This is coming out of a lot of places. My own Catholic upbringing. The fact Sally Ride would only publicly announce her 27 year relationship with another woman in her obituary. Tweets I’ve gotten damning me for my support of “perversion”. Comments on my heterosexual life-partner’s newest video about the ethical disconnect between the brilliance of the Ender’s Game series and the intolerance of Orson Scott Card’s anti-gay rights essays.

I am Antonella Inserra, and I’m a bisexual.

I’ve always been attracted to girls and boys. When I was young I would mastermind ways to convince boys to kiss me (some of those ways I’m a bit ashamed of now, but to be fair I was in the four to six year range and was conniving), and 1960’s Batgirl was the first girl that made me feel tingling in places that weren’t polite (damn those redheads! True or fake!)

But let me tell you what being told that “only heterosexual is right!” does to an impressionable young person, what it does to a young person to hear otherwise kind people wonder aloud why those gays would EVER make such a BIG DEAL about something that is only for straight people, anyway. I mean, don’t those gay people want to be “alternative”? If they wanted families and “normal” things, then why would they “choose” to be straight?

Hear me out.

I’m NOT gay (see the declaration above). But I was told a lot in high school BY MY FRIENDS that no, I HAD to be a lesbian; because I flirted with girls in a Christian high school, because my eyes lingered a bit too long, because my attraction to women with obvious.

I’d try to shake them off. I was just a feminist rocking the high code of chivalry towards all, and besides; look at this boy I’m TOTALLY CRUSHING ON. Can’t be a lesbian if I want the cock…right?

And I’d lie in bed at night and try to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. Was it the Media? Was I just identifying too much with male characters and unconsciously desiring women because they were the ultimate reward in the tales I loved the most?

Yes; I had these debates in the safety of my head. I was terrified. I was sure I was falling into a trap. After all, once Catholics can actually get out of their sexual shame long enough to TALK about sex with teenagers, there’s only one proper form of sexuality…right? Girls and boys who hung around LGBT-looking sorts were the confused ones, the pathetic ones. They were to be prayed for and hopefully they would realize they were just “acting out” in rebellion.

And I was confused, because I DID have EPIC crushes on boys while in high school. My best friends were boys. I felt I understood boys better than girls, I shared more INTERESTS with them, and sometimes I was attracted to them!

But…those ladies…

I had a boyfriend the last year of high school; fast forward to college and us breaking up, and the long dry spell of dating began. I truly believe I cut myself off from dating because I was afraid. I knew my attraction to both physical sexes, but was afraid of my own imaginary weakness. Was I only dating a man because my family life would be easier if I could just pass as straight? If I were with a girl, would I have the courage to stand up to my parents and say “so, this is my life and my love”?

I made so many friends in college; but always lurking in my heart was the knowledge I was avoiding the risk of a deeper relationship of these fears I wasn’t ready to face. Only in the last four years I would say have I been brave enough to try.

The majority have been women; wonderful, wonderful, smart, geeky, beautiful women. I also suffered an unholy run around from a man (who failed to mention HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND. WTF????), and am currently dating a marvelous Navy Boy.

And still, the old treachery in my heart whispers I’m only dating him because I’m a coward.

Look. If two heterosexual atheists walk into a courthouse, get a MARRIAGE license and go along their merry way no one blinks twice. But if you’re in a homosexual relationship…the hoops to jump! The legal contingencies you can’t take for granted because the laws differ state by state. Paperwork that changes if you cross state lines, lines that have to be signed to ensure your rights, your partner’s rights, your CHILDREN’S rights are safe from the “states' rights”.

In a way, I’m lucky. If I happen to fall in love with a man (and right now I have and it sucks because he’s underway and I miss him to bits) I can keep my mouth closed and pass as straight. That is a privilege I have as a bisexual.

But if tomorrow, we broke up and the love of my life walked in front of me but was a She—

This isn’t a choice. Believe me. I could CHOOSE to pursue men and only men. I could CHOOSE to be celibate and be single the rest of my life, and shrug it off as “Oh, I never found the one/I was never interested in a relationship/I’m just a confirmed old bachelor and likely to remain so”.

I CANNOT CHOOSE WHO I LOVE. I cannot wake up in the morning and be something I’m not. I have three choices; hide what I am, be something I’m not, or, be what I am. The same applies to my lesbian friends, my gay friends, my bisexual friends, my transgendered friends; questioning, intersex, asexual or allied.

That is the problem. When you talk of your biblical marriage being the one true definition of marriage (and then why isn’t polygamy allowed anymore, or slave concubines?) all I hear is “separate but equal”. The life I build with a man should be seen as no different from the woman with whom I might do the same.

I am standing with my foot on either side of a very deep chasm of hate and intolerance; sometimes it’s ignorant (but “polite”) befuddlement, sometimes it’s violent bigotry. But I can’t ignore the position I’m in anymore—I can only either stand, or fall.

I’ve gotten a few comments about how a defense of gay rights is being intolerant towards religious beliefs. This government of ours is NOT a religious one. The separation of church and state was to protect the state from the church, and vice versa. You have a right to believe what you do (though it pains me), but that does NOT mean you can use your beliefs to oppress others on a state or federal level.

Because, you know. It happened before in this country, this whole using the bible to justify evil. It was called slavery.

Figure out what side of history you want to be on.

P.S. I also want to add that I wrote this as a stand against a lot of hate I read the last two weeks in various comment streams for NChick stuff. This is me letting EVERYONE ELSE OUT THERE who identifies as LGBTQIA and who are Allies AND who "hate the sin love the sinner" while claiming everything's great and equal and what are we complaining about gaaawd we're such drama queen victims in our war against religion that I HAVE been there, I AM there, and I've got YOUR back (except for the haters. You. Haters. To the left.) I am NOT ashamed of how I am and who I love, but I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. If people will continue to make OUR rights their priority, then I WILL say NO.

Just saying.
So, I sent an Olympics Opening Ceremony snark!report to my boyfriend who is currently in a submarine and who doesn't get to see this shit, and thought I'd share my report with the class.

