So as loads of people have already mentioned, Steven Moffat's going to be taking over for Doctor Who Season Five.

This, first of all, makes me go \o/! Second, it makes me give serious consideration to the following question:

Does this mean there's a chance that Jack Davenport could be the next Doctor?

You know. If David Hewlett and Philip Glenister aren't available.

How awesome would that be, though, seriously? SERIOUSLY AWESOME.

I'd also like to mention that two nights ago, I had a dream in which Tony Stark teamed up with newly-employed-as-a-flight-attendant Annie Cartwright to save a bunch of people on a plane, and they snarked and flirted a lot. Tony Stark/Annie Cartwright would be a crossover pairing of BRILLIANCE, I feel. CLEARLY I AM ON A ROLL.

Please feel free to share other Eleventh Doctor/Crossover Pairings of Awesome ideas in the comments. :)

1. Everyone should go check out the first part of the fic honey_babes is writing based on Ferris Bueller's Day Off: John Sheppard's Day Off. *love*

2. Last night, I stayed up ridiculously late writing First Monday porn. It is...not like my usual porn at all. It's dirty. Really, really dirty. I'm not sure if I like it. Would someone be willing to look at it for me--tell me if it's at all hot, or if I'm a sick bitch who needs therapy? Or both? (It's about 1,600 words.) ETA: Okay, I think I've got enough masochists lined up. Thanks, guys. *whimper*

3. After I finally stopped writing porn and went to bed, I had a totally bizarre dream in which my mom was in trouble with the Mafia because of gambling debts. We were all in danger, and I had to protect my little brother and hide out at a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall until my parents got back. There was a lot of ducking behind plants and lobster tanks until my dad finally arrived. We ended up standing by the restaurant's big front window while he explained things to me (up until then I hadn't known why we were hiding). None of this was particularly remarkable on my scale of dream-weirdness, but then he started philosophizing about strip malls.

My Dad: It's strange...they're so ugly, such eyesores, but no two are the same. They're all different.
*Ed Harris walks by the window, carrying a pizza. We nod at him.*
My Dad: They're almost...beautiful.

I love this. Because it's totally bizarre and dreamlike, but it's also so L.A. I miss my crazy city.

Anyway, then my mom showed up wearing a top that exposed way too much cleavage and set her coat down in a pool of ketchup. I do not know why there was ketchup in a Chinese restaurant.

Ugh. Well, I just had an unbelievably disturbing dream that's woken me up quite effectively. ( Cut for truly nasty dream violenceCollapse )

Aaaaaaanyway, I'm up now, and after I have my toast and tea (did J. Alfred dream of eyeball-gouging, I wonder?), I really am going to work on my paper. Honest. But first I'm going to take a stab (oh, badness) at editing one of the seven fics, 'cause I think I finished it last night. It doesn't contain any pointy objects, thank God. Although I guess that rules out any dart battles. And, y'know, any porn. Damn.

Last night I had possibly the most disturbing dream ever. In it, I was lying in bed, drifting between being awake and asleep, my eyes half-closed, a pale bit of moonlight drifting in through the hideously ugly curtains. (Sadly, those are real and not part of the nightmare.) I had my hands tucked under the covers and was just drifting off to sleep when suddenly a HALF-DOZEN RATS scampered up over my body, right over my hands, under my chin, and down behind the other side of the bed. I yelped and started out of bed--only I was really awake now, yelping and starting out of bed. The line between dream and reality was so thin that I had to go hide in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before I was calm enough to spend any concerted time in the bedroom. Even now, I think I’d be half-convinced that I’d momentarily enacted out a choice scene from 1984 were it not for the fact that there is no space between my bed and the wall--nowhere for them to have gone. This was small comfort, especially at three o’clock in the morning.

So I got up and wrote more pony!fic, and also a few other comment ficlets that I’m going to clean up and post later. But first, I have to tell you about the three other dreams I had before the rats one--busy night last night, eh, subconscious?

