Sunday afternoon giant post of navel-gazing, domesticity, television, and prairie dog cannibalism
1.
I have been dipping my toes into this love meme thing for the first time; I missed the boat on the first one, but it's continuing here.
I grew up in a very non-demonstrative and reserved family. We don't talk about emotions, and when we try, it's inevitably awkward and comes to a screeching halt fairly quickly. We hug hello and goodbye, and that's pretty much it for physical contact. It was only after my mother went through a round of treatment for breast cancer two years ago that she and I started saying "I love you" at the end of phone calls. I have been able to be more demonstrative and open in romantic relationships I've had in the past, but not by a lot, and the reserve is a core thing with me, something I have to consciously work to overcome. And that's why I think love memes are wonderful, but they fill me with fear and paralysis. I think y'all are awesome; you routinely amaze me with your talent and intelligence and humor. But saying it is hard. One of the things I wanted to do in the new year was get over myself. I'm working on it, but it's not an instantaneous process.
Which brings me to one aspect of the recent fandom--kerfuffle? I'm not sure that's even the best word for it, since it was overall pretty sane--and the unconscious expectations people may have about fandom when they first discover it, because it comes largely through online interaction, and things like educational attainment, shyness, struggles with depression or other issues, being stuck in an unfulfilling job--things that shape our RL identities, sometimes much more than we'd like--don't carry the same weight. Being judged instead on an online persona, the things we choose to share, the meta and fanworks, may seem like a level playing field by comparison. And fandom is overall pretty meritocratic; I think the reason the originating post struck such a nerve was that a lot of so-called BNFs achieve a following because they are genuinely good writers, vidders, etc. who put a lot of time and effort into contributing, but that it's also true that there are truly excellent fanworks languishing in obscurity, and that that's an unfortunate problem with no system-wide solution. But it seemed to me that the lamentations over fandom's limitations arise very much from an expectation that fandom somehow should operate in a separate, higher sphere from RL, playing by a much more exalted and egalitarian set of rules, and I just don't think that's how it works. People in fandom are eager to judge you for the quality of your contributions, but they're also often very busy, and when faced with limited time will stick to known quantities; some of them have been in other fandoms before, formed strong relationships and reputations through them, and carry those to new fandoms; people who know how to promote themselves will often get more response than those who don't, or those who wait for others to discover them, regardless of quality. Sometimes, timing and chance are a big factor. And fandom, like life, isn't always fair. cofax7 made the very excellent point that we are all responsible for our own fannish experiences. I think most adults have no problem with the understanding that they are ultimately responsible for their own lives, even if they aren't totally in control of their circumstances. Fandom is often a more generous and nuturing place, but it's equally true that no fairy godmother is going to descend from the heavens and give you the fannish experience you want and believe you deserve; you can try to influence it, you can accept the things you can't change, and you can figure out what you like and what you don't, participate in the parts you like and try to ignore the rest. We actually have a lot more control over our fannish experiences than we do over whether or not our employers downsize us out of jobs or a loved one develops cancer; but our fannish experience is ours, and nobody is going to make it for us, or make fandom over according our personal specifications.
Anyhoo, I was thinking about this, and am possibly totally projecting, because when I first started my LJ, I had this crazy expectation that because I'm much more adept at writing than I am at face-to-face conversation, I would somehow become a magically outgoing and socially adept person. And lo, it turns out that online or off, I'm still pretty shy and reserved. There are differences between our online lives and our offline lives, but maybe they aren't always as huge as we'd like.
* * * * *
2.
The part is in, the dryer is repaired, and I am doing approximately 15,000 loads of laundry today. And I rotated my mattress all by myself. I am strong like He-Man! (Though not nearly as gay.)
I also finished the knitting part of a sweater this week, and since I'm rather proud of it, I'm posting a picture.
