(no subject)

I like Alex Vance perhaps a bit more than English words can convey in earnest. There’s this feeling of being hopelessly fascinated with a guy when you hand that guy a(n admittedly shitty) script, conspicuously wiping your hands of it, and he hands you back a nugget of purest gold, sparkling in all its unspoiled brilliance. You should also see his “who, me?” look when he won’t admit to having done anything all that outstanding. “Bah,” he’ll insist, “I just wrote whatever felt right in there.” Right, Alex.

But that he is a virtuoso wordsmith I’ve known and cherished for a long time. There’s more. Today, I needed a pirate chantée recorded for a background theme in a game — arguably a task commanding many hours of getting juuust right and equally many euros of expenditure. Well, I entice you to take a look at — or shall I say perk an ear to — this piece of a’capella art, recorded, to my knowledge, in a little under an hour, by one Alex F. Vance, at my behest.

Thank you.

Alex, you’re truly a … wonder. I won’t denigrate you by the adjective “fucking”, but please know that I’m sorely tempted to do so!

рабочие будни

[15:06:48] Vagabonda CAT: блин целующиеся лисьи морды выглядят отвратно))))
[15:07:28] Vagabonda CAT: им же носы мешают)
[15:08:19] Dan Cheetah: (мрачно) лисы пошли — никакой целеустремленности.
[15:17:58] Vagabonda CAT: ну или хотбы чтобы целовались токлько кошки у них носы короткие)
[15:38:03] Konstantin Galaev: я нарисовал целующихся лис - может поможет?


[Artists are complaining, as is their wont, that kissing foxes are really hard to draw and can't we please only have cats kiss from now on]: Waaaah, yuck yuck, waaah

Lead editor: Here, I drew some kissing foxes for you, crybabies. Don't thank me.

(no subject)

It’s been a while and then a while, but I did return to skydiving. Go me. The toughest part was getting people to believe I am a fairly accomplished skydiver, never mind nobody knows me and I don’t have any evidence whatsoever to prove my alleged 400 jumps or so. Also I flunked my emergency procedure test, but before you collectively scoff, ask yourselves this: What do you do when you have a PC-in-tow? Come on, break it down for me. And this DZ requires cutaway with two hands — but I say fuck me before you ask me to veer from my tried and true cutaway procedures!

Freefall and RW skills are curiously intact and even better than I remember them to be — I managed a good sit, I held a passable headfly (um, we’re talking a five-year hiatus here), my track skillz are mad [but then again I had good track practice] and for once I held level and docked with a light tandem guy. I'd never done official RW but the three or so miserable coaching jumps back in 2006; this time it felt almost intuitive.

(For what it’s worth I attribute my apparent progress — um, lack of regress — to general physical fitness.)

Canopy control is quite a different-spotted cheetah here. The only canopy I could land tip-toe 3 times out of 3 was a 7-cell, F-111 235 [again, good practice]. Spectre 190? Hell, bumble, and tumble. I am actually afraid to jump that...thing again. Or anything ZP. Gimme back my big docile 7-cells! My knees still complain. I can’t believe I used to land 135’s more or less safely.

Lounging in the sun, me.

(no subject)

* A wild, wild week it was, and over all too soon, but cherished memories of it will remain with me for a long time.
Tagline: Jesus H. Christ! It's Alex F. Vance!

* Part of my new job description involves looking Collapse ), so essentially I am paid to watch furry erotica. I'm not complaining.

* Toys for boys! I'm now a proud owner of Gargoyle + BlackJack 280. Yay low shit jumps (my other rig is a Razor + Trango 245, and she doesn't see nearly the amount of jumping she should). But who could resist the occasional jump off something 250 ft high? Who, I ask you? WHO?
Nobody, that's who.

* Over and out.

(no subject)

This fine night I was reading, bright and cheery, a passage wrought with wit and irony, and lightly editing it where I felt appropriate; as I am often wont to do.

By the end of it, I discover that I've just casually edited none other than Jerome K. Jerome.

Сижу, задумчиво вычитываю текст (а ночь глухая, но нежная); попадается отличный пассаж, которому буквально пары запятых и более удачного синонима в одном предложении не хватает до завершенности; и я их туда вношу.

Вот так я отредактировал Джерома К. Джерома.

(no subject)

Слушайте, а если кот сидел с прижатыми ушами и яростно втыкал на стену, а потом подорвался и резко умчался из комнаты — это меня ща монстр съест, которого я не вижу, да?

(no subject)

Google Ads just suggested I might like to visit this site on Scottish Gaelic Poetry.

I'm feeling pleasantly sophisticated.  Suave, even.  Extravagant.  Well-read.  A person of refined upbringing, me.  It's the sort of an ad I would want someone to inconspicuously notice as relevant to my recent searches. "Oh," I'd remark casually with a dismissive flick of my wrist. "It's just something I've been reading lately. It's a bit of an interesting read, mind you, dear."

And of course, it's the relevant text ads on discount leather bondage from that one time I went looking that people seem to inconspicuously notice.

Oh Universe, why must you embarrass me so.

(no subject)

you know the funny thing about post-breakup hookups?

you're never sure you've found the one.

you keep comparing and comparing, forever, never evaluating on any external scale, and every budding sapling of a relationship feels like instant letdown.

until you finally let go. 

until you realize other people are not better or worse per se, they're just—different, and that's not comparable.

the big revelation of the year is that feelings cannot be quantified; either they are there, or they aren’t.

so there.

(no subject)

да, так вот, я хочу рассказать про Collapse )

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