Al didn’t have to carry a bag though, because he was just company, not training. Anyway, the walk is mostly stairs and boardwalks and a couple of regular-street detours around blocks of posh dicks who wouldn’t sign off on the walkway going in front of their properties, but there’s one section where you have to pick across Lurline Bay, which is basically just a section of the Sydney coast where enough bits have fallen off the cliffs that there’s a crescent of rock shelf and large stones where you can walk right next to the ocean. People fish there. It looks like this.
Well, it's a little early, but I'm hoping to inspire some of my flisters to offer some of these fandoms, so here is my letter! :3 I wanted to get Danger Days and Drive in here as well, but alas, fourprompts ;_; are we all excited for yuletide? I'm excited!( under the cut: guitar wolf, fem!holmes.ru, digger and casablanca )
deadislepodfic: podficcing copperbadge's new novel the Dead Isle with a full cast
The year is 1880, and Jack Baker is a young, driven student at Harvard University for Engineers. In this America, industry depends on "Creation" magic rather than machines, and most engineers are train repairmen, not inventors like Jack. Even his Creationist friend Clare thinks Jack's genius is going to waste at Harvard. There is one man who knows how to put Jack to use, however: famous novelist and sometimes spy Ellis Graveworthy, who wants Jack to come with him to England and build him a flying ship. Graveworthy has been ordered to cross the heavily-guarded coast of Australia, the "Dead Isle" which has no Creation, and which sealed itself off from the outside world more than twenty years before. Rumors abound that Australia is building a war fleet, intent on conquest, and it's Graveworthy's job to stop it...
A special call out to any other Australians who read my blog - the project is experiencing a shortage of Aboriginal voices, so if you know anyone of aboriginal descent who enjoys a good steampunk/revolution story, maybe toss this their way?
what else is new? Still working on my thesis (if by working you mean procrastianting), organising some stuff for the writers' society, tumbling a lot... I went and saw the Sydney Uni Science Revue, which was excellent as usual. I've never really seen another revue that manages to completely excise racist/sexist/homophobic jokes. There were a few that just fell flat, but everything else was hilarious. They made an entire octopus costume just for a three-second spongebob/get off my lawn joke!
What's happening in dreamwidth/LJ land?
i mean i was already twenty three on friday but now i have ~celebrated~ it so it’s all official and stuff!
I celebrated so hard that I woke up with enough alcohol in my system to forget that taking codeine-fortified painkillers with alcohol in your system is a really bad idea! And then I went woooeeeooo and sat next to a bowl for about half an hour just in case. But now I am past most of the nausea (and it is ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY TYPICAL of me to be nauseous in the standard hangover space for reasons completely unrelated to hangovers) and all that is left is a bit of swimmy vision and wheeee.
I had a pretty great day yesterday. Al and I had brunch with both our parentses and it was minimally embarrassing! My dad gave me a skull-shaped shotglass & a t-shirt with a screenprint involving a Russian che guevara joke, and my mum gave me yet another unnecessary purse, a CD called “Land of The Powerful Owl”, a cushion and a dinky pearl necklace. This tells you everything you need to know about my family. Al’s mum knitted me a beanie. If I marry this guy I forsee a future of owning many, many beanies.
In the evening we went down to the Summer Hill Hotel. It turned out to have some minor space issues, but after a while most of the other patrons cleared out because the footy was over, so we could spread out again. At one point a random drunk older woman sat down at our table, knocking over someone’s drink, because we were in front of the TV. After a while we asked her to move so we could fit all my guests at the table, at which point she glared daggers at us from the next one for a while. Anyway, I caught up with a bunch of great people, although I think may have neglected Stan and his new girlfriend for a while there, because she embarked upon an ambitious construction project using leftover chips and aioli.
My first three and a half drinks managed to leave me feeling relaxed but otherwise soberish, and then someone bought me a double and about four sips into it my face started feeling numb. Cumulative effects of alcohol! But anyway, I don’t remember saying anything embarrassing, or at least anything I felt embarrassed about saying, so I’m going to call it a win. It really should have occurred to me that I couldn’t metabolise all that overnight though. Now I’m going to go see what Land of the Powerful Owl is all about, I imagine a codeine high can only help.
So yesterday I contributed to the continuing effort by The Goddamn Fishmouse and I to turn our apartment into something less resembling a deathtrap. I did this by purchasing an extension cord and attaching it to the other extension cord which, up till now, connected my computer’s powerboard to the outlet in our bathroom, thus extending the extension cord to an extension which allows us to thread it underneath the door instead of through the side, thus enabling us to close said door when we shower - and, bonus! marginally reduce our risk of electrocution.
