katernater: (hugh // Philosophizing the stone)
Well, now I'm not going to get anything done this afternoon: New desktop wallpaper )

I will write for the Drabble-A-Thon; I can feel creativity percolating. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to have whole sentences and paragraphs spring from my head (I was going to go for a really dorky Greek myth analogy here, but I'll spare you) and those are moments of absolute pleasure for me. That, for whatever reason, I'm channeling something that whole and complete. "Extracting the insect from the amber," if you will. (I was going to make an even dorkier Jurassic Park analogy here, yadda yadda yadda.) Then again, I'm afraid that if I even break for a moment from my plan -- which goes something like "Statement of Purpose Letter, Statement of Purpose Letter, Statement of Purpose Letter" -- that I'm going to sap my resources and one or the other thing is going to come out terribly. Almost like I have to bank my creativity and reserve it for special occasions or for the things that have the most importance at any given time. Is that ego? Does that sound self-involved? God, I can't even tell anymore.

I did cheat a little yesterday. I started writing something for the "packing" prompt that involved House and Cuddy at a medical conference together, critiquing the contents of each other's suitcases. ("God, Cuddy, did you pack for a weekend or were you planning on transporting the entire GDP of Ecuador back with you?") I stopped because I was wonky about the dialog (can you even physically carry a Gross Domestic Product? I think it's just a number, not a physical entity), the premise (how many "Cuddy's big baggage" jokes can you make in one paragraph?) and because the stack of grad school stuff in the corner of my desk started giving me the stink eye.

Tonight. I'll sit down and write that letter tonight.
katernater: (loved // To the top of my stairs)
It's not my birthday yet (which means there's still time to send cash, check or money orders...), but I wanted to share an Almost Birthday gift that Todd told me about at dinner last night.

See, he'd apparently been batting around ideas for a good long while (which is endearing because, by contrast, I can only hold one idea in my head for up to fifteen minutes before it slips around and out, much like Britney Spears in a...well, you get the metaphor, I hope) and apparently he'd been paying attention to my long list of interests -- at least the headliners -- because he tried to hatch a birthday scheme so grand, so epic, so British, that it took him at least fifteen seconds of bashful blushing to come out with it last night.

Turns out, some months ago, he wrote to Hugh's agent in the UK to see if Mr. Laurie would be available to call me on my birthday and wish me many happy returns. He hand wrote the letter. Because he thought they'd take it more seriously if it looked more heartfelt. If Mr. Laurie agreed by proxy of his agent, Todd was going to get hold of my cell phone and some point and program the number into it, so that when Hugh called -- some time on Sunday this -- it would come up as HUGH in my caller read-out.

"I told them that he wouldn't have to stay on the phone any longer than he wanted to," he told me last night, blushing red from collar to ears, "just long enough to wish you happy birthday."

He never heard back, and since he hand-wrote the letter, he doesn't have a copy. But sitting across from him, knowing all the trouble he went to in the hope of securing me that one moment of birthday happiness, I can honestly say that it doesn't matter. The old sad, miser's adage -- "It's the thought that counts" -- never really appealed to me. Thoughts are great, sure, but do they take AA batteries? Can I exchange them for a gift voucher? Will I have to wear them at the next family function, even though they ride up in the crotch?

The answer to all of these questions (except for the last one, and only when you do it right) is "no", ladies and gentlemen.

But last night, the thought was more than enough.

I will never, ever turn down thoughts about Hugh Laurie. Or his sexy phone voice.
katernater: (house (s4) // Just a little sarcastic)
I. I just sent myself a couple of things via e-mail and, even though I know my in-tray will be empty but for those e-mails, there's always that little electric thrill of "OMG. IT SAYS GMAIL - INBOX (2). WHO E-MAILED ME?!" Then, of course, there's the inevitable let-down when I realize that it was just me.

