Scribblings

So. True.

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 23:09:02 GMT

Just - this.

Things I have learned today

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 01:12:34 GMT

First: champagne, vodka, port, gin, tequila and cream don't mix.

Obvious, right? But, nay, when they come in the form of delicious Sosho cocktails...no. No, not at all. Following a delicious and alcoholic meal with a friend, I have - somehow - got myself home without cannoning off the many walls of London and am currently stealth-typing so as not to wake the Hack.

Seriously, you have no idea how long it took me to type that paragraph without it looking like dghslfhkfhkfhsk.

Second: Christmas is not unlike a ninja. It creeps up on you. How did it get to 8 days to Christmas, and I have yet to buy half my presents and wrap all of them? Chaos!

Third: yikes. Scary stuff.

Fourth: what is this 'my stats' feature that hath appeared on my LJ? I'm confuzzled. Though of course, that might be the alcohol.

Fifth: in monumental lack of awesome, I have to take my car into a dealer to be repaired, or so sayeth the letter that rocked up on my parents' doorstep today. Or it might explode in a FIREBALL, I kid you not. Yes, the pinkmobile requires urgent repairs. Unfortunately, I have no more days off until after Christmas, so I shall spent the next two weeks or so in a frenzy of panic as I drive to work and back, wondering if fiery death is around the corner. Let's hope not, eh?

Much love,
Ki

Brilliant.

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 23:36:16 GMT

The Hack: "Did you get my text earlier?"

Me: "No...what text?"

The Hack: "It said, 'Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without M&S'." [cue pause for the punchline] "It would be Christma." [expectant face]

Me: "Uh...don't you mean Christa?"

The Hack: "...oh."

(context is this ad)

That Big Damn Update (aka I’m So Vain I Probably Think This Blog Is About Me)

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:11:18 GMT

So how long’s it been? A few months, right? Maybe longer. I’ve been off in a corporate fugue, working working working, but other stuff has happened as well, so let’s go through some of that.

Working Nine to Five

More like Six to Six, but I couldn't resist quoting a Dolly Parton classic. I still work for the mean green corporate machine that is Marks and Spencer. I run the womenswear floor in Watford, manage 80 people, and have a damn good time doing it. I’m pretty good at my job, and proud of what I do.

I think if you’d asked people who knew me at school or university, they’d have been surprised that I wound up in retail. After all, I did a degree in Economics, which meant three years of slicing my way through great tangles of equations and matrices. I’ve always been regarded as academic, methodical, and probably quite dull.

And it may surprise those of you who know me well that the words most used to describe me at work are ‘sensible’ with a side dish of unimaginative and predictable.

So retail – which is a haywire world of loosely controlled chaos – might not seem like the ideal career for me. But...actually, I love that unpredictability. I love coming in and having to think on my feet. And in a crisis, I’m your girl. I’m at my best when things are at their worst.

I’d be bored stiff if I was stuck behind a desk all day. Instead, every day is different and new and exciting and challenging. Even that small core of customers who exist solely to make my life difficult (I got my first flame last week! A customer told me to ‘get lost’. Nice lady.) are few and far between.

As for the other half, he retains his job. Whether by luck or design or sheer administrative incompetence, the News of the World never got round to making him redundant. So he remains a grumpy butterfly in the world of the glitterati and twitterati. (as shown by his twitter feed).

Calling Doctor Jones…

Speaking of, the Hack was taken to hospital two weeks ago after ten days of crippling abdominal pains. It turns out man cannot live on pizza alone: he has diverticular disease (don’t google – suffice to say it ain’t much fun) and has had to completely revamp his lifestyle. After all, champagne and canapés are not exactly full of nutrition.

In true manly style, he’s demanded I join him in his quest for redemption. So my diet is now 100% free of chocolate, pizza and other junk food. Well. 90% free. I don’t function well without chocolate.

Give Me The First Taste

We went to the premiere of Up not so very long ago on the South Bank. I love the South Bank: in the summer, it’s bright and packed and a great place for a cocktail in the sun. In winter, it has the wonderful Christmas Fair, full of quaintness and mulled wine and the kind of overpriced baubles that bring a tear to the eye and an emptiness to the wallet.

