glockgal

Guess what time of the year it is???

glockgal — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 17:04:29 GMT

TRACK THE COMMUNITY or FOLLOW THE TUMBLR for updates.

Note: Yuletart isn't affiliated with Yuletide, but we sure do love 'em over there. ♥

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/403728.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

FIC REC: Harry/Padma

glockgal — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 19:27:26 GMT

Just popping in to say that my smutty_claus gift was posted today and it is THE BESTEST FIC I'VE READ IN FOREVER, KDJFHDSFKJSHFDJKD and I recommend it to everyone, forever and ever.

Title: Inferi of London
Author: Anonymous
Pairing: Harry Potter/Padma Patil
Summary: The victims of the Battle of Hogwarts aren't even cold when powerful necromancy sweeps the nation; Harry can't fight this new enemy on his own.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 8,700 words
Warnings: Character death (not Harry or Padma), possible disturbing content, AU
Author's notes: Thank you to my beta for helping me polish this. Several paragraphs taken directly from Deathly Hallows. glockgal, you had some great prompts for me to pick from and I really hope you enjoy this!

(btw, I thought I mentioned this already, but I'm pretty much on Tumblr right now. Because of reasons. http://glockgal.tumblr.com)

<3 <3 <3

MURDOCH MYSTERIES: CURSE OF THE LAST PHARAOHS FIRST GIVEAWAY!

glockgal — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 20:44:39 GMT

Every first Tuesday of the month (for the next four months), we will be hosting a fantastic giveaway for fans of the new Murdoch Mysteries webseries: Curse of the Lost Pharaohs – a peak into Constable George Crabtree's diary.

Win a copy of the screenplay for the first ever episode of Curse of the Lost Pharaohs, signed by writer Patrick Tarr and Yannick Bisson (Inspector Murdoch.)

All you have to do is:
1.) Retweet the following link:
http://bit.ly/murdochcurse with hashtag #COTLP

and include
2.) the answer to the following question:
What is the mummy seen wearing at the end of the first episode?

By Monday, June 13th 2011 at midnight EST
Watch the first episode tonight!

Winner will be chosen at random. http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/397684.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

glockgal — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 16:39:08 GMT

RACEBENDING.COM: v4

Just wanted to give ye olde fliste a head's up about racebending.com, which has been revamped and streamlined for better usage.

RACEBENDING.COM

Credit for the gorgeous redesign goes to racebending.com's organizer and co-founder Marissa Lee. Her hard, dedicated work on the redesign and the site content is just amazing. And kudos to the racebending.com supporters and organizers who also added further content to the site!

Please take some time to flip through the website and learn more about discrimination in film!

drawble bribery!

glockgal — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 20:18:27 GMT

ATTENTION CREATIVE FANDOMERS: OFFERING BRIBES!!
idea/wording nicked from ani_bester's OP:

I have pairings/fandoms that I like that sadly, are not drawn that often. I accept this, but I can't deny that when I see them written or drawn, it fills me with glee.

Therefore, in an effort to get more of what I want, I want to give you something you want. YES THIS IS A BRIBE.

In exchange for a drabble or a drawble from one of my favorite fandoms/pairings, I will give you a drawble of one of your favorite fandoms/pairings!

Here's how it'll work:

1) comment with your choice from my list, and let me know what you'd like me to draw for you!
2) list is in order of what I want mostest
3) Some of the characters I list as pairings (separated by a '/') but I'm VERY happy to have gen stuff as well!
4) I don't want smutty stuff, but I'm happy to draw smutty stuff for you!
5) I will draw ANY FANDOM provided you give me some references/places to get references for fandoms I'm unfamiliar with.
6) absolutely no deadline on this
7) there can be repeats!!

DC Comics
- Tim Drake/Bart Allen, during eras where Bart is either the Flash or Kid Flash.
- Tim Drake/Tam Fox

A:TLA
- Aang/Toph
- Sokka+Katara sibling antics

Gossip Girl
- Chuck/Blair
- Serena/Blair
- Chace Crawford/Ed Westwick >.>

Simpsons
- ANYTHING. My fave characters are the Simpsons family (not including the pets, but including Abe). Particularly Marge and Lisa. More specifics: Homer/Marge, Bart + Milhouse antics, Bart + Lisa sibling antics, Apu/Manjula, Moe Syzlak, Lenny and Carl.

Beatles
Anything about the Fab Four, I just want interaction and camaraderie, even if they're fighting, lol
John/Yoko

Inception
Yusuf/Eames
Arthur + Cobb
Arthur + Ariadne
Yusuf + Ariadne

Deadwood
Seth/Martha

Murdoch Mysteries
Any of the main four: Murdoch, Dr Ogden, Crabtree and Breckenried.

Futurama
- Again, anything about any of the employees/interns/hangabouts at Planet Express, as well as the sons of Professor Fry and Hermes.

WinCon wrap-up!

glockgal — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 17:40:14 GMT

Back home after the fantastico shmantastico that is WinCon 2010. IT WAS SO AMAZING TO SEE FLOCKS OF FRIENDS AND FELLOW FANGIRLS AGAIN. It was one awesome and happy weekend.

As always, billions of hearts to my favourite ladies cathybites and loveflyfree. ILU both so hard.

Although I did next-to-nothing organization-wise for this fan-con - I just went as an attendee! ZOMG - Cathy and I did do the requisite 'We're here, so let's do a Fanart Thingie' panel. The theme was essentially How to Get Along with Fanartists. Here is post-credit for the examples and artworks that we used for the panel:

- Supernatural Game: White Dresses matching game by the amazing gnatkip
- Ficcusstrations: a comprehensive list of fanfics written for fanart by lizardspots
- Inception Pendant by wiccaqueen, for an example of crafts-as-fanart.
- Cities of Sand by tongari an Inception/Sandman crossover and a beautiful example of sequential art/art as narrative
- Cathydraws, the art community by cathybites

-----------
Self-indulgent Wincon anecdote:
During the Prom Night, I went for a drink of water and a couple people randomly and separately asked me if I was 'the artist who drew that Supernatural thing about the boys in Arizona' to which I drunkenly bawled "EEE YES, YES I DID HEEEEHEHEEEEE" and blushed (which no one could see, thank you brown skin!) and thanked them for enjoying it.

The best part was one of the lovely ladies kindly asked "And what's your name? On LJ?"

To which I said "Oh! I'm glockgal."

And this kinda thrilled me, like a lot. People know that desi!SPN comic - art that I am STILL ridiculously proud of creating - without knowing some 'glockgal' person. I just. And. omgwin. The end.

The other ending to this anecdote is that I'm kinda overjoyed that people still know and remember that comic, since the last time I drew it was July. Plus, my sister told me that it's also a nominated fandom for Yuletide 2010?!?! AIEEEEEEEEEE I've decided I need to continue with this beloved pet project. If anyone has cheeky ideas for Winchestgopal antics, please gimme a shout (glockgal AT gmail).

Thanks, everyone. Furreals.

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/387369.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

Sam and Dean Winchestgopal

glockgal — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 05:44:28 GMT

I was wondering if it was worth posting more of this, and then I figured what the heck.
A warning though: I'm continuing the story without any grander scale, meta-satire. I just really liked the story. Proceed at your own risk.

ETA: Racebending Revenge Challenge is now LIVE!

SUPERNATURAL
When we were last with our favourite pair of demon-fighting brothers, they were deported to Mexico for driving-while-brown in Arizona. The story continues here...

The End or something idk.

...okay here's a bit of meta-satire.

1) Thanks to EVERYONE who commented on the first part. I was overwhelmed by the reception and all the positive feedback. What an amazing time to be in fandom.

2) And thanks to sheafrotherdon for the suggestion of Gina Torres as Castiel. Yay fanservice! XD

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/379836.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

The Last Airbender

glockgal — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 18:26:48 GMT

EVERYTHING'S EXCITING
Google reviews for The Last Airbender as see for yourself.
From my amazing co-activist Mike - The Last Airbender: Pre-Screening

What's left? It feels like Noah Ringer, Nicola Peltz, and Dev Patel are hanging out in front of the camera, telling you about all the cool stuff they saw while watching the television series.