Sending myself stuff like this )


And nonsense like that )


II. I'm wearing one of those "HAI I LIVE IN THE HAMPTONS AND VACAY ON MARTHA'S VINEYARD" shawl/pashmina/wrap things today. It's got voluminous (if "voluminous" is the word I'm looking for) sleeves and this gorgeous paisley motif along the edges. Weather like this gives me an excuse to wrap myself up in stuff like this. I've also got on my knee-high stiletto heel boots. Weather like this gives me an excuse to look like an idiot when I walk from the car park to the office, having clearly only acclimated to "real shoes" after spending most of the Summer and Fall in flip-flops.


III. I was so much happier with this week's House than last week's. It almost makes the two week hiatus worth it.


IV. DONUTS IN THE KITCHEN. COME ON, SPIKED HEELS, DON'T FAIL ME NOW.
katernater: (FTW! // Hugh Laurie's "woot!" face)
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HAT. HAT. HATTY HAT HAT PIANO HAT. )
katernater: (books // Le Petit Prince)
I'm going to bed at 9:45, which is either a personal best or a notable worst for me.

Well, technically it's
i. Saint-Exupéry
ii. a peanut butter sandwich
iii. one or two episodes of The Office
and then bed.

Which I don't see tipping the scales to one side or the other, either.

I came home from work tonight, spent about twenty minutes checking my e-mail, then crashed. I woke up an hour and a half later, realized that I'd missed my window for running, then decided "bugger all" and that I'd try to make a go of the rest of the night by doing absolutely nothing of service. I'm holding my own so far.

ά. Last night I drove home behind a guy on a powder blue Triumph Scrambler and seriously thought about trying to speed through three lanes of highway traffic so I could get close to him, lean halfway out my window, and tell him that I fuckingloveyourbike. But he looked like he had enough to keep him busy (you know, like riding a motorcycle and looking cool), so I refrained.

β. I really hate walking into the kitchen at the office and finding, like, two paper towels left on the roll. That bugs me.

γ. I'm signing up for a GRE prep course this Fall. Five Saturday morning classes. Cost: $430. Wallet: Bummer. Future: \o/

δ. I got to use my Classical Culture minor today when I helped someone in the office with the correct pronunciation of the name "Mnemosyne". Other things that I could help with, given my minor: Strategic planning (see: "How To Invade Troy In Ten Easy Steps"); wooing the one you love with dirty limericks (see: Catullus, Men who love women with funny names); Filling a general elective requirement in 15 credit hours or less.

έ. Todd and I celebrated five months today. ♥

ζ. Also. I can't believe I forgot to post this yesterday )
katernater: (piano // My favourite set of 88)
I'm feeling better today. About a lot of things. Thanks, guys.

Like everyone else, I jumped on the bandwagon and purged my credit card at the threadless.com t-shirt sale. I bought the following:

http://threadless.com/product/543/This_is_not_a_Pipe
http://threadless.com/product/548/Shakespeare_Hates_Your_Emo_Poems
http://threadless.com/product/595/A_city_built_on_rock_n_roll_would_be
http://threadless.com/product/642/Nineteen_Seventy_Five

plus a t-shirt for Todd that I obviously can't post a link to. I was going to get this one, but I would probably end up wearing it to work and, you know, make all the amateur ornithologists blush right down to their Audubon Society memberships.

Speaking of blushing.

The average person takes 3.5 seconds to read a billboard )
katernater: (lisa // High apple pie in the sky hopes)
Despite taking most of today for a long, lazy nap, I'm still tired enough to want to go to bed at 10:30. Go figure.

Todd and I had a great time in Indianapolis yesterday. The Apple Store is not as clever or as informational as I was led to believe (it's basically a big, open white room for mod geeks to bump around one another like Pacmen trying to get to cherries of technology), but the Cheesecake Factory is still a place I'd like to be buried when I die (I had the Bang Bang Chicken And Shrimp, and the Caramel Pecan Turtle cheesecake).

I also spent way too much money on this bag from the Fossil store, but I consider looking cool kind of a lifetime investment, so I'm not too guilty over it. "Superbad" was incredible and every one of you should see it.

I really want it to be Tuesday.

These will have to tide me over until then. )
katernater: (w00t! // James Evan Wilson FTW!)
Today's reason for keyboard smashing is brought to you by the following five images from last night's Season Four promo (which I missed because I am an idiot I was totally, defensibly ill):

Not for the spoiler pure )

I swear. I look forward to the season premiere of House like some people look forward to the Second Coming.

