:: Handbasket Emporium ::

:: Saturday, May 12, 2001 ::

See, I had all this stuff I was going to post, but then I read Pete's blog, and I found this out. And now it's...yeah. It's gone.

Jesus. I can't believe Douglas Adams is dead. Only a year older than my Mom, and he's gone.

It's not that often that I really stop and recoil when someone famous dies, but this is one of those occasions. This man was one of the reasons I write. It's just so off-kilter that he could be gone.

This page will be silent until this time tomorrow night, in a somewhat ridiculous memoriam. Who knows. Maybe he'd get a kick out of it.

Take care of each other.
:: Reesa 5/12/2001 10:55:09 PM [+] ::
...

Woo-ee!

Emmett from the US version of Queer As Folk, Peter Paige, is in this episode of Suddenly Susan as a funeral director. *snickers*
:: Reesa 5/11/2001 01:13:29 AM [+] ::
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This is what I'll be doing tomorrow.

Two sessions with Pat in a week, and tomorrow we try that for the first time. I suppose I should feel more apprehensive, but I'm kind f looking forward to it. I just want to get over this. All of it. And this looks, from the reading I've done on it, to be a viable solution to most of the stuff I'm seeing Pat for.

Heh. Maybe I should talk to him about repeat customers. I wonder if he knows I'll stop coming to see him when I feel better?
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 11:37:35 PM [+] ::
...

I think I might have had an epiphany.

(Oh Jesus...too fucking much Sports Night! Augh!)

Somewhere along the line, I confused accepting that something had happened to me with letting myself be a victim again. They are not synonymous. Yes, something happened, but A) it's not the same, and B) I don't have to feel like it is. Nobody is waiting around the corner to judge me. At least, I hope not.

That my biggest fear of all. Stupid. I worry that the people I love will think less of me somehow, whatever way they veiw what happened. I don't know.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 11:24:47 PM [+] ::
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My, my...don't I sound way too Yank for my own good.

I suppose I'm just bitter. I wanted to immigrate, and they didn't want me. *sighs*
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 02:36:08 PM [+] ::
...

*lol* I just listened to a monologue by Bruce McCulloch about how to become a comedian, and I noticed something. At one point, he advises gettng drunk with guys like Callum Rennie and pissing out the back of a fast moving truck.

How many guys named Callum do -you- think there are?

You know, if you Canucks want to avoid people thinking that you all know each other, you should really..er...stop knowing each other! Turns now, Callum Keith Rennie was also the first up for the role fo my beloved Krycek, and didn't take it. Instead, he passed it on to his other friend, Nick Lea. Heh...

I guess this explains why whenever they make a low budget movie in Canada, they wind up using the same 5 actors.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 02:30:27 PM [+] ::
...

So I have a heavy duty sinus infection, which is in part what's causing the dizzyness, which is causing some of the nausea, which is why I'm not eating much, which seems to be -part- of why I've lost more than 25 pounds in the past two months. I say part because I've actually sort of been exercising, but not enough to warrant that kind of loss.

Joel (My PA- amazing guy, great bedside manner, cute as hell, and of course, married with a tiny baby...) put silver nitrate up my nose to stop the bleed that I've had for about a week. Just a slow trickle, but it explains the blood taste in my mouth, and the (apparent) low-level anemia. Iron pills. Ew. They make your mouth taste funny. It's making it iiiiitch though, which is making it run even more, which is making me blow it, which is making my throat sore! Auuuugh!

I'm kind of out of the little self-pity party I fell into last night, thankfully, but I still feel icky. It'll pass, I guess, just like it always does.

My hair feels dirty, and I just washed it this morning.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 02:07:13 PM [+] ::
...

Explain it all to me again?

Especially the parts I don't understand.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 06:04:11 AM [+] ::
...

Ah...to sleep, or not to sleep.

The sun is up, which makes me wonder why I should really bother.

But then, the sun is up rather frequently, and I rarely pay it any heed.

Tamsin and I have just had a lovely one-sided discussion on the merits of him NOT chewing the buttons off my shirt. We have agreed to disagree, apparently, as he is still chewing.

He's not -spoiled-, dammit! He's well-cared for. Coddled, perhaps. Indulged.

Alright. The fucking bird is spoiled.

Sleep. Couch. Good.

Oooo! Sports Night reruns!

GOD DAMN IT!

I didn't just say that!
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 06:02:33 AM [+] ::
...

First writing I've done in...er...ages...

--------------------------------------------------------

“I was the one who leaked that story. Just so you know.”

It took him a minute in the pitch dark room a thousand miles away from home, to remember what his name was. After that, the name of his late night caller was easily recalled, though all it did was make him fall backwards into his bed again, cradling the phone to his ear and staring at the ceiling.

