It's funny how bits of fic that seem destined for the chopping board one day make a valuable contribution the next. Or at least, live to see another edit. There's a silly scene where Alan mutters about being glad Billy's using his powers of persuasion for niceness instead of evil, those very same powers that could make a normally sane and rational man do something very insane and deeply irrational (like revisiting an island full of vicious man-eating dinosaurs).
It's a silly Get Smart moment, so I was going to cut it, but it's kinda cute, and it does go on to elaborate what an arch manipulator Billy can be, and certainly the fillum presents us with a few shining examples of Billy manouevering Alan onto the island in no uncertain terms. Alan is merely relieved that Billy uses his charms for scientific endeavour rather than, say, less altruistic grifting (ooops, do I sense a mild touch of the Ezras scenting this scene, I think I do.)
Funnily enough my promised free dvd from eazydvd arrived. It was not, as I feared, more Ashton, but in fact Jurassic Park III. Well, as you might suspect, I already have a copy of that, but I was actually quite happy to have a spare copy for Sunday best. Now I can thrash my first copy searching for the smallest look or nuance to my heart's content.
Yes, I'm writing JP3 again. More story 4 than story 2, dammit (not to mention some Stargate and Smallville on the side) and there's no excuse for fic 2 as I've accidentally re-watched everything that inspired it. Maybe that's it. I keep telling myself I'll finish it over Xmas. Fat chance!
Normally, there'd be every chance, even though I'm working, because over Summer everyone else buggers off and I have all day sitting before a PC and no overflowing in-tray. Not in this shithole of a department. No, here they make all their deadlines arbitrarily 1 January, so while all the managers and most of the staff do indeed bugger off, muggins here has to meet all those deadlines as a project team of one. Which ruins Xmas, New Years, etc, with long days, insanity, crankiness, unpaid overtime - and time and a half unpaid overtime as I often have to work on public holidays to meet those stupid, stupid deadlines.
It means my cards and parcels have yet to be posted, the house still looks like a bomb went off and the turkey has yet to be bought. It means I was down on my hands and knees late last night, coughing and sneezing and swearing, trying to scrub down the cupboards, cupboards painted white the better to show up all the drips, smears and splashes because, well, nobody else has to clean up, do they, so what do they care? And did they help? Did they what, sitting in the chair reading their papers, occassionally offering the odd tip or comment (How's my cleaning? Call 1800 FUCKOFF), but never moved by the slightest spark of humanity to get off their arses and actually help.
You know, if they ever had to clean up they might not leave grubby paw prints or unsightly spills of crap knows what everywhere, but they never do, and screaming and begging for help just makes my cough worse and sees them tucking their paper under their arm and repairing to another room sans shrewish outbursts from the help. Arrrrgh! Woman goes on rampage with mop and bucket - film at eleven.
But enough about that (even though all Cinders here wants for Xmas is a man who knows exactly what to do with a feather duster - those cobwebs over there, mate, ta).
So, work today. Scanned some pics of Jude Law, Colin Firth and Eric Close for folks, so that's my good deed for the day (doesn't make up for forgetting to bring in my cards to finish off today and I put them right next to the mags, too, so I wouldn't forget, nor does it make up for botching the taping last night - meant to be taping Roswell for a mate and I was sulking that this meant no Stargate so guess what I accidentally taped, yep, there was Danny when I played it back this morning. Bad, wicked passive aggressive ID - set the Foxtel timer for the next day, not that day, didn't I. D'oh!).
Also managed to get some typing done, and even a few paragraphs of my #2 JP fic. Would have liked to have typed more, but alas, it's time to go to work. Feeling unseasaonably hormonal and annoyed, but also creative and inspired. I can't have one without the other alas, it seems. I'm either a perfect non writing stepford me, or I'm writing furiously, but hard on the furniture and anything else that ain't nailed down. What to do, what to do. Calm Xmas or crazed and creative one? How badly do I want to finish that JP fic?
Speaking of Colin Firth, he was the one good thing last night. Gave up cleaning after a few hours and sat down and watched the end of Xena (after I saw who was in it), then remembered to watch South Park after the news break reported yet another penisioner driving through a kindergarten - yep, it was the deadly old aged drivers one - very hilarious (cf Bondi Junction). Then I found Mr Darcy over on Ovation and watched P&P by twinkling Xmas lights, giving it the MST3K treatment this time, which amused. P&P was once summarised: "A rich man moves into the neighborhood. Mrs Bennet thinks he should marry one of her daughters. Turns out she's right." Yep, it's all about Mrs Bennet. I love P&P, despite having to be examined upon it at school. It rings so true, especially the vicious games girls play to snag a husband. Bugger the Napoleonic wars, the battles and strategies, victories and defeats of the ballroom were much more visceral, especially the manouevering around the piano forte, the dance floor, and the so called best friend moving in like a barracuda when your back is momentarily turned.
Mr Collins, too, is perfectly rendered, especially in being a toady suitor who just won't take no for an answer. Had I been Liz I'd have been reaching for a blunt object by the time she finally turned him away.
Mr Collins represents all the 'he'll do's', the silver and bronze medals or even just merit certificates you see your dear friends settling for, and it never really lasts or makes for a happy arrangement and you wonder why you could not submit yourself to a similiar loser and you wonder who is happier - I had this deep discussion with a lass I met at Homebake on the bus home. Her friend had just married, a gold medal, for love, for happiness, for once, and we remarked on how rare this was and how things had not changed a jot since Jane's day. Indeed, if I want to own a house and/or car, I still need a man, or rather a man's wage (and unfortunately as murder is still illegal, the man comes with it - wink). Like Liz, alas, my pride and prejudices preclude a 'he'll do', and there are no Mr Darcys on the horizon (well, there are but they're not available, dammit).
The other thing I enjoyed from Mr Collins' cringeworthy proposal, aside from the skewering accuracy, was the painting on the wall behind him, of a heroic gentleman making a leg to a fine lady. What a fine contrast, and what attention to detail, that even the paintings on the wall help tell the story. That's why the series is so good - it's all in the details.
Yeah, and there's Colin. Gorn, crack a smile, Col, it won't hurt - much. :D