I Can Haz Daniel Craig, Plz?

No that I'm tooting my own horn, or anything

But someone looking for Chuck/Casey fanfiction spent an awful lot of time on my site (thank you, Google Analytics!). I am sorry to report I have none here, though if you're interested I've done quite a bit of searching on my own, and believe me, it's a desert out there. There's just not much to see and what is there is mostly (I'm sorry to say) crap. I hope whatever else you read here interested you, though.

But, in order to keep up with my return to fanfiction love (after a 5 year hiatus), I have opened a livejournal account that I'm hoping (sometime after the 4th) to turn into a fanfic rec page. If you (glorious anonymous you!) have any recommendations you'd like to share, feel free to drop me a line:

goddessdster[at]gmail[dot]com

The above email can of course be used by anyone desirous of more personal correspondence. Because you know all 10 of you want to talk to me personally.Yeah.

More later. And I promise not to mention LOCI once!

Image via ChuckTV.

Well I had to say something eventually

I'm not really sad about Chris Noth leaving LOCI. He wanted to be gone; so be it. Have fun with that movie career, Chris. And yes, I do thank you for helping to keep LOCI on the air for another 3 years - the three weakest years, but whatev.

I do, however, take issue with his replacement. Not only (as Lozzie Cap has speculated) does Goldblum seem to be prime for taking on the role of "quirky detective" now that VDO's being all moody and broody, but possibly Goldblum could be the lead to take over for VDO after the eighth season. I think Lozzie has some thoughts here that are worth examining. But that is besides the point. If the writing continues to suck ass as much as it has for the past two seasons, I'm not going to be watching once Vincent leaves anyway.

But would it kill the producers to think about bringing in a strong female lead to partner with Wheeler (or whomever wants to take the musical Logan's-partner chair)? Does there always have to be this male/female partner dynamic? At one time, we didn't think so. And considering the sausage fest the Mothership was when it first started, it would be refreshing to see Dick Wolf keep taking those steps forward. Television reflects back to culture what we wish were the truth, or what we believe to be the truth. Well I wish to see some more women kicking all kinds of ass in something other than a plunging neckline (love you Marg Helgenberger, but do they paint those clothes on you?).

The eighth season will play out. And I will be surprised or annoyed. Unless, of course, the actor's strike puts yet another hold on things. Blech.

Now on to the pointlessness

I completely and totally forgot about Get Smart.

I remember my birthday, filled with hot, stifling air and surprise presents, and the greatest surprise of having had fun at the end of it all.

I remember standing in line at the movie theater, annoyed the movie was starting in 20 minutes and they hadn't let us in yet. I remember the chocolate peanut butter milkshake that tasted of unicorns and rainbows (though not literally, as we all know unicorns taste like chicken).

I remember leaving the movie theater and going to the store to pick up stuff for the bar-b-que at Stevie's house, watching GhostBusters while eating ribs, playing with Deuce, the wonder puppy, going home, sweating and grumpy because I didn't feel like watching the LOCI that had aired that night, and instead watched the end of GhostBusters, happy I had switched it on just as Venkman was saying, "So...She's a dog."

I remember every moment I have experienced since then, even the weird-ass dream I had last night wherein I was an immigrant and no one could understand me except this old black man.

But try as I might today, I couldn't remember the name of the movie I had seen that Sunday afternoon. I couldn't even remember who was in it, a scene from it, or the music. Any of those would have been clue enough. It wasn't until I went to the Alamo Drafthouse's website that I was able to remember what I had seen.

Which is, to me, a strong indicator of whether or not a movie impacted me at all.

Which has nothing whatsoever to do with whether or not a movie is good. Just memorable. I enjoyed Get Smart well enough for what it was while I was watching it, but it wasn't a memorable sort of enjoyment. There was no...resonance. The last time our air conditioning broke we saw Pirates III and I still remember how much I enjoyed myself.

Other movies I forgot I saw (until someone reminded me):

• Zodiac (forgot within minutes of walking out of the theater)
• Be Kind Rewind (remembered for about 2 days then forgot until the other day when I saw it out on DVD)
• Sweeney Todd (made myself forget)
• The Prestige (talked about it for about 2 hours, then forgot I saw it until someone brings it up)

And probably there are others that I've - you guessed it - forgotten.

I spend an unnatural amout of time watching godawful crap on the Sci-Fi channel and love every minute of it. I also enjoy summer blockbuster season. I love Very Serious Movies that are supposed to make us think, or see the world in a different light (though I'm getting quite tired of the earnest exploitative depravity of the latter, but that's a subject for another post). I love being entertained, and as long as I don't feel I've actually lost brain cells in the process of watching something (such as Old School), I consider any movie time well spent. But if I forget a movie existed, even after I've lost the hours I've invested in seeing it, well, it kind of pisses me off. Of course, I only get pissed off once I remember I'd forgotten, but still.

