delga: ([spooks] ros myers.)

This post was going to explain why I enjoyed the Torchwood finale and would have, for once, not been even remotely a commentary on ridiculousness. Because, you know, I did like the tone of the episode, and I did have things to say about audience expectation versus good storytelling and how the two things don't have to align. I was also going to be all yayarms about Rhiannon and Johnny Davies, and PC Andy, and what I think was a pretty gutsy narrative choice in some ways but then again notsomuch? (not to mention a wee bit nayarms about whether or not some of the dramatisation was overkill/gratuitous and the serious LACK of Miss Lois Habiba).

But then my twitter feed exploded with Spooks and this picspam happened instead. HURRAH!

7x01: Rangefinder avoids death in Moscow. WITH A FORK. FUCK YEAH. (No spoilers past this episode) )

So, you know, now I feel much better. This was an infinitely superior idea to the other one.

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

So, things that I was going to talk about in yesterday's aborted post but didn't:

I finished Baricco's Silk at lunchtime and basically guaranteed that the rest of the day was a wash. It's such a beautiful book - more like a series of haiku than a novel. The original Italian must be beautiful, too, but hey, I'm not literate in that language. (True story: had to remind myself of that today. Which -- who has to do that? Other than me. Obviously.) By the way, if ever there was a less appropriate place to read that book it's the office environment. The chapter of intense but casually-written erotica made me blush. AND I DON'T BLUSH. So, yeah. That was unexpected. But devastating, my gosh.


Haha, I watched Torchwood. I'm not laughing because I find this shit hilarious in general because, well, I can have heart when called upon but STILL. Guys. THE END WAS RIDICULOUS. And fuck it, I laughed. super super vague not-spoilery spoilers )

I can't help it. Show: you are much improved and much the same level of dumb. I miss you, Tosh.


The great thing about not knowing when Mitchell & Webb actually airs is that I can choose to watch on a Friday evening or a Sunday morning. This week I'll be watching that, Mock the Week, and listening to Shappi Khorsandi's show on Radio4 which I only caught the beginning of when coming home last night. It's weird - I'd never heard of her before her stint on McIntyre's Roadshow, and now she seems to be everywhere. Of which I approve, natch.

Anyway, my not-point is that comedy is great, and British panel games are GREATER. Yeah. I said it.


Hmmmm. I should go. Keep you fingers crossed I don't staple myself today. Oh, did I not mention? Did that TWICE yesterday. TWICE. WHAT.

delga: ([bad cop] CRACK.)



Haha, guys, work has been kind of insane? I have a ridiculous amount to do before the weekend and apparently there is only one day before that arrives, what? Topics of conversation covered in the office today included: swine flu parties (ugh, I wanted to stab someone); SB's not-sister and her not-brother's estranged son; how much MD (who is white) looks like Randy Jackson (answer = surprisingly, quite a bit); how much SG's husband looks like Benicio del Toro (not at all); male need for post-chore approval; secret home names (mine is Freda, what?); loud old people. Etc. Etc.

Also: I ate two packets of belly jeans. Not good.


I have to interrupt this rambling report because Shitwood is on, and I have skewed priorities. Guys. This show. I don't even know how to express how much I both hate and love it. WHAT IS THAT.

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

Dude. Torchwood. WHAT WAS THAT? You know, other than being VASTLY SUPERIOR to last year's offering. (I love Rhys and Gwen's Cop Partner Buddy Person. Aw.)

(Plus, in about a hour, new Doctor Who, yayarms!)


Have yet to catch up on the rest of the new viewage. It's been a long day. I finally sorted out the home PC, installed the newest MS Office and burned the backup disc. So. Everything should be in working order now.


GUYS. (Um, CSI: NY peeps, that is.) THERE SHOULD BE MORE M/S FIC ALREADY, OKAY? I am getting nostlagic and they still have buckets of potential. And. YES.

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

I'm on hold. I'm on hold. I'm on hold. I'm in some hellish hold world of holding. (Josh Lyman, The West Wing)

SEE ABOVE. Also: they have the worst 'hold' music ever. It's like some sort of late80s, early90s daytime soap synth. SO BAD. (The person I was talking to turned out to be a woman.) Anyway, the chkdsk didn't work last night and then, when I tried to give her the error code, my laptop decided to get arsey (thank you, Nortons, for your compulsive need to run Live Update every time I need to do something important) so that took forever.