BEHOLD! The Nella 'In Case You Missed It )
Once upon a time, back when I was a wee Nella wearing the proud pleated plaid of the Catholic school set, I had a knack for getting into trouble. Not for pranks, mind you, though there was that one time I thought I was clever and prank called a boy to make a girl laugh and got in trouble for it*. Nor would I get into trouble because I was disruptive in class, even though I was a class clown and sometimes my need to “make them laugh”--as the song wisely advocates—was too strong a call to deny.

No, I would get into trouble because I would read during class.

It wasn’t even that I did it in an act of rebellion against the parochial school system. It was a sincere compulsion, a nervous tic of a bored mind. I would sit there as the teacher droned on and on about things I either didn’t care about (spelling and math) or things I’d already read a few chapters ahead of in my boredom (history and science) and—

You see, there was always something more INTERESTING to read only an arm’s length away. Oh, I could blame that I usually had one in my book bag to begin with. I could blame the fact that some well-intentioned but fool-minded teacher or parent had stocked each classroom in our small Catholic school with a few shelves of age-appropriate odds-and-ends. Oh, I could blame the fact that the coat closets were in the back and if a girl was first in the morning line-up she could have a few precious seconds in the chaos created by thirty-five other children to squirrel one those books away to her desk before the teacher could get the lot of them settled in their seats. I could blame the sloth’s crawl of my classes, which were only up to the Explorers when I had already read ahead to the American Revolution**. I could blame Math which boggled me or Religion which confused me or Spelling which—

Let us NOT speak about SPELLING.

I remember the struggle on my teachers’ faces when they would have to explain to my parents what the trouble was. “Antonella is a very good student,” was the usual opener, “but we’ve been having a LITTLE issue with her paying attention. She reads in class--”

And here they would falter; on their faces, the age old battle between the good teacher wanting to encourage a young mind and the school’s need to enforce an almost navy-like discipline within the underaged ranks RAGED on.

And that’s a wonderful thing,” they would assure me in haste, “but there’s a Time and a Place and class isn’t either.”

And that should have been that. I should have learned my lesson, resolved myself from further infractions, and turned a blind eye from the bookcase in the back of the room.


A friend of mine still gives me grief for the fact that, when we were small and playing together, she would hate it when I came across a book; I would gravitate towards the book, pick it up, and start reading…FORGETTING SHE WAS OVER AND WE HAD BEEN PLAYING. Now, I don’t remember it happening QUITE like that, but she is very insistent on this fact, and I trust her memories in this matter over my own absentminded ‘memberances.

Like I said, it was a compulsion, a nervous tic, an unconscious retreat to more interesting worlds. I’d like to think that at 27 I might actually have a foot more firmly planted in reality, but I dare not make any promises lest I tell only lies. Even now, I have a copy of Two Years Before The Mast by my elbow at work, and sometimes--when all my paperwork is done and things have trickled to stagnation--my brain wanders over to my right elbow and…

After all, it can’t be MY fault that the words on the page and the musings of my mind are a thousand times more interesting than everything else? And there’s still so much more to LEARN--

Time and a Place, Nella. Time and a Place.


*As I so rightly deserved to, because I was a foolish little ass that needed to learn that THINKING before DOING is usually a good idea. Hrumph.

**I had to wait until 5th grade for them to mention Jamestown. FIFTH! GRADE! You find out fast enough in school that if you want to actually learn anything properly you had better to do it yourself. Double Hrumph.***

***I didn’t get a Hrumph out of that guy.****

****Give the Governor a Hrumph.+


++Watch your ass.
agentanachronism: (Pull the Other)
( Apr. 12th, 2012 05:35 pm)

xkcd, Speaker of Truth

So, there’s this book called 50 Shades of Grey. Last night Lindsay explained to me what it was and how huge it’s grown. Intrigued, but short on time to read it for the anthropological exercise or even for the lulz, I took my research-fu to the Google beast.

I get it. It’s reconstituted Twilight fanfiction, cleaned up so it can be published as a story of its own. We’ve seen this happen before (Cassandra Clare, my old HP fandom folks?). It’s a thing. This dame did it. She’s making oodles of money and she’s published and I’m not, so she’s already ahead of the game.
I’m not really interested in that side of the debate. No, the thing that’s gotten my dander up is that the majority of articles they aren't lambasting the poor writing, or the cringe-worthy depiction of a BDSM relationship, but they are dismissing it on the merits of who is buying it; “Mommy Porn” they call it with cool condescension.

I can sneer at something because it sucks. Because the writing is bads. Because the characters are flat. But sneering at something because it's porn that mommies are reading?


Now this isn’t where I confess to you, gentle reader, what gets me off; but when it comes to “porn”--literary or visual--whatever doesn’t hurt or coerce someone into something they don’t want to do is A-OK in my book. If a book about (what sounds to be a rather emotionally unsafe) BDSM heterosexual relationship floats your boat, four for Glenn Coco, you go, Glenn Coco. You like reading hot and heavy NC-17 fanfiction about your favorite characters? Rock that Kink Meme until the break of day! Imagining sexy times with another being (human or otherwise) gets you bothered in the good way? Awesome-sauce.

Yea, I’ve been told by a good authority that 50 Shades of Gray is 50 types of crap, and I’m sure if I read it I’d have some Words about the story’s merits and the like. But can we please get over this thing we do where we insult a work simply by insulting the people that seem to enjoy it, guilty pleasure or not?

Guess what. People like sex. Women like porn, mommies included.

I mean, every once in a while I’ll reread Naomi Novak’s pre-Temeraire fanfiction because holy cow, her Maturin/Aubrey stuff makes me VERY happy.

That's right. I said it. I read Age-of-Sail slash.

Come at me, bro.

POST SCRIPT: So in my curiosity I looked up Novak’s fanfiction again, and she has since written Alexander Hamilton/George Washington slashfic for Yuletide Treasure. EVEN THOUGH we ALL know that Hamilton and Laurens were the true OTP of the Washingtonian Trifecta of Orphaned Boys What Fought for American Independence!--

I’m going to stop there.
Gather around, my lovelies. It's TMI-time.

On formspring I'm mostly asked questions that are silly affairs that pass the time.

Sometimes, however, I get asked...QUESTIONS.

