Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

THIS. Is to combat dehydration

I'm not intimidated really, I just couldn't remember what the mood icon looked like.

Hello. I went up north for a couple of days only to discover that a Tory thinktank are recommending that the north be abandoned to the wolves because it's a wasteland and that millions more people should come to live in the south. I would take it more seriously if the bloke who had written the report sounded less like the cartoon Toryboy. Really, there's not enough eyerolling in the world.

@) Finally cracked 40,000 words. Now if only 20,000 of them weren't irrelevant.

ß) I have had a weird week. Nice week of no work, but odd nevertheless. Coinciding with the Olympics, which means I got the happy opportunity to care deeply about a bunch of sports I usually wouldn't give two tosses about.

As I write Britain, or Team GB as the bloody BBC would have us call it, are at number three in the medals table, largely as a result of having the best cycling team in the world. That's not jingoistic hyperbole, it just is. And how fantastic was Becky Adlington with her unaffected manner, two gold medals and posh shoe addiction. Finally something worth being all rah rah rah about. Which is nice given that the BBC usually does well-mannered rah rah rah patriotic bullshit with absolutely nothing to get excited about.

So I have been infected by the Olympics. At least it's better than falling into the black hole of stupid that is Big Brother. (Three years of resistance and counting!)

¶) Hellboy II this week! Guillermo del Toro is my film BFF.

€) I went to see Wall-E yesterday, and after the bravura 20-minute opening section on the deserted Earth I *fell asleep like a big kid*. Hideously embarrassing. I have decided to blame the film and too much sugar from eating white mice.

%) The oddest oddness of the week started with a conversation with my friend M about children, in which he asked me about this circumstance, and said he didn't want this circumstance to happen. Which would be all right except he's brought it up *three times* with me now, so I am wondering what he means by that. I suspect that in three months when I look at this entry I will be thinking "What the hell am I on about?" Being discreet and circumspect is a bitch.

¢) Today there were spoilers on blogs, which made me go \o/. Or more accurately \o/ \o/ -o- \o/ [four spoilery things, see?]

Two of them, in particular, would be the most delightful thing on Earth. I'd forgotten what it was like actually giving a toss about spoilers, particularly ones so far distant that you would need deep space telemetry to work out whether they were accurate. Three of the spoilers are constructed of purest awesome and make me cheerful, so I choose to believe that they are accurate until such time as (a) they are proved false or (b) I can't be arsed with the whole thing any longer. Which might happen.

I always remember reading the blogs of people who were actually in this fandom during the time of great fuckery, and thinking "surely, the batchippers can't be that bad, they can't possibly be that loony" but no, they really, really are. You come upon their journals because they write good fiction, and their other entries seem sensible and then you get into the fandom stuff and you think, Good lord, are you even living in the same world as me, never mind watching the same telly programme? And why are you launching some sort of holy war over fictional characters?

I don't know why I am amazed. I watched X-Files fandom for five years.

‡) The other day I had a moment of poor impulse control and went off on a tinhat expedition in London. If you can guess the nature of my tinhattery, I will SEND YOU STUFF. Or make you a mix or summat. Icons. Something.

I can just hear my gran's voice in my head "You do *right* to call other people batshit, young lady"

She would've used the term batshit. She was offa Hessle Road, one of 13 children born to a man who deserted in the first world war. My great -great grandfather was a Cockney and moved up north, probably for dodgy reasons. It's only my mum that has delusions of clarsiness.

So something extremely odd happened to me on Friday.

Apparently I drove out to Barking and bought a SHEDLOAD of crack, which I smoked. I then soaked a hankerchief in poppers and tied it under my nose, before drinking an entire bottle of absinthe, chased down with some blotting paper LSD, which I had pasted onto the contents of a tube of Refreshers. Lovely.

Dodging several giant purple platypuses who were singing some of the more exciting parts of the musical Miss Saigon, I found myself in the post-industrial wasteland which is Gallion's Reach, with its constant fug of part-processed faecal matter and exhaust fumes (it's a delightful part of the world; in a more charming incarnation it was home to the largest gasworks in Europe). In a smackhead daze, I wandered into a large square building with lots of adverts on the front and discovered a large darkened room.

As I sat down next to Napoleon (a bugger for hogging the popcorn) and Amelia Earhart (so that's where she went!), suddenly, as if by magic, giant pictures appeared on a black screen.

Meryl Streep appeared on my screen and began declaiming European pop lyrics as though they were Ibsen, young men danced in *flippers* and Pierce Brosnan, Pierce Brosnan James Bond 007 Pierce Brosnan starting singing. And he sings like I do the pole vault. Which is to say, OH, GOD and NO.

