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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation

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i get my ramble on
Apparently, there are some benefits that come with an active online life. Up to now, I'd been hit by all the really uncomfortable parts--the words porn, cock, and wank entering into normal conversation (Me: That's so wanky! Them: Huh?
Me: Whacked! Them: How *old* are you?), or chatting to boss and coworkers about vacations (Them: So these people are all from differet states? Me: ...yeah. Them: How on earth did you meet? Me: Mary Kay. I'm trying for the Cadillac), but the cool came up the other day when I started using email as a softening weapon.

Most people at my workplace have two distinct modes: email for work or email for family. The casual, chatty email is not something most of them have ever used. Me, I can pound out ten paragraphs on absolutely *nothing*--like a livejournal, come to think. So there's always a vaguely dazed look about my manager when he gets a request from me, because he's always aware that the request will be hidden somewhere in a three page missive about my allergies and how I plan to conquer the universe and he has to suss it out, decide, and answer before I get bored and send another one. Which I have been known to do at hour increments throughout a day. Over time, he's come to just say 'yes' when the clock starts ticking down, since usually I don't ask for anything too strange, like a motorcycle or a paid sabbatical in Japan to discover Asian business practices--though don't think I'm not trying, cause I am. Which is how I ended up with today off, after waking up to the allergies that ate Tokyo and some random nose bleeding, tucked in between complaints about the birthday committee and complaints about my doctor.

I like life as viewed from my bed with coffee. It's pretty.

Committee Horror

So my schedule was taken and revised with devastation left in its wake--we were forbidden further potlucks without express, and I do mean express, permission, the August birthdays were canceled, and I sent out an email to my committee and waited for the rage to start.

It is said that there are many styles of leadership. I'm a demagogue--I get people stirred up, then send them on their way while I take a nap. This works more than you'd think. However. The birthday committee is composed of two people who have no opinion on anything whatsoever--basically, me if I wasnt' chairman--one middle ground activist, and two passionate firebrands. Which only sounds insane until you see our meetings and how I discovered I am actually the most reasonable of the group and--I have no idea how this happened--the one most likely to temper rising spite and passionate declarations of cessation from the office. Getting them wound up is painfully and frighteningly easy--the sight of my notebook from my last meeting with a manager usually does the trick--so having to be soothing and then somehow turn their demands into something other than the beginnings of a coup is one of those things I had no idea I was capable of. And if I have to sit through one more horrifying managers meeting with five people that lack even the most rudimentary senses of humor and my manager trying not to laugh his ass off in the corner might lead to in-work drinking. Frankly, at this point, I deserve it. And possibly hazard pay.

So. August birthdays are canceled--I have no idea what she thinks the birthday people of August are going to say about that after I had to outline the method of giving flowers for dead people in exhausting detail just so no one would be offended--and it kind of fucks up my middle line plans for doing other officey-morale things.

I have this horrible, horrible feeling that I'm going to be at another meeting very soon arguing passionately for birthday cake to forestall revolution. And sometimes, I wake up at night and wonder, really wonder--how did I get to this point?

Then I go back to sleep.


I--really have no words. Waffles and Reggie are still fighting it out for Big Rabbit of the Warren. I built a semi-permanent pen in one corner of the living room, which has lots of running and playing space, which my very gay bunnies use for courtship rituals. I've been trying to acclimatize Reggie and Waffles, which is working in that way that they meet with claws drawn, and most recently, when I warily let them out together, I ended up with mid-air furball wars, two soaked rabbits, prying fur from angry little teeth, and laughing myself into a choking fit. Bryante and Sloppy gave up even trying to pretend like they're coming out on top in this--I think, in the words of researchgrrrl--And the fact that the other two are just busy trying not to get humped along the way? AWESOME. I think every story -- fic and otherwise -- should now be required to have at least two characters who are just trying not to get humped along the way.

Indeed. Just trying not to get humped. Rock on, little bottoms. Rock on.