Knitting this sweater kept me from killing at least two co-workers. And while it was complicated, it wasn't that difficult, which tells me that I've gotten pretty comfortable with skills like picking up stitches and decreasing and increasing in pattern. Now that it's blocked, I just have to sew the pieces together and pick up and knit the turtleneck-style collar. (It's the Weekend Pullover from the Fall 2006 Interweave Knits, in Karabella Aurora 8, which is a wonderful yarn that I want to roll around in all day long.)
And yes, I block sweaters on my dining room table and eat on the couch in front of the TV.
D. was recently telling me I needed to quit my job and make chicken pot pie for a living. I had made some and frozen it for them after the baby was born. That's obviously not going to happen, but I thought I'd post the recipe.
Chicken Pot Pie with Biscuit Crust
Cooking each vegetable separately keeps their flavors and textures bright and distinct through the baking. I adapted this recipe fairly heavily from the version served at the Liberty Cafe in Bernal Heights.
For the filling:
- 1 roasted chicken, 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 pounds (roast your own or use a supermarket rotisserie chicken)
- 4 ounces Yukon Gold potatoes (about 2 good-sized), cut into 1/2-inch dice
- 1 pound peas, shelled, or 1 cup frozen peas
- 7 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch dice
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- 1 10-ounce bag yellow pearl onions
- 6 tablespoons flour
- 4 cups chicken broth
- Salt and pepper to taste
For the biscuit crust:
- 2 cups flour
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 5 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
- 3/4 cup buttermilk (low-fat is fine)
- 1 egg, beaten
Put the onions in a bowl and cover with boiling water. Let steep for at least 20 minutes or until cool, then cut off the tips of the root ends and squeeze the tops to pop the onions out of their skins.
Pull the chicken meat from the bones and skin and chop it roughly.
Bring a saucepan of salted water to the boil and add the potatoes. Cook them until they're just tender on the outside and slightly undercooked, about 8 minutes; drain and set aside.
If you're using fresh peas, bring a saucepan of salted water to the boil and cook them until barely tender, 3-5 minutes. If you're using frozen peas, you don't need to cook them before adding them to the pie.
In a large skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of butter over medium heat and saute the carrots until they're tender and becoming golden, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and sautee until it's fragrant and beginning to brown, another 1-2 minutes. Spoon them out of the pan and set them aside.
In the same pan, heat another 1 tablespoon of butter over medium heat and saute the onions until they're tender and golden, about 5-7 minutes. Spoon them out of the pan and set them aside.
Melt the remaining 5 tablespoons of butter in the same pan over medium heat. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring, until the roux has lost its floury taste and begun to turn a medium shade of brown, about 5 minutes. Add the broth in two or three batches, stirring or whisking to incorporate it thoroughly. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the gravy has thickened, 10-15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Combine the chicken, peas, carrots, onions, and potatoes in a deep ovenproof 2-quart dish or bowl, pour the gravy over it all, and and stir gently to mix. Season with additional salt and pepper to taste.
Preheat the oven to 375F.
Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl and stir thoroughly. Cut the butter into the flour mixture with a pastry fork until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the buttermilk all at once and stir gently with a rubber spatula or broad wooden spoon until just moistened, 10-15 stirs. Dip your hands in flour and gather the dough up; knead it gently against the sides and bottom of the bowl 5 to 10 times, pressing any loose bits into the mass of the dough until it all comes together. Roll or pat it out to 1/2-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface and use a floured biscuit cutter or the mouth of a jar to cut it into rounds. Lay the rounds out on the surface of the pot pie, pressing them into the sides of the baking dish and overlapping them so that there are no gaps. If necessary, gather up the remaining dough scraps, roll them out again, and cut out more biscuits to complete the crust. Brush the egg over the crust with a pastry brush.
Bake the pot pie until the filling is piping hot and the crust is golden and cooked through, about 45-50 minutes. If the crust starts browning too much before it's done, cover with foil for the rest of the baking.
Makes 4 huge or 6 modest servings.
* * * * *
3.
