The Rabbit Hole

No, that's not a fanfic prompt, that has been my life this week. In convincing moonlightalice to read some Discworld this week and trying to explain Terry Pratchett's sense of humor and the way he has adapted his worldbuilding as it's started to have continuity, I told her that it was, in effect, much like Good Omens minus all that Neil Gaiman-y stuff. I could not, for the life of me, explain it better than that. Although Pratchett's work can be meaningful and sincere, it is, at the same time, irreverent. He has a sense of humor about everything, even things he and his characters believe in--if you love it, you should be able to laugh at it. Neil Gaiman, in my limited exposure to him, is very not that person. His work Has Meaning. The difference is perhaps most stark in the two writers' Deaths: Pratchett's Death is the ultimate straight man who may just be in on a joke you'll never get (but that's okay, you're privy to one he'll never know either); Gaiman's Death is personable and relatable and all the more tragic for it, however cute and playful she may be. I really felt like all the funny from Good Omens comes from Pratchett lightening Gaiman the fuck up.

Last night, while pulling out movies I own to suggest that moonlightalice watch with her sister and mother this weekend, I pulled Stardust, which is adapted from a Gaiman work. I find the movie, though completely ludicrous, entirely charming. It's silly, it's fun, it's an adventure story with a happy ending. The book it's based on...is none of those things. It's very Gaiman-y. Things are Serious Business, Usually Involving Magic. The ending is the one that The Story Deserves, Not The Ones That Coddle The Reader. It gets credit for being different, but for something so insubstantial, book or movie, I prefer the confectioner's sugar. He is very much a fantascist who believes in the old school Grimm's fairy tale.

Given my assessment of him so far, you might be surprised to learn that I found the episode of Doctor Who, "The Doctor's Wife," written by Gaiman, to be utterly endearing and really heart-warming. Though there is some of the pervasive, persistent melancholy about it that I associate with all of Gaiman's works, "The Doctor's Wife" threw in a lot of screwball romance that was genuine and sweet and funny. It helped that the episode confirmed some of my own opinions about the relationship between two characters that had, heretofore, never been able to be voiced on the show itself. (Though fanfiction, in what little I've read in Who-fandom, has covered.) So I was predisposed to like it as it agreed with the way I see things, but what I really loved was the setting placing the Doctor at the center of the story. New-Who, more than classic-Who, focuses on the companions, which is fine since that's the audience entry into the fantastic journey. The Doctor moves through most episodes on the periphery of the plot (despite always being in front of the actual action), showing up to poke at things and deliver exposition about why he can/cannot defeat whatever the monsters are. "The Doctor's Wife," on the other hand, manages to get rather close to the Doctor himself, his life, his choices, while simultaneously revealing nothing about him. (This is also a very good summary of the season as a whole.) The episode flirts with exposing secrets without really ever doing so, and it is one of the best teases ever because you really don't care. What matters is the relationship at the center, and it's adorable. Gaiman. Wrote. Something. A. Goddamned. Dorable. I tell you, the world, she is topsy-turvy!


it was one of the most charming episodes of Doctor Who I've seen in a good long while. It was an episode that managed to focus on the Doctor versus his companions. Instead of his moving through a story and mucking about in it, he was the story.  Well, he and someone else.

It was my mother's birthday on Friday, and I took her and my second mother out to dinner and had a grand old time of it. On Saturday, we celebrated with presents. I got her a Star Trek bathrobe, which, because it was the "Uhura" version, was quite short. (My sister's advice, "Oh, you can wear that without bottoms. Just don't bend over to pick anything up.") I also got her some pumpkin-scented shower gel and lotion, but what she really loved was the casserole dish I bought her. (She'd lost her 2.5-quart casserole dish ages ago, so I picked one up online.) It was a good birthday all around--even my Dad managed to find a really nice down coat that actually fit her. He, bless, frequently buys her clothes of the size he thinks she is rather than the size she is--always in the flattering direction, but still. And my other siblings got her a photo scanner, with which she'll busy herself just as soon as someone helps her set it up.

Because my mother also disappeared for hours and hours on the weekend to go to a shower for a friend's niece, I got to catch up on my Doctor Who. It took me ages to start in on the second season of Eleven's tenure. I liked the first season okay--it was certainly better than where Ten left off--but it never clicked with me. I disliked Amy Pond immensely. The second season, though, once I started in, has been fantastic. I'm still two episodes from finishing it--NO SPOILERS I WILL KILL YOU WITH FIRE--and I was hard-pressed to put it aside last night for sleep. I'll see if I can't get it finished tonight some time.

What really helped is that they settled Eleven's character a bit better. The show got comfortable with his being lot meaner, lightening it where necessary with his love of the absurd, which I enjoy. It's very Fourth Doctor-y, and, as you can guess from my icon, I <3<3<3<3<3 Four. I don't want the Doctor to be some huggly teddy-bear. He's a goddamned genius psycho alien with Issues. He should be really weird at all times, with an undercurrent of the slightly sinister. The fact that he's awkward about mushy human stuff is just delightful icing on the silly-serious cake.

I've been telling myself, for a solid two weeks now, about all the things I'll do once my bloody test is over and done with. I'm sooooo close to that point, I need to make a list of those things to distract myself with happiness (lest I focus instead on the misery that will be the test and my eventual grade, if the practice tests I've taken are any example).