From my excellent co-organizer buddy jedifreac - Preliminary Thoughts on Race and Gender in The Last Airbender

Minna: And then there's this scene where Aang meets an "Old Man in a Temple," who is this friendly old Asian mentor stereotype who is all affectionate to him and then backstabs him! It is a twist! And then there was the scene with the East Asian masseuse. Since they cut Suki out--even after bragging about including an Asian actress to play this character--that means that the most prominently featured East Asian actress was a woman giving a foot massage. What is wrong with these people? Even after all the accusations of racefail, they throw in that unnecessary stereotype. And what was up with the "African American" village?

Ken: They weren't African American. They were African.

Minna: No...M. Night said they were African American and that he didn't have to include them, but he did, to be diverse.

From my awesome sister bossymarmalade - but we must always be polite about it

Do you think he even recognizes that he's not the hero and never will be? He's already learned from the media and society that the darker you are, the scarier you are; when will he start recognizing his face reflected back only as villain, as joke fodder, as exotic backdrop?

From Roger Ebert (his review is up as well) - Face Painting

The studios underlying assumption about marketability and acting capability of White over Asian actors is insulting, and to claim that their production is “diverse” because they cast Asians as secondary and supporting characters ignores the bigger issue at hand – the starring, main Asian characters are portrayed by White actors instead of Asian actors.

I'll clarify my stance on all of this:

- I am not happy this movie was made the way it was. I am a fan of the television series and if there was anything I would have loved, it would be an awesome Avatar: The Last Airbender movie spearheaded by an Indian-American director with actors of colour as the lead, protagonist, heroes.
- I desperately wish this movie was one I could have adored as much as I loved the series.
- I sincerely hope the best for all of the actors in this mess of a movie, particularly the kids (Ringer, Peltz and Patel).
- I place all of the blame for every bit of this film's failure - from the casting, to the discrimination, to the script, to the marketing ploys - on the shoulders of Frank Marshall, Paramount Pictures and Shyamalan.
- I had once been willing to give Shyamalan the benefit of the doubt, but since he has given me no respect, I feel inclined to return in kind.

Of course there will still be people who won't read the reviews and prefer to pay for this film and judge the movie for themselves. Here is my one last plea to boycott this film, for reasons that might have nothing to do with you but has everything to do with the story of 'the other'.

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/379491.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

glockgal — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 16:45:42 GMT

THE WACKY COUSIN
cidercupcakes discusses an issue: 'it is not the duty of marginalized people to educate privileged people, or to fit some gold standard of "niceness" in calling them out on their privilege'

Actually, while I fully 100% support what Cider is referring to (ie the erasure of a character's canon Jewishness by replacing it with Catholicism), her post translates to another important discussion of privilege that's recently surfaced on my flist.

I am tired of people complaining that 'privilege' is a word that makes them sick or sad or angry or annoyed or bored or omg too PC!!! or hypocritical or one of a dozen dismissal tactics that concurrently dismisses real, actual people. Hey - if you really do prefer to consciously dismiss other humans, then I'm have no interest in knowing you.

I'm unlocking a previous post for the sake of this one. Privilege, and its Wacky Cousin....Intersectionality!.
- most people who rail against the concept of privilege refuse to learn the concept of intersectionality. So essentially, they're being self-righteous about half an idea. Why? Why would they do this? Possibly because it's easier to do so, since then the becomes All About Them and How Hurt They Are by people talking about privilege? It's preferable to remain ignorant and not learn, because it's just too hard to analyse yourself? I don't know.

(sadly, I'm fairly sure people who need to learn and educate themselves won't be reading any of these posts. As I said - it's easier to remain hostage to one's own unchecked privilege.)

-----------------------------

THE LAST AIRBENDER

Why boycott The Last Airbender? From ssj10, her reasons: These Are My Colours*

(*While racebending.com does not encourage illegal downloading, I personally feel that's your choice.)

A friend recently mentioned that they wanted to see The Last Airbender on the big screen, because its trailers looked cool and it occured to me that they're probably not the only one. Here is my suggestion.

Wanna see The Last Airbender on the big screen?

Okay. Then how about this --

1) Try not to go on opening weekend.
2) Buy a movie ticket for another movie (Karate Kid? Toy Story 3?). You are sill paying for a movie, so you are being honest to the theatre, and to yourself.
3) Encourage your friends to do the same
4) Sate your curiousity, watch TLA

That's my suggestion.

one last thing about Supernatural fanwork

glockgal — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 06:10:03 GMT

So in my previous post, silviakundera was like:

"(on a sorta related note: someone on the anon meme was like, "what do you want? for people to write the J2 as POC in these fics?" and I thought, 'heeeeey. wait. PEOPLE COULD DO THAT. (okay, on second thought, they would probably do awful things with it. but the idea! ) except wait--you were joking? so, why not? come on, don't tell me that's deviating from "canon" more than jared being a mermaid or jensen being a submissive ship captain IN SPACE.' I love how THAT's a total random and implausible suggestion--making the J2 actual participants in these cultures people want to write about, instead of sparkly white journalists)"

-- and really what I got from it was "what do you want? for people to write the J2 as POC in these fics?" and "heeey wait. PEOPLE COULD DO THAT" combined with the fact that my mind is currently full of the awesome that is The Racebending Revenge Ficathon --

And yeah. Stuff happened.

I used Sam and Dean instead of Jared and Jensen because I'm not really into J2. But the idea remains the same.

Hm, well. That didn't go too well for Sam and Dean. Guess I'll try again later?

ETA: ZOMG, PART TWO!!!!

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/377764.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

30 Days of Me Meme - Day 16

glockgal — Thu, 27 May 2010 16:25:31 GMT

Day 16 - A song that makes you cry (or nearly)

There was a time in my life when 'Never Had a Friend Like Me' from Aladdin was guaranteed to make me cry. For those who saw it - you remember that scene? There's Aladdin, stuck in the cave with a monkey, and doing a half-hearted job trying to clean the stupid lamp he stole from the stupid cavern to give to that stupid old man - when lo and behold, Mrs Doubtfire pops out and proceeds to do bizarre character impressions from her comic routine that she's been practicing for the past, say, 3000 years. It might be a tad dated.

Now Aladdin is savvy and has his doubts about Dr Patch Adams. Is he really a genie? Can he do more than hokey impressions of tv celebrities? What exactly IS a genie anyway? Undaunted, Patch is determined to demonstrate to the puny mortal, not just his interweb-sized familiarity of entertaining facts, but also that he happens to have AWESOME COSMIC POWERS. And even better, that he's inherently tied to Aladdin's ~~plot~~ fate (although this is an Arabic story and Islamic faith can be a little meh about predestination and fortune-telling...but Aladdin is a good lad and listens politely anyway).

So, Jumanji launches into the kick-starter song, typical to Disney animated features - songs like 'Under the Sea' or 'Be Our Guest' or 'Just Can't Wait to be King', which utilize peppy, energetic-bordering-on-frenetic singing and choreography to propel the protagonist into a life-changing decision. Jumanji spares no expense in creating an affectionate fanfare, a tribute to a potentially long-lasting BFF relationship with puny mortal Aladdin.

The song 'Never Had a Friend Like Me' earnestly and desperately tries to convince Aladdin just how much the genie needs and loves him (Aladdin, for the record, remains unimpressed and dupes poor Teddy Roosevelt...but Teddy is a sport and gets over it, for the sake of friendship) - and beneath all the hilarious in-jokes and rapid-fire pop culture references, 'Never Had a Friend Like Me' hums plea of loneliness, something sweet and intent on showing one creature trying all sorts to assure a puny mortal that they are, indeed, worthy of a friendship.

Is this song really about friensdship though? Aladdin, being a good little diamond in the rough, of course sees that friendship is a two-way street - but the idea that with every single puny mortal (some with debatable morals) John Keating has to haul out this song and dance routine and say self-esteem-damaging things like: What will your pleasure be?/Let me take your order, jot it down/You ain't never had a friend like me, no no no and You're the boss, the king, the shah/Say what you wish, it's yours...it's rather heart-rending and painful to see Keating deliver such a debasing song, with such earnest hope.

