![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I was dismayed to discover that my Fraggle Rock S4 DVDs won't play in my Xbox DVD. Each of the discs in the series freezes before the main menu screen, at 00:36. If it were one disc, or if the discs froze at different times, I'd suspect a bad batch, but since they all freeze at the same spot, I suspect that Xbox is being temperamental. If they won't play on the Philips I've got downstairs, then I'm just going to buy another set off Amazon. I got this one at Walmart.
When the Fraggles refused to cooperate, I watched A Muppet Christmas Carol instead. What a ridiculously cute interpretation, and God bless Michael Caine for treating it with respect instead of camping it up. His willingness to take it seriously made the film. The atmosphere was a perfect blend of Dickensian drear and Muppet whimsy, with talking vegetables and tiny, supplemental creatures from throughout the Muppets universe. It was lovely and sweet, and the actor who played young Scrooge was a smoking hot British fox. Though I could've done without Miss Piggy, who sets my teeth on edge whenever she barges onto the scene, I'll be watching this often, especially during the holidays.
I haven't made much progress on the ficcing front; I've pounded out roughly eleven hundred words over the course of a week. My productivity usually slumps this time of year, but this entire year has been slow and scanty. It's not for lack of ideas--I hatch half a dozen plots a week--but a profound dearth of motivation. It doesn't help that I loathe the setup of the computer that I will always consider Roomie's even though my aunt bought it for me. I despise Works. Roomie swears it's nearly identical to Word, but I find it ugly, clunky, and intrusive. I like Google Docs a bit better, if only for the nigh-constant autosave and the ability to have a copy not attached to a hard drive, but its paragraph formatting is amateurish and maddeningly limited, and whenever I copy the finished product to Works for upload, the formatting shits the bed and fingerpaints with it, and I spend half an hour cleaning it up. It's frustrating, and I often decide I'd rather put my brain in neutral amd watch TV instead.
I suspect that I've managed about eighty thousand words of fic this year, which, when compared to the output of the average American couch troglodyte, seems positively prolific until you remember that I once averaged four hundred thousand words a year. So there's been a decided and undeniable drop in creative output. I hope this is just a temporary bout of torpor and not symptomatic of a permanent intellectual and artistic atrophy.
It is a beautiful day. The sky is a rich, vivid, robin's-egg blue, and the Rammstein in my headphones is making my heart pump. I'm feeling good, feeling froggy, as my father would have said. So, if there is a subject you'd like me to hold forth on, leave a comment, and I'll get to it. I can't promise I'll wax long on a topic, but I will say something, and given my penchant for stretching one-liners into Shakespearean soliloquies that would make Hamlet scream, "Shutteth the fuck UP, already!", you're bound to get more than you bargained for.
When the Fraggles refused to cooperate, I watched A Muppet Christmas Carol instead. What a ridiculously cute interpretation, and God bless Michael Caine for treating it with respect instead of camping it up. His willingness to take it seriously made the film. The atmosphere was a perfect blend of Dickensian drear and Muppet whimsy, with talking vegetables and tiny, supplemental creatures from throughout the Muppets universe. It was lovely and sweet, and the actor who played young Scrooge was a smoking hot British fox. Though I could've done without Miss Piggy, who sets my teeth on edge whenever she barges onto the scene, I'll be watching this often, especially during the holidays.
I haven't made much progress on the ficcing front; I've pounded out roughly eleven hundred words over the course of a week. My productivity usually slumps this time of year, but this entire year has been slow and scanty. It's not for lack of ideas--I hatch half a dozen plots a week--but a profound dearth of motivation. It doesn't help that I loathe the setup of the computer that I will always consider Roomie's even though my aunt bought it for me. I despise Works. Roomie swears it's nearly identical to Word, but I find it ugly, clunky, and intrusive. I like Google Docs a bit better, if only for the nigh-constant autosave and the ability to have a copy not attached to a hard drive, but its paragraph formatting is amateurish and maddeningly limited, and whenever I copy the finished product to Works for upload, the formatting shits the bed and fingerpaints with it, and I spend half an hour cleaning it up. It's frustrating, and I often decide I'd rather put my brain in neutral amd watch TV instead.
I suspect that I've managed about eighty thousand words of fic this year, which, when compared to the output of the average American couch troglodyte, seems positively prolific until you remember that I once averaged four hundred thousand words a year. So there's been a decided and undeniable drop in creative output. I hope this is just a temporary bout of torpor and not symptomatic of a permanent intellectual and artistic atrophy.
It is a beautiful day. The sky is a rich, vivid, robin's-egg blue, and the Rammstein in my headphones is making my heart pump. I'm feeling good, feeling froggy, as my father would have said. So, if there is a subject you'd like me to hold forth on, leave a comment, and I'll get to it. I can't promise I'll wax long on a topic, but I will say something, and given my penchant for stretching one-liners into Shakespearean soliloquies that would make Hamlet scream, "Shutteth the fuck UP, already!", you're bound to get more than you bargained for.
