Cimblog♥

I seem to have left my camera behind when we went to town. It will be sad if this proves to be the case and I can't take copious pictures at Brother Linux's birthday party tomorrow, because the other people in the family aren't nearly as diligent about sharing pictures as I am.

I had a Kradam dream last night where the Idols seemed to be running some kind of subterfuge or uh, something, because they needed a Plan that would somehow - through a series of complexities - Save Adam (apparently influenced by Leverage). Sarver came up with the plan and it involved everyone in their earpieces eavesdropping when Adam gay-seduced someone for the benefit of onlookers, but Adam was inexplicably shy. "I thought you'd be all over that," said Sarver. It turned out that Adam's sudden shyness was more due to reluctance to shove that much gay in Kris's face (well, earpiece), and he was like, "So I guess you can sit there and get off on it?" and Kris was like "Why not?" Kris didn't see what the big deal was because it wasn't like getting off on Adam's gay seduction techniques was really all that gay. I think Kris was an unreliable narrator. In any case, it was never clear what the plan was for, how it was going to work, or why Adam would be concerned for Kris's virtue. But it was a pretty cute dream.

Our old-fashioned wind-up alarm seems to be experiencing some sort of malfunction and keeps chiming faintly at irregular but frequent intervals as if its bell is being jostled, but it isn't. I wonder if I can sleep through that at all or should I muffle it in a fleece blanket as a precautionary measure? Also, I kind of wonder what could be making it do that.

Home in a few days! And then the shoe and plebefic posts will recommence. ♥

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So, hilariously, this happened yesterday:

MIL: Someone seems to have made rice (a/n: because, when going out of town for the day, she instructed us to eat rice for dinner, explaining that "Sandwiches are definitely unhealthy!"); it looks like fried rice for lunch - how's that sound?
CIM: Nommy.
MIL: So I'll fry this up and you go make the salad, then, OK?
[15 minutes later]
CIM: Didn't you want these root vegetables that I have chopped for the fried rice?
MIL: No, I'd rather have them raw.
CIM: ...OK. *the cold finger of fear touches Cim's soul*

What she did, was she put a huge quantity of olive oil in the pan, and heated the white rice until it was... heated, but not properly fried (that is, the rice hadn't coated itself and begun to absorb the oil. Fried rice shouldn't be in sticky clumps, and it's stir-frying for a proper length of time that gets rid of them). She added a handful of minced white onion and that was it: no seasoning. No nothing.

(03:28:27 PM) cimness@livejournal.com/: SO. Apparently to her "FRIED RICE" means, literally, "RICE THAT SOMEONE HAS FRIED A BIT" and not "dish of oriental origin denoting pre-cooked rice and vegetables sauteed & browned with flavourings".

I make a basic Chinese-style fried rice, which my mother assigned me to learn in middle school from The Encyclopedia of Chinese Cooking because it was simple and not time-consuming, and therefore suitable for me to learn by heart and prepare when my weekly cooking-dinner-for-the-family chore started. This is my recipe:

1. Heat a couple of tablespoons peanut or sesame oil in a small saucepan just until it begins to smoke; pour it over cold, cooked white rice in a wok and stir fry until piping hot.


2. Cut some veggies into small, easily-heated pieces. Basic version: carrots, green onions; full version: + water chestnuts, baby corn, bell pepper, green beans or peas, mushrooms. (Nowadays, being lazy, I'll use a bag of frozen vegetables.)


3. Scramble a couple of eggs; chop the egg into small pieces and add to the vegetable mixture. Add to rice once rice is piping hot through, and not before. Fry, stirring frequently, until vegetables are hot and crunchy bits are slightly softened.


4. Add a few tablespoons of soy sauce, and stir. Rice should be golden in color. Stir fry for a few more minutes.

And basically, my rule of thumb for ALL food, ever, is "add seasoning", so this kind of hurt me in my soul. In fact, I happily eat plain steamed rice... with soysauce. And the last thing I'd want to do to perfectly decent plain white rice is get it sopping wet in olive oil! I mean, ew!

I think we should be going home to Åbo next week.

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Here's what the plebes into Panic! at the Disco, which recently split in half, have to say about it!

1. 
   Summary:Brendon got Ryan's letter alright. He got it, read it over three times, cried seven times and rewrote this sixteen times. This is his brain.
   
2. 
   Notes: In lue of recent events - namely, this, I feel as if I need to do some band break up fic. Which means it morphed to sex.
   
