In my study journal, I'm currently debating (well, imposing the question) which is The Genre and which is the subgenre, fantasy literature aimed for children or fantasy literature aimed at adults. This question because I still remain baffled by the inclusion of Lord of the Rings into our children's/youths' literature course.

It's one of those egg-or-hen questions. Kind of like trying to decide if porn is a subgenre of fanfiction, or if fanfiction is a subgenre of porn; valid arguments go both ways. *G* (Sorry, couldn't resist the jibe. :D)

It's also about how do you define a genre in general (and if you even should). What exactly differentiates fantasy fiction from, say, the fairy tale is a question that is hard to answer even though I'm sure we all agree that the difference is there. But since that difference isn't something you could measure, it's hard to abstract.

---

Anyway, am home at the parents place. I got here last Friday. The Rents still had a week of vacation left so they went canooing back where my mother was born and raised. They left yesterday, and now it's just me an my brother.

Things have been well. I've been trying to get some reading done. It's sort of relaxing being here, but on the other hand, there's a part of me that feels anxious and disconnected, and that part of me keeps reminding me of why I always - even before I had made the decision to leave - felt that future would be somewhere else. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling this so strongly because things are going very well here, and there has been no conflicts.

But man, from now on, every time I come here? I'm bringing my own garlic with me. I was planning on making dinner for everyone on Saturday, but I couldn't think of anything I could make out of the contents of their fridge. They only had massive amounts of meat and an odd veggie in there, which normally wouldn't really be a problem, but it was because I once again noticed that their spice/aromatics collection is simply pathetic. And even if I could do something "simply spiced", I can't do it without garlic, at least not with meat.

Well, Dad then taught me how to make sausage soup on Saturday, and meat soup on Sunday (soup was apparently the theme of the week). Which was nice. I admit, I've been a bit biased towards "exotic" cooking, so I've taken little interest in learning traditional Finnish dishes. Plus it was just nice doing something like that with Dad, connecting to my roots somehow.

---

I'd better be off to the shower now. I'm going out later with the crew (haha, always wanted to say that). The original plan was minigolf and dinner, but as it's raining again, it'll probably be just dinner. Seeya!

So, I'm feeling kind of unexplainably depressed today? *shrug* I wants to read fluffy fic! With loads of lovely UST or something eag--

...My brain just completely froze on how to spell words. *grave pause* I think I need to go take a nap.

Sleeping has, as of late, been strange.

The Random Piece of Information of the Day: I started reading Anne of Green... Whatevas for my child lit course, and heh, I'm only maybe ten pages in and I'm already loving the cheeky humour.

Oh my god, people. 8700 words and going, and I still have no idea how to end this monster. Insert borderline manic laughter right about here.

I should cut out a lot of my pseudo-philosophical ramblings because that would certainly solve most of the omg-so-boring issues I'm having with this. Critical editing, yo. It's da bomb. Also, I should maybe, you know, at least watch the rest of S1 so that I could at least have some sense of characterisation, which is a thing I've sort of pulled out of my hat in this one. Why did I do that, anyway?

Also-also, dialogue is incredibly hard to write when most of your fic is random ponderings. It just doesn't fit very well, and it's hard to suddenly switch gears like that.

What's more, what what what? What made me think that it would be a could idea to write a slash fic in third-person where Matt is never referred to by his name? It either gets confusing, or I end up saying Mohinder's name far, far more often than is absolutely necessary. Which is sort of awkward. But I just feel so... ugh about calling Matt by his name. Like I'm breaking the illusion or alienating myself and the reader from him, which-- what what what? I'm strange. Really strange. Especially considering that the narrator is very clearly not Matt. Still, I just can't do it. I just can't.

Could someone be a dear and enlighten me as to what on earth this smiley is supposed to mean:

:3

It... just doesn't look like much of anything to me. Well, at least not anything sensible. Is it... eyes and a chin dimple? Eyes and bulldog cheeks? ...Eyes and really sagging breasts? Hercule Poirot moustache? ...Testicles?

I just. don't. understand.

So, last night (literally night) when I was still full of energy at two a.m., I started thinking.

You know there's trouble coming when that sentence comes up with me.

Anyway, yes, I started thinking. Me and M had been talking about such things, and I'm still wondering what to wear for the wedding since I can't be bothered to go dress hunting and even if I did, I probably couldn't find anything. So last night I started entertaining the idea that I could make a dress myself.

...Yeah, tell me again when was the last time I have sewn anything? Hmm? 8th grade? No, those curtains for grandma when I was 17. Oh yes.

But then I started thinking again (oh boy, there's that sentence again), and thought to myself, hey, how difficult could it be? It's all very logical, I can use my other clothes for measurements and tips, and if I keep the style/cut simple... Why not? I could at least give it a go.

So, I've spent this morning/afternoon surfing the net, looking for tips and ideas. Then I remembered something I'd jotted down last summer when I had last thought of such things. I'm not sure how clear an image the draft gives, but the main idea is something flowing with a sort of layered "belt" thing at the waist and a, um, floppy neckline. Yes, I know my vocabulary, why do you ask? *G* I have an image in my head of how I could make it happen, so...