First I dreamt that I was on LiveJournal, and all of you were convinced that I was dead. (Um, I’m not, by the way. Just clarifying: this post? Does not come from beyond the grave. It comes from Ireland.) Rather than do something sensible like log on and post a helpful HI! STILL ALIVE! or even a NOT DEAD--PINING FOR THE FJORDS! I just sat there, helplessly wringing my hands. So, yeah: dream me? Not too bright.

Then I dreamt that I was having a discussion with my father in which he was telling me something important about my brother, Daniel. Only about halfway through he stopped talking about Daniel my bother and started talking about Daniel Jackson and how his love for Jack O’Neill was so pure OMG! And I was like, jeeze, that isn’t even my fandom, get a clue, pops!

( And then I had this really disturbing and sexually explicit dream about FordCollapse )

So, yeah. My brain is weird.

Now, I was going to post a couple of dream-themed songs, but then I remembered that I made a Sandman mix a while ago--for monanotlisa, I think? And I never sent it to you? (I’m sorry!) Well, anyway: in that case, I figure there’s no reason why anybody who wants it shouldn’t get to enjoy it, especially after sitting through all this blather. So here it is:

A Handful of Dust - A Sandman Mix

( TracklistCollapse )

.zip file OMG, this took sooooooo long to upload. *hates yousendit*
backup .zip
2nd backup .zip because I have to go to bed soon. *gulp*

Please let me know what you think! Or, y’know, when the file needs to be refreshed.

Oh yeah, and feel free to Freud me. *g*

ETA: Also, look at the AWESOME ICON siriaeve made me! Because JOHN IS THE CHOSEN ONE!!!

So I obviously smoked some serious crack before going to bed last night, because my dreams were a multifandom extravaganza.

( BtVS, HP, QaF, and SGA wackinessCollapse )

Yesterday, I finally got fed up with Trinity's intensely irritating library and went to see if I could find a good used bookstore. For a city that trades so much on its literary reputation, used bookstores are not thick on the ground here in Dublin. Everyone talks about Books Upstairs, which is right across the street from campus, but I've been in there twice and--how can I put this delicately?--it sucks. It has, like, four books in it, and three of them are by Dan Brown. (The fourth is some pretentious piece of literary theory--gag me.)

Anyway, I had heard that Abbey Street had a couple of decent places, so I took the long way 'round, mostly to avoid crossing the River Liffey at O'Connell Street--it's always horribly congested. I ended up in Temple Bar completely by accident, and, I think, stumbled across U2's recording studio there. I think. I didn't look too closely. *is resolutely Not A Stalker*

I started out with a list of ten books, and on Abbey Street I was able to find three of them. Two were at Chapters, which has a decent, if horribly organzied, used section. (What is with bookstores that insist on dividing fiction into "Literature" and "Fiction" sections? It's not only pretentious, it's stupid--you end up with the same book shelved in multiple places, and nobody can find anything. Chapters was even worse--I stumbled across The Great Gatsby in "Literature," "Fiction," and "Classics.") The third was at a bargain store that basically looked like a room where somebody had emptied a carton of books out onto the floor--and not in a good way. Then today I managed to pick up two more at Hodges Figgis, which almost wins Favorite Bookstore on name alone--it sounds like it should be located in Diagon Alley. ;-)

In case anybody's curious, these are the books I was looking for:

( My Reading ListCollapse )

Seven are for class, three are potential pleasure reading. Anyone who can guess which three (or which one of the others I've actually read previously) will impress me deeply, and probably knows me better than I know myself. ;-)

(Oh, and in case anyone is in terrible suspense: I found the Haggard, the Hogg, the More, the Stoker, and the Wolfe. You can rest easy now. *g*)

ANYWAY...none of this was actually the highpoint of the day. That was my discovery of what I think must be the only Mexican restaurant in Dublin. It's called Taco Taco, it's in a food court off Abbey Street, and it's really not that good. But MY GOD--I ate a quesadilla yesterday, and it was the best thing I had ever tasted. I think I must've been experiencing salsa withdrawal. Bless you, Taco Taco. Bless you.

Last night I dreamt that John Sheppard was being attacked by an evil penguin. He fought it off with a fireplace poker, but its flesh was too rubbery and the tip kept bouncing off. Also, it talked. Its voice and mannerisms were similar to those of Joe Pesci or maybe Danny DeVito--all it needed was a cigar to chomp between its beak.

