TV, crime fighting, and fic
1. Tonight's episode of The Chicago Code was the weakest so far but still enjoyable. There was a greater focus on the crime solving, rather than the corruption, so maybe that was it. But there were still a lot of excellent character moments and I continue to love the relationship between Jarek and Teresa. You really get a sense of the history between them and I like that when he pushes her buttons, she pushes right back. On other shows with this kind of power dynamic (woman in charge of male hero), the man is generally allowed by the show to be as disrespectful to her authority as he likes because he is always right and also, she is generally a shrill wet blanket. But there is so much mutual respect between them and sometimes they are downright playful with each other. It's great.
And at this point, I really hope they stay just friends. The actors have great chemistry and I wouldn't be opposed to reading fic, but I'm not in a 'shipping place with them - their friendship/professional relationship is far more interesting to me.
2. I don't know if you've heard, but there's a new Gossip Girl web series called The Dan and Blair Show and it gets uploaded here. As someone who checked out of Gossip Girl in season two because it wasn't good, I've been really impressed with the quality of the writing, pacing, and acting of The Dan and Blair Show. We've watched them go from a crime-fighting duo, to work rivals, to secret friends, and now, perhaps, something more. I am sure the writers will find a way to mess this up, but for now I am enjoying the references to The Philadelphia Story, the way they support each other's career aspirations, and the banter. I think they should run off to a pocket universe together.
3. Speaking of pocket universes THERE IS A WEB COMIC ABOUT ADA LOVELACE AND CHARLES BABBAGE FIGHTING CRIME IN STEAMPUNK VICTORIAN LONDON, SOMETIMES WITH THE HELP OF ISAMBARD KINGDOM BRUNEL. MY LIFE IS COMPLETE!
Ahem.
For those of you who have not heard of Ada Lovelace, she was Byron's (yes, that Byron) only legitimate daughter. Her mother, fearing that she would take after her father, raised her on a steady diet of maths, science, and maths, so that when she grew up she was one of the few to understand the design and purpose of Charles Babbage's analytical machine, an early precursor to the computer. Because she wrote an algorithm for the machine, she's considered by many to be the world's first computer programmer. In reality she died at thirty-six from cancer, so it's nice that she's been pulled from the pages of history to be awesome and fight crime.
4. It just now occurs to me that I only really care for people fighting crime when that's not their actual job. So have some ficlets about non-canonical crime fighting duos:
Farewell, My Lorelai - PG, 398 words
"Michel!"
At the front desk, Michel counted pencils.
"Miiiiiichel!"
Then he arranged the blocks of post-it notes according to size, then colour.
"Michel, get your butt up here!"
On a whim, he reached for the guest comment book and began correcting the spelling.
Lorelai practically fell down the stairs in her haste to get to the front desk.
"Michel! Didn't you hear me calling for you?"
"I heard the name Michel but I could not be certain that you were wanting me."
"That's ridiculous, what other Michel would I be yelling myself hoarse for?"
"I do not know, maybe a girl named Michelle? There are so many guests here, I cannot be expected to remember them all."
"Actually, I can expect that because that's your job and it's not like Michelle Pfeiffer is checked in, though that would be amazing."
"It would, she is so beautiful."
"And crazy talented! The Witches of Eastwick, The Fabulous Baker Boys, Married to the Mob, I mean, she's so underrated, I could go on and on."
"Don't."
Lorelai made a face and turned to check the message log. They passed a minute in silence before she whipped around and grabbed him by the arm.
"Oh my god, I was so distracted by the thought of Michelle Pfeiffer kissing ER-era George Clooney that I totally forgot."
"Unhand me!"
"Michel," she said, staring straight into his eyes; he gulped. "There's a body upstairs in room five."
He shook her off, disgusted that she had wrinkled his jacket. "I do not have time for your little jokes, Lorelai."
"I'm not joking, skippy."
Standing in the doorway of room five he saw that she had been right. He didn't tell her that.
"Okay, so you were not joking."
The occupant of room five, a young man in a bathrobe, lay on the bed, strangled by a phone cord.
"You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking this was murder."
"A brilliant deduction. Please can we call the police now?"
"What, you think we can't solve this one ourselves?"
"No."
"We're looking for either a man or a woman. If it was a man, I'll bet he had a mean glint in his eye."
"Oh dear god."
"If it was a woman she probably had wicked stems and bad intentions."