It's not easy the other way either. For Aladdin - who is living in a very stringent classist empire - the very notion of having someone - anyone - who immediately purports support, love and loyalty (not the mention that they happen to have AWESOME COSMIC POWERS) can be overwhelming. True to his upbringing, he initially treats the genie with a combination of suspicion and nonchalance. But underneath his street-sense, you know Aladdin is thrilled to see that someone - even someone like Mork - wants to be his friend.

And yeah, sometimes I cry thinking about this and their attempt at something real, honest, affectionate, initiated immediately by the theme that 'You ain't never had a friend like me'. What a wonderful idea, true friendship is.

ETA: people may think I'm thinking WAY too much about a Disney song I'd heard a thousand times before but then suddenly found it oh, so Spechul - but you gotta understand that I tend to get extremely emotional about themes of camaraderie, family, loyalty and trust. I attribute it to a past life or something.

Well, Ali Baba had them forty thieves
Scheherazade had a thousand tales
But, mister you're in luck 'cause up your sleeves
You got a brand of magic never fails
You got some power in your corner now
Some heavy ammunition in your camp
You got some punch, pizazz, yahoo and how
See, all you gotta do is rub that lamp
And I'll say, Mister Aladdin, sir
What will your pleasure be?
Let me take your order, jot it down,
You ain't never had a friend like me, no no no

Life is your restaurant and I'm you maitre d'
C'mon whisper what it is you want
You ain't never had a friend like me
Yes sir, we pride ourselves on service
You're the boss, the king, the shah
Say what you wish, it's yours
True dish, how 'bout a little more baklava?
Have some of column "A"
Try all of column "B"
I'm in the mood to help you, dude
You ain't never had a friend like me

Wa-ah-ah, oh my
Wa-ah-ah, No no
Wah-ah-ah, na na na

Can your friends do this?
Can your friends do that
Can your friends pull this out of their little hat?
Can your friends go poof!
(spoken) Well, looky here
Can your friends go abracadabra
Let 'er rip and then make the sucker disappear?

So doncha sit there slack jawed, buggy eyed
I'm here to answer all your midday prayers
You got me bonafide certified
you got a genie for your chargé d'affaires
I got a powerful urge to help you out
So whatcha wish I really want to know
You got a list that's three miles long, no doubt
Well, all you gotta do is rub like so, and oh
Mister Aladdin, sir, have a wish or two or three
I'm on the job, you big nabob

You ain't never had a friend, never had a friend
You ain't never had a friend, never had a friend
You ain't never had a friend like me
Wa-ah-ah, wa-ah-ah
You ain't never had a friend like me. Ha!

30 Days of Me Meme
Day 01 - Your favorite song - Mother Nature's Son, Beatles
Day 02 - Your favorite movie - what I saw, what I'm seeing
Day 03 - Your favorite television program - Southland, Murdoch Mysteries
Day 04 - Your favorite book - what I read, what I'm going to read
Day 05 - Your favorite quote - my mantras
Day 06 - Whatever tickles your fancy - sister's fic, Aja's meta, Deviantart
Day 07 - A photo that makes you happy-my desktop
Day 08 - A photo that makes you angry/sad - Glee
Day 09 - A photo you took - livecast of Ron/Hermione drawing
Day 10 - A photo of you taken over ten years ago - Glockgal photospam
Day 11 - A photo of you taken recently - Hyedie and me, With the Beatles!
Day 12 - Whatever tickles your fancy - Draw Dean Thomas, recs
Day 13 - A fictional book - Neverending Story
Day 14 - A non-fictional book - my confession, Beyond Uhura
Day 15 - A fanfic - bossymarmalade
Day 16 - A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 - An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 - Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 - A talent of yours
Day 20 - A hobby of yours
Day 21 - A recipe
Day 22 - A website
Day 23 - A YouTube video
Day 24 - Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 - Your day, in great detail
Day 26 - Your week, in great detail
Day 27 - This month, in great detail
Day 28 - This year, in great detail
Day 29 - Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 - Whatever tickles your fancy http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/372962.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

passing on the goods

glockgal — Fri, 14 May 2010 19:30:20 GMT

LINKS

In a brief respite for the 30 Days of Me meme, a couple worthwhile links:
halcyonjazz - On Girls

if that character were written as a boy, would you have a problem?

racebending - This Month in Asian Americans in Comics -

characters of color and actors of color are less likely to take precedence, be the main character, to be vital to the stories being told. This isn't a coincidence, it's an ongoing trend.

ETA oh wow one more. Oh WOW.

shewhohashope - In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night

White supremacy is not just for white nationalists, it's so embedded in our culture that people can't imagine seeing it unless one was looking for it.

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/370374.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

first: rage. second: yay!

glockgal — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 19:38:17 GMT

GENGHIS KHAN
Tell me what you imagine when you think of Genghis Khan. Let me know if it's similar to a dude clad in thick fur and leather and metal armours, maybe with a little pointy helmet? Maybe bearded and mustachio'd? Looking all leader-like, definitely, right? Sword or bow in hand? Horses nearby (or he's riding one)? ~~Completely kickass and badass right?~~ - eta- because he wasn't exactly badass for mass genocide Leading an army and empire across the Asian continent, right?

Oh, and of course, Mongolian. right?

Well according to Hollywood, he's ~~John Wayne~~ MICKEY ROURKE.

MICKEY. ROURKE. AS GENGHIS KHAN.

I CAN'T. WORDS CANNOT EVEN EXPRESS THIS EXTENT OF BLATANT WHITE-WASHING YELLOWFACE.

I am so horrified. This is 21, Dragonball Z, The Last Airbender and Extraordinary Measures rolled into one ball of MASSIVE YELLOWFACE FAIL

Go on, someone - please play devil's advocate and justify how and why Mickey Rourke should play Genghis Khan. Please? I won't rage at you, I promise. I just want to know how this can be justified in ANYONE'S MIND. please, tell me?

-------------------------
THANK YOU
Thank you to the darling anon who gave me one jolly month of paid time on Dreamwidth!! Eee! Time to stuff myself full of awesome icons! \o/

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/367130.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

Eh?

glockgal — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:15:52 GMT

I'm Sorry
I've felt there are two categories of 'I'm sorry' which many people (including me!) have used:

TYPE 1: the true apology, where the apologist is genuinely interested in changing their actions and/or perspectives. They are generally willing to listen, to learn, to progress, to practice further conscientious behaviour.

TYPE 2: the false apology. We've all encountered it, online and offline. It's an apology of defense. And it's generally repetitive, because it doesn't mean anything so the mistakes keep happening. The apologist continues to think and behave in the same way they always do, with no true intention (subconscious or no) of educating themselves or becoming more understanding of another's situation. They say 'I'm sorry', but because it's false, they will return to their old patterns, make the same mistakes, apologize again.

Some people do this their whole lives without learning a thing and not caring. Others become bitter and resentful that they are 'forced' to apologize so many times for the same things. This leads to blaming the harmed person (or group) for being harmed at all. It's your fault that you took offense.

SEMI-TYPE 2: the passive-aggressive apology. It generally goes "I'm sorry that you're upset" or "It wasn't my intent" or "I'm sorry you took offense". This isn't even an apology, which is why I don't categorize it. It places all the blame or harmful action on the other person and willfully makes the semi-apologist look like a naive innocent. Again, it's another situation of 'it's your fault you were hurt by my actions'.

and a newly added third category -
TYPE 3: the insecure apology. I learned this one from my BFF/roomie, who compulsively apologizes for everything whenever she is personally in a bad headspace. (for example: she'd come home, put her bag down and say "Sorry". She'd say "Can we watch ___ tv show? I'm sorry"). I learned from her that this is an apology that stems from insecurity - she is convinced that her every action and thought makes the other person annoyed. That every opinion she has is wrong. She generally does this if she's stressed out or depressed.