2.01 - "North"
I think the thing that makes this episode work so well is that it takes a situation rife with stereotypical possibilities--the experienced outdoorsman Mountie and the wise-cracking city guy lost in the woods--and it ignores all of the obvious directions it could go in favor of a much more complicated view of the friendship between Ray and Fraser, and of the way both men are still reacting to the lessons of their fathers. Ray is so utterly abrasive and urban in the airport at the beginning, and Fraser's the guy who knows how these things work. (And I love that Ray brought peanuts for Diefenbaker on the plane flight, that he's talking to the wolf and listening to the wolf as much as Fraser is at this point.) But once they got lost in the woods and Fraser has lost his sight, Fraser actually becomes, with his fountain of information about survival, kind of insufferable. The only reason he isn't, beyond his injuries, is that in his insistence on doing everything for himself and his psychotic level of optimism, he's obviously struggling to retain control, because the loss of that control is worse than being stuck in the middle of nowhere with an escaped murderer, no eyesight, and a Chicago cop whose main skill is sarcasm.
Both Fraser and Ray are still haunted by their fathers, who are still trying to impress on them important life lessons. Fraser's father's ghost pushes him to do his duty, to bring his man in alive even under these insane circumstances, and Fraser knows that's insane, and knows that his father is wrong in important ways--he was wrong about the motto, after all--and as uncharacteristically frustrated and biting as he gets with Bob's ghost here, there's still a part of him that responds. Ray's father's ghost pushes him to look out for himself, and that's a lesson Ray rejected a long time ago, and continues to reject now, even if there is still that voice in his head. I think it's terribly interesting that Ray's father hated cops, so Ray became one.
And above the hilarity of Ray and Fraser, the ultimate odd couple, surviving in the woods, with Fraser's bizarre survival tips and Ray's constant patter of sarcasm, there's a lovely trust between them, that they are going to get out of this together or not at all, that they will work together, that Ray will give Fraser the last of the water and carry him on his back, that Fraser will construct Inuit weapons and Ray will wield them with some success. (And oh, the singing montage, from the ridiculous song about someone putting glue in their saddle to "California Dreamin'" to Mozart, as Ray carries Fraser through the woods, both of them getting more loopy and exhausted by the minute.)
In conclusion, YOU SUCK, RAY's DAD (TM brynnmck).
2.02 - "Vault"
I love the bickering between Francesca and Ray--both the familiarity and the casual cruelty is so true of siblings--and the fact that Francesca is, in her own plucky and insane and EXTREMELY PINK way, determined to do anything she can to help, even if it means delaying the drilling and throwing off Fraser's more precisely calibrated but even more insane plan.
In so many ways, this episode is like fanfiction--they're trapped in a cave vault! And then they start taking their clothes off! But if that's the case, it's like the very best fanfiction, because Ray gets to express his frustration with Fraser, that Fraser's always leaping to right wrongs and his plans invariably involve some sort of insanely suicidal component, that he never asks because he assumes that Ray's like him, and most of all, that Fraser never puts himself before his duty and gets walked on as a result. In the end, it becomes as much frustration for Fraser as with him. With all of the life-risking and the carrying of tuning forks, that's the thing that really bothers Ray. And I love that Fraser listens to Ray, and takes his words to heart, and makes a beautifully reasoned and impassioned speech about wearing the uniform he loves, and that Thatcher fires him for it. Baby steps.
(Fraser's plan once they're in the vault, that they have to rip the phone out of the wall to keep Francesca from distracting them from their duty, that flooding the enclosed space is the obvious solution and they'll have at least an inch of water by the time the drilling's done, is so quintissentially him in its unthinking assumption that of course they're going to endanger themselves to thwart the bad guys, its physical precision, its fundamental craziness; it is the kind of thing that makes him both admirable and exasperating, simultaneously and in equal measure, and is such a good illustration of what Ray is yelling about, as he yells it.)