But what I love most about the South Bank is the Sunday book market. It’s brilliant.

I digress: we went to see Up. Everything you’ve read in the reviews is right: it was an amazing film. I cried off my mascara, and the Hack cried off his masculinity. The first half hour is funny, moving, and heartbreaking; without a doubt the best part of the film. That’s not to say the rest of Up isn’t very very good – it is – but merely that the opening sequence is one of the best pieces of kids’ cinema anywhere.

The 3D on it was amazing. I forgot I was wearing the glasses most of the time.

Unfortunately I can’t say the same for the 3D version of Coraline we got on DVD. I adored the film – for sheer creepiness, it made my skin crawl, and not just because I already have a weird dislike of buttons – but the 3D effects on it were horrendous. I had to watch in 2D because I had such a headache after half an hour. Still – quirky, eerie film, but not one I’ll watch again soon. There’s something about it I find quite disturbing.

Picture This

I’m not a fan of having my photo taken. I don’t photograph well. A boyfriend once described me as having a ‘shot deer’ look. He was quite right: that is my default expression when you aim a camera my way. Thus the dual goals of avoiding photos and finding one where I look okay have formed part of my life.

So I was delighted when my best friend H bought me a studio day for my birthday. H has known me for thirteen years. She is that rarity, a person who is good and sweet and entirely selfless, and deeply unappreciated by too many foolish people.

Despite her undying devotion to Jenson Button, we get on like a house on fire. We share many things: a love of cocktails, a passion for F1, the ability to shop for each other, and even a shoe size. So it’s makes sense that she’s the one person I’d trust to turn a generally traumatic experience – a camera pointed at me – into a fabulous one.

So it was. We turned up at the studio in pelting rain: shedding our dignity, we ran down the streets looking like lunatics with jumpers covering our heads because umbrellas are for people who plan better. After ten minutes of hard sell from the studio reps (all part of the experience; just nod and smile, nod and smile), we were made-up, hair-styled, and packed off for photos.

And at last, at last! I have a photo of myself I can actually bear. Voila!

Also, I must just pause to extol the virtues of Urban Decay Primer Potion, which I have newly discovered. I know, I know, behind the times, right? But it’s the first thing I’ve found which keeps my eyeshadow on all day and means I can finally go for those glorious, outlandish looks which never lasted longer than ten minutes.

Like A Good Book, I Can’t Put This Day Back

I continue to be a prolific reader. I’m running out of room in the flat now, so I’ve put a hold on book-buying until we figure out where to put them all.

I retain my fascination for the Tudor Period. I posted some time ago about a book that mixed the Tudor Court and faeries. To my surprise and delight, The Perilous Gard is not alone in this combination of two fun genres. Marie Brennan has written a very good book called Midnight Never Come. It has a clever blend of politics and history, all written nicely. A touch wordy at times, and the romance between the main characters left me a little cold, but I loved the premise, and the world-building was awesome.

Also on my list of guilty pleasures (don’t hurt me [Bad username: âvinaigretteâ]) is Phillippa Gregory’s ‘Tudor’ series. The Other Boleyn Girl is the best known. They take tremendous liberties with history, and have rather a soap-opera atmosphere, but are compelling and highly enjoyable.

Urban fantasy is my other love. While I wait for Ilona Andrews fourth book in her excellent kate Daniels series, I picked up Vicki Pettersson’s latest. I was a little disappointed if I’m honest – there wasn’t much in the way of resolution, and there were some sequences that went on far too long, but I’m hooked enough to pick up the next – and penultimate – in the series when it arrives.

Kathleen Duey’s Sacred Scars came out a few weeks ago, and I snapped it up as soon as I saw it. It’s the second in her Resurrection of Magic series, and damn, is it amazing. It’s grim and gripping, and ties together the two intertwining stories – one in the past, one in the present – wonderfully without ever giving too much away too soon.

I see the new ‘Robert Jordan’ book is out. And yes...I succumbed. I've invested enough time in that gigantic series to at least find out the end. And...I was pleasantly surprised. While the queasy gender issues remain, the new guy has toned them down substantially. There was actual plot! Stuff happened! Issues were resolved! There were bits that actually made me squee!

