Musings in the Dark: May 2013


His Name is Prince

I just had to sit down and express the tiniest bit of unnecessary frustration at something that happened last week.  Apparently, at the Billboard Awards (something I don’t watch; in fact, I don’t watch ANY awards shows), some dumbass named Miguel (????) jumped across the stage and DDT’ed one female fan while simultaneously kicking another in the face.  There’s footage on YouTube, which was created just for this purpose.

Seen here:  Epic dumbassery in tight-ass white pants.

I heard about this foolishness on The Read, Kid Fury’s podcast.  Kid and Crissle read that idiot for blood, but then remarked on how Miguel thinks he’s Prince, or is trying to be the next Prince.




I Love My Doctor!

My first foray in writing fanfiction consumed by online masses was in the Hannibal Lecter fandom.   I wrote under a different nom de plume, and at the time, all we had available was Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs (SoTL; book and film) and Hannibal the novel.  This was just before the movie came out.  We called ourselves Lecterphiles, and we were a naughty bunch that served proudly on the good ship Hannibal/Clarice.  The Good Doctor could do no wrong in our eyes, especially mine.  I was and am still here for this man.  Clarice too, but that’s for another post.

Hannibal Lecter, M.D., b/k/a “Hannibal the Cannibal” is one of the greatest characters in all of fiction.  He’s suave, smooth, brilliant, and refined, with senses keener than a bloodhound and an unmatched culinary cleverness.  He can eviscerate you with his tongue, his scalpel, and his mind.  The Good Doctor was brought to life a second time by none other than the great Sir Anthony Hopkins (the first incarnation was Brian Cox).  Sir Anthony’s performance was so perfect that he garnered an Academy Award despite being onscreen for less than twenty minutes, and the world demanded more…and more…and MORE…!

"and one...more...time...!"


…and That Time is Now.

Last October, I wrote a post lamenting the fact that the plans I made for fall 2012 didn’t pan out.  I was sad and frustrated, because I felt like I deserved to have things work out after waiting for soooooo loooooooooong.  But instead, the job I thought I wanted—a virtual school instructor—fell through, and instead of graduating August of 2012, things got delayed because my major professor pulled a stunt. 

So there I was, jobless and still in school, slaving over data analysis and the completion of my dissertation.  Fortunately, my brother moved in and paid the bills as they related to the house, but it didn’t cover the things I did for myself in terms of pampering.  It was a sacrifice of the highest order, as I’ve worked steadily since age 19.

As an educator, jobs come available at certain times, so fall came and went, as did winter.  I worked on finishing school, as that was all I had to do other than write my novels.  The phone remained silent and I was terrified that I’d be stuck having to take a job at yet another public school.  I will not elaborate on why that terrified me, but y’all ain’t stupid.  Three weeks ago, I successfully defended my dissertation and the very next day, I got an email from the principal of a school in Asia, asking me if we could Skype; he was interested in my educational profile.  Things went extremely well, and two interviews and ten days later, they offered me the job.

So...I’m moving to Asia to teach at a posh private school.


The Jump-Off

I’m probably one of ten people in existence who don’t watch Shonda Rhimes’ latest smash hit TV show Scandal.  The only reason I don’t partake in the weekly national drama is this:  

I don’t like the fact that Olivia Pope is the President’s jump-off.

My friends tell me that it’s a great show and the writing is fantastic, as is the casting and all that.  That’s fine.  I love that Shonda’s got the nation by the ovaries and the balls and loving every second of it, but I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that a Sistah Supershero is nothing more than the President’s side dish.  She deserves better.

My friends tell me that it doesn’t matter; they’re really in love, Fitz adores Olivia, he’s pussywhipped all to be damned, he can’t breathe without her…yada yada yada.  She’s nothing more than his whore and she deserves better.