OK, I'm back now. There's something wrong with the video drivers, apparently, so the only option is to reinstall XP. So. That's what I'm doing. This is good, actually, because I've been meaning to clean the home PC for years now, and this way we're only getting the essentials back. All the word documents were saved earlier in the week, so no-one is losing vital information. Formatting the drive is going to take about 45 minutes so I'm going to watch more Torchwood, which is what I was doing whilst I was waiting for that woman to call.

After explorer crashed on my laptop, I was further thwarted in my attempts at productivity when (a) I didn't have the CD in the drive the first time I tried to access it, and (b) the second time, the keyboard decided to freeze. Niiice. Third time it worked. That poor woman was waiting whilst I faffed around. She was calling from India so it's at least 1am over there. Crikey.


Speaking of Torchwood, the reason I'm so behind is because it took me forever to get through A Day in the Death of which I found to be deathly boring. Something Borrowed was so-so until the second-half where it picked up considerably (I thought Gwen was smashing in the latter half) and now I'm half-through From Out of the Rain which is fucking creepy. If I'm done in time, I should be able to watch the finale tonight, huzz.


The Dad was watching the 10pm news last night. Can;t have been much going on in the world because the closing story was five minutes about Naomi Campbell. Anyway, I managed to watch the last twenty minutes of The Sarah Connor Chronicles. It was The Demon Hand which remains my favourite episode of the season after Dungeons and Dragons. Everything about that episode works for me from the direction to the performances. Cameron walking away still gives me the shivers, and the closing scene - though it had different resonance on the re-watch - was still chilling. Fuck me, I love this show.


Substance? What is this thing you speak of?

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

Today's fic recs: Torchwood/Doctor Who. Um. Well. Okay, a disclaimer. If you're expecting fics about the protagonists, the primary ships and what have you, this is not the post for you. What you'll find here is a collection of fics about Suzie Costello (!), some Jack Harkness gen, and a smidgen of Lucy Saxon who I was ambivalent about in the show, but have taken a liking to via fic. Other characters make more-than-token appearances - Ianto, for example. All of the fic I've chosen are good reads; I'm picky about what I like/dislike in these fandoms.

Warnings for a general excess of angstcakes.


doctor who.
threads by violetisblue (fourth doctor/romana i)

It was here, at the center of time as she herself remade it, that Rom, sired by An, gestated by Ad, of the Vora chromosomal line of the Tre genome sequence of the ancient and venerated House of Lundar, found herself staring inescapably into herself, and what she saw was a great and bottomless emptiness that no amount of time could never fill, that no art or accomplishment could ever mask. Time roared into her and through her and turned her inside out and showed her the nothingness that was her lone self, and she was horribly, terribly afraid.

Who am I? she demanded, almost despairing, knowing the Loom heard every fleeting thought. What am I? Am I anything at all?

You are you, the Loom answered, when it deigned to pause in its work.

But what is this thing you call me? she cried, from inside herself. I see inside it, and I see nothing. How can you, the Loom, create me out of nothing?

I'm not a classic Who fan, by which I mean to say that I've not seen any. That said, I have a vague idea of who Romana is and watching a couple of youtube clips clued me in well enough. That was after I'd read the fic, though.

It's an excellent fic, giving you enough that a new reader doesn't have to scrabble for information. More than that, it's an interesting look at Gallifreyan social structures, of their coming-of-age rituals, and of Romana's search for her identity. Touching and true, the author skilfully takes us through canon, giving us Romana's impulses. Some fics try too hard to explain, but this one is almost casual. I loved this from start to finish.

[ profile] general_jinjur has written a commentary for this fic here; it's an intense and interesting probe of Romana's characterisation in the fic, as much as the fic is of Romana's characterisation in canon. Also, I liked reading a classic Who fan's take on the fic, if only to see how far my reactions were 'on'/'off' the mark.

five more. )

workaholics make rubbish talkers by [ profile] twincy (torchwood, toshiko/rhys)
They are the same, she and Rhys,
both always waiting,

always watching.

HAIKU FIC, GUYS. !!! In [ profile] twincy's own words, Tosh and Rhys are "two of the most quietly tragic characters on the show" and this fic/haiku series reflects their respective 'outsider' statuses whilst being lyrical and true to canon. The closing haiku is so decisive and so empowering of Tosh - I love how you can read it as Tosh trying again to shake off the shackles but also as her finally, finally succeeding. And, you know, haiku.

nine more. )


Torchwood is on tonight, but I've missed the last few episodes so I think I'm just going to have to leave it. Watch more Lost instead.

delga: ([bones] that was not good.)

Shitwood = compelling for no discernible reason. (Well. Other than Martha.) But still. I don't know. I liked a lot of this?

Being Human = GLEE. Funny! Ironic! Slightly tragic!

