K. (infinitemonkeys) wrote,

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"It's *my* fandom, I was here first..."

Good evening Vladivostock!

I am writing to you from my luxuriously appointed cyberbedroom, which has been generously decorated by me with lashings of nerd. In my eyeline I have
what is known in the trade as a fuck-off massive dictionary;
many candles;
some of the fantastic gardeners' handcream from Greenwich market which smells of freesias and is the dog's bollocks;
Keane's "Under the Iron Sea";
DVDs of MASH, XF, Life On Mars, West Wing and David Attenborough communing with the penguins and X-Files. Season II - VI. I do not have S7, 8 and 9. They are minging (relatively speaking) and deserve no roman numerals.

I tell you this just in case I miss the next "What's on my desk" meme. I like to stay ahead of the curve or at least so resolutely behind it that I can pretend I am not even trying.

Where are all the penguin memes, I ask you? Where's the "what are your top five penguins?" poll or "Which fictional penguin are you?" (Frobisher, since yer askin') or maybe a little map where you can colour in the "top five states you've visited where there should be penguins, were it not for the evil forces of Wal-Mart/the climate/Disney/al-Qaida", according to a badly spelled poll.

Penguins Penguins Penguins

:::takes a pill::: Ah, I feel better now.

I still have an unexpected temporary flatmate; luckily she is nice and appreciates the good things in life, which are:

(a) LOTS of football, though not England as watching them makes me nauseous because I remain convinced they are going to lose until the moment when they actually win. They play Portugal on Saturday. I am going to see The Lake House. I'll watch all the other matches because I don't care about them.

I HOPE BRAZIL GET BEATEN. THEY ARE SHITE. There, I said it. Now may the wrath of the Gods fall on me, for I have no samba in my soul and I don't give a toss.

(b) Tea. I recommend Twinings Lady Grey, or failing that, buy one packet of loose leaf Earl Grey and two packets of Assam, chuck them into a container, PUT THE LID ON FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, shake, then use as normal tea.

Do not put it in a baggie and sell it to gullible students, who smoke it and say it "has a nice bergamot vibe". Selling tea, oregano and other herbs to poor, witless early twentysomethings is not illegal but karma will get you. You'll end up that weird finger-shredding, vegetable cutting plasticky tool off the telly or getting obsessed by that Victoria Principal "it's this fine £100-quid-a-tub cream that made my face look weirdly immobile, honest" infomercial and buying whatever processed cack it's made of. Soylent green probably.

(c) Corrie. If you don't know what Corrie is, then you have lived a shadow life, scarcely aware of the deep troughs of pain and delerious joy that only Corrie can provide. Best. Soap. Ever.

Only southern poncey wankers call it "the Street". Nota bene, every media pundit that ever lived.

Dr Who: I am not spoiled beyond what was in The Sun and the trailers. Please do not spoil me, should you wish to comment on this giant stream of drivel.

I feel I should get my Doctor Who spec down on pixels before Saturday's doomladen two-parter, since every bugger else has had a pop at it.

Bloody Johnny-come-latelys they are, with their time and chips and their relationship squee and their fancy dan special effects.

I remember when you had to watch Doctor Who through the fingers of both hands because you were afraid the set was going to fall down and crush some poor unsuspecting extra -- who had quite enough to deal with with the whole being painted green and prodded with sticks bit. When you had to take seriously someone being menaced by Bertie fucking Basset. When they redid the whole Arthurian legends and it was *worse than Stargate's attempts to do same*. As if that were not cue enough that the end days are nigh.


That moment of horror deserved its own line.

Doctor/Rose shippers You will not get what you want. Cope.

We old-schoolers have been grumbling and unsatisfied since you were watching Postman Pat and braiding your hair like Baby Spice.

We hid behind the sofa uphill! Both ways! In the snow! It's our fandom! We were here first! Bugger off!

Anyway, I think that Rose will *die* at the end of the first episode, just like last year because if it aint broke etc etc. Only she will not have really died, but rather will be saved by her Bad Wolfness, and left as some kind of guardian of the rift, unable to keep on travelling because she is keeping the worlds apart yadda yadda yadda, but still alive and able to pop in for the odd story should Billie Piper ever decide to revisit former haunts.

I also predict the return of Captain Jack to lead us into Torchwood, a sighting of Mickey and David Tennant screwing up his face and shouting angstily a lot. Preferably in glasses because that's his get-your-kit-off look.

I have actually liked a lot more of this season than most people. I think this is because I am undiscriminating and easily pleased. It seems the most plausible answer. Occam's razor and all that.

For those of you who prefer a more cerebral approach, I direct you to Andrew Rilstone, pointed out to me by pw201, who says most of what I would say were I in the mood to write cogent and witty treatises on Season Two. Except I liked Fear Her. I love the analogy between the new series and the Labour party.

I am not going to talk about music.


In summary, penguins.
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