3. 
   Summary: Ryan feels like poop about leaving. He’s worried about Brendon. He’s worried about himself.
   
4. 
   Summary: Written between the stages of disbelief and acceptance.
   “You have to get out.” Jon says quietly. I raise an eyebrow at him.
   “Out of what?”
   “This,” Jon says, arms gesturing wildly to everything around us. “All of this. You’re better than this, Bren. Better than the parties, and the drinking, and the fake friends. You’ve been doing this long enough, Bren. But you can still get out.”
   
5. 
   Author Notes: In order to cope with the Panic "breakup" (though right now, who knows what the heck's going to happen), I write angst. Rydon/Ryden angst, and Joncer too, because I feel so bad for Spencer (Jon's such a meany in this).

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In a MONUMENTAL instance of Drinking Fail, I just casually poured a cup of café au lait over the arm of my armchair and over my already-mostly-dead cordless mouse, which has now been definitively pronounced. She's not mostly dead anymore, folks.

So I'm using one of the shitty backup mouses, but we have to go to the Computer Bits store (or the hardware store, mb) today.

Will be laundering chair cover and sheepskin the next time we come back to town, I guess. :|

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• To scan a shitload of country-style interior decorating from MIL's magazines


• To upload over 100 photos from Brother Windows's birthday bash


• To stock up on chocolate


• To upgrade Leia (my home desktop) to Linux Mint Gloria


• To watch a bit of Glambert media possibly over waxjism's shoulder


• To pee in an actual toilet with plumbing, not an outhouse


• To be able to IM Wax again because we can't BOTH be online at once here D:

In short I still desperately want to move to a cottage in Pargas and sleep foreverafter in a bed set into an alcove under the eaves and bathe in the sauna with rainwater every other day, but only with insulation and indoor plumbing and heating and a functioning microwave.

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Properly speaking, a pretentious picspam that demands you not save its pictures should have a special cover image, and a cut text in an unusual font, preferably done in pale grey, but after all the time photoshopping these collages yesterday, I don't want to do that. So use your imagination.



~ÄNGISBACKA~
( ~a picspam~ )

A nice thing about fandom is that when a new meta debate comes up, the odds are quite good that if I wait a day and a half someone else will say what I wanted to say, and frequently better than I would have. Like this time, fairestcat with I Don't Care About Blair Sandburg's Hair:

I particularly don't want to hear about Blair Sandburg's hair (or whatever other past warnings gremlin is being dredged up) as illustration of the dangerous slippery slope that will inevitably result from any attempt to educate fandom on the need to use warnings for common, potentially triggering story elements.

First of all, I can't believe people are sincerely making the slippery slope argument. Really, fandom? Really??

Secondly, so what??? If the price of avoiding causing severe pain to survivors of abuse, assault and self-injury is that I might, at some point in the future, have to fend off some crazy reader who wants me to warn for the color orange, I'm more than happy to pay it.

The other part that I wanted to post was a point-by-point explication of ableism, which is rampant and rampantly denied by its perpetrators in this debate. It's occurred to me that many seem to be (ironically?) completely blind to this ableism, and that it might help to show an extended metaphor using my daily experiences travelling, shopping, eating, walking, and generally living with my physically disabled wheelchair-bound Dad. However, today is largely set aside for baking; so it may be that I discover, before I have the chance to write this, that someone else has already done so. The odds are good.

I definitely believe that there is value in recurring fandom debates, however they may seem to anyone with a bit of BOFQ under their belt to be nth verse same as the first: they're ongoing negotiations of social norms which both a) serve to inculcate newcomers in the subculture and b) do sometimes make cumulative progress.

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The attic is finished, but not entirely furnished, and a bit cold at night.

We didn't really realize in advance that the wireless internet in the archipelago islands is about as fast as dial-up, so... our access is restricted.

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1. Summary: "Now he's bleeding in a vacant lot ..."



2. Summary: High School fic. Meet one boy, who gets confused with a new mysterious guy and another that resembles him. Will he finally pin point the two other guys and have a exciting new year? Will it all lead to love?



3. Summary: Ryan Ross is a normal boy who struggles with his past. Can one rose seller at the side of the road help Ryan remember the past while still living in the present?



4. Summary: Patrick was never the artsitic type, but... kinda' crack!fic



5. [summary] "His name was George Ryan Ross the third. Being the third person to be graced with this name you could probably guess that both his father and grandfather before him were also chosen to be burdened with the name first name George. He had shortened his name to just Ryan Ross at the age of thirteen. It took some getting used to but eventually his friends adapted to the change (more as they were forced to when Ryan would no longer respond to George)."

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I ♥ Onitsuka Tiger. My next pair of sneaks will definitely be from them.



These are Ultimate 81s in black/green.

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We were behind Batman for a while yesterday! Surprisingly, he is Finnish.



Unsurprisingly, he's an asshole tailgater.