Sarah Connor Chronicles = still MARVELLOUS. Still obsession-mongering.


Thursdays = no longer starting at 9am. Instead, I now have class from 2-4pm. Four hours of Middle English poetry. FOUR HOURS.

Sidney's Astrophil and Stella = DEATHLY.

This weekend = dedicated to my dissertation. Next weekend = dedicated to writing a ballade.


Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex = superb so far. !

Sara Bareilles = also superb!

In my head = um. Eric Close? (I DON'T KNOW.)

My ankle = twisted. AGAIN. (Sigh, self. Sigh.)


My evening = Taken \o/

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

Have decided that I do actually like all of Feist's stuff. So. Make of that what you will.


Today dragged quite a bit. Mostly because my tutor for Traditions in Poetry commutes in from Oxford, and the train in was late (because someone committed suicide which puts things into perspective somewhat). Thus I got up early for a 9am double lecture that never happened. Made my way to the sub. campus, read for a while, sat with N whilst she ate, read some more, and then had a boring lecture-seminar before coming back to the house and - you guessed it! - reading some more. I did, however, make potato wedges tonight and that makes up for everything.


Watched Shitwood! Was, um. OK, so I wasn't the greatest fan of the episode on BBC1, but the BBC3 one was actually well-plotted, well-written, and - dare I say it - gutsy. Yeah, I don't even know.


I've been looking at the deadlines that I have left before I graduate (eek!) and they all pretty much suck in one way or another. My first full dissertation draft is due in a fortnight; a fortnight after that I have 3k for Traditions to hand in. Luckily I have Easter to work on the On the Road essay that's due the first week back. Then, at the end of the semester I have the final three deadlines (dissertation, Traditions, On the Road) one week after the other. Not to mention, of course, the exam for Traditions. On the one hand, I have a crazy amount to do this semester. On the other hand, I'm freaking out over whatever comes next. Real Life = not made for M.


I finally collected my grades for 19th Cent. poetry today. I didn't do as badly as I thought, but not as well as I needed to (as I pretty much guessed). I have to wonder at the woman's marking techniques, though, because an essay that was written in four hours with no proper preparation and/or research (straight after I'd written 4k for my dissertation) got a fairly average mark. Or rather: did much better than it should have done. So. I don't even know. That mark isn't a reflection of any sort of essay-fu I possess, by the way. It's just peculiar marking. Anyway, the plan, as ever, is to ace the second semester. You'd think I'd learn.


Hahahaha, [ profile] picfor1000. Whoops. Although possibly I could submit my Suze Costello fic? Hmmmmm. Thinky.


This weekend, the housemates and I are probably going to watch all three Terminator movies. Heh.

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

Shitwood on BBC3 tonight? \o/ (Thank you [ profile] daygloparker).

BBC's iPlayer is the best thing ever.

delga: ([witb] would that be such a bad prospect)


I really like Sarah Connor as a character; she's a strong female character with none of the bullshit. And increasingly I am enjoying Summer Glau's performance as Cameron. This week I even liked John Connor (Thomas Dekker?), although I will say that the school subplot is irritating.

The ending was predictable in some ways, but still thrilling and effective. I don't know; I'm really enjoying this show. I think it helps that it's not encumbered by the one thing that puts me off a show: over-the-top embarrassing humour scenes. There's a lot of drama, wry humour, and an interesting double-arc. (Garrett Dillahunt made me laugh a lot this week.)


Shitwood is on in a few minutes. Next week: MARTHA!!!

delga: ([numb3rs] countdown.)



Tomorrow I have to finish Proulx' Accordion Crimes (i.e. the second half of the book, sigh) and buy new notebooks. Yay--



Tonight I ate a terribly unsatisfying meal. However, I haven't eaten any chocolate today which is a first for this year. T did, however, buy me two bottles of Irn Bru. IRN BRU, GUYS. SO FAB AND TANGY.

Also, I find sometimes I am reading Sufjan Stevens' song titles and I am all DUDE, JUST WRITE A DAMN POEM AND BE DONE WITH IT. I mean, I love the music! But. Limits.


After I finish tonight's allotted reading, I'm going to spend a couple of hours reading Suzie-centric Torchwood fic. Mostly because I thought that Suzie was MARVELLOUS and I have apparently found a tolerable author who agrees. Yayarms.

delga: ([Random] can't be doing with today.)

If Shitwood continues on in this vein, I may have to reconsider said title. I really enjoyed the plot, and its execution, and I was interested through and through. So.