"Would that the murderer had killed me too."
"Come on, Michel - all we need are trench coats."
There goes your man - PG, 535 words
If Arthur had known he was going to be chasing a suspect through the dirtiest warren of back alleys the city had to offer, he wouldn't have worn this suit. Today was supposed to have been about showing his new partner around, introducing her to the beat cops who worked this neighbourhood, and finding out if their taste in music meshed. Differences in religion or politics Arthur didn't mind, but when it came to what was playing in the car, that was always a sticking point. His last partner had been a country music fan but they couldn't even compromise with early Wilco albums. It hadn't worked out.
So now he had a new partner, though he seemed to have lost her in the pursuit. She'd been dressed for the streets - boots, not high heels, and that had been a point her favour - but she was 5'1" with a short stride: she must not have been able to keep up.
He was having trouble himself. Legs pounding, heart racing, and lungs burning, he couldn't have mustered the breath to shout "Halt! Police!" or anything else from the guidelines. This guy was fast.
Arthur turned a corner and splashed through a puddle of dog knows what. Trousers spattered right up to the knees, he'd get no more use out of them, though now he had another jacket to mix and match with. All of his suits started out in twos or threes; his closet was littered with orphans.
But you have to make the effort, he thought. Stop caring about the little things and soon enough you stop caring about the big ones.
He was gaining ground and if the guy turned left he'd have him cornered in blind alley; if he turned right he'd be out on O'Hare, in the crowd of a busy street. As previous events had already shown, it was not Arthur's day: the bastard turned right.
Arthur followed and saw the guy ahead of him, racing out towards the street. Ten feet, then eight, now five, and Arthur was starting to flag: he'd get away.
But then a car screeched to a halt in front of the entrance to the alley and the guy, unable to fight momentum, ran straight into the left-side passenger door. He slid down to the ground with a groan and didn't get up.
The driver's window rolled down and Arthur's new partner poked her head out.
"You saw him run into me, not the other way round, right?" Ariadne asked.
"Sure did," Arthur said, reaching down to cuff his suspect and then haul him into the back seat. "Hey, how did you know where we were going to come out?" he asked, buckling himself in.
She indicated and then pulled out onto the road. "Oh, I've been walking around for the past couple of days, trying to get my bearings. Considering the road works taking place on Lincoln Drive, I took a chance that it would be here, rather than Wilcox."
Well, that earns her a couple more points. Maybe this could work out.
He leaned forward to adjust the radio.
"Hey, the Pixies! Turn it up."
Arthur settled in for the long haul.
And at this point, I really hope they stay just friends. The actors have great chemistry and I wouldn't be opposed to reading fic, but I'm not in a 'shipping place with them - their friendship/professional relationship is far more interesting to me.
2. I don't know if you've heard, but there's a new Gossip Girl web series called The Dan and Blair Show and it gets uploaded here. As someone who checked out of Gossip Girl in season two because it wasn't good, I've been really impressed with the quality of the writing, pacing, and acting of The Dan and Blair Show. We've watched them go from a crime-fighting duo, to work rivals, to secret friends, and now, perhaps, something more. I am sure the writers will find a way to mess this up, but for now I am enjoying the references to The Philadelphia Story, the way they support each other's career aspirations, and the banter. I think they should run off to a pocket universe together.
3. Speaking of pocket universes THERE IS A WEB COMIC ABOUT ADA LOVELACE AND CHARLES BABBAGE FIGHTING CRIME IN STEAMPUNK VICTORIAN LONDON, SOMETIMES WITH THE HELP OF ISAMBARD KINGDOM BRUNEL. MY LIFE IS COMPLETE!
Ahem.
For those of you who have not heard of Ada Lovelace, she was Byron's (yes, that Byron) only legitimate daughter. Her mother, fearing that she would take after her father, raised her on a steady diet of maths, science, and maths, so that when she grew up she was one of the few to understand the design and purpose of Charles Babbage's analytical machine, an early precursor to the computer. Because she wrote an algorithm for the machine, she's considered by many to be the world's first computer programmer. In reality she died at thirty-six from cancer, so it's nice that she's been pulled from the pages of history to be awesome and fight crime.
4. It just now occurs to me that I only really care for people fighting crime when that's not their actual job. So have some ficlets about non-canonical crime fighting duos:
Farewell, My Lorelai - PG, 398 words
"Michel!"
At the front desk, Michel counted pencils.
