bending_sickle | Long time no see (Reply)

Yes, I'm back, dear little internet void. I have a lot of things to recount, so settle in. Here, let me get that buckle - aha! Trapped!

Warning: Long post

I can only recall as far back as Saturday, so here's the week in short recap:

Apparently am not developing allergies because, guess what, that one-week sneezing fit? A cold. Yip. Now everyone else is infected too. Ahaha! So basically a pretty miserable set of days.

I don’t know anyone with whom I’ve been in physical contact who’s ill. All the sick people I know live on the internet and phone lines... Lookit, there’s my brother, who was ill. I spoke with him on the phone. Jo, also sick, sent a message. Even Neil’s down with a cold. Is this some sort of new version of e-virus? I get it, not the computer? Blah.

Saturday: Went to Harbour Front, checked out a glass-blowing workshop and went to Turkish resto where had delicious apple tea and baklava.

Sunday: Went to Buffalo, bought a bit, sneezed *everywhere*.

Monday and Tuesday was either ill or in excrutiating pain courtesy of being female. If I don't want to reproduce now, why can't I just put my little organs on hold (and the hormones too), or stick them in a (stell, reinforced) jar where they can't hurt me?

Rest of week: very little done except some German prepositions and trying to get in touch with J, who is in a flooded area. Have her father's word that she'll be back on Sunday.

Oh, and yesterday I went to the Michael Buble concert. The opening act was a comedian, which was a bit wierd. Then MB sang "standards" of jazz, like "I'm feeling good", "I've got you under my skin", "Fever" (squee!) and others. He also sang his own, ever tear-jerking "Home", which I memorized in one go when I was seriously miserable and homesick for a bizarre reason. Between songs he'd chat and joke and basically waste a bunch of time, but in a fun way so I forgive him. Three teens walked up and gave him flowers, so he jumped down, huged and had pics taken. Then the lady with the camera danced with him, taking a free ass-grab.

Up-comming: Soon off to convocation (and then ZD exam) and very soon after that mom’ll hightail it out to Grandma’s (who’s back in the hospital after a number of ins and outs from it). Which leaves me here alone with dad for the summer.

Now, for the TV and Movie commentaries, spoilers included:

Watched “Gegen die Wand” (Head On) by German/Turkish director Fatih Akin, which won best European film at some festival or other. It’s an interesting little piece (which is my way of saying “holy pumpernickel is this a hard thing to watch sometimes”) which starts off with a drunkard who cleans up at a low bar driving straight into a wall (to the music of “I feel you” by Depeche Mode – this film also has excellent music of a wide range). At the suicide centre he meets a fellow Turkish woman who instantly offers to wed him. Turns out that only by her marrying a suitable man (i.e. Turkish) can she leave her family to live fully (multiple partners and tattoos included). There’s some fights, some humour, some accidental murder, drug parties, and a little trip to Istanbul. All throughout there’s scenes of a band playing traditional music right on the river in Istanbul, facing a mosque. I’m tickled by being able to recognize the place.

Watched the CSI finale (care of Quentin Tarantino) and can just say it kicks major ass. A bit weak on the use of science, but damn it’s a drama. And great acting on Nick’s part. (Poor Nicky!) FYI, the premise is that Nick gets kidnapped and buried alive with time ticking for the crew to find him.

Ever since I discovered CSI in its first year, I’ve loved it. It’s smart and makes me feel like what I’ve learnt in class is useful. Come on, they played “let’s name that molecule” and I could do it. Not that I'm proud or anything. (Of course, I’ve now blanked out the memories of Org. Chem.) I also like the little glimpses into the relationships and lives of the characters (all of whom I love, without exception and to a surprisingly equal degree). Of course, I haven’t watched it in ages and, apart from the finale, gods know what order I’ve watched those reruns in. I can’t even go by Katherine Willow’s hairstyle, because it seems to be ever-changing. And Grissom seems to be getting younger every time I see him. Are the reruns getting older? Anyway, point is, I like the show and I like the people. (Also, doesn’t hurt that Warick and Nick are eye-candy – esp. W, he’s got gorgeous eyes! Young lab-guy Greg is also nice...)