All right, sometimes the writing is a little lacking in grace and the voice for one of the major characters is off, but these are very forgivable sins when set against the fact that STUFF HAPPENS. Believe me, there are at least two preceding books which served no purpose but the slaughter of thousands of innocent trees. Robert Jordan was literally using up our valuable oxygen in book 10.

I haven’t gone into great detail about the books because reviewers on Amazon and Goodreads have said it better than I can.

More on books in another post, as I could easily go on forever.

Here’s Where The Story Ends

Or not. Writing is obviously a big hobby of mine. I still do it, if slowly. My love of the Night World series remains – the fandom’s having a bit of a revival over on FFN at the moment, which is great to see. My current fic is ongoing, and involving a lot of research into the AD 500 era and Arthurian legends, which are many and entertaining.

I’ve also sort of fallen into Harry Potter fanfic, or rather that subset of it known as Dramione. It’s like a drug, I swear. What took my fancy was an AU world where Voldemort won and the tattered remnants of a resistance were trying to pull themselves together to overthrow him once and for all. Fun times.

And I’m also writing something original on the side.

Chasing Cars

That’s something I was doing in July: looking for a new car. And I now have one. It’s a Suzuki Alto, and it’s pink. I love it! The Hack was a little horrified when he first saw it, but now he hardly feels at all emasculated by riding round in the pink awesomemobile.

It’s a word. Honest.

Smooth Criminal

That spot of credit card fraud I had got resolved, though M&S Money were frustratingly slow about it. It turns out my fraudsters had ordered a fridge from Boots and ordered it to an address in Bolton. Fortunately, Boots were on the money and when I rang to let them know, they stopped the delivery.

I also had the joy of the following conversation with M&S Money: "So you didn't purchase it?"

Me: "No. As I told you three days ago when it appeared on my statement, it's nothing to do with me."

M&S Money: "You're sure you haven't forgotten?"

Funnily enough, I think I'd remember buying a £300 fridge for someone in Bolton! Aie. But still: 'tis resolved.

Now I'm Awake

As you can probably tell, I'm going through a bit of an insomnia phase at the moment. On the downside, the lack of sleep is a pain. On the plus side, I rather like the dead of night - it's wonderfully still and silent and secretive. With the added bonus of a cup of chai at my side, the rain battering on the windows yet again, and a good few hours to write.

I think that’s probably about it. Or it’s all I can remember off the top of my head at 2 in the morning. Hope you're all well! Bonus points if anyone can name all the songs lyrics shamelessly thieved.

Oh wait - Christmas cards! If you'd like some season's greetings, send me a private message via LJ or drop me an email. I have a stash waiting, and a Post Office down the road :)

Much love,
Ki

Once more, with stealing

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 17:22:10 GMT

Sorry. You know I can never resist a good pun!

Anyhoo, I've PM'd the author of the story which has such remarkable similarities to mine.

Hi there.

I'm sure at this point you aren't terribly surprised to receive a message from me.

I'm disappointed and rather annoyed to see that you appear to have been using large pieces of my work as your own, largely from my fanfiction 'Chimera'. Like most people who write, I do it for a hobby, and for pleasure. Seeing that you have taken my work without credit, acknowledgement or the slightest hint of conscience has diminished some of that pleasure.

The word for what you've done is plagiarism. It is regarded among the writing community - both in fandom and outside it - as at best, bad taste, idiotic and thoughtless. At worst, it is theft, pure and simple.

Please remove the story 'Beloved'. In the future, I suggest you write using your own ideas, words and characters.

If it is not taken down within three days, I will be reporting you to the stop_plagiarism community on livejournal and to the moderators of this site.

Regards,
Kiana

Hopefully that covers the civil but vexed tone I'm after. Imagine me at my most British, and you've got the vibe I'm feeling.

Anyway! I'm almost done with my big damn blog post, aka my life in five short acts. It's blustery as hell here - winter's being blown in on storms and showers this year - and I'm taking great satisfaction from the fact I'm warm inside, well-supplied with tea, while the wind howls outside.

Small, secret pleaures - they're wonderful things. So, I'm curious: if you have one small pleasure in life, what is it?

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 18:11:50 GMT

My cat died.