Type 3 is one I had to learn to understand, because I wasn't familiar with it. I have unending sympathy and understanding for Type 3 apologies, because I know it stems from stress/insecurity. However, I did explain to my BFF that her constant apologies then put me in the involuntary role of the daily villain. She put me in a position of constantly disapproving authority - authority that I didn't want or have or encourage. I was cornered there, because then I was obliged to 'forgive' her. It was a false forgiveness, because I wasn't upset in the first place. I didn't want to be a villain, I explained this and we compromised for the better. <3 her.

Any other types of apologies that you have encountered, either online or offline?

http://glockgal.dreamwidth.org/365687.html#comments - comment on DW or on LJ. S'all good!

glockgal — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 23:24:02 GMT

FACEBOOK FOOLISHNESS
ETA FINAL: The group has been restored!! All it took was a day's worth of really fabulous determined people not letting Facebook get away with their foolishness. My goodness. Thanks, all of you.

You people. You are all so incredibly fantastic, I don't even know what to say other than thank you. Thank you to the Facebookers who Joined the Restore Racebending Group! LOOKIT HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE JOINED IN ONE DAY, HOMG. And thank you for your words of kindness and condolences, non-Facebookers! You are all very wise to not have FB accounts. XD

One more favour to ask the Facebookers: Contact Facebook via Group Suggestions
1)Please go here
2) ask Facebook to reinstate the Group
"People Against Racebending: Protest of the Cast of The Last Airbender Movie".
3) If you have time, signal boost on LJ and/or Facebook.
4) Done! Simple and easy! My gratitude, it is neverending.
------------------------------------

CHARACTER OF COLOUR MARCH MADNESS
SERIOUSLY WHY DO THEY MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN SOME OF THESE CHARACTERS AUGH THEY ARE SO EQUALLY AWESOME, THIS WAS SO HARD AND YET SO MUCH FUN. GO VOTE FOR YOUR FAVES OK BE WARNED: IT'S REALLY HARD, OMG:

coc_m_madness: Round Two!

racebending.com facebook group: removed

glockgal — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 05:38:15 GMT

~~HELP.~~
ETA FINAL: The group has been restored!! All it took was a day's worth of really fabulous determined people not letting Facebook get away with their foolishness. My goodness. Thanks, all of you.

The official racebending.com Facebook group was removed by Facebook. In their letter they say:

The group “People Against Racebending: Protest of the Cast of The Last Airbender Movie” has been removed because it violated our Terms of Use. Among other things, groups that are hateful, threatening, or obscene are not allowed. We also take down groups that attack an individual or group, or advertise a product or service.

Wow. Just. Really, Facebook? Really? So one of my fellow racebending.com peeps wrote back immediately - essentially saying:

Facebook’s FAQ writes that “Any content that is obscene, violent, malicious or otherwise offensive will be removed.” We have no idea as to how the entirety of our Facebook group could be considered to meet this criteria, particularly given the precedence of similar discrimination-in-movies protest groups on Facebook.

You know, after Zazzle tried to shut down our racebending.com store - and it was Viacom who asked Zazzle to bring the store back under the Fair Use for protest clause - this is just one more kick in the teeth.

At the moment, we're still waiting on a response from Facebook.

Anyone had previous experience with Facebook when it came to this sort of situation? Any advice, on how to communicate with Facebook, or how to get the group restored, dearest knowledgable flist?

Read more about it here

ETA: The Restore the Racebending Facebook group! Please join? ilu!

ETA 2: Please go here and ask Facebook to reinstate the Group --
"People Against Racebending: Protest of the Cast of The Last Airbender Movie".

take these broken wings

glockgal — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 15:44:25 GMT

SAD THING
I had to defriend a couple people yesterday for some massive failitude they expressed about white privilege, thereby mocking my other dear friend's very vulnerable and open LJ post about her experience with that subject.

One of the people I defriended I didn't know well so I was fine with the mutual defriending. The other person was someone I thought I could trust - and I just realized I'm co-modding an art comm with her - this was...a really hard decision. But what she said was SO hurtful (particularly as it was addressed to our mutual friend, which in turn made me loyalty!GRRRR), I don't know if I even want to talk to her about it. The energy it takes to even say something. It's really, really not fun.

Anyway, just to clarify the concept of white privilege to people who are actually interested in knowing about it, but might not have all the facts:

White privilege is not stand-alone. Like all privileges, it is intersectional. Many people enjoy privileges based on their race, gender, sexual identity, social class, physical health etc without even knowing or understanding it. I enjoy many privileges from my physical health (I am young, healthy, and able-bodied), mental health (I do not have any mental illnesses), social class (I am educated and middle-class) and sexual identity (I am straight). Y'see what I mean by 'intersectional'?

There are even some race privileges that I enjoy, due to being categorized (not willingly) into the 'model minority' category - bluntly speaking: because I am not black, I'm generally more 'acceptable' in white standards. I'll stress again: not willingly. But there it is and I acknowledge it, even as I fight against the model minority stereotype.

Just because you have privileges based on certain inborn attributes, does not automatically make you a bad person to underprivileged people. But acknowledging these privileges that you* enjoy is the first step to understanding an underprivileged person when they bring up harmful and offensive issues.

It is not about you. Your inherent guilt does not factor into another person's suffering. Especially if you consider them your friend or someone who you know would not lightly bring up privilege.

So in short:
- white privilege is not the be-all and end-all, and just because you're white and you have white privilege, doesn't automatically mean you are EVIL IN THE EYES OF ALL PEOPLE OF COLOUR.
- it's the same as saying you're a feminist - being a feminist doesn't automatically mean you HATE ALL MEN.
- it's the same as if I, being able-bodied, started ragging on disabled rights groups to stop pointing out able-bodied privilege, because "omg they are so mean because I may be able-bodied, but I'm also poor! So I don't enjoy as many able-bodied privileges as those mean disabled people claim I have!"

Intersectionality in privilege. Acknowledging one's privilege. Empathy to underprivileged. Key points.

I hope this clarifies things for some people? This is something I am willing to discuss. atm. :)

* also, consider that privilege is categorized by a group situation, not you personally. A lot of the privileged groups are considered 'the normal' or 'the default' - like men, able-bodied, white, straight, etc - in modern society. An aspect of a certain privilege may not apply to you personally, but that doesn't render the concept null.
------------------------------------------------

GOOD THING
I didn't watch The Pacific - I don't have HBO anyway - but I did watch the premiere episode of Murdoch Mysteries, Season 3!

EEEEE it started off a little 'hmmmm' but progressed really well and the ending was just 'squeee'. God, I love this show so much, and I'm glad that after the ~~lame~~ awful (OH HEY LOOK - ABLEISM PRIVILEGE CHECK. Very sorry about that. I'm trying to excise that term from my vocabulary) that was Season 2, that Season 3 is showing promise.

Yay little Canadian Victorian murder mystery show! \o/ Don't stop being awesome.

MEME: draw yourself as you see you

glockgal — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 03:40:29 GMT

MEME: HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF
How do you see yourself? Draw your cartoon-alter-ego!

This is how I think like all the time, auuuhhhh

the real me - not part of the meme, but fun for me.

Love to chootoy for taking this awesome photo of me and puppet!JC Chasez. LEOS GOTTA STICK TOGETHER.

OKAY YOU ALL SAID I SHOULD DO THIS. NOW YOU MUST DO IT TOO. please?

fic (omg fic!): the beatles. a collab with bossymarmalade

glockgal — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 20:18:38 GMT

run for yer life by bossymarmalade & glockgal
the beatles

warnings: murder, drug use
disclaimer: we've cocked up some of the beatles history, but to be fair, none of this is real anyhow.
notes:
bossymarmalade sez: i think this story has been working its way to the surface for fifteen years, only neither of us realized it.
glockgal sez: i am the mccartney to her lennon. without all the pizza and fairytales. (well, maybe a little)

summary: you don't get to the toppermost of the poppermost without a little sacrifice.

run for yer life

s.s.

"--oh my god, what've you done, you've killed him, you've fucking killed him ...."

John looks up with a smile that spreads his thin mouth too wide and Paul instinctively pulls back, startled out of his fretful panic. There's a comma of blood curling under John's ear, almost prettily. There's more blood in the unfocused burning of his eyes.