And oh Diefenbaker, ever alert to danger, going for help by way of a bag of chips, ignoring the firefighters and police along the way, seeking out the Mountie who is even more insanely dutiful than Fraser but much less effective. I do worry about Diefenbaker and the junk food. That wolf has developed some terrible habits.
2.03 - "The Witness"
This episode is in so many ways about the pros and cons of stubbornness. Ray won't apologize to the judge and goes to jail, because he didn't do anything wrong, as far as he's concerned. And Fraser, who as as stubborn as Ray in his own way, goes to jail with him and by stubbornly maintaining his superpower of Thorough Canadianness, his relentless, shiny cheerfulness, which by all rights should be getting him killed, impresses the giant inmate and survives the riot with Ray in tow. Neither of them will give up on the case, on putting the thug behind bars and getting the witness to do the right thing. And in the end, Fraser is stubborn enough not to take Thatcher's hints and transfer, because he's found a home, a place where he belongs as much as he ever will. (I love that he makes that decision at the end of the episode, when Bob gave us hints at the beginning of how migratory his life had been with Fraser's mother, one miserable little post after another, never staying in one place for too long, and how little she'd liked it, and how unhappy their marriage had been because Bob's duty was everything to him.)
Things that amused me a lot: Welsh's speech about women and authority, Fraser driving the Riv (it's a good thing Ray was in jail and couldn't see that, because otherwise he'd be in jail for committing murder), and Huey and Louie, good friends to the end, having to coach Fraser through stealing the Milk Duds, and eventually having to actually shove them in his pocket.
* * * * *
4.
Prairie dogs were a fixture of the landscape around the small Kansas community where my grandparents lived--in fact, the local country club was called the Prairie Dog Club--so I found the Washington Post article on them rather interesting. Kidnapping, cannibalism, murder and infanticide. Prof. John L. Hoogland has seen it all during a lifetime of studying prairie dogs.
Choice quote:
"They are herbivores, strictly," Hoogland says. "Except for eating babies."
And they look so cute!
I have been dipping my toes into this love meme thing for the first time; I missed the boat on the first one, but it's continuing here.
I grew up in a very non-demonstrative and reserved family. We don't talk about emotions, and when we try, it's inevitably awkward and comes to a screeching halt fairly quickly. We hug hello and goodbye, and that's pretty much it for physical contact. It was only after my mother went through a round of treatment for breast cancer two years ago that she and I started saying "I love you" at the end of phone calls. I have been able to be more demonstrative and open in romantic relationships I've had in the past, but not by a lot, and the reserve is a core thing with me, something I have to consciously work to overcome. And that's why I think love memes are wonderful, but they fill me with fear and paralysis. I think y'all are awesome; you routinely amaze me with your talent and intelligence and humor. But saying it is hard. One of the things I wanted to do in the new year was get over myself. I'm working on it, but it's not an instantaneous process.