Why, you ask, is my computer’s powerboard connected via extensive extension cordage to the power outlet in the bathroom? because (and we did not notice this before I moved in because it is the sort of thing you take for granted, having power outlets in rooms, you know) my room is COMPLETELY DEVOID OF ELECTRIC SOCKETS. It does have a thingy for plugging your TV antenna into, though. Not sure if they thought this was going to be a battery-powered television or what.
This absurd blindness to socket location practicality extends to the kitchen and is next on the un-deathtrapping to do list. We have one of those corner-counter kitchens like I always build on the Sims, where it goes Fridge, Counter, Stove, Counter, Corner Counter, Counter, Sink, with the other two sides of the rectangle being The Third Wall and The Lack Of Fourth Wall Leading To The Living Room. One powerpoint is back behind the fridge and one is over the counter next to it. Guess where the other powerpoint is?
WHY WOULD ANYBODY PUT A POWERPOINT THERE. IT IS NOT NEXT TO ANY OPTIMAL LOCATION FOR KITCHEN ITEMS THAT REQUIRE POWER. IT IS NEXT TO THE SINK.
Yes, that is an extension cable plugged into it. Because, you see, our microwave is on the corner counter, so in order to plug it in we have to stretch a cord either across the stove or across the sink. DEATHTRAAAAAP.
Eventually we’ll use some 3m hooks or duct tape or something to attach a powerboard to the wall above the stove securely enough to leave it there permanently, at which point the bizarre sink-adjacent powerpoint will cease to be in use and presumably feel very sorry for itself.And then TODAY I tried to donate blood but was turned away for low blood pressure, following which I went and recorded a demo of a new song with Lily. We had an hour of free time at King Sound Studio as a consolation prize from their song competition that we entered. They're good dudes albeit slightly disorganised, but frankly it's the music industry and I, personally, have not a leg to stand on. I'll have the song online once they send it to us :3 my voice was a little rough, but traditionally nobody pays more attention to that than I do.
Without further ado: Since my tumblr has apparently become a Discworld blog – introducing someone else to a fandom turns out to be surprisingly similar to initial immersion when it comes to said fandom colonising your thoughts all the time – I thought I may as well have my flail about Monstrous Regiment and why it is my faaaaaavourite aside from all my other favourites. Er, and then it sort of turned into a kind of essay like thingy? So be warned :P
Amazing as Terry Pratchett is generally, he’s always been kind of short on LGBT inclusion – oh, there’s any number of characters that could be background gays, but when it comes to named characters and canon sexuality, he seemed a bit flummoxed for quite a while. Aside from Nobby Nobbs’ awkward comic relief cross-dressing, the closest thing for a long time was the fact that Dwarfs, we were allowed to assume, did whatever they did and nobody Mentioned Gender, so really any given dwarf couple were Schrodinger’s Queers. They also got the closet metaphor with the whole “coming out as female” thing, and I believe later there was one named dwarf who was in fact transgender as we would understand it. But at the same time, Trolls, whose genders were usually clear, managed to fail the Bechdel Test as a species.
And then came Monstrous Regiment, the book which increased genderqueer visibility in fantasy fiction by approximately 300%, as well as introducing the Disc’s first proper lesbian couple and quite possibly failing the Reverse Bechdel Test.
The trope of a girl dressing up as a boy to join a traditionally male military institution is old stuff by now, the most salient example in my reading being Tamora Pierce’s Lioness series. It’s a fairly polar trope, really – on the one hand, you get what is usually a fairly badass woman doing badass things and being as good as or usually better than any number of boys (who are not, after all, protagonists) – but at the same time, it means your main character can quite easily be the only female character of note, and as a tomboy in a gender-segregated society she’s not likely to have great relationships with other women who fit into their assigned social roles – conveniently perpetuating the Not Like Other Girls idea that’s partly responsible for the massive difference in popularity between Arya and Sansa Stark.
