The Jeeves & Wooster situation: The next few chapters involved dearest Bertie trying to get Jeeves to smear him with butter. I think I'm going to perish from convulsive tittering.
Oh, what a fun read, so wickedly observed. Now I know why I loved the few books I could get my hands on as a child just so (I know you're thinking Wodehouse shouldn't be a luxury item but in my impoverished council Library I think they only ran to three copies, if that, and he just didn't pop up on local fete stalls like Agatha, Ian, Arthur or Leslie). I recall now that all my early, and I mean very early as in not ever online, work was very heavily influenced by Wodehouse. I fear an alarming reassurgance in my fic. Never mind :D
I managed to actually get a few chapters under my belt yesterday. I achieved this by staying home. Now, I'd never leave my post unattended so imagine, if you will, how completely crapulous I must have felt for this event to occur. I also picked the day for it, as the neighbours decided yesterday was the day for copious hammering, sawing and general banging and thumping, scraping, dragging and yelling.
So, no catching up on the sleep, but I was happy enough, curled up with my book, a box of tissues and the penultimate episode of Dawson's Creek. The tissues were for the cold I've acquired on top of everything else (and my poor ankle resembles a softball once more thanks to a clumsy dismount off the old bus) but they came in useful.
Yes, I know, my tv tastes run to the truly dire but I don't care what you think on this one occasion. I like the clever use of words of language and find it more often than I should absorbing, entertaining and involving. Some episodes over the last three weeks I've enjoyed so much more than any other show I've watched. Sometimes I feel it's really quite good, especially when they just write an entire episode to showcase one or two of the stronger characters (usually Joey and/or Pacey). Whatever, I wallowed.
I also shrieked with disbelief at the sudden pairing of Jack and Deputy Doug. Yeah, sure, hitch up the only two homos in town. It rather lacked for plausability and entirely lacked for chemistry (now Jack and Doug's wayward lil brother I could totally understand and go for). Good grief.
Honestly, I only used to have The Creek on as background noise as I tried to write. Is it my fault I was sucked in? Yes, I suppose it is. Oh well.
Also watched Invisible Man, which sucked. They weren't kidding about Season 2 being really, really bad. Ouch. Managed to catch the repeat of Touching Evil, which kind of lost me with the silly things Creegan did at the end. Farscape was excellent, and it amused me to see Nick Tate there.
Relic Hunter, well, at least they were actually in Paris. I worry about Nigel. These days he's dark, bitter, cynical, ruthless and even cruel. What ever happened to that jolly hockysticks little lad of a few seasons ago? You know, if I could be bothered, I'd write a fic about poor Nigel looking like he was about to go off the boil. Extra points awarded for the French maid, upon seeing the bad guy all trussed up and gagged in the chair, just harumphed "English!" and carried on making up the room. Laugh? I cried.
It actually rained last night too, which meant I'd made one brief attempt to read on the chair under the tree (whenever I do so it rains, although usually more promptly).
So that was my day. Oh yes, there was also the Roswell Vegas episode and eye watering costumes on Dr Who. Scrawny British chicken legs au go go. Yikes. Love the Beatles wigs on the aliens though. Much mirth inducing.
Ack, just caught my reflection, and yes, I do indeed dress in the dark. I look like I've barely crawled out of bed, which is entirely apt but not especially appropriate. No wonder the Men In Suits are staring at me. Oh well. Apparently I own one of the few t-shirts in world that requres vigorous ironing, which rather defeats the entire purpose of the t-shirt, imho. Especially as this humble t-shirt was chosen because all my mumsy office frau blouses are still in the wash (this is what happens when one takes to one's bed on doctor's orders: bugger all). Crumply sigh.
Rec: Cycnus's latest: In A Mirror Dimly. I'm not sure if it's up on her page yet, but they're all worth a read, anyways. I loved it, just loved it. The boys are spot on, unsentimental and steamy.
Not Rec: Messages of a Friendship. Ack. Now, I like the basic theme, done it meself, and I liked the examples she used of Jack being concerned for Daniel somewhat above and beyond the call of a CO, but the whole idea of Jack, less than an hour after being impaled by an alien virus-like lifeform to a wall, is only worried that poor Dannykins has been a wee bit stressed by the whole incident? Never mind what Jack's been through, let's just drop everything and worry about Daniel's emotional well being. What the? Throw in some cutsie pet names and blue jammies and, well. Ack.
The trouble is, sans the jammies et al and with some work on some more realistic dialogue and reactions from folks, and it wouldn't have been a half bad story. There are some really good ideas here, unfortunately unserviced by some of the writing (other parts are quite entertaining, especially when the boys are being unlovey dovey). Perhaps I should shoot the beta.
Wake me up before you go go: Okay, I've asked a few friends so I know it's not just me. I found this pic of Orlando the other days in my travels, and, well, I might be having bad Smash hits flashbacks, but what do you reckon? A little too much of the Andrew Ridgley about it for comfort? Was the stylist the Wham tragic, or, horrors, Orly? And does this make Johnny Depp George Michael?
These and other burning philosophical questions of our time, tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel.
Quote of the day:
"When I see audience participation in a show I reach for my revolver." - Colin Firth.