rm | sundries

Patty in less than 12 hours.

Good luck getting a hotel room in London in late April as everyone flocks into town for the royal wedding. That I can miss. What I really, really want, is to go to the 2012 Olympics. Which is absurd, but I've always wanted to go to an Olympics and what if the Doctor is there?

Chernobyl opening for tourism.

And on a personal tourism note: I'm getting really good at this travel thing: $230RT LAX/NYC direct; $50 direct to Ohio. And then I looked at ticket prices for the windows Patty and I are likely considering for Paris. Over 1K per ticket. Fuck that shit; I do not pay more to go to Paris than I paid to go to Australia; it's against the rules. I think I have a plan. I've enough frequent flier miles on one airline to get us RT tickets to London for about $500 each, so we can hang in London for a couple of days and then hop some budget air or the train over to Paris. More trip, less $$.

Musk oxen!

The end of OTB. My grandfather was a man who liked to bet on the horses at the track in Florida where he lived until he moved to SF. My mom inherited the bug and tried to pass it on to me, placing bets for me at OTB when I wanted, when I was like 8. I couldn't go to the OTB myself, not just 'cause I was underage, but because it was filled with smokers and prostitutes along with random old dudes like my grandfather. Now it's over.

Richard Holbrooke died, and you should know about his career. He was in a profession largely without good guys, but was one, in my opinion, as far as it goes. Some of his choices worked out to the good. Some didn't. Most were probably ruthless and uncomfortable. Such is the world.

FIFA would like you to know if you're going to the Qatar World Cup and you're gay, you shouldn't have sex while you're there. Also, no drinking. Two unrelated issues that I suspect will turn into multiple big messes.

Don't like people who have equal rights to you? Then don't run a public accommodation at which the law requires you to serve them. Not rocket science.

The ongoing mess at the Apthorp offers us some amazing personal stories:

Still, with everything she went through earlier in her life, Ms. Front is hesitant to make a fuss herself; she slept with a heating pad and extra blankets before her heat was restored and tolerates the mice scampering in front of her television while she watches “Larry King Live.”

During the war, her husband and son were killed by the Nazis. She hid in Warsaw and escaped to New York through Shanghai and Cuba, remarried and built a prosperous clothing business with her second husband, Jack, who has since died.

I know at least one other SAG member is reading this: dear lord, the membership cards for this period are ugly, ne?

Apparently Burlesque got a lot of Golden Globe nods? WTF?

Dee Snider on looking into the abyss and not going there.

Hey, rumour has it Mekhi Phifer's been cast as Rex in Torchwood S4. That's pretty huge and totally awesome and not what we were expecting. I can see a couple of roads of fail that casting could go down with script issues, but hopefully it will just be as awesome as it should be. Also, they are currently casting someone to play Brad, a bartender Jack has a one-night stand with.

Dogboy & Justine has met its funding goals and a little bit extra, but if you did want to contribute financially to this journey, there is still a week left to do it. Thank you!

So hey, we need to talk about a thing....

I have opinions. About pop culture, politics, and my own history. Sometimes you will agree with them, sometimes you won't. Sometimes I will express them clearly, sometimes I won't. I like this journal to be a place where we can have open discussions. And I appreciate when you point out things I may not have considered, especially if I'm being hurtful or don't have all the data.

But sometimes -- and this may very well be me and not you -- I think many readers think that my words here are, or should be, subject not just to their opinions, but to their rewriting. I've played into this, not just when it was right (because I, like everyone, do have foot-in-mouth disease and unexamined points of fail) but also when it was wrong, on occasions where I chose to avoid conflict or reflexively acted as if everyone in the world has authority but me.

The simple fact, however, is that, that's not true. I'm not perfect. And I won't always be likable; in fact, I can be pretty fucking abrasive -- did all of us (myself included) forget this when I stopped cosplaying Snape?

I'll have fond memories of terrible things, and talk about the world of privilege I grew up both in and outside of. I'll make typos. I'll prioritize one issue over another; or effort over result, back and forth and back and forth again. I won't always be polite. I won't always explain my reasoning, or, in fact, engage in reasoning at all. And I tend to speak with authority in ways other people can find super aggravating or arrogant because of how I've been trained in speech, and because I'm adamant and sensitive about not having my opinions shunted aside as just that due to my biological sex.

I will act like I matter until I do.

Sometimes, I might forget cut tags I should really put in. And I'll probably be melodramatic, and I'll certainly be boring. I will also accidentally stomp on some of your buttons once in a while. I will lose my temper. I will ask for help when maybe I should just Google the damn thing myself.

And some days it will be the best I can do. Many days it won't be nearly enough.

But there's only so much I can do, and I need to stop trying to do it for everyone. The safest solution would be for me to talk less, but the fact is I can't do it. Not just a social tool and a promotional tool, LJ is a pressure valve for me. Without it, it would be very, very hard for me to manage my anxiety, obsessiveness and tendency towards the intrusive thought.

Look, my words are my life. I need to stop letting other people choose them for me. I've always wanted to be a finer thing, but the reflex where I decide everyone is allowed to be an instrument of that has got to go.