mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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ninjas don't bounce

I was going to be all pissy and grumpy but right now I'm bouncing (and squelching) up and down in my seat humming "they're not singing for Eng-land" and other made up words to avery lame yet sadly familiar tune because my boys the Kaisers have done me proud. No need to gather up their records and burn them on a pyre, like New Order or the Bunnies, fer instance, because they turned down doing the world cup song. Hooray. Finally, a band I don't have to be hideously embaressed about. And the Kaisers at that. Whodathunkit.

I mean, Ian McCulloch and the Spice Girls? It's still enough to make my poor brain implode at the very thought, never mind the horrid reality.

Yesterday was weird. It was like someone has messed around with photoshop filters in my head. Well, you know how shamans will inflict intense pain and vomit for hours to get into the zone? Well, when I have a really, really bad period, that's where I end up, wandering about in surroundings that look different, that are shorter, taller, darker, not quite right and sounding and smelling strange and I feel like I'm walking like some weird, double exposed film effect. And that was before I took the painkillers. Very unreal.

In that state I slumped into bed and turned on the telly, and found one of those blind master fillums. Top notch cheesy stuff, slicing and dicing samurai and ninjas left right and centre, with bonus tranny gheisha. But wait, there's more: it finished with a big dance number, no, really, with the whole cast tap dancing to a rap song in kimonos and sandals. Really. I was tickled. Sadly, no one believes me, but I really did see such a sight. I might have even been agog had I not grown up watching Monkey.

Not to mention what my Dad used to call Easterns, meaning Japanese, or any other Asian film following the conventions of the American western. Which is why I have some vague familiarity with Japanese film from the 50s-70s. It's all Dad's fault. He also hooked me on Westerns and The Sweeney and The Professionals (and you know where that led). He was also the Doctor Who freak of the house. Being an ex-pat household, I grew up watching loads and loads of Brit telly. So much so that the old Thames theme is weirdly comforting. So much so that I actually get all the Life on Mars jokes about the open university tv, Roger Whittaker, Basil Brush and even that origami show that was wrenched from infant memory and then debased two seconds later by Ray (LoM revels in being wicked and cruel, which is why I like it).

Mother just gave me soaps, musicals and when I was a suckling babe, used to leave me in front of Dark Shadows because it kept me quiet. So my whole Angel obssession is a complete mystery to me - grin.

But I digress, again.

Next up I watched Garden State, which I'd not seen, waiting for it to show up on cable. At last, eh? Sadly, about an hour or so into I conked out, completely and utterly, so I'll never know what it was about, but up until then, I was mellow enough to enjoy it, and I feel I made the right decision, it was the sort of small film that's perfect for bedrooms but crap in a cinema, and besides, no art film is allowed to play within 100Km of my residence, so there was no chance of seeing it that way, anyway.

From what I did see, I certainly think the Life on Mars folks might have seen this film. The split mirror scene at the the begining reminded me very strongly of Sam's "Real, Unreal" bit (which is one of my fave scenes in LoM, though I have so many it's easier to list least favourites), and the way scenes melted from one to the other, thematically, and the unreality of it, the whole you can't go home again thing. I'd definitely rate it as an influence on the show. Now I just don't know how I'm ever going to see the rest of it (sign up for the local version of netflix I suppose).

So that was yesterday evening, being violently unwell, trippy tv watching, then slumping suddenly into unconsciousness. At least I didn't wake up to to that very creepy test pattern bitch on the tv. That would have been just a touch too much in my delicate condition (see, I can empathise with Sam).

Actually, speaking of which, I was just having a quick re-read of shamanism to make sure I had my fact's straight, and, well, it just struck me as, well, oddly Sam-like, not that I really want to go down that road (been there, done that with my many unfinished Miracles fics, where Paul Callan was hit by a train, also received Scrooge like ghostly nocturnal visits and was quite possibly insane), but:

"A shaman may be initiated via a serious illness, by being struck by lightning, or by a near-death experience (e.g., the shaman Black Elk), and there usually is a set of cultural imagery expected to be experienced during shamanic initiation regardless of method. According to Mircea Eliade, such imagery often includes being transported to the spirit world and interacting with beings inhabiting it, meeting a spiritual guide, being devoured by some being and emerging transformed, and/or being "dismantled" and "reassembled" again, often with implanted amulets such as magical crystals. The imagery of initiation generally speaks of transformation and granting powers, and often entails themes of death and rebirth.

