wind it up! thanksgiving break antics.
So I bought this little tin chicken. It pecks when you wind it up. It is easily one of the most glorious things I have ever seen.
I read Brave New World, which only succeeded in making me feel sortof miserable and indifferent. Stupid lack of cultural relativism and miscommunication. Good stuff, though, Mr. Huxley.
Roehl and Brittany came over on Thanksgiving and brought their new baby, sir William Douglas. I played Little Willy on the stereo in his honor. When he fell asleep, we all drank tequila.
My cousin has this huge, black wolf of a dog. At Thanksgiving, he was pressing his nose to the porch door and wagging his tail. I went out into the night to play with him, and we ran through the dark fields together. He tried to jump on me once, and I accidentally gave him a clock in the jaw. We're still friends, tho'.
Watched an amazing slew of movies over break. The Machinist (which was not at all what I was expecting), The Shawshank Redemption (which was, of course, not as good as the book but still amazing in its own right), Stand By Me (which Clayton and I rented because he's positively in love with River Phoenix) and Shallow Grave. Oh, and who could forget Interview With The Vampire?
I can definitely give Mr. Bale amazing props for The Machinist. I mean, when people told me that he lost alot of weight for the part, I was picturing Ewan-Macgregor-as-Renton skinny. Oh, wow, big deal.
Oh, wow, big deal. You can practically see his gorram kidneys.
I guess it was a great movie to watch on Thanksgiving night. I promptly went into the kitchen to cut myself another slice of pie, with extra Cool Whip.
Not much else report, save for the typical disdain and distaste for the latter bits of the semester. I'll just have to suck it up and ride it out until the snow flies. I'm putting together a third Christmas mix. I downloaded a version of Baby, It's Cold Outside sung by Tiger (buhhhh!) Tom Jones. There's just something about his deep and tremulous voice that makes me want to simultaneously laugh and vomit. Gurgle.
It turns out we own Donnie Brasco, which is very exciting to me. I don't know how it happened, but I do know that I love the combo of Johnny Depp and Al Pacino. And am rather disappointed that there's no slash. Come on, who cares if it's based on a true story? RPS happens, people, this is a fact of life. Just give me some Left/Donnie, and I'll be okay. Some girl wrote a Donnie/Joe wank!fic, a lá the Tyler/Jack fics I enjoy so much. It was good, but... Left/Donnie has such a great dynamic.
But the fact of the matter is that there is none, and there should be more. Some, even.
And why, for that matter, is there no 1984 slash? I mean, come on, the torture scenes at the end were easily the slashiest things ever. They had O'Brien/Winston all over them. Allow me to fire off a bit of canon...
And once -- Winston could not remember whether it was in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in a moment of wakefulness -- a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't worry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall save you, I shall make you perfect.'
And after a bit of torture...
Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.
And after yet more torture...
A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped the pain. The old feeling, that it bottom it did not matter whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates: somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk.
Now seriously. Seriously. A frighteningly sadistic fanfic would just be the icing on the literary cake. And fine, to be fair, I did find one fic. But it was romantic and sappy. I'm sorry, but... no.
Speaking of fics, I had totally forgotten about my fic that I was writing for The Sting. Until, of course, I finally checked my Hotmail account and discovered some encouraging feedback on the first two bits. O snaps! I really, really need to finish that. I want to watch the movie again to get back with it. Oh, Henry/Hooker, you are sho wonderful and flufftastical.
I read Brave New World, which only succeeded in making me feel sortof miserable and indifferent. Stupid lack of cultural relativism and miscommunication. Good stuff, though, Mr. Huxley.
Roehl and Brittany came over on Thanksgiving and brought their new baby, sir William Douglas. I played Little Willy on the stereo in his honor. When he fell asleep, we all drank tequila.
My cousin has this huge, black wolf of a dog. At Thanksgiving, he was pressing his nose to the porch door and wagging his tail. I went out into the night to play with him, and we ran through the dark fields together. He tried to jump on me once, and I accidentally gave him a clock in the jaw. We're still friends, tho'.
Watched an amazing slew of movies over break. The Machinist (which was not at all what I was expecting), The Shawshank Redemption (which was, of course, not as good as the book but still amazing in its own right), Stand By Me (which Clayton and I rented because he's positively in love with River Phoenix) and Shallow Grave. Oh, and who could forget Interview With The Vampire?
I can definitely give Mr. Bale amazing props for The Machinist. I mean, when people told me that he lost alot of weight for the part, I was picturing Ewan-Macgregor-as-Renton skinny. Oh, wow, big deal.
Oh, wow, big deal. You can practically see his gorram kidneys.
I guess it was a great movie to watch on Thanksgiving night. I promptly went into the kitchen to cut myself another slice of pie, with extra Cool Whip.
Not much else report, save for the typical disdain and distaste for the latter bits of the semester. I'll just have to suck it up and ride it out until the snow flies. I'm putting together a third Christmas mix. I downloaded a version of Baby, It's Cold Outside sung by Tiger (buhhhh!) Tom Jones. There's just something about his deep and tremulous voice that makes me want to simultaneously laugh and vomit. Gurgle.
It turns out we own Donnie Brasco, which is very exciting to me. I don't know how it happened, but I do know that I love the combo of Johnny Depp and Al Pacino. And am rather disappointed that there's no slash. Come on, who cares if it's based on a true story? RPS happens, people, this is a fact of life. Just give me some Left/Donnie, and I'll be okay. Some girl wrote a Donnie/Joe wank!fic, a lá the Tyler/Jack fics I enjoy so much. It was good, but... Left/Donnie has such a great dynamic.
But the fact of the matter is that there is none, and there should be more. Some, even.
And why, for that matter, is there no 1984 slash? I mean, come on, the torture scenes at the end were easily the slashiest things ever. They had O'Brien/Winston all over them. Allow me to fire off a bit of canon...
And once -- Winston could not remember whether it was in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in a moment of wakefulness -- a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't worry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall save you, I shall make you perfect.'
And after a bit of torture...
Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.
And after yet more torture...
A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped the pain. The old feeling, that it bottom it did not matter whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates: somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk.
Now seriously. Seriously. A frighteningly sadistic fanfic would just be the icing on the literary cake. And fine, to be fair, I did find one fic. But it was romantic and sappy. I'm sorry, but... no.
Speaking of fics, I had totally forgotten about my fic that I was writing for The Sting. Until, of course, I finally checked my Hotmail account and discovered some encouraging feedback on the first two bits. O snaps! I really, really need to finish that. I want to watch the movie again to get back with it. Oh, Henry/Hooker, you are sho wonderful and flufftastical.