January 8th, 2003


Small Jazz

This morning, getting off my bus, I noticed a plaque bearing this short story:
In Case of Emergency:

Break Cover
Turn Lover
Open Doors
Then I realized that "lover" was actually "lever," partially obscured. I like the original version better. It's concise, poetic, and romantic. Could be a Krycek story, though "turn lover" sounds rather vampiric, so maybe it's an elliptical Spike and Xander tale.

I was slightly late to the bus because I had a tour of the WAC this morning, the Washington Athletic Club. I'm thinking of joining. It's kind of expensive; the monthly rates aren't that bad, considering, but there's a ridiculously high initial membership fee designed like a speedbump to deter low-class joyriders. I'm still kind of ambivalent about joining, but at the end of the tour, the member services gal told me there'd be a series of committee reviews, including a credit check, and I thought: fuck. And as soon as my prospects for approval lowered, my desire to be approved predictably and immediately rose. I have no idea what my credit history looks like right now, but I suspect it's spotty. If I do get turned down, it might be for the best--maybe I'd be better off ramping up at a more casual thirty-bucks-a-month body shop.

Buffy Babble. Spoilers for "Showtime." Collapse ) And in other news, this is my last day at work before four straight days off. I intend to write. No, really. My goal is to finish the next noir and post by Sunday evening. Knock on wood.

At last, I am borg.

For the longest time I've felt utterly alone with my feedback-response issues, a twisted individual incapable of playing nice with the other kiddies, an unsocialized monk with an ambiguous habit of silence. I disclaimer my ass off these days about not answering e-mail, and the message seems to be trickling out, but I'm sure there are plenty of people from days of yore (pre-ass-disclaiming) who wonder why I never sent them a reply and consider me a snotty BNF for that.

But finally a few other voices have chimed in on the feedback issue, like thete1 and poisoninjestI don't feel quite so quasimodo a monster. Posts can be found here and here.
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    Poe's "Haunted"

The sweet smell of freedom.

Four days off, four days off. My heart may plump up and explode like a hotdog, I'm so thrilled.

Here's a funny thing--the parental warning preceding a Fox network airing of "The Spy Who Shagged Me" warned for "mature content." Austin Powers. Mature content. Heh. And then they cut nothing of the first fifteen minutes or so, keeping in so much heavily laden innuendo that it threatened to tip over the tea trolley. It was then that I realized just how clever those movies are, and how deliberate their intentions. They're *designed* for network television, one rude nose-thumbing after another to standards & practices, as they carefully skirt all censor lines. Go, Mike. I suddenly want to watch "So I Married an Axe Murderer" again.

What I really want is for a pair of elves to sneak into my apartment with a large sour-cream lemon pie and place it outside my bedroom door, and then trip me as I come out so that I fall face first into it, forcing me to lick myself clean without any sense of guilt.

Mmm, elves.


"Odds" is a strange Due South episode. It was the longest time before someone clued me into Agent White and Agent Exley; I'd never read or seen "L.A. Confidential" when I first watched the ep. I still haven't read the book, so I'm not sure if I'm missing layers. I can't tell, for instance, if their syncrhonized line deliveries and coffee drinking are a literary in-joke, or just some bizarre Due-Southern fun.

Aside from the feebs, there's strange behavior from Fraser--strange for him being when he starts acting like a normal TV hero, kissing up to suspects and triggering the climax with his suave, whodunit exposition. The soundtrack bursts into song at odd moments, but that's nothing new. Then there's this weird turn during a Frannie-and-Fraser conversation when they walk around a corner into the squad room and then come down the stairs a moment later back to where they began, a neat flip hinged by keeping the camera's focus on an ascending passer-by. I can't figure out what that's about. I'm also confused by the sketch artist, who sort of reminds me of Buffy's Cheese Man, not random in himself, but randomly fascinated by the consulate's wood...and, oh wow, I just remembered. I think this was the Twin Peaks/David Lynch parody ep. Now I could revise this post and pretend I knew it all along, but never mind. I'm lazy.

That puts the ep in a new light. The Fibbies are parodies of Agent Cooper--crisp, formal, and insane--or maybe his fellow agents, since Fraser himself shows signs of a Cooperesque panache. The sketch artist is Lynchian background color. And Lady Shoes is our noirish femme fatale. But what was up with Fraser's back problems? Hmm.

The closing scene is pure Due South, though--playing poker for air--and sweetly slashy too. It's not hard to read Ray's reactions throughout the ep as fueled by a frisson of more than friendly Fraserly interest.

Overall, the ep doesn't quite gel--all the elements are just tossed in the pot and stirred, with little bits floating to the surface to capture the attention. But it's interesting.

So now I want someone to write an "Angel" story where Lilah is not in fact a real lawyer, but a savvy con artist with a dark and mysterious past, who wrangled a job with Wolfram & Hart after retiring from a dangerous poker career. {g} Oh, I'm sure that's been written.*

* Edited to add: Um, because Stephanie Romanov played Lady Shoes. That's probably an obscure kind of reference....
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