-- Or "Half Off Fajitas and 'Ritas Night" at Chili's.

Is it September yet?


** [ E T OMG-THERE'S-MORE A ] **

Seven more promo pics from Lil! )
katernater: (huddy // Come to my window)
- I'm currently riding the high of two -- yes, two -- venti iced Caramel Macchiatos. I had one on the commute in this morning and just spent the better part of my lunch break driving around the city in search of another Starbucks so I could get my second. That's, what, six shots of espresso? In a six hour period? I respect ratios. And it's not that I'm overly tired or dragging during the day. I get approximately 5-7 hours of sleep per night (depending on how good the writing or how bad the late night TV is) and, even though I wake up every morning hoping that Gwar has swallowed my office building (shut up, it's early), I generally get up to speed and out the door in good time and good spirits. Today just seemed like a day that would necessitate ridiculous levels of caffeine. I told Dave Stevens that, "If my heart doesn't explode by three o'clock, I'm not doing my job." He keeps looking out of his office. I think he's worried that I was serious.

- Not that I don't have enough to read right now. But. Does anyone have a copy of MacDonald's The Galton Case that I could beg/borrow/steal? I'm interested in it viz. [livejournal.com profile] smurphy487's recommendation. She says it's a lot like The Gun Seller (which I'm carrying around in my purse as we speak), which, in turn, is like The Spy Who Came In From The Cold (ditto). I tried Barnes & Noble while I was out this afternoon but they didn't have any copies in stock; 'same with Borders. I spoke to a guy on the phone about it and he said that it might've overreached its re-print date (I think the last printing was in '96.) I'm just fishing. I mean, I don't need additional reading material, but I'm in a sort of espionage-y mood for fiction of late and I'd like to try something new. Last summer I read a whole bunch of short stories by Raymond Chandler. Those were absolutely fantastic.

- S'anyone know if Hugh's new book is still on target for its September publication date? I heard September 27th. And will it be released simultaneously in the U.K. and here? I've got so many things to buy in the months of August and September: Season 3 of House, the House soundtrack, the Band From TV CD/DVD. And the end of September itself will be flagged. I feel like I should build a "time barricade" around September 25th -- like, the 24th and 26th -- just in case all the VCRs and DVRs in the world decide to rise up against Mankind and refuse to record anything I ask them to. I could build a Cold War era bomb shelter and stash a couple of VCRs down there, just in case. Of course, I might be exaggerating. A little. Can I borrow a Makita and some cement?

- As another Fall approaches, I find myself thinking more and more about where I was this time last year. I was actually here -- at this office, one cubicle removed -- anticipating my last semester of college. I had no real bead on what my plans were after that, but everything seemed to be constrained to that five month period between August and December, like it was this big block of time with blinders on. Now that I'm out -- out and employed -- I've gotten a chance to appreciate what I had when I was at university. Yes, I had to take a couple of blows to my pride by going back to the dorms (and to a 42-year-old non-traditional student for a roommate, whose idea of a Sunday night "check up" with her family involved having her cats put on the phone so she could talk to them) and gathering up some core curriculum credits that I put off until the very last minute (hello, Fitness Walking), but I can't think of a time when I felt more independent than I did during those last few months of college.

And I can't compare that atmosphere -- that open, academic environment -- to anything I've experienced since. Walking to and from class on a carpet of leaves, Snow Patrol on my iPod, worrying about group projects and capstone assignments until I was sick over the stress. It was worth it. Totally, totally worth it. These days I'll hear a song that I played often during my last semester ("SexyBack" is one of them, believe it or not) and I'll get a shot of nostalgia for that time in my life. I'll get "homesick" for muggy dorm rooms, chicken salad from the commissary, House DVDs on my laptop (literally on my lap), and the uncomfortable chairs that seemed to occupy all of my lecture halls. I miss late nights at the library. I miss late nights at the newspaper. I miss getting strawberry frozen yogurt from the cafeteria (and the cafeteria ladies who always slipped me an extra dish of fresh-cut strawberries because I was nice to them). I even miss the fact that I walked around for a week and a half with a mild strain of pneumonia because I was too busy (read: too stubborn) to go to the health center and get it checked out.

