teratomarty

Okay so not exactly; this is a little bit about ugly_kitties' character Laurent, Khalil's boyfriend.

( On seeing your landlord naked... )

Has anyone got a couch or spare room that could host a tiny tranny?  His name is Inky, he's FtM, 19 years old, mixed-race, quiet, clean, easy-going, and not actually anywhere near as much like a rescue pet as I'm making him sound.  His parents have kicked him out for being queer.  He's got a place to stay until the 29th; after that, he doesn't know.  Ideally, he'd like a place where he can settle down and get a job, but right now he'll go any place.  He's in Chicago, now.  Please ping me if you can help, or know anyone who can.

More about ugly_kitties' characters from Khalil's story.  This time, the appealingly ambiguous Alex!

( The brutal light of the next morning. )

Ok, so it's an internship, but I've never before been so excited about working for no money. I'm working at the Encyclopedia of Life in the Harvard Museum of Natural History (YESSS).

I love this place. I love how it smells. I love the fusty old architecture. I love the dusty old rooms. I love the layers of technology, and the layers of paint. I love that there are trophies of the past everywhere. Including grenades.

From Blog

The EOL is a new department, and I get the feeling they're just sort of squatting here. There are all of these cabinets, which have been emptied of their specimens, but all of the EOL's goods and chattels are just kind of stacked on the floor.  When I'm not doing SRS BZNS leveraging and optimising of Web 2.0 technology or whatever, I'm gonna stow some of this shit in some of these cabinets.

OK, I'm about ready for it to be January now. Shouldn't have gone in CVS.

Comrade Stalin would like to point out that this is "Grandfather Frost," delivering "New Year's gifts" to the Nazis.  Not any other mythological white-haired winter gift-giver, giving gifts for any other mid-winter reason.  Just FYI.



From EnglishRussia.com, which I adore.

I have complicated feelings about Christmastime.  I'm not Christian, but I'm always game for a good solstice celebration; I'm kind of fond of the music, but not blasting at me from every turn (especially pop remixes); while I think peace on Earth and goodwill toward whatever is a generally good idea, I detest the vapid, mandatory cheer enforced during this season.

These, though, I can get behind 100%:


They're blown-glass baubles from the MIT Glass Lab's holiday sale.  I can put up with this.

Telephone: Ring! Ring ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Telephone: Hello! This is an automated survey from the College Republicans to irritate the living shit out of you first thing in the morning! Press 1 if you think Barack Obama is the Devil, or 2 if you think he is an illegal immigrant terrorist poopyhead.
Me: (pressing buttons) 0! 0! #! 9!
Telephone: We're sorry, there are no actual living human beings here.
Me: (hangs up, looks up College Republicans' own phone number, dials)
Telephone: Hello! This is an answering machine!
Me: Howdy.  My name is Marty. I recently received an automated survey from you, please take my number off your list.  Also, I'm gay, almost done paying off my student loans, and interested in someday sending my kids to college. You are OUT OF YOUR COTTON-PICKING MIIIIIINDS if you think I will ever, EVER vote Republican.  Good day. (rings off)

I'm not talking about my Uncle Gene, either.  I'm talking about the gene that governs the Dopamine D4 Receptor (DRD4). The more base pairs that repeat in at least one allele of this gene, the more prone the carrier is to sexual promiscuity, including one-night stands, marital infidelity (and presumably ethical sluthood, a category not used in this research).

Related findings also tie this genetic polymorphism to social liberalism (via openness to new social situations), love of horror movies, a fondness for novelty, and addictive behaviour.  All they need to do is discover that the damned thing also predisposes one to a fondness for musical theatre, and that's me in a codon.

I would like to rebut the logical fallacy committed by one popular article, which says that we can "blame" our genes if we cheat on our spouses. While our genes may influence what we think of as a good time, we are still morally responsible for the consequences of our actions.  Our genes also code for these damn big frontal lobes, which we are meant to use to determine whether things are a good idea or not.  Our genes give us our sense of fun AND the capacity to figure out ways in which we can enjoy ourselves without hurting others.

Really, I didn't know there were any additions planned, but I'm looking forward to visiting:



I just hope it's not lame like Braintree.  You hear the name, you think, like, brains growing on trees, or possibly just GIANT BRAINS growing out of the ground. But no, it's just a post-industrial suburb.  The new stop needs to at least have an amusement park.  Maybe with an exhibit of reptiles.