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I've been trying for several days to think of what to say in this post, and in the end this is what I've come up with. 

TW for death and suicideCollapse )

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In the early 2000s, I was in law school. “The West Wing” was on television and I was in love with it and it had changed everything about the way I wrote. But there was another show Aaron Sorkin had written before that called “Sports Night,” which I tracked down with a lot of trouble and expense (this was pre-everything days) and which I spent a semester devouring, both in show and fic, before moving on. I own the DVDs, and I would watch them every so often, but I’d kind of completely forgotten about the show’s existence. 

And then the other day I got a notification that a writer I subscribe to had posted “Sports Night” fic and it was like this whole piece of my past just suddenly came back to life, like, “REMEMBER THAT SHOW????” I never forget “The West Wing,” I quote it *all the time,* but I had forgotten all about that brief “Sports Night” fling, so I’ve spent the weekend watching SO MUCH “Sports Night” (and marveling at how much easier everything is to track down these days) and I now feel really bad I forgot about it because it’s so good and CASEY/DAN IS SUCH A GREAT SHIP. I feel like, my first time around, Idk, I didn’t notice *how much* Casey/Dan are a ship? Like, the show has all these heterosexual pairings all over the place but by the end of the second season it’s like no one’s even trying anymore and Dan’s ripping up numbers girls give him and angsting over having to leave Casey’s side hahaha. It’s SO GREAT. They’re SO GREAT. 

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 There is a severe thunderstorm happening an hour from me. In Rhode Island, we would call that “weather in Boston” and just go on with our lives. Here, because my viewing region is ENORMOUS, my local NBC affiliate has decided I must watch the Doppler radar. That’s all they’re doing: showing us different iterations of the Doppler radar. It seems like we could just do this in the corner or something. It doesn’t seem like we need to be watching this. But no – they have decided we need to watch this instead of the Olympics. I have seriously been watching this Doppler radar for 45 minutes at this point. 

So I’ve given up. I have DirecTV, and that theoretically is supposed to give me the ability to stream, so maybe I can stream the NBC broadcast. Except when I got to DirecTV and log in and choose “Watch,” it tells me they can’t process my request. 

So now I’m like, Idk, do I need to sign up for some special account to watch online? How does this work? Why don’t they explain it to me? I try to go to the FAQs and all it says is that with my DirecTV account I can stream live television, with a link, that when I click tells they can’t process my request. 

So then I’m like, Idk, is their website down maybe? I try to find someone from DirecTV to chat with but their chat is busy, so I decide to call tech support. I call tech support, and get into their automated system. 

Automated bot: How can I help you? 

Me: I’m trying to stream live television online and it’s unable to process my request and I’m trying to figure out if your website is down. 

Automated bot: I understand. DirecTV is excited to announced a new product: DirecTV Now! Would you like to hear more about it. 

Me: No. 

Automated bot: How can I help you? 

Me: …I’m trying to figure out if your website is down. 

Automated bot: Do you want to hear about DirecTV Now?

Me: No. I want to talk to a person about your website not working. 

Automated bot: Have I helped you with your issue? 

Me: Yeah, whatever, thanks. 

So I hung up and asked the internet and they helped me find a stream. THANK YOU, INTERNET. 

This on top of the fact that I’ve been fighting with Facebook for literally months about all their weirdness. I requested a month ago that they delete my account, and they confirmed that they would and it might take them two weeks. It’s a month later and I’m still getting emails from them. I assumed this was just Facebook being Facebook and never leaving you alone, so I unsubscribed from the emails. Except this morning I got ANOTHER email (despite having unsubscribed) that said my cousin managed to send me a message…which doesn’t sound like my account has been deleted. So I thought, “Hey, I’ll just contact Facebook and ask again if they can delete my account and also stop sending me emails” (btw, under U.S. law, you’re entitled to be able to unsubscribe from mailing lists and have your wishes respected). Except that, well, have you ever tried to contact Facebook without logging into Facebook??? There’s no way to do it. They have no “contact” link on their homepage. It’s the strangest thing and so sketchy. I ended up tweeting at them. I’ve gotten no response yet. I’ll give it a couple of days and then follow up. 

