Congratulations, Doom!

I hope everyone in Florida weathered Andrea, and that Germany--especially Dresden--can get back on her feet after the flood.

I might've spent an unseemly twenty minutes blubbering into my popcorn after finishing Joyland last night. Uncle Stevie reached in and unzipped my guts as neat as you please.
Wow. Did not see that coming. Congratulations, Doom.

Four days after bemoaning my lack of reading, I've read Bare Bones, the sixth Bones novel, and am halfway through Haunted Heartland. Bones was very good but compromised by Reichs' inexplicable decision to indulge in sanctimonious proselytizing for the last two-and-a-half pages. Yes, poaching is terrible and a major threat to our ecosystems, but there was no need to have her cherished avatar bludgeon this point into mealy paste. Whenever the subject came up in the narrative, Brennan wasn't just angry or filled with steely resolve; she was appalled and repulsed and sickened. And it wasn't just her. Everyone around her shared her view to the letter. Hardened cops who have seen the worst murders and assorted human depravities are disgusted and moved to white-faced anger by the idea of criminals killing bears for their gallbladders or smuggling exotic birds in their underpants. Uh huh. Whatever. Maybe it's Reichs' pet cause of the moment, but authorial moralizing should never overshadow the plot. If I wanted issuefic, I'd read fanfiction.

Once I'm finished with Heartland, I'll probably start HoME II. Either that, or I'll give Rebecca another try. I'm still on page twenty because wading through that prose is like trying to cut a swathe through the Amazon rain forest with a pair of nail clippers.
Today, I learned that I've been spelling "dissension" incorrectly for years. I've been spelling it "dissention", which, while considered "irregular" usage, is just flat wrong. Huh. The learning process never stops.

According to the Rammfen rumor mill, Christoph is getting married again. If so, congratulations are in order, though the cynical side of me hopes he has a prenup. Rock marriages are often outlasted by the manufacturer's warranty on a Cuisinart.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Aug. 10th, 2012 02:21 am)



Oh, no. It seems someone has met my mother...
Happy belated Birthday to Christoph Schneider, who celebrated his forty-sixth birthday yesterday.



I hope you had a wonderful day full of love and laughter.

It might've been Christoph's birthday, but I got the present:



Damn.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Apr. 17th, 2012 02:52 pm)


Setting aside the loveliness that is Christoph(the arms! the thighs!), I find this video fascinating. Because of my myopia, and because limper seats are generally one step removed from the parking lot, I don't get to see such detail. I can see and recognize individual band members and see that yes, Till is tenderizing his own thighs with his fist, but I can't see Olli or Christoph because they're behind the others. His technique is more relaxed than I thought it would be. He's on point, but he isn't flailing, and he's not kneeing himself in the face. It's all very zen, and certainly more elegant than Lars Ulrich, who, when I saw him from ten feet away, looked like an angry house elf gnawing its way out of a thestral carcass.


Oh, my, God, the thoughts! The thoughts I am having. Nnnngh.
I started Ocarina of Time today. OMG, nostalgia trip! I've already beaten the first boss, and it's a measure of how much my skills have improved that I demolished the first boss, Gohma the Parasitic Arachnid, with no damage in under a minute. Granted, it was only the first boss, which is traditionally the easiest, but it's still an achievement for me. I spent the rest of the playing time learning the Sun's Song and collecting Gold Skulltulas. Tomorrow, I'll visit the Lost Woods and collect more Skulltulas. If there's time, I'll start the Earth Temple, but since I'm currently restricting myself to four hours of playing time per day, it will depend on how much time I have left.

When not dealing out merciless death to zombies, poisonous plants, and mutant spiders, I dreamed of Christoph Schneider, or rather a mutant Christoph who bore a terrifying resemblance to a Marilyn Manson fanboy. Long, black hair, red lips, lots of dark eyeshadow, an eyebrow piercing, and vampire fangs. This Bizarro-World Christoph was attracted to my pheromones and approached me before a concert in a small theater and tried to mouth my nipples through my shirt. Smooth, Christoph. Afterward, I tried to find him to see just what was going on, but the backstage area was guarded by a militant elderly usher who was determined that none should pass. Finally, LAB-era!Richard wandered out and told her to let me pass, but before I could follow him, I awoke to the sporadic shuddering of Roomie's legs in the grip of clonic spasm. Dammit.
Ganked from the FickjaRammstein Tumblr:



I like his new 'do, too. A lot.
I'm an avowed Richbitch, but how is he so pretty?