I'm gutted. I had her for 15 years. She used to run out onto the driveway when she heard my car coming home, and wake me up at 2am because she was lonely, then sit on my bed and purr. She was a fantastic cat, and it just breaks my heart.

This entry was originally posted at http://kiana.dreamwidth.org/2017.html. Please comment there using OpenID.

Sod.

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 18:57:11 GMT

So the Hack has just been made redundant.

Rats. Rats. Gigantic, hairy, plague-bearing rats.

Just remembered!

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 20:38:13 GMT

I have two codes for Dreamwidth. If you want one, comment - comments are screened.

Sun, 31 May 2009 22:39:55 GMT

Just saw Star Trek.

Bloody hell, that was fun.

Ooh!

Thu, 28 May 2009 20:05:49 GMT

My Harry Potter WIP has been nominated for the Dramione Awards! How very cool :D If it was one of you guys - thank you so much! What a fab surprise :D

ARGH!

Tue, 26 May 2009 21:57:56 GMT

Why is fanfiction.net so shit? Every time I want to update, it has a fit and refuses to upload. ARGH. ARRRRRGH.

Also, the Hack has got us tickets to see Boyzone at the O2 on Friday. He has to interview them, so likely I will be surrounded by delicious Irish accents. I was never much of a fan back in the day, but my inner fourteen year old still had a stargasm at the thought.

Does anyone else remember the hideous cream knitted polonecks they wore in the video for Love Me For A Reason? Oh, nineties. I miss you. I miss you so.

He has also caved and agreed to take me to see Star Trek on Sunday at the IMAX. We went for dim sum and cocktails on Monday with some of the old crew from M&S Brent Cross and after hearing they liked it, he was finally persuaded it was for normal people and not just hopeless geeks like me.

Borders have a 3 for 2 on all kids' books at the moment, so I bought Scott Westerfeld's entire repertoire (there is a whole thinky thoughts post to come on the Uglies series), Marcus Sedgwick's latest, because I love a bit of gothic horror, and The Demon's Lexicon, because it's a fab book, and I'd like to reread it.

The Hack is absolutely Twitter-obsessed. He proudly tells me each day how many followers he has (296, in case you were wondering.) Apparently Richard Bacon is tweeting him. Who is Richard Bacon? I don't know, but I suspect it's not a match for the picture in my mind, which is of a large cartoon piece of streaky bacon who happens to be called Richard.

The ever-awesome savage_midnight sent me a pile of books which I am slowly going through. I am quite enjoying the Karen Chance books, which are cracktastic, and somehow compelling.

Anyhoo, back to work tomorrow. First day on the new job. Wish me luck - I'll need it.

Oh, the times they are a-changing

Mon, 18 May 2009 18:01:42 GMT

So, to go with the new flat, a new job. I've been promoted to womenswear manager at Watford. Yay!

Also, I went to see Romeo and Juliet at the Globe last night. It was a truly awesome experience - we were in the yard, the standing area, and the stage was right in front of us. Despite the drizzle, we had a great time - the actors sang and danced before the show (with lutes! I've never heard a lute played before), and during the play often came down into the yard.

It was one of the funniest adaptations I've seen - Mercutio and Benvolio were hilarious. Tybalt oozed sexy menace, Romeo and Juliet were a pair of idealists, and the Nurse was brilliant - funny, affectionate, practical.

Also, my ticket was free! A lovely man asked me if I was going to buy a ticket, and on learning I was, said he had one spare. Hurrah for random kindness from strangers!

Alas, in true London fashion, it was balanced with random weirdness from strangers. There I was, reading The Touch of Twilight in the tube when he approached, clearly scenting weakness, or possibly just my fabulous BPAL Lick It Again perfume. He waved some religious iconography in my face and asked if I was saved.

I explained that no, no, I wasn't, but I wasn't religious.

As it turned out, those were not the droids he was looking for. Cue five minutes of frothing rage as he told me at the top of his voice I was going to burn in hell. It is kind of hot in the tubes, but I wouldn't call it hellish. As the train arrived, I made sure I took a different carriage and spent my return mercifully undisturbed.

So, promotion, production, perdition. What a start to the week!

