Dreadful Lies

9:31am: Man I'm freezing.

My office heater is busted, and has decided only to blow out cold air. Which would be all right if it was hot as fuck, as indeed it was only last week, but now it's as if we've plunged prematurely into winter.

And I feel like it's my chickens coming home to roost for bragging about the great summer weather earlier in January, when others were scraping snow off their roofs.

The wheel turns. DAMN DAMN DAMN.

Oh well.

Catching up on my flist, slowly, and, man it's good. You guys rock.
So far today - plagiarism (doh!), writer's block, the possible spoilers for the CSI finale, (eek), and just general stuff that is so cool to read.

I'm in love with LJ again.

11:10pm: Man, I really hate Christian holidays.

( Read more... )

10:43pm: I had this moment today of total bliss. It was after class, and I went up to the top of the theatre to bring down the lights, turn off the dimmer packs, etc. And in the lighting booth there was this amazing smell.

It was overheated lighting gels and dust, and it was absolutely particular to the theatre. And I stood there and just breathed it in and thought, Jesus Christ, that is the best smell in the world. It reminded me that in my life, many many many of the happy times have been in the theatre. And I'm still there, so that's really cool.

I've really let this journal lapse, and that started to turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy, because the less I wrote, the more I had to catch up on, and the more I felt like I couldn't possibly catch up.

So, I am going to pretend the last couple of weeks didn't happen. Though they did, and I might comment later on everything that's been going on. Or not.

Anyway, hi everyone, I'm behind on my flist, but I'll try and catch up.

That's all for now, because I don't want to write too much today, in case it jinxes me for tomorrow. And I'm dying to see what y'all have been up to.

*races away to read flist*

8:02pm: Hooray for Friday night at the end of the week from hell.
This week I had 18 contact hours of teaching. Which doesn't sound that much, but the average academic lecture load is about 6 hours. Preparation still takes me an age, as well.

It's partly because I'm still teaching the NASDAs. On Thursday I had the serious talk with them about why the hell they thought they were there. Ryan says that when I get cross in the tutorial setting, I'm like his mum. This is not flattering, he means that I'm not so much angered as saddened by the students and this makes people feel guilty in an emotionally manipulative kind of way. Cheers Ryan. But on Thursday I really think this is how I was. Becasue I wasn't upset by their disrespect for me, I mean, shit who cares, I only have one more week teaching them, but for each other and for the learning. Because it's some of the most interesting stuff in THE WORLD.

They're training to be ACTORS. That's an enormous privilege.
They should EAT LIFE.

God I'm a geek.
I set homework for them asking them to consider the role of theatre in society today, and they almost all came back with "pure entertainment, it's stupid to say theatre is political when it...just isn't". So now I know, thanks guys, why would I ever have tried to tell you different. Must be a geek. Sigh.....

Tonight I am going to watch CSi and then I am going out to celebrate the wedding of my step-sister.

Then I am going to come home and sleep for like, ten days.
Ay me!

12:36am: Ok, am back.

From a bizarre place in my head that I don't really even want to talk about.

Term has started with a bit of a bang, I have (counts on fingers) about 17 contact hours of teaching this week, sheee-it. It's not so much the 17 hours as all the preparation that goes into the lecturing part of it.
( RANT about annoying class I took last week )
So kiss my arse, you immature gits.
Heeeeeeeeee. Ok, that feels better.

( Health? Not sure )

( And Other Stuff )

And that is the week as it was.
I missed you guys.
*sends kisses*

11:31pm:

Up to mischief today,

made banana chocolate chip muffins

watched CSi Miami introduce Gary Sinise

Drank lots of Coca cola

Watched "Psycho" - Gotta love that Hitchcock.

Ran around the house doing bad things, read naughty stuff on the internet,

DID NO WORK.

Hurray for Sunday.  Home alone.

And - discovered rich text format.

AND SPAMMING, APPARENTLY.

Sorry, over it now.

