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Sang Code Monkey; I really need to work on that one damn line.


Google is my songbook:
http://www.matarese.com/matarese-files/4921/filk-fisher-chant-leslie-fish/index.html

"go down go down sweet corn chip..." (leslie filks herself)
OMG, a pastafarian hymn. "We honor our lord by making our key as varied as His Noodly Appendages." -- cadhla

Internet is rather fannish, eh?

Hot library smut! (safe for work, mostly; via trollprincess)

Morning filk!

There is a guy wandering around wearing the sash of "Miss Teen Ethnic World 2007". He's carrying the tiara and wand. (I saw a buddy of his dump the stuff on him while she ran upstairs for some reason or other, but it amuses my genderbender sense.)

All checked out. Got the stuff in the car, but as I don't have anything fragile with, I decided to stay for more singing. Confirmed that yes, I would have time to visit ATM in order to pick up CD for co-worker. Annnnnd... CD is now acquired! Hooray! There shall be much filky goodness in the workplace! ...no, we may not sing "Evil Laugh" for the respondents.

All this filking makes me more determined that I must eventually acquire some form of instrumentation and learn (or re-learn) to play it.

I have corner encampment with power outlet. I have acquired a reputation for being able to find lyrics with the wireless and my Google-fu. Hooray for Google! I found the entirety of Into the Woods, which is utterly glee-inducing because cadhla then sang stuff from same.

Fanfiction.net is still dead, and I have a half-billion updates from one of the authors I'm following to read. Argh!

Singing is fun!

cadhla caught a grackle! "They have tails longer their bodies! They're so easy to stomp on!" Grackles are cute; she's right. I must recall the tail-stomp thing should I want to catch one myself. (One way of catching a nicely long-tailed hen chicken is to grab the tail, especially if you are nine.)

Got a teeny-tiny bit more done on this!

Home from the con.

...I now have the Black Death song stuck in my head. Not just the words, no. It's the perky little tune. I was hearing the tune without the words for a while, and I knew whose tune it was, and I was trying to follow the tune to some words, because it sounded like a sweet little comedic romantic song. Too much filk leaves my head feeling stuffed with music, and results in me crooning "It's pumpkin time" on the drive home, and sitting in the hotel parking lot for fifteen minutes singing and writing the first two (very short) verses so I could save them after I got on the road. Then I had to scribble not looking at the page at stoplights while still in Tempe. And I don't even like pumpkin.

One of the great things about having multiple forms of artistic expression available to me is that I can procrastinate dreadfully productively.

Before I left the hotel, I did call Darkside. I had to explain the concept of "filk". He lit up with a song that a friend of his had shared, something about Data being anatomically correct and fully functional. Oh, gods, I thought. Voltaire. So I sang that line back to him. And he lit up some more. And mentioned "The USS Make Shit Up." His buddy probably played him the entirety of Banned on Vulcan.

Today was not a good day to go see him either, not unless I wanted to walk into the middle of a civil (uncivil?) war. Darkside vs. Geezius Maximus is no fun for anyone, especially when the topic is "The Old Man thinks that Darkside needs preparation for the job interview process." They are two very rough-edged people going different speeds in a similar but not identical direction. The results are grating.

OMG. Now my head is putting lyrics from "Video Killed the Radio Star" to the tune and tempo of the main bits of the black death song. Fortunately for the validation of my pattern recognition skills, the tune for the snippet "by machine on new technology" does almost match the black death song, provided the tempo of said classic 80s rock song is sped up and crunched to fit the Black Death standard. Unfortunately for my sanity, this may mean that it will never leave.

Perhaps I shall instruct "When I Was a Boy" (the filkers' version) to be turned loose inside my head, to combat. (Oh, good. It seems to have worked. ...except now that song has taken over. You can't win.)