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OH PLAGUES AND PLAGUES I MISSED REMUS' BIRTHDAY. 

I AM A ROTTEN FANGIRL.

(Actually, there are ninety minutes left, but that hardly amounts to anything. I missed Aragorn's birthday, too, but the fic I was contemplating turned out to have even less plot than my fics usually do, so I gave up on it. Seriously, it was about Aragorn and Halbarad in the woods eating stuff. Or learning to cook. Or something.) So, um, happy birthday, Remus. Depressing fic ought to be forthcoming. I've been mucking about with that Rhapsody on a Windy Night fic for quite some time.

So, I'm going to have to finish one of my fifteen and a half Remus!fics have a go at some kind of belated celebration. I feel guilty. Then again, I forgot Ian's birthday in November, which is really pathetic, seeing as I made it up and all. (It's the ninth, because...I wanted a Lost number. Shut up.) 

We visited Leandra again today (hopefully our last trip to Pittsburgh; if all goes well she'll be at our home hospital by midweek or earlier), and took a long detour at Borders, where I bought nothing because what I did want was four times the amount I would pay if I bought it used on Amazon Marketplace or at Rosie's Bookshop in town or I hadn't read yet and was rather keen on, but I rarely buy books that I haven't read yet without a great deal of trust in the author. I got to touch Ysabel and The Ultimate Sandman and The Essential Rilke (!) and wasn't able to spend thirty seconds in the young adult section without wanting to run away, and I think I want to read Neverwhere rather badly now. I also nicked one of the (free) ancticipatory Deathly Hallows bookmarks. I totally love that even the advertising is getting into the whole 'Snape: Good or Evil?' thing: fandom is taking over the world.

Also, Best Time Ever = driving through Pittsburgh in the rain, blaring Steeleye Span, and debating with the siblings as to what the TARDIS noise sounds like. :D We have this family ritual dating back to my toddlerhood which involves us pointing out imaginary sea-life when driving through a tunnel--"oh, look, there's an octopus!" and suchlike (I've taken to saying things like "the Giant Squid!" and "a bunch of krakken!" lately), so we're driving through the tunnel and I go "hey, look, a police box!", and lo, the fandom joke was gotten, and Heidi said, "there's the Doctor! and Rose!" and I smiled smugly with the knowledge of converts made. (And then my brother says, "Rosebud?" and I says, "NO.", and he says, "Her last name should be Bud", and I says, "Nobody is that cruel, even Rose's crazy mother," and that was that. Citizen Kane jokes are the new black in my house, despite my brother having only seen the very beginning and remembering it very well for some reason. I think it's because his Robosapien says "Rosebud!" when you turn it off, which was the best and nerdiest thing ever, especially because we all, except for Heidi, got it. So then I said, "look! it's Orson Welles on a sled!" and my brother gave me the blankest look possible.)

The drive home consisted very much of thick, rolling fog, the sort of fog one rarely finds outside of films (and England), and I kept thinking that we were going to drive out into some barren moor in an alternate Victorian universe or be spirited away by the Unseelie Court, but alas, nothing out of the ordinary happened, which was extremely disappointing.
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I happened to skip over to the Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack on iTunes, which hasn't got a proper listen out of me for--a year, likely, and suddenly I am twelve years old again and, inexplicably, feel a little bit like crying. I remember the exploding wonder of Tolkien, and reading the books thirteen times in a year, and counting down, and translating lyrics and having my go at epic (and thoroughly tripe) fanfiction, and translating terrible pop songs into Sindarin (NO LIE: I AM ASHAMED), and parodying, and quoting, and theorising, and going to the films in costume, and--it. Tolkien was such a huge part of my life, and then it sort of...faded, and I miss it, terribly. Which is all very silly because the book (and The Silmarillion, and Unfinished Tales, and half of The Histories of Middle-earth--our nasty, smudgy little copy of The Hobbit is either packed, disintegrated, or otherwise hidden) are on the shelf over my desk, and the Extended Editions of the films are sitting in a neat if dusty row not ten feet away from me, and...I'm really not sure what I'm saying, actually. I remember it being magic, unexplored territory, something new and terrifyingly magnificent, and maybe it's been long enough since I've been in that world that I can find some of that again...er, watch me disintegrate into pretentious metaphors.

Um. However, you haven't lived, really, until you've seen the brilliantly awful Engrish subtitles for the films. No, seriously, you haven't. I've been quoting 'toast me' for years.

September 2009

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