Backdated like woah
Apr. 8th, 2006 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleHere are three back-dated entries, all in one post. What joy!, you might exclaim. (LJ cuts provided for your safety.)
But first, I pimp James Marster's movie, Coraline and Ray Park's movie
And my pretty, hastily-done Book
for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fireflicons.
Euros, credits and platinum
Written April 6, 2006
After having watched “Arial” for the upteenth time, I have learnt* that:
a) there appear to be either two currencies or two levels of currency: platinum and credits, where 1 credit = 2.5 platinum (and thus 1 platinum = 0.4 credits)
b) some 10-15 ml of a common immune booster, isoprobalyne, can be purchased on the black market (BM) for 50 platinum (20 credits)
c) a similar amount of propoxyn sells on the BM for 80 platinum
d) a similar amount of hydrozopan sells on the BM for 200 platinum
Similarly, 2000 credits (5000 platinum) pays your son’s bail (from “Safe”).
One cow costs 25 I’m-assuming-credits.
So knowing how much medicine, a cow and bail costs, how much does a night with a whore cost? A whole night, not one lay or one blow job. Kinda like an all-you-can-eat thing. How much, people? I suck at monetary calculations.
I’ve got some 7300 words of fic now, and though technically some 5300 of them could be read in one go, I want to put a little bar scene between the two pre-whoring scenes. And no, I’m not writing whore-smut.
The best thing yet, though, is that I think I’m getting the scenes in order. The plot isn’t breathtakingly on-the-edge-of-your-seat. Personally I think it needs an extra oomf. But then, I spend hours writing one page, so obviously it’s going to seem a bit slow paced to me.
My roommates are a tad irresponsible. All week the phone bill has been out in the entrance, waggling its hips at everyone who came in, shimmying for them to slip a couple bills into its sexy envelope. Today, the day that we had to pay (not bill due-date, but the banks only take payments Tues and Thurs), the poor bill had no cash other than mine and Alba’s (whom I reminded). So I had to pay the whole thing out of my account and am now waiting for refund. Garg.
Watched Sophie Scholl yesterday, free c/o the German staff at my language school. Most of the time I spent reading the German subtitles. There’s too much dialogue! Just people sitting there talking and talking… I think I understood about half of what they were saying. (Basically, most of it is Sophie being accused and interrogated.) Although it gets to be very, very sad. Last hug and last cigarette sort of sad. And guillotines are officially disturbing, especially if you have to lie down to get into one.
Watching Zauberberge (based on Thomas Mann’s novel) with no subtitles to speak of. Not through choice, of course. Have no idea what the hell is going on, understand about half of each sentence, and am supremely bored. God I hope the main character’s died in the blizzard…
…um, ok. He’s screaming like a girl and someone’s eating a baby while he backs away into a bog. What the hell?
Oh, right, hallucinating in the snow. *Isn’t liking film one bit.*
And apparently everyone in the chalet is crazy** and dying of TB. But between the death and madness, they had time to make a snow elephant. Awesome.
The DVD box doesn’t help me understand the movie at all, saying basically, “healthy man goes to crazy house and stays.” No thanks, box, none at all.
* Yeah, not a quick study.
** Maybe because it’s not a chalet but a “sanatorium”? Yeah, maybe that’s why…
Heartaches and blisters
Written on both ends of April 5, 2006
Mood: dead asleep
Just watched House Season 1 finale. Thank you, Greg, for breaking my heart into little tiny pieces.
Two scenes and the exact moment there was tugging at the tear ducts:
1) When his ex-wife leans back after having kissed his cheek and he still has his eyes closed with a pained expression.
2) When, after trying to take a firm step with his lame leg, he instead collapses onto the couch head-first.
People are coming tomorrow at the inhuman hour of 8:30 am to fix the heating (which we no longer need). I’ll be the only one in (well, Manuel will be home but also out like a light after his night shift). Hope to hell they don’t take ages because I’ve got a) work and b) school.
Edit: By 9 am the workers weren’t here yet. Don’t know if they came by later seeing as I’m completely alone in the apartment. (!!!)
Double Edit: The cute and young heating-fixer guy came by Friday and worked for three hours, during which we flirted like wild bunnies. *whee*
This is mainly upsetting because we have to pay the telephone bill tomorrow at the bank and the two guys haven’t left their money yet, which means they’ll have to owe me. Grr.
Although I’ve never wondered what it’s like to have your blister burst inside your boot and tights (a strangely refreshing sensation followed by blinding pain, limping and surprisingly imaginative cursing), I am now intimately acquainted with the feeling. And in case I wasn’t clear on the experience, I had it repeated twice. Owie.
Work, work, work
Written: April 3, 2006
Music: SMcL *not* depressing *anything* in sight
My first day at work involved no work whatsoever. Yay?