Random Smartness

For those that missed it first time around, researchgrrrl still has the Gen Porn Thing going in her lj.

And this came up in there, a commment by hecateshound:

To hit you where you live, say you open the trunk of the Impala and describe what you see. Each of those objects has a history, a date of acquisition, a history of use, a seller or manufacturer. It has been loved or hated because of how it ties into the lives of the Winchesters and how they have interacted with it. Each object has been touched and handled. Relied upon. Failed them, or saved their lives. They have a relationship with them, and because of the strictures of their lives, these relationships may be more durable than their relationships with the evanescent living. Thus, the description of these objects can not only become the focus of erotic desire, it can serve to illuminate their lives and pasts. I mean, what is more effing symbolic than a knife or a gun?

Eroticization of objects as extensions of the characters we love. I'll take a handraise if you have ever at any time spent way too much time contemplating:

1.) Clark's flannel shirts.
2.) Lex's wide variety of cars.
3.) Rodney's laptop.
4.) John's gun. And thigh holster. God, that *thigh-holster*.

If you have written or read a story where one or more paragraphs was devoted to these objects? And you panted?

Yeah. I totally get that.

ETA: Edited to fix name. Those poor, traumatized people. *feels for them all*

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hecateshound beautifully summarized the essence of Gen Porn, I think. Those non-sexual bits that we all adore because they flesh out the character, give us touchable things that give us somewhere to start filling in the blank spaces in the hotties who catch our eye in the first place. I mean, House's cane? His massive scar? His oral fixation? That mysterious wooden box under his bed? GUH.

No wonder there's so much Object Porn out there -- it's just a more specific version of what I was trying to get at with the whole Gen Porn notion.

I will love you forever for using e-mail as a softening weapon in the workplace, you faker Mary Kay rep. *adores*

(Oh, and the first use of my userID in this entry is missing one of the Rs in "grrrl." I note this because people keep winding up at that other LJ and go "A TomKat timeline? Dude. WTF?" It's been AWESOME. You have been warned.)

I read the first three of those objects and thought, 'huh, no, not really getting this,' then I actually got breathless just reading the word 'thigh holster'. So, yes.

I've been holding off on saying anything about the rabbits, because it's been years since I had any, but I have to say--It's really not that bad. We had lots of rabbits fight, but after having a gay, serial-killing guinea pig, the rabbits' humping/fighting actually seemed kinda endearing...or would have if they weren't dead. Good luck with them, though, rabbits are stubborn, stubborn creatures.

Also, I very much enjoy your posts about office politics that I have no first hand experience with, yet. I figure they're more helpful than watching TV or whatnot. ^.^

after having a gay, serial-killing guinea pig

This is the other element more stories should have besides two characters who are just trying not to get humped while they're grabbing a bite to eat.

I never realized ferrets were so vanilla until I started hanging around with y'all. Nice.

The worst part? My older (read: around 20 at the time) sister named the little sociopathic freak "Mr. Wheet-Wheet". How sinister is that? ::shudder::

Well, ferrets...er...smell more?

Are you sure you don't work in my company? 'Cause I could swear I recognize your coworkers from somewhere! I love your take on emails at work. That's the one way I know you can't work here. You'd be sacked for confusing people, for causing worry and concern, for not having enough sensitivity to know your not supposed to have a sense of humor, especially in a managers meeting!

I've written 5 sentence emails and been told I need to get to the point sooner. I've been given the evil eye by more than one person for smiling to brightly and being too free with my laughter. I too have had more than one work person ask me what I meant, when I used fandom words or why I'm going to meet a bunch of people in Las Vegas from all over the country, that I've never met before. (They think I'm crazy.)

So I have to ask...Do you want to come here and stir up some trouble? I'd love to see it! And, I could use the moral support. It'd be nice to have someone else around to help shake up corporate America's worldview!

