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May 27th, 2012
07:48 pm
naamah_darling
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Who put these GIRLS in my fandom?!

Because I didn't feel like leaving it JUST on Tumblr, I responded to a good post by patheticfangirl about guys who are angry that there are yucky-ucky girls and gay people in their fandoms:

Seriously.  Hear fucking hear.

You don’t get to complain that there are no women in fandom and that you can’t meet “cool” chicks AND try to define how women DO engage with fandoms when they do.  I mean, you CAN do that, but it makes you a juvenile asshole.

It would be especially great if your objections didn’t so often boil down to “OMG TEH GAYNESS EWW!”  That’s just pathetic and sad.

So what if it’s “out of character” and “not canon”?  Women have had to put up with CANONICAL inconsistencies of character, stupid outfits, ridiculous pairings, sexist storylines, and blatant pandering to a male audience.  That shit insults us as women and as readers (if you are taking notes, that means it’s insulting your intelligence, too).

GLBT people have had to put up with the fact that people like us pretty much do not even fucking exist in comics and derived works, that when a gay character is presented, it’s unusual, and that small-minded dipshits would literally shit their pants in rage if you ever had a trans character in a mainstram comic.  Characters like us are considered a threat.

Racial issues?  Don’t make me fucking laugh.  Er, vomit.

Complaining about how fans enjoy their fandom is basically saying “Hey, you aren’t the kind of person I want in my fandom.”  Know what?  You don’t get to decide that.  We’re here, and we’re not going to take our dollies and go home crying just because you want to preserve your fandom as a pristine preserve for the oh-so-rare-and-endangered free-roaming male gaze.  Your fandom will change to accomodate us because we are here.  And we get to help define our fandom for ourselves, just like you have been doing.

We really ought to get along.  All of us.  We all have the same basic interests at heart.  We like geeky things.  We like superheroes and spaceships and snark.  We aren’t just here for the tight pants — we’ve been here all along.  The difference is now we have at least some fanservice directed at women to enjoy, and there is finally a great enough density of us on the internet to connect with one another and start carving out our own corners of fandom.  The difference is that you have finally noticed us.  And you don’t like what we’re doing.  And you know, you don’t have to like it.  You can walk away.

It was irritating when your parents and teachers and everyone else in the goddamn world acted all disgusted at your choice of entertainment, right?  You remember that feeling?  Yeah.  That kind of petty, judgmental crap is exactly what is being directed at us.  Knock it the fuck off.

I don’t write fanfiction.  I barely even read it.  I think, in all the years I’ve been on the internet, I’ve read maybe ten fics.  Most of it’s just not my thing.  And yet, my world has not imploded from the weight of gay Avengers fanfiction, or been torn apart by the lack of the fanfiction I would like to read.

If I can manage to cope with an internet full of things that do not interest me, and a fandom that does not always cater to my every whim, you can, too.  You can grow up and share.  You can decide that it’s great that people who aren’t like you are interested in the same things you are interested in, even if they show that differently, even if they are demonstrating their appreciation in ways that — shock and horror — do not include you.  Step up, grow up, act like an adult, and be part of a bigger, more inclusive fandom.

If you really need the help, you can borrow my big-girl panties.  THEY WILL BE COMING OFF JUST AS SOON AS MY COPY OF JOHN CARTER A PRINCESS OF MARS GETS HERE.

Oh, and JSYK, tonight, in honor of all the blatant, petty homophobia that gets slung around on threads like these, I am going to ship the ever-loving balls-deep FUCK out of John Carter and Kantos Kan.  BECAUSE IT IS MY GODDAMN FANDOM, TOO.  And Dejah Thoris would totally watch the shit out of that.

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07:58 pm
cmpriest
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Catching up and moving onward
Things continue to come together over here. Yesterday we finished the last of our Major Stuff Shopping, and when the last thing gets delivered on Thursday, we'll officially have the place fleshed out - at least from a furnishing standpoint.

Not that we'll be "done" in any real sense. My dad says that when it comes to home ownership, you're only ever done for now. He's right, I'm sure. There are already a dozen little projects I'd love to fiddle with, not least of all the garden - which is, at present, a rectangular patch of backyard harboring dandelions, semi-wild onions, clover, and the tail-less cat.

The tail-less cat (henceforth TLC, as her name eludes me) showed up in our back yard shortly after we arrived, and at first, I thought she was a pregnant stray. A pretty little black-and-white longhair, TLC was too skittish to touch, and her pendulous tummy swayed as she waddled frantically away.