I think it's a very personal subject - movie tastes. No one really feels the need to criticize my book loves, or what TV shows I watch. But everyone seems to have an opinion on my opinions of movies. I too am quite opinionated about movies and am unafraid of express them, but I don't care whether or not others agree with me.

For example: The Departed? Most Overrated Movie of 2006. Not afraid to say it. Will not change my mind no matter how many people exclaim, "You crazy?!?" Don't care how brilliant you thought it was.

I also think the cult of Chuck Palaniuk needs to die (he's not that cutting edge talented), that The Da Vinci Code (the book) is moronic no matter how many people I respect tell me how enjoyable it is (if I want to not think, I will watch the Sci-Fi channel, thank you), and that Michael Crichton needs to. just. stop. I hate issues novels for teens and The Berenstain Bears because they're preachy as shit.

But most people don't care about all that. Well, some people would. But. Booklovers are generally more interested in sharing opinions - even differing ones - than convincing others how wrong they are for having opinions that don't match the consensus.

Movie lovers? Totally different breed. Kind of scary, actually. When I tell someone I hated The Unforgiven, I'm not saying I thought it was a bad movie. What I'm saying is, "This movie depressed the shit out of me, taught me nothing about the human condition I didn't already know, took itself way too seriously, and left me wanting to slit my wrists - the right way - at the end." Why would I love a movie like that? Why would someone else care so much that I hated it? Does my opinion invalidate yours? Are people really that insecure? Do I love asking stupid questions?

Yes I do. Gotta problem with that?

Some linking fun

More actual pointlessness about my life later.

Literary Classics summarized in 3 lines:

The Lion, the Witch
and the Wardrobe

C.S. LEWIS: Finally, a utopia ruled by children and populated by talking animals.

THE WITCH: Hi, I'm a sexually mature woman of power and confidence.

C.S. LEWIS: Ah! Kill it, lion Jesus!

I am unashamed about my PC:

And you know what? Macs are too hip. Oh, look at me! I do graphic design! I wear women's jeans and hang out in coffee shops! I'm a DJ! Well good for you. My computer is not a fashion statement. It's a computer.

I never have perfected the booknap:

A booknap is not simply reading and then sleeping in sequential order. If you set your book or magazine aside, rolled over and slept you have not booknapped.

Random in the key of D (flat)

FAIL.

Yes, that's me. And I welcome all derision. Because I have not watched the most recent Goren episode of LOCI yet. It is dutifully sitting in my DVR waiting for me to press play. As a result, I have not visited any of the VDO and LOCI-related sites I normally visit. I miss you guys, but I hate being spoiled.

Of course there is a reason. There is always a reason.

You see, when you live in the South and your air conditioner breaks and your city has just broken some record for most days in a row with 100+ degree temps, you kind of don't feel like sitting at home watching TV. Or reading. Or doing much of anything that involves more than breathing and letting your heart beat.

Oh, it's fixed now. And you know what I wanted to do first? Well, sleep, actually, but I also wanted to read. Read. Read! I missed books more than Bobby Goren. Yes I did. [for those interested: John Burdett's latest Bangkok book, William Gibson's Spook Country, and - thanks to Leila from Bookshelves of Doom - I am addicted to the E. Lockhart Boys series (also, when you visit Leila, be sure to check out her awesome T-shirts, I am the proud owner of one proclaiming Heathcliff to be a prat - so very true)]

But I have a question: did anyone else read a series of books when they were kids featuring triplets named Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka? I think they were picture books in the vein of Dick and Jane, but I'm having trouble placing them. Not that I think they were high literature for kids, it's just when I ran the kids department of mega bookstore chain, I had too much fun connecting with favorites from my childhood (specifically Harriet the Spy, The Westing Game, and Trixie Belden), but couldn't find anything about those oddly named triplets.

So I wrap this exercise in absolute pointlessness (and waste of your time) by introducing you to why I love The Guardian's online books section: The Digested Read. Funny!

Oh and one more thing: Knowing is half the battle. Truth.



Because you can never have just one:



Have a nice day.

I love love LOVE quizzes!

Your result for The What Middle Earth race do you belong to Test...

Elf

You scored 0% Size & Strength, 76% Morality, 53% Aggression, and 71% Intelligence.

You're an Elf! You scored low in size, high in morality, high in aggression and high in intelligence to get here. The first and favorite race created by the Valar, the Elves have been in Middle Earth for many ages, and are currently the only race allowed to join their creators in Valinor. Blessed with eternal life, enhanced senses, great beauty, wisdom and skill, the race of Elves still has several black marks on it. (Kinslaying, anyone?) But hey, no one is perfect, right? Of course not, but the Elves are damn close to it.