I am 17 and recently found out my birth mom lives in California while I live in Georgia. I was upset when I found out my mom moved that far when I was 12. I have never talked to her and I wonder if I should. Any advice? Do you know your birth parents?

Oh...BOY. Kinda loaded. Where to begin? Or, more importantly, where to END?

This was my response. I hope I did it justice, for really it is the painfully short of a 26-Year Long:

"That is a very difficult question, and one I've never had to face myself. I've never met my own biological "parents", and only know my birth mother's name--I doubt I will ever know more than that. I also don't know what your circumstances are--I was born and handed over to my parents as an infant, and I was raised knowing I was adopted and cherished BECAUSE "when God closes the door, He opens the back window" (as my parents would say, as they couldn't have children of their own). They are the only "parents" in my life. Sure I was BORN of a Jones (AND YES when I went into archaeology you bet your ass I milked that joke for all it was worth), but I am an INSERRA.

Even if my ever met my birth "mother" she would not be MY MOTHER, but my...sire, I suppose. I have nothing but curiosity towards her, especially as I've been told I was her second child and that she was very young when I was born and out there somewhere I have an older half-brother who was adopted as well. Supposedly she was smart and had brown hair and blue eyes and was on the plump side. YES I want to know what she looks like, want to know if we have anything in common.

I mean, Good God--what if she's a GEEK???

But there is no ANGER, no RESENTMENT. I am uncomfortable with assigning what she might have been thinking or feeling 26 years ago, but I would like to believe that she wanted what was best for me BECAUSE she gave me away; and if that was her intention or hope, she succeeded. Oh, sure, I like to joke about where I've been messed up and what my "issues" are but you know what? I am so damn lucky to have ended up with the family I did and where I am that sometimes I can't even breathe at the thought.

But like I said, I don't know your own personal circumstances. Who raised you? Grandparents? Family? A family of nurturing and not of blood? Did she raise you but then give you up? Do you remember that?

There are many websites out there by and for adoptees that explore these feelings and questions, and I strongly recommend you google them and explore them before you act. But in the end it is a matter of what your heart wants. I think, if given the opportunity, I WOULD want to meet Laura Jean Jones. I am a curious bastard and that hasn't killed me yet. As a child I imagine myself become the matriarch of a NEW line of Inserras that would generate from ME and only ME, thumbing my nose to all those who could trace their families so far back!--

But now, I would like to know whom I came from.

I don't fantasize that it'll be peaches and rainbows, but it doesn't change who I AM. I think it WOULD add to me though, another layer to the person I've become.

All I can say is wait until the resentment and anger has past. Your birth parent had her own story. And you have yours, that is ALL yours. Revel in that.

I know I do. :) "
A little birdie in a tree tells me that in the TLC show “Geek Love” there is someone suspiciously Nella-like in the background of one of the NY Comic Con speed dating sessions. This person is suspiciously Nella-like because it WAS me.

I’m one of the more chronically single of my friend-set. My problem is that as long as I can drag someone out for drinks and shenanigans, I don’t feel LONELY. I don’t sit at home crying and eating ice cream over bachelorhood*. I don’t feel like the “FOREVER ALONE” troll face. I suspect when my biological clock finally does go off, it’ll rain some serious Blitzkrieg on my tuches but I’ve traditionally been…meh. I don’t like dating for the sake of having a date. I DO tend to fall in love with friends after months of getting to know them better (it’s terrible, I DON’T recommend it) but it doesn’t happen OFTEN. I am one of those unfortunates that usually has to grow accustomed to a face; I tend to fall first for a personality, and then features grow on me.**

But of my circle, I'm the Single One. So while running around NY Comic Con we kept seeing signs about Geek Speed Dating, and I was intrigued. After all, I’m single. Why not? If anything, I could blog about it afterwards.

Geek Speed Dating is run by Ryan Glitch, who organizes various speed dating events. He was a crass, crude sweetie dressed in Jedi robes, and was there to make sure everyone was too busy laughing to get nervous. Overall the environment was fun, exciting and felt safe (especially as the event bouncer was The Goddamn Batman****) but--

It was all too FAST. With a late start and only a few minutes with each person, I felt more like I was back in high school taking the SATs than looking for love. I understand the gist is to run with that first impression and not get so hung up mentally, to get that first date so you can actually get to know the person but I felt nothing but confusion. I’m not even sure I thought of these guys as humans (Sorry!). It felt more like an audition or interview than two people having a conversation.

I put my name down on a few of the guy’s sheets, but was actually a little relived when nobody came a callin’, so to speak.

I recommend trying it out, even if just once. If the very idea makes you nervous, trust me on this: Geek Speed Dating won't kill you, it won't even hurt. You can find more information at their facebook page (

But as for myself, give me a chill bar and a friend of a friend I’ve never met before. Give me the person that after a couple hours and a few beers has me quoting Casablanca. Give me the start of a beautiful friendship. Nothing might come of it (I AM the Single One, after all), but at least it’ll make me happy.

Now on that note, anybody doing anything Thursday? I know a bar in Brooklyn with a TARDIS for the bathroom that is hosting a moustache-themed burlesque show and I am just DYING to go. 

* I just sit at home and eat ice cream over Netflix.
**…Remind me to NEVER tell this one friend of mine that I uber-crushed on that when we first met I thought he looked like a total DOOFUS until we actually had a conversation that wasn’t work related***.
***The man looks like a total doofus in pictures though; I SWEAR TO GOD they do NOT do him any lick of justice.
****No really. He was dressed in a Batman suit. It was awesome
...Or, my favorite moment at MAGFest 2012.

I think I used up every last bit of luck I had for 2012 in one glorious fell swoop. I probably should have been a little more stingy with it, saved it up for a rainy day, but I blew it all at MAGfest...


“…The DEUCE?” you say.

Allow me to explain… )

Or, I’m sorry, world, for being ignorant (and American).

My parents weren’t readers, so anything I read as a kid it was because I would be dropped off at the library and/or bookstore. There wasn’t anyone in my life to shove important, life changing stories into my hands. Those I had to find on my own, and very often I came to them later in life because I was very much a book-by-its-cover sort of gal. Lord of the Rings is the most tragic example in my life; I didn’t read those until a friend bought the trilogy for me as a pre-Christmas-Fellowship-is-being-released-in-18-days-you-can’t-see-it-until-you-read-it-bitch present.

