Having started this write-up literally a minute after finishing the show (with the tears still drying on my cheeks, I kid you not) I am ... perhaps not best equipped to give a sane and nuanced Show Is Awesome post. Nevertheless.

So there's this show. It ran on and off from 1993 to 1998, which makes me roughly as behind the curve in reporting my love for it as I was with due South. It almost got canceled quite a lot, and definitely almost got canceled between seasons four and five, which makes season four incredibly packed and season five incredibly not. It had fairly revolutionary effects for its time, being one of the first shows to rely a lot on CGI; the technology holds up abysmally, but I am given to believe that, aside from obligatory sound in space and your usual handwavey hyperspace travel, the physics holds up fairly well. The cast, including some of the main credit cast, has a tendency to get shuffled around a bit, with characters getting written out more or less gracefully. There is apparently a prank script where one of my OTPs got textually written; there are approximately a billion actual scripts where my other OTP was text for real.

Sometimes the things this show says make me uncomfortable; more often, the things it says and the way it articulates those things overjoys me. Sometimes the show kills its lesbians; more often, it passes the Bechdel test every time I've paid enough attention to test it out. Sometimes the show has characters or plotlines that bore me; much more often, I'm glued to the screen and will mainline six episodes a day because I desperately need to know what's going to happen.

The name of the show is Babylon 5, and I'm here to tell you why it's so awesome. Hopefully I can accomplish that without too many major spoilers, because I deeply enjoyed navigating the show blind. Squee, with visuals. Also: long and talky, unsurprisingly. )

And, like I said, the show is great. It is not 100% great all the time, and depending on how the fandom is, I might [a] stay joyful forever about it, a la due South, or [b] start deconstructing its fails, of which it has quite a few, a la Doctor Who. In either case, while it isn't perfect, it's fucking fantastic, and especially if you think/know you share narrative kinks with me, you should run, not walk, to see it. It is a show of my heart.


dfljkdsjhsd time to pack for WisCon.
Mm. I have a lot of Stuff rattling around in my brain, re: the future and how the late-spring roller-coaster feeling is creeping upon me, but I don't know if any of it has coalesced enough for articulation yet. Instead I am taking the evening off, to do things like watch The Three Doctors and do that icon meme that's been going around.

I answer these icons in batches of threes. They just look so pleasant and symmetrical this way. )
Okay, I'll be honest: I wasn't sure of her at first, but I have now decided beyond doubt that the new TARDIS is, indeed, a sexy thing. I still don't know about the exact shade of blue on the outside, but other than that I am sold. I am so sold, in fact, that it is impromptu TARDIS picspam time!



I like to think that the TARDIS goes on forever, in lots of scary, strange ways. [-Moffat]

This cut text is bigger on the inside. )
aria: ([doctor who] the drums are real)
( Jan. 3rd, 2010 06:39 pm)
And now, an End of Time screencap recap! (Yes, both parts, because I'm shallow thorough like that.) This is not idle capping in vain, though, oh no. Well, mostly it is; I love staring at David Tennant and John Simm. But besides that, I have also suddenly rediscovered the crazy fever that takes hold when I have new Doctor Who food for thought and am seized with the desperate urge to write. I need to organize my thoughts; for that, I have to rewatch; and, in order to rewatch without someone holding my hand, I must pause every five seconds to take a screencap and say something about it.

In the process of this write-up -- which took literally all day, I might add; oh, the ridiculous labors of love I do for Doctor Who -- I discovered that I actually adore these episodes. To teeny tiny ridiculous flawed pieces.

This is mostly a Doctor/Master recap; to do the whole thing would be insane. Er, allons-y. Spoilers, obviously; extremely rambly meta, as tends to happen with me and Doctor/Master; image-heavy (88 caps) and not for the slow of browser. )
aria: ([due south] meg)
( Nov. 11th, 2009 08:12 pm)
Re: Eastwick being canceled; cut for space. )

Anyway, this is all by way of long-windedly saying that I am annoyed, and of late I channel my annoyance via being fannish specifically about due South. (I know, this is shocking.) One thing this means is that if I ever end up writing that dS/Eastwick crossover I keep mulling over, it'll still have Fraser and Darryl quoting Paradise Lost at each other or something hilarious and awesome like that, but it'll probably end up being about, say, Stella & Frannie & Meg.

The other thing this means is that I spend a hell of a lot of time going on about how much I love Fraser and Rays, and having this niggling feeling that the women on due South are problematic for reasons that are tangled and messy and thus keep on not being explored at this juncture. Maybe some day I will, but in the meantime I don't actually want to deconstruct, because I don't think that will help the annoyance; instead, I want to take a short break from Fraser and Rays, and talk about how even if the women on due South are problematic, they are also often awesome.

Francesca Vecchio, Elaine Besbriss, Mackenzie King, Stephanie Cabot, Suzanne Chapin, Victoria Metcalf, Irene Zuko, Meg Thatcher, Stella Kowalski, Denny Scarpa, & Maggie Mackenzie, or: a non-comprehensive picspam & commentary on the awesome women in due South. )
Today in art class we were drawing faces from a model. She was redheaded and quite pretty, and I spent the first hour and the first drawing going quietly nuts because there was something odd in my picture. Then she moved to her second pose, which put her in profile to me, and perhaps five minutes into that drawing I twigged to what was going on: aside from the red hair, she looked freakishly like Victoria Metcalf.

Once I'd figured this out, the drawing came out quite well. Well enough, in fact, that despite the fact that it's newsprint and that I have no scanner, I brought it home, stuck it on my door, and took a picture. Here it is; feel free to tell me whether the Victoria resemblance is only a figment of my fevered brain.

Really, though, my brain is not fevered. My brain is quite good at the moment, and plans to rewrite my play about lesbians and ghosts, and then do yoga on the awesome new mat I bought the other day.
And for my last great fannish act of summer (by which I actually mean "I don't want to pack! I'll mess around on the internet!") I, uh, you know those silly doll makers? Like, say, this one? Yes, I actually did spend my morning making little due South dolls. I'm not even sorry.

They're under this cut. And adorable. )
...Yeah, I'm officially procrastinating on my own fun (the F/K/V is making me want to curl up in a corner and flail, okay) because instead of writing I started making GRAPHS. Extremely unscientific graphs about how there are only eight actors in Canada. Or, well, more like twenty-five. All I know is that I have unscientifically proven that almost everyone has been on due South. Or at least have worked with Paul Gross at some point.

Two EXTREMELY SCIENTIFIC GRAPHS under this cut! God, someone should find me a more productive way to procrastinate. )
This morning Hugh Dillon rescued me from a particularly inane anxiety dream. I had been vaguely questioning the wisdom of changing my iPod alarm to the Headstones on shuffle, but it was in fact a brilliant idea. Mm.

I'm becoming increasingly creative in my attempts to battle the habitual if mild summer depression (see: actually thinking it's a good idea to wake up to Headstones music); creating a steady output of fic is the normal method, and works fairly well, but sometimes a little extra is needed. So today I have a variant on the genus of meme that suggests "post ten pictures of women you find attractive/five celebrities you would sleep with/&c" and my variant is "twelve people on TV who make me starry-eyed or happy for whatever reason." Because happy things are good!

Twelve people who make me happy, with pretty pictures. )
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