“Thanks? Is that what you were hoping for?”

“No. I’m drunk. I thought you should know that. I’m piss drunk on cheap wine, and I’m sitting here in a bed that used to be ours, staring at a picture of you when you were 16 years old, naked and grinning at me like a fucking Cheshire cat. Does this count as child pornography?”

He sighed, fingers coiling the cord as he debated just hanging up.

“No Rick. That’d be that story you were so helpful in telling. My publicist loved that, by the way. Said she’d never had a more interesting time than trying to convince the tabloids that those perfectly legitimate pictures you gave them were faked. Thanks. Thanks for thinking my bruises were sexy enough to photograph. I appreciate it.” And inwardly, he hears a tiny wail of “Why? Why don’t you leave me ALONE?” But that’s inward, silent until he can actually say it, and he never, ever does. It makes him feel very small.

“They were,” he hears Richard slur out, and then the clink of glass as something falls. He can imagine the long swallow, the last of the dark red wine that Rick had always favoured for his maudlin drunks slipping down a throat that only seemed fit to expel, normally. “They were –mine-. You were mine. I remember. Put them there so you couldn’t leave, not without people knowing you were mine, so I could have you back. I need you back.” There’s a pause for breath, and the insistent, pained wail of someone three steps over the line. “Need you, Nicky. I can’t…it’s all shit, without you. Love you, so much. I always did, you know. Always, and never, and forever…how did that song go?”

“I don’t know,” he replies tiredly, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. Because those –weren’t- tears. No. Not this long after, not with Ethan, not for this royal –fuck- of a man who ruined everything, everytime, on purpose. “Rick, why don’t you go to bed? You’re going to be hungover in the morning.”

“Doesn’t matter. I made it without you. Chief of surgery. All by my…I can’t do that high note, can I? I’m here Nicky, and you’re not, and you should be. I won’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I promise.” The familiar cultured voice rises steeply at the end, and Nick reaches out for his guilty pack of cigarettes hastily enough to upset his glass of water.

“I can’t deal with you anymore Richard. Not a month ago you were pawning around pictures of me as a…a… I was a –kid- Rick. I was a fucking child, and I can’t believe you…”

“A fucking child. That’s funny. You’re still funny. I’ve seen pictures. You’re still the same. Come home. Please?” Another clink, and a crash echoing through the wires. Nick turned, pulling an ashtray onto his chest before taking a long, much needed drag and closing his eyes.

“I’m –not- the same. You hurt me Rick, and I’m not coming back to that. I’m with Ethan. I’ve –been- with Ethan for years. I’m not coming back to you, ever. Are you listening? I don’t care how many pictures you sell. I don’t care if you tell everyone everything I ever did for you, trying to get you to…you know what I mean. Sell them whatever you want to, okay, but leave me alone. I’m not…just leave it. Leave us alone Richard.”

“I’m still better than you.”

“You always were, I’m sure. You’re a much better drunk than me, that’s a sure thing.”

“I should go.”

“Yes, you really should. How the hell did you even get this number? No. Wait. I don’t want to know. Stop it Rick. Stop watching me. Stop coming to my damn concerts and standing in the front row with whatever boy scout you’re nailing that week. Stop calling me.” He knew the warning wouldn’t stick, simply because it never did, and Rick, as this proved, wasn’t adept at change. “And Rick? The next time you decide to relive the good old days of spousal abuse and amateur photography? Leave me out of it. Leave –Ethan- out of it. Leave the fucking press out of it.”

“It wasn’t abuse.” Nick’s laughter is almost torn from his throat, smokier than the nearly dead cigarette, and much, much darker than his early morning hotel room. Stabbing the butt out, he moves the ashtray back to the bedside table, dropping it with a faint clink.

“It never is, with you. Goodbye Richard.”

“G’night Nicky. Love you.”

“You probably do.” The click as he pushes the receiver back onto the base is the only audible sound for a second, before he’s scrambling to pull it back off. His fingers fumble over the numbers, dialing by rote rather than sight. A sleep-muzzed voice answers after about 5 rings, just before the answering machine can pick up.

“’llo?,” he hears yawned at him, and turns onto his side, facing the phone and the sliding glass door leading to his patio.

“Ethe?”

“Nick? What’s wrong?” The seconds between coming awake and the rising alarm in the voice over the phone amuse him, and he smiles just a touch.

“Nothing. Just…I don’t know. Wanted to…”

Back to amused sleepiness now, Ethan’s voice drifts, sounding closer in his mind, warmer, and he pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, imagining himself at home.