7:44pm: Yesterday evening I spent at the University of Canterbury Staff Club Intercollege Barbecue Competition.

( More About THAT )

It's the absolute golden height of summer. I dragged my Duvet out and laid it in the sun to air. The bedding dried in about 30 minutes on the line. Tony called from Wellington: he is staying near the Zoo, and from the bedroom window he overlooks the lions. I think that would be so cool, but he says it's quite noisy at night, and they smell a bit funny. Still, worth it, wouldn't it be?

More later, strange energetic mood upon me again. So I may be back tonight, because sleeping seems like waste at the moment.

9:53pm: This is the end....beautiful friend (thudda thudda thudda) -fade in Martin Sheen's revolving face
Had a strange moment today.

I was standing outside my house, having just got home. Parked the scooter, took off my helmet. It was extraordinarily windy. I was listening to "The End" by the Doors on my Ipod. This is the music from the opening sequence of "Apocalypse Now". And then, the hospital's rescue helicopter flew really low overhead, and out over the park to the hospital. I was almost literally frozen to the spot waiting for the napalm moment. Luckily this did not occur.

It was absolutely one of the most surreal and cinematic moments of my entire life.
Madness.

( Fantastic episode of Lost, last night )

I was really dreading today, hour-and-a-half teaching "Naturalism in the Theatre" to stage one NASDAs. Actually, I (and I was sensing, they) got bored after an hour, so I threw away my notes and we did some cool acting exercises based on what I'd been talking about. Totally saved the class. Theory and Practice: you just can't teach about the theatre without the two in combination. Hmmm.

And then a meeting with Sharon. I told her "I'm having trouble writing because I'm totally bored and disgusted with the chapter I'm writing, and I hate it, it's stupid, I'm stupid and I have no desire whatsoever to communicate anything more about this topic to anyone." After which we had an EXTREMELY productive meeting.

The sad part is that the above rant-let is true. Every time I sit down to write, enormous hatred wells up in me, of the project, of myself. It actually physically pains me to write. Sharon doesn't try to cheer me up - nonetheless she does. She goes "I know what you're talking about, you're not unique in this, I feel this often, we just have to find a way around it." I just have to trust she's right. Because it hurts so fucking much.

So, finally, truthfulness at the end of the post, after slightly coy but delightful moment of eccentricity and distraction with television fangirling. Yeah, that's my life.

Samuel Pepys I am NOT.

It can't go on like this forever, SURELY.

6:01pm: Of course I am.

I am an Intellectual



Which America Hating Minority Are You?

Take More Robert & Tim Quizzes
Watch Robert & Tim Cartoons

9:51pm: Orchestra night!
God, orchestral playing is one of the secret great pleasures of the world. I LOVE it.
I'm second oboe, so I get to sit next to the first oboe, who is brilliant, and otherwise in the midst of violas, basses, and bassoons. Tonight we were playing Grieg, who does this fantastic dark string/lower wind thing, it's like being in the midst of a dark forest on a windy night, with just the oboe solo like someone in front who you trust with a lantern. This might be an overly Scandinavian image, but who cares? It's beautiful.

( More orchestra ranting )
( Valentine to Tony )
Happy Valentine's Day, EVERYBODY.

11:04pm: Brecht on Theatre, Marx on Capital, just another ordinary Sunday
I've spent most of the afternoon trying to write a lecture/discussion about Brecht and the political theatre. It's for a group of second year acting students at NASDA. I've only got an hour, which is a really short time to fit in:

( About my Brecht and Marx political theatre lecture )
I really don't know how it will go...An hour can be such a long time if you're flailing,or a short time if you're on fire (lit and fig, I suppose ;). But I don't know this class, but I'm told they're very nice. Erk, performance anxiety. It's such interesting and important stuff to be responsible for relaying in such a short time.
In some ways I'm very much looking forward to it, but it's still DAMN scary.

