grope blindly towards happiness
Aug. 1st, 2013 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI took a couple of days off at the end of last week and went to Oxford to see the lovely ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
troyswann, whom I have known for years and years and years and is visiting our fair shores, and also catwalksalone and ![[twitter.com profile]](https://p2.dreamwidth.org/e0caa790ec10/-/twitter.com/favicon.ico)
elbee512 and it was just totally delightful and did my heart good. Sal, whom I have known since I was seventeen, is just the best. I don’t know what we talked about, only, I think we talked about a lot of things, including fandom, and Shakespeare, and weddings, and driving distances in Canada and how they can be calculated with reference to the curvature of the Earth; but I had such a wonderful time. Cat and Elizabeth are also wonderful people whom I had not met before! We talked about Sports Night quite a lot. And we went for cream tea at Queen’s Lane, only with not quite enough cream, and in my case, not enough jam. Also, the little greasy spoon on St Giles, where we went for breakfast, is much nicer than I remember and does lovely cinnamon rolls. I don’t know how this account turned into a litany of the food I ate, but it was all so joyful that the cream and jam seem the easiest way to express it. And you all know this already but Sal is the best: she is just as good a storyteller in person as she is on the page. She told me a lot of stories and I went to many distant places while she told them.
Also, Oxford – Oxford in high July, with all the buildings looking so beautiful they might as well be made out of crystallised honey, complete with blossom on the tree outside the university church, and an air of respectable desertion around Exam Schools. We did a long circuit from Christ Church Meadow, along the riverbank and the university parks, round the back of the Botanic Garden and up onto Magdalen Bridge a bit along from Hilda’s, and everything was so perfectly green and still. I love Oxford, still, probably forever; Sal turned to me as we walked up the High in the light curving towards dusk and said, “Well, this does not suck.”
Yes. Exactly.
In the morning I drove home in thirty-degree temperatures in my car that has no air-conditioning, and in which you can’t open the windows because the car sort of rocks from side to side, and dissolved on the couch for twelve hours, and then on Saturday I had a hen party.
You see I didn’t actually want a hen party, but.hathy_col, who is not my bridesmaid (I don’t have any) but has taken on all the responsibilities with none of the fun bits, organised everything and told me where to turn up, and predictably, I was very wrong to have had any doubts. Although it rained, and the place we were originally going to was closed for a private party without telling anyone, somehow or other we ended up in a cocktail bar somewhere near Covent Garden, with a very long menu, and a sheet of paper on which were scribbled all of the drinks being subjected to happy hour. It was great. tau_sigma had a wonderful purple top hat with a feather in it. Maria turned up in the middle of the evening to tell me that she had been ten days on shift, and she’d left the baby at home, and she wanted cocktails (which were all long, sticky and tasted a little of cream and banana, which is basically all I want out of life). I was a bit worried that I was the only person who knew everyone, but I went away for a minute and came back to a table eagerly discussing the ins and outs of Vulcan sex, and such_heights and happydork talking about Vulcan babies. I had forgotten to eat lunch and got really quite drunk.
I don’t know who initialised the tradition of toasting me with each round of drinks, but it was a great idea and there were a lot of drinks. I think some of them were sweet and heartfelt and about my future happiness in married life; one was definitely me toasting my wonderful, passionate and fascinating friends; there was also, “To Iona! May her betrayal never be inevitable!” and my personal favourite: “To Iona! ...there is no Iona. Welcome... to Night Vale.”
Which brings us neatly on to:
Welcome to Night Vale, which is one of those beautiful things – whole, complete, ridiculous, soon-too-big-for-yuletide fandoms that seems to have sprung into nothing into something like desert flowers after the rain. (One of my favourite things about Night Vale is that it makes me talk like this.) Anyway, so it’s a twice-monthly podcast that’s been running for a little over a year, or twenty-seven episodes (the twenty-eighth is due out today, actually) and it makes me so wonderfully, uncomplicatedly happy. The conceit is that it’s a community public radio broadcast for the small desert town of Night Vale, somewhere in the American southwest. The thing is, in Night Vale, a lot of weird shit happens. I mean... seriously weird. Never mind, though, the radio announcer, Cecil, has everything under control, and will let you know when the annual street-cleaner invasion happens, and whether the unmarked helicopters are out circling today, and about the jet airliner that materialised momentarily during the PTA meeting in the school gym. There are angels, and mysterious hooded figures, and a red light on top of a radio tower that blinks on, and off, and on, and off. (The City Council tell us there are no angels. Cecil has been taken away for compulsory re-education.) I dunno if you have to have a sense of humour like mine or what, but it contains such gems as this:
"An unsigned press release I found under my pillow this morning announces the following: there is a free party this Friday at the abandoned missile silo outside of town. The purpose of this party is to celebrate. There will be no sign, or music, but the party is inside the silo. This party takes place at 3 a.m. and will be over at three oh five. It will be dark, both inside and outside the silo. Grope blindly towards happiness. Keep your mouth open and your teeth together to indicate you are at a party. You will hear noises, and later, you will not. This party will feature special guest Bon Jovi, although he does not yet know it. See you there."