Sad, but true.

So, I was AWARE of Tintin, but only in a vague “oh, it’s a European comic thingie, right?” I had no one that I was aware of to shove the comics in my hand with the firm assurance that I would fall in love. It just never came up in conversation!

And much like when I FINALLY sat down and watched Doctor Who, I am a changed Nella.

“The Adventures of Tintin” is the perfect example of a gateway movie. I’ve seen it twice, will probably see it a third time, and upon discovering Elisa has EVERY TINTIN COMIC, I can’t read them fast enough. I get it. I get why everyone is in love with Tintin, that bullheaded, fool heartedly courageous, fact-finding, Macguffin-chasing ginger. And this is VERY much a Macguffin chasing movie, which I’m sure will piss off some people. But I understand why you all love these characters; Tintin and Snowy and Haddock and the rest. I UNDERSTAND, BECAUSE I LOVE THEM TOO NOW. Especially Haddock. OH HADDOCK, YOU GREAT BIG BESOTTED WOOBIE.

Some people have complained about the motion-capture, which I have found to be the least Uncanny Valley movie I’ve seen yet—at times I didn’t even REMEMBER it was, oh hey, motion capture. THEY GOT THE EYES RIGHT. THERE WAS SOUL IS THOSE DAMN EYES.

This was a movie that felt like a labor of love, a work of geekery, an effort by fans for fans. I know there are Tintin purists that are upset by some of the changes…but I remember how much we all grumbled about the changes in the Lord of the Rings movies, so I let that pass. I FELL IN LOVE BECAUSE OF THIS MOVIE.

And in the end, that’s all that matters to me. :)
And so, New York Comic Con came…and went.

I was able to roam NYCC Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Due to money constraints I didn’t buy anything. Due to time restraints and crowding I barely did any of the panels I was interested in (CUUUURSE YOU IGN THEATER HOG!). And due to my own ineptitude and general meh-ness, I didn’t get any free swag.

I did however, hang out with my friends over at the Geek Treats booth (feeding all your geeky sweet tooth needs!) where I was accosted by my friend, @HipsterDalek:

Saved a Daphne, who was being accosted by THREE Jokers. (…no. No REALLY. There’s video of it SOMEWHERE):

Went to the Channel Awesome Post-Con party hosted (for no cover charge! How generous!) by the Tenth Rail bar on 10th ave and 33rd street. Met a ton of folks, hung up with my co-producers, sang mightily, drank mightily-er, and ran into a Dark Nella (Ruh Roh!):

Surreal is the best way to describe it; you can swear real life is always this geeky, this intense, this strange and yet awesome; it’s the day jobs and the commuting, the chores and responsibilities that aren’t the real things, at least, not the things that matter. For a long weekend you find yourself among your own, talking, laughing, debating and carousing. Sleep becomes for the weak, and the weariness of walking and standing and weaving through the thronging geek herd doesn't hit you ‘til your head hits the pillow…if it is lucky enough to do so. And then Monday rolls around, everyone leaves for home and real life in all its banality returns with vengeance. Already I miss the TGWTGers who visited my fair city--Nash, JesuOkatu, Paw, Oancitizen, ShadowTodd—and can’t wait until the next time we can hang out once more.

But enough of the sap. Let’s get to the bitching!

bitch bitch bitch… )

In happier news, because I was unable to get to the Walking Dead panel or the Avengers panels, I was able to sit in on a much smaller panel, where one of my write-spirations talked about writing strong female protagonists.

TAMORA PIERCE. She opens her mouth and pure feisty awesome-sauce comes out. I’d never gotten to see her before, and you could hear the twinkle in her eye with every dry-witted comment she made. Little wonder I fell so in love with her writing in middle school.

So yes, IGN panel hogs. Have your Avengers special footage. I’m sure it was orgasmic. I got to sit in the presence of a personal writing-hero of mine instead, someone who gave me the kind of characters I wanted to become more like in strength, dignity, and humor.

And I don’t think I’d give that up for all the seats in IGN.
Despite this weekend’s best endeavors, this week was NOT preemptively ruined. In fact, this may go down as one of the best ‘Monday-Friday’s I’ve had in a good long while!*

Take THAT, weekend workplace melt-down/familia hell/rained-out meteor shower! HA!

Last night I got the rare case of Mid-Week Awesomeness by going to the My Drunk Kitchen party hosted at Housing Works Book Store and Café (which is an amazing little book store with a great cause to boot so if you can, totally check it out!)

In case you’ve been living under a rock** and haven’t had a friend throw this youtube series at you with the threat that if you fail to watch it your friendship is DEAD***, My Drunk Kitchen is an entirely uproarious web-series created by the adorably incomparable Hannah Harto.

Now, I tend to suffer pretty bad second-hand drunk!embarrassment; I think the only reason I enjoy the “Drunk History” series so much is because I adore the “historical reenactments" which make listening to the besotted narrator bearable. Lindsay once filmed me retelling The Christmas Story (the Jesus one, not the “Shoot your eye out, kid” one) while I was totally blitzed, and I point-blank refused to let her post it online. She assured me that with editing and things it would be hilarious, but there’s a part of me that still doesn’t believe her.

My Drunk Kitchen has the double-edge fantastic of 1) being brilliantly edited by someone who is 2) brilliantly hilarious and absolutely adorable while wasted. I suspect Hannah Harto is both of these things in the cold light of sobriety as well. She was both of those things last night during her Q&A, but she WAS drinking mimosas.

Hannah answered all manner of questions about how this nonsense all got started, the dangers of getting labeled “that drunk chick”, where she’s going from here, and shared her best creeper story. We then watched the next My Drunk Kitchen episode, which is still in rough cut and (SPOILERS!) about latkes. It is also (SPOILERS!) funny as hell.

After the Q&A there was picture-taking/hand-shaking/accolades-heaping time. One day I’ll find an acceptable way of saying “hey, I work on making internet videos too! We should network! Talk shop when there aren’t 300 people wanting to meet you standing behind me!”

