![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabbit rabbit.
Sep. 1st, 2008 03:00 amWelcome to September.
I spent the last day of August pretending I was a travel agent who hadn't slept for more than 12 hours. The sleep part was not, unfortunately, an act.
The bitter, evil, cranky, normal part of me would like to point out that it wasn't until after I'd looked up the address to Babyland, gotten directions to there from my house, then directions from BL to the AG store in [almost] Atlanta, and then directions from there back home again, as well as the numbers for these places, the times they were open, and various hotels in the surrounding area, that I thought, "Um, wait. I didn't even get a frickin' bookmark for my birthday, and you want me to go in for gas/lodging/ and paying $30 so your husband, who doesn't even want to go to the other places [surprise surprise?] can be conned into going along so long as he gets to go to the Georgia Aquarium? Wha?"
This isn't to say that the trip doesn't sound like fun. It does. But it also sounds fucking expensive, all things considered. I have no interest in Cabbage Patch Kids. I didn't as a kid, and the one time I did show interest, I ended up going with a doll I wasn't all that in love with, only to find out her name was Gay or something Gay, and I couldn't think of her as anything other than a doll version of my step-grandmother who seemed insane, but not in any fun sort of way. So then I felt bad that I didn't love this stupid doll, but I also couldn't give her away for whatever reason, so mostly she lived in the toybox, waiting to surprise me with a guilt trip anytime I went looking for something I actually did want. Um, tangent within a tangent. Score?
But I do so love the AG dolls, and I would like to go to the store. And truthfully, I'd probably enjoy the hell out of the Aquarium, too. But knowing it's being tacked on not for it's own awesomeness, but to entice her husband into going on what had originally been billed as a girl's trip isn't all that thrilling. But it wasn't until she started throwing diva-sized demands that the hotel must be close enough to someplace she can drink that my feet went from merely lukewarm to ice-fucking-cold. I exaggerate, a little, about the diva tantrum, but she made it very clear that she has every intention of getting her drink on, annnnnnd... I don't drink. Oh, I will. I have no issue with drinking other than drunk people are never as amusing to sober people as they think they are. They might be more amusing, but never AS amusing, you know? Anyway, she's not fun when she's drunk. You all know the theory that some people are X when drunk, and some are Y. Well, she either cries and picks emotional fights OR she'll jump whomever she's dating, or extol things she considers virtues but the rest of us would rather down a bottle of bleach than hear, or remembering hearing.
Neither of these things is something I really want to encounter when I'm 300 miles away from home. Also, I like the other person going on the trip, but we aren't bestest friends. Or even really more than friends-of-the-same-friend. And there's nothing wrong with that. But if I'm shelling out $40 to share a room with someone while the happy couple breaks in their room, I don't want to have to bring along nine thousand things to entertain me. Granted, nothing will be as bad as being forced to share a room, for a week, with someone who made it very clear she didn't want me around, and whom I'd made it very clear that if murder weren't illegal as well as a sin, I might just have to choke a bitch. That, my friends, was an interesting trip.
So. With that memory bubbling up, I suppose nothing can be quite that bad, so long as accidents and the police aren't called in. Still. I resent being asked to do all the legwork for her party when she couldn't even be bothered to steal me a present. Or realize that this weekend had very painful associations for various other... things.
Blah, blah blah, I whine so much. *rolls eyes* If you need a book recommendation, and I doubt that you do, you should try Generation Dead. Do yourself a favor and do not look closely at the dead girl on the cover. From afar you think "awesome!" Close up, and even if you've never seen ANTM, you'll hear them berating her for a disappointing close-up. I might also have a thing against that weird sorta mouth. Hmm.
Anyway, less superficial matters.
American teenagers are coming back from the dead. No one knows why, no one knows how, and no one's quite sure what to do with them. Is it a sign of the Apocalypse? Is it some horrible side effect of nuclear energy? Don't know, don't really care. The book deals less with the hows and the whys and more with the day to day things that happen when the differently biotic [zombies] mingle with the traditionally biotic. Specifically Phoebe, who is billed as your main character. She's enthralled by Tommy, a zombie, and goes out of her way to get close to him. Her best friends, Margi and Adam, aren't quite as thrilled, but for different reasons. Margi is still very much freaked out over the idea that not all dead stay dead, and the death of their friend, Collette, doesn't exactly help matters. Adam, on the other hand, has realized he's in love with Phoebe, and watching her fall for someone dead is more than a bit disconcerting. If it sounds like a big teenage angst thing, it... isn't, not really.
You spend a lot of time with Phoebe and Adam, and their points of view, but you also get to see things from Pete's point of view. Pete is your bad guy, and he's losing marbles left and right, but no one's really noticing because, well, Pete doesn't have anyone to notice. He offers balance to the pro-zombie way of thinking, but is also the source of the biggest head against the wall in pain thing in the entire book. ( Spoiler! )
I think I like Adam far more than I do Phoebe, but I don't want to push her into a ditch, so that's always a plus. Karen is easily the most fun. I cheated and read the end a little early, and by the third time came for me to read it, parts made a little less sense, but I was still choked up.
