I had running through my head was an SNL mash-up of V For Vendetta meets 1984.

Just. AUGH.

/soapbox



my problem with authority called. it wants its movie collection back.


Update: I keep getting FB invites to rallys to protest this "great tragedy".

That actually pisses me off more than anything. A Shakespearean play is a great tragedy. A school shooting is a great tragedy. Your collective overreaction to innocuous stimuli? Is not.

Fucking first world shit, right there.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Fuck Decaf)
And this is why I can't have nice things.

Dear Corporate America: )


Please note that I intentionally left out my Feminist Soap Box of Rage, for the sake of expediency. That is a horse of a different color, entirely, and is made only more convoluted by the fact that feminism is subject to the eye of the beholder.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Never love a Wild Thing)
Let's talk about Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. In case I haven't, already.

Pretty sure I have. Oh well. Whatever. )

Anyway, that whole rant was just my way of leading into this fic rec. Because those two characters I actually did like? Feature in it, front and center. And as much as it pains me to say it, the story will make a lot more sense if you've read the book.


The King's Man by novembersmith
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Pairing: None.
Summary: In which John Childermass realizes the difference between myth and reality.



And, in other news, there is now The Sims: Medieval.
This close to the release of Dragon Age 2, I can't help but be like, "Fucking bandwagon. Get off my lawn."
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Delights Me Not)
Yeah, so I probably flew off the handle, today. I have extremely good reason, and I don't believe that I over-reacted, but it's a bit strange in that I am so rarely angry. Irritability is a common side effect of my meds (esp. when combined with caffeine, oops), so it is very possible that they take the leash off my temper. Something to keep an eye on.

However, I feel very strongly about how women are treated in today's hyper-sexual society. It is not my cup of tea in the slightest, but I will defend a woman's right to be as sexually active as she pleases until my last breath.

A woman who wishes to have sex is not a whore. She is a healthy human adult who has been designed by biology and society to both like and pursue sex.
A woman who has sex with multiple partners is not a whore. As long as she is safe and careful, there is not a reason in the world why she should not be allowed to kick the legs out from under every willing man in her hemisphere.
A woman who likes sex is not a whore. Sex is designed to feel good. In fact, it's designed to feel awesome. Liking it does not make you less of a person. You are not killing kittens every time you have an orgasm.

This world wants you to know that you are allowed to say 'no'. What is less understood is the fact that you are allowed to say, 'yes', too.

So when someone tells my best friend that she is a whore because she is happy with her new boyfriend, I get a little bit insane and a lot angry and maybe a little scream-y. DX

And it is just a day for rants, isn't it?
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Not Today!)
I'm forever hearing Americans bash on the French simply because that's what we do.

Guess what, people? I'm a born and bred American with Southern roots and a chip on her shoulder, and I love the French. And you want to know why?

They are just as stubborn, prideful, and weird as we are.

They're stuck up and smug? Fuck, take a look at us. What kind of ego does a nation have to have to emblazon a billboard with the slogan, "America. Love It Or Leave It!"

They're cheese-eating surrender monkeys? Well, we're burger-eating warmongers sending our men and women to die in some godforsaken desert.

And God forbid there be a country that is just as verbal about their dislike for us as we are about them. I mean, where do they get the gall?!

God damn, people. You don't know the French, and they definitely don't know us. We are two radically different cultures and we still manage to rub each other the wrong way because pride is our way of life.

Lord knows, I am proud to be an American and plan on serving my country until the day I die. But I am still going to inform you that you are moron if you consider 'the French' to be some kind of national inside joke.

/rant
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Never love a Wild Thing)
Theories About Nuclear Winter by [livejournal.com profile] hollycomb
Fandom: Calvin and Hobbes
Pairing: Calvin/Susie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Calvin finally sorts out his feelings for Susie his timing is not great.

I know, I know, BUT! )
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Alice)
My angst, let me angst about it. )
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (This American Life)
EDIT: Shit, don't read this. It's pathetic.
Like the title says. )
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Hmm.)
It's not that I can't get a god damned job to save my life. I'm bitter but I'm not overly upset.
It's not that I don't own a car. That's gonna happen, one day.
It's that I'm at home.

Home is being remodeled, completely DIY, off-the-cuff construction. And now that I'm home, I can help! Yay!

I don't mind labor. It's something to do. It's just how it's done here.

My mother is very much one to march to the beat of her own drummer. She does things her way, on her own internal timetable that seems to defy everything man knows about its fellow man through centuries of observation. Which is awesome. I want to be my mother when I grow up.