…Oh wait, that WAS the acceptable way, wasn’t it? GAH!

…Well, I still have that picture. That is, I will have it once I hunt down that friend of a friend who actually brought their camera.


*Knockin’ on wood as I type that.
**Like you do.
***Like I do.
This is a decidedly unfunny post, but I have something I need to say. I’m leaving names out, because in the end of the day, it’s not about whom it happened to but that it happen.

A ex-coworker of mine died this weekend. She was in her 30s. I didn’t know her very well. It wasn’t like we were friends. She used to drive me up the wall because she was one of those sweet people who APOLOGIZED. FOR. EVERYTHING. It’s a habit I’m trying to break myself, and it puts my teeth on edge whenever I come across someone even more apologetic than I. She also gained my utter respect, however, by being the only person to hand in a one-day notice and then explain why this was a terrible work environment, saying everything pretty much everyone else thinking, but SHE—this quiet, sweet, hardworking woman--was the only one with the balls to say it out loud to the CEO’s face. She was a woman who worked long, thankless hours, and who would light up at the mere mention of her husband or 3 year old son. In the end she quit because she wanted to have a life with them, and not with some organization that worked her from 9am to 9pm.

I am angry. She died a quiet, stupid death; a combination of Ambien, alcohol and a midnight dip in a pool while everyone else slept. Suicide was ruled out.

A few people have already wondered about that. ‘Why would she mix the two, and then go for a swim?’ ‘What was she thinking?’ ‘Why would she DO that?’ It comes with a sad shake of the head, but what’s really being asked is ‘how could she be so STUPID?’

If you’re asking that, then you’ve been lucky enough to never do something “so stupid”. Or, maybe you have, and you got away with it without harm so you didn’t THINK it was stupid. Maybe you laughed it off and joked about what a rock star you were. Maybe you thought nothing of it and got over it, because nothing happened.

She was probably just trying to relax. She was probably just trying to get One Good Night’s Sleep, that ever elusive taunting foe. She was probably looking for a quiet moment by herself.

I write this as someone who drinks too damn much (though, not as much as I once did; PROGRESS!). Just…be careful. Just because it’s sold in a store, just because a doctor hands it out, just because people say it’s safe, just because it’s never caused you any issue before, just because you can kick them back and hardly feel a thing doesn’t make it any less a drug.

Take care of yourself. You’re only human. You’re only mortal. And there are always people left behind wondering: “Why?”
With similar clockwork timing, pain and misery as a woman's menstrual cycle, Board Meeting Day is nearly upon us at my work place.

I don't know how many of you are blessed enough to work in a place that has a Board of Directors. As I work at a Non-Profit that is trying to profit in the Arts and Programming World, I do. What it means is that a group of people with more money than I shall ever see in this lifetime descend en masse upon my workplace and my coworkers, and try to make sure we aren't fucking up and losing money like some 19th century railroad barons smoking cigars made of $100 bills.

I am naturally being facetious. Board of Directors are actually wonderful things to have, which is why they are depicted so highly in such movies as Iron Man, Batman Begins and—

Ok. NOW I'm just being sarcastic.

But they ARE necessary, and they need to be kept in the Know. This is very important to being a proper Board Member and is achieved through Board Meetings. And so, we--the lowly plebeians of my work place--must prepare for their arrival. The conference room must be set. The projector must be working. The water cups must be the proper 10oz hard plastic tumblers from the store down the street. And the board books explaining what will be discussed must be prepared.

Various coworkers of mine have been doing just that this week—composing, printing, binding and mailing these Tomes of Knowledge to the various Members of the Board. There are only 40 books, and yet the undertaking to construct them is…Intense.

I watch my coworkers struggle to get them approved, the pain and misery etched on their faces. I see them standing at the printer, the hole puncher, the comb binder, the life draining from their limbs. They print them, and reprint them, and print them some more, until the very planet cries out in impotent rage against the shameless waste of paper and toner.

And then I sit at my desk and thank every last Supreme and Demi-Supreme Being that might be found in our Infinite Universe that it's Them, and not Me.

It was June the 14th in the Year of Our Lord 2011... )
I have a confession to make.

I am…a DC.

Now, I’m not saying I hate Marvel, oh hell no! It’s just that if I were to pick up a comic, it’ll be, say, Justice League rather than the Avengers. I grew up with Spiderman and X-Men and the like, but my loyalties keep wandering back to DC.

That being said, I will NEVER say no to a new superhero movie—a lesson I learned the hard way thanks to that Seth Rogan-driven, piece of shit Green Hornet.

*lip wibble*

I am NOT as familiar with the mythos behind the Marvel heroes that make up the Avengers. Honestly, I’m sort of glad I don’t, because I’ve been coming to these pre-Avengers movies able to enjoy them as the ignorant wo-manchild I am, getting to watch them as new, interconnected building blocks of AWESOME. Ever since Iron Man I’ve been ready for the pay off. I want to see how this all comes together.

--although the whole time I’ve been wondering where this Norse-ish God-like dude fits in.

Yes, yes, yes. I admit it. I don’t know Marvel’s Thor from Adam. As I kid I’d look at the Thor covers and think that seemed all a little too ridiculous for my tastes*. There. Scorn me. Go ahead. I’ll wait for you to finish.

So I went into a viewing of Thor on Saturday with 3 purposes in mind:
1) To get up to speed on Thor’s place in this Avenger’s movie-canon
2) To see some Pretty a.k.a. Chris Hemsworth a.k.a. Papa!Kirk.**
3) To see what would hopefully be a good movie.

3 out of 3, BOO YEA!

I didn’t think I’d buy it as hard as I did. Asgard. Bought it. Frost Giants. Bought it. 9 Realms, Rainbow Bridges made of Science-Magic, Thor the Idiot-but-Will-Learn-His-Lesson Muscle, Loki the Embodiment-of-Chaos-and-Always-Thinking-Everyone’s-as-Duplicitious-as-he-is-and-it-Drives-Him-Bad, S.H.I.E.L.D. just ALWAYS having to DEAL with this CRAZY ASS BULLSHIT--


I’m going to stop there. Suffice to say it isn’t BETTER than Iron Man, but it’s a solid origins/journey story that makes characters that looked as if they stepped out of a damn DnD campaign FEEL like they belong as well to a world that has Stark Industries and a Big Green Guy who just has problems with his feelings and a Dude in red white and blue who fought for Truth and Justice—

And I loved every minute of it.

