Huh.

The past week-plus has been interesting, to say the least. Weather all over the place (which, you say, is what weather does, but I mean it's been hot and cold, wet and dry, THAT kind of "all over the place", wiseass). New experiences, new friends, new leads on possibly moving into the new profession. Even new neighbors moving in upstairs and rattling things around until midnight has only annoyed me a little bit. As a result, I have little to kvetch about at the moment, but that doesn't bother me in the long run; the world always comes back to providing plenty of kvetch fodder, sooner or later.

But in the meantime, the low kvetch quotient recently is unnerving. Even some of the larger-community icks cropping up aren't really mine to kvetch about, y'know? (FYI, that's primarily regarding people with horribly reactionary [despite what they mostly say, there's a HUGE difference between "traditional" and "reactionary"] behavior that treats a huge swathe of folks like subcreatures, non-citizens and the like, but that properly belongs to the directly-wronged people; it's not MINE to grab and run with.) Maybe I could grouse about my cat who's being even twitchier than usual and running away from me instead of graciously accepting pets... until SHE decides SHE wants them, that is. Or the usual GET YOUR ENTITLED ASS THE FUCK OUT OF THE PASSING LANE UNLESS YOU'RE PASSING, YOU RHINOCEROS PIZZLE WITH A BRAIN MADE OF FERMENTED JACKAL SNOT rant. But it feels off. Like I'm not bringing my A-game.

And I can't even bring myself to kvetch properly about that. So... fuck it.

Let's try that again.

*taptap* This thing on? Okay, I've tried doin' the blog thing twice and lost interest faster than a fat guy like me confronted with a salad bar. Maybe the third time'll work.

Today's Kvetch Event: the 200-meter Don't Say It Unless You Mean It. I think we can each supply a metric asston of our own examples, so I'm not going to sully your day by dumping my freshest experience with jackassery on you. Just picture your own and I'll say, "Yeah, it's pretty much like that."

Extra Bonus Kvetch: The What Are You, A Reptile? relay. Ninety degrees in the shade here, with a heapin' helpin' of Hephæstus-humpingly high humidity slopped all over it. Not a fit day out for man nor beast. So what do I hear on the radio? Some lizard proclaiming it to be "gorgeous weather". Seriously? Are you cold-blooded? Is the circulation in your extremities zero?

FEH.

In the non-medal events: If you're reading anything posted anywhere by me, chances are good we share at least something in the reading-preferences department. Sci-fi, fantasy, something under that geekbrella. I'm not ordinarily a reader of stuff that doesn't at least resemble that übergenre; I'm not bashing other stuff, mind you, just admitting that most other things leave me a bit cold. Period pieces? Meh. Jargon-heavy stuff? Even with a college background in physics, megahard SF generally annoys me; if you can't work the hard science into the story less baldly, you need to fix that. So it'll come as something of a surprise to find that I'm thoroughly sucked into the Aubrey-Maturin series (the books that gave rise to the Master and Commander movie). Twenty frakkin' books (which is another thing I tend to stay away from; super-long series usually stumble horribly, in my experience)... and here I am, almost halfway through it.

It's so good that I've gone beyond my usual nebulous mental image of characters and planted myself firmly in Ideal Casting mode. As much as I enjoyed Paul Bettany in the movie's Maturin role, I can't help but see Jonny Lee Miller in the role now (yes, largely influenced by the description of Maturin's appearance, but I'm firmly convinced he can pull off the elevated snark that makes Maturin so enjoyable; Miller's work in Elementary entertains the snot out of me). And Diana Villiers? Jaime Murray, absolutely. I would watch HELL out of a serial with those two in those roles.