Meanwhile, I'm home alone. For a Month. I feel very...SOMETHING. Solitary. Not necessarily in a bad way, but very, very contemplative.

10:37pm: Men in skirts, BG, Brecht and pending absence of S.O.
Just writing at the end of a nice evening at home watching "Troy" on DVD. Man, it was stupid. But fun, in a way. Being a classics geek, I just sat there annoyingly and said stuff like "you can't kill Menelaus" and "they didn't have blue fabric til much later" and "ooh, love the triremes". Geekiness is so much fun. When I was a teenager, I mourned the fact that cool eluded me, now I celebrate it. I am a geek. My friends are geeks. Geeks rock.

( Okay, so 'Troy'. )

Turned off Troy to see the last half hour of the movie-length trailer of Battlestar Galactica. Talk about a blast from the past.

( Battlestar Galactica reminisences from the seventies )

Tony is off to Wellington tomorrow for A MONTH, because he's directing a play (Bedbound by Enda Walsh) up there. I'm feeling a bit blue about it, even though I actually quite like having the house to myself and going to bed at all hours, and doing WHATEVER the HELL I want. But we've been having a really lovely time lately, one of those times when you just kind of get really into synch. We tend to move in and out of these phases, so it's a bummer to lose the time when we're at our closest. Oh well, not long, I guess, and we'll get there again. Marriage is such a weird institution.

( Political Theatre lectures. )

Man, I feel really energetic just now, I could ramble on for hours. Or, I could go and clean my house. Or, I could try and write something. Yeah, I think I'll try and catch the wave.

bye everyone!

6:18pm: Please send life-affirming fic recs
Rain! Glorious wonderful cool beautiful refreshing RAIN.
The heatwave has BROKEN.

Give me a few days and I'll be complaining about the wet, but for now, it's simply marvellous.

I'm in a bit of a dilemma today because I've read some really fucking good fiction, but two at least of them were also extremely depressing. As in, I cried and cried at the end, went to bed, slept the night through, and still feel sad today. That can't be right, surely? I mean, I often cry when I read a novel that ends up sadly. Jesus Christ. Hemingway's "Fiesta". I cried about four times through that, but it's still something I come back to again and again.

It strikes me as I write that that death is often not the saddest thing to read about. It's the loss part of it. The story in question (I'm sorry, I don't know how to link) was called "For each Ecstatic Instant" by a writer called dith over at Area 52 (Stargate FanFiction Archive).

( All about this story )

So, I'd both recommend this as a really nice piece of writing, but also, Jesus, not recommend it if you're feeling low.

Which raises the question for me. Why am I even into fanfiction at all? And the immediate answer is, because the best of it is really fine writing. And that's fun.

And, don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like some really dark stuff, sometimes, the darker the better. It's a side of me that's there, and I'm at home with that. But today it really hit me in my sad place.

And maybe I don't read fan-fiction to be depressed, I read it to alleviate my own sadness. Don't know. I'm saddened by loss and wasted opportunities. There's even a "Loss" challenge up at the moment. I just don't want to read about it.

Not today, anyway.

8:03pm: GOD IT IS SO DAMN HOT.
HOT HOT HOT HOT.
34 degrees and it's eight o'clock at fucking night.

And I'm on the "filet-mignon" server, so earlier when I was bursting with creativity I couldn't log on to update. And now I'm kind of boiled dry from all this heat. And yes that's what paper's for, but I let the moment pass.

Otherwise, a good writing day today. Had to get out of my office because the art gallery next door has a video/sound installation going on. Randomly, there's the booming sound of gunshots and then people screaming. I can't fucking believe it. It's so obnoxious. I hate them and their stupid derivative installation art. Wankers.

So I went out to University and worked at the computer room there. And it was pretty hot, because it's on the 5th floor of the library. Kind of empty.

