Stepdad is making me watching The Civil War on PBS. Only highlight: the story of Jubal Early. Cos I like Firefly. Uh huh. So simple.

He asked me how long the war lasted. Then laughed and said I should know because I'm American when I gave him the look. "Might be useful when people are discussing it," he said.

"I'll say, 'I don't care'," I told him.

Cos I don't. He hates that I call it "the war about slavery". Romanticing the war a la 'North and South' suits me fine. There's nothing honorable about war and I won't fool myself with that lie.

I have what I like to call my "minority collection". I think one of my first posts on eljay was about how there were so few people of color prominently in scifi. So I went on a mission. Must. Find. Action. Figures.

Lando Calrissian was my favorite character in the Star Wars franchise after Han Solo. He was my third acquisition. I'm looking to get LeVar Burton's Star Trek: TNG character as well. I have a strange hobby, yes, that I do.
( The collection )

All of this brings out the fangirl in me, which shames me . . . a little. I have an action figure addiction and I blame the Lord of the Rings.
*Newly acquired, as in yesterday. You know the story. Ugh.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16245896/ : Being a black dad on MSNBC.COM

I think it's not only a black thing. Very universal in this generation.

I can't fucking dance.

Scratch that. I don't dance. Not in front of people anyhow. So I'm watching PBS and there's a special on the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre. I'm at a lost. It's not ballet and the traditional Lincoln Center stuff that I expected. It's hiphop. And jazz. Street dance incorporated into the traditional. And it reminds me of my childhood, watching my sister imitate dancers and hold her own and me feeling like a boob because I couldn't keep the beat. Every time some put on music and it was required of me to dance, I could feel the thought come to others: what Black person can't dance? she's a disgrace to us. And I wanted to cry. Dance is so intimate and personal. Feels like I can't get in touch with myself if I can't do any of it. "Dance like no one's watching" I read yesterday. What do I do? I can't fucking dance.

Oh yes, in semi-related news, the New York Times has an article about my neighborhood. This irks me, but not so much. No one votes in poor Brooklyn, why the frak should they care if their representative turns red or brown in the sun? Person. Represent. Get federal funding. That's all. And Al Sharpton should sit down. I'm tired of his ass.



Huh.

I haven't had it in me to update in over a week. And it's not that I haven't had an exciting week or anything. I've had to regulate on the Degree Audit people this morning (while the phone company decided to jackhammer at 8 am); scramble for money for my cap and gown, which I still haven't bought; take four finals I wasn't completely ready for and I'm preparing for my last two today. I'm not so worried about CIS because I can bust it out, but the Physics...that's another story. I made index cards. The midterm I made stupid mistakes that could have earned me better than that "just failing" grade I received. I knew more than I gave myself credit. I panicked and that's what got me. Today, I'm cramming my butt off because I know the first half, I only need to process and retain the new stuff. Gods help me with this. I will pass. I will pass.

 In other news, like a nerd I got tickets to the Battlestar Galactica panel next Friday at the Museum of Television and Radio. I am excited. I am showing my geekdom, I am fully aware. Think it surprised Snape a bit. Then again, we're learning more about each other so we're bound to be surprised. My mind really needs to geek out after finals. Though money's been tight, I'm going to treat myself to a boxed set (The 4400 no less) this weekend. I may even have a BSG marathon to catch Snape up before she sits through two hours of Q&A at the MT&R.  Just in case: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY SQUEE, IDIOTIC COMMENTS OR ANY OTHERWISE STRANGE BEHAVIOR DURING THE THING.  Blame Eddie J. Almos, Jamie Bamber and Katee Sackhoff. Oh yes, let's not forget Mary McDonnell (who I watched in that movie about breast implants I remember from my childhood just last week).

Time to cram  Newton's and Planck's theories into my cranium.

EDIT: Thanks to wisteria, I've decided to discuss race and BSG at some point or another. I like the points brought up by others(and none were scathing!) about Dee and Sharon and PapaAdama in relation to our perceptions. Not today though, I'm burnt out from all the net force, linear momentum and other Physics mumbo jumbo to think clearly.  I do know, though, I want to redo my undergraduate education and be a Chem major or aim for a Graduate degree in Chemistry. It's a contrast to the Psychology degree I've earned but I know it's something I enjoy. An older student friend urged me not to sell myself short and continue on the grad school. I will, maybe in two years. But it won't be in the Social Sciences.

Which is really funny to me because of the Sound of Music: "I've got a sore finger", "How did you manage that?" "Frederick's tea". I slammed my finger in the desk drawer yesterday. My hands have taken a beating. I have cuts and tears on eight of the ten. Stress, I believe so.

CIS, was forfeit. I was walking dead at work. The vultures were extra bitchy and I was in daze. I wanted to leave early. I want to bawl. I felt hopeless. Iunno why. I went home straightaway and slept until InJustice came on. And it made me cry--even with the sound turned off. That's my hidden show. I rush home on Fridays to watch. It's really suspenseful. I also love that it is a diverse cast.

Here I am, another Saturn's day watching Pirates of the Caribbean. I got up early and walked (in 20 degree weather!) to McDonalds for a much deserved breakfast. And little ol' me couldn't eat more than one hotcake, half a sausage and a wee bit of eggs. I swear my stomach is tinier than a teet the way I eat. I'm always hungry though. I dream of food. But if I'm not hungry, I don't feel the necessity to eat. This coming from the girl who fell asleep at the dinnertable daily as a child. I blame mother, who probably ate nothing while she was pregnant with me and that's why I came out hungry. Honestly, this is her story: you came out like this [smacking her lips] hungry. Couldn't make it to the hospital. Yes, I was born in our house at the time. Which is also sad because I live right around the corner from that house.