Poor kitty, I thought. I will feed her and lure her close, and maybe she'll have the kittens nearby - so I can catch them and vet them and home them and oh yes, I was making plans.

After a few days, she'd figured out I was a food-dispensing monkey - and I'd find her sitting outside the roses, waiting for me to open the curtains every morning. Just to make sure I would see her, and know that there was a hungry, pitiful, single-mother-to-be hoping for breakfast.

And then I met the neighbors, who had a good laugh about it.

Formerly a feral stray, TLC was taken in and spayed by these same neighbors - who have never successfully gotten her to stay indoors or wear a collar. She is, however, spoiled silly, routinely vetted, and amply fed.

On the one hand, I'm relieved. I'm always sad to see homeless animals, and it's just as well I don't have to find homes for half a dozen kittens. On the other hand, I could do without the turd presents the fat little scammer leaves outside our back door every day, now that I've stopped accommodating her.*

I'm told that she's an excellent mouser who has never successfully caught a bird to anyone's knowledge, and both of these points please me. We're right at the foot of a mountain, backing up to thick woods which are no doubt teeming with mice ... and we have a shit-ton of birds hanging around, not least of all because I feed them.**

Speaking of birds, though - we may have a couple of new under-the-porch-eaves residents: two of the cutest wee tiny purple-headed finches you ever did see. At first they considered the hanging planters, but after I knocked down an unrelated, long-abandoned nest from a corner, they seem to feel that prime real estate has unexpectedly opened up and the time to buy is NOW NOW NOW.

(Aside I: Obviously I would not have taken down the old nest if it had not very, very clearly been out-of-use for ages.)

(Aside II: Maybe it was haunted, and that's why nobody else took over the lease in all this time. Some kind of bird-atrocity was committed there, and word's gotten around. Maybe other birds called the nest, "The old McFeatherstone place" and teenage birds dared one another to go sit there by themselves ... and when the moon is full, they say that the ghost of Widow McFeatherstone hangs from the petunia planter while moaning, "I KNOW WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE WHEN DOVES CRY" and never mind now this just getting silly.)

Anyway, now they're checking out that freshly vacated corner, and I really do hope they move in.

Hm. Let's see, what else?

Well, today we went to the Chattanooga Market, which frankly blew our minds. The weekly (seasonal) market had just started up around the time we moved away, but it was pretty damn pitiful. Now it's a total circus - well stocked, with a lot of great local crafters, farmers, and other assorted people-with-stuff-to-sell. Well done, Chattanooga. Well done.

I spent a few bucks, brought home a few things, and plan to return, but here's hoping that next week it's not quite so damn hot. And you know it was damn hot if I'm complaining about it, because I'm the sort who keeps the AC set around 80 degrees if I'm left to my own devices, and if it's cooler than that indoors, I'm likely to jaunt around in a bathrobe. You can take the girl out of Florida, etc. etc. etc.

But damn. A few thousand people were crowded into a big old pavilion, and it was 95 degrees.

This having been said, the heat prompted me to sample the wares of a really great two-person soda company offering some seriously fantastic custom syrups. I had a "honey lime" beverage, and would cheerfully go buy another - or try out some of the other flavors. Now I just wish I could remember the company's name. I'll keep an eye out for them next time.

[Edit: It was these guys. Pure Sodaworks. Two thumbs up.]

Not a lot of news to report in home repair and improvement news. This is partly because we're coming up close to Done For Now - and now we're figuring out bills and services, and whatnot. The Perplexing Back Room is now a guest room, but it's big enough that yes, we use it as a game room too. We threw our old TV back there, hooked up the game system, and now we're just waiting for the seating to arrive. (On Thursday, see above.)

It actually looks pretty nice, despite the carpet. I took a picture or two for Twitter, but we've rearranged everything since I did so. The whole thing is still a work in progress.

The library/study has come along nicely, too. The husband's bookcases arrived, and are assembled, and are now holding up books - so yes, we are Officially Unpacked. [:: throws confetti ::] He still has some art to hang, but the place looks great.

If this meager tally sounds like a pitiful excuse for how little I've updated as of late, I would add another excuse to the pile: the copyedits for The Inexplicables landed a few days ago, and I've been eyeballs deep therein. I'm still not done, but I'm about 2/3 of the way through. I was going cross-eyed, so I thought I'd take a break and come over here to ramble.