And lo, I found myself watching what is possibly the worst utterly brilliant movie I have seen since Shining Through

The absinthe, crack, poppers and LSD is the only explanation for it, because surely no one could possibly have thought *any* of that was a good idea.

Mamma Mia is genius. Such a terrible film, such good fun.


( 30 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 17th, 2008 10:03 pm (UTC)
Which is to say, OH, GOD and NO.

To put it mildly. {g}

See, I should have thought of absinthe and crack before hand, then maybe I might not have come out of the movie with a headache. Or, well, at least it would have been a *good* headache, I guess.
Aug. 17th, 2008 11:20 pm (UTC)
Oh it was wonderful. Insane and terrible, like a space warlord, but wonderful. I spent the whole night playing Abba records to myself.

Can you imagine what the money men are doing now that it's been packing 'em in? Oh, the delicious flow of crack which is to come!
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - timesink - Aug. 18th, 2008 01:45 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - infinitemonkeys - Aug. 18th, 2008 02:30 am (UTC) - Expand
Aug. 17th, 2008 10:04 pm (UTC)
And lo, I found myself watching what is possibly the worst utterly brilliant movie I have seen since Shining Through

I KNOW that angstville will find this every bit as funny as I do. We heart Shining Through, even if we do feel guilty about it. hee!
Aug. 17th, 2008 11:22 pm (UTC)
I *love* Shining Through. I saw it at the cinema and I can still recollect sliding down in my seat and putting my hand over my eyes when I saw the bit with the zebra, which was clearly meant to be POIGNANT and ART, dammit. Oh, and evil Joely Richardson, and Michael Douglas getting shot on the way to Switzerland but then carrying on staggering...

Such a terrible movie. I love it.
(Deleted comment)
Aug. 17th, 2008 11:43 pm (UTC)
So that "repatriate 'em all in the South!" report wasn't actually a big joke gone awry, then? I sincerely thought it was. *tries to imagine the reaction here if a government white paper advocated depopulating the industrial corridor and relocating its entire population in the Sun Belt, backs slowly away*

No, that's the wonderful part, it was entirely serious when it said let 'em rot. Fantastic stuff because all those people who were all "Oh, hang on, might vote for the Tories this time" will read it and go "HELL NO". And much as I despise this Labour government, I will despise the Tory one with the fire of a thousand suns because every one of them is a selfish bad-word-for-a-front-bottom.

I'm actually finding, and I did not plan this, that the worst possible thing that can happen to one's Nu Who fannishness is to start watching Old Who from the beginning--you start seeing everything that got done better decades ago and is being shamelessly ripped off now except with even more and more pernicious sexism and whatnot and start going, er, why am I supposed to care? Maybe I'll feel differently when a new season starts in earnest, but whatever.

I suspect I don't take such a hard line on Team Cardiff as you do. I don't think you're wrong necessarily, just that I am more in thrall to the all-powerful handwave as a means of getting rid of stuff that pisses me off. I can rationalise it all away.

I think the difference, for me, between new Who and old Who is that I expect better of them now in terms of the sexism and racial politics and when I don't get that, when they go all self-congratulatory about being more liberal than mainstream TV or whatever when they are in fact retrogressive as compared to season seven, my head goes bang. However, as I said last week, Doctor Who is family to me until such time as I am pissed off beyond endurance.

And I, for one, welcome our sexist new overlord because I don't find what he writes is that bad. What he says, yes. What he writes, no. I can even handwave the conservatism-verging-on-sexism of Forest of the Dead because I have an explanation in my head that makes sense to me.

Also, I haven't really watched Old Who because of my own personal weirdness: to whit, I read all the novelisations when I was aged seven to 18 or so because I didn't have a VCR when I was growing up. So I had set photos and the novelisations -- the odd three or four of which could be accused of literature -- and when I actually watched some old Who, it didn't match up to what I had imagined in a way which produced total cognitive dissonance.

Maybe I should try it now that I am not 17 and don't have the burning need for everything I love to be taken utterly seriously. I don't know. I've always preferred written things to visual things in general.

Ayup. And they're just getting more so, weirdly enough, even as they got handed everything in the finale that they could possibly want for their goddess.

I *know*. WTF do they want? And why are so many thirty- and fortysomething women identifying with a 19-year-old blonde to the point of being enraged if someone else gets any screentime?