( Lists are calming. I like lists. Especially hedonistic lists. ).

Note to self (or TL;DR for the cut above): Start working on studying for the next test now. You'll thank me for it later. But if you're a good girl, you can have some television. After you study.

Here's a fun thing to make this post worth anyone else's time:

I tweeted this, but it deserves the full LJ treatment, too: the Doctors as owls.

I cannot but love the Fourth Doctor's delightfully clueless face as he sits, bound up in his own preposterous scarf. They're all very good characterizations of the men who have played the Doctor, but that is by far the cutest one.

I also love, for a totally different reason, how freakish looking the Tenth Owl Doctor is. Because, when you get down to it, he is that ridiculous looking. Also, Eleven's crazy hair looks like a Flock of Seagulls haircut on him.

So, I finally got to see Torchwood: Children of Earth. If this is how they work it when they're not doing full seasons, then, shit, yo, never let them write 13-episode seasons again. It was easily the most compelling Torchwood ever. They tackled big issues, and they--gosh!--dealt with them. Not in that "everyone is forgiven 'cause everyone messes up" way either, which was most shocking of all. I really enjoyed it...

...up until Day Three when I, looking for icons for a totally unrelated fandom, got spoiled for MAJOR PLOT DEVELOPMENTS by someone not putting a spoiler warning on their icon dump and I saw spoiler icons for the series. THANKS A LOT, ICON MAKER.

Seriously, I managed to go a few weeks without being spoiled through vigilance and courtesy of those who'd seen and did everything in their power to give away nothing. The second I let my guard down, boom, spoiled. SIGH.

I did still enjoy the series. I liked how weighty it felt and how it even made me sympathize with some fairly evil folk here and there. (Except that one lady. No spoilers to say that, just, yeah, if you've seen it, you know who I mean.) Over at ivy03's post, I mentioned how very Who it seemed at parts--where perfectly ordinary people got to be amazing, and I really liked that counter-balance to the people who were inherently extraordinary or just powerful who were complete dicks a lot of the time.

I think ivy03 gets into it in more and better detail than I'll ever manage, so go read and comment on her post if you like. (Spoilers, naturally.) The one thing someone brought up that I held onto so I could address it after I'd seen it all was this question raised over at io9: Was Children of Earth homophobic? (Spoilers!)

My short answer is no, but that doesn't mean they didn't slip up a bit. ( Spoilers everywhere! )

I have other thoughts on the abuses of power and the ugliness of the ethical choices, but they've been covered by most other people. I might get around to posting them, I might not.

So this guy comes off as an asshole (and he's also attacking one of the more brilliantly colorful sci-fi movies in my recent memory, but I still think the central point is a valid one: where has the fashion gone in space?

( Mini rant! )

Happy Halloween every one! I'm having a goodish sort of day. I've received lots of compliments on my violently orange and black-striped tights, so I feel pretty good. I saw a little boy dressed as Indiana Jones cracking his fake whip and I melted a little. (Stupid fucking ovaries! Die!) So I hope all are enjoying their day before the Day of the Dead.

I'm bored at work (surprise) so I'm just going to talk about stuff. Here goes.

Television!
( Still playing catch up it seems. (No spoilers.) )

Movies!

I want to see Max Payne still. And feiran and I need to go see Saw V. Why? Because. That's my only reason.

Oh, and I finally saw The Iron Giant and it was adorable. I love Brad Bird.

Books!

It will take me forever to get through Nixonland, but the eerie similarities to politics nowadays is making it hard to get through at any speed. I get chills and have to put it down. It's also a little densely written.

I finished My Lobotomy which was a horror show in slow motion. A quick read if you want something to make you be glad that mental health medicine has progressed even as far as it has.

Um?

( Consistent characterization: latest casualty of the new season )

One thought about Peter: ( Yes, it's a criticism, get over it. )

And I'm 2/3 of the way done with this last season of Doctor Who! ::cheers::

I watched "Silence in the Library" and "Forest of the Dead" and all I could think was, "Jesus H., why didn't they let Stephen Moffat write the last three seasons entirely!?" Seriously now, he scripted a tense, well-paced thriller of an episode that kept me absolutely riveted. His Doctor keeps David Tennant in line, too, which Ohthankyoufuckinggod, because that man is about three xanaxes short most days. I like wild and crazy Doctor. I'm pretty sure, however, that Ten has rabies. Stephen Moffat writes him so brilliantly that you don't forget he's the Doctor--he's still funny and silly and full of self importance. But he makes him so much more.

( Just some thoughts on this and other seasons. )

Still not finished though! Four more episodes to go. NO SPOILERS!! However, if I don't stop reading fandomsecrets, I might get spoiled out of enjoying it. I've nearly done it to myself already. Stupid LJ com. I should stop reading it if only to avoid hearing twenty times in one post about The Dark Knight. Listen you crazy-obsessed freak fucks: THE JOKER DOES NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU. The fact that they are fantasizing wildly over a fictional character? Fine. Over one played by an actor who is now deceased? Doesn't bother me. (Ask me about my Brandon Lee crush some time.) REPEATEDLY TALKING ABOUT HOW A PSYCHOPATHIC, DISEASED, HOMICIDAL CLOWN MAKES YOU CREAM YOUR SHORTS IS THE QUICKEST WAY TO MAKE ME KILL YOU. Actually, second quickest. The quickest way to death-by-stupid-fangirling is to be this person.