Come to me, Oh Captain America. Come, oh Avengers. Let’s DO this.

Also, stay for the end credits. Cause hell yea. HELL. YEA.

*I know. Eesh, younger self, they’re frickin’ COMIC BOOKS. *eye roll*
**What? I never claimed I wasn't shallow.

I threw this post together while on my lunch break. It was really just a jaunty, silly little exercise. I spent the rest of my day in relative news-silence, and posted this only to discover that the wonderful Elisabeth Sladen passed away today.

So I'll keep the post as is otherwise, but I did want to pay my respects to our Sarah Jane Smith first. It was a pleasure watching you on screen, madam.


Some day I will understand how it is I can be so lucky in fannish things, and have not a bit of luck in others. But tonight at the Bell House is ANOTHER 2-part premiere of Doctor Who season 6, and I’m GOING. My 4th Doctor Scarf is in my bag, and in my impatience for 7 pm to arrive due to the fact I lack a functioning TARDIS, I’ve started reminiscing about when I was knitting my Doctor scarf in the first place.

But since I’m bored, and too bored to write a proper post recollecting my geekish knitting experience, I’ve put down in ballad form!

…very BAD ballad form. I never said I was any GOOD at poetry.

Artistic liberty artistically had its merry way with the Facts, M’am.

I present to you…

The Ballad of the Scarf )
I have often been asked what I do for a living when I am not fulfilling my internet roles of professional BFF, amateur Fangirl, Quasi-Demonic Intergalactic Force of Evil, or Mad Scientist*. It has been hypothesized that someone as ineffably cool as I** must have an equally ineffably cool job, and once upon a time I DID have a cool job…at least, one that sounded cool at cocktail parties***.

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Alas, that job was lost to the winds of unemployment and the keen desire to escape the ivory tower of Academia and acquire health insurance. Temping was taken up, and in time, a salaried position followed, which is where I find myself now.

For I am…an Office Manager.

It IS as glamorous as it sounds, I assure you.

I distinctly recall being asked “so, where do you see yourself in 5 years’ time?” during my interview and wish I could recall how I--in an act of desperate bullshit--made “Absolutely NOT still working here” sound like a wonderful, positive and above all, HIREABLE thing.

Six months after that I was asked to write down what my job description was, and—after I stopped laughing long enough to type again—fought the temptation to write “Jack-Of-All” and leave it at that.

Because that’s really what I am: the office Jack-of-All. If I can’t do it, I find the person who can. Your lights won’t turn on? No one flips a breaker with the same je ne sais quoi. You need signage made and it has to be on foam board? Hang me my utility knife, and stand back! Need to find some sort of item for the building and you needed it yesterday and you’re not really sure what it’s called? My Google-Fu is at your command. The phone lines need to be connected? Give me patch cable long enough and a place to stand and it shall be so! The server is acting up? Don’t worry, I’ve got the IT Support’s number MEMORIZED****. Your computer has been possessed by a hellspawned demon bent on consuming everything you’ve been slaving over for the last 6 hours and you haven’t been pressing Ctrl+S?

… CTRL+S, how many TIMES do I have to tell you?! ARGH!

It’s a job. It has its ups and downs, although things have been feeling a bit more on the down side as my former Boss!Lady--who was quite possibly the most wonderful person to drink copious amounts of alcohol with to work with—left for greener pastures. Whenever I start thinking I don’t like it here, I simply recall what it was like to be unemployed, which is a wonderful trick for putting everything in perspective and making me feel loads better.

…True, my Sister-In-Geekery down the hall and I sometimes have to fight over who gets to jump out of the window first when Madame President’s blackberry or computer starts acting up. Dealing with Madame President’s IT woes is just Cruel and Unusual punishment, after all.

Of course, there’s the part of me that has my eye on that 5-Year plan that involves making enough money off of my Not-So-Secret Internet Life so that I can quit this place and focus my attentions of creative and (HOPEFULLY!) lucrative endeavors—

But then again…there is the matter of that Health Insurance…

*She’s Furious, in fact.
**Reports of my ineffable coolness have been greatly exaggerated.
***I don’t think I have ever ACTUALLY been to a cocktail party. I’m a beer dame, myself.
****My own IT know-how boils down to clicking on things until I get fed up and call the IT guy. It has truly served me well on many an occasion.
agentanachronism: (The girl who would be queen)
( Apr. 8th, 2011 04:38 pm)
It’s been a long time, mein leiblings. Missed me?

Regardless of how much better suited Twitter and Facebook updating is to my criminally short attention span, the time has come (the walrus said) to attempt this..."blogging"...once more. Maybe it stems from a foolish desire to force myself to be more productive. Maybe it grows from a foolish idea that blogging might actually help me organize myself better. Maybe—

Oh, sod it. I just want to prove I can be as cleverly entertaining as I think I am.

So, stay tuned!

ADDENDUM: I am absolutely terrible when it comes to thinking of things I could write about. SO! Consider this entry an open invitation to ask questions/propose topics etc etc etc. Come come, drop something in the bucket and maybe I'll spin gold from it!

...Well, in the very least, I'll brush up on my Bullshit. ^_^
I'm in the neck stretch of nanowrimo (and pitifully, PITIFULLY behind on my word count), and ALSO do have a long list of things I wish to post here first; but a certain JeanJacket7 and I just had a bit of a Jeeves and Wooster AU squee fest, and I just HAD to share this, because something things were just MEANT to be together:

Below for a brief Jeeves and Wooster/Star Trek Cross over. You have been warned, and if this doesn't make you giggle, then what is WRONG with you?! )
Originally posted at That Guy With the Glasses. Archived here because they mucked about with their blog format and I lost all my shiny comments :(

Come with me, if you can, on a journey of exploration. Imagine, if you will…

Outside of your parents' house, torrents, DVDs and Hulu, you have gone without cable TV since college graduation; and even then, you were a casual viewer at best. You've managed to stay informed of the most fantastic of pop-culture influences; but on the whole, cable TV has become a strange beast, the Land Beyond Where There Be Dragons.