( Spoilers yonder! )
We open with Tom Stoppard's absurdist classic The Real Inspector Hound, and let me reassure you I am fully aware of the irony of making any sort of critical review of The Real Inspector Hound, and promise not to use the word "elan" at any point other than that one. To say this production was on a budget is to make university students the world over laugh uproariously and insist that it is your round, so rather than engaging in funny business with mirrors, the traditional Messrs Moon And Birdboot Are In The Audience game was played by means of several chairs extending the audience seating onto the stage (floor) in a curve with Reserved signs on two of them, not that this was necessary because the audience knows what's what and nobody wants to sit in the weird seats where the lighting kids can stare at the back of your neck. I hadn't brought a companion, so I ended up sitting in the middle of the second row next to pair of men with accents so incredibly German they could not possibly be actual Germans from Germany.
( Read more... )
What can I say about Mother Courage? Many things, but a lot of them involve trying to pronounce Verfremdungseffekt. It seems like each new production uses different theatrical devices to shoot for Brecht's ideal of estrangement, and each one manages to shoot itself in the foot by casting likeable, empathic actors. This was basically the case here. It is of course possible that the artist's goal of undermining audience immersion in the story to breaking point in order to make them think about the issues presented is truly impossible to achieve, and it is also highly probable that anyone who's going to think about it at all is capable of doing so while totally engrossed in the story, but it is more to the point to note that the spread of postmodernism and the vagaries of student theatre mean we are entirely accustomed to a fourth wall that's more of a colander, to highly non-naturalistic scenery and to metanarrative commentary. The only things that remain unique to Brecht and therefore remotely jarring are the thing where you announce what's going to happen in the following scene and the thing with the awful music. All of the above were used quite well in this production.
( Read more... )
and boy do my feet hurt. I was unfortunately rostered such that not only did I miss the panel I wanted to see, but also I spent two thirds of the day on my feet, telling people how to queue and when to queue and that they were bloody well not in any way allowed to take recording equipment into the photobooth to ask a star personal questions about his dead wife, oh my god.
however, I still had fun wandering the stalls on my off-shift. I bought a Hufflepuff badge and a Hawkeye hairclip and a ring with mustaches on (I decided against the love-heart caribiner), and a boy at the costume stall inexplicably gave me lollies and a dodgy Harry Potter wand when I entered their raffle (which is how I discovered that the French word for wand is baguette), and I found a wooden clothespeg on the floor with "I don't think you are a waste of space -- Dudley" written on it (aww), and I took photos of excellent cosplayers like Ms Marvel and Xena, but not, alas, of the four-person Nyaan Cat cosplay or of the spontaneous fencing match that broke out between a gentleman in a white mustache & black top hat with a cane, a jedi with a green lightsaber, some other cosplayer with a big triangular sword I didn't recognise and an eight-year-old sith with a broken red lightsaber. I am legit heartbroken that nobody was filming that, and my phone had run out of batteries ;_;
Probably instead of some of that I ought to have like... sat down in between my shifts and rested m feet. Oops. At least they got a rest during the Outland panel. I thought, for some reason, (I lie, the reason is that the supanova website is not supa informative pre-con), that it was going to be about queer comic book characters or something like that, but it was actually a specific panel about a specific TV show that I do not watch. The two gay dudes at its helm seemed like cool guys, but I had absolutely no familiarity with their subject matter (it sounds a bit like a queer Aussie The Guild? maybe?) and one of them kept on cackling in a faintly disturbing sort of way, so after a while I left and looked at more stalls.
Tomorrow I have less work to do, but also absolutely no panels that I really want to see, so I expect I shall wander the stalls yet again and perhaps buy some books or overpriced Goth clothing. There was some really cool stuff, but I figured I'd do my wallet some good by waiting until a second look confirmed I really wanted it and/or someone put up end-of-show markdowns. And obviously I can't afford any tophats or funky necklaces made of old clock parts or trench-coats with buckles on, regardless.
Oh, and I cosplayed Delirium again, but nobody recognised me this time, and I saw nobody else dressed as anything from Sandman. It made me sad. But there's always tomorrow!
Several tables to our right, another, younger society was resolving a dispute primarily by ganging up on the disagreeing member and making her cry. I started ranting about this, causing a few heads to turn when my “DOING IT WRONG” echoed across the room. Eventually the group dispersed, their ringleader locking eyes with me as she walked past us, and I went over to the circle of chairs they left, where the girl was silently crying. She had a long blonde ponytail.
“Boy, have I been there,” I said to her, choking up with sympathy tears, and then had to get up to fetch tissues. We shared a laugh-cry moment, and then for some reason I decided to share a Greek myth with her.
“I mean, Heliotrope,” I said, “was having the worst day ever. Not only did she find out her husband was fucking a rabbit, but she literally turned into a painting.”