But I only like CSI: Las Vegas. Not only was it the first, but CSI: Miami sucks in and of itself. And I can’t stand the red-head boss. Omg. I’ve tried, but whilst Grissom comes off as weird and focused, red-head just comes off as cold. And other negative adjectives. And I don’t care for the other people either. Except that cop guy, sometime ex-boyfriend (or so I gathered), played by the actor in the short-lived, or mini, TV-series, Freedom who was something like Derrick, and who’s also in Fight Club at the end as the right-hand man. But just because I recognize him. (And he wasn’t my fave in Freedom anyway. Lando kicked all their asses.) CSI: New York I’ve yet to see hide or hair.

I’ve also watched Lost, one ep and most of the finale. I’m totally tickled that the cutie from Party of Five is there as the Dr. It took me a while to remember where he seemed so familiar from. And I agree with ‘net reviews I’ve seem: Locke is cool. But my fave? The dad. Come on people, he’s played by the wheel-chair bound narrator from Oz, show which I started watching only because the same guy was Mercutio in the modern Romeo and Juliet (yes, the one with DiCaprio). He could redeem the movie all by himself, my little Mercutio and his cursed houses... I love that guy! (Weird hair though...) But back to the point: I like Lost. Although it simultaneously makes me cheer and weep for humanity. Esp. the finale. You do not blow up the poor people’s raft.

I'm also catching up on Angel's Season 3 and find self somewhat liking Holzt. Of course, am aware that in a few eps he'll get his hands bloody, and next season will seriously screw with people's heads, but come on. He's oozing angst. And we all know I'm a sucker for that. Please, I read slash. I'm well-acquainted with angst.

I’m reading Coraghessan Boyle’s short story collection Descent of Man and particularly like “Bloodfall” which describes in realistic detail what it might be like to have blood fall from the sky one day in a downpour. The little humorous twist at the end, not so funny. I mean, it’s all eerie and everything, and then you get scatological humour falling from the sky in wet paddies. Eugh.

Read some of Scarygoround up until May 12 or thereabouts. Have totally abandoned Get Fuzzy, Pearls Before Swine and Spot the Frog (over here) for ages. Not to mention of all the fics that I’m waiting to be updated over at ff.net. (Mostly just Survivors by Whistler84 in the TV: Angel section.) Yes, sometimes the site actually does have gems. Although not many, and the crap you have to wade through to get to them, not worth it.

Someday I’ll make a list of decent websites and fics for various fandoms and post. (And vids too.) Some of those stories are copy/paste and save material. (Of which the Sith Academy, Knight Moves, Journeys and Survivors jump to mind. I realize this’ll mean very little to anyone else, but in time, dear void, all will be clear.)

Go read

darthmaligna’s parody on a Weird Al song, SW style, and Evadne Noel's A New Hope BBE. Time well spent. (Of course, am horrified to think that that’s the motto of a commercial, but thankfully can’t recall which.)

And here’s a metaquote I promised to share with Jo:

The incomparable

thegreyking when asked (as one sometimes is):

Bloody hell. I've thought about this for days and still can't decide.

The first thing is to get past the fact they are both pacifists.

Second; look at their backgrounds: Jesus was a carpenter, plus he was of hardy desert folk. Buddha was the son of a warlord and most likely trained in that fashion in his youth.

Third; who can take a hit best. Jesus suffers for all mankind, and Buddha believes life is suffering.

Finally; what gnarly powers do they have? Now Jesus multiplied the fishes and loaves, and he turned water into wine, so could he take a muffin and transform it into a harpoon? But then Buddha could like, distract him with his logic and stuff. "Birth is painful, old age is painful, sickness is painful, association with unloved objects is painful, separation from loved objects is painful, the desire which one does not obtain, this is too painful - in short, the five elements of attachment to existence are painful ...and this is going to be painful too, muthafuckaaaaa!!!" And then leap on Jesus and snap his neck.

Honestly, I can't decide. Sorry.

Typed up some old stuff for HManual, but didn't work on any actual chapter. Although the thing is a bit more organized. Or chaotic, but with a touch of class. Like if you fall over into the banquet table but manage to wipe your face with a napkin. What I'm trying to say is: small mercies this crazy thing has some sort of plot. Here's Chap 2.

Chapter 2: Enter Secondary Character (With a Grudge)

The silver sparkled. It gleamed. It shone gloriously in the sunlight. It was a work of art. It was the greatest creation to be spit-cleaned on the face of the planet. If it were any cleaner it would blind every one in the living room.

The butler was getting a bit carried away with the polishing.

