One equal temper of heroic hearts

Following last night's announcement that David Tennant will be hanging up his Converse after the 2009 season, I'm overwhelmed with the urge to go out and buy the third series on DVD. Todd suggested that it should be my birthday present to myself, but I already bought a $40 satchel for myself yesterday (it's pinstriped, you guys) and I can't really justify dropping $90 on DVDs when I already have the episodes on my hard drive anyway. I might. I'm such an impulse buyer, you guys. I will singlehandedly sustain the tanking economy because every time I go outside, I see a sweater that I really like and have to buy it.

[eta:]
I bought it on Amazon for much cheaper than I've seen it in retail stores (thanks, teh_maskmaid!)

Oh, I've just a hit new level of nerdiness. I'm sitting here on a Saturday night, roleplaying the rock 'n' roll apocalypse, downloading new Who, and waiting for my Nintendo DS to charge up so I can play Animal Crossing before bed. If I only had a pair of 2d20s in my pocket, the effect would be complete.

DID I TELL YOU THAT I BOUGHT A NINTENDO DS? I TOTALLY DID.

I'm also afraid to leave my computer to go get a shower, because I'm worried my connection is going to time out and I'm going to lose my download. Because that's happened the last four times that I've tried to download it and, yeah, I'm aware that everyone and their Ood is attempting to download the episode, but damn.

Is it weird that my favourite part of the DS is the stylus? I just love to tap that.

[ ETA: ]
CHARGED! And my download has 18 minutes to go!

Also, I cannot write for beans tonight. Ugh. I blame the unusual volume of sun exposure I got today. I was outside for, seriously, three hours straight. Sometimes I wasn't even in the shade. D:

[ ETA 2: ]
698 MB/698 MB! FREE AT LAST, WE ARE FREE AT LAST!

Last night was RIDICULOUS. Todd and I went to dinner with Todd's family and our waitress acted like she had just graduated from the Arthur Bach School of Waitressing. The standard stuff went down, of course: wrong entree, wrong drinks in the wrong glasses, mixed up take-away boxes. We were all having a pretty good laugh about it (as she was mistakenly pouring water into a lemonade glass, she remarked, "I've been waitressing for six years", the way a recovering alcoholic might tell you he's been on the wagon while he simultaneously orders three shots of Dewar's) and we decided to get dessert. Todd and I ordered a slab (yes, a slab) of chocolate cake that came with whipped cream and a heated whiskey butter glaze. The waitress carried our plates to the table. The cake made it. The hot whiskey butter did not. While our waitress tried to juggle plates to make sure we weren't crushed to death by the falling brick of cake, the whiskey butter slid off the top plate and splashed onto my bare back. It wasn't scalding, but it was warm enough for me to sit up and take notice. That poor girl; you could see all of the colour drain out of her face and slam down on her toes. She immediately pawned off the extra plates and knelt down beside me, trying to scrub the hot caramel sauce off my shoulder with a napkin. "I'm so sorry," she kept saying, "I'm so, so, sorry. That's never happened to me before." I told her it was okay and made an awkward motion toward my back, saying something like, "It's okay, I can reach my own..." trying to indicate that I could take over the clean-up. She looked like she was about to cry: "Oh god, do you want me to stop wiping your back?"

Looking back, if you isolate just the dialogue, it could come across as a really awkward sexual farce. 'Sort of Noel Coward Meets Gordon Ramsay. I half expected a priest on a bicycle to ride by the window, is what I'm saying.

After dinner, Todd and I went to see Iron Man again (fourth time) and we knew the script so well that we ended up quoting half the movie, which had to be irritating for the hippie couple sitting three rows in front of us (but they didn't laugh at the "I'm donating you to a city college" joke -- a joke which is still hilarious to me -- so I don't feel too badly). We rolled out of that place at around midnight and I went home and to bed.

Todd surprised me with my very own Iron Man Repulsor Action Figure and I had fun shooting him in the neck with the projectiles until I fired another one at his dashboard and saw that it left a mark. Sorry, Todd. I said that I wanted to put the action figure in my cubicle, but now I'm doubting that decision. I don't want people to paw my stuff (they already stole my stapler this week and, to make sure I wouldn't notice, they replaced it with a bottle of WiteOut) so I've got him in my bag. It was a hard decision this morning, trying to decide what to pack: Let's see. My action figure, or my sex book? I can only fit one in here. Congratulations, Tony Stark, today you have been closer to my ass that most of the guys I've ever dated.

I went out at lunch and bought Hulk Smash Hands for Todd (because part of me wants to see him take them on the plane to London and have him put them on when they tell us we can't have any more pretzels) and I also picked up the Iron Man novelization, even though I don't think Peter David can write his way out of a six panel comic strip. And also because I am that awesome.

God, I love the little pleasures in life.

Getting a new CD out of its wrapping, for instance, and the anticipation that comes when you open the jewel case for the first time to look at the CD itself. I always hesitate before I open the lid -- will the CD be as cool as the cover art? Will the liner notes be on glossy or matte paper? -- and I've got Sufjan Stevens' "Seven Swans" in front of me right now, awaiting the same treatment.

Here we go...

Ahhh, beautiful. (Answers: Yes; glossy)

Speaking of. It's gorgeous out today. 'About seventy degrees, sunny, and breezy. Fall is my favourite time of year. There are multiple (selfish) reasons for this. I went out at lunch at got a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks, as well as the Sufjan CD, A Fine Frenzy, and a book that I totally don't need because I'm in the middle of reading at least three other books right now that looks incredibly interesting. I was able to make the entire journey with my windows down, 'Stones blasting. Again, little pleasures.

