diary of a dialup dinosaur

(1) A zissen pesach to all observing.

(2) An 800-year-old ban was lifted this past December and this is the first year that Conservative Ashkenazi Jews in the diaspora, of which I am one, can partake in kitniyot and I am... of mixed feelings on the matter. On the one hand, it's great to have so many more foods available -- hummus! peanut butter! lentils! corn! tofu! rice! cardamom! -- but on the other... it's weird. I live on kitniyot during the rest of the year and this change means that my diet is essentially the same during pesach except for breakfast and my choice of alcoholic beverages in the evening and that feels like cheating even though it's not. I'm not the most observant Jew under the best of circumstances, but this is more a cultural and traditional thing than a halachic one.

(3a) I am procrastinating moving all of my SGA fic over to AO3. Some of it is already there, but this will be the whole enchilada -- all of the stuff on my webpage as well as the gazillion little fragments and drabbles that exist nowhere else but LJ -- and I am dreading it because it's going to be so much work. The mass importer does not preclude having to tweak code and formatting on every single story.

(3b) Because I am procrastinating, the LJ version of my SGA pesach story, which is -- holy carp and other religious fish -- ten years old: Urchatz, which has lovely gift fic in the comments, so don't skip it.

Jason Momoa is apparently going to be Aquaman in the DC Movie Universe.

On the one hand, congrats for thinking outside the box and not hunting down the first twenty-something hunky blond dude whose chest you can wax. On the other... how do I put this... there's a reason he's typecast as grunting, partially inaudible barbarian types and it's not the hair. Regal grunting, partially inaudible barbarian types, granted. And beach dudes.

Maybe they saw Baywatch and got inspired.

Years ago, I wrote a story in SGA making fun of bureaucracy and some of the Stargate universe's tropes, Altered States.

"The SGC has a designation for people getting stuck in other people's heads?" John prompted.

"They've got designations for pretty much everything, sir," Radner answered with a bemused expression. "Anything APS-09XX is for when you're being controlled by a sentient party. Goa'uld possessions, body swaps, telepathy, that kind of thing."

John wondered if the SGC had been upset that he hadn't reported on his interactions with Chaya by its proper code. "What's APS?"

"Altered Physical State," Lorne said, looking almost mischievous as he grinned. "We used to joke that you hadn't popped your gate cherry until you'd been 0825'd on a mission."

"That's stoned out of your mind, sir," Radner added helpfully.

I made jokes about the IRS forms and TurboTax, but it turns out I really needed to reference IC-10:

Ever considered suicide by jellyfish? Have you ended up in the hospital after being injured during the forced landing of your spacecraft? Or been hurt when you were sucked into the engine of an airplane or when your horse-drawn carriage collided with a trolley?

Chances are slim.

But should any of these unfortunate injuries befall you after October 1, 2014, your doctor, courtesy of the federal government, will have a code to record it. On that date, the United States is scheduled to implement a new system for recording injuries, medical diagnoses, and inpatient procedures called ICD-10​—​the 10th version of the International Classification of Diseases propagated by the World Health Organization in Geneva, Switzerland. So these exotic injuries, codeless for so many years, will henceforth be known, respectively, as T63622A (Toxic effect of contact with other jellyfish, intentional self-harm, initial encounter), V9542XA (Forced landing of spacecraft injuring occupant, initial encounter), V9733XA (Sucked into jet engine, initial encounter), and V80731A (Occupant of animal-drawn vehicle injured in collision with streetcar, initial encounter).

(entire article here)

Apparently everyone's favorite code is V9027XA: “Drowning and submersion due to falling or jumping from burning water-skis, initial encounter.” (And no, apparently nobody has ever died by drowning after falling off flaming waterskis.)

Anne asked for Drs. Clayton or Grebner in "Impetus," which is itself a POV shift on "Object in Motion." I think you can probably read them in whatever order you want.

cast list

The Lorentz Factor
3500 words; genfic


( god, Nance, this galaxy is so fucking cruel. )

from/for here: Ros Myers, SGC.