But there is a problem. There is no set schedule to what she does. She'll be cutting drywall one day, and then will ignore the job for the next week, almost as if she forgot about it. But she never forgets. No, she'd bidding her time. For what, the world may never know. But as a result, she works in spurts and sputters, confounding us all.

How this relates to me is thus: I help out when it's clear that there's work to be done. She stops, I stop, having no idea what her next step or plan of attack is. I wait. I sit around the house, kick my heels, and wait some more. I finally get bored and make plans. Then, boom, she's back at it and I'm stuck looking like a leech, living under her roof, eating her food, not lifting a finger to help rebuild the bathroom/re-enforce the gutters/pry up kitchen counters because I'm too busy going out with my friends.

And there's nothing I can do for it, because my mother does not plan and therefore cannot tell me ahead of time when to not be busy. It's like ships in the night.

This is, of course, overlooking the typical arguments over sleeping in (an outrage that I just do not understand in the slightest), gas, who has the car which night, who's going to drop everything to take my sister to her fifth softball tournament in as many days, and, of course, who's turn it is to take out the trash.
And I really do not want to get into the peripheral drama of friends and their relationships/breakups/emergencies/frustrations/issues, either.

It feels selfish, because it is, but I do not want to be here, and I have not enjoyed my stay. Barring some freak incident or absolute necessity of my being here, I do not foresee myself returning home for another summer. I am too used to doing my own thing, and it feels as if I'm the one doing all the bending.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Best not read this drivel. )

And on a completely unrelated note, how is it that a tiny scratch on my pinky finger that didn't even bleed can become more painfully infected than some of my deepest and worst scrapes and gouges any place else.

Damn, yo.

Jan. 19th, 2009 12:25 am
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Bubbles)
Okay, another Angel episode, another bout of thinking.

This kinda stuff is gonna drive me crazy. )


Jesus, I need to quit thinking.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Typewriter)
I recently read an essay written by Elizabeth Bear (yes, that Elizabeth Bear), and it made me think.

Brace yourself. )


The essay: People Like Us
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Pissed.)
Whats with every god forsaken fantasy/sci-fi book being part of some kinda series?
I'm a hypocrite, I know. I read the Robert Jordan books, Scott Lynch, Brandon Sanderson, all a that. And I love them, dearly. But I can't just read those authors, they don't write fast enough.

So when I'm browsing the bookstore, and all I see is 'Book of _____, Pt. 7' and '4th in the _____ Sequence', I get kinda annoyed.

I hesitate to pick up a new series, as I'm sure many others do, as well. You don't trust the author, especially one who's churned out multiple books, to not have given in to the commercialized desire for quantity over quality. Its daunting to pick up a book, only to learn that its the first book in a series of ten. What if, like I mentioned, the first book is amazing, and the rest just suck? You run the risk of reading an incomplete story. Its like just reading The Fellowship of the Ring, if Two Towers just blew. (and in some parts, it does.) You don't dare pick up Return of the King. You don't have the money to waste on books you know are gonna suck.

And then there's the more preferable, but more costly second option. The series just rocks. Every page is pure gold, and you don't know how you didn't start reading this series sooner. And then you realize, with great excitement, that you have fifteen more books to gobble before you're stuck waiting for the next book with the rest of us. The best goddamn feeling in the world. Provided you're a goddamn millionaire. Because if you're not, you gotta stretch that series over several paychecks, so long as you like other things such as eating. And that can near about kill you with frustration. (Alan Campbell, I'm lookin' at you.)

Heres my request, since I like reading. Don't put out books that you know are substandard. If a series is dragging on, end the fucker. Sure, some fans will scream, and you run the risk of ending up in the book/movie Misery. But you gain a more loyal fanbase by not feeding us crap.

Some series, I wholly approve of. But not every story need five books to tell it, you guys.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Cigarette)
I got a 91% on a muthafucking math test. BOOYAH.

Anyway, tonight my grandparents are coming through town and we're going to go to dinner. I'm super excited, because a) I haven't seen them since our trip to the Smokies and b) I haven't seen family in general since August. Sure, I went for way longer without face-to-face contact with anybody I knew when I was in France, but there's no reason to do that again. I have nothing to prove. I miss my family.

Even my siblings. Yes, I know. Nuts.

