(no subject)

Oh, my boys, my boys. Cujo, I don't care what the final score was, my offer to bear your children stands.

Just. Oh. You gasp, and this time you don't let that breath out again, and as the red light flashes you tell yourself - numb - it's just a game, just a game, but those are real men on the ice, suffering a real loss, and you love them, you love them, and you try to breathe.

God, tears in my eyes, and I have to believe, I have to believe that I will see Stevie play again--

and ohgod they're using the graphic of him hoisting the Cup

--I will see Stevie play again, I will see Draper's smile, I will see Cujo and Manny do their splits and make the saves, I will see my boy Fish come into his own, and pray God they'll all still be in red-and-white jerseys when they do it.

Goodbye, boys. Have a good summer. You've earned it.

(no subject)

It's like I've suddenly realized I work in a library.

Yesterday I took home the collected poems of James Dickey and Alan M. Beck's The Ecology of Stray Dogs: A Study of Free-Ranging Urban Animals, which I picked up from the sorting room, because, honestly, who could resist a title like that?

Today I got my ILL copy of a Mary Renault book, Purposes of Love, which I immediately requested after someone in some comments thread somewhere indicated that it was an interesting take on gender/power dynamics in relationships set in England c.1938. Or something like that. Anyway, I've never read any Mary Renault, and I don't want to be the last on my friends list to do so...

I also, a half hour ago, just looked up and then went and snagged a copy of Robert Vaughn's (yeah, that Robert Vaughn!) doctoral thesis, Only Victims: A Study of Show Business Blacklisting. Just holding it in my hands is making me feel all squee-y, because, dude, Robert Vaughn wrote a doctoral thesis! He's gorgeous and smart! It's like when somebody figured out that the sexiest thing Lance or Justin could do in a story was math.

Unfortunately, holding Robert Vaughn's thesis in my hands is also causing me to think weird thoughts like, I want to write a thesis. I want to write a thesis on twentieth century American social history.

So I think I'll set it down now and go commune with the thoroughly non-enticing current science journals.

(no subject)

Hey look! I wrote a flashfic! This is mainly for the benefit of fairmer and splash_the_cat and roane, in case they wonder what I was gnashing my teeth over all night:

Seen and Unseen, a smutless response to the 'public sex' challenge over at ds_flashfiction.