Mission accomplished, I'd say.

Right. Well. Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone. Go hug a veteran. I have to wait to hug my two nearest and dearest veterans, as my dad and stepmom won't be here to visit for another few weeks - but I will surely make up for it then.



* In all fairness, she quit doing this after a week. And now she'll let me pet her sometimes, which is great. She's really a beautiful, sweet little cat. Just ... hilariously fat.
** "Feeding" is one of the many services I am likely to provide for random critters.

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12:39 pm
docbrite
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I Am Poppy Z. Brite's Ex-Boyfriend
For my birthday, I got ... misgendered. Constantly. Everywhere I went. And it was almost all in queer spaces, and it was all done unintentionally and as kindly as could be, by well-meaning folks, so I couldn't even work up a righteous head of indignation; I just got depressed.

I am not making progress. Part of it is that I haven't been able to afford my full doses of testosterone -- the treatment runs a little over $300 a month, which I pay completely out of pocket -- and so I've been stretching it out to half-doses, figuring some T going into my system was better than none. (Medically speaking, this isn't wholly unsound, as many trans guys start off on low doses.)

Thanks to Grey, I had a wonderful birthday weekend anyway. When we're alone together, the rest of the world recedes to the point where even gender seems relatively unimportant. And he can always boost my confidence, and he's so romantic, and he even seems to think I'm interesting. I know, the man must be deranged, but I sure do love him.

Re: misgendering, there was a good moment of comic relief at the drag show we attended last night. Local drag diva Bootsy DeVille was talking to us at the bar at Michael's on the Park before her show, and she turned to me and said, "I have a question for you. Now it's hard for me to phrase this right ... " Grey and I were both bracing for The Question, which I wouldn't have really minded answering for Bootsy, but instead she said rather hesitantly, "Did you use to be the boyfriend of a famous writer? Because we were googling Billy Martin, and there seemed to be some connection ... "

After collapsing with laughter, we explained as best we could, and only later did I realize I should have said, "Why yes, I used to date Stephen King, but I dumped him for Grey!"

Current Mood: recumbent
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12:00 pm
txvoodoo
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12:46 am
jwz
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Pop. 1280

What are all these goths doing here? I thought I came to a post-punk show.

Mirrored from jwz.org.

location: 37° 45' 43.80" N, 122° 25' 9.60" W
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May 26th, 2012
10:34 pm
jwz
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Magazines from the future
I think I used to subscribe to a couple of these.

Future Noir:

Turning down the block and ducking into a futuristic newsstand revealed the most humorous touches of layering, for it was here that this author immediately noticed that a number of faux twenty-first-century magazines had been stuffed into racks mounted on the newsstand's walls, and that many of them sported decidedly tongue-in-cheek covers.

These publications had been designed by BR art department member Tom Southwell. Periodicals of note include Krotch (going for $29 a copy!), Zord (at $30), Moni, Bash, Creative Evolution, and Droid. Horn, the "skin mag" of the future, had a cover which offered articles such as "The Cosmic Orgasm" and "Hot Lust in Space." Kill (whose logo was "All the News That's Fit to Kill") sported cover stories like "Multiple Murders - Reader's Own Photos."

Mirrored from jwz.org.

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08:35 pm
madlori
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London Day Four: Oxford
[Note: Yes, I am by now back home in Columbus after my ten day trip of amazingness, but I'll keep posting these daily travelogues until I catch up.  It's much easier to work on my real laptop instead of the 10-inch netbook I took on my trip, which was a great thing but it is harder to do things like write long blog posts]

Friday, May 18th I took a day trip to Oxford.  This was a bit of a whim.  I'd considered doing a trip there but then decided against it; Wednesday night I just checked how much the train tickets were, they weren't too much, so I booked a train.  I admit that I geeked out a bit when we stopped off in Slough (Wernham Hogg!).  I just got off the train and started walking.  I had a map that I got at the station and off I went.

I first went to the Ashmolean Museum, one of several in Oxford (although now friends tell me I should have gone to the Pitt-Rivers instead, oh well).  It was a cool ancient-history sort of museum.  The colleges of Oxford (all forty-seven-or-thereabouts of them) do charge you to come in and look around.  Some were open, some were not.  I visited Balliol, St. Edmund's, Magdalen, Merton and Christchurch.  Bryn Mawr was modeled on Magdalen College, so that was a bit of a spiritual-home sort of experience for me.