My favourite episodes are “One Year Later” and “First Date”, which I reckon is true for a lot of people, but other than those my favourite is episode 13, “A Story About You”, which is... agh, okay, so the point of the show is treading the line between wonderfully, hilariously absurd and genuinely quite creepy, but with that one I was listening to it on a train (crossing the shimmering twilight; across the fields, the wind turbines turned, slowly) with my mouth dropping open slightly, and thinking whoa, okay, they actually made an episode all about my greatest fear, and called it “A Story About You”. Yeah.
Every episode also has the weather, which I really really like – the weather in Night Vale, you see, usually sounds like a song from an indie band I’ve never heard and would like to. The only song I’ve actually known so far is “Jerusalem” by Dan Bern, of all the odd things. And the best part – the absolute best part – is Carlos, the beautiful, perfect scientist who has come to make a study of the weird happenings in the town. Carlos is beautiful and perfect. Cecil loves him very, very much. Their love is true and kinda eldritch. The voice actor Cecil Baldwin notes in this article, delightedly, that it’s nice their romance is the least weird thing in town. (Also in that article: Baldwin being wonderfully freaked out, round about episode four or five, to discover that the character is also called Cecil.) Oh, Cecil. Oh, Cecil, and beautiful Carlos.happydork and I noted we both have the same problem with Cecil’s name – because he doesn’t say his own name much, obviously, I’ve just sort of resigned myself to the fact I’m going to pronounce it the British way by default.
In conclusion, I love Welcome to Night Vale in a fittingly devoted and slightly scary way, all hail the great glow cloud. If anyone has a ficlet they wish written, please say so, I might just write it.
(Although, not the fic where the jet airliner that materialises in the high school gym is owned and operated by MJN Air, CEO Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, because apparently SOMEONE ALREADY WROTE THAT.
I mean.
Fandom.)
troyswann, whom I have known for years and years and years and is visiting our fair shores, and also catwalksalone and Also, Oxford – Oxford in high July, with all the buildings looking so beautiful they might as well be made out of crystallised honey, complete with blossom on the tree outside the university church, and an air of respectable desertion around Exam Schools. We did a long circuit from Christ Church Meadow, along the riverbank and the university parks, round the back of the Botanic Garden and up onto Magdalen Bridge a bit along from Hilda’s, and everything was so perfectly green and still. I love Oxford, still, probably forever; Sal turned to me as we walked up the High in the light curving towards dusk and said, “Well, this does not suck.”
Yes. Exactly.
In the morning I drove home in thirty-degree temperatures in my car that has no air-conditioning, and in which you can’t open the windows because the car sort of rocks from side to side, and dissolved on the couch for twelve hours, and then on Saturday I had a hen party.
You see I didn’t actually want a hen party, but.
hathy_col, who is not my bridesmaid (I don’t have any) but has taken on all the responsibilities with none of the fun bits, organised everything and told me where to turn up, and predictably, I was very wrong to have had any doubts. Although it rained, and the place we were originally going to was closed for a private party without telling anyone, somehow or other we ended up in a cocktail bar somewhere near Covent Garden, with a very long menu, and a sheet of paper on which were scribbled all of the drinks being subjected to happy hour. It was great. tau_sigma had a wonderful purple top hat with a feather in it. Maria turned up in the middle of the evening to tell me that she had been ten days on shift, and she’d left the baby at home, and she wanted cocktails (which were all long, sticky and tasted a little of cream and banana, which is basically all I want out of life). I was a bit worried that I was the only person who knew everyone, but I went away for a minute and came back to a table eagerly discussing the ins and outs of Vulcan sex, and such_heights and happydork talking about Vulcan babies. I had forgotten to eat lunch and got really quite drunk. I don’t know who initialised the tradition of toasting me with each round of drinks, but it was a great idea and there were a lot of drinks. I think some of them were sweet and heartfelt and about my future happiness in married life; one was definitely me toasting my wonderful, passionate and fascinating friends; there was also, “To Iona! May her betrayal never be inevitable!” and my personal favourite: “To Iona! ...there is no Iona. Welcome... to Night Vale.”
Which brings us neatly on to:
Welcome to Night Vale, which is one of those beautiful things – whole, complete, ridiculous, soon-too-big-for-yuletide fandoms that seems to have sprung into nothing into something like desert flowers after the rain. (One of my favourite things about Night Vale is that it makes me talk like this.) Anyway, so it’s a twice-monthly podcast that’s been running for a little over a year, or twenty-seven episodes (the twenty-eighth is due out today, actually) and it makes me so wonderfully, uncomplicatedly happy. The conceit is that it’s a community public radio broadcast for the small desert town of Night Vale, somewhere in the American southwest. The thing is, in Night Vale, a lot of weird shit happens. I mean... seriously weird. Never mind, though, the radio announcer, Cecil, has everything under control, and will let you know when the annual street-cleaner invasion happens, and whether the unmarked helicopters are out circling today, and about the jet airliner that materialised momentarily during the PTA meeting in the school gym. There are angels, and mysterious hooded figures, and a red light on top of a radio tower that blinks on, and off, and on, and off. (The City Council tell us there are no angels. Cecil has been taken away for compulsory re-education.) I dunno if you have to have a sense of humour like mine or what, but it contains such gems as this:
"An unsigned press release I found under my pillow this morning announces the following: there is a free party this Friday at the abandoned missile silo outside of town. The purpose of this party is to celebrate. There will be no sign, or music, but the party is inside the silo. This party takes place at 3 a.m. and will be over at three oh five. It will be dark, both inside and outside the silo. Grope blindly towards happiness. Keep your mouth open and your teeth together to indicate you are at a party. You will hear noises, and later, you will not. This party will feature special guest Bon Jovi, although he does not yet know it. See you there."