Re-watching a clip from the upcoming movie Slither, I noticed that the cop who works with Bill (i.e. Nathan Fillian) was the sheriff in Firefly’s “The Train Job”. That’s cool, and adds somewhat to the mindfuck*. My brain can’t handle it, especially as it’s already going all weird and clunky as it struggles to send out the signal “this is not, repeat, not Captain Reynolds pretending to be a cop, this is Officer Bill, a cop, who is not related in anyway to Reynolds apart from bearing a striking resemblance and having pretty much the same accent.”
One incredibly uncanny thing I’ve noticed about Mr Fillion: he can go from looking like a tired old man to a rosy-cheeked boy in the blink of an eye. I don’t like seeing him old, tired and beaten down, thank you very much.Plus, he’s got the whole old-man neck going on sometimes.
Oh, and yes: the hair. Fine head of hair, that is. :P
Trying to get back into writing-gear, I thought I’d share how I organize my WIP’s. Often, I jot down some lines of dialogue, some points to mention and group them all under one scene or, if that’s impossible, under one character. When I’ve managed to write a scene, sometimes I write comments after or in it, mainly focusing on continuity.
Oh, this “how we write” is kinda whatbdwriters is about. I would be so much more active in comm’s if I had access to the net on week-days. Sigh.
Here’re two as samples:
1) Jayne’s haggling at the brothel:
“How long do you want?” said Floyd.
“How much for the night?”
“Forty-five.” 25 gets you one cow!
2) After writing a scene where Mal stops a confrontation between Jayne and another crew member then reassures Kaylee:
Oh god, J/M and M/K all in one scene. Especially with the M going into J’s bunk… Make M angry and hard again°. See upcoming dialogue bits: “that depends” and “you ain’t been nothin’ but trouble”.
° Oh sweet god, don’t reread this after thinking about J/M…
Have just written a bit where the whores are chatting about their past customers. Have never had so much fun in my life.
PS: Just watched a bit of the mini-TV series “Rome” (which for a good few minutes was almost indistinguishable from Gladiator), where Caesar dies. Two things to say:
1) I could very well watch this show solely because of Tyranus, the hot and angst-ridden gladiator sworn to protect Octavius.
2) Is it or is it not creepy that the actor who plays Caesar (or Caesar’s corpse) seems to be the same one that played the boss necromonger in Chronicles of Riddick? Seems like he’s doomed to be stabbed to death in a crowded room full of “loyal subjects”. (Although kudos, because he’s a great Shakespearean theatre actor, and Canadian to boot.)
* I don’t often swear but I love this word. I don’t even care if it isn’t a word. It is to me.
But first, I pimp James Marster's movie, Coraline and Ray Park's movie
And my pretty, hastily-done Book
for fireflicons.Euros, credits and platinum
Written April 6, 2006
After having watched “Arial” for the upteenth time, I have learnt* that:
a) there appear to be either two currencies or two levels of currency: platinum and credits, where 1 credit = 2.5 platinum (and thus 1 platinum = 0.4 credits)
b) some 10-15 ml of a common immune booster, isoprobalyne, can be purchased on the black market (BM) for 50 platinum (20 credits)
c) a similar amount of propoxyn sells on the BM for 80 platinum
d) a similar amount of hydrozopan sells on the BM for 200 platinum
Similarly, 2000 credits (5000 platinum) pays your son’s bail (from “Safe”).
One cow costs 25 I’m-assuming-credits.
So knowing how much medicine, a cow and bail costs, how much does a night with a whore cost? A whole night, not one lay or one blow job. Kinda like an all-you-can-eat thing. How much, people? I suck at monetary calculations.
I’ve got some 7300 words of fic now, and though technically some 5300 of them could be read in one go, I want to put a little bar scene between the two pre-whoring scenes. And no, I’m not writing whore-smut.
The best thing yet, though, is that I think I’m getting the scenes in order. The plot isn’t breathtakingly on-the-edge-of-your-seat. Personally I think it needs an extra oomf. But then, I spend hours writing one page, so obviously it’s going to seem a bit slow paced to me.
My roommates are a tad irresponsible. All week the phone bill has been out in the entrance, waggling its hips at everyone who came in, shimmying for them to slip a couple bills into its sexy envelope. Today, the day that we had to pay (not bill due-date, but the banks only take payments Tues and Thurs), the poor bill had no cash other than mine and Alba’s (whom I reminded). So I had to pay the whole thing out of my account and am now waiting for refund. Garg.
Watched Sophie Scholl yesterday, free c/o the German staff at my language school. Most of the time I spent reading the German subtitles. There’s too much dialogue! Just people sitting there talking and talking… I think I understood about half of what they were saying. (Basically, most of it is Sophie being accused and interrogated.) Although it gets to be very, very sad. Last hug and last cigarette sort of sad. And guillotines are officially disturbing, especially if you have to lie down to get into one.