FYI, your polar opposite is the Troll.

Take The What Middle Earth race do you belong to Test at HelloQuizzy

Things I hate (and the opposite) - the pop culture edition

So really I felt like ranting. Then I didn't. On most days I do hate more than two things. I just can't think of anymore at the moment, Firefox keeps shutting down on me, and I don't want to lose the post waiting for hate I'm apparently not feeling to inspire me. Because that's just not what should inspire anyone. So I'll start with the short list and move to the fun stuff. Feel free to add yours in the comments.

Things I hate:
1. Those epilepsy-inducing Lewis Black ads on my computer. Not only do they jitter around, they put into hyperdrive what I despise about Lewis Black in general. It's not that I don't agree with him at times, it's that I DON'T LIKE BEING YELLED AT ALL THE TIME!!! AREN'T YOU HATING THIS? We get that you're angry, Lewis; perhaps more people would listen to you if you'd lower your voice.

2. Everybody Loves Raymond was one of the most mean-spirited television shows ever created. If I had been born into a family that spent so much energy sniping at each other as these do, I would have slit my wrists when I was 13. And as an old married lady, I can attest that truly healthy marriages do not consist of you and your partner communicating through sarcastic mind-fuck jabs. That the American public ate this shit up for almost a decade (and still does in syndication) speaks volumes to me about how little respect we have for ourselves.


Things I love:

1. Steampunk anything! I know that now it will suffer from overkill that anything with wide notice starts to achieve, but I still think that shit looks cool.

2. Being able to follow creepy stories like this one through newsreaders (6! A sixth foot was found!).

3. Geek culture reigns supreme at last.

4. Adam Baldwin. I have been a fan of his without knowing who he is for years. No, I'm not going to pretend I knew who that guy playing that military tool in Independence Day was all 56,000 times I saw it. It wasn't until his appearance on Angel as the slyly smarmy Marcus Hamilton that I started to think, "Hey! I think I have a little crush on this big tall actor guy who isn't VDO! Hey! He was My Bodyguard, and Mother! Hey!" Yeah. I'm slow like that. And as I didn't catch up with Firefly until way after the fact (sue me, I'm a Joss fanatic, but I also worked retail and it disappeared in a blink), I fell in love with Jayne after everyone else was saying, "Yeah? So?" I have never claimed to be one with the Innovators, folks. I'm usually an Early Adopter, but sometimes life gets in the way.
And now he is once again stealing my heart as John Casey on Chuck. No one makes throwing a computer monitor in a guy's face look nearly as appealing. Plus, he is literally one of the hardest working actors in Hollywood, appearing in movies, TV shows, in guest spots (anyone see the season finale of CSI:NY?), and fan conventions. I get the feeling the guy hates being idle and I have much respect for that (even if our politics don't jibe).

5. Bart Campolo's posts on the God's Politics blog. Bart puts a capital H in humility as he explores what it is to love those others consider unloveable.

6. My DVR - how many times have you saved me and my sad little world with your ability to record and save TV shows and movies? I would have been so on the ball with that Firefly thing if you have been a part of my life then. It has only improved. Because now, I can have both a life and be a sad television-addicted couch potato. I love you, DVR!

7. Finding strangers's blogs through luck, linking, Google Alerts, and happenstance, and seeing the world through many different perspectives. Sometimes I feel we can't truly know the world - and therefore ourselves - without first seeing it through the eyes of a stranger. These blogs allow me to do that in these disconnected times.

8. Who doesn't love LOLCats?

And the mystery continues...

A fifth human foot was found off a beach in Canada. This time it was a leftie (the other four were right feet). This article doesn't say whether or not the foot was also clad in running shoes. I still say...creepy.

On another note: It seems to be business as usual for LOCI's Logan/Wheeler episodes. Poor acting, shoddy scripts, and a pointless meandering plot that ended in a sort of WTF was that all about, and why do I care? denouement. Music Wench stated she was looking forward to Wheeler's return for the lighter aspect she brings to her half of the show. I say the jury's still out. I don't blame Julianne Nicholson as much as I used to. The scene where Wheeler questions a possible rape victim was quite powerful in its understated display of empathy (almost ruined by the piss-poor acting of the young woman playing the victim). But improved lead acting doesn't an entire show make. As long as the storylines continue to be muddled and lack any depth or character, I will continue to watch with a look of complete incredulity. The preview for next week's Goren/Eames didn't even excite me as it used to. I am woefully afraid for the rest of this season.

