Dear Max Q the Astronaut Band,
Google says you don't have an album. Google also says that you play NASA gigs. Ever thought of releasing a live album, like the best numbers that someone managed to record? I know someone's got to have recordings. And trust us, there are utter geeks out there who will happily try giving you a listen just because you're astronauts.
"Bad Boys, JEDI Style" -- via biichan. Wawoot paints a strangely compelling crackfic picture of what's going on behind the scenes of Star Wars (from start to finish, it looks like!) if it were really a holodrama filmed COPS-style. (It makes a lot more sense that way. If it didn't mess up the Sith Academy something fearful, I'd adopt it as Personal Canon.)
This evening has been Laundry. The afternoon was Shopping. We have discovered that one of the staples of the household's grocery list is tortillas. I have discovered the spiffy convenience of wrapping sandwich stuff in a tortilla. Much better than crumby bread. hcolleen, the utter heathen, likes plain buttered rolled tortillas. (Hey, gotta tease the redhead about something!)
Now, I write. The theme of next week is Smut Week, or Porn Week, or something along those lines. Since I am weird and I do weird things with the language, in my head when I say either smut or porn, I mean "whatever gets me going the very most." And since I am very much a romantic, I can get all worked up over some hand-holding if it's done the right way. The poor OC Sue is having all her buttons pushed, and they haven't gotten much past snuggling and holding hands. I may have to write this in several sittings.