April 16th, 2003

Carravaggio

Cookies!!!! (munchmunchmunchmunch)


Thursday: See, I told you my week had started out unreasonbably bad. I have brownies - fresh still warm brownies. I'm as happy as could be. It's all in the details (technically the brownies were a bribe but by the time you tell ICAC the evidence will be all gone, trust me - grin).

Apparently there's a small paragraph in the latest Sharpe novel, "Sharpe's Havoc" where Sharpe doesn't seem at all bothered to learn that Lord Pumphrey wants to shag him:

    "You do know," Hogan said with considerable irritation, "that Lord Pumphrey is a molly?"


    "Of course I know he's a molly"


    "He can be hanged for that," Hogan observed with indecent satisfaction.


    "I still like him" Sharpe said.


    "He's a serpent. All diplomats are. Worse than lawyers."


    "He ain't stuck up," Sharpe said


    "There is nothing," Hogan said, "nothing in all the world that Lord Pumphrey wants more than to be stuck up with you, Richard."


Heh, another small mark of my evil influence, the smallest, but I'm sure it's there. Somehow, I need to collect these proofs that I existed, that I affected, not so much it's a wonderful life but from seeing my father's and even my own life's achievements purged in revisionist histories. I like to find small foot prints, even hints of one, and say I was there. Gay characters in a Sharpe book? Well, I do wonder so.


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    Carravaggio

    Even cowgirls gets the blues

    show fairy

    Hmmm, it was Thursday when I last left you. I must have gone home early, or earlyish, as I have vague memories of watching Charmed. In fact now that I think of it I did manage to get away after ten hours or so, thanks to a brilliant collaborative effort I managed to get my report and re-done and handed in on time.


    It was the 100th episode of Charmed and the exit of Cole. Rather a 'so that's it?' exit but the au story I thought was unusually well done and well thought out for Charmed, and I was entertained, but maybe it was the drugs.


    Which really hit during a double dose of SVU and as much as I love my boys I just faded away.

    There are a couple of good things about being homely. Not a lot, but at least two:

    1. I don't get sexually assaulted on public transport any more.

    2. These days the partners of my co-workers give me brownies, not threats.


    And they were such nice warm brownies, still warm from the oven.


    There's a survival tip for you: using the handle of a broom, gently edge the plate of brownies towards her. Do not make any sudden moves.


    re Sharpe or anything, I have this fear of ending up as nothing. I'm called nothing, people shun me and ignore me and make me nothing. I guess I just want some tiny shred of evidence of my being here that can't be erased entirely, because I've seen my father's life entirely erased and belittled, my own contributions written out and years of intense labour upon web pages wiped out in a key stroke. Other people get to leave DNA evidence behind but I don't have that luxury. I need to leave some tiny trace of my passing, something that says I was here, for good or bad.


    Oh, I really liked Boomtown last night. Too bad my vcr cut out before the end but when I had to scroll through nearly half an hour of rubbish at the start I knew I was in trouble. Lots of Neal and some interesting character moments, lacking the subtlety of his performance in Band of Brothers but nevertheless it had me hooked and thinking and involved and inspired, so yay Neal, because that's all I ever ask of my actors.


    Friday: I've read again how boring and distressing one can be when oversharing in one's blog, so let's just say I discovered that my stomach acids in copiuos amounts polish up the toilet bowl a sparkling white treat and that the shower scene from Psycho was unappreciated, mess wise. In other words, I didn't go into work because I was very, very unwell (Meanwhile a complete bunfight was happening on my Sharpe list but I just don't care).

    I just faded in an out, though I have fuzzy memories of that weird film in which Jesse Nilsson appears briefly was on (so I start dreaming Adventure Inc slash). My sole happy memory was finding Ordinary Decent Criminals on cable so I could at least manage a small Colin Farrell fix. Dozed through Stargate again, alas. I tried so hard to stay awake but I'd kinda OD'd again, cause I was in a lot of pain. I half slept through the prison planet one (Danny dear, Botany Bay is still Botany Bay, you're thinking of Port Jackson, and it wasn't at all like a zoo) where Jack makes Danny his bitch before anyone else does :) The other episode was the one where they have Apophis as a POW, briefly, and you get to see Daniel's teutonic temper, and his compassion, so it's a good Daniel episode, character wise, because he goes through quite a range, both good and bad, wheras Jack is just pretty much pissed off at various levels throughout the proceedings.

