Whatever, I Mean, Okay, Whatever

Marxist Navel-Gazing

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 10:30:28 GMT

This turned out way longer than I intended it to, but whatever, okay, whatever. I am letting it go. Letting it go.

So, lately I have been pondering the importance placed on financial gain in the evaluation of worth in work—work here being defined not solely as "a job" or career, but any activity that consumes time and brain-power to accomplish. This train of thought was primarily inspired, of course, by the recent difficulties at my job and then subsequent surprise firing. But it's also a phrase I've seen bandied about in fandom (more specifically, in this recent post by clugirl), i.e. "[I/You/We] don't get paid for this," as if that component either (depending on context) lessens or increases the meaning behind the time and energy spent to complete a project. And I got to say: that entire philosophy baffles me. Does financial gain truly drive people to accomplish what they accomplish? Does the lack of it somehow diminish what is accomplished? Or otherwise leave one feeling unappreciated?

In my last post, I wrote briefly and rather irreverently about the events that had transpired in the last two months at my job. I chose to do so more because I dislike taking things seriously when it's not required than because the situations weren't serious, or didn't have a large affect on my mental space. They were and they did, and I still feel rather raw and, well, faintly traumatized. I'm good in a crisis, calm and competent, and ace at prioritizing when I go into crisis-mode, but prolonged exposure takes its toll. Every single day I would be faced with the high probability that the entire thing would blow up in face, that I would be sued, the company sued, that I would let people down. My biggest fear was that I would find out that something had happened to a child on my watch, something that I could have prevented, that I accidentally allowed out of ignorance and turning a blind-eye. It was in this mental space that I realized, some three weeks ago, that I no longer did my job for the same reasons I did the job when I started.

Three years ago, I was hired as a clerk, and then worked my way into an assistant manager position. In November, I was promoted to manager when my boss was indefinitely suspended. Not fired, suspended—for molesting children. I couldn't believe it. I could not believe that a company who specializes in children photography would allow a risk like that, let alone condone such behavior. But I couldn't affect the decision—he was suspended, I was promoted, and any kids we would see during the Christmas season would be safe until they made a final decision. If they brought him back, I planned to quit and file a complaint with child services, and then alert the media. Until then, I figured I could wait and trust in a moral outcome, bureaucracy being the slow, ass-covering thing that it is. Besides, I liked this job. I had liked it from day one. I didn't want to abandon the company or my employees during our busiest season when there was no one else to assume command.

I made the choice to stay out of feelings of loyalty and wanting to help. Those two reasons had driven me in every professional situation in the past at this company, and, foolishly, I thought they rewarded that.

They don't.

Three weeks into being manager, I had a revelation. I was stressed-out. I was constantly two steps away from a panic attack. I felt, without exaggerating, as if my soul was dirty, or damaged somehow; the inside of my ribcage constantly ached. No one seemed to notice when I went out of my way to "help out". They now expected it of me, by rote. If I offered to let someone take it easy, they didn't thank me for it; they scoffed that I hadn't offered sooner. The fact that I stayed despite my moral qualms, that I made sales plans, wrote scripts, encouraged employees to perform better, all things not in my contract, above and beyond my duties—none of that showed initiative, or loyalty. It wasn't noticed at all. The pay increase that came with the promotion wasn't enough to justify killing myself during the day to keep things running, and having nightmares at night about the consequences of failing without some sort of praise, or recognition.

I wanted to stop helping. I wanted to walk out one night and not come back the next day, damn the consequences or the stress it put on others. I couldn't remember why, in the past, I had ever been driven by other urges. As I would stand outside finishing a cigarette on one of my stolen breaks, disgusted by the thought of heading inside, I would think to myself, "They don't pay me enough for this shit." I would think, "I need to increase sales, get my commission." I would think, "Customers are only good for two things: money and frustration." Then I would go inside and not be able to look at my reflection, not be able to face the hard, cut-throat eyes in the mirror.

I didn't like who I had become, nor could I remember who I was. My first Christmas Eve, I worked an extra six hours into the night because my boss bemoaned not being able to go home before midnight if he did the work alone. I agreed immediately, without a thought to whether the work would be on or off the clock. That didn't matter to me: it was Christmas Eve; no one should be stuck in a mall all night alone. In the end, I was paid for it, with a bonus, and got promoted the next year because of my willingness to work. Last winter, my boss wrote me a glowing recommendation for uni, praising my work ethic and how personable I am. There was gain from it, but not all of it was financial. The money was tertiary to my sense of pride and my boss's praise, to the knowledge that above all, I had done a Good Job and Helped Out.

Now it concerns me that I've lost that drive. No longer do I know how to work for self-accomplishment and the joy of helping others, making others' lives more pleasant. Now I frown at salaries, and weigh hours spent at work against the accompanying price tag. That's not me, and more importantly, it's not satisfying. I fear that I have forgotten how to find satisfaction in work.

Which brings me to fandom, and fandom's affection for that axiom. Fandom is free; fandom doesn't come with a paycheck; no one pays to contribute, or enjoy, the things fandom offers. My question is this: would money honestly increase anyone's enjoyment of fandom? Would it make it worth it, to be paid to create your creations? Would the creations themselves seem more important, or carry more impact, if you had to pay to see them? Would the sense of community increase if one had to buy membership?

I know for me it would be like my job: the moment the work becomes nothing more than a way to raise the figure in my bank account, possible-satisfaction-derived goes out the window. I like that fandom is, for the most part, free. I approve and applaud the concept that fandom is a gift-based society, done out of mutual interest and affection, and an attempt to increase enjoyment for fellow fans. I think that's how it should be. Possibly that's a naïve, or at least idealistic view of things, but it's an honest one, and one I don't think likely to change for me.

Never has this icon meant as much as in this moment: WHATEVER. LIFE.

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 05:10:35 GMT

HI, GUYS. GUESS WHO IT IS? NO-NO, JUST GUESS.

Did'ja miss me? Did'ja, did'ja? I missed you guys, and fandom, and ugh, everything. I have the compulsion to throw myself into your waiting arms and dramatically sob, "Never shall I leave you again!" Which, of course, will be a lie, since I am incapable of balancing fandom with a crazy work load (and oh, this year is one for the books!), but I want to mean it. I mean to mean it. NEVER SHALL I LEAVE YOU AGAIN! *throws self*

I attempted to update a few times in the past, but never seemed to find the time or the energy to string together complete paragraphs. This is the remnants of my best shot, from sometime in mid-November:

Man, you guys, I am so bad at updating. Work is in full-swing now, and I always mean to update, to keep abreast of the set drama, but then it builds and builds and becomes too much to explain succinctly. Short, sporadic work entries are boring enough; novel-sized gossip exchanges would be brain-death. So this is me: sparing your brains, f'list. Really. Out of the goodness of my heart.

After that it would have dissolved into rambling and gobbley-gook. "I like cheese, you know, really. I like it. Puppies! Woe. Flib-gibbit zoink brahhhh aksjdk zzzzzzzzz," the "zzzz"s being when I would have fallen asleep typing and only hit "post" due to a slightly twitch of my elbow as I slumbered. It was better to not even attempt it until I had time. Which I now have! Despite it not being Christmas yet.