Which brings me to one aspect of the recent fandom--kerfuffle? I'm not sure that's even the best word for it, since it was overall pretty sane--and the unconscious expectations people may have about fandom when they first discover it, because it comes largely through online interaction, and things like educational attainment, shyness, struggles with depression or other issues, being stuck in an unfulfilling job--things that shape our RL identities, sometimes much more than we'd like--don't carry the same weight. Being judged instead on an online persona, the things we choose to share, the meta and fanworks, may seem like a level playing field by comparison. And fandom is overall pretty meritocratic; I think the reason the originating post struck such a nerve was that a lot of so-called BNFs achieve a following because they are genuinely good writers, vidders, etc. who put a lot of time and effort into contributing, but that it's also true that there are truly excellent fanworks languishing in obscurity, and that that's an unfortunate problem with no system-wide solution. But it seemed to me that the lamentations over fandom's limitations arise very much from an expectation that fandom somehow should operate in a separate, higher sphere from RL, playing by a much more exalted and egalitarian set of rules, and I just don't think that's how it works. People in fandom are eager to judge you for the quality of your contributions, but they're also often very busy, and when faced with limited time will stick to known quantities; some of them have been in other fandoms before, formed strong relationships and reputations through them, and carry those to new fandoms; people who know how to promote themselves will often get more response than those who don't, or those who wait for others to discover them, regardless of quality. Sometimes, timing and chance are a big factor. And fandom, like life, isn't always fair. cofax7 made the very excellent point that we are all responsible for our own fannish experiences. I think most adults have no problem with the understanding that they are ultimately responsible for their own lives, even if they aren't totally in control of their circumstances. Fandom is often a more generous and nuturing place, but it's equally true that no fairy godmother is going to descend from the heavens and give you the fannish experience you want and believe you deserve; you can try to influence it, you can accept the things you can't change, and you can figure out what you like and what you don't, participate in the parts you like and try to ignore the rest. We actually have a lot more control over our fannish experiences than we do over whether or not our employers downsize us out of jobs or a loved one develops cancer; but our fannish experience is ours, and nobody is going to make it for us, or make fandom over according our personal specifications.
Anyhoo, I was thinking about this, and am possibly totally projecting, because when I first started my LJ, I had this crazy expectation that because I'm much more adept at writing than I am at face-to-face conversation, I would somehow become a magically outgoing and socially adept person. And lo, it turns out that online or off, I'm still pretty shy and reserved. There are differences between our online lives and our offline lives, but maybe they aren't always as huge as we'd like.
* * * * *
2.
The part is in, the dryer is repaired, and I am doing approximately 15,000 loads of laundry today. And I rotated my mattress all by myself. I am strong like He-Man! (Though not nearly as gay.)
I also finished the knitting part of a sweater this week, and since I'm rather proud of it, I'm posting a picture.
Knitting this sweater kept me from killing at least two co-workers. And while it was complicated, it wasn't that difficult, which tells me that I've gotten pretty comfortable with skills like picking up stitches and decreasing and increasing in pattern. Now that it's blocked, I just have to sew the pieces together and pick up and knit the turtleneck-style collar. (It's the Weekend Pullover from the Fall 2006 Interweave Knits, in Karabella Aurora 8, which is a wonderful yarn that I want to roll around in all day long.)
And yes, I block sweaters on my dining room table and eat on the couch in front of the TV.
D. was recently telling me I needed to quit my job and make chicken pot pie for a living. I had made some and frozen it for them after the baby was born. That's obviously not going to happen, but I thought I'd post the recipe.
Chicken Pot Pie with Biscuit Crust
Cooking each vegetable separately keeps their flavors and textures bright and distinct through the baking. I adapted this recipe fairly heavily from the version served at the Liberty Cafe in Bernal Heights.
For the filling:
- 1 roasted chicken, 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 pounds (roast your own or use a supermarket rotisserie chicken)
- 4 ounces Yukon Gold potatoes (about 2 good-sized), cut into 1/2-inch dice
- 1 pound peas, shelled, or 1 cup frozen peas
- 7 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch dice
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- 1 10-ounce bag yellow pearl onions
- 6 tablespoons flour
- 4 cups chicken broth
- Salt and pepper to taste
For the biscuit crust:
- 2 cups flour
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 5 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
- 3/4 cup buttermilk (low-fat is fine)
- 1 egg, beaten
Put the onions in a bowl and cover with boiling water. Let steep for at least 20 minutes or until cool, then cut off the tips of the root ends and squeeze the tops to pop the onions out of their skins.
Pull the chicken meat from the bones and skin and chop it roughly.
Bring a saucepan of salted water to the boil and add the potatoes. Cook them until they're just tender on the outside and slightly undercooked, about 8 minutes; drain and set aside.
If you're using fresh peas, bring a saucepan of salted water to the boil and cook them until barely tender, 3-5 minutes. If you're using frozen peas, you don't need to cook them before adding them to the pie.
