Mary the Fan

Calling ( Top Ten Week: )

I am so very much not following the Sotomayor confirmation hearings, because I think we all know exactly how it's all gonna go, and I do not need my blood-pressure skyrocketing in the meantime.

Meanwhile, I am eking out fic.

*******

The gym’s dark, lights down, stale smell of sweat lingering in the air, and Toby twines his fingers through the fence separating the basketball court from the weights, remembers the wind on his face. There’s a dark spot on the court, a splotch of something stained and ground into the wood, and he’s almost certain it’s where he bled out when Vern stabbed him, and his side aches where the blade slid in, so sweet and easy, like a kiss with the weight of a punch behind it. He startles at a clanking sound behind him - shifting weights on one of the benches - freezes at a soft footstep even as his heart rabbits up in his chest. There’s something, someone moving in the empty room, and he can’t see in the dark, head up and ears strained, can’t figure out who’s there until a figure steps out of the shadows.

Wanna’ wrestle? Chris asks, and Toby shakes his head, tries to step away, but the fence is at his back. No?

Chris shakes his own head and spreads his hands, shrugging. He’s holding something ... an apple? ... but Toby’s too distracted to focus as he takes another step forward, glides into the light. He’s been sliced open from heart to hip, sweet and easy, layers of flesh and muscle parted cleanly and peeled back to the bone like an anatomy model.

What? Chris says. Don’t you love me no more, Beecher? Don’t you want me with you? He takes another step as Toby sidles away, sliding down the fence, metal scratching light against his back, breath like a fist in his throat. I thought I was going to be with you forever.

*****

40,000 more words to go by August 15! \o/?

/o\

omg, flist, there are two birds fucking ... trying to fuck ... on one of the windowsills outside of the coffee shop. Only, he can't seem to get it in. And so he keeps climbing on and poking a bit, then getting frustrated and hopping off and flying a circle and then coming back and trying again. And she's perfectly willing, it seems, but I dunno. She may be getting a little tired of the whole production.

I am sitting here trying not to literally LOL. Also, I'm a little embarrassed for him.

Ryan: [conducts mtv.com interview in which he says that a) he and Brendon could not work together any longer so Spencer and Ryan went out for a nice dinner to portion out their band, during which Spencer apparently agreed to give Brendon a good home where he could run and play and make music like Peter Gabriel, and b) he is sad and confused over the inexplicable fact that Pete is only talking to and about Spencer and Brendon when all Ryan has done is just not had time to take or return Pete's calls at all, OK?]

Jon (via Twitter): [posts picture of his dinner]

Spencer (via Twitter): Your ego is not your amigo.

Brendon (via Twitter): [watches West Side Story]




Countdown to Spencer Smith snapping? Anyone?

( spoilery, oh yes )

And now, Christ knows, I need to go get some writing done.

No wonder Spencer wanted nothing to do with whatever the hell Ryan's writing now.

Ryan (via Twitter): not enough tambourines

( accompanied by this: )

Hee!

This entry was originally posted at http://marylex.dreamwidth.org/19987.html.

Sunday night dinner report:

Brought home a Vouvray to go with dinner, and it is my new favorite wine EVER. And considering how much I like reds, that's saying something.

A guy at work has been talking this wine up to me for a while now, and I was all, yeah, yeah, OK, I'll try it. And since I wanted a chenin blanc tonight ...

FAVORITE. I'm finishing the last of it right now.

Added a few dashes of chili powder to the rosemary/lemon/wine sauce on the roasted chicken, which gave it a nice little barest hint of bite. I need to cut the chicken into larger pieces next time through, or cut back the cooking time. Wasn't dry, but wasn't as moist as I'd like it. Also, there's enough of the pan juices left with this one that I think I need to serve it over a bed of some kind of starch next time, but I broke out the last of a boule I bought earlier in the week, ripped it into chunks instead of slicing it, and we used that to mop our plates. The roasted veggies turned out FANTASTIC - squash and zucchini and eggplant and a couple of potatoes from my aunt's garden that I needed to go ahead and use, tossed in olive oil, salt and pepper before roasting, and then dressed afterward - right out of the oven - with a lemon/olive oil/garlic sauce and tossed with full sprigs of thyme. Tomatoes with mozzarella and basil, of course.

