Arrant Nonsense

Remember the flight attendant who quit his job in a really stupid way?



I dearly love Brewster Rockit.

According to my spam, I "can be the Alpha Male!"

*unzips pants, has a look, feels around just to be sure* No. No, I really really can't.

Yeah, toss that out the window. Behold this photo of Robert Downey Jr, in all his sartorial glory:


Note, especially, the Orange Scarf of Hilarity. Hey, no one in the history of ever has claimed the guy is a snappy dresser. (Other than the shoes. The shoes are awesome. Always.) Second-hand embarrassment, thy name is Robert Downey, Jr.

And then, there's this video:



Note the Missus, wearing that self-same scarf, at about 2:54.

I'm sure they have a barter system or something. *nods* So, I imagined a conversation at the airport (because this is clearly at an airport) that went something like this:

"Here, sweetie, hold my purse. And my carry-on. And the Orange Scarf of Hilarity."

"Aw, honey, no, not the scarf, the fangirls are going to have a field day with that, you know they are, especially that Agilebrit woman, you know, the one I took out a restraining order on..."

"Scarf, now." *wraps it round*

*meekly* "Yes, dear. OH GOD NOT THE PAPARAZ--crap."

(A) I love love love it when all Ben's sarcasm circuits are firing.

(B) Ben should not go to sleep with his Glock .40 in his hand. Ever. No matter how threatened he feels in the middle of nowhere. Because waking up with the thing under his chin and his finger on the trigger is bad.

(C) I came across a werewolf book called "Naked Brunch" by an author named "Sparkle Hayter" while on my agent hunt the other day. The fact that this person has been published since 1994 (and thus long before Twilight) does not make this any less funny.

(D) Have my favorite paragraph I've written today: He'd seen the petroglyphs around; you couldn't throw a rock anywhere in Moab without hitting one. He hadn't realized that the Anasazi people had been carving the pictures of horned creatures wearing their hearts on the outsides of their chests from life. The goblins of Goblin Valley were apparently real, only they weren't small, blue, or prone to nose-picking accidents. And holy shit, no wonder they were worshiped as fertility gods.

(E) We're taking the Cessna up to Odgen and the Auger Inn for a hundred-dollar hamburger tomorrow. Good times.

I have apparently been doing that a lot lately.

But the handsome and talented neo_prodigy has taken one for the team vis a vis "New Moon." Chock full of spoilers for the movie, clearly, but now you don't have to go see it.

Okay, this fandomsecret right here:



Should not be as hilarious to me as it is. I'm so sorry, Brandon...

ETA: And there's me, getting pissy in the comments. I am so tired of entitled fanbrats. Hey, whiners: How about you write a multiple-hundreds-of-thousands-of-words, multi-book epic, before you decide that you can tell the pros how to do it better. Better yet, how about you just don't buy the series until it's done?

Son of ETA: And there are now spoilers in the comments on that thread at fandomsecrets, in case there are those of you out there avoiding such things.

I just love how this cop deals with his little intruder. Total professional. I just hope he's not allergic.



Direct link, just in case.

Found via graveyardshifty, which is an excellent resource for writers, BTW, although some of the stuff he posts about is disturbing and graphic. Still, can't recommend this blog highly enough. Also, he does a critique of "Castle" and the procedures therein every week.

And that's really all I'm going to say about this date. Other people out there are expressing my own thoughts better than I could do (I'm an emotionally stunted fiction writer, remember), and the world doesn't need me saying "I hope we kill every last one of the bastards responsible so dead that no one will ever find all their parts. And everyone who cheered them on too."

Which, I guess I just did. Take that as you will. I realize that makes me sound like I'm still angry and bitter about it, and, hey, guess what, I am. And I don't plan on getting over that anytime soon. My husband is an airline pilot, you bet your ass this is personal for me.

Anyway. *cough* That's more than I meant to say. Running off at the keyboard...

Actually, what I meant to say was, you need to go read this, right now. It has nothing at all to do with the above rant. There are zombies. Be sure there's nothing in your mouth, because I don't need any of you choking and dying, or alternatively, spraying your computer screen and blaming me. Go on, shoo, read it. You'll thank me.

And then go out and buy Larry's book. Because it's freakin' awesome.

I'm heading out to Borders with a 40% off coupon and the netbook in a little while. I leave you with a snippet. Early days in the prison, West has been tormenting Ben, and go:

Ben made a noncommittal noise and grabbed a pair of jeans. "If I asked you to kill me," he said, too casually, "would you do it?"

Angeline busied herself at the stove with a steak, her back to the room. She didn't want him to see her jaw tighten, and tried to keep her tone light. "Och, haven't you already asked me to?"

"Yeah, but the first time I was still on the table and the time after that wasn't long after you brought me home." Oh, god, he was keeping track.

"You keep thinking you're at the end of your rope, puppy, but then you find more of it." She turned the steak over and spiced it. "If you really want to die, I'm fair certain you could find a way to do yourself."

"Yeah. Came close, a couple of times."

Her heart crawled up her throat and tried to choke her. "What stopped you, then?"

"Dunno, really." His voice had a dreamy quality. She looked over her shoulder to see that he was slouched down with his eyes closed, rubbing the scars on his wrists. Again. He'd put the jeans on but not bothered with a shirt. "Maybe the idea that Janni's looking for me and she'd be pissed if I offed myself before she found me."

Comments are ♥♥♥.

Also, for the writers (and Neil Gaiman fans) on my flist, this is the most awesome thing you will see today. Or possibly all year.

The Gray Cat just gets weirder and weirder.

This is a cat who wraps her tail around herself and then very carefully places her front feet on it to keep it anchored. This is a cat who adores it when the (spayed, female) dog humps her. This is a cat who likes getting pet by our feet, the rougher the better, but doesn't like it when you touch her with your icky icky hands. This is a cat who likes getting brushed backwards.

This is a cat who walks like a camel.

Most mammals, when they walk, move the opposite front and back legs together. Camels are the exception to this. They move the front and back legs on the same side together.

And so, apparently, does the Gray Cat. It's one of the oddest damn things I've ever seen in a life filled with odd things.

My theory that cats are actually aliens sent to spy on us, and that some of them aren't actually very good at being cats, is thus reinforced.

The White Cat really needs to have a talk with her.