In some societies shamanic powers are considered to be inherited, whereas in others shamans are considered to have been "called": Among the Siberian Chukchis one may behave in ways that Western clinicians would characterize as psychotic, but which Siberian culture interprets as possession by a spirit who demands that one assume the shamanic vocation. Among the South American Tapirape shamans are called in their dreams. In other societies shamans choose their career: First Nations would seek communion with spirits through a "vision quest"; South American Shuar, seeking the power to defend their family against enemies, apprentice themselves to accomplished shamans.

Shamanic illness, also called shamanistic inititatory crisis, is a psycho-spiritual crisis, or a rite of passage, observed among those becoming shamans. The episode often marks the beginning of a time-limited episode of confusion or disturbing behavior where the shamanic initiate might sing or dance in an unconventional fashion, or have an experience of being "disturbed by spirits". The symptoms are usually not considered to be signs of mental illness by interpreters in the shamanic culture; rather, they are interpreted as introductory signposts for the individual who is meant to take the office of shaman (Lukoff, 1992)."
- Wiki

Okay, now that's just plain creepy, that is. And, since I'm being weird today, I wonder about whether or not I have to put warnings about death fics in my LoM fic, given that, if the Jacob's Ladder namechecks are clues, Sam could already be dead, or what if he's dead in one timeline/reality but not another? Too confusing by half, and I really hate those 'give away the plot twist' warnings, anyway.

But back onto the silly stuff, and it's time for a bit of raspberry blowing. When I posted the tv tough guy pic of John to the LoM list and I joked that he was doing his very best Bodie face, because he so is, I was told I was wrong and stupid.

But check this out:

"I remember The Professionals too. If there's anything in my head about the way Sam looks and acts, for me it's Bodie, as played by Lewis Collins."
- Q&A: John Simm

I was spot on, actually, if you'd care to notice. From the lips of Simm himself. So there (insert I told you so expression and gestures here). And so very Bodie. Giggle. Chortle. Snort. I can really, really see it at times. It tickles me no end.

And he's a Bodie Fan. Hee.

Meanwhile, gah. I'm not on my best form today, obviously, and yet even my normally most reliable associates are handing me sows ears and expecting silk purses, and right now, if you please. Worse, choopers roaring everywhere for that American bitch that's in town. I loathe her. I loathe living in a puppet state. I loathe everything about it.

I am tense and annoyed. I shall go and peek at the Gene Genie again. He makes me happy.

It's weird. It's like I want to fuck John, but marry Phil, and I know it's coming from a place of raw biology and I could find you studies on how most women, if they're honest, prefer different types for shagging or living with (great A type fucks make lousy companions, apparently), but right now I'm tired, bleeding and busy and I can't be arsed, but there might be more Phil than John in the dvd programme tonight. I've had enough intense, crazy bastards today, thank you. A bit of Byron or Vanity Fair it is, then.
The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi
Garden State,,4-2006120246,00.html
Chiefs snub World Cup song (finally a band spares me the cringing emabressment, and yes, Ian and Bernard, I am looking at you)
World in Motion
From England's shame to Hall of Fame
An object lesson in Numan behaviour
Journalism's public image
Life on Mars
Q&A: John Simm
Enigma project cracks second code
Singing frog's 'ultrasonic croak'
Your Veronica Mars Questions Answered!
AOL tv
Young Riders
Confessions of an Ewok mass-murderer
Six volunteers critically ill after drug trial goes awry
The Professionals
Lewis Collins
Not my blog, says Clooney
Dinosaur egg smuggler fined
Out of the foul mouths of babes, some truth about bigotry
The signal is clear: do not adjust your sets

from Fans of Life on Mars

Tags: life on mars, sam tyler

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