Never jam today

the early sheep gets the icon along with the rest of the early sheep

deadsoul820@aol.com — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 20:22:44 GMT

Icon courtesy of the Mad Men website at AMC. Am at home with gauze stuffed into a gaping hole in my jawline from an emergency tooth extraction. And in three months comes the great joy of expensive bridgework. Cheers, thanks a lot.

As per usual, been reading y'all most every day, but never posting or commenting. Just keep on being your usual fascinating selves. I'll be over here in the corner lurking creepily and spitting blood.

Word of advice

deadsoul820@aol.com — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 01:15:24 GMT

If you're given the choice of getting the flu shot or the nasal mist - Take The Shot.

My nose has been kicking my head's ass all fucking day. And all because I was wearing sleeves that wouldn't roll up easily.

deadsoul820@aol.com — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 04:16:14 GMT

Popping the champers!

(I'll save my cryin' beer for if Prop 8 wins)

Another fucking imponderable

deadsoul820@aol.com — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 04:42:02 GMT

How is it I've reached this advanced age of mine without ever having seen Pump Up the Volume?

And to think, I was just looking for something to get the stink of My Own Worst Enemy out of my head.

::enjoying the view of Christian Slater from before his eyes had completely migrated together over the bridge of his nose::

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 02:05:34 GMT

Joe the fucking plumber can just fucking blow me.

politics of the satirical variety

deadsoul820@aol.com — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 20:01:07 GMT

A very clever, and somewhat surreal, cartoon found on youtube.

(Oh, okay, created by a friend of mine, but no less clever and surreal for that)

Click early, click often!

ETA: Grr, the embed video didn't work.

ETA2: Fixed it!

deadsoul820@aol.com — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 19:23:04 GMT

I'm sure this has been mentioned all over the place, but doesn't what's-her-drill remind you of the Mayor of Sunnydale?

In her frock coat and bippity-boppity hat. Oh God, I could do better than that!

deadsoul820@aol.com — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 01:28:21 GMT

At first I thought that Palin was the only one miked. “Can I call you Joe?” in that horrible horrible accent

She looks really nervous and shaking.

They’re sure making sure to look at each other.

Did she just fucking wink?

And she makes no pretense at all of connecting her sound bites to the actual questions.

Gwen just called both of them on not answering the question. ‘Bought time.

She blinks so much b/c her lacquered bangs are poking her in the eye.

I really don’t think I can stand to watch her much longer – I just ate dinner.

She’s never met a final “g” she could pronounce.

I do wish they’d pretend like they have ideas of their own and not just parroting what their running mates have said. Well, I wish Biden would, Palin’s doing well just to stick to being a parrot.

The word “darn” is henceforth voted off the English Language Island.

That’s right Joe – call her on her shit!

Her head’s shaking again.

Gwen’s aqua quilted bathrobe repurposed as a jacket is just dreadful.

Oh, yuck, look at that huge zit on my tit! (and I’m not talking about Palin!)

Lookee at her sparkly flag pin! Guess she really is qualified for the job.

Honestly, people, there are other things to talk about besides taxes! I pay the max tax that someone my age, household and salary can pay and I'm okay with it if it'll get them to change the subject.

Ask about social issues - that's where her true putrid colors will come out. Jesus rode a dinosaur.

Drill baby drill - may as well just say it.

People who waggle their head when they talk shouldn't wear dangly earrings.

Fuck it - I'm going to watch Pushing Daisies.

I wish Biden could show the side of himself that I saw on Bill Maher. He rocked then.

Did she just call him Senator O'Biden?

I think Gwen's asking her foreign policy questions just to make Palin keep massacring the word, "nuclear". Why can't Republicans pronounce that word?

It's okay, teachers, you'll get your reward in heaven. So sayeth La Palin.

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 00:15:58 GMT

BUFFYBOT: That'll put marzipan in your pie plate, Bingo!

deadsoul820@aol.com — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 23:49:57 GMT

BUFFY: Thanks for the Dadaist pep talk. I feel much more abstract.

Keep it goin'!

It's an orangine sky, always it's some other guy

deadsoul820@aol.com — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 23:34:31 GMT

Guess what! What? I'm not dead, that's what!