"Never you mind, Paulie," John says, voice lullaby gentle. He gestures with cramped fingers, stiff and raw on the knuckles and nails. "Young master Stuart won't come between us no more." He starts to laugh but it cracks through the middle and falls over lopsided, and when Paul reaches out one careful hand John skitters back, away from him. The toes of his boots (his single good-quality pair, slept in, sometimes) leave smears and dabs of dusty red on the ground.

Paul watches as the dabs and smears slowly get swallowed over by the thick dark blood coming out of Stu's motionless head, and for a moment he thinks he'll be sick, but John makes a sudden gasping noise -- dangerously close to a sob -- and then everything gets glass-clear.

"Right, then," Paul says briskly. "Let's sort this out before anybody else gets here. Come on, Lennon--" he grabs John's elbow, shakes him hard, "--snap out've it and give me a hand."

It takes them two hours to follow through on Paul's hasty plan. Two hours before they can crawl back into the tiny room they're all sharing this week and Paul thanks the stars that they'd been kicked out of the flat that Stu and John were living in before. If he'd had to come back to yellow and black bumblebee walls he'd've gone clean mad.

Instead there's four dingy grey walls with hardly any furnishings inside, a rattly window and the possibility of mouse droppings. Familiar even if it's not nice, and there's George in a knobbly inert mound under a pile of coats, and John hissing as he peels off the socks he'd run down to and back up from the canal in. Paul takes the cot without asking and curls up. He tells himself that binning the stained boots first thing was necessary, but if he's really honest, hearing John grunt every time he stepped too hard on something pointy was what kept him focused those two hours. You'd think it would be impossible to have a productive relationship built on schadenfreude, but you wouldn't know Lennon and McCartney.

The police find Stu's body the next afternoon, and Astrid rings them up and just screams down the phone, deep bawling sounds interspersed with Stu's name made shapeless by her grief. George holds the receiver away from his ear and looks uncomfortable, but only tearoom uncomfortable; like Astrid came back from the loo with her skirt tucked into her knickers instead of found out her boyfriend was dead and drowned. John is pale and tight-lipped today, lunging between the door and the window, a metronome of nerves. On the phone Astrid's wail goes even more unformed, shrill, and Paul winces at the elevated noise. He's always hated abstract art.

"They found Stu," George tells them after the ten minutes it takes for Astrid to calm down and say anything intelligible. He hovers the receiver over the phone cradle before letting it drop. "Head was bashed in, they said. Suspected foul play, they said."

"Mother Mary," Paul says, which is the first thing he thinks of. John eats his thumbnail.

George looks from one of them to the other, then stands up, exasperated. "Well, I hope you covered your tracks, anyway," he says as he angles himself into his coat. "I've got to meet Ringo down the bar and it would be shit if we had to cancel the gig now he's here already."

His quick steps have faded through the hall and down the stairs completely before John and Paul even dare to glance at each other, and they almost burst into laughter. Not quite, though. Stu's blood and Astrid's screams are still too fresh for that.

By the time they meet up with George and Ringo at the strip club, congregating around the drum kit pre-show, John is back to normal and doling out the prellies with a flourish. "Good to have you on board for the night," he declares, and they toast with beer to wash down the pills.

It's a long set and the mood in the club is one of barely-restrained violence. This is something to which the three Silver Beetles are accustomed due to playing exclusively in crap clubs, so between My Bonnie and Three Cool Cats they check in with Ringo to see how he's taking it. Pete tends to grow sullen, which reflects in his drumming getting muddy and sloopy-sloppy as the night spurts on.

Ringo, though, twirls the stick in his left be-ringed hand, looking sleepy despite the pace and volume of his drumming carrying that unmistakable amphetamine tang. "How now, Ringo?" John shouts over the drunk, beery din of hollering for them to mach schau. Ringo nods and drawls, "Keeping a stiff upper chin, mate," and Paul and George note the look of delight on John's face with a feeling like something has just clicked into place.

p.b.

Ringo hesitates at first, outside in the thin wallpapered hallway that does nothing to muffle the voices bouncing from inside the cubbyhole flats. It isn't merely just a matter of barging in on what sounds to be a typical argument between typical lads; this hesitation is also a reminder to Ringo that he's still technically a Hurricane, sort of, even here back home in the 'pool. Ringo envisions a 'please! do not disturb' sign swinging from the greasy brass doorknob of Paul's flat, and he stands there for a few minutes, mesmerized by his own fiction. It's as if George senses this, and when the door opens -- with more force than Ringo expects from George -- Ringo is quickly beckoned in. He pauses outside to deliberately light his fag first. When he enters, the room is brimming with warm staleness, airtight after being in the drafty hallway.

"He's drunk," Paul states flatly, staring at a rather untidy Pete, who lies sprawled face down somewhere between the shoe-beaten floor and Paul's cot.

"He don't look drunk, he looks purple," Ringo responds loudly, with mild alarm; but John's bark of laughter crouched behind the toilet door turns his response into a punchline. Ringo inhales smoke into the back of his throat, keeps it there before -- "Erm, Paul, what--"

"We're just taking him back home now," Paul says, because it's clear he hasn't heard a word Ringo's said, hasn't even looked at him. And yet, suddenly, Ringo no longer feels like a Hurricane. He tries to get a better look at Pete: eyes closed, hardly breathing even, neck splotched with love bites. Or a rash. Or, there's a wormy, sweet smell in the flat now and Paul sighs. He makes a damp jerk of the hand. "George, help me out, won't you?"

It's when George unfolds and sets down his Gretsch that Ringo realizes all this time he'd been repetitively plucking a tiny three-bar riff. The resulting vacuum of noise feels almost absurd. George steps awkwardly over Pete's leg, slides paper thin between Ringo and Paul. "I'll give you a hand," he says, almost threatening, his cigarette lodged firmly between his teeth. He's watching Ringo.

The rustling is laboured and Ringo is sure that at one point George lets Pete's head thunk like a hammer against the woodboard. They finally parcel his weight between their hunched shoulders, scraping him out of the flat. "We'll be back," Paul seems to warn as he painstakingly closes the door behind him.

Ringo knows he's left alone with John, which isn't necessarily a comforting thought, not always. He turns and nods doglike, pretending he were just trying to find a place to stub out his cigarette. John is nearly finished his own, fingers stressed and tarred around it; and unexpectedly he's shot up close to Ringo, squishing the stub of filter on Paul's worn-down vanity.

"All right, Ringo? All right?" John warbles with the wide generosity of a priest over a congregation. But his voice is still brittle and shredded from last night's Cavern stint and it's barely more than a spongy beer-soaked whisper.

"Right in't wrong, John."

"All right." He clutches at Ringo's shoulder, smiles. Ringo smiles back before he even thinks to stop.

and then

After that comes Brian and his connections, and after that comes George Martin and his production, and after that comes a progression of albums, and it's off to the races with barely a moment to spare. Germany and all those awful strip clubs tumble arse over tit into the past. They're The Beatles now. They're a professional four-piece rock 'n roll number with matching haircuts and heeled boots, giving interviews and posing for photographs, choosing their cars by the wideness of the doors so they can dive in to escape the mobs that follow them everywhere. It's easy to put the lean, ugly days behind them once they've reached the point where they're movie stars; Stu and Pete are something that happened once ages ago but won't again, just like them swearing or wearing blue jean trousers or eating chicken on stage. Even if Ringo now and again sits quietly behind his drums with his mouth screwed to the side, like he's trying to recall an important detail that's long since slipped from his memory.

But the lights are bright, and so are John and Paul and even George when he feels like it, so Ringo doesn't look too hard and just lets whatever it is recede into darkness and silence.

b.e.

"You know he's stealing most of our money," George says. He's cross-legged on the big floor cushions they like in the studio and cradling his cheap Indiacraft sitar, the bowl snugged in the crook of his knee and elbow like a bulbous lacquered baby. John finds it amusing how natural George looks with the thing, practically in love. He entertains himself by thinking about George lugging it around the place and up on stage, Budokan and Shea, Candlestick and wherever, arranging himself matchstick-thin and lotus-legged on top of the amps. George reaches out and pinches him insistently, a nasty trick but one he picked up from John himself so John can't very well complain.