Anyway, I'm just off to rummage through second hand stores to see if there's something I could use for this, some bit of fabric or a piece of clothing I could rip apart. So. Um. Wish me luck? Or something.

*HEADDESK*

Oh Self, WHY won't you STOP? You're like a runaway train, or something equally catastrophic, and you just keep going. You have the ending already, all you have to do is get there, so WHY WON'T YOU?

I seriously need some sort of inner editor who would snub my ramblings of ANGST!WOE!COOKIES! before they even get started. But since I don't have one, this thing just goes on and on.

Bugger.

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ETA: You know, food sucks. Well, in general. ...Okay, not in general, but at the moment. I feel completely unable to manage a proper meal, and lately every attempt at cooking has ended up in a mess, so instead of eating properly, I just drink unbelievable amounts of coffee daily and stuff myself with junk that is certainly not good for me. Hence: nausea, exhaustion and dizziness. Stupid much? Oh yes. Why not stop? Because apparently I'm a twat.

               today
I didn't leave the house again,
the sky was gray and
uninviting
so I decided to stay
in and count the stripes
               on the ceiling, they were

very exciting

               and filled me with the need
to leave and remain at the same time,
               and I tell myself, darling,

time isn't forever for you
so you might as well enjoy it

and

stop counting everything
from seconds to pennies to those fucking stripes,
get energetic once in awhile,
make a decision

but my Self was lethargic and only said, oh

bugger this
for a lark.

I had some weird desire to go through my CD collection and listen to albums I haven't listened to in ages. And so I happened to dig out the collection CD of Ultra Bra.

And now I'm sitting here being all nostalgically sappy and feeling a ridiculous sense of pride toward Finnish music.

I mean, come on, was this band original and daring and all things awesome or what. I mean, they even wrote songs using Anna Ahmatova's poems as lyrics. Anna Ahmatova's poems, people! Plus, the entire concept of the band was so... Guh. They rocked the Finnish music industry. I remember realizing this when I was listening to their farewell gig on the radio, eleven o'clock at night, curled up on my rackety armchair, headphones on, the only light in the room the reading lamp on my desk. And Kerkko sang Ero with such feeling it broke my heart.

God, I'm so sappy today.

(Though, I still can't really stand Sinä lähdit pois. Maybe because I've just heard it far, far too many times. Mind, it does have some good lines.)

ETA: Okay, no, this is ridiculous. I'm actually getting teary-eyed listening to this. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

I just read a news story about a man who has sex with cars.

...

Has.

Sex.

With.

CARS.

He says he's in love with them?

And he has SEX with CARS.

...

And I thought that the Eurovision Song Contest was crazy.


(Unfortunately, this article is in Finnish but it was an American man so if you absolutely must look it up, do.)

OMG EUROVISION CRACK! I missed most of it, but managed to catch up near the end.

Also, I have a horrible case of munchies. I want chocolate. And chips. And, and, and CAKE! Yes, cake would be fantastic. I only have whisky.

Oh, Poland can't sing.

ETA: It's over now. Damn, no more crack tonight. Well, not much, anyway.


ETA-2: Completely OT, but Google Maps doesn't recognise Kosovo. Hmm, interesting.

ETA-3: Russia won? Huh. Wasn't this the same guy who some years ago had someone coming out of the piano?

Dear Professor,

This is very simple. All I'm asking you is the question: if I do this, would you accept it for this much credit? The answer is: Yes OR No. Not Maybe. Not "sounds okay, keep me informed on how the idea develops".

Yes OR No.

Please, stop annoying me with vagueness.

Yours,
a student

I just remembered why I hardly ever finish any of my fics. It's because I begin with some thought, some scene, some single scene in the middle of the story, that's supposed to be really simple and short. And then I start writing it, and it turns into this MONSTER that keeps spreading and spreading, and it's not even about the thing that it was supposed to be about, and then I find myself in a point where I've written five paragraphs of something, I don't know what, and the thing that I was supposed to get to isn't even nearly in sight yet.

Also? I write really boring fics. I mean, nothing really happens. Or it does, but it's all in between the lines or only mentioned in passing, and the rest of the fic is just... well, rambling, basically. There's hardly any plot, or if there is, it's not really all that interesting or original. I'd like to call it pondering or musing or even meta, but frankly, I don't think I can.

5000 words in a fandom I don't write in, in a season I haven't watched yet, with no end in sight. Um. Yeah.

Um. So. I am not a teenaged girl suffering from permanent hormone overload anymore, but still, um. You know. Sometimes. A girl has the right to go a bit guh and so on.

Because yeah, this ( picture of Vin Diesel kind of, um, KILLS ME DEAD, YO. )

It's not so much the body (I've never really gone for the body builder type) as the pose. Oh my god, the pose.

So. Um. You know. I'll be in my bunk now. Bye.

Hahahaa, surprise raise of grade = ftw.