“Love you.”

“Yeah. Love you too. Talk to you when I’m awake?”

“Yeah. G’night Nick.

“Night Ethe.”

The phone is lucky to make it back to it’s cradle, and if his fingers caress the plastic like an absent lover…well, at least it’s not a bottle of wine.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 05:01:50 AM [+] ::
...

And I had NO idea that Handbasket was only a week younger than sugar + brine.

Sleep. But then, really, why bother, eh? Nightmares, here I come.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 03:15:06 AM [+] ::
...

5-21, this thing'll be a year old. What a weird, weird year.
:: Reesa 5/10/2001 03:13:23 AM [+] ::
...

I already feel like I asked for it somehow. I already feel like it's my fault for talking to the guy, for not rolling up the window and driving away. I'm already willing to victimize myself twice.

I did what I thought was best in the moment. I can't change it now. Please don't hate me for it. Please don't ask me why I didn't just...go. I thought the guy might be a carjacker, and I didn't want him to get pissed at me and follow me down the road to hit my car. I can't explain it any better than that.

I already feel like it's my fault. I don't think I could really stand it if you thought so too. I already feel like I should have known better. What kind of guy would walk up to ME and start complimenting me? Only a pervert, right? I should have known. I get that. But I didn't. And I can't change that now. And even if you DO think it was my fault, if you think that I was stupid and I should have known better, please, please don't tell me, okay? Because I already feel so damn -stupid- it makes me sick, and there's a little bit of me that will just shrivel up and go away if I ever see that you think I'm that stupid too.

I feel like a victim all over again, no matter how much I laugh this off. I can't sleep my lights off anymore. Do you KNOW how bad that makes me feel? I've moved all my blankets to the living room so I can be near Tamsin, which is less ridiculous than it sounds. I had a dream last night that I was screaming and screaming for help, and even Richard couldn't hear me. I woke up trying to breathe- I'd had another bout with a bloody nose, and it was clogged enough that I was pretty much choking.

I'm afraid. It's stupid. All of this is STUPID, because some asshole decided to get a little touchy with me in a parking lot, and I feel so ridiculous acknowledging that it's had any affect on me at all, but it has. It's bringing up everything from when I was a kid, and making me feel just as small and worthless and unable to protect myself, all over again. But y'know, I was 7 then, and I'm 21 now. I feel like I don't even have an excuse now, which is so stupid. It's ALL so stupid. Fuck.

Just please, please don't think of me the way I do, okay? Cause trust me, I think I'm stupid enough for all of us, and I think anymore of these Friendly Affirmations From the Universe are just going to tip me right over the edge into basketweaving camp. They'll take away my shoelaces, and really, who likes to get letters in crayon? DULL crayon, at that?

And as a side note, to the Universe at large? I fucking GET IT, alright? I am the running joke, I am the punchline, and no matter how close I think I am to my life getting on track, to finally maybe thinking that happiness is a fairly normal state of mind, it is NOT meant to be. I get it. Stop reminding me, before I'm dead, okay?

My head hurts. I'm going to go vomit now. Thank you. G'night.
:: Reesa 5/9/2001 11:27:59 PM [+] ::
...

Oh! Oh! And for the love of anything holy!

NO DIAGNOSIS MURDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!
:: Reesa 5/9/2001 03:40:28 PM [+] ::
...

I'll read, oh, just about anything. Any fandom (Except Sentinel...I HATE that show.) gets a few chances from me before I either let it lie there unread or go looking for a few more stories.

There are just a few shows, though, that I just...augh. I just -can't- do slash from. Sometimes it's not even the shows, it's the pairings. So ehre's a few, just in case anyone was wondering where my lines were drawn.

Malcolm In the Middle.- Any pairing. It's just...erg. No. Thanks, it's not even that what I've found is badly written, just...no.
Kevin Smith movies- NONONO! No Jay/Silent Bob. Please. I beg of you. I don't care if Jay IS gay...argh! No...I don't want to picture him having sex, and I don't think he has enough brain function left for the schmoop-fic people try to write him into.
Simon and Simon- Forgive me Alex. I just -can't-. Specially not when most of the stories are rape fic between AJ and Rick. Ew.

Right. I'm off to therapy now. And after some of the stuff my eyes have scanned over today, it's no wonder!
:: Reesa 5/9/2001 03:38:35 PM [+] ::
...

Just to clear up a point-

When someone looks guilty, and their significant other tells them "I know why!" and guesses, their immediate reaction should not be one of relief.

It means they're LYING.

Der.

Man, soap-people are seriously stupid.
:: Reesa 5/9/2001 02:04:45 PM [+] ::
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Verbose, party of one?