"What're you on about?" he asks instead, resisting the urge to rub the pinched spot as pain radiates pinkly out. George dips his head and says, "Brian. He's taking more off us than managers are supposed to, and he's making a shambles of the merchandising and profits." There's a leaden pause, and then George adds in fractions, "--should ... address this. Somehow."

The naked suggestiveness of George's statement takes John aback, and he casts about the studio to find Paul for a touchstone. Old habits die hard; the two of them have always giggled together over George's unabashedly avaricious streak, glossed over for outside consumption with the more fan-friendly label of "The Quiet One". But Paul's over by Ringo, wearing his glasses and looking terribly earnest as he goes over ideas for tape loop and double tracking while Ringo listens and drinks tea. When John catches Paul's attention, all he does is glance at George -- still glowering over his sitar -- and roll his eyes. The two of them are squabbling; rows are tiresome but inevitable when they're the only blokes who can be them, and pop up unbidden like mushrooms whenever there's a hint of decomposition.

"Well," John finally says because George is obviously waiting for some sort of reply, "Brian's a good sort. Whatever he's doing, it's a hell of a lot better than we could do ourselves."

George lets that sit for a moment before observing, "And he wants us to start touring and playing stadiums again." His fingers pick out an arpeggio of spherical, persistent minor notes to underline the words, which have made John's stomach and throat instantly clog up. Feeling miserably flushed and fat under George's thin dark stare, he mutters, "fuck that, son, never again," and when he looks up again George flashes his teeth before pressing his cheek against the neck of his sitar, arms curling around to hug it.

When they get the news that Brian's been found dead on too many sleeping pills and too much gin, Paul drags John into a BBC broom closet and shoves him against the wall. "We can't afford this sort of thing now," he snaps in the peculiar tight pizzicato voice he has when he's angry, and the high neat arch of his incredulous eyebrows gives John the sudden urge to brush Paul's hair off his forehead. "T'waren't me, Paulie," he says instead, and they're not in the habit of lying to each other so Paul lets up, rather to John's disappointment. Paul twists his pinkie finger, frowns for a moment, and then groans, "Oh, don't tell me--"

John shrugs. "Suppose so." He takes out a ciggie and lights it with overly-studied nonchalance. Paul is too busy with formulating plans to notice the tremble of John's fingers, which gives him a chance to marshal both his shaking body and his shaken mind -- brian, jesus christ, not brian too -- before Paul comes to some sort of decision in his head and opens the cupboard door. "At least I'll never have Ringo to worry about," he sighs, plucking the cigarette from John's grasp and taking a deep drag, and he must not be that angry after all because he doesn't even scowl when John teases, "The long-suffering Father McCartney, herding his flock." He does flip John the bird, but that's practically affection.

George is serene after that, and he really does tote his sitar everywhere. John keeps an eye on him.

a.m.

They've travelled the world the wide over but haven't seen barely any of it, just the insides of a lot of hotel rooms and the famous homes of their famous friends. The four of them end up feeling inordinately safe and happy in bathrooms after years of this. They can't really say what any of the places they've been are actually like, and one screaming face becomes rather the same as the others after a while.

India changes that all.

The Maharishi's ashram is like a wildlife preserve for them, a place where they're allowed to roam free without being hunted down and collected (John still hasn't forgiven that one bastard toff who snipped off a bit of Ringo's hair at a party, once, like it were a trophy). Ostensibly they're here to learn transcendental meditation, and when you break it down and average it out among them -- Paul's polite standoffishness, John's rabid curiosity, Ringo's complacent indifference, George's quiet fervour -- they're more or less open to the process.

As with everywhere now, they bring an entourage. Girlfriends, mates, roadies and stoolies. Cynthia's there and Magic Alex too, Mia Farrow and her sister Prudence and John gets a song out've it like he plucked it from the air. Songs seem to blossom in the warm, fragrant atmosphere. But tell the truth, after about a week of very earnestly attempting to perform the proper meditation, reciting his mantra of a nasalized "auh" with obedience for hours at a time, Paul is starting to think it's time to go home. The place is beautiful and he likes the people and he's composing furiously, but he wants to get back to doing recording work. And he wouldn't say this to John or George, but he misses England.

"You too, hey?" Ringo asks wryly when Paul nips over to rustle one of Ringo's smuggled tins of baked beans from his kit. Paul clutches the familiar can of Heinz and turns it over and over and says in a wan little voice, "ta, Ritchie," which prompts Ringo to push two more tins in his hands before he leaves. Paul likes the Indian food -- it's all vegetarian and fresh and rather simple, and he enjoys eating it rather than the cornflakes also offered at breakfast -- but he can't wait for the rich round softness of tomatoey beans popping against his tongue, tasting like endless mornings of toast and tea.

On a whim, he decides to take a longer route through the woods back to his own bungalow with Jane. They're well-maintained, these green areas, and even though some of the vegetation is familiar it's mixed in with oval-leaved, lush plants Paul's never dreamed of that he's sure can only grow here, fed by the blue Ganges. The fresh, heavy scent of vines and soil soaks into him, invigorating and languorous at the same time. This is the sort of meditation that appeals to him. He's just picking out the counter-melody of a silver song that's been in his head since morning -- bomp bomp, bang bang -- when he happens upon somebody else, and to his enormous displeasure it's Magic Alex. Grinning like a twat and reeking of booze.

"Awright, Paul," Alex says, waggling the bottle at him. "Picked this up in Dehra Dun, make this place a little more fuckin' lively." Paul shakes his head and he knows his face has rearranged into an expression of contempt, because Alex might be drunk but he's not ignorant and he draws himself up.

"This place's a fucking doddle, anyhow," he sneers, "walking around in pyjamas all day talking about peace and love and inner bullshit."

"Good for the music, though," Paul says, because it's true. They've among them racked up near thirty songs already and are showing no signs of slowing down. Magic Alex takes another slog and looks sly, which isn't a stretch.

""Be that as it may," Alex says, "I think it's time we went back. John's gone off his rocker for this Indian bloke's rubbish and it's no good."

At another time, with another person, Paul might have agreed a little bit. But John's always had intense relationships with new and exciting people; they've all learned to ride it out. And this is Alex, and Paul is already irritated because he's still trying to hang on to the melody in his head, so Paul instead primly tells him, "Well, you know, some people aren't cut out for higher thinking."

Alex's face gets very ugly at this. "Just you wait, Lord High-and-McCartney," he snarls, "just you wait and see what John says when I tell him his precious Maharishi tried to fuck one of the American birds. Maybe that Mia Farrow, John likes her. We'll be back in England before you can say boo."

The song Paul was working on starts spinning furiously about his skull, louder, insistent. He contemplates Alex's leer and his threat, the possibility of leaving this place of creative genesis and going back to England on Alex's terms and feeling like shit about the whole experience, and the song shakes out into a more regimented pattern, hammering. England can wait a little longer, Paul decides, and steps forward in time with the song blaring in his head. Bang, bang. Bang bang.

The beans taste even more wonderful in the morning than he'd anticipated they would. "Wonder where Alex got to?" John asks, hunched over a bowl of dhal; Paul shrugs and George offers with a sniff, "He was talking about leaving to go get pissed somewhere." John looks disappointed and Ringo yawns, stirring eggs into his beans. Paul flexes his fingers and says, "Let's get down to business, lads."

m.e.

"GeorGeorGeorge," Paul says in a rush, trying to catch up with his spinning head. "George." He lurches closer, almost tripping over the scatter of twisted thick cords and microphone stands to get to George, who sat cross-legged, protected by an acoustic and really far away at the time. George reaches out and catches Paul's hand, holding it for a while. "George, I found this --" he pulls a leathery piece of paper folded and unfolded from his pocket, "--the seven levels; and George, it's nineteen-sixty-seven."

