• Mood: sleepy

Why am I up at three in the morning?

All right, the Made of Fail podcast I did on Saturday is up. I haven't listened to it yet--I went to bed before it went up--so if I made an ass of myself, I'm blissfully unaware of it for the moment. All I know is, we started playing the Horrify the Twilight Noobs game (which is the best ever, and something you get to do once you've read the books: "No, he literally sparkles. It's not a metaphor. 'Like diamonds.' Have I told you about the vampire baseball?"), and I would lay something like "imprinting" or "suicide by public sparkling" on them, and I'd get this giant ". . ." in return. Like, three people, all stunned silent. And then they'd finally recollect themselves and go, "Okay... wait, let me get this straight..."

Also, copious amounts of Vitamin String Quartet.

(Wait, I was kind of embarrassed by when I first started talking--it was like, "Tell us about what you do," and somehow what fell out of my mouth was a flood of self-promotion. Which I guess was, technically, what was called for. I'm just... not used to saying things like that. For some reason, I have a feeling a lot of this listening experience for me is going to be, "... I can't believe I said that." OMG YOU GUYS THEIR REGULAR LISTENERS ARE GOING TO HATE ME)

Oh, and I haven't even told y'all the epic story of how alliancesjr went to stop the recording at the end and realized he'd lost his entire side of the Skype conference, and we all sat there trying to, like, wish the recording back into existence, and finally I saved him with my Google-fu ("data recovery Audacity crash"). And then he found it in his cache... in 1100 ten-second increments. I'm just saying, a lot of effort went into bringing this podcast to you.

OKAY WAIT I ALMOST FORGOT. If you go read the comments, they have a couple of pet anonytrolls over at made_of_fail_pc, and I am begging y'all not to engage them. I, for one, look forward to being told to DIAF, and you replying to the trolls does nothing but validate them. Don't defend me to someone who can't even put a name (a fake name, even! it's not that hard, really!) to their shit-stirring.