Hahaa, GLP! New layout, now featuring a header for the first time since who knows when. The fantastic codes are by likefluffy. I'll probably get bored with this in a month, as is in my habit, but still, it's new and pretty.

Which makes me want to start coding websites. I haven't done that in a long, long, long while.

---

I sent in a job application yesterday, and I'm waiting to hear from it later this week. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Also, sluggishness has taken over my being when it comes to studying. I'd only have one week to go, but I can't be bothered any more. Oh well.

It's lunch time. So, that's what I shall do now. Otherwise, I've planned to laze around in my pajamas all day. I am going to get that assignment done today, but damn it, I'm not leaving the flat. It's gorgeous outside, though. But still, not leaving the flat. That's a decision.

This blogpost makes me crave fresh veggies, especially all those lovely juicy mini plump tomatoes. But I've also had a desperate craving for crisps all week. Healthy living, right? Can't have both because I have hardly a penny to my name right now. Well, I'll decide in the store; I'm going to pick up some milk so that I can finally have my morning coffee.

Then when I get home, I'll make late lunch / early dinner, and after that, I'll update my CV and send in an job application. I'll be productive today! Honest!

...Oooh, pizza delivery car just drove by.

Heh.

After posting that last entry, I looked back at my recent posts (which, by the way, have been alarmingly few and far in between this year), and noticed that my god, this year? I have spent a lot of energy on getting on my high horse and being twatty. I mean, most of the entries are about some sort of rant. Is that all I ever talk about these days? Sarcasm is my only form of entertainment, apparently.

So, to balance it out, I'm going to talk about something pleasant for a change.

Spring is here. This feels like the first spring I've ever had here. I think that last year I was in too much of a spazz to really notice how beautiful this city is at this time of the year. But really, it is fantastic, the way colours sort of creep at you from behind the corner after the long, slushy, gray winter; you stumble on them almost accidentally, like bumbing into an old friend you haven't seen in ten years, crying "Oh, there you are! How are things?"

And they wink at you like they know a joke you don't, and poke at you until you're forced to look into the right direction. It's a bit like the world getting turned the right side up again. And although there's a certain beauty in winter as well, certain fervency in autumn that you can't help but admire, certain calm in summer that seems to stretch on forever, the light in spring comes at you at fascinating angles and somehow manages to wake you up from the slumber of habitualization that wraps you up for the rest of the year.

I was walking to the store last night. It was around nine p.m., and the sun was setting, filling the sky with all sorts of colours. As I turned to the street that would take me to the Cathedral, the view that stretched before me between those old buildings was like something from a painting. As if the stretch of the green grass had been placed there against the red of the bricks against the blue of the sky just for me to see and admire at that moment when the wind was cool and the city was calm. I felt myself blissfully blank as my feet scratched the pavement. I could hear a dog barking. For a moment, the world was full of wonder.

The lit department is annoying me again.

I am planning on doing some courses over the summer, and as we only have two exam dates during the summer months, I was hoping that I could do one or two courses in some other manner than a book exam. So, I went to the study guide, looked at the courses, noticed that below the heading "optional courses" it said that an essay is an option. Hurrah, I thought. Splendid, I thought.

Then I went to the professor to talk about the practical bits. Except what does she say?

"Oh, I don't know. How do you think it could be done? No one's ever done it before, so I haven't considered it. It's up to how you want to do it."

So, basically? Translation: I don't know anything, I just work here.

I mean, how is it possible that you have, in the curriculum, written down the option of doing an essay, but you have never, in your entire 20 years as a professor, thought of how it could be carried out in practice? How is that possible? Not very professional, in my opinion. How can you write it down as an option without considering it in practice first?

How do I want to do it? I want to do it as an oral exam over a pint of cold lager, that's how I want to do it, but I don't think you would find it suitable. So, you know, it's not about how I want to do it, it's about what would be fair and adequate and so on and so on in the eyes of the university.

---

GRAMMAR QUESTION: Can you say "Most of the teaching is held in English"? That's the wrong verb, isn't it. Any suggestions for replacement? Nevermind. I re-wrote the entire passage.

Okay, so, yes. I get it. Slash is mostly written by heterosexual women, and heterosexuals tend to be a bit penetration obsessed.

But seriously. Non-penetrative sex does exist. It's not at all unknown especially in the gay community. And you know what? It still is FULL-ON SEX, utterly, undoubtedly, and orgasmically so. Surprise, surprise, it can even be just as satisfying as penetrative sex, if not even more so. I mean, how do you think lesbians manage?

Just saying this because if I read one more story where it's somehow said that the couple hasn't "really had sex" until someone has inserted Object A into Slot B, especially if I read one more story where the couple actually stops having sex because they can't have penetration, I might seriously burst a vein in my head.

And now I'll do something more productive than reading smut.

So, I just had a shower. And now I can't remember if I washed my hair or not. I mean, shampooed or not. I did put in conditioner. But I can't remember if I shampooed before that. I was thinking about something, as I usually do in the shower.

Um. Yeah. It's one of those days.