Ike's not getting up, it's worrying me. I woke him up late and he's just lying around in his box. Not even eating. He must be bored. Or tired. He looks sad. He's all I have, I wouldn't want anything to happen to him. Just needed a bit of coaxing. He was being lazy. I showed him the food and he's jetting to it now.

I can't wait to get outta here so he and I can have a better life. I spoke with a friend from Florida and she joked about me evicting Loony so she could stay with me. It would be nice--if here wasn't so desolate. I hate my neighborhood and when I put a tail to my rudder I hope I never see it again. I don't want to give back or improve it. I want it burned down and made into a parking lot. The whole area. I don't give a fuck. I loathe this place. You may say, that's harsh but coming home to drunks and prostitutes and drug dealers isn't something to be proud of. My building, no one uses keys to get in, they just kick in the door. And they get mad when we're neglected come election time.

( In other rants... )

I am a bit traumatized by the last episode of BSG I watched a few days ago. I knew what was going to happen, however, seeing it made it more intense. Gah, where are the writers going with this? I'm beginning to hate the Pegasus fleet and Admiral Cain and love Galactica like a long lost child returning home. I wonder why can't they just jump to new galaxies and tell the new Battlestar "peace" with two fingers like a playa? I mean, come on! Finding out you're not alone in the world after you dealt with the fact of Cylons destroying humanity and continually attacking is work enough..
The goal seems to be make the human-ness of the Cylons prominent. Instead of thinking of them as toasters, I can see them as people with mechanical parts. CapricaSharon proved both her usefulness as a person and as a Cylon. Whatever she did to switch off the Cylon fighters in Pegasus saved the last bit of the human race. She is a Cylon, she doesn't want to kill them off. She has a baby and she wants to protect Baby's future and preserve her relationship with Helo (and Tyrol).
I wonder how it would be being something and not wanting to be it and finding out you're it and being alienated for it and having to deal with all that comes with it. It's kinda like being nonWASP in America. People say you're okay but they still mistreat you and cover it with kindness. And when they blatantly assault you, you become more and more aware of your usefulness to others as opposed to their usefulness to you. You are abused because that's the only way to communicate with you and you're not human. You may have human parts, look human and be human but you will never be. And you can't control who you are. It's not your fault.
But they made you and you evolved and now the creature they created is beyond their reasoning so they must destroy, dehumanize, annihilate it.
CapricaSharon is my antiheroine. She knows what she is and has accepted it. But she knows she's human, even if it's by way of Cylon fabrication, and she knows that her heart will lead her to the right place. Frak Pegasus. I hope the entire crew gets blindsided by a meteor and sent packing to the hottest, most torturous, desolate place in Hades. And their souls burn for eternity or come back as incarnations of the less fortunate who have to depend on others and feels shame every day and are thus shunned, abused and beaten. Because that would only be fair.  

Carman=good Christian music. I was obsessed back in Cali. R(ighteous) I(nvasion) O(f) T(ruth).
As you can see, I've been tinkering with Fireflyfic. Any of you reading? It's rough, really rough. I haven't written in months and it's a struggle. I don't feel I'm writing the FF characters true to form. It's more of me writing for them as opposed to me being a beacon of blah blah blah.
In the world of Firefly my favorites are Jayne, Wash and Book.
Jayne's a mercenary and well, that's bad ass. Wash I love cuz I have hidden penchant for goofy, insecure, wee men who boast about their muscles. And Book, well, he's the Shepherd on a boat full of heathens who can handle a firearm like nobody's business. That and he's the only other minority-like person on Serenity 'sides Zoe. But it's not about race. The future it seems it's never about race. I see more of man vs. woman than anything.

There's so many parallels and levels of the gender role struggle it's hard to keep up. Zoe is first mate to Mal's Captain. She's the Yes Person to whatever gou shi idea he has. But she lays the law down on Wash, even though he's her husband. She's lower than Mal (in a way) but above her husband in rank. I recall the line in War Stories Wash says "What this marriage needs is one less husband". At first I thought it was an empty threat of his because she was making him feel small. But watching again I realized it was a swipe at her being the "husband" in their relationship.
So many moments didn't bode well for me between them cuz it is awkward. It's supposed to be awkward I believe. When he's all giddy, waiting for some wife soup and when Wash smacks her rear following Zoe and Mal's attempted makeout session are just the ones I can think of now. It's good though. Perhaps it's underlying evidence of that whole strong Black woman thing everyone's so clueless about.

Another thing: Inara is a legalized doxy. Prostitution is okay as long you are contracted with the government. She gets paid for servicing people sexually. Inara takes pride in her work but she's still at a disadvantage. Her clients are mostly male, going back to that whole woman-being-in-service-for-a-man ideal. Granted, she does pick who she wants to do business with but she is, in theory, a respectable whore. I abhor the term, however true it is.

Kaylee does defy stereotypes but also embraces them. Notice the heart and teddybear on her coveralls. And she's the mechanic, the one who manages Serenity's heart. More on her later.

And my lover Jayne... he's unusual simply due to his moniker. "Jayne's a girl's name," River says. He snaps: "But Jayne ain't no girl"; later: "I'm a show her good an' all I got man parts." This is the first and only time his name and his manhood comes into question. Oddly, he sits to tea with Badger using China and eating cookies like it's no thing.

Simon=mother hen