"Miiiiiichel!"
Then he arranged the blocks of post-it notes according to size, then colour.
"Michel, get your butt up here!"
On a whim, he reached for the guest comment book and began correcting the spelling.
Lorelai practically fell down the stairs in her haste to get to the front desk.
"Michel! Didn't you hear me calling for you?"
"I heard the name Michel but I could not be certain that you were wanting me."
"That's ridiculous, what other Michel would I be yelling myself hoarse for?"
"I do not know, maybe a girl named Michelle? There are so many guests here, I cannot be expected to remember them all."
"Actually, I can expect that because that's your job and it's not like Michelle Pfeiffer is checked in, though that would be amazing."
"It would, she is so beautiful."
"And crazy talented! The Witches of Eastwick, The Fabulous Baker Boys, Married to the Mob, I mean, she's so underrated, I could go on and on."
"Don't."
Lorelai made a face and turned to check the message log. They passed a minute in silence before she whipped around and grabbed him by the arm.
"Oh my god, I was so distracted by the thought of Michelle Pfeiffer kissing ER-era George Clooney that I totally forgot."
"Unhand me!"
"Michel," she said, staring straight into his eyes; he gulped. "There's a body upstairs in room five."
He shook her off, disgusted that she had wrinkled his jacket. "I do not have time for your little jokes, Lorelai."
"I'm not joking, skippy."
Standing in the doorway of room five he saw that she had been right. He didn't tell her that.
"Okay, so you were not joking."
The occupant of room five, a young man in a bathrobe, lay on the bed, strangled by a phone cord.
"You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking this was murder."
"A brilliant deduction. Please can we call the police now?"
"What, you think we can't solve this one ourselves?"
"No."
"We're looking for either a man or a woman. If it was a man, I'll bet he had a mean glint in his eye."
"Oh dear god."
"If it was a woman she probably had wicked stems and bad intentions."
"Would that the murderer had killed me too."
"Come on, Michel - all we need are trench coats."
There goes your man - PG, 535 words
If Arthur had known he was going to be chasing a suspect through the dirtiest warren of back alleys the city had to offer, he wouldn't have worn this suit. Today was supposed to have been about showing his new partner around, introducing her to the beat cops who worked this neighbourhood, and finding out if their taste in music meshed. Differences in religion or politics Arthur didn't mind, but when it came to what was playing in the car, that was always a sticking point. His last partner had been a country music fan but they couldn't even compromise with early Wilco albums. It hadn't worked out.
So now he had a new partner, though he seemed to have lost her in the pursuit. She'd been dressed for the streets - boots, not high heels, and that had been a point her favour - but she was 5'1" with a short stride: she must not have been able to keep up.
He was having trouble himself. Legs pounding, heart racing, and lungs burning, he couldn't have mustered the breath to shout "Halt! Police!" or anything else from the guidelines. This guy was fast.
Arthur turned a corner and splashed through a puddle of dog knows what. Trousers spattered right up to the knees, he'd get no more use out of them, though now he had another jacket to mix and match with. All of his suits started out in twos or threes; his closet was littered with orphans.
But you have to make the effort, he thought. Stop caring about the little things and soon enough you stop caring about the big ones.
He was gaining ground and if the guy turned left he'd have him cornered in blind alley; if he turned right he'd be out on O'Hare, in the crowd of a busy street. As previous events had already shown, it was not Arthur's day: the bastard turned right.
Arthur followed and saw the guy ahead of him, racing out towards the street. Ten feet, then eight, now five, and Arthur was starting to flag: he'd get away.
But then a car screeched to a halt in front of the entrance to the alley and the guy, unable to fight momentum, ran straight into the left-side passenger door. He slid down to the ground with a groan and didn't get up.
The driver's window rolled down and Arthur's new partner poked her head out.
"You saw him run into me, not the other way round, right?" Ariadne asked.
"Sure did," Arthur said, reaching down to cuff his suspect and then haul him into the back seat. "Hey, how did you know where we were going to come out?" he asked, buckling himself in.
She indicated and then pulled out onto the road. "Oh, I've been walking around for the past couple of days, trying to get my bearings. Considering the road works taking place on Lincoln Drive, I took a chance that it would be here, rather than Wilcox."
Well, that earns her a couple more points. Maybe this could work out.
He leaned forward to adjust the radio.
"Hey, the Pixies! Turn it up."
Arthur settled in for the long haul.