The Writing Class, by Jincy Willett

Jincy Willett writes some of the most perfect short stories I have ever read. But, until The Writing Class was released last week, you couldn't read them unless you found a used copy of her collection somewhere (now thankfully re-released). That this reality of the literary world is so clearly reflected in the life of Amy Gallup, protagonist of this mystery/satire, helps or hinders the novel. I haven't decided which.

Amy is a writer whose work has been out of print for decades. Her rising star peaked early, and various circumstances (which the reader becomes privy to) caused a writer's block of epic proportions. She makes her living various ways, including teaching a writing class through a University extension course, and has lost the joy of living. That Amy is a good writing teacher is unimportant, those classes are too often filled with people who couldn't write their way out of a paper bag. But her advice to the class is advice to the reader as well. "Always assume what you're reading is 100% fictional," she warns her class (and the reader). And a good warning it is, considering how even the physical description of Amy fits Willett to a T. It would be all too easy to assume this is a novel about Jincy Willett, brilliant, but little seen author.

Amy is a contradiction: she admonishes the class for creating two-dimensional characters when she is doing the same with her students (The Jock, The Pompous One, The Retired Teacher), and for awhile they live up to their cardboard cut-outs. The novel swims along with a slight edge of menace (as all writing workshops have one of those, trust me) until Amy and the reader find out this particular class is hiding a prankster with possibly psychotic designs on the class. When the class is canceled, the students rally together (knowing one of them is possibly dangerous), because as they said, "We're having fun!" All is not fun, though, but in the process, Amy finds out about the hidden depths of humanness, the surprising joy of being liked, and uncovers her own hidden demons. Oh yes, there is a murder or two as well.

I loved this book so much I actually read it in a 24 hour period. I had to keep going, see if my suspicions were correct (they weren't), and know what happens next. Which is, to me, the most important element for any novel to have. That aching grip that clenches your heart or bowels and keeps those pages turning. What happens next?

It's not just the mystery aspect. The passages in which the class is dissecting a story are just as riveting. Some of the stories (of which the reader gets an excerpt) are horrific and true. Anyone who has taken a writing class will feel instant recognition, not only for the stories, but the uncomfortable silences that occur in a workshop setting when no one want to speak up first.

But the mystery is what hinges it all together. Everyone is a suspect to everyone else and the reader (except Amy, who receives oddly chilling phone calls in the middle of the night - playing on her fears), except we like these characters, they become more than the two-dimensional caricatures Amy assigns to them at the beginning and we find it difficult to see any of them in a possibly murderous light. And through this all there is Amy, struggling against her loner instincts, finding herself in the middle of a community that actually wants her, facing her own prankster demons.

Of course this novel is exceedingly well-written, Jincy Willett is talented. At first, I wasn't certain the mystery/workshop drama was going to work, then I wasn't sure how it was going to work. Somehow it did and I - glassy eyed and pleased - closed my book at 1:30 in the morning and sighed. Because, really, that's all I could do.

Do Not Attempt at Home (or work, or your friend's house, or anywhere else, for that matter...)

via the brother

The (Current) Reading List

Stuff I'm currently reading/contemplating reading:

I'm still lookin' at Ink Exchange, by Melissa Marr, with about 75 pages left. I know I could just sit and finish it before I'm done with my Saturday morning coffee, but my recent training schedule coupled with that whole job/life thing has made big chunks of time rare lately. Plus, I'm still not sure I'm ready to swim in that dark place with Leslie right now.

On a YA note: I've been hanging on to three other YA urban fantasy novels for a couple of months now: Eclipse, by Stephanie Meyer; City of Bones, by Cassandra Clare; and The Last Days, by Scott Westerfeld (a personal favorite). All are part of a series: Last Days is a sequel - sort of - to the brilliant Peeps, Bones is part 1 of the Mortal Instruments series, and if you don't know about the Twilight series, I'm not sure whether to kiss or heckle you.

I don't know what it is that draws me to one book over another when it comes time for reading. It helps if I have some idea what I'm getting myself into, plot-wise, and the plots of many YA fantasy books are unfortunately similar, so sometimes it's as much a matter of vampires? or fairies? that makes my decision for me.

• I have been avoiding continuing the Twilight series for several reasons, primary of which is the disturbing power dynamics of Bella's relationships with both Jacob and Edward. As a survivor of an abusive relationship from my teens, I know all too well how a romantically overblown, but disturbingly imbalanced relationship in a popular novel makes the all-too-real ones feel normal and right to teen girls. Considering the volunteer work I do with survivors of domestic violence, it makes me feel a little sick inside that it has become so popular. So Eclipse sits at the bottom of my pile and probably will for awhile.
• Last Days will be fun and smart and sexy. I know this because that's what Westerfeld delivers with glorious consistency. I think I'm waiting to start this one when I know I have the time to finish it in one sitting.
• I've read mixed reviews of Bones, so while I picked it up almost on reflex when it came out in trade paperback, I'm going to start it probably when I have nothing else in the YA TBR pile (except Eclipse).

