Uncreated Conscience

Dollhouse

Months after everyone else (but coincidentally about the same time as my friend Katranna), I decided to give Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse a go.

Now, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I find Firefly the best of Whedon’s shows for many reasons, not the least of which is because I found its premise the most fascinating. I had seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel at the behest of several of my friends, and while I enjoyed them, I could never fully love them because vampires simply aren’t my thing. ANGST! WOE! IMMORTALITY SUXORS! WAAAH! EMO!

The other reason is simply because the chemistry of the cast is phenomenal. From the pilot episode (I’m talking about “Serenity” here because I only saw Firefly on DVD), I could see why these people were on board the ship and why they cared for one another. Wrap up a good space western/space pirate/space Robin Hood premise (hello…awesome????) with Whedon’s trademark characterisation and humour and I was sold.

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Happy Bloomsday, everyone! I would give ULYSSES a read-through today, except my friend Kristine has my copy and my other one is so destroyed it has literally fallen apart at the seams. No matter, for I am rereading CATCHING FIRE more slowly this time around (to savour the small details), and Kristine introduced me to this video:

It’s the end that slays me.

Oh, and because they need to be shared again: James Joyce’s EXTREMELY dirty letters to Nora Barnacle.

I have decided I need to add Michael Emerson to my family of adopted people I may or may not adore in the way gay men adore Judy Garland. So, I have Magical Uncle Neil Gaiman, Fairy Grandfather Ian McKellan, Storytellin’ Gramps Philip Pullman, and…I may have to relegate the actor playing Benry as…That Creepy Dude Who Says He’s My Uncle But I’m Too Weirded Out To Gainsay Him Not To Mention I Kinda Have An Inappropriate Crush On Him.

TCDWSHMYUBITWOTGHNTMIKHAICOH is probably too long of an acronym.

Creepy Inappropriate Not-Uncle might have to suffice. CINU?

Anyway, today I discovered that CINU narrated a radio play and a novella of Magical Uncle’s, which sort of made my head explode with awesomeness.

1. As the unnamed narrator in the radio play adaptation of Murder Mysteries: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
2. Narrated the AMERICAN GODS novella “The Monarch of the Glen” (from FRAGILE THINGS) in volume III of an audio book series called “Legends II: New Short Novels by the Masters of Modern Fantasy” .

And because this bears repeating, Michael Emerson reading “Little Boy Blue” in the creepiest voice ever.

If there’s one good thing that ever came out of Lost, it’s that the show introduced me to this man. ♥ you, Benry!

Those who know me and Bear know that I have excellent taste in romantic partners but unfortunately, my discerning judgment doesn’t extend to television shows. I have had deplorable luck with the two to which I’ve been (slavishly) faithful: first The X-Files and now Lost. I have come to hate both shows in ways I could never even begin to dream, yet I kept watching them to the bitter end. Lost, of course, is not yet finished and rest assured, I will stick this relationship out (because I am monogamous, apparently), but I simply cannot stand it anymore. I have been manipulated and confused so many times that I’ve essentially given up.

When I first started watching Lost, the relationship had been new and intriguing and mysterious. A number of seemingly unrelated persons crashland on a deserted island which may or may not be in the South Pacific. But what? There are hints that maybe the island isn’t deserted after all, that maybe there’s a vast conspiracy, and there’s simply mystery after mystery after mystery to be solved.

(The first season still kicks all the other seasons to the curb.)

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I could have quoted my other favourite line from Don Hertzfeldt’s Rejected, but I figure “For the love of God and all the is holy, my anus is bleeding! (Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!)” wouldn’t fly as a title.

Firstly, whoever created this is a graphic genius. S/he should have my brainchildren:

LOST Showdown

My favourite is Ben’s look of utter bewilderment by “You will be stunned!” (Benry, I love you!)

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Can I just say here that I hate Kate from Lost with all the passion of my soul? So much that words cannot even express the depth of my loathing? And if ONE MORE PERSON tells me that Sawyer’s love for her is “true,” I will shove a fork in their face. I’ve hated that pairing since the beginning and I hate it even more now. Mostly because Kate. Needs. To. Die. Surely the writers of Lost must know how much the fans hate her guts.

On the other hand, my love for Benjamin Linus continues to grow.

On the other, other hand, Jack clearly has no idea what he’s doing. He’s almost as annoying as Kate. No, scratch that; no one can be as annoying as Kate. What happened to Jack? Not that I liked him much to begin with, but this season he has become an utterly different person.

Carry on.

Last night I took a bit of a trip on the wayback machine and spent the night at my darling Sofa’s apartment to have a TV marathon, gorge on Chinese food, and drink fruity pomegranate wine coolers. I became friends with Sofa over the length of a cigarette. She likes to believe she was the first friend I made in London, but that is not true; Charlie was the first friend I made in London. Sofa was the first person I met, but our friendship didn’t come about until later when we both went outside by The Guardian building to have a smoke break.