Watching Zauberberge (based on Thomas Mann’s novel) with no subtitles to speak of. Not through choice, of course. Have no idea what the hell is going on, understand about half of each sentence, and am supremely bored. God I hope the main character’s died in the blizzard…
…um, ok. He’s screaming like a girl and someone’s eating a baby while he backs away into a bog. What the hell?
Oh, right, hallucinating in the snow. *Isn’t liking film one bit.*
And apparently everyone in the chalet is crazy** and dying of TB. But between the death and madness, they had time to make a snow elephant. Awesome.
The DVD box doesn’t help me understand the movie at all, saying basically, “healthy man goes to crazy house and stays.” No thanks, box, none at all.
* Yeah, not a quick study.
** Maybe because it’s not a chalet but a “sanatorium”? Yeah, maybe that’s why…
Heartaches and blisters
Written on both ends of April 5, 2006
Mood: dead asleep
Just watched House Season 1 finale. Thank you, Greg, for breaking my heart into little tiny pieces.
Two scenes and the exact moment there was tugging at the tear ducts:
1) When his ex-wife leans back after having kissed his cheek and he still has his eyes closed with a pained expression.
2) When, after trying to take a firm step with his lame leg, he instead collapses onto the couch head-first.
People are coming tomorrow at the inhuman hour of 8:30 am to fix the heating (which we no longer need). I’ll be the only one in (well, Manuel will be home but also out like a light after his night shift). Hope to hell they don’t take ages because I’ve got a) work and b) school.
Edit: By 9 am the workers weren’t here yet. Don’t know if they came by later seeing as I’m completely alone in the apartment. (!!!)
Double Edit: The cute and young heating-fixer guy came by Friday and worked for three hours, during which we flirted like wild bunnies. *whee*
This is mainly upsetting because we have to pay the telephone bill tomorrow at the bank and the two guys haven’t left their money yet, which means they’ll have to owe me. Grr.
Although I’ve never wondered what it’s like to have your blister burst inside your boot and tights (a strangely refreshing sensation followed by blinding pain, limping and surprisingly imaginative cursing), I am now intimately acquainted with the feeling. And in case I wasn’t clear on the experience, I had it repeated twice. Owie.
Work, work, work
Written: April 3, 2006
Music: SMcL *not* depressing *anything* in sight
My first day at work involved no work whatsoever. Yay?
Re-watching a clip from the upcoming movie Slither, I noticed that the cop who works with Bill (i.e. Nathan Fillian) was the sheriff in Firefly’s “The Train Job”. That’s cool, and adds somewhat to the mindfuck*. My brain can’t handle it, especially as it’s already going all weird and clunky as it struggles to send out the signal “this is not, repeat, not Captain Reynolds pretending to be a cop, this is Officer Bill, a cop, who is not related in anyway to Reynolds apart from bearing a striking resemblance and having pretty much the same accent.”
One incredibly uncanny thing I’ve noticed about Mr Fillion: he can go from looking like a tired old man to a rosy-cheeked boy in the blink of an eye. I don’t like seeing him old, tired and beaten down, thank you very much.
Oh, and yes: the hair. Fine head of hair, that is. :P
Trying to get back into writing-gear, I thought I’d share how I organize my WIP’s. Often, I jot down some lines of dialogue, some points to mention and group them all under one scene or, if that’s impossible, under one character. When I’ve managed to write a scene, sometimes I write comments after or in it, mainly focusing on continuity.
Oh, this “how we write” is kinda what
bdwriters is about. I would be so much more active in comm’s if I had access to the net on week-days. Sigh.Here’re two as samples:
1) Jayne’s haggling at the brothel:
“How long do you want?” said Floyd.
“How much for the night?”
“Forty-five.” 25 gets you one cow!
2) After writing a scene where Mal stops a confrontation between Jayne and another crew member then reassures Kaylee:
Oh god, J/M and M/K all in one scene. Especially with the M going into J’s bunk… Make M angry and hard again°. See upcoming dialogue bits: “that depends” and “you ain’t been nothin’ but trouble”.
° Oh sweet god, don’t reread this after thinking about J/M…
Have just written a bit where the whores are chatting about their past customers. Have never had so much fun in my life.
PS: Just watched a bit of the mini-TV series “Rome” (which for a good few minutes was almost indistinguishable from Gladiator), where Caesar dies. Two things to say:
1) I could very well watch this show solely because of Tyranus, the hot and angst-ridden gladiator sworn to protect Octavius.
2) Is it or is it not creepy that the actor who plays Caesar (or Caesar’s corpse) seems to be the same one that played the boss necromonger in Chronicles of Riddick? Seems like he’s doomed to be stabbed to death in a crowded room full of “loyal subjects”. (Although kudos, because he’s a great Shakespearean theatre actor, and Canadian to boot.)
* I don’t often swear but I love this word. I don’t even care if it isn’t a word. It is to me.