I received Jincy Willett's The Writing Class yesterday. As I had just finished the third Maisie Dobbs novel (still brilliant, still refreshing - even when sad), I am eager and ready to dive in. I also have Sharp Teeth, a novel in verse that is (sort of) about werewolf packs in East L.A. It is one I have picked up and put down so many times it was inevitable that my friend AMC sent it along in one of our book exchanges.

As I'm doing a lot of reading for my volunteer training, I'm only diving into one non-fiction right now, but diving I am. Savoring the Salt: The Legacy of Toni Cade Bambara is more than a collection of essays, poems, and personal anecdotes devoted to one of the most audacious, brilliant, and important forces in the feminist black arts movement of the sixties and seventies, it is an introduction to a woman who would not let herself be pinned down to any one label, and a legacy of how important her work was and remains (even 13 years after her death) to those who worked with and studied under her. For anyone who read and loved TCB's Gorilla, My Love, or anyone who needs an introduction to independent black filmmaking from the seventies, or for someone who wants to be introduced to someone who (even in death) can inspire and educate, pick up a copy of Savoring the Salt and open your eyes.

(btw, sorry that last paragraph had so many run-on sentences. I tend to get all talkative when I'm excited)

But, Goddessdster, what happened to those book reviews you promised? you ask. Well...reviews are always brewing in my brain about books I've read as far back as six months. If anyone wants a specific review, feel free to ask and I will try to provide. But in all honesty, they actually take more energy than my regular whiny posts, so I have to plan them out in advance, which is something I rarely have time for these days.

But then again, one never knows. I may decide tomorrow you all just need to know what I think about something I've read. Until then...

Monday Night

The husband went to see The Cure in Houston, and then wrote a pretty kick-ass blog about it.

Oh, and another thing

from Amends (7.1)

Thank you, Kathryn Erbe, for not going down the Botox- and Restylane- laden road so many of your fellow actors are traipsing. It is beyond refreshing to see a woman comfortably in her thirties (I'm assuming) who is not afraid to allow her face to move and make expressions, who doesn't feel she has to plump up her lips to be more appealing, and who can smile without looking like The Joker (Meg Ryan, I'm lookin' at you!). I say I watch LOCI for D'Onofrio, but you have won me over as well.

Sometime this week I am going to watch Purgatory again and then I'll be able to process what I'm thinking about it. For the most part, I was unimpressed, but I didn't hate it. It didn't take me where I wanted to go; I felt for the most part it was literally a wrap-up episode - like those ones you see when a show is canceled and the producers don't want to leave any loose ends? Not that there weren't any loose ends, but the point of this episode was obviously to get Bobby back to Major Case, so blammo! there he is. Whatever. I am more interested in seeing he and his partner solve some crimes, a prospect made more interesting now by the increased tension between them.

Anyway, I'm not going to say anything more until I watch it again and then we'll see.
Edited to add: I just found out Ms. Erbe is 41, and she looks mighty fine.

My gift to you today

...is a reminder that sometimes we citizens of the U.S. do not have all the answers. I work in philanthropy, specifically for a foundation that provides support to grassroots organizations in El Salvador. We have an amazing group of donors who have worked hard to understand that we are not the ones saving poor people in El Salvador; they are doing that for themselves with projects they conceived, study, test, educate, and implement. What we do is provide the funds so that their work can continue until they are self-sufficient. It is not our job to tell them how to save their own people. International donors need to understand this before they send out that check. You are not saving anyone. You are providing the means so they can save themselves.

Right now, things in Burma are a mess and the news that gets out sounds worse and worse. International aid ships are turned away daily. Air-dropped food and supplies are stolen by the junta and used for their own purposes. It is too easy to see this and allow ourselves to wonder in despair how we can ever help. What will happen to those poor Burmese people? Well, of course, they are doing what those poor people in Africa did long before Bono came along: they are saving themselves. The following is a letter shared on the God's Politics Blog. Please read it and keep in mind sometimes we don't hold all the solutions:

As Westerners we want Western solutions for Burma. We want planes to fly in supplies to save people who we know could be saved. We live in a world where we can replace bad hearts with good hearts, clone organs, and do bone marrow transplants. We think putting men on the moon is old school. Flying in a planeload of life-saving supplies should be child's play.

In Burma making a phone call is difficult. Only seven percent of the country's 52 million people have electricity. For Burma's excessively paranoid generals we might just as well ask them if we can fly in a planeload of anthrax as one of aid. To them, this act might save lives but it would poison the culture, and while it may be a culture of fear and defeat, they unfortunately see it as their culture to defend.