The things I have been doing these past six weeks are many and varied, and when placed in list format, highly unbelievable. In the, "my god, did all that really happen in six weeks?!" way, rather than the, "no, Kat, no matter how many times you say I will not believe that Gary Oldman professed his undying love for you" (If only.) way. So I shall do that for you.

My life, chronologically, circa November and December of the year 2009:

Re-joined the work force as Santa's photographer, as custom dictates.

Worked 45 hours per week.

Dealt with untold drama of uncooperative employees, breaking camera systems, angry parents, mall management, the usual.

Discovered my boss of three year's to be a sex offender.

Discovered Boss to be a sex offender eleven times over.

Contemplated quitting and fleeing to Canada.

Dealt with untold drama of uncooperative employees, breaking camera systems, etc.

Took part in an investigation to remove Boss from position.

Dealt with untold drama of uncooperative employees, breaking camera systems, etc.
Promoted to manager.

Made plans to move to Toronto in spring with the BFF.

Worked 50 - 60 hours per week.

Dealt with untold drama of uncooperative employees, breaking camera systems, etc.

Fired, just yesterday, with four days left to the season, & along with three others (all friends I recommended to the job years ago, all under the age of 25), for being "too young". Ahh, ageism! How refreshing.

Wrote for yuletide (ironically without stress for the first time EVER).

So you see it was quite a busy (chaotic, stress-inducing, MENTAL BREAKDOWN HAVING) six weeks of work. Hopefully you can forgive me for disappearing: not keeping up with the f'list, reading sga_santa, replying to e-mails and IMs, regular updates, etc. I did see the snowflake cookies the other day and I do not exaggerated when I say that they MADE MY MONTH. Thank you, thank you, thank you to you lovely people who gave them. The extra loving totally helped in this, these times of insanity. ♥♥♥

Tomorrow: I celebrate not working in the mall by...! Christmas shopping. In the mall.

Dear Magic Yuletide Writer of Awesome

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 23:57:24 GMT

Dear Yuletide Writer,

First and foremost, thank you for volunteering to write for me! I'm so excited at the prospect of seeing new fic in any of these fandoms. In my requests, I tried to offer suggestions for possible directions you could take a story in case you draw a blank, but if you already have an idea you want to write, go for it! Suggestions are just suggestions. I know people talk a big game of liking anything -- really!, but the thing is: I will be absolutely chuffed that someone else (a) likes this fandom and (b) wrote fic for me. Any details beyond that are just gravy. I'd rather you have fun and wrote a story you liked writing than trying to bend over backwards to tailor to my specifics.

My giant request paragraphs were all rambling and long-winded, and maybe they already kicked you into information-overload, but just in case you're one of those people who wants to know all the grit and gristle, these are some general things I like in fic.

Things In General That Float My Boat: Slash. Banter. Awkwardness. Poetic metaphors. Sci fi plot cliches (time-travel, AUs, age regression, doppelgangers, etc.) When characters are cold or sick or tired or otherwise not at their best. Canon compliance. Pop culture references (particularly historical pop culture). Crack fic sold seriously. Unreliable narrators. Lazy Sunday afternoons in bed (or whatever an equivalent would be.) Characters going on holiday/vacations/someplace new and bonding during travel. Snow and winter weather (not that the story needs to be set specifically on the holidays). Kissing. Flirting. Wooing. Semi-colons. The em dash. All ratings. Ambiguous endings (in terms of, like, neither happy nor sad but a mixture of both, or Endings That Aren't Really Endings But Actually Beginnings).

Things In General That Act Like the Iceberg to My Titanic: Character death (exception made for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead). Non-con or rape. Graphic descriptions of child abuse. Omniscient narrators. Multipile POVs. Improper punctuation and misspelt words should go without saying.

Request 1 — Sherlock Holmes series

Holmes is one of my forever-loves, so I mean it when I say anything would be welcomed. I'd love a story where Watson gets a chance to be brilliant and impress Holmes. Or simply a quiet story about their day-to-day lives at Baker Street. I also find Holmes's aptitude for disguise fascinating, so what about a story where Holmes is in disguise? .as a woman? Or even Watson cross-dressing (hot!), with or without Holmes's knowledge/assistance? Anything goes here. I'd love any story that shows them as partners and BFFs (or more).

things I like: 1st-person Watson narration; emotionally-repressed Holmes; pining Holmes and clueless Watson. I didn't list them in my request, but I am very fond of both Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft, and Colin Jeavons on the Granada series left me with huge affection for Lestrade and his prickly friendship with Holmes and Watson. Victorian pop-culture.

things I don't like: Bumbling, inept Watson. Watson can be in the dark about Holmes's motivation or deeper affections, but he isn't incompetent by any means, and certainly not an idiot.

if I could have one thing, it would be: Both Holmes and Watson devoted to each other.

Request 2 — A Dog's Breakfast

Patrick! How much do I love Patrick? Anything with Patrick would be welcomed: Patrick and Mars, Patrick and Marilyn, Patrick and the spiders. I love Patrick and his neuroses, so anything show-casing that would be lovely. I'd really like some backstory, maybe Patrick and Marilyn's childhood? Or how Mars came to live with Patrick? Or Patrick's further exposure to the land of sci fi? Crossovers and cameos from other David Hewlett projects welcomed.

things I like: This begins and ends for me with David Hewlett, David Hewlett, David Hewlett. I also like Kate. The black humour in the film is great, but I also think of Patrick as a tragic character, trapped by his own issues and disconnected from the rest of the world and his sister. I also really like Chris.

things I don't like: Anything exceedingly dark or depressing. I find Patrick tragic, but, like, it's Patrick. He's a puppy. Hug the puppy!

if I could have one thing, it would be: A reference to Stargate, if you can do it. This should be standard.

Request 3 — Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

This play lands solidly on my favourites list for its meta-commentary on theatre and fiction. Plus Rosencrantz/Guildenstern OTP! I love how sweet they are with each other, in the middle of a big existential crisis, and the games they play with each other. Slash more than welcomed here, but not necessary. I'd love to see something from their shared past, backstory or even just what they were doing the day before they got the summons from the Court. Or maybe something with the Player? What if they got caught up in one of the, uh, plays (Yummy)? I'm a big fan of Hamlet and theatre in general, so anything written with the same meta-theme as the play would also be divine.

things I like: The language: the language would be my favourite thing about this play; be it word games or double entendres, I love the play on language. I also like existentialist humour; Guildenstern's philosophical meanderings; meta-commentary; Hamlet references.

things I don't like: ...I can't honestly think of something that would turn me off for this fandom. I can't even say "death-fic", because you could write a supremely awesome post-play, afterlife-y fic, and I would love it. Free reign here!

if I could have one thing, it would be: The boys (especially Rosencrantz! ♥) being sweet to, or sweet on, each other.