Settling in

Mon, 11 May 2009 16:58:02 GMT

So we've been in the flat over a week now and it remains awesome and lovely. There was a brief kerfuffle over the extractor fan (I know, will this excitement never end?), which both the Hack and I thought was broken. Nay, it turned out neither of us are smart enough to spot the BIG RED SWITCH.

I saw the wonderful spiral yesterday. We had plans to see Coraline in 3D but that fell through as there is apparently no cinema in London showing it after eight which offers you a chance of catching the last tube. So instead, we went to this fab little tapas place I know behind Leicester Square, and had delicious food and equally delicious conversation.

She's leaving England now, and I'll be sad to see her go. So a trip to Canada is on the cards next year, where I shall undoubtedly get hopelessly lost all over the place and be wide-eyed and touristy. She also left me gifts of BPAL and books and maple syrup, which I am fast developing an addiction to.

The Hack has nabbed himself a free holiday to Andorra ("Is that the one with the landmines?" I asked innocently, and watched as a fearsome conflict took place on his face between terror and greed. Muahaha!) This leaves me a few peaceful days in the flat next week to read and write in the evenings. Hurrah!

I went to see Jason Mraz live a couple of weeks ago at the Apollo. I can confirm that he is fantastic live - it was a really chilled, fun atmosphere. My best friend and I boogied away merrily, despite the fact I only knew the early stuff and she only knew his one chart-topper, I'm Yours. The Hack got us tickets to the afterparty, so we went and schmoozed. I had to sprint for the tube, but she got to meet him later, the jammy devil.

I am really wanting to see the new Star Trek film after all the razzmatazz on my flist about it. (You guys are responsible for half my current addictions, I'll have you know. Yes, you.) It looks pretty damn awesome. Would love to hear any views on it, please!

The deposit is in my bank account. IT'S OVER!

I am still going through my Tudor phase. It is such an interesting period - and there is some great Tudor-period fiction out there. CJ Sansom is my current love, but I also have a penchant for Phillippa Gregory (vinagrette, I know you've just lost some respect for me, but I love a bit of historical pulp fiction.)

Smallville Season 2 is on its way to me. I caved at last...

Now, back to a book and a cuppa.

Hurrah!

Tue, 05 May 2009 09:39:55 GMT

The deposit troubles are over at last. We only lost £120 for the carpet, as - surprise surprise - it was more than a year old. This means I can pay off a big chunk of my debt, and can officially relax, and never ever have to deal with that wretched truth-impaired man again. I'm sending our estate agent flowers - she has done a fab job on our behalf.

Time for a celebratory dance, methinks.

Because you can never go back

Mon, 04 May 2009 23:42:02 GMT

There is something about the new flat - several somethings - which remind me of home. Mum and Dad's home, I mean. The door into the living room has glass panels in, which is just like the one leading into the dining room. The walls are the same magnolia. The quality of the light is similar - soft, golden, summery.

I keep expecting one of the cats to pad into the room, or my mum to ask me if I want a cup of tea, and then I remember they're a hundred miles away, and I feel older and sadder and a little lost.

I think, then, of that old saying that you can never go back, and I know it's true. It lodges somewhere in my heart, somewhere between grief and acceptance. It's not that I don't like the life I have. It's not that I don't love my career or my independence or my friends. But sometimes it's all fraught and complicated, and I feel very tired, like I'm older than my bones and my skin.

It would be nice, then, to hear my mum asking me if I want sugar with that cup of tea. That would be a decision I could say yes or no to, and the answer wouldn't matter. Time would be soft and golden and summery as the light.

I guess that's what the past looks like through a film of nostalgia. Because even as I sit here and type this, I know that it wasn't really like that. There were other times - times of teenage emo angst and times of anger and frustration.

But when I think of home, none of those things come to mind. Instead I think of sunlight through the bay windows, and the cats sitting in the strawberry netting, and the rapeseed turning the hills into vast yellow flags. The bad things fade: the good things shine.

So I hope that when I look back on the last few months, stress and tears and apathy and emptiness will be driven out like the shadows that they are, and this too will become soft golden summery shining. I hope that as I go forward I will recognise the shadows for what they are, for what they will be: nothing, fading under the best of what is yet to come.

I can never go back. I know that. But I can go forward, and hope.

Shiny & new

Fri, 01 May 2009 18:26:42 GMT

It seems quite apt that I have a new journal to match my new flat. So here it be!