(At this point my dream treated me to a graphic vision of Heliotrope’s skin grafting onto the painting’s canvas as it absorbed her.)
“But let me tell you something,” I continued. “Heliotrope won.”
But before I could explain how Heliotrope won, my mum came in and woke me up (for the LAST TIME, which makes it fitting that it was absolutely classic – she told me last night when she expected me to be awake, I set my alarm for that time, and then she came in 40 mins earlier than my alarm to “fix” something about my room that wasn’t bothering me and opened the curtains so I couldn’t get back to sleep.)
Here’s the problem: there’s no such myth. The word heliotrope comes from a Greek story about a nymph who was in unrequited love with the sun-god Helios, and thereby turned into a flower whose face always turns toward the sun. This contains the right elements from my dream, of the lover forsaking you for someone else and of turning into something nonsentient, but a) there’s no rabbits or paintings and b) she doesn’t Win. Unless you call having a 19th century German guy name a scientific instrument after you winning.
So help me out, internet – tell me the rest of the story. If your husband was fucking a rabbit and the Gods turned you into a painting, how would you Win?
There are seven toothbrushes in my bathroom. The little dinosaur one is my brother's, and mine is one of the green pair (I can never remember which). The dark red one is old and has been consigned now to those hard-to-reach places belonging to the bathroom sink. That leaves three pink ones and whichever green one isn't mine. Can my mother possibly be using all of them? My dad only ever uses their en-suite, but mum thinks it's too cold on that side of the house. The toothbrushes are never put away, so it doesn't seem like you could accidentally open a new one before you needed it, but my mother works in mysterious ways.
Today she decided the fridge needed cleaning. It did, but she only got as far as taking everything out before falling asleep in front of the TV. When I found her and turned it off, she woke up, mumbled about her stomach and went upstairs. Dad came home while I was cleaning the fridge shelves and we had a nice chat as we returned all the produce whence it belonged, including the five roots of ginger and two of turmeric that mum bought on a whim and none of us actually know what to do with. Also beetroot. Do any of us eat beetroot? Why do we have so much parsley? The only dish I know of incorporating large quantities of parsley is boscaiola pasta, but I know this because Alexander likes to make it. That doesn't normally happen at my house. My parents' house. My house. My parents' house. Double vision.
Double vision. I still expect my cat to turn up underfoot. Poor old thing. We didn't even bury her, we figured the vet would know what to do with animal corpses. My parents are thinking of minding a foster kitty for a few weeks. Not my responsibility. No pets allowed where I'll be living now, or at least no mammals. I like snakes. Do I still have that tiny mummified lizard somewhere? I'm going to have to move all my knick knacks off the bookshelf and decide which ones to take with me. Finally an excuse to leave behind the porcelain dolls my grandma gave me that I never played with. They can gather dust somewhere else.
My grandparents (or rather the more active busybody in each pair, being my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather), collectively appear to be worried that my new flatmate will either seduce me, steal my shit, or seduce some random guy who will then steal my shit. They're also vaguely relieved that I'm moving into a white-ish neighborhood. Previous generations, huh? Alexander offers in consolation that a) he's just down the train line to ~protect my virtue~ and b) his grandma is technically the class enemy. I think that's because she owns property and rents it out at market value. Alexander is very concerned about the housing market in his area, specifically its place in the gentrification of a traditionally poor black neighborhood and dispersal of housing commission tenants to economically dead outer suburbs. Or something like that, I get this stuff basically by osmosis - it's hard to follow along on any individual rant because of his tendency to interrupt himself four times in a row with nesting parentheses. This is as yet more cute than irritating. I've made a game out of counting the levels of tangent and then holding up a number of fingers and saying "ding ding ding." One must find amusement where one can.
The place in Summer Hill has nothing on the walls yet. I meant to write more on the ceiling of my room here, so the words from that insomniac episode was a few years ago seemed more artistic, but I didn't get around to it. I'm moving into a smaller room and one I can't write on because of that large bond I just transferred. On the other hand - no more surprise ginger. My dad says ginger juice tastes awful. I'm going to miss him.
The following shall serve both to elaborate my prompts and to advertise the fandoms a little bit for blowins and treaters. Go nuts!