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1. Killing Me Softly With His Song - Drabble
   Author: Myself.
   POV: 1st (Patrick)
   AN: The title is a song by The Fugees and that’s where I found the inspiration from to make me write this. It’s kind of a long drabble but I think you’ll enjoy it.
   [link text] Strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words...



2. Summary: "But you have never been in love until you've seen sunlight thrown over smashed human bones."



3. Summary: "I like that you’re expressing yourself with your camera phone in a way that doesn’t involve your genitals, but can you leave me out of it, please?"



4. Warnings: Vampirism (like that's a bad thing : ) )



5. Author Notes: This is a prewritten story off of my Quizilla account. I'm almost embarrased about how awful this writing is (I started it a year ago) but I figure I could probably post it on other sites and see how it goes. :3

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I'm back! It's a gloomy, rainy day with an overcast sky of solid, glowing misty pearl-grey and heavy waterdroplets collected on everything. The sort of damp, clingy humidity that makes you feel you need to wash your hair is everywhere, even inside the house. Time for some clean, bright sprinters:


Asics HyperRocketGirl 4 in white/ sapphire/ daffodil

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Going out of town for a few days to help Brother Linux move to Jyväskylä, which will divide me from my stores of shoe pictures and plebefic headers. It's 10°, windy, damp, and threatening rain. I predict foggy head, fatigue, and pressure headache until the weather clears. Fun! On the plus side, we can listen to our own music in the car because Wax has to drive a moving van. On the minus side, I miss driving and I can't drive in Finland, because I don't know how to drive stick and there are no automatic cars. :| Driving school is prescribed: no appropriate cars for learning exist in the family.

In other news, we saw Coraline last night, finally. It just came out in Finland. Even more delightful than anticipated, and the differences were really interesting. Possibly I have some feminist analysis brewing about that, but we'll see if I have enough of a break from attic-renovations in the near future to make it...

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I wanted to post these while the second wave of the Asian Women Blog Carnival was current. (8 BoA; 1 Lena Park; 5 Chara; 2 Yaida Hitomi; 3 Koda Kumi; 6 Utada Hikaru) ( 24 )

1. Summary: “She’s been spending too much time with Brendon. She’s pouting.”



2. Summary:Someone has left someone. I know, great summary isn't it?



3. Disclaimer: I own the longing for this to be real; nothing more [the pxp love, not the death, because some moron thinks i want them to die].



4. A/n: 'K, so...new rule -- I'm not posting the next chapter until I've got about five comments...yeah I know. I'm selfish.



5. Summary: Jon is a firefighter working in New York City during the 9/11 attacks. Brendon is an insurance agent just trying to make it through life. Through an extraordinary circumstance, Brendon and Jon meet and attempt to make it through the aftershock of the terrorist attacks.

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Puma - Complete nos vi running (white/silver/dark shadow)

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1. I forgot to eat breakfast and to take my medicine, then



2. hit Wax by accident with almost everything I picked up, including dropping a plank on her head and another one on her foot.



3. I got the power sander switch stuck to on and couldn't find the button to turn it off, panicked and couldn't decide where to put it down while I unplugged it, then



4. rushed down the stairs from the attic to find Wax or her mom to look at it, and managed to trip and fall on my ass and bump down the stairs.



5. I ran into the kitchen, and discovered they had moved the furniture so the table was perpendicular to its former position. This distressed me so that in my flailing, I failed to sit down, and



6. when removing my earplugs managed to drop one and couldn't find it, even though it had fallen inside my safety goggles.



7. Due to the unexpected rain, and the fact that I was wearing sparkly gold ballet flats, Wax's mom loaned me a pair of fuzzy-lined Crocs for the trip home, but in trying to scramble up the hill to the car, I slipped and lost both shoes and got my sock soaked, muddy, and coated with pine needles.

And that is how I came to for the first time ever wear Crocs in public. (Fortunately, there weren't many people around.)

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1. Summary: I'm bad at summaries, so I'll give you a piece of the chapter.
   "They all nodded, offering no introduction. In his head, Ryan introduced himself. “Group, meet Ryan. Ryan, meet group.” Oh, Ryan. He had so much to learn."



2. Summary: Brendon is a lonely boy, Jon is a paper doll which can transformed into human, Spencer is Brendon’s brother, Ryan is Brendon’s nurse, Batman is Brendon’s best friend. Oh, the boy lost his parents. The rest is yours, ladies and gentlemen.



3. Summary: Ryan must be locked up somewhere else in the house, but I don't understand why his father would keep me.



4. Summary: Ryan is a beach bum, Brendon is a surfer, this is the happy ending, thank you and good night.



5. Summary: Pete destroys things, Patrick picks him up. [...Literally?]

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