I wake up to a notice that my paid account is like to expire momentarily. Thank you LJ. You make everything better. *grumble*
EDIT: Except for that you do. Thank you squirrel_monkey and my anonymous friend. I deeply appreciate the gift, as I wasn't quite going to have the funds to do it.
Also the snow is melting, which I do not appreciate. More snow. Now. I'm looking at you, sky.
Thanks to zoethe's collection, we've been indulging in a little media comfort food and watching Star Trek: TNG. That show just goes straight to the reptile brain: ahhhhhhhh. Star Trek. My old, predictable friend! You will not leave me, or judge me for my foibles, or criticize because the bills are unpaid--for you have done away with money. You will love me and wrap me in blinking lights and unfortunate cranberry/mustard/electric bugablue uniforms and whisper sweet technobabble in my ear. You take no brain commitment from me whatsoever, but you give so much in return. Come here, Star Trek, wow me with your late 80s effects. Thrill me with your stiff and awkward after school special scripts. Make me smile with your constant anvils shaped like Data's emotions. I'll never leave you. I love you. And even when I feel like Data and I have really connected over some mission or another, I promise to remember that he IS a robot, and will be both rational "to the last," (because he is a robot), and have no feelings for me (also because he is a robot.) In this way I will be unlike every other ridiculous cod-slapping female on the show who purrs and makes eyes at the toaster. Thus, I will be worthy to fill out an equipment request chit, and use Data for my own nefarious sexual purposes. I'll put him back where I found him, I swear.
Somehow original Trek doesn't quite pull off the frisson of nostalgia and mockery that TNG does, but I think that's because it's been canonized by fandom, anointed against all criticism, and also I didn't grow up with it.
Now to find breakfast.