( Guitar Wolf: Wild Zero )
( Hainish Cycle – Ursula Le Guin )
( David Koresh: Superstar )
( Danger Days )
In conclusion, as you can see I'm pretty well-balanced between options for lulz and options for thinkyfic, both of which are things I enjoy greatly. I don't have literary triggers for you to avoid, and my major squick is Adam Sandler. I'd do the whole spiel about woman/queer/etc-friendly writing, but I think my prompts and flailing sort of do that for me - stick to the spirit if not the letter (because optional details, of course, are optional) of my requests and you should do fine. The Hainish Cycle prompt is the only one that really should have sexual content, but any of them can if that's the way you roll. I hope I've provided enough options for you to find one that really grabs you. Have fun :)
I thought it was an excellent movie - even the epilogue was well done, considering it was, you know, The Epilogue. And I have for some time been planning a mixtape for Draco Malfoy, partly out of fanon nostalgia but mostly because the movies do so insist on lovingly panning over Tom Felton's really quite effective HALP!face. (Incidentally, I vaguely met the guy in passing at the last Supanova which I failed to write about here, and he is in fact a genuinely awesome person. Ironic casting choice ftw!) (When I say "vaguely" and "in passing" I mean "we were in the same room for a while and he addressed a small group of people of which I was one in a friendly and jocular manner, I am not trying to project a hob-nobbing with the stars image here.)
Anyway, so here's the mixtape.
I was a little disappointed that I couldn't find a song that really summed up the Malfoy family relationship and the way they grew over the series. I mean Narcissa's priority is very obviously keeping her child safe, and I find the reversal in Lucius Malfoy really interesting - the actors showed it very economically in the movies, the gradual but huge realisation that they have gotten in over their heads and now all they can do is try to stay afloat.
But I guess not many people write songs about that sort of thing.
( Playlist and links to lyrics )
In other news, my final semester of university has begun! I've got one day a week at UNSW for my Linguistics elective, and one and a half at UTS finishing off the writing stuff. I say and a half because Independent Writing Project turns out to meet fortnightly, on the basis that we're not really doing anything except workshopping and it's better to take two weeks and bring in more work to discuss than to do it in little spurts. Screenwriting is shaping up to be fun, our teacher is a stand-up comedian and has good taste in short films. Linguistics is fun as always (my lost major creys ;_;) and I like my teachers - the lecturer is an adorable old butch lady (who I think must have been strikingly attractive twenty years ago) and my tutor is Italian and pronounces my name right!
1. I had a belated 21st birthday party. But Maggie, I hear you say, is your birthday not in August? why, yes it is! And in honour of my 21st birthday party being closer in date to my 22nd actual birthday than anything else, I dubbed it the Timey Wimey birthday and me and my boyfriend dressed up as the fourth and eleventh Doctors. It was awesome. I got very very drunk, which I maintain was not my fault because my friends mandated that I take a drink every time I interrupted someone else's speech, and they know me.
Also this happened.
2. I won a journal subscription using a tin of sardines. Also I ate the sardines.
There was a book-themed picnic competition listed in the program for the NSW Writers Center inaugural young writers festival - they invited everyone to bring a picnic basket selected to fit a favourite book, e.g. mushroom products for alice in wonderland or whatever. I didn’t realise till a few hours before the thing, so I grabbed some random stuff from my kitchen and a 7/11 on my route to make a Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy spread - a towel, of course, a thermos of tea, a tin of sardines (for Babelfish), some bread to eat the sardines with, and some peanut butter and mixed nuts in honour of the peanuts Ford buys from the bar in Chapter 3 (these latter two from the 7/11). I did not even have time to rustle up Trillian’s salad from the Restaurant at the End of the Universe and a friendly cow toy, I had to get on a bus. I figured people would laugh and share the fruits of their lengthier preparation with me, and everybody would nom in a writerly fashion.
Anyway it turned out nobody else brought anything so I won by default.
3. I am hopefully participating in thissss and it is not too late for you to also participate!
ladiesbigbang: a female-centric panfanwork big bang challenge.
Optional sign-ups open June 1-30th, final drafts due October 1st.
sign-ups: creators | cheerleaders | betas
info: minimums | rules & guidelines | pinch hitting
Length: 17 tracks
Warnings: Erm, you may go a bit starry-eyed for some of these songs and therefore be slightly unproductive for an unknown period of time?