Is some Nosferatu, leeching youth from the hordes of nubile young groupies? He was smoking hot as transcendental, hippie Jesus, but this... He looks so much younger.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Dec. 5th, 2011 08:02 pm)
Bills paid, responsibilities met. It's always a load off my mind when the bills are paid because I know that at least I'll have an Internet connection, hot water, and light to read by.

I still haven't heard from the bean counter about my query. If I haven't heard from them by the weekend, then it will be time to work the phone. I hate using the phone because it leaves no record of the conversation or any agreement therefrom, and because I sound like a dolphin being cornholed by a rusty can opener. My voice is soft and meek, and when I'm nervous or excited or tense, it rockets into registers audible only to bats. It's utterly embarrassing and undermines my attempts to be assertive.

If I ever meet a Rammgent, then they will have to speak fluent Beaker.

Speaking of Rammstein:

Photobucket

Ganked from the FuckyeahRammstein Tumblr. Mmmmm. God, but Christoph just oozes toppy Dom when he's dressed as a woman.
Unghhh, Christoph, how can you be so hot in drag?:





And, oh, dear Lord, but he looks like a catty starlet just trying to maintain her poise in the face of a rival who had the audacity to go out in public in last year's Prada:

Unghhh, Christoph, how can you be so hot in drag?:





And, oh, dear Lord, but he looks like a catty starlet just trying to maintain her poise in the face of a rival who had the audacity to go out in public in last year's Prada:

laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Sep. 12th, 2011 05:51 pm)
Silly Picspam Fun--Large Images, so Dialup Users Take Note )




And finally, a flister pointed me to this picture from the scrumptious FuckyeahChristophSchneider Tumblr:



I'd grown so accustomed to his Jesus!hair that I was shocked. It ages him a bit, but it probably looks quite handsome when combed, and those glasses are giving rise to all sorts of steamy fantasies about repressed college professors getting lewd with libidinous coeds in need of extra credit.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Sep. 12th, 2011 05:44 pm)
Silly Picspam Fun--Large Images, so Dialup Users Take Note )




And finally, a flister pointed me to this picture from the scrumptious FuckyeahChristophSchneider Tumblr:



I'd grown so accustomed to his Jesus!hair that I was shocked. It ages him a bit, but it probably looks quite handsome when combed, and those glasses are giving rise to all sorts of steamy fantasies about repressed college professors getting lewd with libidinous coeds in need of extra credit.
Below is a selection of comments from this article about a Carnival Cruise gone wrong:


Why Don't Those Damn Dirty Wheelchair People Just Shut Up and Stay Where They Belong? )

People like these make the veins in my head throb dangerously because chances are, they are the same opportunistic tools who would wave ADA compliance laws like a live hand grenade if they suddenly broke their legs a week before the cruise and decided to take it anyway. Then there would be no end of screaming about how they have a God-given right to the cruise they paid for, goddammit, and no corporate puppet was going to rob them of what they fucking paid for.

Yes, you smug assholes, there are some things disabled folks cannot do; we know this, and let me tell you, it hurts. But--and stay with me here--most of us don't expect the abled world to fix these problems for us if it is unreasonable to do so or would create a danger to others. I don't expect the Sherpas in Tibet to carve wheelchair trails up Everest just because I need to prove my handicapable cred, and I wouldn't expect a four-hundred-year-old hotel in Prague to be wheelchair accessible; the renovation cost would be onerous and, well, crippling to a business, and would likely never pay for itself, because Europe isn't exactly teeming with globe-trotting cripples. It wouldn't be fair to ask them to make extensive renovations on the off chance that a disabled traveler might turn up.

But here's the thing: Businesses are fully within their rights to admit they aren't equipped for my needs and refuse my patronage; it might not be legal, but as I said, I know reality and idealism seldom meet, and the seventy-year-old inn just might not be able to accept my wheelchair and my need for an accessible toilet. It's unfortunate, but it's also the truth. However, the second you assure me that you can, in fact, accommodate my needs after I have explained them to you, then you are obligated to meet those needs, and I don't care how hard it is for you. If you didn't think you could, then you should never have accepted my money and made promises you couldn't keep. Once you have my money, then I have the right to complain if and when you fail to provide the services I purchased, and it doesn't matter if I'm a talking head on four wheels.

