A couple of weeks ago, a friend pointed me towards this post by Mad Marvel Girl. The post basically asks, what are your three stories — the stories of your heart? The stories that grip you and don’t let go, which you could read or watch over and over, and why? It’s not about how good the text is, it’s about the actual story, the part that makes your heart happy. As one very smart friend of mine paraphrased, what are the stories which, if every other story was a riff off them, you’d still be pretty happy with? I’ve
Conversation from work yesterday: Coworker: And besides, superheroes must have great carbon footprints. Me: That’s true. When Superman flies home to Kansas to visit his folks, he definitely isn’t taking a plane! Not like Lex Luthor, taking a private jet all over… Coworker: See, there’s saving the world…and then there’s saving the world.
Today, I’m pretty sure, was the first day of New York’s Deathsport season. Like baseball, Deathsport has a fairly long season, though less predictable: it starts when the weather begins to consistently hit the upper 70s and above, and lasts until the weather no longer does that. The rules are simple: catch a subway in Manhattan during rush hour. Don’t die. If you make it to your destination alive, you win. This is not as easy as it sounds. First, while you might think that what with the giant tunnels and all, subway platforms would get pretty good air circulation,
Or, Where I Got My Taste In Books Me: Dad, I’m borrowing some of your books. Dad: No, you’re not. Me: I’m sorry, I phrased that badly. Daddy, I picked out some books of yours that I want. Can I have them? Dad: No. … Which ones? Me: About half of that shelf? Dad: No! …Which half? Me: Well, I’ve been jonesing to reread all the old Mercedes Lackey… Dad: Maybe. You’re not touching my Tamora Pierce. Me: Fine, I’ll borrow those from Jess. Dad: Great, she can fight with you to get them back. Me: No, we’re not related;