Roasted

I have told you before that my father is a bit of a packrat. He tends to keep things hanging around for far longer than is necessary, long after the point when I or my mother would have tossed things.

Well, I fought back and I've won already without even trying. Let's just say that his mess under the desk has gone up in flames. No salvage possible-the woodstove is merrily chewing it all into ash as I speak.

He's probably going to be mad at me, but he'll live. I saved all the valuable stuff and tossed the things I thought were no longer needed-endless unopened letters from the Audubon society and the Sierra Club, several piles of credit card bills, bank statements, receipts for car parts, Christmas cards from relatives from four years ago that Dad never even bothered to open.

I kept a couple of maps, a deck of cards, property tax receipts...stuff I would keep if it were my stuff.

But it isn't and he's lost this battle and he can scream and cry all he wants but there is no returning his crap from the pit of flames.

Good thing I won't be here to do this again. Once was bad enough. And I have yet to see his face when he finds out all his stuff is long gone.

Ta,
Bec

This Isn't My Forte...

So, I'm trying to write music for a poem/lyric I wrote 6 or 7 years ago. I did play piano until I was 14, so I generally know where Middle C is still, and even can manage to pick out G if I'm really on the ball.

But apparently I forgot that sharps are always on the right of the key they're attached to and flats are on the left. Suffice it to say, in writing down the notes I want for this little project, I got EVERY ONE of them BACKWARDS.

So, having spent a noisy hour driving the dogs nuts by playing the same set of notes again and again and again, I think I've got it down. Tomorrow if I get time, I'll actually notate them onto a score (right now I just have a list of incomprehensible notes that could probably not be played because you'd have to know that at some point in there I switched up to the next octave for some of the notes. No biggie.)

What I'm hoping (ha) is that I'll get them written down coherently enough to get them into an audio file with me singing along (I sing. Yes. Not as good as some people, not as bad as others.) Dunno why I want to embarrass myself like this, but for the moment I just do. It's keeping me busy and that's what I want I guess.

So, besides having note issues, I've got nothing else going on.

Ta,
Bec

OK, So This is 400, Actually...

I messed up. The thing is telling me THIS is post 400, not the previous post as I said.

I have pretty much nothing to tell you right now. There's nothing going on (!)

Ta,
Bec

400! And I'm Out of School Again..

Due to the cost of schooling (4,000 smackers for two classes) I had to drop the classes until September. I'm keeping the books, though. Don't see the point of getting rid of them when I have to take the classes ANYWAYS?

Yes, this is post 400. Whisper's watching baby octopi on TV and Spritey's hiding someplace where she can't get trampled. Typical morning around here.

Not much to say otherwise!

Ta,
Bec

Oh. That Sucks.

Packers just lost the game and their season just ended along with it. Too depressed to write anymore. I think I am going to go cry...

Not much else going on. Save that Tennant's Hamlet is to be shown in APRIL now instead of February. WEEP. But we have a definite date for it (write this down and schedule 3 hours to watch it:)

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 28TH.

7 PM CST.

Ta,
Bec

Taking Time-Out From Class...

So I've been in "class" for a couple of days, and I'm managing pretty well, I think. Hard to tell this first week. I'm getting back into the pattern, it seems, figuring out when and how to do these things.

Nothing much else going on.

Ta,
Bec

11 Born

This morning I watched Ten go out and 11 come in. It was far easier a change than I thought it would be...maybe because we had a lovely ten minutes of Ten getting to say a decent goodbye before he left us.

So, no Doctor Who until April. River Song's supposed to come back and so are the Weeping Angels (which is funny, because the Angels and River are the new head writer's claim to fame in the world of Who.) Jack hooked up with Alonzo(!), Donna got married, Martha and Mickey are married(!), and unfortunately the only Rose version that could show up was a previous one before she met the Doctor, since he can't REACH the future one.

It's still tough to lose him, and I'm still a little upset, but I think with the way 11 rejoiced over the state of his legs being present everything just might be okay.

Ta,
Bec

First Post of the New Decade

Here I am, sitting at the computer, waiting.

Today is the day when the Beeb in the UK airs David Tennant's last episode of Doctor Who.

There are no words to say how I feel. In the year since the announcement he was going and today, I have probably felt every emotion and thought every thought about the subject.

I could say I'm not ready; that a year or even two wouldn't have prepared me for watching the Doctor I have become attached to die and become someone else. But I've had time (we all have) so I guess we just have to cope.

I'd like you to see this little story that I wrote last year when I heard that Ten's life was going to end. Hopefully if you're watching today, it'll give you a little comfort in your grief (because it certainly helped me a little:)

"What are you doing, Doc?" asked Jack as he sidled up into the TARDIS, knapsack in hand.

"Oh, just preparing," said the Doctor as he tweaked a knob with a buzz of the sonic screwdriver.

"For what?"

The Doctor merely nodded his head towards this morning's newspaper.

"Ah," said Jack.

"Only got a year to go. So I have to be ready for the next guy."

"What, you think he might not be competent enough?"

The Doctor glared at Jack. "For your information, I am the most competent of all my incarnations."

"I'm sure they all say that," smirked Jack.

"No, it's true. You want to hear my opinion on my previous selves?"

"You're about to give it to me, aren't you?"

"Yup."

Jack sighed. He might miss the gob. "Go on then. You're dying to rant."

The Doctor didn't hesitate; he launched. "One was a grouch. Two was pushy. Three was stuck here-well, you know. That's enough to make anyone crazy. And Four was...that stupid scarf, always tripping over it and knotting it wrong and tangling it in trees."

He stopped to take a breath despite the respiratory bypass system. Jack just waved him on. "Five was always sick. Six was temperamental. Seven was just weird. Eight was frilly. Nine was a dock worker."

"And you?"

The Doctor grinned. "Oh, I'm me. So always me. You won't forget me."

Jack smiled, a little sadness in his tone. "No, I most certainly won't."

The Doctor smiled and banged the bottom of the console with his fist. The TARDIS gave a plaintive wheeze and the Doctor sat up, dusting off his hands.

"So do you know what you'll be?" asked Jack.

The Doctor shook his head. "Nope. That's half the fun. Don't know where or when, but I won't be around."

Jack sighed. "I'd just gotten used to this you."

The Doctor sighed. "I know. So had I."

Jack scooted over and sat next to the Doctor, putting an arm around his thin frame. "Don't go," he said, trying to get the Doctor to look at him.

"Can't help it. It happens, Jack. One minute I'm all grumpy and in a jumper, and the next I'm wearing a trench coat and trainers."

The Doctor felt Jack's sad sigh.

"Hey. It's not so bad. It'll be a new new new me."

Jack smiled. "Still you, though?"

The Doctor smiled at him, the tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. "Yeah. I'll still be me."

Ta,
Bec