I'm moving on to bigger, better, more lucrative things, but some part of me wants that time in my life back. 'Suppose that's true for a lot of people. Mostly I just miss the frozen yogurt.

- Ten minutes 'til three. Lets see how long my heart lasts.

ASFKJKL!

Jul. 27th, 2007 02:44 pm
katernater: (house // Anything to get ahead)
OH MY GOD.

HOUSE S4 PREMIERE PHOTOS.

CUDDY. WILSON. HOUSE. HOUSE'S HANDS.

September 25th, why are you so far away?
katernater: (guh // Mmmelty House)
FEAR NOT, HUDDLED FANDOM MASSES.

With all of the new developments in my taste for doctors, I imagine that it's possible for some of you to think that my love for one doctor has been usurped by my recent affection for another. Not so. I'll explain. Over the last year or so, my interest in two-wheeled motor vehicles has been exponentially increased, mostly due to the fact that Hugh Laurie rides a very particular motorcycle on House. It's also become a trend for me, while driving, to comb the passing lanes of traffic for any bike that remotely resembles the Honda CBR 1000RR. (I do so while safely and obligingly observing all other posted traffic laws, of course.) Until now, I'd seen a lot of bikes with the same build and design, but none that were exact copies of House's bike.

UNTIL TODAY.

Driving home, I happened to glance in another lane and -- lo and bloody behold -- saw THE BIKE.

THIS BIKE:

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Just as god and paint scheme intended.

The rider was even wearing a leather jacket. A LEATHER JACKET IN JULY. Even though the humidity had probably kindly elbowed him this morning, as if to say "Hey, you might want to consider a lightweight traveling coat today, if anything at all."

Unfortunately, Mr. Laurie was woefully unattached to said chassis. But it nevertheless had the effect of making my entire afternoon.

Pointless Repsol celebratory spam )

And, just like that, my faith in Fate's great design for me was restored.
katernater: (dw (ten/rose) // Through fields of gold)
I think -- and I'm almost fairly positively certainly beyond a doubt, here -- that I had a dream last night, wherein I made out with Hugh Laurie. I woke up this morning with the sensory impression of manly whiskers on my cheek. So it was either Hugh Laurie or Nick Nolte after a bender. I also dreamed about big, fat-bodied spiders on my desk at work. Which may be why I A) Can't remember the details of the make out session, and B) Why I have been habitually cleaning my workspace this morning. (There are real spiders living in the Pantone Color books over by the window. They're small, but JesusChristcomeon. I have to use those books for reference from time to time.)

That 'Eight Facts' meme that's been going around )

I was just all shades of irritated yesterday. Work was tedious. Clients were tedious. Tedium was tedious. Driving home, I got behind a van with a Purple Heart license plate tacked on the back. They were going twenty-five in a forty-five. They did not receive that Purple Heart for racing speedily to the battlescene.

I need more tea.

THINGS.

Jun. 28th, 2007 03:50 pm
katernater: (huddy // This is gonna' be fun)
- Just when I think that watergun fights, light saber battles and Beastie Boy Fridays aren't good enough reasons to work here, I found out this morning that they're going to be shutting down the office a few hours early on Tuesday afternoon so we can go see "Transformers" together. On the company dime. I firmly believe that this is what our forefathers fought and died for.

Or at least acquired the rights from far-flung Asian toy companies for.

- Last night was amazing. My family stopped off at [livejournal.com profile] luuser's Shove Off To L.A. party and a whole group of us ended up going out to see "Live Free, Die Hard" afterward. I gave Kiki her gifts but not my final "goodbye." That comes tonight. It's one of those things that I've irritatingly drawn out, mostly because I'm having a hard time with the fact that I won't see her (unless I visit in November) for an entire year. But I've said it before and I'll go blue saying it again: there's no one else in my acquaintance who deserves this chance more than she does. She worked hard for this. She earned it. Out of 300 candidates, she was the one who was most qualified and most ready to accept the challenge. Now she's driving three days cross-country to build a new life for herself in Los Angeles. I don't think I've ever met anyone as brave as she is. She's also bringing me back a Hugh.