She carries the assimilated rank of lieutenant colonel. She's a little unclear if there's any official mechanism for this or if it's just O'Neill making things up as he goes along again, especially as neither Jackson nor Teal'c carry any sort of warrant or rank. But within the Stargate Program it doesn't really matter as O'Neill's word is effectively law.

Back at the Mountain, it meant that the bevy of majors did what she told them to without questioning and, now that they are finally leaving for Atlantis, she finds herself expecting that Major Sheppard will do the same. He was pliant enough in the mobilization period, unwilling to put himself under the authority of Sumner and therefore keeping himself just out from underfoot of Weir, who dotes on him like a favored child.

Elizabeth Weir had a very good career in the diplomatic corps, everyone says. Often. Ros, with her own prior career that frequently meant undoing the messes the US State Department created in the world, takes that to be a backhanded assessment of Weir's brief time as the SGC's chief and nothing in her personal interactions with the woman has changed that. Weir is pleasant, eager, and, for a woman who spent a year authorizing off-world missions and essentially prosecuting a secret war with the Goa'uld, shockingly optimistic about what awaits them in Pegasus.

O'Neill sighed when Ros told him that while she understood that he wanted her along to provide competent leadership for investigation of the Pegasus galaxy, there was bloody little she could get done if they were led by a woman who expected to be greeted by the indigenous populations with leis and boxes of sweets. He assured her that Weir was far more competent and realistic than she looked and, besides, with Sumner bitching about the same things, Ros would have an ally.

"It's a wonder you two don't get along better," O'Neill told her. "You certainly sound exactly alike."

Except she doesn't have an ally, because one of the first things she has to do in Pegasus is kill Sumner. Which is ironic and terrible and, apart from the tragedy of it, leaves the marine contingent without a leader, a headless body of a not-very-bright creature. Ford is useless -- worse than useless; Ros has tried not to deal with him directly, afraid of those pitiful eyes full of unshed tears.

(Making Ford cry the first time had been an accident and, as it happened in Antarctica before either of them had been assigned to the Atlantis mission, without meaningful consequence. The second time, however, brought her a meeting with O'Neill, one of those meetings where he gets actually annoyed because he feels your behavior is not only counterproductive, but giving him more to do. Ros apologized, which made her a little relieved that the third time came in another galaxy and far from the General's disappointed gaze.)

Weir understands that Ford cannot assume command of the military element in Atlantis; it is not even discussed. Ros expects Weir will suggest Sheppard, which is slightly less ridiculous but not by much, and Ros expects to counter by suggesting herself. She led teams of airmen at the Mountain and Weir herself headed up a military program. It would not be that much of a precedent to set and, here in a new galaxy, there is no reason to adhere to rules that only made sense in the old one.

Weir does propose Sheppard, but she does so by giving Ros his service jacket to read.

"Where is this man?" Ros asks her, gesturing to the laptop screen once she is finished reading. "He never arrived at the Mountain."

Weir smiles at her, catlike. "In the aircraft bay, I believe."

Ros goes to find him there, expecting to find the lazy, slouching man she got used to slinking around the halls of the SGC. She does not find him. Major Sheppard is there, slouching against the side of one of the spacecraft as an excited Spanish engineer prattles on in heavily-accented english, but he carries none of the "none of this concerns me at all" insouciance she'd learned to recognize from afar like a bad body odor.

"Miz Myers," he drawls when he sees her, just enough of an emphasis on the honorific to let her know that yes, the rules have changed. She knows Weir hasn't said anything to him yet about assuming command of the marines, but it's clear he's taking that as his prerogative.

"Major," she replies in kind, accepting the challenge. She has no plans to change her routine of expecting obedience out of the Stargate Program's bevy of O-4s; Sheppard may have to be handled differently, but handled he will be.


( comment on LJ?)