Archive for September, 2007
If I previously linked to you and it’s no longer there, don’t worry — as you can see, the only links I still have up/visible are my fanlistings. I was sick of the disorganization in my old collection of links and stuff, so.
Posted in 
I cannot be bothered to change much in my life, unless it’s the online part.
What that says about me is…somewhat disturbing
Also, why the fucking hell does the cursor jump around whenever I’m typing? It’s really fucking annoying.
…so we’ll see how long this theme lasts. I don’t mind the colors or the layout, except for that GIGANTIC waste-of-space at the top.
This is not really a secret, so I’ll share it here: if someone asked me to choose between them and Ivan?
I’d choose Ivan.
I was looking at the url for Dirty Sheets last night and realized that this:
http://www.giantangrysquid.com/fiction/tums/wordpress/index.php
was entirely too long. Also, as easily amused as I am, I’m kind of tired of the ‘tums’ directory.
I was thinking that I’d rearrange my fiction stuff, probably to something like http://writing.GAS.com; possibly putting the smut in either smut.GAS or writing.GAS.com/smut.
I really like using WordPress to post my writing — it’s fast, it’s easy, it’s simple. Plus it arranges my stuff in chronological order; I can see it all; and people can leave comments/criticism right there on the posts.
And realized that it’s highly redundant. That phrase is “underarm deodorant” …As opposed to what, behind-the-knee deodorant? Eyelid deodorant? I mean _really_.
Theme:
The plain theme will be here for a while. For some reason, despite the fact that I had been using a “widget-ready” theme, widgets would not show up in the sidebar. Adding the PHP call to the Stray Quotes plugin to my sidebar did not work, either, which was equally (if not more) irritating. Now, however, I have my random Camp Lazlo quotes back. Yay! Now, to figure out how to go back to using a less default theme while maintaining widget integrity…
Tagline:
One night, after slogging through the Wesrin Cross section of Dungeon Siege, I was thinking about how awful it would be if you were a mercenary that had to trudge through the Wesrin Cross on a regular basis. In addition to the fact that it’s dark, dank, crumbling and ridiculously convoluted, there are silly numbers of enemies that are intent on killing you and everyone in your party, including the pack mules. I jotted down a few paragraphs from the point of view of one such unlucky mercenary, and the tagline is a slightly modified version of the opening sentence. (for the curious, I merely removed the phrase “somewhere along the line”. It’s still longer than really fits. Oh well.)
From Sadly, No! Foto Funnies Pt. 1
This is going to ramble a bit, but bear with me; I’d also like to apologize right now for the grammatical acrobatics in the second paragraph-sentence. That said…
It’s really strange to me that wingnuts can imagine all kinds of horrible crap — war, killing, nuclear reactions and their aftermath — as good things.
I have a really vivid imagination myself. Most of the time, I avoid pictures like those that Lesley linked to — in fact, when Sadly, No! and Tbogg use far milder pictures to drive home some little point like, oh, say men women and kids are dying I really really wish they’d put a warning before they get to the pictures, but I never mention it because a warning would lessen the visceral impact of said pictures and I think _that_ is more important than my discomfort — but today, I looked.
I looked because I, too, sit at home safe and sound instead of enlisting. (There are several good reasons for that, the primary one being that I would be the worst soldier since either Gomer Pyle or Beetle Bailey, only not nearly as funny as either.) I looked because I sort of needed to do so, to know what’s being done allegedly on my behalf.
I could not look very closely, and I could not look for very long, but I looked. Oh my God… I don’t use that phrase often, only when I am at a loss for words and can think of no one else to whom appealing would do any good.
Even at the remove of my computer screen; even though I didn’t spend more than about 5 minutes there; even though I couldn’t tell you if it’s a man or a woman in the picture with the American soldier in the foreground of the picture with the arm hung on the outside of a mosque… I can still see pieces of those images. I am still feeling nauseous. I looked at them over 16 hours ago, yet I cannot forget them and I cannot understand how they do not affect some people. I will not forget them for a very long time, and I will probably remember them at the strangest times…
You know, I read the utter shit spewed by stupid twats who have enough imagination to gleefully call for the wholesale destruction of people they’ve never met and I wonder why. I really want to know if there was trauma in their lives that twisted them, or if they merely made a choice to use what I see as one of creation’s greatest gifts for something so base, venal, and utterly wasteful as daydreaming about the murder of people you’ve never even met.
I know it’s pointless to wonder, but I still do.
One last thing, and then I’ll go look at the L-O-L Cats to cheer myself up:
There’s a couple of pictures floating around the intert00bs of a little girl, probably about three or four. She’s screaming, in the pictures, and she’s covered in blood. That blood belonged to her parents, before they were murdered… The reason that those pictures have stayed with me is twofold. The first part is the most obvious: it’s a very arresting image. The second is less-so… My mother took a picture of me at about the same age, and when I look at that little girl, I can see that picture of me, too. And I think about how amazingly alike she and I were, and are… About how, if things were different, _she_ might be commenting on this post, about a picture of me, screaming and bloody because someone had just killed my parents.
I think about how if that photographer had been there just a few hours sooner, the world would have a very different picture of that girl — one where she was utterly beautiful, perfectly lit and posed… Or maybe just a wonderful picture of a kid being a kid, up to her elbows in mud and her shoes on the wrong feet, grinning at the stranger with the big shiny camera. And I think about the fact that people want her and her family — whatever’s left of it — dead. And I don’t understand. She’s a little girl, she’s just like me — and her mother, and my mother, and my aunts and her aunts and my cousins and her cousins and my stepsisters and my grandmother and her grandmother and my great-aunt her great-aunt and… Yeah.
made with the theme generator! It’s very pink, but I like it.