    Saturday: Scott Bakula has just killed over a decade's worth of goodwill with this week's drek. No wonder nobody watches Enterprise - it's terrible, it's boring and I just don't care any more.

    Smallville: Heh. Clark has this, er little problem. Whenever he gets a bit, well, hot under the collar, he just goes off, bubbling over, burning everything in sight. Fortunately Dad's on hand to give him a couple of porno mags, slap his son on he back and tells the lad to go off and practice a bit, to get things in hand, as it were. Can't have Clark going off half cocked all over the place now, can we?

    Now poor Clark's confused, or at least somebody's confused over their sexuality, and for once it ain't Clark. But Lex, she's a girl. Obviously the poor man is betwitched and indeed he is because Hathor Clone Krypto Hell Bitch (and I like Hathor so it's a huge insult) has him under her spell, the only way she can possibly come between the boys. Curiously her powers entirely fail to work on Clark, either because he's alien, gay, or both. Okay, now suddenly looking at the Stargate episode Hathor in exciting new ways - grin.

    The episode jumps abruptly (thanks EC9) to the boys greco-roman wrestling on Lex's highly polished floors, and well, all's well that ends well. Lex apologises to Clark for his infidelities and Lana and Chloe realise they're both fag hags. Oh, happy slashy days.

    Lex and Clark build their dreamhouse. Pic nicked from www.doing-the-impossible.com/smallville/ because I keep forgetting to bring in my copy to scan it. I am a bad, bad, person. So spank me.
    "And here's where I was thinking we should have the kitchen..."


    Sunday: Meant to get up but stayed firmly abed, all feverish and crampy and generally unhappy. Kept putting off the watching of the Angel until I wasn't all cross and when I would enjoy it but decided bugger it so asfter Frontier Houser, which I sit through all in the name of reasearch though I don't know why as everyone hates my fic just because Buck can't decide if he's AC or DC (neither can a lot of my froends but one isn't allowed to be confused in a fic, apparently) so I rewound the tape and whoo, more Angel goodness. This show rocks, it's just about the only show on tv right now that makes me sit up and pay attention. That I'm invested in Wesley probably helps but I just really like the way they've got all the characters playing off each other, suspicious of each other and I'm really liking the way the plot is coming together, and, whooo, Angelus is coming back. Yes! He better be wearing leather or you'll never hear the end of it.

    Coicindentally as we move further into the season in Monday night's Buffy the plot, and the gang, finally starts to come togther. Ha, told you it was that dangling plot thread from A Very Buffy Xmas. Nice insane Clockwork Spike, nice snivelling Andrew - though I still feel he's far more dangerous than Spike because Andrew, unlike Spike, is willing to do anything for obsesseion wheras Spike, in his saner moments, is over it, darling. A nice flash of old Willow as she makes a mockery of new Willow, some surprising Xander/Anya chemistry for the first time ever (but some couples are like that, better apart than together) and they worked really well togeher in their good cop/bad cop schtick. It almost redeemed them. In fact I'm liking all the cast much more than I have in a long while. Who wrote this - cause I missed the credits. Whomever is responsible managed to get a severely listing show back on track. I thought the destruction of the Watchers Council was overkill (mainly because we never explored all the possible storylines) but necessary to isolate Buffy and the gang, I guess. Last line of defence and all that. Overall, a surprisingly excellent episode, one that had me sitting up, paying attention and caring. Could my beloved BtVS be back on track? Drat, this means I'll have to buy S5 & S6 on dvd just to be complestist.