Thus, fandom has offically driven me insane.

*thinks* I'm just going to go with it. Is that cool with everybody?

Further evidence of insanity: monanotlisa made me this truly awesome icon. *points* See? It's John and Rodney and the Trinity College Campanile! Coolness, no? Except I had to comment and say:

Now I want to write AU John-and-Rodney-at-Trinity fic. Which is just so, so wrong.

At which point tzeentch (who's never even watched the show!) had to step in and utter the fateful words: I would read that.

So no, I am absolutely not trying to think of plausible reasons for them to be in Dublin, thank you for asking.

Speaking of wackiness in general, here's my favorite snippet of overheard conversation today:

A group of very emo Irish boys is standing outside the Arts Building, talking and smoking and huddling against the rain.

Very Emo Irish Boy: Right, but at least I have a lesbian backup band.

I have no idea what this means, but it is AWESOME. This is totally going to become one of the phrases I try to slip into casual conversation, hoping that they'll catch on, which of course they never, ever do. My previous neglected favorite is:

"Jim Morrison, that's another Thanksgiving you've ruined!"

...which was one of Meg Ryan's lines from The Doors, and no, I have never seen The Doors (although I have seen Morrison's disappointingly un-vandalized grave), but I read that line in a magazine and yes, it was LOVE. Love, I tell you!

Now it's only a few more hours until I can eat...

ilgattopardo's M&S Meal of the Day

"Thai Laksa Noodle Soup with Chicken."

Hm. M&S's noodle soups are usually quite good, but I've never had this kind before. I am positively quivering with excitement. I bet you can feel the seismic disruption in distant places across the globe. If Los Angeles experiences an earthquake today, yep, that was me.

Last night I was thinking about teeth, and about one of the few pieces of dream analysis that I actually get.* This is the result.

Title: Teeth
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Through "Conversion"
Summary: Drabble. Rodney dreams of teeth.

( TeethCollapse )

*Yeah, Freud? When I'm dreaming about flying, I'm just dreaming about flying, okay? Thanks.

So last night I dreamt:

*Long, extended nightmare about spiders*

*Blissful couple of seconds in which I am following one Lt. Col. John Sheppard around a supermarket. Slowly, he turns and smiles at me...*

Person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: Hey, look who it is! It's trinityofone!

Another person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: You look really weird. Are you sick?

Yet another person I...you get the picture: Why are you wearing pajamas?

Person I used to know, had a humongous crush on, and was spurned by: Hey, that guy you were with just shrugged his shoulders and left.

CUT TO:

*Me, in the kitchen of our old house in Vermont, hitting a raw egg with a tennis racket*

WHAT? What does that even mean? Where does something like that come from? Is it a metaphor? I'm confused.

In other, positive, news, I quit my job. Wheeeee!

Music choice a joke no one will get, except maybe whiskeypants, but only if she's really paying attention. And on crack.

Ugh. Last night I had a really scary dream about the Wraith. (For you non-SGA people, the Wraith are big scary dudes that suck the life out of you with their hands.) Earth was invaded. I was on the run with my three best friends, two guys and a girl, none of whom I know in real life, although the girl was occasionally nenar. The dream was like a movie, moving from set piece to set piece. There was a scene where we hid in the locker room of a school gym, and another on a farm, and a long sequence on a train. (In the dream I made some sort of Strangers on a Train joke, but now I can't remember what it was.) The Wraith were proceeding very slowly and methodically, like now that they had found such a rich repository of food, they could take their time. The dream went on and on.

There was a lengthy bit where I rescued a little girl I had sort of adopted, and another bit where my three friends and I talked about the music we missed and were going to listen to when this was all over, and a bit where I made out with one of my male companions because I decided, in the heat of the moment, that I loved him. And then, miracle of miracles, I found out that my father was still alive. There was a tearful reunion scene, and then he and the little girl and I took refuge in this half-buried trailer. We were feeling halfway safe and secure when a strange woman burst in. She was clearly intoxicated or on drugs, and she started raving about how she was going to take our hiding place. Then she pulled out a gun and shot my father in the head. I screamed and rushed her, disarming her after she sent a few more rounds into the floor. I pinned her down and held my father's hand as he died. Then I emptied the rest of the clip into the woman's face.

