my heart is a glorious machine;

Right, so, what does it say about me that I have spent substantial periods of time figuring out how best to make a record player work by magic? -- Look, it really wouldn't be that difficult; isn't the main way a record player works is by rotating, and the needle scratching along the surface of the record? (I have not actually seen very many record players in action.) In that case, one would simply have to charm it to go round, yeah?

...Yeah.


In other news, a very happy (and somewhat belated even on this side of the world) birthday to ressie_noldo , who is v. spiffing. ♥

I've written my first entry for rt_challenge and feel the need to exult a bit. Shush, it's my first ficathon. And somehow what I was writing turned out to be a poem, which was utterly unexpected and totally influenced by all of the rain-themed music I was listening to while writing. Well. There isn't enough fandom poetry anyway.

Also, if we all keep our fingers crossed, I may have a fanmix EP out for you lot tomorrow. May. Er. I'm hoping that mentioning this has not just jinxed the poor project beyond all hope. I did make the covers and everything, so. Um. Well. Also because my mind works in mysterious ways, I have just made a sort of gloomy-but-also-hopeful mix at what may be the absolute wrong time. Er. Yes. In my defense, they don't die in my universe.

Which brings me to That Fic I Keep Talking About And Never Producing, which, um. Yes. It is almost finished. Really. It has also been in the same state of almost-finished-ness for three days, but that is beside the point. A certain Eliot-loving bloke is being far too angsty for everyone's good and I am trying to work it out into a proper hopeful ending. And I wrote myself to the end of a paragraph and suddenly realised, um, oh no, I have no idea what happens next. Blast!

My oh my, I've made an entirely fandomy post! This hasn't happened in months, if you don't count the rather incoherent posts written immediately after viewing episodes of Doctor Who. Or the equally incoherent post-Lost ones squeaking "what?"

Right, so, four in the morning tomorrow -- today, really -- Dad and I are going to get into the van and drive for quite a while until we reach New York and the Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival and I will sleep most of the way and will likely remember nothing. Sometime around eleven we shall arrive and pitch our tent and hope that we don't end up with a rubbish spot, and then we will enjoy four splendid days of music and I will be so busy that I will (hopefully) not pine after Deathly Hallows too much. (At least I am really hoping this. The anticipation has reached a frenzy point. Oh dear. I shall wear my Tonks-esque outfit and see if anyone comments on it.) I will be disappointed that I haven't managed to find ankle bracelets yet -- I wanted them for the dancing; I love the idea of them jingling while I leap about clumsily, skirts flying. I don't have very nice ankles, though, so perhaps it's for the best. I shall also see Nickel Creek and the Duhks and the Kruger Brothers and Bela Fleck and Sam Bush and will hopefully discover someone new and marvellous.

I have a horrible feeling that I am going to run into someone who is miraculously reading Deathly Hallows, and either I shall steal their copy and run away laughing wickedly and never come back, or I shall beg them to let me read the first chapter or five, or I shall just stare at them yearningly until they become uncomfortable and leave.

The fact that I am going on and on clearly shows how sleepy I am but this is perfectly all right as car trips were made to sleep through. (Oh dear I am not sure what I am going to do when I am in charge of driving the car trips.)

And I really hope that once I have got back I will catch up properly and reply to the things I want and need to reply to, but there will be a great block of squeeing or mourning over Deathly Hallows and hopefully a magnificently great block of Banui Writing Fic (I have learnt that nothing inspires fic like new canon), and, um, stuff. I am losing my train of thought and should go to bed.

Er -- goodnight, everyone. I shall see you lot Monday.

SEVERUS SNAPE IS THE RAVEN KING.

(He's from Yorkshire! He's got black hair! He does magic! IT TOTALLY WORKS.)

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.

Happy birthday to my mother, and a belated one to lexiedoh who's got some Lost-fic on the way. Eventually. Not until after Christmas, but then, I'm getting very nearly nothing done until after Christmas. 

Also, Book Seven's got a title, and I think I like it. (Seldom-used British words for the win!) And I have a skirt that looks like gingerbread and I made a fantastic load of chocolate cupcakes last night. Life is good. Also, I leave for my aunt's the day after tomorrow; thought you ought to know before I make my usual 'oh, yeah, by the by, I'm leaving in five minutes BUT THERE WILL BE INTERNET, OKAY' post.

I saw Padfoot again today, being walked by a large bloke with absolutely no hair at all by the large, tangley hill directly behind my house. He was sniffing something. Perhaps I dropped something? He's trying to find me, I know it. After he finds me, I haven't any idea what he wants to do, seeing as he can't speak while trapped in dog form, and I have no...anything. Especially not tickets to London. (Then again, if Remus lives in my closet...) 

And who's the bald bloke, and how does he play in? (He could be someone completely random that happened to pick a bedraggled-looking dog off the road, but that's not interesting enough!) Are there American Death Eaters? (Um. No.) Or has he noticed the dog's proficiency for crossword puzzles and is exploiting him at fairs and things?

Er. Yes. I have gone quite, quite far off the deep end. I am swimming in the middle of the ocean, practically. But this is the best. conspiracy. theory. ever. (And it wants to be fic. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that yet. *cowers* That, and Ted/Andromeda angst-fluff set to 'All You Need Is Love'. Which I have been humming all day.)

In other news, I have stripey stockings (green and black, and I only just realised what a Slytherin I must look--all in black, except for the stockings!), and the medallion from Pirates of the Caribbean, because I am a geeky fangirl. Soon, I will have black and white and red and white stripey stockings. I also bought an orange-green-yellow-brown plaid scarf that looks like a relic from the seventies (we've pictures of Dad in trousers just like it!), and I will pretend that it used to be Sirius'. Er. 

It is also very nippy and rainy today, and there are beginning to be great splotches of orange on some of the trees, and I have been alternating between Prisoner of Azkaban, Beowulf, and the first volume of Simon Schama's History of Britain all day, which has made for a pretty cheery day.

I am attempting to come up with something really scintillating and fascinating to write here.

(Drawing a blank.)

So, um, does Sirius Satelite Radio and its alleged omnipresence, omnipotence, and general mind-reading ability (as displayed in the television commercials, albeit discounted) have anything at all to do with my Sirius theories? At all? Because can't you see Sirius thinking one day: "I'm bored. I think I will start a company. With the proceeds, I can probably fund my hunt for the Other Curtain and my other selves." (Businessman!Sirius is an irrationality all its own, so we will just ignore that part. Even if it is desperately amusing.)

I do believe that I am being haunted by the ghost of Sirius Black. 

Of course, that would mean that he is actually dead, and I am still clinging to the hope that he is simply lost, hiding, or stuck. Or something. In any case, he is trying to contact me. I am sure of this. 


In conclusion: yes, he isn't dead. But why is he contacting me? I mean, me, of all people! I can't even drive! If I write about him, it will always be angsty! I own a cat! I don't have enough money to ship him off to England where he belongs and hopefully has god-grandchildren. Or something. (Furthermore, what the bloody plague is he doing in my small, insignificant Pennsylvania town? Twice?)