    Monday: The Show must go on. It was wet and windy and I was running a temperature of something ridiculous but this was my RDO and I was going to the show, dammit, and like hell was I staying home tucked up sensibly and watching Quincy repeats, though my Aged Parent had orders not to go too fast or wear me out. I was under orders not to collapse at the Arnotts tent again (I wilted utterly that time I went when I had glandular fever. I just couldn't miss the show and it was the last day and it was back when we had a bus to the show from the bottom of my street and I thought I could manage a couple of hours, but apparently not). After waiting forever for a bus Monday morning and the French farce at the train station (the uniformed Info guy kept sending us to the wrong platforms and trains were being cancelled and re-routed all over the place) we finally boarded the two trains required to get there (I miss my direct bus service) we slowed to yet another dead stop and I muttered about being help up by fekking Mexican bandits which prompted the woman sitting opposite to ask if I was me. Creepy, but it turned out she was the mother of an old school friend, so it was just freaky.

    It wasn't the best show experience I've had. I was tired and cranky under gun-metal grey skies and it was full of aged persons and mothers with prams, two of my very least favourite segments of the population and some of our favourite stands were MIA. Managed to breach the barricades and got Mum into see the flying pigs, though they weren't much, just a few dashes around the ring and a leap into a kiddies wadding pool. Still, mother, always fond of piglets, was amused. She was also amused as we paused by the Members Stannd, watching varios cockies stride past. I managed to find like minded Depts (I got posters!) and my goats milk soap (bought a year's supply this time) but, horrors, the croc snags shop stand was gone. Nor did the Dairy Farmers stand have any cute cow stuff, and dammit, I wanted a squishy cow keyring.

    main arenaStaggered up to the horsey arena, clutching caramel milkshakes and watched some cutting out trials, which were very entertaining, especially when one of the cattle fell down and just sat there, no matter how hard it was sworn at. After that it was around the heritage walk, which wasn't up to snuff this year but I suspected as much, having seen stalls usually associated with that location scattered about. Then it was the Food Hall and the drought really hit home with the pathetic and withered offerings in the produce displays. Scary. Usually the Food Hall is my favourite and when I woke at the show I always rove about the stalls grazing at the free samples but this time I was cranky and tired and we gave up after we found the honey stand, which had moved. Nor was my favourite chilli chocolate stand there but at least we had oysters.

    Found some show fairies at last, next to the new location for the crocodile sausages, which I would have missed had I not shot off in search of show fairy. Dad used to joke about the Summer of the 17th Doll but I'm way past that now (ahem). Even my gay friends find my show fairy collection overly camp but this year took the bicuit, the little cowgirl hat making my show fairy look well and truly dykey, but cute. Picked another more May Gibbs-ish fairy in the art & crafts pavillion which we shot through, Aged Parent now tired and fed up. The cake decorating scary, the painting and sculpture and 'folk arts' best avoided and half the photographs were alarmingly and obviously photoshopped to within an inch of their life.

    fireworksTrudged down to the main arena, just catching the end of the campdrafting (bugger) but we did get some rodeo, unfortunately happening mostly at the other end of the arena but I did get to see some allegedly champion Oz and NZ cowboys thrown from their mounts at a distance. After that it was the Holden stunt driving team, which Aged Parent loves (must take her to monster trucks) and then some woeful filler acts until the staged rural drama which this year I found overly dull. Alas it was only now that I'd remembered I'd brought my camera but all photos came out dark, boring and stagey. Bugger. Missed the horse falling over and the cattle demolishing the set, too. Alas no grand parade either: that would have been worth a photo or two. After that it was fireworks time, on time for once (I've heard them go off much later some nights) and they were spectacular.

    Then it was showbags, and much pleading to find the last Bertie Beetle doll in the show, or there'd be tears before bedtime (and I bet they knew I wasn't talking kiddie tears and fights either). The very, very nice staff at the Nestles stand found said Bertie doll in the highlight of the evening. Out to a taxi, forgetting to pick up another flashy thing for catching the bus in the morning, and home, with barely enough time for a cup of tea before Buffy started: I missed the first five minutes or so. Oh well, my vcr was taping it, hopefully.

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  • SMITHS
    You're the Smiths. Like Cure, you're not
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    What Goth Band Are You?
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  • You are now entering the fic zone. Magbificent Seven part seven, a bitlet thereof. Rated M for angst, implied violence and unorthodox cuddling. I think you'll be able to see just how messy it's going to get.