They're dicking around with the main quad: it reminded me how much quicker it is to knock something down than to build it back again. This led to a rather philosophical chain of thought, and then I went and got my student ID. Hopefully this will be the last one ever. The photo is absolutely nightmarish. Last year I was looking pensive, kind of like the famous picture of Myra Hindley, the Moors murderer. This year I tried very hard to smile. I looked like a rosy-cheeked version of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. And yes. The plaits were obviously a BAD IDEA in retrospect. You live and learn, I suppose. Small steps!

6:27pm: Horrible draining feeling of biological cellular-level unhappiness today.
Really no ostensible cause, just sadness, and I really can't work out why.
It's not even attached to feelings of "the world is bad" or "My life sucks", neither of which is any more true today than yesterday when I was feeling terrific. It's like a happiness hangover or something. But yesterday wasn't THAT great.

Just feel lonely and sad for no apparent reason.
Wish I knew why this happens.

In other news, can anyone tell me the definition of a "Mary Sue" in fanfiction? Poor Mary Sue gets such a bad rap, and I still haven't been able to work out who she is, what she does wrong, and if the evil wench is creeping into stuff I'm doing. Thank you!

10:40pm: So hot! So very very very hot!

It's twenty to eleven, and it's still about 26 degrees or so. It's great scootering weather, I'll have to remember this "Southern Italy" t-shirt sensation when I'm scooting through teeming rain and freezing winds come June.

I just got home from my mum's house, which she is redecorating in preparation for renting out. It was really fun just hanging out, just the two of us, and sanding and plastering and finally getting quite a lot of the painting done. Sometimes the relationship between us is a bit fraught, never BAD as such, but kind of stressful and twitchy. I sometimes get the feeling I'm not what she expected, this kind of eccentric changeling in the crib. Actually, I was a horrendous-looking baby, maybe that's actually true.

But this evening was GREAT. We just worked and joked and talked about life and were amazingly productive and kind of silly too, and I remembered that I love her because she is great. Some days it's just easier to remember the important stuff, I guess. Mum was amazingly uncritical of my paint-rollering. But, then, it was pretty damn fine, if I do say so myself. Too much practice painting theatres.

She is turning sixty next week. That is kind of weird. Because I always thought of 60 as kind of old, and now both my parents are going to be that. But then, I always thought of 30 as somehow grown-up and responsible and mortgage and kids, and none of that's true of me. And I'm beginning to think about the possibility that it might NEVER be the case. Ok, I'm kind of responsible. At a stretch. But the rest? Not even really on the horizon at this stage.

I had a good meeting with Sharon today. But now my brain is full. Seriously, it's full. Nothing more is going in there today. I'm hoping I dream some shit tonight to process it, because otherwise I'm spent. There's literally no room for anything else. I'm walking around with tunnel vision, trying not to hear any new pieces of information, in case I go into overload and crash, and all I can say is "Loading error #561: file missing". Shit. That sounds like I'm a Mac.

9:50am: This is really yesterday's entry.
Sometimes there's a fine line between life and magic realism. Yesterday I walked to work, because it was a beautiful morning.

Walking through the park, I chanced upon twenty-or-so people all walking Irish wolf-hounds. It was this fantastic and weird moment.

I kept walking. There were children riding donkeys. In the park. In the middle of the city. (This is not USUAL).

A man on a penny-farthing rode by, wobbling.

Ok, so a little bit further down the track, I realise there's some sort of weird historical fair going on. Lots of people in Victorian outfits. Ladies in hats. Tents. More donkeys. Buggies.

Outside my office, a brass band was playing the theme from James Bond.

It was Waitangi day - we're supposed to be celebrating bi-culturalism. Instead, there's this weird "We are white" Victorian vibe going on. So strange.

I still don't know why or what or how.

The day before (Saturday) it was the Pasifica festival at the Arts Centre. Lots of drumming and the blowing of conch shells. Lots of hip-hop singers outside the office. People wearing t-shirts with Che Guevara on them, with the legend "Che Guevara, New Zealand." I don't know what that means.