Other Notes: Hopefully this will cure any blues you may have contracted from my Tearjerkers mix. 8tracks licensing rules mean you can only listen to this in the order I've put it in once. As always, if you like these artists make a note to spend some money on them at some point in time. This used to be a bit more disjointed, with half of it songs that were basically About how You Should Cheer Up Already, and half of it just random stuff that made me smile. I realised that the first lot actually get on your nerves a bit when they are that concentrated, so I cut most of the less subtle ones, and I cut a few from the latter category too that didn’t fit. So yep, this used to be much longer, have some
Bonus Songs: Banned From Argo, which always makes ME smile, but didn’t really fit anywhere and I thought I’d have slightly fewer injokes. And Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck) which was the original title of this playlist. I actually like it better than the Frank Turner song in there, I couldn’t decide between them for a while, but in the end this one was too sorrowful in the verses.
Have a listen, and tell me in the comments about the songs I don't know that always cheer you up!
( Commentary )
Length: 18 tracks
Warnings: Y'all can be the judge of whether an hour or so of sad music will be detrimental to your emotional state, but also sad songs tend to be about specific things which are sad and some of which are triggery, so please drop me a comment/message if there's something in particular you're avoiding right now and I will tell you which song to skip.
Other Notes: 8tracks licensing rules mean you can only listen to this in the order I've put it in once. As always, if you like these artists make a note to spend some money on them at some point in time. If not one song on this list makes you feel a bit like weeping, it is entirely possible that we have irreconcilable philosophical differences. You may want to follow it up immediately with my Cheerjerkers mix. Also, I had to cut this playlist down ridiculously to fit it into a mix. So therefore have a
Bonus Song: No Gringo
Have a listen, and tell me about the songs I don't know about that always make you cry in the comments!
( Commentary )
Anyway, in lieu of promising to actually write stuff (ha!) I have decided to post here my photos from the long-finished MCR costume contest. frostickle took these at UNSW just after I redyed my hair, it was awesome.
( Read more... )
And of course Neil Gaiman came out to read some stuff, which was awesome (megafauna :D) and slightly terrifying (after reading the intro to Smoke and Mirrors, where he sheepishly explains that the sexy story in it took him years of writing a paragraph, blushing, and putting it away for a month, it feels incongrouous to hear him say "fuck" out loud in his impeccable British accent).
Amanda was lively and entirely at home on the stage, as always - even when her skirt/train thing got caught on a speaker, and when she forgot her setlist, and when her "make out with random audience members during Missed Me" plan encountered what appeared to be an awkward grabby dude (we were up in the circle so it was a little hard to see what was actually going on if the spotlight wasn't quick enough). She also told a cute little story about one of my favourite covers from Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under, On An Unknown Beach. Apparently it's from an obscure CD that was given to her by a music nerd when she was 18, and it's by Peter Jeffries, a New Zealand artist who is now a music teacher, and she has been looking for him in vain ever since. She earnestly requested that if anyone in the audience knew him, or ran into him, they should let him know that she covered his song.
The theme of the show was "Bogans vs Artfags" but, you know, it's Amanda Palmer - most of the fans went with the Artfag side. I considered going half'n'half to bring balance to the force or some shit, but let's face it - my wardrobe is not skewed heavily towards the thongs and australian-flag merch end of the scale. I went with the colourful stockings/whacky face make-up/weird wobbly butterfly clips concoction instead. The stage was crowded with theme stuff, though - there was an esky, a grill and a Hills Hoist, and a rack of whacky costumes, and a dummy in a gaga-esque dress, and all that.
Afterwards most of us made a speedy dash for the bathroom (it was a long concert - the encore included ladies in spangly dresses for Map of Tasmania and Oasis) (yes, that IS a rainbow flag with some pubes on it, why do you ask?) (also one of the dancers did a rap rebuttal about how shaving was okay xD) and then joined the others in the signing queue. I didn't actually bring anything to get signed, but I wanted to show Neil my tattoo, since he'd been blogging about seeing a similar one. He was delighted, and spontaneously hugged me and then pointed it out to Amanda. (They were signing at one table, which made it all the more convenient for Jess to wheedle them both into signing one side of her chest each. Classy as always xD)
I am told by my friends that I actually squee'd, but I don't believe them. Anyway, I hustled them off to get food as soon as that was done, because I was about to faint or cry or something. This ended up being me scrounging off of Avi, because the only thing open in Circular bloody Quay at midnight is McDonalds, and a little vegan muesli bar with promise of instant noodles in forty minutes is basically preferable. We hung out chatting at Avi's for a while, then everyone remembered their various 8am wake-up calls (suckerrrrs) and dispersed. I ended up waiting at a bus stop with some bats for half an hour, most of which I spent spamming twitter and singing random bits of songs that were now stuck in my head.