When did I become Chatty Cathy, anyhow?
:: Reesa 5/9/2001 02:33:09 AM [+] ::
...

I love television.

I am not addicted to it- I can and have gone without decent tv, or even -any- tv for more than a month at a time, every so often. Call it my Pon Far. Heh.

But by and large, I love television. I love tuning into reruns of shows I've seen an hundred times and catching lines I know by heart, and looks I didn't notice the last time. I'm a sucker for the masked potential in any show, which I suppose only makes it natural that I'm a slasher at heart. I -live- for subtext.

That having been said, on with tonight's Buffy and Angel reviews!

Buffy-

Before I start, let me post a link to a fic I read months ago- almost 6, I think. It's haunted me ever since, being possibly one of the most bleak pieces of fiction I've ever read. It's dark, it's terrible, and it reminds me strangely of the latest events with our Sunnydale crew.

Our House- Puca Dentata

Now- roadtrip thing? Gold. I loved it. Xander's queasiness (and trust me, I KNOW the urge to vomit!) was rather too convincing, and I love the way that Spike has been made an irrefutable part of the gang. No, he's not nice by nature. he's nice when it gets him something, he's nice when he thinks Buffy might be watching, and I think he's nice to Dawn just because he actually likes her. It's nice to see that shade of grey in there though, because of the two shows, Buffy seems to be the one that leans closest to the pure black/white theory of the universe. A little evil keeps you on your toes, after all. Anyhow- loving the majour inclusion of Spike as a player in this conflict.

Now...my drooling tonight centered on one scene, the one scene where I distinctly heard the members of Nummy Treats the world round draw a breath before screeching hysterically. The lighter thing. Spike, having held a sword blade (And can I just say, that is my ultimate nightmare? Really...I've woken up screaming after dreaming about cutting all the way through my hands...) can't get his lighter held the right way to light his cig. Xander, watching him from across the room rather intently for someone who doesn't like him, walks over and takes the lighter, holding it for Spike. It was a Moment, okay? I loved it. I love that Xander got rid of his child-molester haircut, and that the character exploration this season has fleshed him out as (Finally!) more than just the onscreen whipping boy. Joy!

Yay. Just...-yay-. One of the things that makes Buffy such a -good- show, in the face of all the rest of the crap you can find on the WB and others, is that the characters actually -change-. There are no "very special episodes"- life doesn't give you those moralistic opportunities to find out what it all means, only to return you the next week to the same shallow existence you enjoyed before. You may not like the way these people change, or the time it takes them to do it, but the fact is that they're not the same characters every episode. I appreciate that. I appreciate that Joss Whedon trusts his viewers enough not to beat them over the head with a few obvious character traits, trying to substitute them for an actual personality. (You just HUSH, Peter Milan. D'you hear me? No Tara-bashing! *grins* And yes, I AM kidding...) You don't care about the girls on Popular- but I find myself actually wondering what I might do, if faced with some of the same situations as say, Xander, or Willow. The mainly "normal" ones, the geeks, the people I could most identify with if I were to meet them on a street corner. And then I do have that moment where I wonder what the hell I'm thinking- this is a show about a frigging vampire slayer, after all, but it doesn't change that the characters are what drives it most of the time, not the monster of the week episodes. It doesn't change that every episode affects how each of them acts in the next one- there's a continuity there not shared by many other shows. I respect that. In fact, when you think about it, the sheer idea of a series based on fantasy being more realistic than the one supposedly based on a normal high school is so...so...Hollywood.

I digress.

Angel-

YesYesYES! *bounce* Angel in sunlight!

"Could everyone just notice how much fire I'm NOT on?"

I admit to being totally surprised by the end of this. Not just the Cordy-in-her-rightful-place bit, but the actual end of the show. I was sure it had only been about 30 minutes. That, my friends, is good pacing! I never even thought it might be a two-parter, except for some spoilers I read on AIC ages ago.

Now. Wesley and Angel pinching each other's cheeks. Was it just me, or was that blooper that Joss left in because he loves us and wants us to be happy? Those guys were grinning -way- too much for anything else. Hell, I still am!

Wesley and Gunn got a little screen time tonight- *happy sigh* Those guys can pack more schmoop, more pure "I get you" into a single glance than most of the het couples I've seen. I enjoy the buddy interaction, and we know where my mind goes from there.

I'm running out of steam here (I know...shut UP already! *laughs*) but I'm looking forward to next weeks episode. Another little comparison between what I'd call a good show and, oh, say, the X Files...actual exploration of not only a mytharc, but of the entomology of a species. Getting to actually -see- the vamp-demons is going to be cool, no matter what Joss does with them, simply because it's an answer to the question that he never had to beat you over the head with- "Is the demon -really- a different person than the human, or are Angel and the Watcher's Council full of it?" I can't wait.

