2003-02-16 - 9:45 p.m.
It's snowing like a bastard here in Jersey; supposedly, we will have 18 inches by tomorrow evening. Well, a foot to 18 inches.
Which means, I may never leave this house again. And it just may eat me alive.
(insert creepy music here.)
Oh, well. We're stocked up on Snapple. And I have tapes of 'The West Wing' episodes, which means I could have a little marathon if I'm so inclined. Or a Kevin Spacey marathon. Or a 'Mr. Show' marathon. Or a 'View Askewniverse' marathon. Or even 'Sports Night,' 'Homicide,' or 'MST3K.'
Oh, what divergent loves I have.
The thing that sucks, though? I will have to shovel snow. A *lot* of snow. And my back is not good. Hasn't been since the blizzard of '96. My knee's kinda screwy, too, but that's unrelated to snow activity.
I'm an old woman at 21. Old, injured, achy young person. I could continue to discuss the paradox of it all but, frankly, I don't even care that much.
I don't even have much to say, actually, outside of the snow thing.
Except, recs:
Without: A Faith/Giles fic that's not a PWP. Granted, I have nothing against PWPs -- Faith, in fact, does seem made for them -- but it's nice to see a story that has, well, a story. It is depressing, beautiful, and has some intimations of the Buffy/Giles and Faith/Buffy variety. If I were to marry 'Buffy' fic -- which I never will, probably -- this would be my first bride.
I Can't Believe it's 'Indian Runner' fic!: Umkay, so that's not the name of the stories, but rather my reaction to coming across them. Granted, they were written because of Viggo Mortensen, but I like to pretend they came to be because of David Morse. Mmmm, Morse. It's slashy incesty stuff, so you might get squicked. And, odds are, you haven't seen the film. So, I'm just rec'ing them for myself mostly, I suppose. Oh, well. They're good is my point.
Now, I'm going off. To stare at the snow, my friendly nemisis.