In a large skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of butter over medium heat and saute the carrots until they're tender and becoming golden, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and sautee until it's fragrant and beginning to brown, another 1-2 minutes. Spoon them out of the pan and set them aside.
In the same pan, heat another 1 tablespoon of butter over medium heat and saute the onions until they're tender and golden, about 5-7 minutes. Spoon them out of the pan and set them aside.
Melt the remaining 5 tablespoons of butter in the same pan over medium heat. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring, until the roux has lost its floury taste and begun to turn a medium shade of brown, about 5 minutes. Add the broth in two or three batches, stirring or whisking to incorporate it thoroughly. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the gravy has thickened, 10-15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Combine the chicken, peas, carrots, onions, and potatoes in a deep ovenproof 2-quart dish or bowl, pour the gravy over it all, and and stir gently to mix. Season with additional salt and pepper to taste.
Preheat the oven to 375F.
Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl and stir thoroughly. Cut the butter into the flour mixture with a pastry fork until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the buttermilk all at once and stir gently with a rubber spatula or broad wooden spoon until just moistened, 10-15 stirs. Dip your hands in flour and gather the dough up; knead it gently against the sides and bottom of the bowl 5 to 10 times, pressing any loose bits into the mass of the dough until it all comes together. Roll or pat it out to 1/2-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface and use a floured biscuit cutter or the mouth of a jar to cut it into rounds. Lay the rounds out on the surface of the pot pie, pressing them into the sides of the baking dish and overlapping them so that there are no gaps. If necessary, gather up the remaining dough scraps, roll them out again, and cut out more biscuits to complete the crust. Brush the egg over the crust with a pastry brush.
Bake the pot pie until the filling is piping hot and the crust is golden and cooked through, about 45-50 minutes. If the crust starts browning too much before it's done, cover with foil for the rest of the baking.
Makes 4 huge or 6 modest servings.
* * * * *
3.
2.01 - "North"
I think the thing that makes this episode work so well is that it takes a situation rife with stereotypical possibilities--the experienced outdoorsman Mountie and the wise-cracking city guy lost in the woods--and it ignores all of the obvious directions it could go in favor of a much more complicated view of the friendship between Ray and Fraser, and of the way both men are still reacting to the lessons of their fathers. Ray is so utterly abrasive and urban in the airport at the beginning, and Fraser's the guy who knows how these things work. (And I love that Ray brought peanuts for Diefenbaker on the plane flight, that he's talking to the wolf and listening to the wolf as much as Fraser is at this point.) But once they got lost in the woods and Fraser has lost his sight, Fraser actually becomes, with his fountain of information about survival, kind of insufferable. The only reason he isn't, beyond his injuries, is that in his insistence on doing everything for himself and his psychotic level of optimism, he's obviously struggling to retain control, because the loss of that control is worse than being stuck in the middle of nowhere with an escaped murderer, no eyesight, and a Chicago cop whose main skill is sarcasm.
Both Fraser and Ray are still haunted by their fathers, who are still trying to impress on them important life lessons. Fraser's father's ghost pushes him to do his duty, to bring his man in alive even under these insane circumstances, and Fraser knows that's insane, and knows that his father is wrong in important ways--he was wrong about the motto, after all--and as uncharacteristically frustrated and biting as he gets with Bob's ghost here, there's still a part of him that responds. Ray's father's ghost pushes him to look out for himself, and that's a lesson Ray rejected a long time ago, and continues to reject now, even if there is still that voice in his head. I think it's terribly interesting that Ray's father hated cops, so Ray became one.
And above the hilarity of Ray and Fraser, the ultimate odd couple, surviving in the woods, with Fraser's bizarre survival tips and Ray's constant patter of sarcasm, there's a lovely trust between them, that they are going to get out of this together or not at all, that they will work together, that Ray will give Fraser the last of the water and carry him on his back, that Fraser will construct Inuit weapons and Ray will wield them with some success. (And oh, the singing montage, from the ridiculous song about someone putting glue in their saddle to "California Dreamin'" to Mozart, as Ray carries Fraser through the woods, both of them getting more loopy and exhausted by the minute.)