Request 4 — Tim Roth/Gary Oldman RPF

This is piggy-backing off my love for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but I'd love to see an encounter between these two gentlemen at any point in their careers. I'd love a glimpse at their lives in the industry, anything from an on-going relationship through the years, or as simple as sharing a drink and discussing acting. Or a behind-the-scenes look at the filming of R&G. Slash is welcomed but not necessary. I'd just love to see these two palling around.

things I like: Watching them be actors: doing their job, having a life outside their characters, having a relationship to their characters, and then the relationship between actors who have worked together closely; I find that bond fascinating. The whole crazy, hazy world of show business. This interview clip (Full interview startshere.) from Gary Oldman is one of my favourites for this sort of thing.

things I don't like: When actors are carbon-copies of their characters, with different names.

if I could have one thing, it would be: Gary and Tim being secret BFFs on set.

In conclusion, thank you so much for makin' me a pressie; I cannot wait to read it. Now I bid you a deep breath, good luck, and may the yuletide panic not grip you too hard!

love, etc.,
earlwyn

Happy Halloween!

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 03:25:28 GMT

I return! I took a small hiatus in October but now I am back. I can't believe it's November already. The Christmas season starts for me in three days. Time flies.

Every autumn I have a fit of nostalgia to revisit the fandoms I ignore during the rest of the year, and so, continuing on with tradition, during October I re-immersed myself in Holmes. The canon, the Granada series, and, of course, the fic (oh, yuletide requests, here I come).

It always takes me by surprise to remember how much I love those characters. It really shouldn't. I'm not subtle about it. Not since I set foot in the Holmes museum last January and had an attack of full-bodied paroxysms in fannish glee at the sight of the seventeen steps. I mean, I own a Baker Street street sign. What's more, I carried a Baker Street street sign back from London through three airports and two planes and customs even though it is a heavy piece of inflexible metal. And wore a bowler while doing it, no less. (That might have been the only reason I wasn't stopped from bringing "potential weaponry" aboard an aircraft. Visible recognition to airport security as Dedicated Fan.) So I admit it now: I am a Holmes maniac. It should be widely acknowledged and accepted henceforth.

As such, I've spent the last month geeking out over Holmes, and Watson, and Holmes and Watson, and putting together my awesome, awesome Halloween costume. Where, shock and awe! I was Watson!

Conversation with my mum after I had first assembled the costume and put it on for preview:

ME: Man. I am, like, the gayest Watson ever. [cocks hip in mirror] Yep.
MY MUM: [absently, from the kitchen, with no thought for what she's saying] No; doesn't Jude Law play him in the upcoming movie?
ME: *quietly beams with pride*

My mum is kind of awesome.

I hope your Halloween was a good one, guys!

Whoo, Obama!

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 19:28:04 GMT

This is a happy thing to wake up to in the morning. I hope it will give him more clout, if nothing else, and a quicker end to the war. Though I am totally ashamed to admit that after I heard the announcement I had to check for what precisely Obama got the Nobel, considering that it wasn't economics.

yuletide looks to be starting up soon. Brainstorming has already started, and nominations open next week. I need to start thinking up fandoms I would want to write in. Maybe this year I can finally do something in Wodehouse?

The SAA: killing you with kindness?

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 02:55:00 GMT

So unlike me to post twice in one day, but I'm making up for the future months when I will be too tired from working to remember to hit post on the entries I write.

1. So I sort of accidentally watched House tonight? Really, my mum had it on when I got home, even though I have explained to her that We Do Not Watch That Show For Political Reasons. Except tonight, there was gun-shots and the original team and Chase having angst, and I am just not that strong, okay? I really hope they follow up in depth on Chase's actions. Morally ambiguous political intrigue? That's what I'm talking about. Forget about Patient of the Week.

Though I did get really skeeved out by the scene with House and ~~RayV~~ the amputee neighbour. It's nice and all that House relieved his life-long pain, but wow, I would so not be that forgiving of someone who broke into my house, drugged me, gagged me and tied me to a chair, and then made me stick my injured limb into a box. PTSD would be pinging so badly. So I still shake my head sadly and say, this is where you fail, House writers. This is where you fail.

2. I also sort of accidentally watched Lie to Me following House (though less accidentally than House), and consequently spent the last hour fluttering, "Oh, Tim Roth, Tim Roth. ♥" And then being very surprised when Spike showed up with an American accent. They need to start labelling shows American or British. At this rate, with all the crossover, I'm just going to get confused what I'm watching and then wonder where my last 15 minutes of episode went when they get eaten up by American commercials.

3. During my interview this evening, many intriguing stories from my time with Santa were told. Like, when asked about taking initiative, I mentioned the time when one of the set trees fell on our customers, complete with the cry of, "Timber!" and harmonious gasps of shock, and then how the security guys and I had to examine the laws of physics to discover a way a 25 foot birch tree could fit through a set of winding, seven foot tall hallways. There's also the whole drama of the Santa's Association of America, or as I like to call it, the S-double-A. They gather in tropical resorts in the summers, and from the stories I've heard, there is some reckoning to be had then. You do not want to mess with the SAA, man. They're kind of like the mob. But with bushier beards. Either way, I think the world deserves more stories like these laid down in one place. Obviously there's hilarity and heart-warming (and possibly severed reindeer heads) to be had there.

Is is Christmas yet?

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 17:45:36 GMT

So: somehow I have gone from being sick and sniffly in the States with no demands on my time to now taking two classes -- one of which is titled Effective Supervision, and at which I spend most of the time pondering what Rodney McKay's managerial style would be (Authorative Pacesetter seems to be the conclusion, for the curious) -- and a job interview later today. My regular job (Santa photos! yay!) starts again in a few weeks.

It seems that I... kind of have a life? Or a terrifying lack of one, given how much time I'll either be working or in class.

The job I'm interviewing for today does transfers to London. It's part of Operation Get Back to England. Wish me luck! I do fairly well in interviews, as the one thing I'm stellar at is talking about how awesome I am, but good thoughts never hurt.

I signed up for sga_santa and encourage all of you to do the same. I'm still debating whether or not I should sign up for Yuletide this year, as well, or not. Seasonal fic exchanges always make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Or that might be the Christmas music I pulled out to get myself in the mood. CHRISTMAS, YOU GUYS, I LOVE IT. I want it to snow soon.

A whole litany of things

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 19:04:30 GMT

A compiled list, for your viewing pleasure:

mcshep_match posted its masterlist yesterday, and I suppose I ought to 'fess up which fic was mine:

Zugzwang
30,000 words
John/Rodney
NC-17
Here at the comm, and now also here on my journal.

So, what now? Should I cross-post it to a comm? I am uninitiated to these things.

I mean, clearly, I went insane. I'd dearly love to do a commentary of the process I went through writing that baby—because holy word count, Batman!—and flail a little bit about how it ate my life for three months (and possibly the lives of the poor people on my buddylist at whom I shouted, "DEAR GOD, WHY WON'T IT END?" every evening), but the last thing I want to do right now is spend more words on that project. Suffice it to say, baby's first SGA fic, guys. Cue the aww'ing and polite applause.