Fortunately, only he was in the room, and therefore no accidental blindings could occur. His own eyes had acquired a strong resistance to bright light after years of polishing.

He straightened up, an unsettling pop erupting from between his vertebrae, and ran the polishing cloth across his forehead. This left an unsightly black smudge across just above his eyebrows, giving the disturbing suggestion of an extra pair of eyebrows. The butler had been so concentrated he’s forgotten to have breakfast. Or dinner, for that matter. He wondered idly if his master had ventured to eat the egg salad sandwich from last week that had turned a bright neon orange in the fridge.

Mind you, he’d tried everything to get rid of the bastard.

The young butler, quite a marvel in his old Academy, had a reputation that preceded him. That is, his father had gotten him this job, though the effort had nearly bankrupted the family. It is not that his son was a lousy butler, just that he tended to over-polish and over-steep. The one asset, unfortunately, did not forgive the injuries to tea that Butler Jr. did every evening. If, that is, he remembered to serve tea at all.

But perhaps we are being too harsh on our secondary character. The main point is that his master, Vicky, was content to have him, and did not often complain. (Well, there had been that first occasion, now whispered in hushed tones at the neighborhood bar The Dark Closet and referred to as The Incident. Or, if they were feeling brave, as the incident with the fork and that three-foot candlestick with the little grape detail on the end.)

One other point in favour of our new character is that he looked every inch a butler, and then some. He was the type of person strangers would go up to in a store, asking where they could find one just like this, deary, only bright orange, without this silly lace frock and in a size eighteen. Even at a young age people hadn’t needed to ask what he wanted to be when he grew up: he’d been destined to look like, and be, a Jeeves.

Someone was going to pay for that.

Suddenly he heard his master’s voice, coming from the garden in a strangled tone.

“Quasi!”

The young butler fumed, caressed the trophy candlestick, and turned smartly on his heel.

“Yes, Master Vic,” he said, walking smoothly towards his master. He stood by quietly, calming himself by counting how many candlesticks he had left for their triple polish.

Said master was kneeling in the mud, leaves sticking out of his collar and a bloody scratch down his nose, frantically digging in the ground with a broken spade.

“Quasi, why haven’t you made tea yet?” Vicky mumbled, not looking up. “I specifically told you today—”

“Yesterday,” interjected the butler apparently named Quasi.

“Today, yesterday and every day,” Vicky stood up stiffly and brushed dirt off his apron, “that I need my tea in the afternoon. Really, Quasi, I don’t understand why you can’t keep anything straight in your head.”

Quasi ground his teeth and began muttering the Butler Creed to himself.

Rule One: Do not question, do.

“It’s not tea-time, master,” he managed to say.

Rule 2: Honour the tea.

“Nonsense, look at the sun.” Vicky pointed at the faint sliver of light on the horizon.

Rule Three: Thou shalt not talk back.

Vicky stared at him pointedly.

Oh to hell with it.

“It’s rising, sir. You’ve been here all night.”

“Oh blast.” Vicky brushed the dirt even deeper into his pants. “Time flies when you’re evil, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vicky looked at him warily. “D’you suppose you can make a quick tea? For breakfast?”

Quasi drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at the man who paid his wages with his father’s, Butler Senior, bribe money.

“Sir never drinks tea in the morning, sir. The master always drinks his tea in the afternoon, if he so wishes.”

“But I forgot! I got carried away with—while I was—” Vicky’s voice trailed into nothingness in the face of Butler Resolve.

“It is very late, and sir has a full day ahead of him. Sir expressly asked me to carpet the entire mansion today, sir, but insisted on being present.” Quasi raised an eyebrow, hoping he wasn’t going to far.

“Yes, Quasi,” said Vicky, eying the polishing grease on his butler’s forehead with concern. He scuttled back inside. After The Incident he’d always tended to stay away from Quasi when he was polishing.

That should teach the old man, thought Quasi as he watched his master rush inside.

Quasi stooped slowly, picked up the broken spade and scuffed some wet dirt back into the small hole his master had apparently spent the entire night digging. A dog could dig deeper in five minutes!

Old Butler Senior will pay, he thought bitterly, for bribing Victorious with my own inheritance. A brief satisfying flash of his favorite grape-motif candlestick quickened his steps. Twisted way of making me work for it...

A/N: The idea of using Butler Rules and the unappreciation of butlers in general as indispensable evil-sidekicks comes from TPratchett and his lovely batch of Igors.