I love my job.

So I've spent much of the evening banging my head against research. (With public thanks to keeps, who is a lifesaver or some other form of hard candy and got me a useful link while I was busy despairing of managing to extract anything useful from Google.) I found useful stuff eventually (case studies of the medical results of explosions in Chinese firework factories, anyone?), and am now prepared to write my gunpowder-explosion scene.

I decide to go for appropriate music. Decide that washing-machine music is appropriate. Pop into iTunes, where I have a little Sisters of Mercy ripped, and pick one of my favorites, which begins . . .

"With the fire from the fireworks up above me. . ."

. . . reading the lyrics for purpose of making this entry, it occurs to me that this isn't a bad song for some aspects of my main characters, neither of whom is actually in this scene.

With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain
You run for cover in the temple of love
I shine like thunder, cry like rain. . .

Peripheral note: How about them Red Sox? How about them Cubs?

On the subject of names.

Just wrote something elsewhere that I wanted to keep. (Context: calling people by their 'real names', which phrase I hate with the burning passion of a thousand suns.)

The only purpose the legal name serves in my life is to fill out legal forms for people who have no need to know who I actually am and to receive checks. I'm not kidding when I say that I don't always remember to answer to it; it doesn't belong to anyone who lives here, it's just the address for the body. Calling me 'Heather' feels about as personal to me as calling me 'Lewis Street'.

You know, the more times I witness variants of this argument, the more appealing the concept of changing my name legally is. I could pick something that actually sounds like me to me and stop having quite so many, ". . . wait, was that directed at me?" moments. I even know what I'd do if I could be arsed doing it.

(Word count for today: 798, and that's section 40 and done. Yesterday's was 98 on 39, which finished it.)

Miscellaneous silliness.

Because I'm in a pointlessly chatty mood or something.

From teinedreugan:

It's supposed to be a classic finale. Pedro Martinez's guts, guile and gas vs. Barry Zito's zen and mind-blowing bender for a trip to the AL Championship Series. But if the pattern that's developed over the first four games holds, don't be shocked if it ends up John Halama vs. Bronson Arroyo in a game of Frisbee golf in the parking lot.

And from rivka: DIY Safety Sign assembly.