Big Bang was also due yesterday, but I didn't hand it in. I'm a little disappointed that it didn't get completed on time, but now I can give it the time that its due and not skim anything in the need to rush and it will be even better. Oh yes. (Also, this way I get to prolong my excuse for listening to the Awesome 80s soundtrack I made for writing. The world can never have too much Duran Duran! Or Blondie!)

This past week has been kind of insane. It seems that I didn't just bring back a fresh case of the crazies from the UK, oh no. I also brought back swine flu . Which is handy in terms of an excuse I can tell to the too-inquisitive at Student Records for why I booked it out of the country so quickly, but really not handy in any other sense. I think I'm mostly past the "oh god, dying" stage and firmly into the "ow, my lungs, ow, coughing" stage of incipent misery. One more week, and then I can go out in public again without infecting unsuspecting citizens!

The dog also died this past weekend—not Sam, but my mum's dog, so I've been trying to console her while explaining that I'm still emotionally recovering from a flashback and carting around a thermis of ThermaFlu everywhere I go. Mm, disgusting medicated tea.

The first big freeze came last night, followed by the first morning of, "Oh, hey! I can see my breath outside! Oh, wait, I can't feel my fingers anymore..." [Which is brilliant, let me tell you, standing outside in freezing temperatures when you have upper-resperatory distress.] But it was exciting! Snow! (Soon, hopefully, that is.) Autumn clothes! More scarves! It's my favourite season for a reason.

This is your brain on PTSD

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 13:10:43 GMT

So last night I had this dream.

I was hanging out on a space station with a group of models -- you know, like you do -- and we decided to play a game of laser tag in order to fend off boredom. Except these models were apparently spy-assassin models -- you know, like there are on space stations -- and laser tag was done with real guns that happened to have lasers attached. So I'm crawling on my stomach around the ship-docking port, gun crooked in my arm, and as I go around a pillar, I see one of the opponents sitting right there, gun aimed straight at me. I have about half a second to think, "Oh, shit; I'm going to be shot in the head," when, yep, pain explodes over my left eye. I also get shot in the chest, right above the heart. So then I think I'm going to die, any second now, really, just wait for it -- except then I don't and I'm still conscious. And then I'm thinking I'm some sort of zombie, because seriously, who survives being shot in the fucking face from point-blank range?

So I crawl back to my spy-assassin model team leader, who has somehow become Sam Carter by this point, to explain that maybe-I'm-a-zombie because look! shot in the face! still breathing! She agrees that yeah, that's weird, and takes me back to Earth, to a little lake in Shakopee, Minnesota, to see a specialist who happens to be Jack O'Neill. Who apparently divides his time between fishing (which that lake is really not good for -- too much salmonella in the water) and patching up pseudo-zombie shooting victims.

On his boat, there's this thing that's kind of like Tony Stark's flashlight-heart, made from Ancient technology, that can heal up my chest-wound while I sleep -- but it's going to take six months. The head wound's not as bad as I thought it was; either that, or I really am part-zombie. (It's Jack O'Neill saying this, so it was hard to tell which part he meant sarcastically.) So then I spend the next six months living on a boat and listening to Jack O'Neill's Thoughts on Fishing. And it was actually really, really nice.

Not that the dream makes a whole lot of sense -- though it begins to make more sense when you realize that I divide most of my time between Stargate and watching Project Runway, hence models on space stations -- but I swear there's a plot bunny in there somewhere. Maybe. If only someone would root it out for me.

I mean, everyone's got to like Jack O'Neill fishing stories. And getting shot in the face and then surviving, inexplicibly, annoyingly, seems like something that would happen to Rodney. Rodney would make a good maybe-zombie in Minnesota, right? I always did want to write the one where John works at the dinky little airport in Crystal and shops at that one random, misplaced hispanic grocery on the corner of the airfield and knows the entire breadth of Cty Rd 81, goes driving it late at night with the windows down, all the way up through the abandon cornfields past Highway 101, the same Johnny Cash song on repeat blasting from the speakers. He could deliver, um, stuff! To the lake! It almost writes itself, don't it?

FYI

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 22:14:05 GMT

So. Here's the thing: I'm back in the States presently. I am so Not Happy about this. I miss my city, man. I miss home. I have plans to return as soon as possible -- but how or when is sort of up in the air right now.

On Saturday night, the assembly I had to attend triggered one of the worst flashbacks I've had in years. It was advertised as a mandatory welcome thing, but was, in reality, a safety lecture more dire than any safety lecture ever given in the history of dire safety lectures. I mean, usually those things are all about Fire Means Get Out and Lock Your Door and general Don't Be An Idiot recommendations. But this lecture was more an hour of: "DON'T WALK IN THE WOODS AT NIGHT. WOODS ARE BAD. YOU WILL BE RAPED AND KILLED. WIMMINS, THIS MEANS YOU." Which would be all well and good, in a scary, rather sexist sense -- except for the fact that the entire campus is made of woods. There is no way you can avoid them. Effectively, that warning traps anyone in the halls after night fall.

The perception of being trapped in unsafe places triggers me. My PTSD stems from situations in which I was held in a place against my will, and then repeatedly threatened and injured. It doesn't matter how safe a place actually is, or the fact that no one is forcing me to be there; the perception of the thing is what matters.

By the time dinner was over and dusk fell, campus was barren. No one was around; nothing was open. The nearest town (this being Surrey, and not London) is a 30 minute trek from campus. So it was me, alone, in the dark, in the woods, flooded with suspicions, and with no known way out. And I just freaked. Just -- it was so ugly. I did manage to get a taxi back to London, eventually, though I had to be sedated to do it. Anytime I wasn't doing some task to remind myself of where I was in the present, I would flip back into my flashback. That lasted until around five in the morning, when I finally fell asleep.

Since I could flip my return ticket -- originally booked for winter break -- to the last flight out Monday for £8, I decided to come back to the States to deal, rather than try to juggle recovery and being out a place to live at the same time. (Hostels in London on short-notice are expensive, man.) At least here, I have a bed and snuggles from a clingy puppy, ALL FOR FREE. Plus: cheeseburgers. I'm sorry, but you Brits have weird-tasting cheeseburgers. That is the only real thing I have ever missed about America while abroad.

So to those of you I made plans to see: I'm going to need to rain-check it for the time being. The vague plan I have is to get back to London by January. So, you know, fingers crossed.

Right now, I am going to read the f'list and finish up my Big Bang fic. John and Rodney! Double the dose! As teenagers! Always cheering.

Them green, green hills o' Ireland

Fri, 18 Sep 2009 23:22:41 GMT

So: I move in tomorrow. I feel fairly blase about it; living out of a suitcase this past week has been too stressful for me to feel anything other than relief at finally staying in one place for a prolonged period of time. I'm sure once I'm there and settled in, some type of opinion on the whole thing will crop up. Right now, I'm just amused by my apparently expensive taste in china (I bought a Denby tea set today, not really knowing what Denby china was until my mum saw the receipt and boggled a little -- at my extremely fine natural taste) and looking forward to a reliable internet connection so I can finally (finally!) look at the entries for mcshep_match and read the f'list and do all the things I would normally do.