While in Oxford I also checked off two of the items on the British Foods list: I had a cream tea (tea and scones with clotted cream and jam) and a pie!  I got a steak-and-kidney pie from a place called Pieminister in a covered market I happened upon in Oxford.

I got the train home and that night I decided to do something normal, so I went to a movie in Leicester Square - it wasn't till I got there that I realized oh, this is where they do all the premieres!

Some Oxford photos:

This building is an archive, I couldn't go in.This is Trinity College, it was closed.
This is the cloisters at Magdalen College - looks very familiar to a Bryn Mawr alumna.Interior of the Magdalen church. This college is where C.S. Lewis taught; it was featured in the film "Shadowlands."
Christ Church College. This was the priciest one to get into.Me at Magdalen. It really was like being back at Bryn Mawr.

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07:40 pm
zoethe
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Riding in a Critical Mass
‎Last night I attended my first Cleveland Critical Mass bike ride. Don’t feel badly that you don’t know what that means; I didn’t know about it until a few weeks ago. Critical Mass rides happen on the last Friday of the month in about 300 different cities all over the states and in some other countries. Here in Cleveland we had about 400 riders. In other places they have over 1,000.

400 riders strung out along a roadway was an incredibly impressive sight. We must have stretched out close to half a mile. I can’t even imagine 1,000.

The point of Critical Mass is not speed or getting to a destination first. The point is to raise local awareness of bicyclists and our right–nay, requirement–to share the roads. Did you know that in many states, including Ohio, it’s a misdemeanor for adult cyclists to ride on the sidewalk? This is because sidewalks are for walking, and people walking are generally traveling at 2-5 miles per hour. Whereas cyclists are generally traveling at least 8 miles an hour, and easily can be traveling 18, 20, or more. Cyclists are a hazard to walkers. They are operating vehicles, and belong on the street.

And the fact is that cyclists are safer on the street. I have been clipped by a car once on the street, it’s true. But I’ve had many near-collisions when riding on the sidewalk, because people are not looking for a bike on the sidewalk moving at 12 mph when they back out of a driveway or pull up to an intersection. They see me when I’m on the street.

Still, there are people who don’t understand the law who still honk at cyclists, yell at them to get on the sidewalk, and even assault them. A recent instance I read about was someone whose kid was pelted with a milkshake that was thrown from a car window. I’ve had people swerve at me, and someone open a passenger-side door in my face just to frighten me.

I’m not sure where this level of anger comes from. Yes, you might have to slow down and pull over to the left to get around a cyclist. But you’d have to do the same if a UPS truck was stopped there, and I don’t see anyone honking at the UPS guy. I sometimes have a sneaking suspicion that some of the resentment comes from thinking that the cyclist feels superior to people driving the car, or a guilt that the driver feels for driving along, drinking a milkshake while these cyclists are exercising.

I know that I’ve been cursed at with “fatso, get off the road!” As if my wide hips are taking up more space. My very presence offends some people.

I’ve learned to be more assertive in my biking, and also more cautious. I try to stick to roads with four lanes, and to bike toward the middle of the right lane so people don’t try the slip past me when there really isn’t enough room. I also bike at off hours or against the rush hour traffic so that I’m not frustrating tired people who just want to get home from work as soon as possible. I take my share of the road, but try to do so with respect for drivers.

And I obey traffic laws. I stop for red lights. I yield at stop signs–a full stop is incredibly wearing on the knees, so I cheat a bit, but I give up the right-of-way when it’s not mine to take. I signal my turns. I try to be a good citizen.

Still, it’s hard to be a cyclist at times. And cycling alone always seems more subject to verbal abuse than cycling with a group, or even just two.

So last night, cycling with 400 people, was a kind of empowerment. We rode through neighborhoods where kids ran to the fences, waving wildly at us, adults smiled and called out encouragement, and drivers waiting at intersections honked their horns not with impatience but in celebration. We were a novelty, this enormous group of cyclists.

We were a parade.

Maybe the people who smiled at our dinging bells and honking horns and smiling waves will remember us. Maybe when they come along a solitary cyclist pedaling down a narrow street, they will recall the crazy, happy atmosphere of last night’s ride.

And maybe they will be just a little more patient, give just a little more room, and we can all be better citizens on the road together.