To make a difference in Burma we have no choice but to deal with what is, not what we as Westerners think should be. I detest the current regime. I can't for the life of me comprehend their cruelty. This is the side of humanity that makes me want to throw up my hands in utter despair and quit, but I can't because quitting is what allows governments like this to continue.

I am so proud right now to be working with a group of people who haven't quit Burma. A group that spans the globe, a group that is organizing in the face of utter despair and effectively getting help to cyclone victims in ways that could get many of them arrested if they were ever found out.

What is in Burma is that international aid is failing; goods sent in to help disaster victims are being co-opted by the government. The military, once stuck with the problem of how to feed and clothe their 400,000 soldiers, now has enough rice stores to feed them for years to come. Likewise with medicine.

However, what is also happening in Burma is that internal aid is working. Granted that it lacks the fairy-tale effect of a white horse riding in, complete with knight in shining armor, or wizards with magic wands that can turn the horrible truth into a happy ending, but in a very real way, in a very empowering way, Burma's people are saving themselves -- despite the generals.

Supported by those who refuse to quit, a quiet revolt is taking place. A strong grassroots movement is evolving to bring goods to those in need. It travels many routes and is crossing continents and cultures -- some routes are above ground -- small convoys of concerned citizens with used clothing and humble donations, businessmen with enough clout and connections to get permission to transport small quantities of relief – many adopting a village and rallying friends to sustain support - and some routes go underground – traveling through bank accounts and well-established black market trades long used by insurgents and smugglers. Even many military officials, appalled by the suffering they face each day, are denying orders and secretly transporting aid.

I was really amazed when the Saffron Revolution was so easily quashed. I was saddened to see the despondent faces of those I passed every day on the street afterward, people who had had the opportunity to support their most revered and had failed to do so. Defeat went well beyond the monks and deep into the heart of the entire country.

But this time is different. Perhaps because of that defeat, perhaps because the general's decisions to refuse lifesaving aid is just more callous than anyone can accept, I'm seeing strength and unification among people who otherwise may have continued to remain passive.

I really don't know if this will come to fruition, if this will be the catalyst that actually unites an active resistance movement and that that movement will grow. I don't know if the temptation of controlling a well-fed army will serve as the tipping point for internal conflict in the military, but what I do know is that in the face of it all, my faith in humanity is once again being restored. So long as we don't give up, there is hope for those cyclone victims still surviving. So long as we don't give up there is still hope that Burma will change for the better, and in our lifetime. So long as we don't give up, others won't give up.

My thanks really goes out to all those of you who continue to lend support, to all of you who understand that the gap between what should be and what is is currently too wide to jump in Burma, that even planes can't cross it, but that this is not a reason to stop helping.

What should be may never come to Burma, but what is is still worth saving.

Many thanks,

Name omitted by request.

I don't know what's going to happen in Burma. But long after we've forgotten all about them, after the next tragedy, after the election heats up, after the NBA finals, after it is all said and done: they will be taking care of their own.

I am immersed in layer upon layer of frustration

As part of my volunteer training, my instructors stress the importance of self-care. The kind of work I'm getting into will cause burnout in a matter of months if I don't find some way to create pockets of nurturing for my own spirit and soul. I'm not very good at that. In fact, I think it's safe to say I failed at least once before, causing my total flare-out while at mega bookstore chain (interestingly, I look back on that job with great affection, but shudder at the thought of returning specifically because I had no boundaries between Work and Life).

I do try though. After an especially intense training session on Saturday, I promised myself a Sunday of delights, starting with finishing a fabulous book and ending with the return of my not-so-secret obsession after a six month absence.

Book finished and wow, what the total wrong choice to make. I mean, it was fabulous--brilliant, even. But so so sad. Not depressing sad, but angsty, muted, as if the writing were drawn out in bleached watery color (or should I say colour, being that the novel is set in England). And given my lack of self-care abilities, I think I should have picked something a tad more chipper.

Then my show comes on and I was...unimpressed. Not that I was expecting to be blown away. Nothing this season has managed that so far. I have mentioned clearly before (see link above) that I do not like the way Leight has handled his showrunning. So I won't go into that again. It was all Bobby all the time, so I didn't leave too disappointed. I just. Wanted more.

I come to work unexpectedly upbeat, thinking this is the week I'm going to get something accomplished. So what happens? What always happens. Random time-eating monkey wrench meet the working cogs of my day.

So I stop and do what I do when I need an absolutely mindless break that is in no way connected to reality: I look for random slash.