Upon first glance Sofa and I are certainly not people you would ordinarily expect to be friends, let alone best friends. Hell, I didn’t expect to be friends with her either: when I first arrived at our flat, she answered the door in a white skirt, green Lacoste polo, Rainbow flip-flops…and a genuine pearl necklace. I had eyeliner smudged across my lids and was wearing torn jeans, my ratty old chucks with drawings all over them, and a Ramones t-shirt. She was a charming Southern belle from Virginia with aspirations to a diamond ring by spring; I was a quirky sprite of an Asian girl from California who came to England to stalk Carl Barât and be a Libertine. That was our first meeting.

Of course, we are each more complex than the personas we put on; I was the one that ended up with an engagement ring on my finger (a pink plastic heart with a smiley face on it from the Jersey Shore, thank you) and she was the one who had the more libertine lifestyle when we returned to New York. We lived together for three years before I decided to leave Manhattan for more space and less rent, but what I miss about our time as roommates were the weekend afternoons being less-than-productive: watching hours of TV (…we once spent an entire day watching Kyle XY on ABC, running to the bathroom only during commercial breaks), eating the entire Chinese food menu, and drinking the girliest, fruitiest wine coolers we could find. So we made do on a Thursday night after work and she introduced me to her new favourite show Bones.

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I got an email this morning from La Junior Agent forwarded from El Jefe (who is on holiday in Florida, I believe) forwarded from his (potential?) client who said he really liked the editorial suggestions I made to his manuscript and that if I had any more I ought to send them along as soon as possible. I had been led to believe that I would have little or no interaction with agents because the intern assists the assistant, but I have been rather fortunate to have the head honcho of this literary agency take an interest in me. El Jefe is adorable; he refers to me (in writing) as “Jay Jay.” (La Junior Agent for the first few days called me “Jo-Jo.” Perhaps I ought to give up and go back to being called “Sarah.” Ew, just looking at that name makes me shudder.) I have a self-pubbed memoir to read and report on when he comes back. I have read the first 5 pages. The answer is no.

LOST this season is a bit uneven. Last week’s episode was amazing; this week’s was less so. The plot moved forward an inch. Another plothole appeared. It’s really bothering me that Sun is the only one of the Oceanic Six to not have flashed back to 1977. This seems to be a hole in the worldbuilding, which I cannot forgive. I can understand Ben and Locke not being flashed back; they turned the donkey wheel and moved/fixed the Island. There is an intuitive leap there. But Sun? Why was she excluded? Also, I am liking her less and less as the series goes on, not that I liked her much in the first place. Another thing that annoys me a little: her name is not just “Sun.” It’s Sun-Hwa. Jin’s name is Jin-Soo. Korean names consist of two syllables! …except mine of course. But I am a speshul and yooneek snowflake.

Also, Ben’s creeptastic potential was significantly decreased in this past episode. Where is my crazy bug-eyed evil weasel? (His younger counterpart is sufficiently scary and bug-eyed too, but Sterling Beaumont is no Michael Emerson.) Oh Benry, I love you!

Revisions have been going, which is a miracle in my case. Going ever so slowly, but going. Kickstarting my diet has been going well too. Lost 2lbs since yesterday. I am waiting for Fresh Direct to deliver me my produce so I can make a salad for dinner. I anticipate avocados eagerly.

I am shallow and frivolous. Carry on.

After the episode “LaFleur” of this past week’s LOST and a conversation I had with Jack Violet on GChat the last night had me thinking (again) about romance and the what works for me and what doesn’t.

(Spoilers for “LaFleur” to follow, don’t continue reading if you don’t want to know! If you don’t follow LOST and don’t much care, then by all means, carry on.)

The conclusion I’ve reached is: I don’t like drama/passionate/sexual-tension-disguised-as-bickering/what-have-you. It rarely, if ever, works for me. It is the main reason why PRIDE & PREJUDICE is one of my least favourite Austen romances and why I’ve always wanted Hermione to find end up with Harry. Because beneath the sniping and sexual tension, how often do you find something of substance to base the relationship on? Jack and I were relaying our youthful writing to each other, laughing at the ridiculousness of our pubescent romantic fantasies, when somehow the conversation drifted into our real-life crushes in our tender adolescence.

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I’ve mentioned before that med school was exactly like high school except with more dead bodies. Prom was oodles of fun except for the enormous pain in my feet at the end of the night from standing and dancing around in 3 inch heels. Let me tell you: taking off my heels when we finally made it home? Orgasmic.

Bear and I doing our best Prohibition look. All Bear needs is a gun.

The closest to a full length photograph of my dress. What you can’t see: the train, my gold shoes, and my gold toenails. Bear wanted to wear a vest with his outfit, but we couldn’t find one in time. We totally forgot about the suspenders. :(

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