- Speaking of. I wore my charity tee to the party last night and an old friend from high school commented on it. It turns out that she spent a year in Los Angeles working for Panavision. On Fridays she'd get to visit the FOX lot where they were filming House (this was during the first season). She actually got to tail a couple of the EPs on a few occasions, mingle with the cast (RSL luh-huves the craft services table) and SAT AT HOUSE'S DESK. She met David Shore and a couple of the other higher-ups. She met Hugh and said that she was surprised by his accent (which she described to me as very "thick, deep and English") and that he was very nice but looked gnawed on. Apparently, when the show was first starting out, no one on the crew had any high (I just typed "hugh") hopes for its success and were floating their resumes around the other lots. After it hit -- and hit hard -- they had to scramble to get their resumes back. Hah! The crew is very laid back and cool, according to my friend. If you're anxious around the actors, they spook like zoo animals. I had to stop her in the middle of her story about how they do the stuff with all of the extras -- they all have set points and paths and props and march around like carpenter ants -- to tell her that all of this was like eating a large quantity of cake. You eat one piece, then you figure that you might as well have another, and then that piece seems too good to be true so you slice yourself another one just in case Cakeageddon comes along and you can never eat it again. I was sort of numb listening to her go on so casually about something that features so prominently in my day-to-day life. So yeah. I'm, like, three degrees removed from Hugh Laurie. I like this game more than the one about Kevin Bacon. I like most things more than Kevin Bacon.

- It was Todd's birthday yesterday, too. Happy birthday, [livejournal.com profile] whogavemebanana!

- This is mostly for my own amusement, but you're going to endure it anyway. [livejournal.com profile] vicodin_rpg turned a year old on Monday, but gameplay didn't officially begin until a year ago today. So, to commemorate the event, I'm going to be posting a THIS DATE IN VICODIN link at the end of all subsequent posts. Or at least as many posts as I can be assed into remembering. Or when something really juicy comes up on a particular date.

Today's link is special because it was the inaugural post -- the flagship of snark between Blair's House and my Cuddy -- and it really set the tone for the rest of the game. Which turned out to be one of the best games I was ever -- and have ever been -- involved in. And when Ami came in with her Wilson? We had a triumvirate so snazzy, so snarky and so damn sexy that you could drip it from a mainline IV. So here's to a year of gameplay, kids. To blouses and bruises; Thai and severed neckties. To a dream. A creative endeavor. A grope in a stairwell. *clink*

THIS DATE IN VICODIN
Who: Cuddy/House
What: Team training, responsibility shucking, and rum
When: Dated 6/28/06
Link: "Are you out of your mind? Don't answer that. I'm liable."
katernater: (grateful // Had so many plans for us)
As horrific as today was, it was a welcome surprise when it ended so well.

And, as always, it's nice to know that misdirected displays of masculine machismo on the basketball court can be great conversation starters.


Other Things That I've Discovered Spark Interesting Conversations:

- "Altruistic" gestures. Are they more real than the WMDs in Iraq?

- Fingernails and the growing of fingernails (see also: eye gougings inspired by jealousy/territoriality)

- Laffy Taffy wrappers and the difficulty they pose to the uninitiated candy consumer (George Bush should consider lining our borders with Laffy Taffy wrappers. It would solve the illegal immigration problem. And the jokes are muy chistoso!)

- Industrial accidents

- Light bulbs found in strange places

- How much of my love for motorcycles has been inspired by Hugh Laurie (rough approximation: 98%)

- T-shirt slogans for Man Vs. Wild ("Bear Eats Babies")

- Using "I just saved some kittens from a burning building" as an excuse to skip/be late to work

- Mom and Pop pornography shops

- Lines that get past the sensors ("Men, on the other hand, get so much fuzz it's crazy." "You don't like to swallow. Not surprising.")

- Hand amputees: Is close-up magic more than sleight of hand?

- The most humiliating dangerous jobs in the world (newspaper carrier, Secretary of State, the intern who gets David Cross his morning coffee)


Actually, I might have fudged the math on the remaining 2%... )

I was never any good with percentages.
katernater: (loved (ad) // Brothers up in arms)
[livejournal.com profile] hmd_tuesdays answers beneath the cut )

Yesterday was Hugh Laurie's birthday and I seriously considered mocking up some kind of celebratory graphic in Photoshop, but felt weird about it. So, instead, I indulged in a few hours of self-deprecating inner dialog and ended up thinking that that was a more fitting tribute to the man than a birthday banner ever could be. Mazel tov, Hugh. Here's to 364 more days of second guessing ourselves.

I have to go running tonight but I also have to wait until my stomach settles. Grah.
katernater: (Default)
New layout, inspired (in part) by listening to this song on a constant loop. This one also helped. Because I, unlike a lot of people, apparently, actually liked the season finale of "House". And they're both "Gregory House, antihero and tragedian, walks down the street at night to the chorus of his own internal soundtrack" songs. Hugh Laurie does the "brooding and walking" shtick very well.

See? )

At lunch today, I was sitting my myself at a table and two businessmen came in with their trays, looking awkward to be seen in their shirtsleeves at a Subway that was attached to a gas station. The tables there are tight but their waistlines weren't, so they knocked around a few chairs at my table while trying to accommodate theirs. I glanced up and told them that they were free to move chairs at my table because I was clearly not using them. One of them started to hoist a chair to his use when he looked at me down the bridge of his nose and said, "So you're alone, are you?" He hit the word alone with the kind of verbal punctuation that's usually reserved for when people tell you that they spent Saturday afternoon at a White Supremacist rally.

"I have my book," I replied, and showed them that it had a cover and everything.

His companion knocked him around the shoulder. "Don't say that," he said, his eyes sliding on more grease than was clamped between the two halves of his sandwich, "you don't want to depress her."

Musical Chairs cracked a grin that looked wet. "Sorry for depressing you," he told me, and fit his gut behind the table to strap on the old feed bag.

I didn't know how to feel about that. Later, I thought I should have told them that I was with someone until very recently, but that said companion had made disparaging remarks about my dining habits and I had been forced to lock them in the trunk of my car.

While making them listen to me read Percy Bysshe Shelley.

I know, I know. I'm horrible.
katernater: (confused // Where's my stereo?)
I was packing while looking at [livejournal.com profile] house_daily and I got distracted by the promo shots for the season finale, so I've spent the last forty-five minutes redoing my layout and trying to match the same two pairs of socks.

Er'. Obviously spoiler heavy.
The link, that is. Not my socks.

'Back to packing!
katernater: (huddy // And all the men merely players)
Guess who finally decided that giving to charity wasn't a complete crap waste of time?

THAT'S RIGHT -- ME.

Giving is suddenly so...satisfying.
katernater: (hugh // It can feel good to feel pain)
I didn't think it was possible for this to get any better, but

it just did. )

And my parents wonder why I suddenly have a fondness for motorcycles. Fwuh.

I ran errands today (I love my job; where else can you respond to the call of "Hey, Kate. We were wondering if you could get us a Roman centurion's helmet and bring it out to this college photoshoot for us.") and on my lunch break I stopped in Barnes & Noble and ordered this book from a flop-mopped young gentleman with more consonants in his name than I can string together or pronounce. He asked me what my interest in British universities was (no doubt noticing the discrepancy of loyalties in my Michigan Medical t-shirt) and flashed a gypsy's curious smile while he took down my information (my home number and cell number just in case I couldn't be reached immediately at either). Charmer.

'Also called [livejournal.com profile] gleam on my way to deliver the Golden Helmet and popped into Starbucks (twice) for drinks. My blood is currently three parts espresso, one part caramel scraped from the bottom of the cup while holding the steering wheel with my elbow.
katernater: (highly amused // "Jeff Fb-br-buh..")
Eat. Drink. Man. Motorcycle. )

I want one both.

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