Are there entitled asshats in wheelchairs? Oh, yes, and maybe some of them feel entitled by the wheels under their asses, but most disabled people are simply frustrated and angry about the dishonesty that so often permeates any effort to move through the world. So many businesses promise full accommodation and deliver the barest fraction of the sad minimum, and we don't realize it until we're sitting on the platform with our luggage on our laps and no choice but to either press on as best we can or give up the venture entirely. We're tired of being charged maximum price for minimum service and being shamed and belittled when we dare complain because we "should have known better" than to think we could travel the country or visit other countries like anyone else. We should have known better than to want more than the sad, cramped, isolated lives that government charity and the begrudging collective conscience of our betters allows us. It's heartbreaking and exhausting, and it sometimes makes us into the angry, bitter people so many so loftily chide.


Because I don't want this post to be nothing but a wallow in impotent fury, have some Christoph:

It's Gonna Be a Bright, Bright Sunshiny Day )

Yes, he looks maniacal, but he also looks so damn happy that it lifts my spirits to see him.

It also helps that I know he's a goddamn superhero with an awesome butler, trufax.
As Roomie and I were walking toward our favorite local grub haunt this afternoon, a woman leaving the restaurant said to me, "The things people won't do to get a free ride," and laughed.

Now, it was clear to me that there was no malice behind the comment, and so I just smiled and said, "Oh, yes, ma'am," because I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be an asshole because it was clear she was clumsily trying to interact with that oh-so-exotic cripple, but inside, I was howling. What makes people think it's a good idea to say things like that to anyone, let alone a complete stranger? That's like me looking at an old, wheezing, leather-headed emphysema sufferer and saying, "Looks like you really went all out to earn that pure air and senior discount, LOL!" It's inappropriate and rude and rage-inducing.

Look, able folks, I know that it can be scary to interact with a disabled person, but a good rule of thumb is to treat them as you'd treat any able person you meet on the street. Say hello if that's your wont, walk on by if it isn't. Treat them like just another person because that's who they are. Odds are you're not as witty as you think you are, and attempting to connect with disabled folks through their disability usually ends in painful embarrassment for everyone.

After she left, I thought about that anonymous German poster who waded in here a few months back to tell me that I should consider rude strangers' feelings and circumstances when they said or did something offensive, selfish, or ignorant that made my day harder. I wondered how they would have responded if that woman had heard them speaking German and chirped, "Oh, I bet you drink a lot of beer," or "Oh, you don't look like a kraut." I wondered if they would have smiled or joked and been gracious about it, or if they would have circled their thumb and forefinger and told the gormless twit to get roundly fucked by a pinecone. I wondered how they would have reacted if that had been the third time or the tenth time or the three hundredth time. How long it would have taken before that forced smile turned into a moue of distaste and then a snarl of frustration. Not long, I suspect.

Remarks like that, even when made without malice, wear on you. They're like grains of sand dropped onto the same patch of skin; one is negligible and easily ignored, but then there's ten, and one hundred and one thousand, and soon, you're raw and irritated and desperate to soothe the constant, smarting burn. Even the most sanguine people reach a tipping point where one more grain is one too many, and then they snap. And when they do, they're met with wet-eyed incredulity and accusation of ingratitude and assholery because they didn't take the joke in the spirit in which it was intended.

And then you feel like a douche because the last thing you wanted to do when you left the house was hurt someone, and because you have the sinking feeling that in responding as anyone would to the repeated prodding of a wound, you have just perpetuated the bitter cripple stereotype. Whee and fuck and nobody wins. But if you grin and bear it like a good little gimp, you can't seem to get the taste of bootblack off your tongue. Whee and fuck and nobody wins


A first pimp for A Little Night Magic. I might pimp it again once LJ stabilizes completely to make sure folks who are interested don't miss it, but other than that, it's back to the mythpool.


And because I wanted some Rammstein loveliness today:

Hello, Hot Stuff )
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