This is why I love television. Because I'm easily entertained, and easily distracted- and each show gives me so many things to mull over until the next that it keeps me busy.

:: Reesa 5/9/2001 02:07:46 AM [+] ::
...

Appointment Thursday morning at 10:45. Ugh. If I still feel then like I do now, I may just ask him to dump me in the back corner and run an IV or something. I'm hoping it's just exhaustion and dehydration, combined with the leftover weakness from the flu.

This, nicely, doesn't explain the fact that I can't sleep at ALL, and anything I eat makes me want to vomit unless I'm so drugged up that waving my hand back and forth at the end of my arm is high sport.

I'm so punchy that even laughing makes me feel sick after awhile.
:: Reesa 5/8/2001 01:58:13 PM [+] ::
...

I...um...can't sleep without the lights on anymore. I think I've finally pinned down that much, at least. I'm very restless and uncomfortable, doing that "20 minute= 1 day" thing until the sun comes up, at which point I settle into a slightly better sleep pattern.

So. Yeah.

21 years old, and I'm now going to go string up faery lights in my bedroom so I can sleep without nightmares.

Yeah.

Oi.
:: Reesa 5/8/2001 12:59:01 PM [+] ::
...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOM!!!!

*snickers* I'll stop now, I promise.

You being 20 now, geez...d'you have grey hair yet?
:: Reesa 5/8/2001 12:55:05 PM [+] ::
...

Can I type "vitriolic crap" again? Huh, huh? Can I?

The thought of acidicly burning feces is indecently funny to me right now.

I haven't been sleeping. I've mentioned that, right?

:: Reesa 5/8/2001 01:21:44 AM [+] ::
...

That, my friend, is why the rest of the East Coast calls them Massholes.

Glad to see that you and your Lady are reunited. Have fun!
:: Reesa 5/8/2001 12:29:44 AM [+] ::
...

So far I've found this in a couple blogs I read, and several news sites, so I doubt my limited readership will really up the number of people suckered into reading it.

I think what digs at me the most about this whole rant is how narcissistic it is. I'm impressed that anyone who writes such vitriolic crap can actually manage to pound out so many words all in a row. Unfortunately, they still don't make sense. I will admit, at this point, to never having bothered to buy an issue of Cerebus. I never liked it enough to take it home after reading it, and now I'm glad I don't have to find someplace to dump my issues.

Sometimes I wish I didn't believe so strongly in freedom of speech. There's a very nasty part of me that sometimes whines "But we don't LIKE what they have to say!". That's not the way it works though, thank gods. I'm trying to shut the voice up right now, by reminding it that at least my feminist dollars haven't been contributing to word processor time for this guy. It's a less than satisfying victory, but what am I going to do?

Oh. Right. Post that link so everyone else can read it themselves and form their own opinion. Damn.

Again? Not as satisfying as it should be. Grrr.
:: Reesa 5/8/2001 12:19:25 AM [+] ::
...

I think one of the reasons I don't like the character Sally Fields plays on ER is that she reminds me too much of my Dad. It's the same with Titus' mother, from the show Titus. Last Oct. when we were all doing the D.C. walking tour thing with Fiona, she and I had a conversation about just that. How strange it is to see these comic, tragic people on television now, to look at them and see your childhood in their kids. I don't know if it's brave or if it makes me want to cringe back from the shows and change the channel. I suppose that unless you grew up with that, unless you know how strange it is to have a parent who is funny and brilliant and wonderful to be with one minute and a completely different person the next, you don't have that human touch to it. It doesn't have to reach into your stomach and twist you up like a party balloon because you know even before the punchline how fucking -hard- it is to find the joke in any of it after awhile.

My father? We have huge issues, he and I, as anyone who reads this after his phone calls will know. He is a clinically diagnosed schizophrenic. He also suffers from manic-depression (bi-polar disorder, depending on which doctor you're talking to), intense paranoia and delusions. When I was a kid, I remember him being the scariest thing I'd ever seen. I must have been about 5 or 6- we were living in San Jose at the time. My parents had a bedroom that led out to our enclosed greenhouse porch (They grew pot there, but nevermind...that's a WHOLE other thing...) and I wanted to get a tomato so I had to walk through their bathroom to get it. My Dad was there, just lying there on the bathroom floor, hiding in the corner, and I thought he was dead. I don't know. Maybe he had the flu- but maybe it was just the first time I saw him in a depression.