I woke up.

So...besides the fact that my dream reads like My First Movie, what was up with that? I mean, it's very nice that I can dream the longest gen fic ever, but what's with that moralistic coda? Sure, the Wraith are evil, but the real monsters are inside us. Thank you, subconscious. I really needed to be told that, and so graphically.

I miss my BtVS days when it was just one long stream of sex dreams about Spike. Where by "one long stream of" I mean "occasional" and by "sex dreams" I mean "a series of increasingly ridiculous scenarios wherein we got interrupted before we could get to the good part" but...yeah. Still.

Had an exceedingly odd but for the most part wonderful day yesterday. Was phoned by my Godmother around noon and asked if I could be ready for lunch in fifteen minutes, so I abandoned whatever work I was supposedly doing on my paper and went to San Francisco with her. She insisted we stop at Forever 21 where she insisted on buying me a cute floral skirt (I wasn't complaining). Then we had to stop at Citizen Cupcake 'cause my Godmother hadn't been--sadly, darling_effect, the mondo lesbian pop art was gone. We got key lime cupcakes which were kind of like getting punched in the face by a pie of the same name, but in a good way. Mostly.

Finally we reached the Ferry Building, our supposed original destination, where we had some of the most delicious Japanese food I've ever had: cold rice noodle salad and shrimp croquettes and really yummy almond pudding for dessert. I'd casually mentioned wanting to read Nick Hornby's essay collection The Polysyllabic Spree, so my Godmother bought it for me. I went back to Berkeley feeling like a princess.

I changed into my new skirt so that I looked like a princess (well, in my head) and went to the Daily Cal's end-of-semester party at the Bear's Lair. There was a rap/hip-hop/MC contest going on at the same time--like something out of 8 Mile, only in broad daylight and without the talent. A guy whose moniker was The Hindu Harry Potter won, which, I think, says a lot about the quality of the event. It was hilarious, though.

As the rap contest was ending, Asya showed up, already a bit smashed, and asked me to come have a drink with her and this guy she'd met at a conference. I said okay and only when we were halfway there did she inform me that the guy was in his 60s (pooh) and Irish (yaaay!). So we went to Blake's and had a drink with this Irish Red Cross guy. Asya's actually only 19, but I let her share my margarita because I am evil and corrupt our nation's youth. I came down with a case of my usual social ineptitude and said a lot of dumb things, like a five-minute presentation on how I speak French poorly, but the Irish Red Cross guy recommended that I read Roddy Doyle and paid for the drinks, so it wasn't a total wash.

Then I went and had ice cream with Brad, which was weird in ways I don't want to talk about--BUT, let me tell you: Ben & Jerry's Triple Caramel Crunch is a gift from God.

When I finally got home I had to clean like mad because our landlord's coming over this morning (in an hour!) to show our apartment and I was suddenly embarrassed by the grime on the stove and all the papers lying about. Then I went to bed and had another weird dream starring taosterman.

He and I and two other girls were living in this sprawling white house that was trying to kill us. (Hmm...could this perhaps have been influenced by House of Leaves? You bet your ass.) A lot of bad things happened in the house, which I've since blocked out/forgotten, but taosterman and I managed to escape. taosterman was very upset because the "Serenity glasses" that lokionfire had given him--basically big glasses with thick, unpainted wooden frames--had broke in the skirmish; he kept holding the busted pieces together and whimpering. We ran up the road, worried that the house would somehow chase after us (?), and trying to flag down a car. Finally one stopped: a van driven by some of the Best Week Ever/I Love the... people. "Our house is trying to kill us!" I said.

"What kind of house?" one of them asked.

"A big white sprawling house."

"A big white sprawling house? Well of course it's trying to kill you!"

They gave us a ride as far as a ROSS Dress for Less where we were kicked out for not being Philippina.