December 3rd, 2005



I watched Land of the Dead this morning. That's what I do. Saturday morning: wake up, eat a potato, lie on the couch, watch zombies attack the city. I have a new crush now:
"Jennifer Baxter ("Knockaround Guys") is always recognizable at Big Daddy's side as Number Nine, a blond, track-suited corpse with one cheek missing and the habit of cocking her head when confronted with new ideas." -- Reeling
Oh, Number Nine. If I were leading a zombie army on Seattle, you'd be my right-hand girl.

Zombie movies always leave you with more questions than answers. A town full of zombies wandering around plaintively, waiting for the ice cream truck--what do they subsist on until it arrives? It's not like they're *cannibals*. But they keep staggering gamely from one day to the next, learning to play the tuba, keeping the lawn mowed. And what's the deciding factor between whether you become a zombie or zombie kibble? I guess it's how quickly you can sprint away when mortally wounded. Because if you don't pick up your bitten hand and run, you won't be intact enough to reanimate. They'll rip you apart and slurp you down like Ramen noodles.

Mmm, Ramen. Time for lunch.

Ah sweet mystery of life, at last I've drowned you.

Life is too short. We should seize the day, get out of the house, get in the car, drive to Canada. We should roll in the snow, run with the wolves, breathe in the crisp air and reach for a deeper understanding of our place in the universe.

With this in mind, I just spent the last two hours experimenting with customized colors on my new LJ layout and then scrubbed them all and reverted to the defaults.

Also, one of my favorite words is "asshat" and I met two of them today, so yay!

And now I ponder some eternal questions.
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...and maybe when Rodney was five he wanted to be a Mountie. shut up.

For the last several weeks I've gotten incredibly tired in the evenings. Somewhere between six and eight every night I just crash like cut timber, life draining from my body, my only compensatory strength the ability to kill people with my yawns. I fall into bed or onto the couch, and zone. But my brain refuses to fully let go, so it's not satisfying rest. I mention this for no particular reason. I'm just spammy today and I'm trying to keep myself awake.

I just added someone's post to my memories. When you're doing that, the page says, "Who can see that you've marked (this entry as memorable?)" and for a moment I thought it said "Who can see that you're naked...?" I'm only naked under my clothes, damn you. can't see me, can you? *paranoia*

Obligatory SGA content: I saw a story mentioned the other day, an AU where Rodney was in the military and John was a scientist (Chaos Theory by Amireal, mentioned here). Are there any other stories out there based on this idea?

Fandom is a hive mind, and cliches are like viruses traveling through its blood (friendly viruses, like the Ebola plush doll) which is why I'd already been kicking that fantasy around for a while. Rodney is my current Spike--I give him makeovers the way I did Spike, though mostly in my head and less so in stories. Not because I don't like these characters as they are, but because they are my toys and they must bend to my will and dance at my whim. Dance, tiny soldier Rodney, dance!

Anyway. Colonel McKay. Is there more of him out there? Where he's all tight, lean muscle and stubbled iron jaw, and can shoot the wings off a fly at a hundred yards? And he knows jujitsu and krav maga, and once skinned an elk with his bare teeth while crossing the Yukon on foot? In winter? Or something like that.