My Mom...gods, I still shake, even admitting that I ever had a problem with my Mom. Isn’t' that stupid beyond measure? No known psych profile, though she gets into funks just like everyone else.

I can't do it. It's so annoyingly black and white in my head, and it's not fair, and it's not the outlook that I know a rational human being should have. But it's not rational. it's my family, y'know? And gods help me, even after all this time, I still -need- one of my parents to have been "the good one". They weren't as bad as some, they weren't happy...but my twisted mind says "Nope, you're never allowed to be angry at your Mom. She did the best she could, and you're selfish and ungrateful for thinking anything else." And maybe I am. Maybe I'm every bit as bad as those kids I was talking about the other day, who don't even connect their actions with the results, who don't ever claim responsibility for a thing in their entire lives.

It's not fair to say that it was just my Dad, and it wouldn't be fair to blame everything that's wrong with me on my parents and their shitty parenting skills. I don't even think it's true.

And then I stall out again, because I want an easy out. I want one thing to be easy. Is that so much to ask? I can answer that myself, actually. Yes, it is. Because that's just not the way life works, for me or anyone. And it's -not- fair, but it wasn't supposed to be.

Is it weird to look at Sally Field and see your Dad? Somehow I don't think he'd thank me for the comparison.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 11:21:33 PM [+] ::
...

Wait. I just realized that I have proof I'm not a fair-weather fan.

I actually chose the Caps as my Stanley Cup Finals pick in the Avalon hockey pool.

-That-, my friends, is loyalty.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 12:40:00 PM [+] ::
...

Not having read your recent ficcing efforts, I'll apologize for at least that...*grin* And actually, I understand the not-completely-rational dislike of a character too. I mean, c'mon...you can't like -everyone-!

So I'll confess. Heh...and then people will look at me funny.

Willow- Redheaded, bisexual pagan chicky. Computer geek. History buff.
Me- Redheaded, bisexual pagan chicky. Computer geek. History buff.

My reaction to Willow, nearly everytime I see her onscreen- "Ugh. Ever heard of speech therapy and decaf? Together they make a great mix."

So Pete, despite our continued ragging...*grin*...I -do- get it. It doesn't have to make sense. Hell, it's television. Nothing makes sense.

(*grumble* Including my now overwhelming urge to tape Sports Night off Comedy Central...hate...stilted...dialogue...*muttermutter*)

Now, as for that Monica chick? TOTAL plant! Do they -really- think we're not smart enough to put two and two together? I think CC just decided he was too cheap to pay for actual opinion research, so he figured the ratings for the nights she was on would have to count instead.

But this ties in to my current X-Files rant too. Nobody cares anymore. Serious apathy on all parts. Robert Patrick, whom I admit, I was very prepared to dislike, is the only actor who still seems to get any "Wow!" out of his work, but maybe that's only natural. Cripes, can you imagine spending 8 years at a Taco Bell? No matter how many times you spit in the tacos, eventually, if you hate the job, you're gonna lose interest. It's going to an effort to go to work, but you know you've got to push that new Gordita, so you slap on your game face (Gah! Vampire refs! Must stop with the vampire refs!) and plod up to the register and do what you have to until that job with the comic book store comes through. It's not the job that's changed, it's you, but you were stupid enough to sign a 10 year contract with SatanBoss in exchange for a higher weekly food allowance.

The fans I know, who were every bit as hardcore in their love of this weirdly intoxicating show, just don't give a flying fuck anymore. You know what I do on Sunday nights from 9-10 pm? I laugh at the jokes on Malcolm In the Middle as I drive myself home across Fairfax County. And unless it's a Krycek episode, I don't even feel much of a twinge to rush to the television when I get home so I can catch the last of the show. Chris Carter? Ditto. Doesn't care. Has nearly said as much publicly. David Duchovny? Gee, after that whole syndication thing, I can't imagine why he'd have any lingering resentment. Doesn't care. his acting continues to show this brilliantly- he's there. When Mulder came back, I found myself thinking "Y'know, you pretty much could have inserted one of the Lone Gunmen in this role, and I don't think I would have noticed that much." No zing to the episodes, no particularly unexplored territory in the Monster of the Week eps. Nada. Gillian Anderson, who up until this point seemed to be doing an okay job of smothering her dislike, has slipped a little.

Once upon a time I would have been the one sitting there immobilized for an hour, demanding Total Radio Silence, a lack of chatter and completely 'Files-related talk during the commercial breaks. I would have analyzed every word anyone said, and worked out the pot to my own liking, so at least when someone asked me afterwards I'd be able to talk a decent line about why it had to end that way. In short, I would have gotten my geek on. I just don't feel the need anymore. It's been explored. Or it's been ignored for so long that even the writer's seem to have forgotten which loops tie into which characters for the conspiracy eps. To quote BNL, "It's all been done."