Not sleeping, apparently. Today I woke, went to the post office and then walked around for an hour. Found a park, traversed it for some time. The weather was warm at midday, so that was nice. When I came back I read more of Annie Proulx' Accordion Crimes which is good, but I am having difficulties with my attention span. I decided not to turn my laptop until this evening. Somewhere today I lost three hours, so. Who knows what else I did today?


Wanting to Die
by Anne Sexton

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the most unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention
the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.

Twice I have so simply declared myself
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.

Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue! --
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad bone; bruised, you'd say,

and yet she waits for me, year and year,
to so delicately undo an old would,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of a book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the look, whatever it was, an infection.

Disclaimer: choice of poem was mostly arbitrary; please to not be freaking out. I happen to like the Confessionals, okay? This poem was one of the few that Sexton wrote in response to Sylvia Plath's death.

delga: ([torchwood] we call this kidnap.)

So, Shitwood. Not actually so shit this week? ODDNESS. (I think it helps a LOT that Ianto has quit being as wet as a fish on a good day.)


The show post-Shitwood was apparently about a man who eats BADGERS. GOD. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD. ???

delga: ([spooks] ros myers.)

The Beeb has bought the rights to Damages. FUCK YES. When it airs, you all better be prepared to watch it because I am going to poke until you do.

Also, by the time Martha joins Torchwood, she'll be fully qualified. Check out that cast picture. There's something about TW that makes me LOLZ.


I am ITCHING for news about Spooks. Not for any real reason, it's just that TW is getting all this bollocks coverage, and I've yet to hear shit about Spooks beyond Hermione Norris' interview in Waitrose Magazine this past Spring. And TW can bring all the camp it wants, I'd still take Spooks any damn day.

delga: ([Random] kid me not.)

Dear Torchwood people,

Probably not a great idea to devote a whole five-minute segment on how shitty each one of your characters is.


spoilers for the finale. )

delga: ([Random] hide.)

So, season 7 of Buffy? Totally begins in Istanbul. Why yes, I have made the TOTALLY RANDOM decision to rewatch S7 of BtVS. How did you guess?! For those that care, this re-watching thing feels like a BAD IDEA, serving only to remind me how much Anthony Stewart Head is like SK and how much I really, really dislike Sarah Michelle Gellar.

This week's Torchwood. )

Studio 60. )

I'm still watching Seven Swords. It's like the film that will never end and yet it is so good.

delga: ([Random] pet the bitch.)

Oh man; people don't understand irony at all, do they? Someone in a comm just told me that "you know, to get the hearts symbol, you have to use a semi-colon at the end of the code?"


&fuckyou; just for posterity.

I handed in my film essay; only af. lit. left to do, hurrah! Now I'm going to watch things from last week whilst I write up class notes from across the semester. (Last night, post-Spooks, I stayed up to watch Studio 60 and ended up watching Torchwood, too. The former was anti-climatic because I don't expect a dramedy to be telling me how to think, so whilst I could accept this verbose whatever from TWW, it's getting to be a bit much from S60. I did, however, like the line spoiler )

[paraphrased] because that's what I've been trying to say for a long time without being able to find the words. I, um, loved Torchwood? Although I'm told others didn't?) Today I'm going to get through the rest of Bones which I apparently started some time last week? Then BSG, SPN and VM. Maybe not all today. Tonight we're going to see Transamerica, huzzah. Good times? Quite possibly.

delga: (Default)

five ways jack harkness died, and one way he didn't by [ profile] seti_drd.

He wonders if Death forgot him like a Time Lord obviously did.

He sits, waiting to find out who will come back for him first.

Grey's was amusing and touching (as ever), even if I found the ending lacklustre; The Unit was (and consistently is) a good watch. NCIS made me smile, cringe-worthy or not. Watching Casablanca made me fall for it again: continuity! &hearts. And now for bed because I have a crapload to do tomorrow, including leave the house at eight to go to the laundrette. I am not hanging the bedsheets up to dry in my room, there's just not enough space.

eta: I ♥ [ profile] breathe_poetry.

Publication Date
by Franz Wright

One of the few pleasures of writing
is the thought of one's book in the hands of a kindhearted
intelligent person somewhere. I can't remember what the others
are right now.
I just noticed that it is my own private

National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day
(which means the next day I will love my life
and want to live forever). The forecast calls
for a cold night in Boston all morning

and all afternoon. They say
tomorrow will be just like today,
only different. I'm in the cemetery now
at the edge of town, how did I get here?

A sparrow limps past on its little bone crutch saying
I am Federico GarcĂ­a Lorca
risen from the dead --
literature will lose, sunlight will win, don't worry.

From God's Silence.


delga: (Default)

October 2016

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