Duncan's sword

Krycek's gun

Frasier's hat

Blair's backpack

wooden stakes ... just, you know, man - wooden stakes

Joxer's helmet

filefolders at JAG


Kermit's dark glasses

those little pens that open Channel D

that rapier stabbing into the wall

the Impala

Daniel's glasses

Darrien's snake tattoo

Charlie's chalkboards

House's cane

thigh holster - MY GODS!!!

Grissom's rubber gloves

sonic screwdriver

Johnny's cane

Dylan's force lance

wands ... brooms ... cauldrons!!!

'scuse me, I think I need a little private time now....

*purring* Oooooohyeah.

This was all very, um, inspirational. Yeah, inspirational.

Oh yeah... Kinda makes you hate the very concept of contact lenses, eh?


And have I mentioned those fingerless black marksman's gloves that Jack often wears?

And Jack's.


With the glare protectors on the sides and the safety leash when they're dangling on his OMG chest.


Meanwhile let's not even think about what Daniel can do with a ballpoint pen.

... those fingerless black marksman's gloves that Jack often wears....

And Jack's.


Checking back to see if anything else got listed and and ... *guh*

And then with Daniel and the ballpoint pen....

::melts into big huge messy puddle in the middle of the living room floor that the cats make scrunchy-ick! face at and walk in a WIDE arc around::


I am totally seeing no reason to *choose* here, you know...?

Boys in sunglasses. Hawt.

Charlie's chalk, chalkboards, textbooks, whiteboard, dry erase markers...

John's thigh holster. God, his thigh holster. *takes a few moments to herself*
And John's guns. All of them. His jumpers. The vest. The wristband. The thigh holster.

Rodney's laptop. All of his scientific doodads. The personal shield. And coffee.

Radek's glasses.

Ronon's hair. His guns. His knives. *takes a few more moments to herself* And his coat.

Teyla's sticks.

I've spent a lot of time contemplating Rodney's thigh holster; does that count?

Even though he generally looks a lot better in the black uniform than the tan, I *really* liked the way the thigh holster stood out against the tan pants. I liked the contrast between the science uniform and the weapon, and the way that it highlighted that Rodney was having to function outside of his element. Also: super hot.

So, um, yeah. A lot of time. ::blushes::

Oh yeah, it counts.

My motto is swiftly becoming Thigh holsters for everyone!

I heartily second that!


That should be on an icon. *grins*

John's sunglasses! *pants* His tac vest. The puddlejumpers. Any of the helicopters he flew. (I am so obsessed. I know this. And yet? I don't care?)

I was seriously thinking about proposing an SGA challenge about the real OTPs of the show. Like John/flying, or Ronon/knives, or Teyla/hmmmm. I can't think of one for Teyla right now. She is probably too well rounded.

Poor rabbits. I feel grateful that my dogs have worked out a pecking order that is mutually agreeable. Kirby is the boss. Teddy is the follower and apprentice. They play, Kirby barks, Teddy rolls over. It works for them.

Oh God yes, the sunglasses! Him and his jumpes. Pretty much if he can fly it... *breathes*

I like your challenge ideas. *mulling* Teyla and her sticks of death maybe. Mmmm.

How about Atlantis/Deadelus. Starcrossed lovers doomed from the start-- their docking ports are just the wrong shapes!


I'll take a handraise if you have ever at any time spent way too much time contemplating:

*raises hand*

the icon says it all !

black t-shirt!!


John's black t-shirt.

Also that look in his eyes when he thinks he's about to get something that can go boom!

The look in his eyes - ON HIS FACE! - when he saw the Orion.

Ancient Warships.

That's enough fun for John AND Rodney AND Ronon AND Teyla ... Actually, pretty much everyone on Atlantis.

Oh, god, Lex's *cars*. I mean... God. They make watching the show worth it (even in the midst of S4 and wondering what the hell AlMiles were smoking for most of the "character development arcs"). Lex's cars.

And John's guns hold a fascination that I've already explored in fiction. Twice.

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