June 3rd, 2003

greetings, SG1:feretti

Tom Quinn, CAPTAIN TIGHTPANTS! and further patheticness

Continuing my short but fiery lurve affair with Spooks, the second episode of this season was on BBC3 tonight when I got home from a very, very shitty day at work, and Dr Bashir was on it, looking all ruffled and beardy and fabulous.

Lord, Alexander Siddig was *good*. Such a powerful performance. He played an Algerian who infiltrated a Muslim extremist cell in Birmingham who were planning a suicide bombing. I had to hide my eyes at the end because I knew what was going to happen and I couldn't stop it. The whole thing was frightening and painful in the best sort of way.

They need to give Danny a good story and Zoe was a bit one-dimensional this week after her weekend heroics in exposing Tessa but me darlin' Tom Quinn suffered beautifully, in a Muldertorture-ish way.

I am addicted, addicted, addicted and it's hokey and I don't care.

It's on A&E this summer, but they're going to rename it MI5

* * *

Weird bookends to the day. After being woken up by frelling jackhammers again, I had breakfast in front of Sky One and behold! "Fire" on XF, which was very amusing and MSTable with some fabulous lines.

[Sky One hates me. S1 XF, then early Stargate, then Buffy, one after another 10am to 1pm. I need to *work* , dammit]

Then, after Spooks I switched to UK SciFi and it was Firefly's "Shindig", which featured Cecil L'Ively again.

I like this episode a lot.

"Captain Tightpants!".
"I guess I'm just a good man :::stab::: well, I'm okay"

I still find the premise off-kilter but I think that if it had been given its full run so it could bed down, it would have been wonderful. It was heading in that direction, though there remained strange lacunae and oddities in the world-building. There's scarcely a character I don't love, though Inara is the Lana Lang of Serenity.

* * *

lilydale reminds me that I am being useless with the music project.

I bought 31 Songs (or Songbook. Whatever) the other weekend, in which Nick Hornby declares that he is not writing his autobiography through songs because that's stupid and these songs are not the ones that changed his life or anything like that. Then he spends the next 80 pages or so contradicting that statement.

It's a charming, peculiar, rambly and unfocused book but he loves Teenage Fanclub

For that he can be forgiven almost anything. Anyway...

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greetings, SG1:feretti

'Little man, little man, must is not a word to use with princes..."

Dude, I'm like the Switzerland of LJMatch. Compatible with almost everybody.

I'm hearing the Orson Welles cuckoo clock speech as we speak.

ooooh, the glass is half-empty, the glass is half-air, the glass is quite crappy, and now I despaaaaaiiiirrr!

I don't really believe that this thing is any bloody good whatsoever.

I bought the book that goes with the TV series "1940s House" on Saturday. How does it rock? Like a mutha. It is extremely interesting in the details.

I'm watching The Falklands Play, which was banned by the BBC at the time for presenting too sympathetic a view of Thatcher. I guess it's good for me to watch this. Good for my Thatcher-loathing soul.

Okay. Done now.
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