And I'm even more excited about October coming up. I kinda got this from a book I read (Night in the Lonesome October, Richard Laymon. Check it out.) but its kinda true. All the truly freaky stuff you kinda see year-round? The weird, the inexplicable, and the just plain cool? Totally amps up the volume in October. Maybe its the fact that, yes, Halloween is that month, but maybe its something else.

I love October. I love Halloween. Its a holiday that separates the bizarre from the fearful. Those willing to expand their comfort zones revel in the fact that its now socially acceptable to be as weird as you normally are, every day. They're set apart and made apparent against those who are too caught up in what you can and cannot do, by someone else's decree. Save for wiccan, witchcraft, and pagan religions, this month and holiday have no redeeming value. Its all about the cool, freaky stuff you've never gotten to do before. Its all about the costumes, the energy, the cool air and changing leaves. Its all about the greed. You get candy. And you don't even have to grovel for it.

That's kind of what I hate about Christmas. There's always that undermining expectation of self-flagellation and sobriety. He died for you, dammit! So we are gonna praise him for it with intonations of Latin, a language that no sane person should speak. I took Latin in high school. Believe me. I know.

So fuck that. Fuck observing the reason for the season. Americans stole this holiday, made it a commercial nightmare, and gave it to the social underdog. DEAL WITH IT.

I'm gonna dress up. I'm gonna score me some candy. I'm gonna do every damn thing that makes those people in the houses that lock their doors on Halloween night, or just answer the door with a stern, "We don't celebrate Halloween," cringe under their covers. I'm gonna have myself a damn good time. Because Halloween is on a Friday, this year, and I'm going home to celebrate it with my psychotic friends. And we may even take the Lord's name in vain.

So, Madame Jaubert? Put that in your juice box and SUCK IT.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Seriously?)
Here I was, all mildly excited about yet another TV about vampires. True Blood.

And now I find out that its based off the Charlaine Harris books of which I abhor.

If you don't know them, lemme clue you in. Psychic cocktail waitress in Louisiana. Vampires. Angst.

Got all that?


No. Just no. They are called 'Southern Vampire Novels', which is such crap.
Tennessee Williams aside, Southern women, REAL Southern women do not do angst. They do not pine for what-the-fuck-ever Sookie's problem is, I don't even remember. They get knocked down, they brush themselves off, they move on.

I hate people/characters that wallow in self-pity. Charlaine Harris has managed to create massive amounts of characters who do just that.

COME ON, PEOPLE. GET CREATIVE.


Screw you, show. As of this Thursday, summer hiatus is over and you will fall into some deep, dark hole of obscurity. And I will laugh.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Slavery)
I'm liberal, just so long as I can sit on my couch at the same time.

And under normal circumstances, I respect the people that actually set out to change things.

But its when they try to enlist my help that it bothers me.
It could just be because I'm lazy. (Hey, THERES a thought!) But there is an underlying reason.

They make everything my fault.
Their strategy is not to convince me, intellectually, that this is a good thing to do. They try to tug on my heart-strings, make me feel ashamed, like I owe them something. Like money.

Yeah, fuck that.

Heres an example.

I climbed to the highest point of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, where you can stand in a giant Sears Tower kinda deal and see all the mountains.
And there are big signs that say (these are my words), "Hey, you wanna know something? The reason the mountains are 'smokey'? YOUR FAULT. Ask us how you can make minor ammends in attempts to salve your guilty conscience today!"
My first reaction was, "I climbed my ass all the way up here for a guilt trip?"

Animal shelter ads. Global warming. The holes in the ozone layer. The Vietnam fucking War. They just can't not pitch it to make you feel guilty.

I am so brainwashed with that shit that when I saw pictures of erosion caused by the ocean, a process that has taken longer that the human race has been alive, and realized that a certain rock was going to tumble into the sea in a couple of millenia, and thought, "Oh shit, thats gonna fuck up the ecosystem and it'll be all our fault. Again."


This is why I'm liking Marine Bio so much. Ecosystems and climates change all the fucking time. This is a proven fact, and I am sick of people trying to guilt money out of me to 'fix it'. Its fucked. Leave it alone. I refuse to pay for other people's mistakes, and I sure as hell am not paying you.

And btw? The Great Smokey Mountains? WERE NAMED THE GREAT SMOKEY MOUNTAINS BEFORE THEY INVENTED AIR POLLUTION. Shut the fuck up, you tree-hugging, self-flagellating asshats. You don't fool me.


... I think I need to lay off the Fruit Loops. They seem to make me angry. ::hands::
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Seriously?)
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

I am just frustrated at the moment, and I don't really know why. Its not just one thing.

NO, I am not gonna hide this behind a cut, this is MY journal, y'all can just DEAL WITH IT.

It is NOT a lack activity. I've been riding my bike fucking everywhere, and sweating my ass off. Its about as fun as it sounds.

I'm just... URGH.


This is what drove me crazy in France. I was doing nothing worthwhile with my time. I was just working towards some distant, useless-as-fuck goal that DID ME NO GOOD IN THE LONG RUN. I do not believe I am a better person for having gone to France. I am not more diverse, nor any more inclined to like people. God help me, I am hard pressed to summoning up a memeory of that year that is of an activity that I actually enjoyed, rather than endured.

What is to come of this college thing? A higher tax bracket? I'm still not convinced that you need money to be successful, or fukcing happy. A network of connections and lasting friendships, perhaps even a marriage?

FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

Jesus, I just cannot figure out the point. I know all about what I should do. Ask me if I care about that? I'm supposed to be laying down groundwork for a future that contains a fufilling career, the expected lifestyle of sitting on your ass.

I want to do something ELSE, God, ANYTHING. Other than live forever in a cubical.


You know what sounds the best to me, right now? Being a plumber. You know your trade, its one that no one's gonna oust you from because you don't suck up enough, you don't fucking dress to impress, you work long hours, and then. you. die.

If I let myself think about the extremely fucking nigh future, I realize that to be what I should be, I can't dream or expand or even fucking dare to be different. I have to settle for what I can get and smile.

Well FUCK that. I'm tired of kicking my heels, doing whats required. I want to change to the craziest fucking major known to man and LIKE IT. I don't want to spend all my time doing extracurricular activities that I care nothing about because 'its a good way to meet people'.
Screw advice. I've never been better off for ANY of it.


I'm gonna go take a pill and sleep. Luckily for me, any extreme emotion I ever experiance passes quickly.

Fuck you, too, freshman year.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Get me coffee!)
My complaints, let me show you them.

1) I am really having trouble with sleep lately. Its just hard to turn off a night. I don't even think abot stuff, I just can't get to sleep. Sudoku helps, but I took a nap yesterday and therefore got about 4 hours of sleep last night. This is all really just SSDD, but its not fun how nothing is changing.

2) This fucking weather. It has been raining for two solid weeks now, on and off, drizzling without a hint of sunlight. So I am crippled from the femurs down. I can barely walk right. My bones, joints, and head ache in tandem.

3) I can't eat. Even when I want to. Just the thought of food makes me sick, and I haven't eaten today. I'm hungry, but that doesn't mean anything.

The main problem with this is that the school food in crap. Its greasy, its heavy, and I'd rather gnaw on tree bark. The only things I can really eat with any enthusiasm are fruit, veggies, and the occasional shot of sugar. That really can't be healthy, but I dunno what the hell to do about it.

4) I have an empty stomache right now, and all I can think of is maybe if I make myself throw up, I can go home. I am so tired of school. So tired. I have given up on even paying the slightest bit of attention to even the classes I like. I sit in my seat, and I play Sudoku. That is my day.
Its not awesome. I AM BORED OUT OF MY SKULL.

5) Touching.
The French touch. A lot. In the morning, you kiss one another. All day, you hug and hang off each other, and gather around to stand in little groups for no reason whatsoever. You don't even go to the bathroom by yourself. Ever.
And I cannot take much more.
I dread every morning, because I have to touch cheeks with my friends. Its no reflection upon them. I just can't stand the thought of it, and can barely make myself do it. Half the time I pretend to be sick, just to deter some of them. When I do greet them in the proper French fashion, my cheeks itch until I wipe them off. I twitch hard when someone pats my arm. I can barely make myself sit next to anyone in class, because our elbows touch. Holding hands or hugging makes me want to scream.

I'm wearing yesterday's colthes because I was too damn cold and apathetic last night to change into pajamas when I'd just have to change back in a couple of hours. I haven't picked up a book all week. I listen to my mp3 player nonstop, whenever I can. My stomache hurts, I need a shower, I need to eat something, and I just want to curl up somewhere and cry.

I've had enough of France. I'm sick of the language, even though I'm fluent. I'm tired of the food. I hate the pack mentality. I detest the petty tyrants that run this school. I am so goddamn sick of this weather.

I want to be warm. I want to feel better. I want to be surrounded by my own language. I want a hug from my mother.

I want to quit whining.

14 days.

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