I'm kind of baffled. Some days it would be very possible to believe that you had gone stark, staring, raving, drooling, mad as a skunk in this city. It's so pleasant, but so WEIRD.

10:59pm: bright spot in a woeful day
Okay, so I took the day off today - First day off since the day after Christmas, so maybe just needed some resting time. It felt insanely decadent.

One of the best days ever on the flist, today. Everyone's not necessarily happy, but engaged and interesting and generally thought-provoking and in some places entertainingly silly, and yeah, cool.

( Oh God, I am a whinging toad. Read some here... )

Today live journal was the best thing in the whole day.

2:39pm: dizzy ranting mood
Came home from work because I feel WEIRD.
Like I'm going to faint, or throw up, or faint or something.
Weird.

So I lay down for a while, feeling weird, and now I'm bored and weird.

Feeling kind of pointlessly verbose, so I'm going to hide all this behind cuts. I'm getting the hang of cuts, I think.
So.
( I start watching Lost just as everyone else stops rant )

Ok, one thing I've been thinking about, as I watch day-time tv.
( Mildly boring rant about Consumerism. )

( Frankly boring Election year rant )
Going to stop here, but I might return later. Because...yeah, weird. Flashing lights and eyes. Spinny world. Urgh.

8:59pm: This fantastic day, again, today.
But I've spent too long in my office, and now I feel lonely and sad.
My sister called from England this morning, I miss her.

I had a prolonged conversation once in an acting class about where we physiologically experience emotion. I think I feel many emotions, any upheaval, grief, joy, whatever, in the chest. Upsetness in the throat, and in my wrists. Anger I feel in my head, the cold, gritty kind. Temper, I don't feel at all until it's over and there's smoking bodies lying around. Then I feel it in my stomach, usually like guilt. Satisfaction in the back of the shoulders? There's probably a long ancient Chinese list of these places somewhere.

Going home now, it's late, I'm tired, I've got this amazing sea-mineral mask I want to try on my face, which is guaranteed to transform me from squinting shrivelled red-eyed graduate student into mysterious (god it just took, like, 10 goes to type that correctly) and deadly beautiful mer-creature. Don't come looking tomorrow, I will be UNDER THE SEA.

Going home RIGHT NOW, before this gets any stranger.

6:09pm: So Hot. So Muggy.

Orchestra tonight, brilliant. End of the hiatus, I have no idea what we'll be playing, and the whole rehearsal will be sight-reading. And probably boiling hot at the hall, too. Looking forward to seeing the gang again though.

Great meeting with Sharon. She really rocks. Especially when she's super-focused, like today. PRODUCTIVE! I'm not really cut out to be an academic, I think, because I like working with other people too much. Just sitting and writing all by myself with no input makes me sad.

I beat Ryan at suicide chess. I won the first couple of games we ever played, and then he got the hang of it, and has whupped my ass each time until today. Phew! I can tell he still thinks a few extra moves ahead of me, but occasionally I do something so random and stupid that it breaks his concentration and actually works in my favour. And then I pretend I meant it all along.

Long, sad talk with Shahin. He's hurting about this bust-up with Peter over a film they were making, serious, life-altering artistic differences, and now they're both feeling utterly betrayed, and doing this bizarre stupid guy thing of going back and re-thinking every interaction they've ever had in the light of their current disagreement. Surely, it should work the other way.

That is, if you've always been great friends, then when you have a misunderstanding, you assume the other person is still a great friend who's fucked up. Rather than assuming that they were always a crap friend, and duplicitous to boot?

It's absolutely heart-breakingly unnecessary, from my point of view. And it's not like I'm a fucking Pollyanna either. Surely it's just logical to assume that if you meant well, the other person perhaps did too. And now they'll never work together again, and that's a loss, and a fucking waste.

Good friends on that level are such a rare gift. It's not like you need to be a victim, but SOME effort to not piss the whole thing away because of stupid pride would seem appropriate, from where I'm sitting. Dickheads.

ay ay ay.