EDIT: Oops, didn't realise this would show as a normal entry. What I meant to say is that I also now have a Dreamwidth account. Come and say hi!

Money, money, money

Fri, 01 May 2009 15:22:46 GMT

So, unsurprisingly, the fight for our deposit is now on. Our landlord is an utter liar. He's claiming the carpet was new when we moved in.

Well, we moved in a day after the revious tenants left, and they left letils scattered all over the carpet. So unless he is seriously suggesting the old carpet was taken up, the one installed, and lentils flung like wedding rice to commemorate the occasion...I'm not buying. While I don't mind paying towards a new carpet as I did indeed burn the old one, he needs to be realistic about what is paid.

He's also lying about the microwave that erupted in a great cluster of sparks shortly before we left. It's a Hinari MX320GMSL, and he claims it was put in new when we moved in in March 2008. Amazing, that, because it was discontinued in 2001. Straight from the manufacturer's mouth. Unless he bought it from the TARDIS, I think NOT.

It's exasperating that he is such an enormous liar and so blatantly trying to screw us. I don't mind paying for what I owe. But it needs to be a fair amount. Not whatever he thinks he can akes for. Luckily, the agent knows what he is like and is fighting our corner.

Our deposit is £1500. That's a HUGE amount of money for both myself and the Hack.

I feel very frustrated. I'm currently neutralising all my rage by picturing Chaucer from A Knight's Tale slapping my landlord with a gauntlet and crying you, sir, are a damn liar. Well, it's comforting me, at least.

Please, learn from my stupidity! If you think your landlord is remotely dodgy, don't do it.

...

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 21:43:26 GMT

...and we're moved. Every inch of the old flat glitters. Cinderella has nothing - nothing - on me. The new flat is heaped with boxes. The only things that have been unpacked are the bed and the books.

Now to fight for the deposit. After a takeaway. After.

Wish me luck. I shall try and put up some pictures of the new place.

Onwards

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 17:02:24 GMT

It's moving day tomorrow. I've spent the last four weeks or so obsessively cleaning the place. The damp in our room is particularly horrible. I suspect I've started to get a mad glint in my eye every time the Hack goes near one of the many bleached, vinegared, salted and scrubbed surfaces. The flat smells a little like a chippy at the moment, but it's pretty damn clean.

The stress of the last four months has been immense. New job with M&S: old tricks from the landlord. Viewings of flats. Debts. Too little sleep and too much sugar. But enough of these tiresome and depressing things.

I've had some fun days out with friends. I saw In The Loop, which was the first time I've laughed so much in ages. It was political satire of a vicious, biting and utterly hilarious sort.

Work is going well. I've had a member of the Board visit me, and it went swimmingly. My boss called me a commercial animal (heh). But which animal...? Dread to think.

My library of books has become a touch unwieldy. Packing them has taken a long time. I haven't had as much free time as I'd like recently so I actually have an unread pile for the first time in my life.

I slipped and fell this morning coming out of the bathroom. My feet just went: I imagine I looked like one of those cartoon characters making those binkabinkabinka noises as their feet whirl in the air before they splat onto the ground.

Alas, not as amusing for me. It bloody hurt. When I went to Ikea to pick up a rug to hide the burn mark on the carpet, people were giving me odd looks. Realised what with the cut arms and bruised hands and limp, I looked like I'd gone a couple of rounds with an angry cricketer.

Found all my BPAL scents. BPAL, how I've missed you. Et Lux Fuit was particularly cheery with its flower-sunny-honey yumminess.

I reread Secret Vampire this morning, right before measuring my length on the tiles. It's still a pretty good book - stands the test of time, despite those little details that just screamed 90s. Ethnotechno, LJS? Really? Also, Phil's awesomeness is far more apparent now. I feel like writing fic about him, which was surprising.

I think I'll reread the rest of Night World. After all, we may see Strange Fate sometime next year (if there's anyone on my flist who didn't know, LJS, like Wispas and leggings and other 90s paraphernalia, is back. Yes, that is a unicorn. No, I don't know why.). And it means I can avoid Nightfall a little longer.

