stop that or I'll get my boyfriend to eat your brain

Last night was LOADS of fun - thank you operon for being born so we could all have such a great party!!

I was mostly being amused watching bluekieran and jillyfishie dragging various people over to Mark, pointing at him and going DO YOU WATCH HEROES??? LOOK AT THIS DUDE!!

I'd not even noticed before - but there IS an certain resemblance.

I haven't got many good pics of Mark to hand to demonstrate, but here's a picture of sylar, and here is a picture of Mark thinking about eating my brain, and here is a picture of Mark thinking about eating Kynon's brain.

( EVIL? )

I'm very behind with series 2 of Heroes since the sad demise of TV Links and problems with my laptop meaning torrents won't play. Boo :(

In other news, today is going to be mostly bleaching roots and removing my nails. I lost half of one yesterday, and it really hurts - I figure best thing to do is get them off, then I can use that £15 every 3 weeks on things I NEED, rather than on vanity...

SH5 tonight! Vote for the leader. Security is freedom. See you there.

Art, Tights, Naked Hands

The downstairs neighbours moved out yesterday, and the new ones moved in. One of the sets of neighbours have left a fair few cardboard boxes and planks of wood in the rubbish area. On heading out for a nail-removal and tights-purchasing mission, I noticed that one of the planks of wood had blown over, to reveal that it was in fact a large canvas artwork, with little snippets of prose from what looks like several different works - Lord of the Rings is in there, Caliban gets a mention, it looks like a poem made up from lines of other things, basically. It was a bit stained and dirty, and covered in cat hair, but cleanable, I thought.

There was something about seeing a work of art consigned to the rubbish which made me inexplicably sad. It was something beautiful once, looked at and loved, and now it's a bit worn and old and dirty, and no one loves it any more. Well, I rather love it. I love the simplicity of the lines, and they way the words are printed, and the poem, and the very concept itself. I've rescued it from the rubbish, and given it a cursory tidy up, but fear trying to clean it more in case I hurt the poem.

It's now balanced precariously on my mantle piece, looking huge and imposing even in my quite sizeable room.

When will people realise, art is for life, not just for christmas?

During my tight-purchasing mission, the market holder had run out of pennies, so gave me a free pair of sparkly tights instead.

I had my false nails removed, my nails are armour-less for the first time since April. They feel naked.