I have more pictures from Ireland. These are from the second day, when I went down the south coast, around Dublin Bay and up into the mountains. All of it gorgeous, of course, and I got to run down -- barefoot! because I am like that -- one of the green, green mountain slopes, doing one of those skip-hops over rocks and little gulleys. I think everyone should do that at some point in their life. The ground was cold, though.

England, Ireland, the whole caboodle

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 01:29:55 GMT

INTERNET. *grabby hands* Oh internet, how I have missed you. Five days is really, seriously far too long without a connection. It was like forty years in the desert. All right, maybe not that bad, but close enough.

I'm home now -- or good enough. Technically, I haven't moved into my room yet but London. My city! I've missed it here so much. I do the proper move-in on Saturday but I figure I'm basically a resident at this point. I have an address and a mobile number (which if anyone wants, just ask) and favoured places to hang out at.

Dublin was fun! I have many a-story and tons of pictures to post, but my god, I'm so exhausted right now. (I want to go to bed so I can be awake tomorrow to see shutterbug_12!) So I'm doing photos from the first (full) day in Dublin, and in the next fews days, I'll go through the other two days.

The first full day (because the first actual day I spent sacked out in the Amsterdam airport for hours on end, and then in the hotel room until 10 o'lock at night when I dragged myself to one of the many, many pubs and drank about eight pots of tea before crashing again) I went north a little bit, up the coast, to do a tour of Malahide castle and wander a bit around the seaside. The coast is just gorgeous, of course; totally unbelievably beautiful. I could have stayed there for days. (In fact, the next time I go to Ireland, I'm just going to skip the cities, I think. I'm going to stay by the sea in some small little inn and do it that way.) After lunch, I did the tourist thing around Dublin for the afternoon. Trinity College and the Jameson Distillery were my favourite tours; the first because it's awesome (li-brar-ry), and the second because I totally don't remember the last hour I spent there but yum, Jameson and cranberry. Good times.

Moving Day!

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 18:11:29 GMT

Having one last cigarette before getting on the plane to Dublin (& updating from my new iPhone -- which is named Rodney, by the way. *kof*) In ten hours, I will be in fuckin' Europe, baby.

Bye, Minnesota, bye! I'll see you at Christmas!

The John Sheppard of Ferris Wheels

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 23:25:52 GMT

So: my god, you guys. Saying goodbye to people is EXHAUSTING. I've spent all this time imagining how awesome it will be to get there, so much so that I never really spared a thought for how much suck would be involved in leaving. I'm going to miss my friends! And my regular haunts! And stupid Minnesotan weather! It makes me all nostalgic.

This past weekend I went with people to the State Fair and tried to eat the food -- which totally didn't work out for me, because fried food on a stick? Just another way to accidentally impale yourself and get powdered sugar in very inappropriate places. I went on the ferris wheel, which I've never felt the urge to do before, but relaxing ferris wheels and lit carnival grounds at night are the makings of nostalgia. (Also, I kind of want to write a fic where the team goes to a planet with a carnival and Ronon wins large pseudo-stuffed animals at the games and Teyla is a demon at navigating the fun houses and John takes Rodney on the sort-of-ferris wheel, and they all agree that the roller coaster-type-thing isn't that impressive when you live in a flying city but they go on it anyway.) So we stood in line to get on the ferris wheel, listening to the spiel of how it was built in 1965, chatting a little as we waited for people to depart.

And then quickly had to hop in to the seats while three carnies dragged the wheel backwards with their body-weight, and barely got the safety latch bolted and seriously: most terrifying ferris wheel experience EVER.

It shook and it stuttered and the gears whined and it went backwards for a while until they fixed it, and I swear, it just about killed me. And I like rides; I'm an adrenaline junkie: the faster you can make it, the higher the drop, the more time spent hanging upside down with the blood rushing into my brain, the more I will laugh and kick my feet and shout for more. But all I could think while on that stupid thing was: built in 1965, this was built in 1965, oh god we're up so high, what was that sound, built 1965, this was-- I was squeezing the bar in front of my so hard, I bent my ring.

It was so not the easy, relaxing finale of the night I had been aiming for. It was like the John Sheppard of ferris wheels. Like, I would believe that John has a soft spot in his heart for ferris wheels if they were like that one -- where there's a good chance you might DIE in the process. Fake peril on rides? Fun. The threat of real peril on rides? Really not. But I still had a fun night, once I got both feet back on the ground.

"King of the Midway"

Things

Sat, 05 Sep 2009 22:20:26 GMT

So, a few things:

My visa arrived! I now hold it in my hand -- well, metaphorically; right now my hands are busy typing. But it is right next to me! In my purse! It's so shiny. When it arrived, I let out a huge sigh of relief because man, wow, talk about cutting it close. I leave in six days! [oh god, holy shit, six days, six days, six days. *spazzes*]

I got my hair cut! I have meant to do this for months and months, and today I finally did. Hello, fringe! It's something of a joke in my house that the more time you spend with your dog, the more you start to look alike. What do you think, f'list? Can you tell we're related?

I love Ronon. *points to icon* Ronon? Awesome like sauce. That is all.

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 06:52:50 GMT

Fuck this shit, man.

Hittin' you over the head with the obvious stick -- really obviously

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 01:30:17 GMT

So I've kind of gotten into Star Trek? Apparently? It started with watching this vid (which, god, watch if you haven't; just gorgeous) then reading some rebootfic then getting tired of only really knowing pon farr through fandom osmosis and deciding that one day I should check out the original series with purpose (verses watching episodes because, hey! look! it's 3pm and Star Trek is on!, sweet way to waste an hour). And then the tornadoes killed my internet and "one day" happened a lot sooner than I expected.

So; so -- and I'm not quite sure how to say this, but -- the subtext? Really not all that sub-y. I mean, Kirk and Spock? There's a lot of gay there, man. I mean, I know they basically birthed slash fandom and all that, but there's knowing and there's knowing, and they're just -- really gay¹.

(And I don't mean that in the same way I mean John Sheppard is gay, in that, like, you'd have a really hard time convincing me that a heterosexual bone exists in John Sheppard's body -- and if you did convince me, I'd probably assume that bone was in his pinky, or one of those small, tiny, nothing bones in your wrist. John Sheppard is basically a big gay military commander who is also probably in love with his CSO. He's just gay -- as an identity.)

But I don't read Spock and Kirk as gay-in-an-identity way. They're just -- weird, in that weird subtextual way that isn't actually all that subtextual. I can't really read anything at all into their sexual identity (and, in fact, my brain starts to break down and wants to whimper in a corner when I present it with, "William Shatner" + "sexual being", period). So, like, it's an old school form of subtext, maybe? Obviously close friendship that could be read as something more (because why not?) but also could be read, uh, straight?

Really, the thought that kept popping into my mind, and what I wanted to ask about, is the representation of that kind of close male relationship and how it gets interpreted in modern media. Because, like, I keep thinking: there is no way this would pass for straight in this day and age. There is no way you could show a relationship like Kirk and Spock's relationship (or, I would posit, something like Holmes and Watson's relationship) today without it raising an eyebrow or two for casual viewers.