George nods and his eyes slide over to Ringo, who has just come into the studio. He sits -- where else? behind his drums, and his eyes are ringed with a distinct lack of sleep. John only wanders like a hound back and forth in the hallway, but George's eyesight is clearer and he can see John working, chewing hard at paper.

"Pay-pah," George slowly enunciates, and drifts back to Paul, who is now holding his hand, stroking at it, palming the crumpled paper between them. The guitar strings strum lightly with every stroke; and George conscientiously holds G, then F, then A7 with his other hand. His own mouth tastes of sharp bright magic paper too, and it's soaked into Paul's voice as he keeps tumbling words out.

"This was Mal's, George. Well, written by Mal anyhow, for me; where is he? Mal? He's not here yet, is he? I found this the other day, thought I'd lost it for years! and it came to me, George. Nineteen sixty-seven. Nineteen seventy-six."

"Yes?" George wishes Paul would be more coherent. What he really wants is some tea, now.

"It'll happen again. One more time." Paul's huffy breathing is very close to George now, his thin sheen of sweat sliding over his smooth cheeks and hair; a dark, pretty frame for his pale face. He says "it" in a very specific way, to mean a very specific thing. George can tell. "Our last time. I had a vision about it just now, when I found this paper."

George hears John saying something, to George perhaps (Martin, that is) and Ringo seems to be participating in the conversation with an offbeat on his high hat. "How could you see it, Paul, you haven't yet been it." Sounds reasonable enough.

"No no, that's not the point," Paul is still holding George's hand. Stroking a G, an F, an A7. "I saw us we were -- we. We were part of a band. I mean, of course we are, but this one had uniforms. And I was called Lefftenant Rigby, you were called Krishna and John was, well. John was Lennon."

"John is always Lennon. And what about ...." George nods his head towards Ringo, his grown-out fringe falling in his eyes, but now his hands are both viced between Paul's, both being petted lovingly.

"I'm not sure. But George, Mal was there. In nineteen seventy-six. He was ... is there and he's high and threatening us with something, I'm not sure. A guitar, maybe. George, he will be our last, you see. Somewhere in America, it's hot. And I'll say to you, 'I don't think that's a guitar.' and you'll say, 'I think you're right.' and you - as Krishna - you will shoot him. Then Rigby - that's me - I'll shoot three shots. And Lennon will shoot at Mal, the last two shots, six shots total. That'll be it, George. That's our last time. I just saw it, when I found this bit of paper. Our last time. It's got to stop."

His hands are wet against George's callouses, but for some reason George doesn't mind because Paul just sounds so very relieved, like an infant.

"I really like Mal he brings us tea and things," George muses, forgetting to punctuate. "It'd be a shame for Krishna to shoot at him, blood everywhere, just messy. And maybe Ringo isn't there because he's the one who makes sure it really is ... you know. Our last." Saying that makes George shudder and he desperately wishes he had the cigarette Ringo just lit up. Fortunately Paul releases his hands right then and George scrambles for his pack. Paul falls backwards on his heels, his mind swimming in a psychedelic sea. He must try to remember this, he must write this down so that nine years later, he'll find seven levels in his pocket.

"George, you don't think --" Paul starts up again, but --

"Alright, you bastards -- let's get more of me music burned, eh?" John crows and shoves himself into the studio, filling up the room with stomps and swinging guitars. "And yours too, Paul, wouldn't want to forget yours, oh heavens no." Ringo perks up, but Paul immediately forgets what he were thinking, he is so bloody annoyed with John bloody Lennon.

but then

In the year nineteen sixty-eight, McCartney screams "Never again!" at Lennon, who looks like he will hit back, bounce another head against another wall. George is murmuring something, constantly murmuring like a stuffy-nosed bass guitar underneath them, a string of horrid, nonstop things about Johnny and Paulie where the only breath he pauses to inhale is filled with burning smoke. Paul will start every sentence with "But I think--" and "I just think tha'--" and John will say "Tosser," and "Shut up, Paul," while finger-picking a terrible rhythm until Ringo can't tell whether they three were arguing about making music, or about. Well. Or about that.

In a way, Ringo secretly hopes that they are sniping about that, because then he could bravely bear the burden of days and nights filled with mind-boggling, disagreeable harmonies. That would make sense to him. But when he tunes in long enough to witness John mocking Paul mercilessly for tripping up the second chorus of his fakey-Beach Boys riff, he finishes his cup of tea, announces, "Right then; I'm off," extricates himself (knees creaked; had he been sitting still and pointless so long?) and slouches out of Abbey Road. There aren't even any fans lurking outside that night. No pretty ones, anyway.

Ringo knows the lads won't realize that by "off" he didn't mean down the street for a well-deserved pint, that Ringo would be basking in the summer Grecian sun for a good long while, before he'd get a message from John saying "stop please please come back to us stop". It isn't even a telegram, not the first message anyway; and Ringo would remain on Peter Sellers' yacht for a few more days. When he finally returns, it's to gleeful skiffle jams and union jack flowers and a bottle of really fab whiskey.

They spend one small temporary day being kind to each other, the bickering mostly relegated around a disgusting saveloy takeaway that Ringo can't eat. And at the end of the day, completely tipsy, Ringo slurs to John, "Y'know, I wouldn't have said anything. I ... I didn't leave you so I could go tell anyone, about. That."

"But then, why did you leave? Why did you come back?" It's Paul who asks, sounding exhausted but proper anxious.

"S'why I joined yer band," Ringo murmurs, edging against George (whose shoulders are more comfortable than George ever lets on). "Because I just want to make music with you."

And so they do.

epilogue

Tiny hands, Sean has, and John marvels over them as he counts out notes and funny words on his son's fingers. Sean giggles at first and then goes quiet and sleepy and makes sweeping blinks, his eyes unbelievably big and dark. Big and small in turns and pieces, that's what children are, and you can never tell which what or when. "Time to say good-night," John suggests, which Sean counters with, "You sleep too." This is a good idea. John's tired lately; happier than he's ever been, but his body feels like it's eating up every ounce of fat and muscle in him. "Bedtime for all cannibals," he says aloud, scooting down on the futon to curl up with his kid. Sean, accustomed to being adorned with unfamiliar words, merely pats his father's forehead, and John's mind makes a jagged screech --

-- cold concrete pressed to his face, smell of salt and tar in the air down the docks, and the others closed in, crouching over him. "Fuckin' hell," Paul's voice, fervent and rough from all-night reefer and thrumming with anxiety; "You hurt, Johnny? John? Give us a chirp, luv," with Ringo slipping off his specs and pressing his concerned hand firmly against John's brow; his own croaking guttural noise as his eyes roll like a snared rabbit's and his bare freckled arms scrape and scrabble. Ringo gives the glasses to George to hold and Paul tells John, "It's not the right time, John, you need to hang on, don't do anything we'll need to fix," and grips his shoulder hard. "Christ, would you fucking leave it out for a minute, Paul?" Ringo says furiously, but Paul turns to him and snaps white-lipped, "You can bloody well clean up after he kills this time then," and George --

-- "Dad?" Sean pokes John in the eyebrow with one finger, his peculiarly sharp child-nail leaving a scratch. John shakes himself out and offers a smile that seems to be reassuring enough, because Sean settles and is asleep, blameless and deep, within two minutes.

John pushes his nose into Sean's soft hair, inhaling milk and meadow love that slows his galloping heart to a canter as dark night upon night unfurls in his memories. He's different now, he tells himself. That sort've thing won't happen again, now, here. He's got Yoko and he's got Sean, and he's working on it, he's working on it.

