He's Pretty *and* Funny

One thousand and thirty-four words today.

First there was this:

Now there's this:

Dead. And buried.

Middle Age Sucks Monkey Scrotes

One thousand one hundred and thirteen words since last update, and Small Mercies VII is now finished. Tomorrow, I'll start Part II of my ST:AOS!fic. In the meantime, I'm going to watch an LP of The Last of Us.

I wish I had more to say, more to share with the people who come to these pages, but all opinions worth sharing have been exhausted, and Round 43,000 of Why Disability Blows holds no appeal for me. That it sucks is a given; those who believe me on this score are well-versed in this particular gospel, and those who don't never will. CSI:NY is a dead fandom, and while The Hobbit/Tolkien fandom is quite robust these days, I can find no hill to die upon. I suppose I could join the crotchety, minor dust-up in Rammfandom over the merits of Till's poetry, but in truth, I've never read it, couldn't understand it if I were so inclined, and have never held any great love for poetry as a whole, though I find that in the hands of a good reader, it can move me very deeply.

I miss my early years in fandom, when every canonical or philosophical squabble was its own Helms Deep, and wanks would rage for days and span nearly every fannish website. I miss strapping it on and wading into a fray because dammit, Harry is an entitled little douchebag who enjoys a level of freedom and privilege at Hogwarts about which the other students can only dream. And dammit, Lindsay Monroe is a soul-sucking shrew whose gross, manipulative, co-dependent relationship with Danny Messer derailed the show for two seasons. And Mac Taylor is a smug, hypocritical prig who holds his subordinates to ridiculous standards while cheerfully wiping his airtight ass with those purportedly sacrosanct standards when they are suddenly applied to him. I miss the deep investment I once had in fandom.

I miss giving a damn.