Perhaps that's too bleak an outlook, but I'll tell you this much- unless Duchovny and Anderson are goners next year, unless they actually bill the X-Files with new characters working the cases, and acknowledge that sometimes you -can- have too much of a good thing, I doubt I'll be tuning in to watch. I'll still keep hoping for my boy Krycek's guest-appearances (He kissed him, he kissed him! Nyah! At least that much, they can't take away from me. Although I think I might take it away from myself if I watch that ep in slow motion too much more. The tape is gonna go.) but unless I see a passing mention of him on a board someplace, I doubt I'd even be tuned in enough to know he was going to be on.

(Okay...I lied...I -always- know when Nick Lea is on. It's like Spidey-sense.)

What kills me, even now, is that the show itself isn't that bad. For a primetime sci-fi/drama/comedy, it's done damn well. But it's time to decide where it's going, who's going with it and if they even care enough to do what needs to be done. I could be a fair-weather fan, I suppose, demanding actual quality and giving up after 3 seasons of mainly crap, but I tend to think that at least a few other fans feel the same way I do- Apathy begets apathy. Either find some way to interest your actors in their roles, or realize that your original characters are at an ending and move on. I don't know if I'm in the minority, thinking that the show could go on with new characters, and in all honestly, I'm still not sure I'd muster up much enthusiasm if it did. I've been too burned out by the whole thing not to be cautious now. I guess what I really want is for everyone to make up their minds and go from there. But please, do it soon, before you put on another year of David Duchovny just standing there, reading his lines with no emotion, or another episode where the writers use Scully to cover for Mulder, suddenly having bursts of righteousness and fervent enthusiasm for things that don't make any bloody -sense-.

And just so I don't come down -too- hard on it all, I thought last night's Ode To Mary Sue was decently clever, whether they meant it to be or not. It's not easy being perfect y'know. *grin* Ask Laurell K. Hamilton.

Right. That's another rant. And this one was supposed to be about that Monica chick. Erm...

Yeah. I'll get back to you on it. Suffice it to say, she wouldn't be my first choice in a partner for Doggitt, though I'm sure that's what they'll do anyway.

There. That counts as on-topic, right?

:: Reesa 5/7/2001 12:26:42 PM [+] ::
...

And really, really...all I want to do is cry. A lot. hard. But I can't manage that anymore either. A sniffle because someone was nice to me, a few tears when I bump my toes. But I haven't cried in...fuck...forever. Months. Cried because I just needed to, not because I was sick or scared so badly my teeth were rattling.

The world, she is a changing. Me? Who the hell knows. I remain your insomniac journalist, listening to the clip-clop of my teeth chattering because...yeah. Who knows the why? Who, really, even cares? My fingers are cold. I should be tired, but the sun is going to come up soon. Why should I bother to sleep? Why should I bother with anything? In a world of mediochre lives, I'm low on the list of karmic due, or so I'm thinking.

I don't even know what I'm rambling about. Just liking the way the words fit together, since they don't fit together anywhere else anymore. I'm addicted to these tiny little letters- better than heroin, right Dad?

Fuck, I think I might be drunk. That glass of wine from three weeks ago has finally hit me. Heh.

Clatter. It's a nice word. Very descriptive just in it's spelling. My keyboard clatters. Very reassuring. Remind me again, why I need to be so constantly reassured?

I'm going to go have another round of bad dreams now, cause I won't sleep. Night.

Wait. It's 5 am. Morning. Right.

:: Reesa 5/7/2001 05:01:07 AM [+] ::
...

Jesus Christ...

"I thought you were just resting."

"Pining for the fjords?" I rubbed my eyes and squinted at him. "What are you doing here?"

Did -I- write this while I wasn't looking? *blinks*

Nah...my sex scenes are never that interesting. Dammit.

Sleep? Bah!

And for a change, that wasn't a sheep joke.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 03:39:25 AM [+] ::
...

Okay. Whoever wrote this lives in the DC area.

At the six o'clock rundown, I waited until Dana asked me about the Kolzig interview, and then turned to Casey.

Wizards-bashing -and- a mention of my favourite goalie? Fess up...somebody's been hanging out at MCI Center.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 03:35:46 AM [+] ::
...

Y'know, it makes me jump when all of a sudden things start...-creaking-...in the middle of the night. Thank you Tamsin, for nuzzling up to my neck and not jumping and not being flipped out.

Hey, I admit it. The bird is tuned in...and I feel much more comfortable with a little company.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 03:27:52 AM [+] ::
...