Now imagine you move into a new abode. You arrange affairs accordingly with a service provider, and--having been Tried and Found Worthy—the Day of Installation arrives.

No longer do you have only Internet, oh no!—now, there is Cable, and you have a TV with which to utilize such wonders.

But times have changed, my innocent friend, and the channels you once loved are not quite what you remember. Yes, you've been through such transformation before; like the time in high school you woke up to realize that you couldn't recall the last time MTV had played an actual music video.

Oh yes, you may have sighed for what had been but you moved on—MTV had been going down the tubes since Daria got a boyfriend, anyway.

But now—you turn on your TV, and find that the channels you once loved are now like terrifying clowns wearing the lifeless faces of the people you loved.

You find the History Channel waging a never ending battle between shows about Hitler and shows about Nostradamus. The Sci Fi Channel is now the SyFy Channel, proving that an excess of 'y's never makes ANYTHING better.

Luckily, The Discovery Channel is still entertaining; though there's a little less science and a lot more explosions that would make Michael Bay weep in ecstasy.

But TLC—


Oh, TLC.

In a way, TLC, I understand your tragic decline. You were always the rebound girlfriend when there was nothing interesting on The Discovery Channel. Poor ratings in the 90s necessitated a new line of attack. You'd been around since the 70s, after all--a make-over was needed. And oh, were you made over.

First it was the Home Improvement shows. And they were good. Many a project did I foolishly begin thanks to your easy confidence that I too could Do It Myself. Then came the Self Improvement shows. Dress right! Wear make up! Outward appearance is key to confidence!

--here is where we began parting ways. I no longer had cable, and you were just too…INTO yourself. Oh, there was a show or two I'd watch, but I felt like I didn't know you anymore.

Three years later. It's been a long time, TLC. We've both grown a lot. I went the way of Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs. You focused on family. BIG families. So I should have seen this show coming. After all, it so obscenely combines your love of real life medical dramas with your love of babies.

I am referring, of course, to I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, the show that makes the Feminine Mystique a Cthulhian Nightmare.

You have NO idea...So I'll tell you! :D  )

Dear Internet;

I'm the internet sidekick of my real life BF. Huzzah! It's probably way more fun than it should be. My parents certainly can't understand why I'm so keen about it, but to paraphrase the immortal words of Will Smith—have parents EVER understood their offspring?

However—there's one aspect people are still having a little problem with. I've been ignoring it up til now because, eh, haters gonna hate, but a recent comment proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

...except it was more of a beleaguered 'Oh, fuck me, this shit still? That is IT" sort of breaking, but you get the drift.

I've already left a version of this response in the BFF video comment section, but decided to post a slighter longer and open declaration here for anyone else this may apply too, using the original comment not as a "HRUH HRUH COMMENT" (which is not my intention), but as a bullet list for organizing my thoughts in this matter. And while I should just ignore it (because, you know, haters gonna hate and all; and as fandomwank has proven no good will probably come of responding) I can't. I can ignore a plethora of barbs and shots taken at myself, but when someone starts talking shit about my friends because of something I'VE done, I get twitchy. If a joke sucks balls, I can remember that for the next time. If my acting is shit—well, I'm trying, damnit, but I'm an anthropologist, NOT an actress! But if people go around calling my friend a bitch because of shit I've written in the name of satire—then w'oh. W'oh. Sit around the campfire my pretties cause we're going to hash this out.

So I'm going to lay it out here and now in the hopes ya'll will either understand the workings of the Lindsay/Nella hive mind, or you'll cut ties with the both of us—a regrettable action, but the best course if we are indeed so distasteful.

The sketches in question are the Make-Over Fairy subplot of the Grease review, and the Thanks for the Feedback which addressing concerns about my emotional wellbeing as BFF Nella I am particularly Butt-Monkey-esque in these two.

The comment in question: )

I'm not going to take this monster of a comment full-on because 1) I'm writing this at work on my lunch break *peers over shoulder nervously regardless* 2) I'm not even ANGRY, I'm just….sigh. and 3) I never wrote a thesis in college and I have no intention of writing one now.

SO! The fast and dirty response:

1) "…other people and I found your treatment of Nella unfunny"

Ok, unfortunately, can't help you there. What we find HIGH-LARIOUS obviously is not for all. As I wrote both the Make Over Fairy and BFF sketches in question, mea culpa.

2) "…and at the same time a little damaging her psyche…"

Here, however, I've going to have to take SOME offense at this. I've survived early puberty, a plethora of inane crushes, my first boyfriend, college, the real world AFTER college, AND the trials and tribulations of the internet (and since the tender age of 14!)—my psyche is a little worn from ill-use, mayhaps, but is QUITE fine.

Though I thank you for your concern, kindly do not assume you know what is damaging to me. I know that far too well, and satirizing how society tends to treat and view people like me is NOT it.

3) "If she insists she was fine with it, so be it, but even if she wrote and directed the entire thing and forced everyone else to say those things about her it was still agonizing to watch."

Yes. I did force them. At gun point, in fact. I then laughed manically about it as I stroked my fat orange tabby cat, Piper

…wait, seriously?

Ok, ok, I do apologize for this. I understand a lot of the jokes we make about me (and about anyone in our merry little troupe of NChick personalities) would be seen as crushing for a lot of people, man or woman regardless.

I'm sorry if what I wrote caused anyone distress. I'm sorry if watching me be the butt of a joke (whether it was a good or bad joke I leave to personal interpretation) was agonizing for some. I'm serious about this. We all carry baggage that the world and our fellow humans laden us with. This is my way of gleefully dumping my load. I'm not going to stop poking fun at old wounds any time soon—but if it did cause you pain, I am sorry. Consider this an open and sincere warning—it's only going to continue, probably for as long as I live, and for as long as people are asshats towards other people. Consider me your mirror, folks—and I'm NOT the breaking kind.