8:21pm: Spent today stuck in the office being unproductive, AGAIN. I SUCK! Actually, it wasn't so bad. Lots of busking going on outside, me sitting there grumbling at all the applause like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Or Scrooge. Or Oscar the Grouch. Or any other rain-on-everyone's-parade kind of grump. But no one could see me, so I was really only punishing myself. Heh.

Found some interesting previous writings that I wrote AGES ago, on Sam Marsden, the missionary du jour. But nothing I really feel NAILS what I want to do stylistically or methodologically. But all hope is not lost, I just have to find my voice to say what I want to say. Which I think I might be able to do. I hope so. Another meeting with Sharon tomorrow. Have to get over the shame of how unconfident and non-brilliant I am. Ay Ay Ay.

Danny and Martin still won't behave. Moderately large chunks of text are emerging, and I realised with a degree of horror that part of the problem regarding the boring hopeless angst that this story is shaping up to be is that thus far they're never in the same chapter together. All their relationship stuff is in retrospect, or in other people considering their relationship, and while that seemed quite an achievable end when I started this, it's not really emerging quite as I had hoped. Which may be a good thing. Don't know. I like it when I'm surprised by what happens. But I also like them getting their shit together, and...I think it might be difficult. Might have to throw it into some oubliette file on my computer and faggeddaboudit for a while.

Which raises the question - is there any Sopranos slash? It's a bit of a conceptual leap, perhaps Christopher/Furio? Tony/Big Pussy...ow my eyes. Think I just got struck blind by God.

And that's the cue to sign off, I think.
'night all.

1:54pm: Alexander, Sashimi difficulties, unrequital, and buskers
Things not to attempt to eat with chopsticks while typing in your journal one-handed, number 216: Salmon roe sushi. Okay, so it's fucking divine, if you're a sushi slut, as I must confess to being, but basically it's like trying to handle smooth, aerodynamically-enhanced, slightly slimy red peas using knitting needles. And when you drop them, they ROLL. Leaving behind a gentle subtle fishy aroma. The rice is easier. But I'm making a mess, nevertheless. And I'm a touch-typer, which doesn't work with one hand. There's this URBAN MYTH (in my opinion) that women are these fantastic multi-taskers. But some things need your full attention, no?

In the Arts Centre, where my thesis office lives in a little New-Zealand-film-archive, there is an International Buskers festival, in fact, it's been going on all week. I'm secluded from it, but the sounds are really cool. You can hear, at any one time, really loud snippets of music. High Opera. The Mission Impossible theme. Crowds of people going "three, two, one....(explosion)...ooooooooh!". Which is both interesting and annoying, when all you have to clue you in to what is going on is sound. I can't see anything. But I can hear, and kind of feel it. Oooh, now I'm getting Eine Kleine Nacht Musik. Cool.

I finished the second part of the Alexander trilogy, and it's achingly sad. I don't think it's a spoiler to say Alexander dies in the end. Because he's a historical figure, he has to die sometime, right? The second book is from the perspective of "The Persian Boy" Bagoas, who is Alexander's boy. Who loves him totally, and has to deal with the fact that, despite their intimate sexual relationship, Alexander will always love his friend/lover Hephaestion more. This is laid out against the background of Alexander conquering the entire known world. There's a third book, but I don't know if I'm ready for it, it's about the fallout of Alexander's death, and the disintegration of the empire. I feel like I'm in mourning too much for Alexander to be able to read it just now, but I think I'll definitely come back to it later. The melancholy of the second book was so finely drawn: always that first person reality of wanting to be loved "the best" and never being that person. Lovely, angsty, historically accurate, and... slashy AS FUCK.

Okay, so now I'm being bombarded by really nasty loud electronic percussion. The crowd is going nuts, and apparently so am I.

Ah buskers. Don't you just...