All in all, today has just been a day of so much corporate fail. CAPITALISM FTW. 

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The Usual Categories!Collapse )



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Requested by chriscalledmesweetie

Sherlock had never tried baking before but it didn’t seem like it should be difficult. After all, it was nothing but chemistry.

The recipes, however, had clearly been devised by imbeciles with no idea what they were doing. Some correction was required.

When John came home to a kitchen absolutely covered in every type of sugar imaginable, he blinked in astonishment and said, “What did you do?”

“This is your fault,” Sherlock said immediately. “You said you wanted some Christmas sweets, so…” Sherlock gestured to the sugar all around. “There. Sweetness,” he grumbled.

John, after a moment, burst out laughing.
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Requested by [personal profile] puddlesontherocks 

When they ventured forth onto the planet, Rose remarked, “They’ve got candy canes for fences, and gumdrops for roofs, and—hang on, is this icing? Is this a gingerbread house world?”

“Is it icing?” the Doctor asked, frowning at what had at first appeared to be snow on the candy cane fence.

Rose held a bit out on her finger for him to lick, catching her tongue between her teeth teasingly.

Which was when the door’s licorice-looking door swung open and its inhabitant shouted, “Oi! Are you eating my house?”

“Run,” the Doctor whispered to Rose, and grabbed her hand.
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Requested by [personal profile] perditorian 

Once the double heartbeat of a Time Lord had been a constant drumming warning in her head.

Now when she encountered it, it was in her children, their warm psychic connection against her.

Athena loved the comfort of those double heartbeats, as did Matt.

“I’m confused with human patients now,” he joked as he got ready for bed. “I think they only have half a heart.”

“Oh, no,” Athena said, crawling into bed with him for his nearness. “I know from experience, that one heartbeat is the biggest one.” She laid her ear on his chest just to hear it.
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Requested by mayerwien

“There’s nothing for it,” said Nicholas. “We’ll just have to give in and stop at a McDonald’s.”

“A McDonald’s,” said Elliot, stricken. “How far we have fallen. Our lives might as well be over.”

“Stop it, would you,” said Nicholas good-naturedly.

“We have no dignity left. I hope no one I know sees me.”

“What would anyone you know be doing at a McDonald’s?” asked Nicholas, amused.

Elliot made a dramatic noise of intense existential suffering.

Nicholas said, “So I assume you don’t want anything from McDonald’s?”

“I want a Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate shake,” Elliot answered immediately.

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Requested by [personal profile] azriona 

“It’s annoying,” Oliver proclaimed.

Annoying was Oliver’s favorite word. He wasn’t Sherlock Holmes’s clone for nothing.

“Of course it is,” Sherlock agreed.

“You don’t even know what he’s talking about,” said John. “What’s annoying, Ollie?”

“The Arctic is amazing. Permafrost has an incredible amount of dead plant and animal material that is trapped carbon and methane.”

“That seems exactly like the sort of thing you love,” John said. “Why is that annoying?”

Oliver pouted. “At school all they want to talk about it how it’s where Father Christmas lives.”

“Told you school was a waste of his time,” said Sherlock.
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Requested by [personal profile] rifleman_s 

“I don’t dream,” Sherlock announced loftily.

“You don’t dream?” echoed John.

“Dreaming is a waste of valuable time,” Sherlock sniffed. “A waste of mental energy and resources.”

“How do you control what your brain does while you’re sleeping?”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock scoffed. “It’s simple. I strive for productive sleep during which my brain mulls over the most important details of the previous few days and categorizes them properly in my mind palace for future efficient retrieval.”

John lifted his eyebrows. “And to think,” he said lazily, “all I aim for when I sleep is a good dream about shagging you.”
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