And then I start thinking about the concept of "bromance" -- which I do see as an unenlightened post-homophobic response (in terms of being analogous to a post-feminist response, where it's unreasonable to question the closeness of two guys because of course everyone who wants to be out is out, of course, right, yes, we're past that as a society) -- and which both the recent Star Trek movie and the soon-to-be-released Sherlock Holmes movie generated in comments.

So, is the original Kirk-and-Spock relationship the true epitome of a non-sexual close male relationship (where you can sexualize it, but that's an added-on flavour, like the sprinkles to your ice cream)? How did slash fandom, back in the day, approach Kirk/Spock? Gay? Hot-but-not? WNGWJLEO? My feeling would be, from the small amount of TOS fic I've read, that it's closer to WNGWJLEO -- taken to its extreme conclusion.

What does it say about society now, that media seems to shy away from depicting close male relationship in the same way? I'd call that homophobia at play. (In fact, I was talking to shutterbug_12 about what I call the "Morning-After Horror", where a creator wakes up the morning after having written/filmed/viewed a scene, and reviews it only to discover -- the horror! -- there might be some gay in their best buddy bonding scene; got to erase that!) Has media become, through gaining a higher awareness of homosexuality, even more homophobic in its portrayals of close same-sex friendships, for fear that any closeness will be read as gay?

Wow, I got a bit meta there. Sorry about that. Important points in surmation: TOS Kirk and Spock? 87% more gay than anticipated. It's really (just that) obvious.

Team Peace!

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 09:40:15 GMT

mcshep_match goes live today!

Are you excited? I'm excited. *bounces* The first prompt has been, uh, kicked off and now you can decide whether Team War or Team Peace (TEAM PEACE!) have the better, um, hitters? Okay, I suck at sports metaphors, so just go. Read. Vote!

DAJ MI!

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 01:09:16 GMT

So: my stupid, stupid letter from my stupid, stupid lender for my stupid, stupid loans finally came in Friday. It meant that on Saturday I got to do what I had been waiting two goddamn months to do and post my stupid, stupid visa application to the lovely, nice, generous, fast (Aside: you catching this, karma?) people at the British consulate in Chicago.

It's done! Finally! Out of my hands now. To celebrate, I went to the polish festival held this weekend and stuffed my face.

There were a lot of cool things there. They had folk dances and people in tradition garb (and, I'm sorry, I love me my Polish but -- traditional garb: never not funny) and polka and vodka and FOOD, omg, so much food. They had placki and gołąbki and pierogi and kopytka and makowiec and KIELBASA. I ate all of it; it was delicious. They didn't have kiszka, which was disappointing, or bigos, but I suppose you can't have everything. If they did, it seriously would have been like Christmas came early.

While I was there, I bought a few more pieces of amber and a hat, which I skewed sideways to look like a douchebag, and had actual conversations in Polish. Several of them. Which was amazing, given that my vocabulary is that of a small child's and my accent is horrible but somehow people managed to understand me. Well, okay, most of the time I was asking for beer and how much and was that Żywiec, dziękuję, daj mi.

So, all in all, good times. Though between the trucker's hat, the cans of beer, and the mosquitoes, I wound up feeling a lot more Minnesotan than Polish. How was your weekend, f'list?

Hello, Goodbye

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 21:54:13 GMT

So: August. Hi, how are you? Why are you so epically busy and stressful? And f'list! Hey, f'list! I've missed you guys, and chatting with you guys, but oh my god, applying for a visa is one of the most stressful things ever! OH ENGLAND, I DO THIS FOR YOU, FOR YOU. AS A SIGN OF MY LOVE.

The past two weeks have seriously been just, like, *collapsethump*. Between uni and McShep Match and the visa ladies prodding disapprovingly at my eyebrow piecing and debating for a gut-wrenching five minutes over whether it will get me banned from the UK for ten years before deciding that no, no, it's probably all right (Me: "Probably?"), I have totally neglected livejournal.

Quick Recap For Those Interested:

In the latest email from uni, they included a picture of my college card. COLLEGE CARD! It's so pretty! It has a crest! and my picture! (or will do) and it says my school. I get to be a real live honest card-carrying member ~~of the communist party~~. This is so exciting, omg.

mcshep_match continues to be awesome. The teams are doing interviews, each member assigned a specific day, and today was my day! My interview is here. So if you ever had a burning desire to really know how badly I want to draw tiny hearts around John Sheppard's name, here's you chance to find out.

I finished watching Season Five of SGA (no new canon! *sob*), and Vegas is awesome! Totally, completely awesome. I hadn't meant to watch it, but then the disc kept playing, and it was all dark and stormy out, and man! Awesome? I think so. I sort of feel like I've come full circle now, given that Vegas was the episode wihluta sold me on while I was in London, thus triggering the original interest that led to the past eight months of obsession. I'm almost sad to see this day come. (In fact, I was really sad about finishing all the episodes -- I almost refused to watch the last disc -- but then Vegas came on and did its awesome thing and it made me all a-flail in bittersweet ways.)

The other episodes I really enjoyed were The Shrine ('natch) and, strangely, the two-parter with Daniel. It just goes to show that if you stick a member of SG-1 in Atlantis, all of a sudden I love them. This happened with Jack in The Return, Sam in all of Season Four, and now Daniel, who I admit, I was the most biased against. ('Cause, look, he crazy, man. But loveable.) The only one who doesn't hold true to this pattern is Teal'c and that's mostly because I found Teal'c pretty cool right from the start.

I seem to have gotten into podfic. This is very strange and another example of fandom striking again, pulling me into things against my will! I downloaded two the other night (Blush and Selfish read by countess7 and MVP read by zoetrope, if you want specifics) just to have something on in the background while I fiddle with my visa paperwork ~~mountain of DOOM~~ and all of a sudden, I was hooked. Riveted. I totally sat there holding the same sheaf of paper in my hands for forty-five minutes while I listened to the rest of the story. They are very cool things, podfics. I think I want to put Written by the Victors on my ipod to listen to while on the plane to Dublin.

Oh, and t_eyla [and anyone else who might like to meet up], I'll be back in London starting 15 September (after bumming around Dublin for a bit), so the 22nd works for me.

That Ken Branagh's real name is actually...

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 11:03:17 GMT

I promise: I will stop posting now. (Fic-writing makes me excitable, apparently.) This is purely for posterity's sake, and because hobbit_feets thought it was a good idea. You can't get a more ringing endorsement than that!