Now don't get all grossed out on me. Hot guys having sex is scorchy. And there's a weird positive emotional component there, something having to do with seeing fictional characters who typify strong male stereotypes crawling over barriers of intimacy and trust. There have been articles written about it--academic ones, even. So I won't get into the whole shebang here.

I used to write slash in the Star Wars and Buffy fandoms. I used to read it in several others, including dueSouth, Star Trek (Kirk/Spock 4 eva!), The X-Files, and Angel. I am an OTPer, which means I lock onto a pairing as if my life depended on it and don't even tell me another pairing is better, or makes more sense thematically (really? haven't we thrown canon out the window by now?), or this gifted writer writes this pairing. I don't care. All I care about are three important things: 1) are the characters acting and talking like they do in the tv show/movie?; 2) are any major changes (ie, a girlfriend's defection to make way for the man-on-man love) well explained and believable?; and 3) is the writing good? (oh, and my unspoken 4th rule? no het sex. Period.)

Slash writers who are truly immersed in their writing and love of their shows put out stories that read like episodes of the shows themselves...with sex. Their stories are funny, raunchy, touching, action-packed, angsty, and do not shy away from emotion. Some people read romance novels, or thrillers, or repetitive SFF novels set in the same damn fantasy universe for their reality break. I read slash.

Looking for new fandoms is a challenge. Oh, they're out there. And easy to find. But that doesn't mean what you'll find is any good. There's a whole buncha crap on the internet and slash writing is no different. Writers one knows already may have a recs page, if one is lucky. Or one can go to fanfiction.net and randomly click (though it helps if you have a fandom in mind). Or you can just take your chances--as I did when I found this gem that made my whole day. It is a short and funny (and totally PG rated) post-Serenity Mal/Jayne. I think I just found my new OTP.

For anyone who may be interested here is one of my stories. It is from BtVS and is Spike/Xander. It is rated NC-17. If you'd like to know something about it, here is what Mad Poetess said when she recommended it:

Goddess D's Just Say Something: Rated NC-17. Deeply poetic fisting. No, seriously.

As Mad Poetess was one of the tops in the fandom at the time, I was pretty flattered. I don't read my stuff anymore, took my site down, am actually lucky I found that link among some relic archive sites, but there you go.

I don't write slash or fanfiction anymore because I just don't have the time. I put a lot of effort into my stories that I would rather use for real life stuff.

But I sure do like reading it still. I'm kind of on an Adam Baldwin kick lately and came across this amusing Chuck/Casey that also made me laugh and appreciate, well...anyway. It too, is NC-17. Don't say I didn't warn you. It may not be real, but it's real addictive.

OH! One more...

GO HERE!!!

Travels around teh internets: Link fun round-up

Some things are too crazy/funny/cool not to share. If you do nothing else, at least watch the video at the end.

Today in Literary History: Stephen Crane dies of tuberculosis in 1900.

The desk on which Charles Dickens wrote Great Expectations is sold at auction for $850,000. Proceeds will go to a children's hospital on London.

Butterflies! I love butterflies. In Greek, the word for butterfly is (phonetically spelled) petaludia, which means flying flower.

I love this picture. Every time I get all droopy about the state of affairs here in the US, I remember in parts of Britain, everyone is photographed all the time on cctv. This picture makes me laugh and shiver at the same time (via):


Pulp's "Common People," performed by William Shatner in a video mash-up using footage from the classic cartoon. Please watch. Boing Boing called it slash, but I know slash and this is just plain fun:

The Introvert Steps Out

Last night I began my volunteer training at the most awesome place in the world. I don't think I've been more excited about anything in years. The training is comprehensive - 40 hours in a month - and is so respected that other local programs that serve the community send their employees and volunteers there. After the training I am hoping to go into one of the many children's services programs, or the community education program. Or both. Who knows. Right now I am on that high that could threaten to cause burnout, but at least I'm aware of the possibility and will hopefully take the steps necessary to take care of myself.

There were over thirty women there and two fantastic speakers who - while they didn't say anything I wasn't already aware of - reinforced what I had already determined to be true in a way that kept me engaged.

Something came up, though, that I need to vent about for a moment. During a brief discussion about the insidious ways in which our culture has become pornographic, emphasizing the sexualized violence against women as a norm, a young woman brought up points I hear too often these days, about how women "perpetuate" this culture by buying into it, about how "competitive" we are with each other. It wasn't the time for debating, so I kept my mouth shut, hoping the subject would return at a later time.