Good stuff, even if you'd never know from the way I've mangled this. :p
I spent the last day of August pretending I was a travel agent who hadn't slept for more than 12 hours. The sleep part was not, unfortunately, an act.
The bitter, evil, cranky, normal part of me would like to point out that it wasn't until after I'd looked up the address to Babyland, gotten directions to there from my house, then directions from BL to the AG store in [almost] Atlanta, and then directions from there back home again, as well as the numbers for these places, the times they were open, and various hotels in the surrounding area, that I thought, "Um, wait. I didn't even get a frickin' bookmark for my birthday, and you want me to go in for gas/lodging/ and paying $30 so your husband, who doesn't even want to go to the other places [surprise surprise?] can be conned into going along so long as he gets to go to the Georgia Aquarium? Wha?"
This isn't to say that the trip doesn't sound like fun. It does. But it also sounds fucking expensive, all things considered. I have no interest in Cabbage Patch Kids. I didn't as a kid, and the one time I did show interest, I ended up going with a doll I wasn't all that in love with, only to find out her name was Gay or something Gay, and I couldn't think of her as anything other than a doll version of my step-grandmother who seemed insane, but not in any fun sort of way. So then I felt bad that I didn't love this stupid doll, but I also couldn't give her away for whatever reason, so mostly she lived in the toybox, waiting to surprise me with a guilt trip anytime I went looking for something I actually did want. Um, tangent within a tangent. Score?
But I do so love the AG dolls, and I would like to go to the store. And truthfully, I'd probably enjoy the hell out of the Aquarium, too. But knowing it's being tacked on not for it's own awesomeness, but to entice her husband into going on what had originally been billed as a girl's trip isn't all that thrilling. But it wasn't until she started throwing diva-sized demands that the hotel must be close enough to someplace she can drink that my feet went from merely lukewarm to ice-fucking-cold. I exaggerate, a little, about the diva tantrum, but she made it very clear that she has every intention of getting her drink on, annnnnnd... I don't drink. Oh, I will. I have no issue with drinking other than drunk people are never as amusing to sober people as they think they are. They might be more amusing, but never AS amusing, you know? Anyway, she's not fun when she's drunk. You all know the theory that some people are X when drunk, and some are Y. Well, she either cries and picks emotional fights OR she'll jump whomever she's dating, or extol things she considers virtues but the rest of us would rather down a bottle of bleach than hear, or remembering hearing.
Neither of these things is something I really want to encounter when I'm 300 miles away from home. Also, I like the other person going on the trip, but we aren't bestest friends. Or even really more than friends-of-the-same-friend. And there's nothing wrong with that. But if I'm shelling out $40 to share a room with someone while the happy couple breaks in their room, I don't want to have to bring along nine thousand things to entertain me. Granted, nothing will be as bad as being forced to share a room, for a week, with someone who made it very clear she didn't want me around, and whom I'd made it very clear that if murder weren't illegal as well as a sin, I might just have to choke a bitch. That, my friends, was an interesting trip.
So. With that memory bubbling up, I suppose nothing can be quite that bad, so long as accidents and the police aren't called in. Still. I resent being asked to do all the legwork for her party when she couldn't even be bothered to steal me a present. Or realize that this weekend had very painful associations for various other... things.
Blah, blah blah, I whine so much. *rolls eyes* If you need a book recommendation, and I doubt that you do, you should try Generation Dead. Do yourself a favor and do not look closely at the dead girl on the cover. From afar you think "awesome!" Close up, and even if you've never seen ANTM, you'll hear them berating her for a disappointing close-up. I might also have a thing against that weird sorta mouth. Hmm.
Anyway, less superficial matters.
American teenagers are coming back from the dead. No one knows why, no one knows how, and no one's quite sure what to do with them. Is it a sign of the Apocalypse? Is it some horrible side effect of nuclear energy? Don't know, don't really care. The book deals less with the hows and the whys and more with the day to day things that happen when the differently biotic [zombies] mingle with the traditionally biotic. Specifically Phoebe, who is billed as your main character. She's enthralled by Tommy, a zombie, and goes out of her way to get close to him. Her best friends, Margi and Adam, aren't quite as thrilled, but for different reasons. Margi is still very much freaked out over the idea that not all dead stay dead, and the death of their friend, Collette, doesn't exactly help matters. Adam, on the other hand, has realized he's in love with Phoebe, and watching her fall for someone dead is more than a bit disconcerting. If it sounds like a big teenage angst thing, it... isn't, not really.
You spend a lot of time with Phoebe and Adam, and their points of view, but you also get to see things from Pete's point of view. Pete is your bad guy, and he's losing marbles left and right, but no one's really noticing because, well, Pete doesn't have anyone to notice. He offers balance to the pro-zombie way of thinking, but is also the source of the biggest head against the wall in pain thing in the entire book. ( Spoiler! )
I think I like Adam far more than I do Phoebe, but I don't want to push her into a ditch, so that's always a plus. Karen is easily the most fun. I cheated and read the end a little early, and by the third time came for me to read it, parts made a little less sense, but I was still choked up.
Good stuff, even if you'd never know from the way I've mangled this. :p