Okay, that last thing was just mean. But even when I was 19 (and sort of blonde) I didn't identify with the 19-year-old blonde. I identified with people who were older, bitter, sarcastic and slightly broken and whose options were running out. Much as I do now that I am bitter, sarcastic... etc etc.

Though I did adore Ace (and Sophie Aldred was once terrifically kind to me)

I was reading the LJ of someone who writes pretty well, and though her cake is not my beautiful cake, I can appreciate why she likes her cake and partake of the odd slice, so I meandered over to her personal journal and *holy shit*.

Crying for four days? Even though you got what you said you wanted? I've never cried for four days over a TV show. I've never cried for four minutes over a TV show. Watched the same episode every day for four days, yes, but not the other.
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - londonkds - Aug. 18th, 2008 06:41 am (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - londonkds - Aug. 19th, 2008 08:19 am (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - infinitemonkeys - Aug. 18th, 2008 09:24 pm (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
Aug. 17th, 2008 11:47 pm (UTC)
>And he sings like I do the pole vault. Which is to say, OH, GOD and NO. <

Snort. Yes. He committed to the bad singing, so...good for him. But. Really. OH, GOD, NO.
Aug. 18th, 2008 12:50 am (UTC)
He did. He shot for the stars and he went down in flames by God, but you've got to admire the effort
Aug. 18th, 2008 01:18 am (UTC)
I saw the brilliant bad crack yesterday.

Oh. My.

sparkly and shiny and Pierce, darling? Love you. Love you with your shirt off and soaking wet.


Sing one note ever again--and you're off the laminated list.

srsly. OW.

I can only imagine how much fun they must've had filming it tho. And Christine Baranski? Totally needs to be my new bestest friend. 'Coz, damn.
Aug. 18th, 2008 08:58 pm (UTC)
I know. Christine Baranski has long been my platonic girlcrush.
(Deleted comment)
Aug. 18th, 2008 09:00 pm (UTC)
Woo, 40,000 words! That's awesome.

Half of them shit but still, wooot! *g*

I wouldn't want to put anyone off Mamma Mia, it was ace.
Aug. 18th, 2008 05:24 am (UTC)
Have you read legionseagle's take on the report? She's a Mancunian and officially Not. Happy.
Aug. 18th, 2008 09:03 pm (UTC)
I did read it. I wasn't quite that vehement because I think I rolled my eyes at an earlier stage but I kind of agree with her.

Aug. 18th, 2008 02:57 pm (UTC)
40,000 words! YAY

I may go see Mamma Mia this week. Sounds perfect for vacation...
Aug. 18th, 2008 09:11 pm (UTC)
Mamma Mia is fantastic fun but you do need to go in with the full knowledge that it is crap and on crack. Do you love Abba? If you do, you're golden.

40,000 words! YAY

Alas, not all relevant. I am having trouble with velocity. Do you think that getting into the story fast is essential when it comes to fanfiction? Because I am thinking, yes, probably.
(no subject) - cofax7 - Aug. 19th, 2008 01:34 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - infinitemonkeys - Aug. 19th, 2008 02:03 am (UTC) - Expand
Aug. 18th, 2008 04:10 pm (UTC)
How much will the bad singing put off my opera-trained mom. THAT is the zillion dollar question. I really want to see it and I think it might be amusing for her, too. but she is SUCH a singing snob.

And the WHO batshittery is.... I got nothing.

The NORTH should seceed from the SOUTH and fight a war and crush them with their industrial prowess. ;-)

I mean, it worked for us, after all.
Aug. 18th, 2008 09:13 pm (UTC)
The bad singing is BAD singing so yes, she might be put off. OTOH, if she knows ahead that it is bad singing and so atrocious that it is not even pretending to be good singing, maybe that could work. Because the movie made me smile so much.

ETA: oh please go watch the Mark Kermode review of it. It is gold, particularly when he's all gobsmacked and just saying "Stellen Skarsgard, STELLEN SKARSGARD!" in a kind of bewildered way. It is love.

The NORTH should seceed from the SOUTH and fight a war and crush them with their industrial prowess. ;-)

Damn! If only we weren't a century late!

Edited at 2008-08-18 09:27 pm (UTC)
Aug. 19th, 2008 02:50 am (UTC)
I too fell asleep in the middle of Wall-E, but I woke up shortly thereafter and engaged again to go forth and blubber at the end.

And now I am curious about your tin hattery, and I can't imagine you hanging out at a stage door waiting for the Doctor, but I can't imagine any other kind of tin hattery.
( 30 comments — Leave a comment )

Latest Month

January 2017
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow