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Before I get to all things fannish and serious, I must shamelessly pimp Crest toothpaste with Scope. I bought it at Publix during my Potter Party vacation, and I love it, much more than its predecessor, Crest Multicare Whitening paste. The gel is a much smoother consistency, and the Scope doesn't burn like a Blast-Ended Skrewt took a pizzle on my tongue.
On a more serious note, my mother e-mailed to tell me that her husband's brother killed himself June 24th. I'm flummoxed. Absolutely floored. I didn't know the man well, but he was a sweet soul to me, and his Elvis impersonator show was to die for. It wasn't good, mind, but he went at it with gusto, and I know that as practicing Roman Catholics, his suicide will undoubtedly affect his family deeply. And it's always a tragedy and waste of the human spirit when a person chooses to end their lives. I know Papa Chris(My mom's husband) will miss him badly. Not only were they brothers, they were Elvis fanatics of the first water, and not a weekend went by when he didn't head down to the local dive to watch the show and drink a few beers.
I am in a conundrum. Papa Chris and I have never been close, but I don't want to be a callous lackwit and ignore his loss. How do I express condolences-particularly in such delicate circumstances-without overstepping myself as the grown stepdaughter?
On a brighter, fannish note, aside from the Scene-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, HBP is a much better-written book than the previous five. She's dispensed with adverbial erotomania and clunky qualifying clauses, and the sentences are more complex and adult. She also has good pacing and a more nuanced, though still nauseating in his gross sense of entitlement, Harry.
( Random HBP Thoughts-Spoilers. Read at Your Own Risk )
I've been writing in fits and starts since the advent of HBP.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hexennacht's drabble has grown like a Venomous Tentacula on a roid rage rampage, but I've got until the 30th. I've also churned out 2,000 words of HOBF 2. I'm slowly clambering back into the saddle.
Yeehaw.
On a more serious note, my mother e-mailed to tell me that her husband's brother killed himself June 24th. I'm flummoxed. Absolutely floored. I didn't know the man well, but he was a sweet soul to me, and his Elvis impersonator show was to die for. It wasn't good, mind, but he went at it with gusto, and I know that as practicing Roman Catholics, his suicide will undoubtedly affect his family deeply. And it's always a tragedy and waste of the human spirit when a person chooses to end their lives. I know Papa Chris(My mom's husband) will miss him badly. Not only were they brothers, they were Elvis fanatics of the first water, and not a weekend went by when he didn't head down to the local dive to watch the show and drink a few beers.
I am in a conundrum. Papa Chris and I have never been close, but I don't want to be a callous lackwit and ignore his loss. How do I express condolences-particularly in such delicate circumstances-without overstepping myself as the grown stepdaughter?
On a brighter, fannish note, aside from the Scene-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, HBP is a much better-written book than the previous five. She's dispensed with adverbial erotomania and clunky qualifying clauses, and the sentences are more complex and adult. She also has good pacing and a more nuanced, though still nauseating in his gross sense of entitlement, Harry.
( Random HBP Thoughts-Spoilers. Read at Your Own Risk )
I've been writing in fits and starts since the advent of HBP.
hexennacht's drabble has grown like a Venomous Tentacula on a roid rage rampage, but I've got until the 30th. I've also churned out 2,000 words of HOBF 2. I'm slowly clambering back into the saddle.Yeehaw.
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