The whipped cream for dessert would not stiffen so we just had strawberries/blackberries/blueberries swimming in thickened, sweetened cream.

Then, I went out on the porch with another glass of wine and dug around in the dirt some. Moved the thyme, rosemary, sage, superbells, daisy to larger pots, potted the fennel and tarragon, and managed to go through an entire 40 lb. bag of potting soil, plus the tail end of a couple of other bags, while doing it. I still need to move the jalapeño plant to a larger pot, then move the catnip to the pot the jalapeño is currently in, then pot the garlic chives in the former catnip pot. But it was getting dark and I'm'a need some more dirt, so it was time to stop for the night.

Showered, robed, and I think I need another glass of wine, so I'm off to the kitchen to see what's on hand. I was gonna go to bed, but it seems like the shower gave me my second wind, and I'm off tomorrow, so maybe I'll see what kind of writing I can get done.

Meanwhile, ffs, Alex Marshall. Did you end up in the hospital AGAIN? You are a walking PLAGUE.

( I don't even know if this could be considered a spoiler in any way )

I'm thinking roasted rosemary-lemon chicken, maybe with some white wine thrown into the pan, and roasted veggies (squash, zucchini, eggplant? a few new potatoes?) with a garlic-lemon-thyme dressing after they're pulled out of the oven. Also sliced tomatoes and mozzarella with basil, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

I can pull the rosemary, thyme and basil fresh off the porch.

Paired with a chenin blanc.

Mixed fruit (blueberries, strawberries, maybe some raspberries, blackberries) lightly sugared and topped with whipped cream for dessert.

Yes?

( well, Rusty )

I.

Huh.

( spoilery as hell, through Day Four )

So, this is the general breakdown over the past 36-ish hours?

• Ryan: [has picture of him in a pile of hipster-wannabe girls, with lines of ... something on the table in front of them, explode make a small, localized bang on the internets]

• Ryan (via Twitter): That's not me, it's my evil twin!

• Brendon (via Twitter): "Real love amounts to withholding the truth, even when you're offered the perfect opportunity to hurt someone's feelings." -David Sedaris

• Jon (via Twitter): Day 1 [insert picture of himself behind a drum kit]

• Spencer (via Twitter): If this is what love is all about, you can count me out - F. Shazam


...

...

...



ETA: Well. I just saw the Keltie blog post.

( SYTYCD: Top 12 )

The drums?

REALLY?

I ... suspect that may have been something of douchebag move, to post that particular picture. If nothing else, it's amazing how NOT CHARMED I am by you right now, compared to Spencer and Brendon over the past 36 hours.

Mittelschmerz, ugh. No fair, body.

OW, dammit.

You are supposed to be working on your Oz Big Bang story today. You are not supposed to be contemplating A POTENTIAL SPENCER/BRENDON VERSION OF 'HONEYBEE.' (with an urge so tremendous it can only be expressed in ALL CAPS)

You are NOT ALLOWED to start drawing little outlines for this. You have to go write a nightmare sequence for Beecher and a weirdly fraught confession scene with Mukada for Alvarez, ffs.

:backburners frantically:

No, I will not tinhat you with your remaining band member. No, really.

Via Twitter: "every day we pay the price, with a little sacrifice. true love that now exists, is the love i can't resist."

Meanwhile, writing accomplished this a.m. = 0 words. That is not the kind of action I need.

Spencer Smith. How are you real?

via Twitter:

'....every little thing is gonna be alright'

and ( this pic: )

It's a good thing I have sperrywink around, otherwise I'd still be flailing around, trying to figure out what's going on with Panic, after being away from the internets.

Or what's going on with what's left of Panic, I guess.

( Just, WHAT? )

( Bottom Three )