Sleep comes for him eventually, but just as he drifts off John remembers George, that time in the salt-tar air: wearing the round glasses he'd been given to hold and making no attempt to help, watching from behind Ringo and Paul with blood in his unrepentant smile.

art used (full-sized)

--Paul and John -- George -- John and Ringo -- Paul and Ringo -- George and John -- Paul -- Paul, George and John -- Paul and John and George and Ringo --

liner notes

beatles photo: group of four

stuart sutcliffe: bio

pete best: bio

brian epstein: bio

yanni (john) alexis mardas: bio

mal evans: bio

glockgal — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 17:09:40 GMT

FANDOM POLL
Because I need something to entertain me at work and I love learning about perceptions of fandom etiquette. :D

NOTES:
- Poll is about commenting habits for fanworks in any given fandom
- Poll is refers to the LJ-comment system for posted fanworks
- No answer is wrong.
- Comments are extremely welcome
- This post is public

View Poll: le comment

2009 Racebending Year in Summary

glockgal — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 20:07:56 GMT

2009 with THE LAST AIRBENDER and RACEBENDING.COM
What a year it's been, full of ups and downs but in the end - a wonderful pile of ups. Thank you to my friendlist not just for supporting me, but for helping me sort out my own thoughts about racism, prejudice, privilege, silencing, ignorance, derailment and allies. Thank you to jedifreac and whosdamike for being so amazingly pro-active and spearheading racebending.com triumphs.

why we're doing this
racebending primer
about us

where we live

lj ♥ twitter ♥ facebook ♥ street teams

what we do
racebending @ dragoncon '09
racebending @ comiccon '09
racebending @ futures of entertainment '09
racebending on YouTube
racebending, JACL and MANAA protest the film The Goods. Paramount Pictures apologizes.
racebending protests the film The Weapon.

what results
APA Coalition Meets with Paramount Pictures
At a meeting with Paramount Pictures regarding the depictions of Asian Americans in The Goods, the Media Action Network for Asian Americans brings up the casting controversy over The Last Airbender.

who supports us (more supporters on our website!)
Roger Ebert
Tycho of Penny Arcade
Derek Kirk Kim
Gene Yang
Keith Chow
comicbook artists
Secret Asian Man
Margaret Cho
Balitang America

people who worked on the series Avatar: The Last Airbender
Giancarlo Volpe, Storyboard Director, Award-winning Director
Dao Le, Animatic Editor
Siu-Leung Lee, Cultural Consultant

how we learn
History of Yellowface
Paramount Pictures and Asian Americans: A Tarnished Legacy
Do Children See Race? and The Virtue of Colourblindness
Interviews with industry and social professionals.

how you can help
Buy a t-shirt!
Sign up for newsletters and street team info!
Spread the word - online, in real life
Boycott the movie The Last Airbender ! Nothing speaks louder than shutting our wallets.

upcoming
Yellowface: A Documentary

the fanart love meme

glockgal — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 18:49:27 GMT

credit to the original, because because because --

the ♥ fanart love ♥ meme

instructions/rules:

comment with your username and the fandoms you create fanart for.
people will comment telling you their favorite art by you, what character/pairing they think you best render visually, and other positive comments. they can also mention what they think you should create more art for, or anything else concerning what they like about your art-making.
pimp it it to your journal and/or fanartist comms.
this is a love meme. so no wank, no insults. please report any negative comments to me immediately.

SIDE NOTE TO FANARTISTS: this is open to ALL types of fanartists: illustrators, crafters, collagers, manippers, bakers, photographers, graphic makers...any one who considers themselves a fanartist!

Avatar, Halloween

glockgal — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 16:38:33 GMT

RACEBENDING.COM - promo shirts!
Thanks to Mike and Dariane for setting this up - we have new OFFICIAL racebending.com t-shirts for sale at Blacklava! Our Zazzle store will still remain up to sell bumper stickers and postcards. But all t-shirts are now through Blacklava.

We print on American Apparel, which is a fair trade sweatshop-free organization - and comfy and cute as well! Their sizes do run small, though; so keep that in mind when you choose your size.

Thanks to BlackLava, 100% of proceeds go back to the Racebending.com and the LA Street Team. Funds are needed to maintain the web-site, purchase booth space at conventions, promotional material for distribution (fliers and flair), and further shirt printings.

Buy a shirt and support our cause!
----------------------------------

HALLOWEEN FYI
Not that I think anyone on my flist would do this, but just in case you encounter it in your Halloween travails, you shouldn't feel weird to speak out about it:

Dressing up as another race for Halloween? Not a good idea.

No, this does not render the person who chose the costume is immediately a racist; it's the idea that is racist and they should be called on it. What do I mean by 'dressing up as another race'? Here is a helpful list of some Halloween costume no-nos:

- Native American/First Nations
- Blackface (yes, it's happened before). This includes Jamaican costumes.
- Geisha girl
- China doll
- Illegal Alien

I know this can be a touchy matter and after you've had a few shots of the Halloween punch, it might be difficult to retort to the compelling arguments of "You wouldn't be mad if I wore lederhosen!" and "It's just a Halloween costume; calm down!" - but! It's worth it to try. Baby steps, my friends. Baby steps.

ETA: Yay, Stuff White People Do: suddenly get interested in non-white people whenever halloween comes around - perfect timing, oui?

ETA #2: It gets better! Disgrasian: Racist Halloween Costumes...for Pets. I don't even know. I don't.

ETA #3: ontd_political reposts Your Halloween Costume: A Bigot from source theawl.com.

ETA #4: Sociological Images (contexts.org) posts about Racist Halloween Costumes. Straight to the point.

Yuletart: What is fanart?

glockgal — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 16:09:23 GMT

FANART MUSING
It's interesting to see the sign-ups at yuletart as well as the questions us Mods get from participants and potential participants. Questions that are unique to a fanart fest, I think. Like -

- is my type of art acceptable for this fest?
- can I mail my art to my gift-receiver after the fest?
- I don't consider myself a fanartist; can I still participate?

It's really neat, I mean. Do fanfic fests get questions like these? I can't imagine someone being unsure if what they write can be construed as fanfic. Do fanfic participants ever want to submit like poem epics or....?

It's just another example of how in fandom the two fanwork biggies are Fanfics and Fanart - but the fanart umbrella stretches wide and is very nebulous.

In yuletart a lot of discussion was needed for us to define what constitutes as acceptable fanart for the fest. We made the decision to not allow photo-manipulations, graphics, template 3Dmodel pose-art or vidding*; but we do accept:

- drawn art (traditional or digital)
- animation
- crafts (knitting, sculpting, foodart and more!)
- cosplay

and our very VERY murky area:
- photographs taken by the artist (must create style/story)
- collages/paintovers (where the collage is manual and/or is used to create a style/story)
- 3D modeling/texturing/rigging/rendering

I mean! Lookit all of those choices of fanart! This is why I find yuletart such an exciting and creative fest. But sometimes a bit harrowing for the Mods, heh. We have had to make judgment-calls not just about whether someone's art is acceptable content-wise, but also whether it fits into our definition of 'art' without the situation getting wanky.

Anyway. I think we've covered all our bases in the FAQ. Here's hoping we won't have to make such a judgment call this year! The sign-ups are still going wonderfully strong - keep 'em coming!

* I've seen vidding being used under the category of fanart; but do vidders consider themselves a separate category? Or do vidders refer to themselves as 'a fanartist'?

fandom, race, moar fandom

glockgal — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:08:39 GMT

SPOILER ALERT
I'm not really planning on watching any shows this Fall until they are released on DVD next summer (or in Merlin's case, dl), but for the sake of those who do, I still think this is a good reminder to everyone, just in case (cause we tend to forget things in lieu of excitement) -

spoiler cuts. they are of the good

For real - it can save a lot of WTFOMFGIH8U*DEFRENZ* to do a very simple <lj-cut text="SPOILER for blah blah"> on communities and yes! Even on your own journal. Cause yeah I know: omg it's your journal you can do whatcha want; but guess what? OTHER PEOPLE READ YOUR PUBLIC POSTS. That's, uh. That's how LJ works.
---------------------------

I'M JUST GONNA LEAVE THIS HERE
Speaks for itself, so.

Open Letter to Eric Kripke by Alaya Dawn Johnson.
and
Note: the opinions of a privileged white fan by zillahseye

Oh by the way - race and race issues in fandom? It's not wank. Just in case anyone felt it was, it's not. Capslock debates over what constitutes spoiler-alerts = wank. Insults over Bale!Batman vs Keaton!Batman = wank. Thousand-thread ship wars = wank. My colour or culture or presence in fandom does not equate to casual masturbation, thanks.