My favourite episodes are “One Year Later” and “First Date”, which I reckon is true for a lot of people, but other than those my favourite is episode 13, “A Story About You”, which is... agh, okay, so the point of the show is treading the line between wonderfully, hilariously absurd and genuinely quite creepy, but with that one I was listening to it on a train (crossing the shimmering twilight; across the fields, the wind turbines turned, slowly) with my mouth dropping open slightly, and thinking whoa, okay, they actually made an episode all about my greatest fear, and called it “A Story About You”. Yeah.
Every episode also has the weather, which I really really like – the weather in Night Vale, you see, usually sounds like a song from an indie band I’ve never heard and would like to. The only song I’ve actually known so far is “Jerusalem” by Dan Bern, of all the odd things. And the best part – the absolute best part – is Carlos, the beautiful, perfect scientist who has come to make a study of the weird happenings in the town. Carlos is beautiful and perfect. Cecil loves him very, very much. Their love is true and kinda eldritch. The voice actor Cecil Baldwin notes in this article, delightedly, that it’s nice their romance is the least weird thing in town. (Also in that article: Baldwin being wonderfully freaked out, round about episode four or five, to discover that the character is also called Cecil.) Oh, Cecil. Oh, Cecil, and beautiful Carlos.
happydork and I noted we both have the same problem with Cecil’s name – because he doesn’t say his own name much, obviously, I’ve just sort of resigned myself to the fact I’m going to pronounce it the British way by default.In conclusion, I love Welcome to Night Vale in a fittingly devoted and slightly scary way, all hail the great glow cloud. If anyone has a ficlet they wish written, please say so, I might just write it.
(Although, not the fic where the jet airliner that materialises in the high school gym is owned and operated by MJN Air, CEO Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, because apparently SOMEONE ALREADY WROTE THAT.
I mean.
Fandom.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2013-08-01 12:02 pm (UTC)There is already one X-Files/Night Vale crossover, but I think the fandom needs more. ;)
no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 02:04 pm (UTC)Scully! <3 <3 Maybe one of the angels is Scully? They did always say she would live forever.
no subject
on 2013-08-27 12:17 am (UTC)(not vanity googling who said I was)
no subject
on 2013-08-01 12:18 pm (UTC)I have been using Welcome to Night Vale to fall asleep to, it seems very appropriate in this atrocious horrible humid heat.
no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:47 pm (UTC)I do that too! And then get, ah, quite odd dreams.
no subject
on 2013-08-01 02:05 pm (UTC)Yeah, it definitely ups the surrealism of your dreamscape significantly.
no subject
on 2013-08-01 12:48 pm (UTC)and I screamed with delight, like, for real screamed, when I realized you love WTNV tooooooooooooooo.
no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:45 pm (UTC)(The fic... could be more? I feel like it could be more, so I didn't link to it. But it is on the AO3!)
no subject
on 2013-08-02 02:15 am (UTC)I SAID NOTHING.
no subject
on 2013-08-02 07:53 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:16 pm (UTC)...I love everything.
no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:43 pm (UTC)It was delightful to meet you for the first time and I hope it won't be the last!
no subject
on 2013-08-01 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 04:34 pm (UTC)Though, you know, I bet you'd be the best at writing a day in the life of someone working at the City Council office. :)
no subject
on 2013-08-01 09:22 pm (UTC)um. The Night Vale Department of Sanitation, Soul-Deep Corruption and Land Registration.
no subject
on 2013-08-02 02:21 am (UTC)Please write the fic about the rezoning necessary for the waterfront. Please.
no subject
on 2013-08-02 12:30 am (UTC)ALSO HOORAY COCKTAILS. Were they pink?
no subject
on 2013-08-01 05:16 pm (UTC)but it was all so joyful that the cream and jam seem the easiest way to express it
I cannot express to you how much I love that. I am measuring all life experiences by that yardstick now.
And your hen party sounds perfect! *toasts you*
no subject
on 2013-08-01 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 06:04 pm (UTC)The St Giles Cafe was recently taken over by new management, and it is really, really good (I went there for lunch as a break from thesising yesterday!).
no subject
on 2013-08-01 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-01 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-08 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-12 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2013-08-08 08:09 pm (UTC)I have listened to one episode of Welcome to Night Vale so far; it is creepy and compelling. Cecil's crush on Carlos is adorable.
no subject
on 2013-08-08 11:02 pm (UTC)