Ah, bloody hell. I'm hooked. I admit it. Any fandom that can pound out lines like this:

"I went back to typing. How to accurately describe the Wizards' season? There were only a finite number of synonyms for 'suck,' after all. "

deserves respect. Heh.

Frigging stupid-ass basketball team.
:: Reesa 5/7/2001 03:18:09 AM [+] ::
...

Everytime I manage to shove myself off the edge to sleep, I have a bad dream. First it was this horrible little psycho girl who kept hitting me in the kidneys- woke up to back cramps. Then it was another dream, and I was underwater and I couldn't breathe.

The weird thing about sleep lately is that I actually pass time more quickly when I'm awake. You know how normally you go to sleep and 6 hours later you wake up, scratch yourself and roll into the position you meant to when you laid down? Of course, it all seems like about 20 minutes of sleep. Meanwhile, I'm sleeping for what seems like hours and hours, having these long, involved dreams, and waking up 10 minutes later. I've been timing.

Life is weird. I feel like I'm a giant rubber band inside, and some asshole has just come along and pulled me back...back...backbackback...and then let go. TWANG!

Yup. That's me. The first diagnosed case of TWANG! outside of Nashville in 30 years. Damn.
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 09:40:05 AM [+] ::
...

Oh, well, just fuck me running. *blink*

I haven't stayed up all night since...since...er...

Yeah. It's been that long. And I'm just not tired. At all. I've set my alarm for 3 hours from now, and I'm going to go lay down and try to force myself to sleep. But I'm just not tired.

This lack of sleep? It's kind of worrying me. A little. A touch. A scosh.

You win, love. Monday morning, bright and early, off I go to the damn doctor.

I'm grumbling about it though. I get that much, at least.
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 06:04:18 AM [+] ::
...

*rofl*

"I still enjoy sex at 71...I live at 73, so there's no distance." - BM.

:: Reesa 5/6/2001 03:33:19 AM [+] ::
...

*snicker*

"I'm a hard man to ignore, but well worth the effort." - Bob Monkhouse
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 03:31:58 AM [+] ::
...

Chalk this up to the list of unfair things in my life. In the past two weeks I've lost about 15 pounds. Funny how not being able to keep anything down will do that to you. Anyhow...

My face is swelled up. I look like a damn Kewpy doll. I'm also pasty and my skin looks like wax.

Fucking lovely.
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 02:39:52 AM [+] ::
...

You remember when kids with ADD were just called "hyper"? Remember when you could walk through the grocery store and see a mother smack her son lightly on the back of the head when he was about to pee on the Frosted Flakes? Remember when that wouldn't have gotten her thrown in jail for child abuse?

Fucking hell, do I feel old. I mean, I don't advocate beating children. Been there, bruised that. It's not a good idea to have your only form of parenting be a good right hook to the jaw. But y'know, I got spanked as a kid when I deserved it (Don't go there. I have a well-paid therapist who visits weekly, and trust me, it's just going to make you grit your teeth.) and I don't ever recall thinking otherwise. There was a line you crossed a kid, and damned if you didn't KNOW it when you crossed it. That was why you were always RUNNING when your Mom caught you. None of this namby-pamby time-out shit. No letting little Johnny run up and down the aisles of the store screaming his fool little head off because you wouldn't buy him -4- kinds of cookies.

I sometimes think that the reason I don't like children is that I resent the hell out of the way they get raised now. Where was MY time out, huh? That was the 10 minutes after I got my ass smacked with a wooden spoon and couldn't sit down. This is why I'd make a truly lousy mother- I just don't see that spanking your kids as a last resort counts as crossing the line. Maybe it does. Maybe swatting your 5 year old when he's just hit the television with his baseball bat -again-, this time breaking it after you warmed him not to 3 times, plopped him in time out and hid the bat, is child abuse. If so, I can only say this. If I come back as one of your kids? Abuse me baby. Abuse me. Cause I don't want to grow up as completely unconcious of my actions and their results as the kids my sister hangs out with.
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 02:31:47 AM [+] ::
...

Goddess damned, emotionally manipulative, makingmefuckingcryandstayuptoolatebloodybuggerySPORTSNIGHTforfuckssake stories.

Dancing On Glass 1
Dancing On Glass 2
Part 3
Part 4

I don't even fucking LIKE Sports Night, gods dammit! I hate that stilted dialogue shit Aaron Sorkin does. I don't even know why I started READING this, but now I'm all hooked and shit, and...

Grr.

In other news, my sister now owns a horse. *blink* And to think, all the times I begged and begged...
:: Reesa 5/6/2001 02:08:03 AM [+] ::
...