    Okay, fic notes (these will no doubt contain adult themes): Ezra's family is killed by a rival gang. Ezra tracks down the man responsible but Chris kills him, not wanting Ezra to have the blood on his hands. Ezra though sets up the two rival gangs, lets them kill each other and walks away with the money.

      Buck left Ezra lying alone in the middle of their bed, helpless to do anything, and quietly exited the room. He found Chris and Vin waiting on the landing, sympathy etched in their faces.

      "How is he?" Vin had to ask, knowing he was intruding, but fretting over Ezra's wellbeing too much not to.

      Buck exhaled, leant back against the door and shook his head.

      "I don't know. He's barely said a word to me."

      "Man's grievin'," Chris surmised bluntly.

      Buck shot him a look and Vin could see a lot of history, bad history, ripple between Chris and Buck without a word being spoken. This whole business had stirred up dark memories for both men. Chris was revisiting old hurts and Buck, Buck was just torn apart. Bad enough he'd had to help Chris bury his family, now he'd helped bury Ezra's family, too. Buck had lost his friendship with Chris over the graves of his wife and child, and it had taken him a long time to earn it back.

      Buck was afraid he'd lose Ezra just the same way. He was afraid he was cursed. Both times he'd kept the men from their families, both times he'd accepted more than his share of the blame. Buck was grieving almost as hard as Ezra. He'd not only been a part of the strange little family, there'd been some thought that the child might have been his, until she'd popped out all orange curls, bright green eyes and dimples. There had been no doubt as to who her father was after that. It didn't stop Buck doting on her and spoiling her rotten.

      As unlikely as it was, Ezra had fathered a daughter. Now she had been taken from him, and Buck held himself to blame, keeping Ezra in town, keeping Ezra with him when he should have been in Kansas City with his family. That Ezra and Emma had been happy to lead their independent lives made no nevermind any more. Ezra had lost his family, and now Buck feared he was losing Ezra, piece by piece, moment by moment. The closed door between them was only the start. He'd been through this all before. Chris had fought hard against his grief, getting bitter drunk and mean, rather than Ezra's eerily quiet acceptance, but the sentiment had been the same. Chris was too often reminded of his loss when he looked at Buck. Now Ezra would be the same.

      Chris saw all this pass through Buck's eyes and he reached out, placing a hand on Buck's shoulder.

      "Weren't your fault. You couldn't have known. You can't be responsible for what some crazy murdering bastard has done."

      Another long look passed between the two men, and Vin could see Buck grab onto Chris' forgiveness with both hands, lean and sparing though it was. He turned into Chris, and Chris, never one to give much of himself these days, held him tight, knowing he needed to do this, as much for his own sake as for Buck's.

      "Weren't your fault," he soothed, brushing his cheek against Buck's. Gently, he made Buck look at him and pay him mind. "Weren't your fault. You couldn't have known. We all pretend like we've got forever."

      Buck buried his face into Chris' shoulder's and let a dreadful sob loose, and Chris was about the only thing holding him up.

      Embarrassed by the breaking of the dam of emotions between Buck and Chris, Vin slipped quietly into Ezra's room. He sat quietly on the bed and ran a hand along Ezra's arm, just so he'd know he was there in the dim gloom. Not that Ezra wasn't perfectly aware of Vin, he just didn't have the strength to react.


      Vin began rubbing his hand down Ezra's back, as though calming a spooked horse, and Ezra rolled over at last, though whether to stop him or to acknowledge him, Vin wasn't sure. He couldn't see Ezra's face, not clearly in the darkness, only the white of his shirt, now slightly rumpled.

      Vin wanted to light a lamp but he knew that was the last thing Ezra needed. He could feel Ezra watching him with those eyes that saw more than they ever let on. That was one of the few things they had in common.

      Vin knew now it would have never have worked out between Ezra and him. He loved the feel and smell of Ezra but Ezra was so different, a breed apart from Vin Tanner. Ezra was a fancy city boy through and through and at least in Buck he had someone more than capable of helping him run his enterprises. Vin was barely literate and he knew he'd have never have been able to help out Ezra the way Buck did.