I mean…do you really think I would jump in head first into Lindsay's reviews/sketches if I didn't back them 100%? Now THAT'S a depressing and rather insulting thought; that you, gentle commenter, would have such a low opinion about ME. That you think I would, in real life, be such a sheep to the whims and wiles of my long-time real life friend.

4) "To [Nella] I say don't make the audience feel sorry for you because that's simply poor stage presence, and to you Lindsay, please just once try to handle your viewers' concern without making such an asinine response."

I abhor pity. I adore laughter. Everything I do is for a laugh. Ask my 5th grade classmates about "Man Walking An Invisible Hyperactive Monster Dog", if you must. You could even ask my 5th grade teacher about that one, as she DID walk in JUST as I was being "pulled" by the dog's leash.

If you think I'm fishing for pity, then I'm doing it wrong. I need to go back to the Mad Sidekick Laboratory and fiddle with things. Maybe a sight less Abbott and Costello, a pinch more…er…eh, I'll think of something.

5) "Simply responding with sarcasm instead of seriously addressing the concern
doesn't make it go away."

No, it doesn't, but it DOES lay out the fact that, dude, it was NEVER a serious concern to begin with. Not for us, at least.

Besides, we had been looking for an opportunity to use the ”BFF, Inc" footage since last summer—the time was NIGH.

6) " It's like if I walked up to George W. Bush and said "Hey you're not very
smart" and he turned red in the face, bellowed an obviously forced laughter,
DERP DERP YOU KNOW ME" while hitting his own head with a frying pan. Yes, we
would all know he was being sarcasti, but it wouldn't change anything or make my
comment incorrect."

I was going to make a comment about how self-revelation is a wonderful thing and a necessary step in the Buddhist tradition, but *DODGES TOMATOES AND OTHER ASSORTED ROTTEN FRUIT AND VEGGIES*



And that's about all I can answer for myself, as I try not to be in the habit of answering for other people. The bottom line is if any one has a problem with the Make-Over Fairy or the TFTF: BFF sketches, then the blame is on me just as much as it would be on Lindsay. I wrote most of the damn things. I insisted on 'BFF' standing for "Big Fat Friend" over the traditional "Best Friend Forever" because my favorite gag is when something is topsy turvy of what the audience wanted/expected.

Also, I'm really fond of Steven Lynch songs, and I thought it would be fun to turn the 'Big Fat Friend' song on its head.

Ah well. Them's my two cents. Take them, and know me better, man.

This is BFF Nella, Out.

(Now, excuse me, I need to go back to work.)
Somewhere between drinking WAY more than one should and trying to NOT get our bits blown off by an errant illegal firework, let us take a moment to reflect upon America.

Or, in the very least, upon the American National Anthem.

Outside of sporting events there aren't really many opportunities to raise one's American voice in unison with the national anthem. We tend to avoid it for reasons that the tune WAS a British drinking song* and only a drunkard would think an octave and a half is a GREAT range to attempt. Give us your "America the Beautifuls or "My Country 'Tis of Thee". ANYTHING but "The Star Spangled Banner".

It isn't even that bad-ass of an anthem. I mean, the French have their bloody banners raised, the Italians take comfort than their blood will give the Austrian eagles agita. But Americans?

Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming.
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Notice anything strange about it?

Written in 1814, not only had we been 'America: The Nation' for a mere 25 years**, but we were ALSO in the middle of a little brouhaha I like to call The War of 1812.

Now, you'd THINK Britain was too busy at that time at keeping Old Boney*** from invading, but they decided they were at their best when multitasking, and caused some shit, which got our American gander all up, which led to a little war where we got our asses SOUNDLY handed to us. I mean, end of the day we "won"****, but wow, for a home court advantage did WE have egg on our faces!

Which takes us to September 3, 1814, and a chap named Francis Scott Key. See, Key was on a diplomatic mission to facilitate a prisoner exchange off the shore of Baltimore. Except, they sorta-kinda overheard the details of the impeding British attack on Baltimore/Fort McHenry, so JUST to make sure they wouldn't go blabbing their months to the nearest American HQ, the British held him and his companions captive, at least until the battle was over.

Key spent the night watching the British bomb of Fort McHenry, and witnessed the American victory the next morning, and the Ameican flag still flying over the still American-held fort.

Other countries may celebrate the ass they intent go and kick, but every time we sing the National Anthem, we are celebrating just HAVING a country. Between the CRUSHING debt we suffered at the end of the American Revolution, the Shay and Whiskey Rebellions, the issues of States' Rights vs. Federal Power, the fact that we didn't collapse under the weight of our own size and pig-headed NEED for Independence (which is NOT the same thing as a Free-For-All, which I think people forget) is a MIRACLE.

234 years after the fact, I think we all need a reminder that--Holy Shit--We're a COUNTRY. And we're still around!

Our National Anthem ends, not on a defiant note, but with an inquiry. Is our flag still there? Are we still a country? We didn't fall in the night—did we?

This 4th of July, raise your glass and blow up some fireworks (in a safe way, MIGHT I ADD!) to the fact we ARE still the United States of America—and don't take for granted that it might not always be that way.

Is the flag still there? Will it be? I sure hope 234 years from now, it is.

*I declare it counts as a drinking song, though others may protest (mayhaps even TOO much). I leave you this link so you can decide for yourself:
** Approximately. Dudes, I'm writing this at a 4th of July party I'm hosting, I don't have time for fact checking, damnit!
***Bonaparte, for those of you who aren't obsessive readers of Patrick O'Brien's Maturin/Aubrey series. Like me.
****Like any noobs trying to make it look like they came out of something better than they did, for a long while Americans claimed they had won this one. Meanwhile the British acted like it was no biggie and the Canadians quietly (yet proudly) preened about kicking off America's attempts at expansion into Canada. Now-a-days many Americans don't even KNOW about this war*, while scholars are torn between whether it was an American victory, a British victory, a Canadian victory, or a big old draw. And many others, unfortunately, just don't give a shit.

*Seriously I once played a game of Trivia Pursuit where the opposing team was giving the "Who fought the War of 1812?" question....and decided it was the British and the French.
Right period I suppose, but WRONG WAR. *HEAD DESK!*


RSS Atom
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags