Supanova Day 1 was exhausting. Costumes were worn, and many pictures were taken. I've not cosplayed before, and the experience of being regularly stopped by people wanting to take your picture is a strange one. Kind of enjoyable, though, especially when you have two others in matching outfits to pose with, the occasional costume malfunction notwithstanding.
Summer Glau was charming and sweet, and Lou Ferringo was goofy and veiny. We missed Charisma Carpenter, even after she rescheduled, but I can live with that. Tomorrow - more pictures, and the uploading thereof! A repaired hood! And Eliza freaking Dushku!
I haven't written here for ages, and I've been meaning to, and now that I finally come around to do so I'm really not sure what to say or how much to cover. I'm going to opt for my old friend the bullet point.
* Work is good. Not great, but good. I'm helping to train the newbies, which is actually pretty rewarding, and actually makes me feel like I'm being noticed. The money is still bad and I'm still pretty uncertain of what sort of future I have with the company, but it's certainly better than being a phone monkey.
* Homestuff is also good. I finally got my books shipped over from Perth, and being reunited with my comics and such is a strange and wonderful pleasure. Integrating those that I've had in archive since before View St and those I've bought since moving here was an interesting process. Of course I don't have nearly enough shelving space for the 300+ novels that I own, let alone the comics, roleplaying books and coffee table books. Turns out that I have three distinct encyclopedias of science fiction. Who really needs that many?
* Lovestuff is great. Cassie and I have been together for over a year now, and all is very much well. My most serious ongoing poly experience is a resounding success so far, and though it hasn't always been smooth sailing I can confidently say that none of the problems which have arisen between us have been due to her having another boyfriend. We spent three solid days and nights together over the long weekend, probably the longest solid chunk of time we've been in each other's faces for, and all was well. Optimistic Alex is optimistic about the future.
In other exciting news, I've just booked tickets to go to Canberra and see the French Masters show. I haven't been on an adventure recently, so excitement abounds. Regrettably Cass has commitments here in Sydney and won't be along, but while I'm disappointed to not have her with me I do believe that she's making the right decision. I'm sure that Lachlan will be a fine travelling companion in her stead.
Addendum to the Return to the House on Haunted Hill list:
Asian girl who wears tight black leather and is both kinky and bisexual.
Villain who was the mentor-figure's greatest student until he turned to evil.
The black guy dies first.
I'll say that one again, just for emphasis. THE BLACK GUY DIES FIRST. The single most oft-mentioned, obnoxious and downright racist horror film cliche, and they trotted it out without so much as an ironic wink to the viewer. That deserves applause, in a horrible sort of way, or at the very least a slow clap.
I'm less than a third of the way into Return to the House on Haunted Hill (a sequel to a remake!) and the cliche list currently stands at:
A wall covered in newspaper clippings.
Ghosts with their hair in their faces.
Bursts of fast motion from same.
Unnecessary white singlet on unrealistically hot female lead.
Naked ghosts kissing.
Aforementioned white singlet being taken for a run in the rain with no discernible benefit to either character or plot.
Further updates may very well follow.
If I don't start being creative again soon then I don't know what I'll do with myself.
"...and then Timothy Dalton fixes everything with his magic wish glove the end."
What a convoluted, maudlin mess of an episode. Bring on the new season, the new Doctor and, most importantly, a whole boatload of new writers.
A few days I thought to myself, entirely without irony, that I didn't like the way that teenagers are always shouting.
Not a great sign.
This has been an exemplary weekend. A weekend, in fact, worthy of blogging about.
On Friday night Cass, Nicki, Xi, Lachlan and I saw Kid Confucius, a band that I'd not seen or heard before, but thoroughly enjoyed. I don't really have the muso vocabulary to describe their sound properly, but I suppose that something akin to funk-rock would cover it. They were fun, and talented, and there was much dancing. I'd not been to the Oxford Art Factory before, but it was exactly the sort of trendy yet unpretentious and appropriately dank and dark space I like. Not too loud in between bands, either, which is a relief.
Saturday night was Nerd Night. As a last minute addition to Adam, Lachlan and Benny's Xbox LAN I brought my spare controllers and assisted in the slaughter of many zombies and disgraced myself at Rock Band. Four player Left 4 Dead on a projector, it has to be said, is a fine experience, especially when augmented perfectly by beer and pizza.
Today we dragged ourselves out of bed late and stumbled several steps from the front door to the Marrickville Street Festival, where I bought bratwurst and candy and pork buns and the sexiest leather man-bag I could find. I loves it and it smells like leather. As much as I like my Ghost in the Shell bag, it's not always necessary to use something half the size of myself to carry a book and a pen.
And that brings you up to date, with the exception of My Name is Bruce, which was pretty much exactly what I signed on for. By which I mean awesome.