In conclusion, YOU SUCK, RAY's DAD (TM brynnmck).
2.02 - "Vault"
I love the bickering between Francesca and Ray--both the familiarity and the casual cruelty is so true of siblings--and the fact that Francesca is, in her own plucky and insane and EXTREMELY PINK way, determined to do anything she can to help, even if it means delaying the drilling and throwing off Fraser's more precisely calibrated but even more insane plan.
In so many ways, this episode is like fanfiction--they're trapped in a cave vault! And then they start taking their clothes off! But if that's the case, it's like the very best fanfiction, because Ray gets to express his frustration with Fraser, that Fraser's always leaping to right wrongs and his plans invariably involve some sort of insanely suicidal component, that he never asks because he assumes that Ray's like him, and most of all, that Fraser never puts himself before his duty and gets walked on as a result. In the end, it becomes as much frustration for Fraser as with him. With all of the life-risking and the carrying of tuning forks, that's the thing that really bothers Ray. And I love that Fraser listens to Ray, and takes his words to heart, and makes a beautifully reasoned and impassioned speech about wearing the uniform he loves, and that Thatcher fires him for it. Baby steps.
(Fraser's plan once they're in the vault, that they have to rip the phone out of the wall to keep Francesca from distracting them from their duty, that flooding the enclosed space is the obvious solution and they'll have at least an inch of water by the time the drilling's done, is so quintissentially him in its unthinking assumption that of course they're going to endanger themselves to thwart the bad guys, its physical precision, its fundamental craziness; it is the kind of thing that makes him both admirable and exasperating, simultaneously and in equal measure, and is such a good illustration of what Ray is yelling about, as he yells it.)
And oh Diefenbaker, ever alert to danger, going for help by way of a bag of chips, ignoring the firefighters and police along the way, seeking out the Mountie who is even more insanely dutiful than Fraser but much less effective. I do worry about Diefenbaker and the junk food. That wolf has developed some terrible habits.
2.03 - "The Witness"
This episode is in so many ways about the pros and cons of stubbornness. Ray won't apologize to the judge and goes to jail, because he didn't do anything wrong, as far as he's concerned. And Fraser, who as as stubborn as Ray in his own way, goes to jail with him and by stubbornly maintaining his superpower of Thorough Canadianness, his relentless, shiny cheerfulness, which by all rights should be getting him killed, impresses the giant inmate and survives the riot with Ray in tow. Neither of them will give up on the case, on putting the thug behind bars and getting the witness to do the right thing. And in the end, Fraser is stubborn enough not to take Thatcher's hints and transfer, because he's found a home, a place where he belongs as much as he ever will. (I love that he makes that decision at the end of the episode, when Bob gave us hints at the beginning of how migratory his life had been with Fraser's mother, one miserable little post after another, never staying in one place for too long, and how little she'd liked it, and how unhappy their marriage had been because Bob's duty was everything to him.)
Things that amused me a lot: Welsh's speech about women and authority, Fraser driving the Riv (it's a good thing Ray was in jail and couldn't see that, because otherwise he'd be in jail for committing murder), and Huey and Louie, good friends to the end, having to coach Fraser through stealing the Milk Duds, and eventually having to actually shove them in his pocket.
* * * * *
4.
Prairie dogs were a fixture of the landscape around the small Kansas community where my grandparents lived--in fact, the local country club was called the Prairie Dog Club--so I found the Washington Post article on them rather interesting. Kidnapping, cannibalism, murder and infanticide. Prof. John L. Hoogland has seen it all during a lifetime of studying prairie dogs.
Choice quote:
"They are herbivores, strictly," Hoogland says. "Except for eating babies."
And they look so cute!