This is what you get when it's six o'clock in the morning and you still try to talk to decent people.

earlwyn: stephen for dumbledore!
earlwyn: i would dig it
Cully: Stephen would make a wonderful Dumbledore.
earlwyn: esp. with grindewalf or whatever the fuck his name is
Cully: Grindelwald
Cully: But yes
earlwyn: dear alan, please sign up to play evil wizard
Cully: Ahahahaha
earlwyn: p.s. if rejected, please tap hugh
earlwyn: p.p.s. if hugh rejected or too busy doing crappy american programming, please tap bill bailey
Cully: Bill Bailey as Grindelwald?
Cully: *chokes*
earlwyn: IT WOULD BE BRILLIANT, I THINK YOU MEAN
Cully: Grindelwald, who is supposed to be young and slim and beautiful in an elfin kind of way, with golden curls?
earlwyn: ...really? is he?
Cully: Yup
Cully: He is described in nearly those exact terms, in the book
earlwyn: but this is the movies, which has precedence with kenneth bragnkadsjk as lockhart
earlwyn: man, i am tired. i don't even try to spell anymore
Cully: ... Was that you honestly trying to spell Branagh?
earlwyn: that was me trying to re-do the sound in my head which goes kenneth braaaaaaahjkfjkalffdsf
earlwyn: in a very pompous nasally guttural moan
Cully: *bites fist to stifle giggles*
earlwyn: because i am tired and also i don't like him much
earlwyn: also ridiculously pompous name, his
earlwyn: you just need to stuff in, like, eight middle names to finish the deal
earlwyn: kenneth robert abigail petrie george elizabeth ellington brahhhhkadjkfff
Cully: Oh god, stop it, I'm at my parents' house, I can't cackle like a witch.
earlwyn: i kind of want to post this for posterity sake
Cully: That Ken Branagh's real name is actually Kenneth Robert Abigail Petrie George Elizabeth Ellington Brahhhhkadjkfff?
earlwyn: no, the whole bit from stephen as dumbledore through kenneth r.a.p.g.e.e. brahhhakdjskl

earlwyn: TOMORROW I WILL FINISH AND POST GLAM-PUNK!IANTO PORN
earlwyn: NOW WITH PROPER PORN
Cully: YOU'RE WRITING IT? YAYZ
earlwyn: yes
earlwyn: see the capslock?
earlwyn: that means i'm serious

For more posterity.

I am going to go pass out now.

Total Fangirl Reaction In 3... 2... 1...

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 08:41:31 GMT

So: if you haven't seen this, you really should. Thanks to hobbit_feets for the heads-up.

From Comic Con. David Tennant and John Barrowman Kiss: man, I always forget how sexy David Tennant's actual accent is. Guh.

Light anecdote: for some reason, Sam really likes John Barrowman. Really, really, really likes John Barrowman. This continues in the fine tradition of Sam having a Thing for Stephen Fry, John Simm, Jack Davenport, et cetera. Mention their name, and his ears perk up, his tail wags, he wanders about the room as if looking for them. (If fact, I've had to stop mentioning Stephen Fry in this house, lest one day I really do bring him home, because it depresses Sam too much when he finds that Stephen Fry still only lives in the ether for him.)

In the middle of watching the clip, when John Barrowman steps up to the mic, Sam slowly crept up behind me and propped his head on my shoulder; stared at the screen the whole way through. When the clip finished, he wandered back off over to bed. It was adorable. I love having a fannish dog. ♥

[And before anyone goes around dropping accusations that I trained him this way, just because I also happen to like Stephen, John, and Jack? John Barrowman is the first we disagree on. I speficially told Sam that while watching Torchwood we like Ianto. Ianto. Apparently, Jack's charms are just too much to resist. He slobbbered all over the front of my DVD boxset today, trying to lick Jack's face. Poor misguided soul.]

[fic][Doctor Who] Let Them Eat Cake

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 03:29:04 GMT

Baby's first Who fic! I was getting annoyed with my brain's refusal to write anything of subtance lately so I decided to sit down and bash this out. It's, um. It's debatable if this could be termed subtance, but: Dalek Caan! ♥

Written for the Happyfest III prompt: Doctor Who ; Dalek Caan ; Cake. So obviously I had to write it and, you know, this be crack.

1000 words
Rated G
Vague spoilers for The Stolen Earth/Journey's End.
With oodles of thanks and love to hobbit_feets, euclase, and shutterbug_12 [who braved the scary sci-fi for me!] for the fantastic beta. I go all-out for crack fic, man.

Let Them Eat Cake

The Supreme Dalek was displeased. The Crucible completed and the plan to power the Reality Bomb conceived—soon the might of the Dalek Race would be realized. The final phase of the plan was at hand. Twenty out of twenty-seven planets had been gathered from various corners of the universe. Only the last seven planets awaited collection before the Z-Neutrino energy could be harnessed. Yet Davros persisted to permit the whims of Dalek Caan; the plan could not progress if they did not obey the visions to each exact specification.

The majority of the fleet gathered in the Vault; Davros waited unseen amongst them. The Supreme Dalek proceeded through the shadows, inspecting the new changes. It was not what the Supreme Dalek wanted. The Crucible had been designed for ultimate supremacy and victory; thin strips of material hung over the grating and small bits of colourful paper served as mere distractions. But Dalek Caan cackled gleefully in the ruined nest of his casing, proving the aberration necessary.

Davros emerged from the rear, flying Daleks skirting their Creator as they continued the preparation. The Supreme Dalek rolled forward to intercept the path. "Is it ready?"

"Yes," Davros answered. "The preparation is nearly complete. The prophesy will be revealed as Dalek Caan foretold. It is almost time."

In the distance, Dalek Caan giggled. "The time will come... The time will..." His tentacles jerked in the air. "It is coming! It is—it is..."

"Preparations complete!" a Dalek announced. "Commencement in twenty rels!"

Around the Vault, the fleet began to chant in unison: "Twenty—nineteen—eighteen—seventeen—!"

The Supreme Dalek spun to face Dalek Caan, awaiting the revelation. Davros laughed lowly. "So you see, Supreme Dalek. So you will now see the ultimate culmination of Dalek supremacy."

"Ten rels until commencement! Eight—seven—six—five—four—!" the fleet chanted. The Vault fell into silence as the last three rels elevated the manic expectation of the fleet. Then an eruption of alarms blared, members of the fleet spinning in place; others ejected streams of colourful material from their outlets while more began a new chant.

"CEL-A-BRATE! CEL-A-BRATE!"

"This is it!" Davros shouted. "The true unification of the Daleks!"

A group of Daleks rolled forth from the shadows of the Vault. Carried between them was a tablet, holding a large square food substance. White and blue decoration was spread over the top and sides. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DALEK CAAN was inscribed across the centre in vibrant pink.

The Supreme Dalek had seen the children of lesser races produce and ingest this substance in times of high emotion. Daleks did not require such nourishment; they would not stoop so low! "This is a disgrace! Disgrace!" the Supreme Dalek shouted. "All Daleks terminate frivolity immediately!"

"Withhold your judgment," Davros ordered, attention focused on Dalek Caan.

The fleet did not listen. They continued to approach Dalek Caan, presenting the table before him. A glittery ball lowered from the ceiling. Sound erupted from the communications system, a lower bass beat filtered through the echo of treble and symphonic notes. "DANCE PAR-TY! DANCE PAR-TY!" the fleet chanted. Several spun in place. "Cel-a-brate! Good times! Come on!"