'Anyone want to watch Fight The Future with gleam and I tonight? We're having a trans-time zone viewing party. With Jiffy Pop! And sunflower seeds! And moving hallway admissions! Not with bees or Martin Landau urinating behind a D.C. bar.

Sweet Mary Sunshine, DQ brought back the Cotton Candy Blizzard.



I've been waiting four years for this thing to make the Blizzard Of The Month rounds again. When Todd and I were in Indy this weekend (when I wasn't dropping $150 on clothes to cope with my depression over Michigan's suckfest of a season opener), we went to the mall and discovered that, lo and behold, the American Dental Association had lost their case against Dairy Queen over the sugar content of said Blizzard, and that Dairy Queen had brought it back in a big way. I've had three over the course of the weekend. This is epicureanism on a budget.

I've got vacation days to burn and I think I'm going to take either the 25th or the 26th off. Or maybe both. I could spend all day Tuesday watching the S3 DVDs, which would lead nicely into the season premiere.

And I switched out a whole bunch of my userpics, which means that I have declared macro war on bigbetterirish. So, to begin:



I should go clean something.

My family and I went to dinner at Cracker Barrel tonight and you know how they have that little marketing trap of a store in the waiting-to-be-seated area, right? Well, they had a whole table full of Wood Wick candles and I, being almost entirely driven by scent as a primary motivation for any purchase, picked one up. There's a whole mystique surrounding Wood Wick candles, apparently. Aside from their weighty price tag (I picked mine up for about $24.50 after tax), their great marketing "in" is that the wick itself is made of wood, rather than wax-coated twine. It looks like someone stuck the reed from a wind instrument in the center of the candle. You light the wood and it burns uniformly and, apparently, a lot more cleanly than a regular candle. It's pretty agrarian. And, because of the placement and material, the wick makes a static sort of noise when it burns, not unlike a record with a needle that's gone off the groove. Wood Wick decided to -- brilliantly -- make this their primary selling point.

Their tag line: "Creates the soothing sound of a crackling fire while it burns!"

Because I didn't have enough reasons to be paranoid about leaving an open flame burning in my bedroom, now I find myself looking up every fifteen seconds because I think that "soothing crackling" is actually the "destructive inferno" of all of my material possessions going up in flames.

Destruction smells really nice, though.

Also? I know the best people in the world. I'm so very, very lucky.

Dude.

I just found out that the mile that I thought I was running every other night? Is actually 2.1 miles. From my front door, 'round the circuit and back again. 2.1 miles. I guess I was using Nepalese units of measurement. Granted, I was going by the odometer on my car, so there might be some margin of error. But it's still at least twice what I thought I was running when I started out a couple of weeks ago. I'm proud of myself. I'm steadily building up my muscles, pushing farther and faster each time, trying out my endurance to see how far I can keep up a continuous jog or sprint before I have to slow down. Sometimes I go by blocks, other times I pace myself to whatever I'm playing on my iPod ("Get Miles" and "SexyBack" typically get me to move a little faster.) And tonight? As an added bonus? My running attire matched Cuddy's from "Humpty Dumpty":

( Right down to the Lipizzaner ponytail )

Which is damn cool.

To celebrate, I bought things with the credit card that I had no business buying, especially when I have to be frugal with paychecks and funds for my trip to Memphis in July. But I figured that renewing my LJ account and add-ons for another year was certainly important, as was buying this and this. I now owe my mother something like $77. Maybe it can be one of those "halfsies rewards" things. You know, a "Congratulations for making it through college without a baby or a drug problem -- let me pay for half of your unnecessary purchases" gesture. Reinforce that kind of behaviour. 'Wonder if she'll buy that.

It'd be nice, especially since Memphis is less than a month away. Todd and I are going to be staying here, which is the latest in a chain of relatively upscale hotels. It's so new that the website doesn't even have photographs -- just that artist's rendering. We're on Beale Street, which is a short walk from the Gibson Guitar Museum (!!!) and B.B. King's Blues Club (!!!!) We're spending two nights at the hotel (and ordering room service from the 24 cart on at least one of them, and at least three o'clock in the morning) and seeing Gomez/The Fray at Mud Island Amphitheater on the 11th. I'm stoked. It's my big vacation for the year -- except when I go visit Kiki in Los Angeles some time in the late Fall -- and I couldn't imagine spending it in better digs or with better company.

I plan to bring back a Gibson guitar. Or at least a picture of me holding a Gibson guitar with a glassy-eyed expression of ecstasy on my face.

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.

If this week's TV Guide is to be believed, Band From TV is releasing a CD/DVD set in June.

I've reached my happy place.

( Some of my favourite moments from last night's 'House' )
Obviously, there are spoilers for "One Day, One Room" beneath the cut.

I gave in to domesticity today and bought a lamp for my cubicle at work. Which, on the surface, makes no nevermind. But to me? 'Used to spending money on dark beer and leg extension surgeries? It's huge. Actually, it's about seventeen inches tall, shade included.

So, to compensate for my pathetic lamp purchase, I made a trip to Borders for Wodehouse and Hesse. And a Ford Mustang wall calendar. Mmm, Sixty-Five-Convertible-With-Automatic-Transmission-And-Original-Interior, I love you.

I also love lamp. And bed.