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I'm pretty sure this is a magnolia. It looks right. <3 (taken down the street from the house).
Apr. 13th, 2008
I'm pretty sure this is a magnolia. It looks right. <3 (taken down the street from the house).
He doesn't like spring in L.A. There's too much pollen and it makes him sneeze, fills his head with gunk and exhaustion. People on the freeways are disoriented by the sun and good weather and they drive like idiots. It's not quite summer, when the sheer expanse of well-toned skin makes up for the suffocating heat, and it's not winter, when the juxtaposition of Santa Claus and palm trees never fails to amuse: it's an in-between time that can't settle, and he hates that. There isn't even the slow progression of melting snow to like. It's just a pain in the ass.
On the spring mornings when he wakes up with Mik (when they've been drinking or editing, mostly, and between girlfriends when they fall into bed just from pure boredom or horniness or excitement over a deal or any one of a thousand other reasons) he hates it a bit less. Schuyler hates everything a bit less when he's been laid - doesn't everybody really? - but it's also that Mik genuinely likes spring; he opens the windows and wanders around the apartment with nothing but Spongebob boxers on, whistling Beach Boys tunes transposed to an off-kilter Russian scale and drinking double-strength coffee.
The pollen is a little easier to deal with then. Schuyler just pops a Claritin and lies in bed, imagining what it would be like if everybody had a Volga and if the swell is any good on the Baltic Sea.
On the spring mornings when he wakes up with Mik (when they've been drinking or editing, mostly, and between girlfriends when they fall into bed just from pure boredom or horniness or excitement over a deal or any one of a thousand other reasons) he hates it a bit less. Schuyler hates everything a bit less when he's been laid - doesn't everybody really? - but it's also that Mik genuinely likes spring; he opens the windows and wanders around the apartment with nothing but Spongebob boxers on, whistling Beach Boys tunes transposed to an off-kilter Russian scale and drinking double-strength coffee.
The pollen is a little easier to deal with then. Schuyler just pops a Claritin and lies in bed, imagining what it would be like if everybody had a Volga and if the swell is any good on the Baltic Sea.
those signs are too abstract, you know
Apr. 13th, 2008 06:02 pm*eyeroll* Um. NO.
Not only is the kid getting the association between "I sign for things" and "I get things" (sign --> result) but in two minutes of concentrated effort we've gotten measurable results on a new sign: "wash"
Also: increased contexual use of the spoken word 'hi'.
(I just wish it weren't all fighting uphill against the damn current all the time. *sigh*)
(feeling kind of 'bleh' today, seriously. too much to go into at the moment. tired.)
Not only is the kid getting the association between "I sign for things" and "I get things" (sign --> result) but in two minutes of concentrated effort we've gotten measurable results on a new sign: "wash"
Also: increased contexual use of the spoken word 'hi'.
(I just wish it weren't all fighting uphill against the damn current all the time. *sigh*)
(feeling kind of 'bleh' today, seriously. too much to go into at the moment. tired.)
(because ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
newtypeshadow46 wrote one, and I said I'd write one, because I love her, and because she makes a good point. How do the condoms get there? I mean, if it's an established relationship it's one thing, but if it's not ... well, yeah.)
Inebriation
Mik wasn't drinking because someone had to drive them home and besides, Schuyler was getting plastered enough for the both of them. He had passed 'weepy drunk' a while ago and was now moving rapidly toward 'intermittently maudlin and angry drunk' at a rate of about three vodka martinis an hour. At this rate they should be done in here before ten, so Mik just sat back and picked at a bowl of pretzels and triple-checked his pockets for the car keys every ten minutes.
"I'm takin' a leak." Schuyler levered himself to his feet and stumbled off toward the bathroom.
Mik nodded absently and tapped his fingers against his glass of Coke, trying to remind himself that his mother had always said it was bad to hit girls and that was why he shouldn't hunt down Jenny and turn her pretty little face into hamburger. That, and there was that whole 'getting caught, arrested and thrown in the slammer' problem.
Plus apparently her new boyfriend worked out and was built like a fucking tank and Mik hadn't really been in a fistfight with anyone since his brothers had moved out and he was pretty sure that didn't count against this guy.
That was an awful long fuckin' leak for someone that'd been in and out of the can all night. Mik grabbed his jacket and darted between the tables, the beads on his dreads rattling slightly.
Schuyler was leaning against the wall by the condom machines, talking into the dispenser. He had one hand against the wall to steady himself, but it wasn't really helping. "Jenny? Jen, are you there? I'm sorry, Jen, take me back, baby, I'm sorry." He fed another quarter in. "This phone sucks."
Mik shook his head and grabbed Schuyler by the wrist. "Dude, that's not a phone."
"What?" Schuyler stared at him with glassy eyes.
Four condoms fell on the floor. Mik bent down and scooped them up, stuffing them into his jacket pocket. "Dude, let's go. You're wasted enough."
newtypeshadow46 wrote one, and I said I'd write one, because I love her, and because she makes a good point. How do the condoms get there? I mean, if it's an established relationship it's one thing, but if it's not ... well, yeah.)Inebriation
Mik wasn't drinking because someone had to drive them home and besides, Schuyler was getting plastered enough for the both of them. He had passed 'weepy drunk' a while ago and was now moving rapidly toward 'intermittently maudlin and angry drunk' at a rate of about three vodka martinis an hour. At this rate they should be done in here before ten, so Mik just sat back and picked at a bowl of pretzels and triple-checked his pockets for the car keys every ten minutes.
"I'm takin' a leak." Schuyler levered himself to his feet and stumbled off toward the bathroom.
Mik nodded absently and tapped his fingers against his glass of Coke, trying to remind himself that his mother had always said it was bad to hit girls and that was why he shouldn't hunt down Jenny and turn her pretty little face into hamburger. That, and there was that whole 'getting caught, arrested and thrown in the slammer' problem.
Plus apparently her new boyfriend worked out and was built like a fucking tank and Mik hadn't really been in a fistfight with anyone since his brothers had moved out and he was pretty sure that didn't count against this guy.
That was an awful long fuckin' leak for someone that'd been in and out of the can all night. Mik grabbed his jacket and darted between the tables, the beads on his dreads rattling slightly.
Schuyler was leaning against the wall by the condom machines, talking into the dispenser. He had one hand against the wall to steady himself, but it wasn't really helping. "Jenny? Jen, are you there? I'm sorry, Jen, take me back, baby, I'm sorry." He fed another quarter in. "This phone sucks."
Mik shook his head and grabbed Schuyler by the wrist. "Dude, that's not a phone."
"What?" Schuyler stared at him with glassy eyes.
Four condoms fell on the floor. Mik bent down and scooped them up, stuffing them into his jacket pocket. "Dude, let's go. You're wasted enough."