Crossposting from Dreamwidth now. Sigh. If LJ won't let you comment, you can comment here: http://zoethe.dreamwidth.org/795282.html?mode=reply:

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07:38 pm
theferrett
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Tales Of A Fourth-Rate Nothing: Busking On The Wrong Street Corner

During Clarion, I coined the phrase “busking on the wrong corner” to describe the phenomenon of “entertaining writing that doesn’t serve the story.” It’s the reason writers have to  kill their darlings.  It’s the trap that stops a lot of good writers from making the transition to great.

“Busking” is the practice of playing in public spaces for donations – you know, that guy playing the guitar, his guitar case open before him, full of scattered singles and quarters.  Buskers are often some of the most talented musicians.  But the buskers’ art is also partially a knowledge of where the crowds are.

You can sing your fucking heart out on a corner where there’s no foot traffic.  If you’re really good, you might make a few bucks.  But if you’re really good and really smart, you’ll position yourself near the subway where people are pouring out by the hundreds as rush hour ends, a place where even a mediocre musician can clean up.  Part of your strength is not just the raw force of your musicianship, but knowing where to place that skill so it’s maximized with silver rains of spare change.

Writers (me included, oh so included) are often putting their talents to use on the wrong corner.  This chapter is brilliant writing, it’s got great characterization, it’s exciting.  But underneath, the scene is at odds with what the story is trying to do, and what you’ll wind up with is a great scene that advances the story in the wrong ways.

Lemme give you the real-life example: the lead character of the novel I’m plotting right now, Autumn Akeley, is a taxidermist.  In the beginning of the book, Autumn is deep in the woods on a rumor, searching for the Hulk.

Why the Hulk, you ask?  Because she’s not just any taxidermist – she makes wild viral videos online parodying recent movies in order to drive business to her online taxidermy shop.  Autumn’s latest planned video (“The Bearvengers”) needs a gigantic, light-skinned animal she can dye green to play the part of the Hulk.  Autumn does not kill animals for her entertainment (she takes the death of any creature very seriously), but she just got a tip from a hunter that there’s a decaying grizzly in the woods she might be able to use.  She tracks it down with her friend Karla and examines the corpse – it’s a little too moldy for her liking, but it has very light fur.  She thinks she can salvage it.

Then a shot rings out across the forest: there are poachers in the woods.  As someone who hates to see an animal killed senselessly, she does not take lightly to poachers.  She sets off to investigate, starting the chain of events that sets up the novel….

…Now, that’s a pretty good scene.  It’s got an interesting character doing something we’ve never seen done before in a book, it displays her odd compulsions, it allows us to watch her work (if you have a character with an odd profession, people love to see the fine details), and for a short intro it’ll do quite nicely.

And yet we are busking badly here.  Why?

Because this novel is about Autumn’s friendship with Karla.

Okay, unfair, I didn’t tell you that – but the whole point of the novel is that a new man in town with a shadowy past begins to romance Karla, causing a rift when Autumn discovers the man’s past as a serial killer.  And this scene, while good in a vacuum, utterly fails to set up the dynamics of Karla and Autumn and their friendship.  In fact, you’d be excused for forgetting the existence of Karla in this summary, because while we can put in some nice dialogue and characterization to set up Karla’s character, the underlying structure of the scene is not about her at all.

This is a great scene for a novel featuring bold Autumn Akeley, bold adventurer.  It’s a terrible scene for Autumn and Karla’s big fight – especially since the next scene involves Autumn tracking down poachers, which has even less to do with their friendship.  And if you’re not a careful writer, you’ll think this is an awesome scene because it’s got it all – humor, good characterization, a quick hook to action – without realizing that it’s an awesome scene that’s structurally at odds with what you want to do in the long run.  It doesn’t set up the things that need to be established.

It’s a good scene in isolation.  In context, it’s a darling that needs to be killed… Or at least dramatically changed so that Karla does something so interesting here that the scene metamorphosizes away from Autumn’s search for the Hulk and into an expression of how Autumn and Karla couldn’t get along without each other.

The point I’m making here is that had I written that chapter, I’d have been very proud.  It’d be a nice, 1,500 word opener that would grab the reader, full of lovely details and fun stuff.

And then I’d have to place it into my trash folder, because ultimately it doesn’t do what it needs to, then hunt for the right scene to write.

Cross-posted from Ferrett's Real Blog.

This entry has also been posted at http://theferrett.dreamwidth.org/214853.html. You can comment here, or comment there; makes no never-mind by me.

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12:00 pm
txvoodoo
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