I must also recommend Ilona Andrews' Magic series. It's what urban fantasy was meant to be. It's exciting, sexy, funny, breathtaking, mischievous, and a cut above most of what's out there. The latest, Magic Strikes, has just come out. I was up until 2am reading it. Get it. (Or borrow it from me. Whichever. It's fab.)

So. I have procrastinated enough. Back to packing and cleaning. Tomorrow, I'll be in a new flat.

Thoughts on Smallville Season One

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 15:02:16 GMT

...aka the 'car crash' season.

So, after some years of reading the glee and enthusiasm of iliana_1 and savage_midnight, I caved and bought season one. I know, I know, only seven or eight years late. It's not so much jumping on the bandwagon as running along in its wake, trying frantically to catch up.

Thoughts so far:

- it's a 'monster of the week' series. Quite a few episodes remind me of the X-Files / early Buffy with that 'here today, gone tomorrow' train of events. About what I'd expect from an opener.

- the cinematography is very warm and golden. The town reminds me a little of the village I grew up in, where trips to the farm for lambing season were part of the curriculum, and there were a lot of summers spent running round the fields.

- someone crashes their car every episode. Every episode. Either the roads need some serious maintenance or there's a lot of unlicensed drivers zipping around. There should be some kind of drinking game based on the freewheeling antics of the SV cast.

- my favourite characters are - unsurprisingly - Chloe and Lex. I like the tenacity and wit of the first, and the moral ambiguity and twisty family politics of the second. I'd like to see more of their interaction together.

- will there be more Pete? I feel like he's the character I know least, yet he's Clark's best friend and clearly has things going on under the surface that I want to know more about.

- the music is fab for nostalgia factor, nicely picked for mood.

- I like the hints of mythology that have popped up in various episodes, and the way it is all tied together by the meteor rocks.

- I am already tiring of the angst factor inherent in Clark and Lana. Possibly this is because I've watched 16 episodes back to back, or maybe I'm just dead inside, but part of me is thinking blah blah blah dead parents, blah blah tragic pasts, yada yada will they won't they - Dawson's Creek has a lot to answer for - get on with it already!.

- I feel like there is fic brewing. Which I doubt I have time for, so I think it'll have to stay in my head.

- Overall, really enjoying it. Alas, the Hack, who is a longtime SV fan, will be ridiculously smug and attempt to take credit for 'converting' me. So, where can I pick up a cheap copy of Season Two?

You know your boyfriend works for the gutter press when...

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 01:18:12 GMT

...he proudly displays a picture of hiself next to Pete Docherty, a man for whom cocaine is just a condiment, and despite the terror evident in his eyes, believes he's done something worthwhile.

Yay!

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 06:59:28 GMT

Renegotiated my contract with Orange yesterday. Got 300 minuts, 100 texts, unlimited landline call and a shiny new phone for a tenner a month. At last! Orange are not being crap!

In other news, I am having a big rewatch of Buffy. I had forgotten how gloriously daft that show is.

Also, new job. Now in Watford. Farewell hideous Brent Cross customers! Long may you throw phones at unsuspecting managers, wreak havoc in mobile scooters and somehow mistake the fitting rooms for toilets (no, really</>, they do.)

squee

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 17:15:38 GMT

<lj user="graffititype">, I got your books today from Amazon! (Well, from my landlord, in whose porch they have probably been sitting while they've been holidaying, but still...) How awesome!

I've already read <i>The Door in the Hedge</i>, and I'm starting <i>Hunter's Moon</i>. You are ten thousand types of brilliant! Thank you thank you thank you!

In other news, I'm alive. Retail just spent the last six weeks being enormously hideous, so several 60 hour weeks later, I have surfaced.

Also, exciting stuff! We are getting a new bookcase because the books no longer fit anywhere. And it's a mere 12 days until my holiday starts, and 17 until I go to Ireland for the very first time.

Much love,
Ki

Sparkle Motion Picture

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 23:37:56 GMT

I'd never given much thought to how I would die - though I'd had reason enough in the last few months - but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long expanse of the square, into the dark hormonal void of the fangirls, and they screamed hysterically back at me. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at their wild, vapid eyes. How could I have had the terrible misfortune to arrive in ~~Forks~~ Leicester Square at the same moment as ~~Robert Patterson~~ ~~Schmoopypsychofluffybunnykins~~ Edward?

But terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you free tickets to a premiere, it's not reasonable to grieve because you're dressed up like a twerp and likely to be lynched before you make it anywhere near the cinema.

My soulmate, my partner, my Edward, if you will, was already inside. With my ticket.

Dress vampish, he'd whispered in a voice like velvet. Be there at six-thirty.

I'd obeyed without thought for the icy December night in a black corset, black skirt and black fishnets. As I tottered from the tube to the square, I was unaware of what awaited. Only the demented shrieking alerted me to the fact that this was no ordinary premiere. The crowds rose up like a wall, and the first inkling of just what I had let myself in for hit me.

I carefully crept around the crowd to the entrance and stood shivering. Eventually, a security guard, not confusing my corpse-white pallor with the ivory-white gleam of say, an ordinary girl from Phoenix who is in no way super-special, took pity on me and shooed me through with a confounding cry of ask for Maltese Joe!

Head down, teeth gritted, I ran the gauntlet through the red carpet to the cinema, and crashed inside. At last a security guard came down from ~~that muppet~~ my beloved other half (without whom I just could not live) and gave me my ticket. It was black, sparkly and clearly took itself very seriously indeed.

When at last my gloriously incandescent soulmate slouched into the theatre, I gave him a frosty look.

He reached for my hand. "Jesus! What's wrong with you?"

I glared. "Let's think. My skin is pale white and ice cold. I'm impossibly numb-"

His voice was full of chargin. "Sorry. I've seen anything like that before"

"I warned you," I said. "You could have returned the favour. Next time, tell me to turn up before the celebrities."

"I didn't think it would matter," he said. "I mean, the crowds for George Clooney weren't like that."

"Clooney doesn't usually play a lovestruck vampire virgin."

A silence fell beween us. His eyes were full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"Where have you been?"

"The bar," he answered promptly, and I realised that emotion was in fact the glaze of alcohol.

"And how long have you been in the bar?"

His lips twitched as he stared at the screen. "...a while..."

~*~

Further conversation was put on hold by the arrival of the cinema's owners. In came Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart, both looking appropriately terrified.

"Bite me Edward!" shrieked a fan from the back to far too much cooing.

"Speak to my agent later," he said dryly, which was probably not the brightest thing to say in a room full of, ah, ardent fans.

He exited swiftly - like a man eager to go, in fact - and the film began.

What can I say? It's fairly faithful to the books, but what elevates this film from merely mediocre to so-bad-it's-good is the sheer quality and quantity of Robert Pattinson's gurning. He pulls a series of faces not unlike a bulldog with a mouth full of toffee. My personal highlight was the flashback to when Carlisle changed him, and he had a Calculon-esque scream of NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Better yet, he played Edward like a fledgling psychopath. The super-creepiness of their needy relationship was very apparent.

The terrible dialogue is largely intact. Again, few moments will compare to Edward's urbane declaration of This is the skin of...A KILLER beautifully juxtaposed with him ripping open his shirt and glittering in the most sissy way imaginable. You've seen those Maybelline Diamond Shine ads, right? The ones for the glisten-y lipstick? IT'S EXACTLY LIKE THAT.

Even better, every time he glitters...there's a sound effect. A shimmery, tinkling bell noise. Edward glingles, guys, he actually seriously glingles.

I laughed. I cried (with laughter), I laughed some more. From beginning to end, it was a work of virtually unsurpassable awfulness, blemished only by a few patches of extreme dullness when nothing much happened. My boyfriend has now taken to gnawing on his own arm and gurning whenever he wants attention. Maybe if I'm really lucky he'll graduate to watching me sleep and controlling my life soon!

I see Robert Pattinson has signed up for the sequels. Good luck, dude. Good luck. You'll never have a normal life again.

Verdict: Like their creepy, creepy love, I thought that film would never end. See with friends. Take booze. Mock dialogue all the way home. And remember, kids! Nothing's more attractive than crying hystyerically and begging a man never to leave you. It's like their crack cocaine.

Festive Greetings and all...

Sat, 06 Dec 2008 07:05:42 GMT

I am sending out Christmas cards next week, so if you want one, comment here!

Will post about Twilight soon...