From his nest, Dalek Caan flailed, flicking frosting to the corners of the room. "The time... The time has come...From the wilds and the winds and the sound of space!" In a melodic rhapsody, he crooned, "Happy birthday to me... Happy birthday... to me-ee-hee... Hap-py birth-day to me-hee-hee... Happy birthday to me."

Wax torches were acquired and ignited; the table tipped towards Dalek Caan, the flames gleaming softly off the lubrication on his form and the wild, wicked glint in his eye. The Dalek fleet paused in sync, turning to watch Dalek Caan in his moment of depravity. Silence descended, suspended, and then broke as the fleet joined together in chorus.

"MAKE-A-WISH! MAKE-A-WISH!"

Dalek Caan leaned close to the food substance, the gathered Daleks edging close in return. The Supreme Dalek could not endure such humiliation any longer. "This is corruption! Dalek Caan is no longer pure! He suffers from emotion and is given to profanity. The Crucible must remain sacred!"

Davros twitched besides the Supreme Dalek, appendage raking over the edge of the casing, the scrape of metal on metal. "That is not for you to decide." Davros spoke softly, the hint of threat beneath the words. "Dalek Caan graces us with his knowledge of time. He is the one who shall bring us the Doctor and the eventual destruction of the universe itself. It is not your place to question him, Supreme Dalek, nor the actions of the fleet."

"I am the leader of the fleet! The Crucible is mine! I built the Z-Neutrino engines and gathered the planets," the Supreme Dalek protested. Davros had been necessary; the Creator was still needed to forge a greater fleet and to ensure the survival of the Dalek Race. But that did not mean the Supreme Dalek had to obey every command.

"But the plan was mine," Davros corrected. "Dalek Caan may have his tribute. It is how the prophesy progresses. You are excused if you cannot participate in the might of the Daleks."

The Supreme Dalek was not allowed to answer; Davros moved away without delay, rolling towards the heart of the assembled Daleks where Dalek Caan cooed and burbled, singing, "Ice cream and cake... Ice cream and cake..." and splattered the casings of the Daleks surrounding him with food and wax.

As the Vault descended into madness, the Supreme Dalek returned to the bridge. No more work would be completed tonight. Tomorrow: tomorrow the ruination of the universe would proceed again. Until then, the Supreme Dalek would rest and prepare—and clean the small bits of confetti out the crevices of its casing.

BLOODY TORCHWOOD

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 05:32:42 GMT

Wednesday seems to be Livejournal Day. Really, okay, everyday is Livejournal Day in my house but I only ever seem to update on Wednesday this month. Go figure.

After watching Children of Earth last week (twice over -- once by myself, and once with hobbit_feets: a mean feat, I swear it), I seemed to have developed an irrepressible crush on Ianto Jones. It's sickening, I tell you. It means I had to buy series two on DVD in order to do a week-long marathon of All Ianto, All the Time.

As I explained to hobbit_feets during one of my many many cigarette breaks during our five hours of MADNESS, this crush-thing is completely against type for me. Not, you know, forming a crush itself (hello, I'm Kat, I'm in fandom) but that it's on Ianto and it's making me love Torchwood. Because my first impression of Torchwood back in the first series was pretty damn frigid: "Oh right, that's Jack: all right, fair enough. Okay, and Gwen, she's all right too, like her boyfriend. Ooh, OWEN. Now you, I ♥. And then there's the Japanese girl and that other kid who fandom seems to love and I just don't get, what's his name?"

That's, you know, where I was. Halfway through the series, I started fast-forwarding just to watch the scenes Owen was in and that was about it. And now, now my brain is just -- WIRED. Bloody Torchwood. Way to suck me in against my will! It did it the same way SGA did, too, where I just meant to watch for the laughs and the gay, and now I'm all feisty and stuff about it.

So in continuing with my pop culture lag, have my thoughts on series two of Torchwood.

I watched the episodes out of order, which is unusual for me, but like I said, I mainly wanted Ianto scenes or Jack-Ianto scenes. It made it less brutal, I think, because I watched the episode where Owen dies the first time as the second episode, and then watched the finale where he dies properly along with Tosh before I scrolled back and watched the first three episodes. So I did get a lot of things out of order but their deaths hit me as less final in that way. (Also, I mean, I knew about them from fandom osmosis and I chalked Torchwood as firmly no-go last year because Owen was my favourite character and I didn't want to watch something without him.)

Owen's death(s) still left me all a-flail and unhappy, though. I really did like his almost-thing with Tosh, and I wish that had more resolution. I liked the reversal in Adam where he was all geeky and crushing on Tosh instead of the other way around -- though because I did watch them out of order, because I saw that episode early on before I saw Tosh's failed attempts to ask Owen out, I kept seeing symptoms that Owen was more into Tosh than he let on. But then that didn't seem to be the case in the end? I'm not sure. I could believe the argument that death changes you and shifts your priorities, and that's why Owen didn't seem to respond more to Tosh like I thought he would. Then again, I could believe the argument that this is Torchwood and not suited to any form of in-depth analysis.

I found Gwen to be less awesome than she was in Children of Earth. I sort of expected that, given fan reaction and fandom's general dislike of her. But I still really liked her, and Rhys, and her and Rhys. I can see more now why some fans won't even consider the suggestion of Gwen with Jack because there was much more of that weird vibe there. I liked it much better in CoE where, like, Gwen just seemed like Jack's best friend and Ianto was his boyfriend, and Gwen and Ianto were good friends besides. I like team-ly-ness. I think that's the SGA fan coming out in me.

Ianto and Jack's relationship in series two added to what I saw in CoE, with the date-asking and then the dancing and later the death-threats and hugging. Nice sideline development of a relationship you could kind of see forming in the shadows. That's the sort of subtext I like, where there's just enough text to put the puzzle pieces together.

I... have no real opinions on Jack. I found his back-story hilarious and I'm pretty sure I wasn't suppose to. Um. Yeah. That's probably a lost cause, there.

But yeah! Overall, I liked series two as much as my brain permitted (where on the one side I kept going, "Oh god, how can you watch this, that's so over-played, oh god, that line was cringe-worthy, BRAIN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" and on the other side I was going, "RUN! RUN! SHOOT IT! GO. YES. AWESOME. NO. OWEN. AWESOME. IANTOOOO." ♥ ♥ ♥). I wish there had been another series before Children of Earth to explore how Gwen, Ianto, and Jack had to learn to function as a team missing two of its members or that Children of Earth had come as a five-part finale in a thirteen-episode series, but that's generally all right. I suppose there must be some brand of time-gap between the S4 finale of Doctor Who and Children of Earth, and I hope there's fic that fills in those holes. Otherwise, I'm just going to write it myself.

In other news: look! an Ianto moodtheme! I am a very sad person.

Children of Earth: Day Four and Five

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 04:20:50 GMT

Okay. I finished Torchwood. This is my official announcement. I have some thoughts but *flops hand weakly*. Tell you later. I have plans to re-watch tomorrow with hobbit_feets.

Right now I want my prize: rec me some Jack/Ianto fic, people. Or just good Ianto fic. I have accepted that I love him forever and ever. I need icons. ♥ ♥