There is a difference between perpetuating behaviors and just not seeing them. If I see an ad which I find offensive and misogynistic and I do not speak up, or I purchase said product, then I am perpetuating the problem. If I don't even see it because it has become a normal part of my cultural life, then I am like most women who live in this world. Think about it this way: for hundreds of years it was normal for women to not have the right to vote or own property or determine their own futures. And so the majority of women who lived in those times did not speak out or fight for what we accept as a natural right. Were they perpetuating the system? Or being oppressed? When you live under oppression, you do not even see what is wrong in front of you. Trust me when I say our culture is still and will continue to find ways to oppress us. It is now normal for us to look at ourselves and each other with judgment as to our looks, our clothes, our weight. It is normal for us to see billboards, commercials, and television shows that depict women as sex objects whose only purpose is to provide for men's visual and physical pleasure.

Normal doesn't mean right.

And the next time someone points out to you this study or that study which states how competitive women are with each other, look at them with an arched eyebrow (or both if you can't go all Spock-like) and say, "Men aren't competitive?" We live in a combative culture which places might over right all the time. And yet I have yet to see an article in Time Magazine breaking down all the ways men compete on a social level. Because that's just not news in our world. I have become convinced these articles and studies serve no other purpose than to undermine the feminist movement by continuing the campaign of blaming the victim. Don't get me wrong, I don't see women as victims by definition. I do see that it has become fashionable to point the finger at us as a gender as to our own lack of success in seeking full equality. Because as long as we're blaming ourselves, we won't band together and resist outside forces who are working to keep us in our places. There is nothing newsworthy about these studies and to give them credence is to accept such finger pointing as normal.

Normal does not mean right.

Goofing off with style

I found a bunch of pics in my computer I'd forgotten I had. Such a waste to have them and not share...

Classy!

Adam Baldwin on Chuck looks fine in a (wet) tux!


Arty!

My favorite Robert Doisneau

Funny!

Never fly without paranoia.

This is so true. Srsly.

And of course...

My favorite Vincent.

I'm late finding out everything...

...mostly because I rarely touch a computer on the weekends. I sit in front of one all week. Weekends are for reading, hanging out with my husband, and watching addictively bad movies on the SciFi channel. So imagine my surprise this morning when I go to the Reel and find out Warren Leight is leaving as showrunner for LOCI.

But, unlike my fellow obsessives, I don't quite see it as a loss. Oh sure, the series's ratings increased in its move to USA, but that couldn't have been hard considering the disaster known as the sixth season (Leight's first as head script writer for the show), which had some of the weakest storylines, worst guest acting, and intelligence-insulting crap to be shown on network TV. No wonder their ratings dropped. Not that the entire season was a loss. The Goren-backed bookends Blind Spot and Endgame were brilliant in that way something mediocre is made brilliant by a talented cast. The rest of the season was a complete waste of the talent Leight was handed on a silver platter, as he attempted to salvage the floundering show by making it more a cross between the cringe-inducing CSI Miami and the last three seasons of SVU.

Gone were the days when the actual criminal intent was a part of a show titled Criminal Intent. Gone was relying on talented local acting in favor of badly used guest stars (really? did anyone really care that Fran Drescher was in an episode? or Doris Roberts? Brooke Shields? really?). Gone were the carefully nuanced scripts that balanced the sophisticated crimes against the intellect and detecting prowess of the teams. Oh no, we must RIP FROM THE HEADLINES!!! And not headlines from days of yore, but ACTUALLY YESTERDAY'S HEADLINES!!! WHAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY!@!! OOOH LOOK!, LIZA MINELLI! SHE CAN'T MOVE HER FACE, BUT WE'LL STILL USE HER!!! WAIT, IS THAT TOM ARNOLD?!? GAY PREACHER SCANDAL ANTI-TYPECASTING! SQUEEE!

Please.

And gone were the days when our favorite detectives actually detected, apparently because they only need to be led around by the nose from suspect to suspect until the solution was blaring across the screen in giant letters. Doesn't anyone else remember that smirk Goren would get when he know someone was telling him a big fat lie? When he would sit in that room and stare at something waiting for the pattern to emerge, chips bags and coffee cups artfully strewn about? He and Eames poring over files together? Remember when Logan episodes were - while not brilliant - actually watchable?

The only thing the sixth season brought us that kept me returning were amped up personal storylines, pulled off only by the amazing acting abilities of the core cast. That and the hope it would eventually get better. Which, in the first half of season seven, it seems to have. Detecting returned. Depths showed some research happening. Self-Made reminded us Goren sometimes does get a clue on his own. The usual crime-solving hijinks came across in Courtship. And so I look forward to the remainder of the seventh season if only because the first half showed so much improvement over last season. Because, honestly, if it hadn't, the only reason I would be watching at all anymore is this man:


PS, if you want an even longer, more intelligent sounding, and more direct post about the travesty that was season 6, read this. My favorite is when the author basically equates it with fanfiction due to the high emotional content.