      His feelings for Ezra had never gone away, though. They'd banked down, but he still felt their warmth like an old hearth. Ezra must have felt the same way because he reached out a hand to Vin in a wordless gesture. Vin took it and held it and lay down beside Ezra, holding him close. There was nothing overtly sexual in his embrace, only comfort. Ezra needed to feel the living warmth of someone who loved him. Only wrapped in Vin's arms did Ezra finally manage to fall asleep.

     

    Carravaggio

    A tale of two Colins

    You know it's not just my friend in Seattle who teases me about finding more age appropriate drooling fodder, but, well, bugger it. I like Colin Firth quite a bit (mr Darcy, swoooon...) but he's a crusty curmudgeonly old fart. Well he is. Dear little Colin Farrell meanwhile just lights up the screen and is fekking hilarious anytime he opens his gob. I just love him. He makes me laugh out loud every time and precious little does that these days. So what does it matter? Colin is a million miles away and neither knows nor cares that he made me laugh after a particularly crappy day at work (Irish co-worker threatened to lock me in a dark cupboard if I didn't do what she wanted, I said sure, fine, whatever and she started cooing, as I was obviously all pouty and miserable and fed up to the back teeth). Colin's sound bite involved the old 'now I have an action figure I can play with myself' wheeze, but given the Farrell spin, obviously. Neither will Colin ever know or care that for two nights this week I was in bed feeling very poorly and he was in cable and he made me forget everything for a little while. There is no greater gift and you can't help me loving him for that. That's all we ever ask of actors, to transport us from our cares for an hour or two, and we love the ones who do take us on these little side trips.

    I mean, it's not like I'm going to start stalking the boy or anything. With the hours I've worked lately, I don't even have time to wash my socks or read the headlines on a newspaper. I've worked all my hours The next three days are freebies. This is where I sulk and pout and imagine better things I could do with my time, like finish a fic, read a book, watch another Colin movie.

    That's why I love and will gladly pay for my cable. The video shops and dvd racks around here are so piss poor, ditto the lone cinema, that cable is the only way I get to see most films these days, never mind the time poor factor. Colin at 11pm after everyone else has gone to bed? Don't mind if I do.

    So that's what I did yesterday. I was so green I wanted to get home at lunch but I had to stick it out and it took me two bus rides to get home (I had to stagger off one and be sick, and wait/wobble/walk for the next) so I scraped home in time to catch Ivan Sergei on E!, only the gods still hated me because Foxtel crapped out entirely, for the duration of the interview and no longer. Bugger. Then the gods must have thought they'd pushed it too much as I sulked and pouted through Relic Hunter (nice art deco hotel and obligatory naked Nigel shot) because then I was treated to a Colin sound bite on TV1 followed by Tigerland. Okay, followed by Farscape then I watched the repeated of Tigerland on #33 but you get the gist of it. Warning: this fim may contain a naked and swearing Paddy. Not really having a problem, personally - grin. I really liked it. It said what it wanted to, no messing about, no padding. I really enjoyed the direct, linear, no frills bells or whistles character study. It was like a bottle episode as a movie. Yep, I liked it a lot, Colin flesh notwithstanding :)

    Heh, just realised yesterday's post was about cowgirls and included a rant about Hathor. Heh. Hathar? Cowgirls? Boom tish? Oh, forget it. Hmph. Hey, you'd try to be amused at the smallest thing too if your brand new DG just sent you an email saying aside from the 5 million typos you made yersterday evening he finds your work adequate. I'm off to a great start, and to think I thought not throwing up in my rubbish bin was my highest priority yesterday.

    Grrr. First my milk gets nicked, then a pen, now my papers (and one had pics of Colin & Orlando in it. when have I ever not made it clear that theft from my desk will result in the loss of a body part? Grumble and dark mutterings. Not quite the mood to want to go easter shopping in but one must and I can't help it if I'm all cloth headed and cranky because I've been violently ill since the brownies. Hmmmm...


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