12:29pm: Ok, so once again, the world didn't end. Sharon, my supervisor, is a great person. She's on my case about showing her stuff, rather than just moping about perceived crap-ness, and I think that will actually help. Because I really have to get out the self-hating thesis rut soon, or I'll go crazy.

I've started planning the practical component for the "Mask and Character" class. I'm looking forward to that a lot. It seems ironic, in some ways, because I feel very masked at the moment. I'm not really being honest with anybody about anything. Even myself. And it's weird because I'm having these big swings between feeling good about things, feeling capable and intelligent and beautiful, and really dark moods when I most emphatically DON'T.
And it's like I've got enough self-reflection to realise I'm being self-piteous, but that's only enough stimulus to make me feel worse, not to snap myself out of it.

This is reflected in the thesis writing. It's like every piece of evidence I examine could be viewed so many different ways, and I'm like this archaeologist putting it all together. Which sounds nice, really, but it's really fucking hard to organise these schizophrenic voices into some sort of comprehensive and comprehensible whole. And it's like a circular jigsaw puzzle, with a hole in the middle, where I'm sitting. And when I stand up to go get coffee, I realise I've hemmed myself in, totally, and there's no way out. No way through. Sheeezus! That is one crappy metaphor.

Gah! Enough! Back to work....

9:44pm: keeping Danny T. on the wagon
I've read some VERY interesting fiction-based discussions lately.

There's been some extensive and intensive discussions about what people hate in fiction.
Here's my pet hate:

I've been really mulling this over.

I really can't enjoy pushing-Danny-off-the-wagon as a plot device in terms of getting him and Martin together.

I've got a beloved family member in AA - I think there's a general misunderstanding that it's just about not drinking. Which of course, it is. But committing to sobriety via AA involves a whole life-style change = the famous 12-steps are about one's relationships firstly to a higher power, a divinity, if you will, and then a really thorough personal confession and ongoing attempt to make amends.

It's really fucking profound. When you first join AA, there's a period of a year (or sometimes two) when you're not supposed to start any new relationships: it's about getting your shit together on all the life fronts, or at least, finding a way to keep doing your best (one day at a time).

In canon, Danny has been in AA over eight years - it's been instrumental in making him the man he is. As with any alcoholic, he's recovering, not recovered, which means that yeah, potentially he could go back on the piss. But it would be a really terrible and significant thing to happen to him. It's not something he'd go "oh shit" and forget about. It's not something that being happy with Martin would make better either. It's about him, not about Martin.

I've read some decent fics which use this, but it still irks me. There's not so many AA-member major characters on primetime tv, though minor characters and guests pop up all the time. Uncanny. And I just feel with Danny, it's a fundamental. Mind you, I'm behind with the watching: evil season three approaches... him starting drinking would almost equal character death to me, unless they did it REALLY sensitively.

On a lesser note, I read a fic in which Jim (aka the Sentinel) grew a moustache. NOOOOOOOOO!
Make it stop!
I guess everyone has these kind of places that they believe certain characters wouldn't go. Sometimes they're profound - and no, Nick Stokes is not a homophobic bastard - and sometimes they're possibly irrational. No moustache, not now, not ever, don't care why or how or...just NO.

But then, I realise that a lot of what I do like, others would find squicky. It's an interesting world, fanfiction. Went and looked at Alias fiction (which has produced some quite compelling stuff) and there were requests for challenge-fics. My favourite was "no slash, overt sexual behaviour, or non-biblical behaviour". Heh. Have they ever watched that show? And best hope no one eats pork ribs (Leviticus) Or allows a woman to talk in church (Paul to the Corinthians) Or suffers a witch to live. Or covets their neighbour's...you get the drift.

Anyhow.

With reference to yesterday's post, obviously - not the last day of the world. Which is a good thing. Tomorrow, however, I meet with my supervisor, and not much to show. Doooom. Dooooom. Last day of the world! The end is nigh! Repent! Repent!

Ok now that's just silly.