I guess a few of you know that I've been around, very occasionally commenting, but reading ye olde fliste damn near everyday. You people never fail to be interesting - it's me who's the bore.

In an effort to be somewhat less of a bore, though, I've signed up for nwhepcat's It's the Writer's, Stupid! Ficathon. Since this is more than likely to be my last fic (I'm just not feeling it anymore), I thought I'd throw it open to y'all on what I should write. These are my thoughts, so far:

1. A missing scene from Sunday Girl

2. A missing scene from Gamble When You Get A Face

3. A Spike/Dru historical story - you'd have to suggest an era

4. The NC-17 cut of the Spike/Dawn fic, Bending Spaghetti

5. Something that you're curious to see how I would write it. You'd have to let me know, though, why you think it's something that's a particular fit for me.

No guarantees about anything - if a bunny bites (though they've avoided me like the bunny plague for the last couple of years), I'm going with it.

Weigh in, be heard, let me know you've missed me!

Dead Soul states the obvious...

deadsoul820@aol.com — Tue, 24 Oct 2006 03:40:50 GMT

There's no day so bad that getting laid can't make better.

That is all.

Ten Years On

deadsoul820@aol.com — Sat, 14 Oct 2006 20:43:13 GMT

There is still nothing more beautiful than a Todd Eldredge triple axel.

That is all.

In which I display some vagitarian tendencies

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 07 Sep 2006 03:23:45 GMT

Lovely Lori, ljs asked:

Five songs everyone should know, OR Five songs that make Unsouled Spike sad (and therefore more likely to kill things), OR Five Female Characters You Love.

I may answer the other options later, but tonight it's Five Female Characters I Love.

It'll be hard to keep them to five and these are not ranked; they're just the first five that come to me as I type. And keeping to TV shows:

1. Sharon/Boomer - Battlestar Galactica
2. Dana Scully - The X-Files
3. The eponymous Veronica Mars
4. Calamity Jane - Deadwood
5. Shane - The L Word

Nope, I can't stop at five - here's five more:

1. Laura Roslin - Battlestar Galactica
2. Kara Thrace/Starbuck - Battlestar Galactica (Ronald Moore seems to be doing great female characters - I'm impressed. Obviously)
3. Emma Peel - The Avengers
4. Cuddy - House
5. Lilah Morgan - Angel

Okay, I'll do another five for movies:

1. Lena Lamont - Singin' in the Rain
2. Marcella (played by Helen Mirrin) - Cal (this is also my favorite movie)
3. Saffron - Serenity (a big ol' cheat b/c she's not in Serenity, she was only in Firefly but I was out of TV options. Okay, I love Zoe, too)

(Oooh! It's a fifth set tiebreak - I need to pay attention now)(Fuck, Haas just won. Oh well, back to the listing)

4. Scarlett O'Hara - Gone With the Wind
5. Any Barbara Stanwyck's screwball comedy roles

If you'd like to play along, see here.

As an aside: don't you hate it when you go into a public (more specificaly, workplace) bathroom and it smells like old lady crotch? I'm always certain that someone will come in after me and think that it was me. Today the stench was particularly bad - it smelled like mentholated old lady crotch.

Be glad you don't have my brain.

ETA: Gawd! I can't believe I forgot Claudette from The Shield! Bad brain, bad brain! Or Ziva David from NCIS! Really bad brain!

deadsoul820@aol.com — Wed, 06 Sep 2006 01:38:35 GMT

I'm going to answer one of these a day until they're done (and feel free to ask for more), in no particular order, I'll just do whichever one I feel like that night:

ladystarlightsj asked: Because in my head it is totally All About Me -- five impressions you have about me. Go!

(snerks)

My applepiepants is:

1. snuggly - and not just because of the knitted yummies

2. patient - I'm such an invisible friend, but you always welcome me back as if I'd never gone away

3. supportive - a kind yet thorough beta with great ideas on characterization and tone

4. deliciously politely snarky - in a way that only the best Canadians can manage

5. You're the best boo a boo could ever be! I loves you a bunch!

Five of a perfect quartet

deadsoul820@aol.com — Tue, 05 Sep 2006 03:11:12 GMT

I'm finding I kind of want to do some sort of five things something, but I'm not sure how to, or if, it should be organized. Fandom characters/situations? Random facts about me? Five impressions I have about you? Other?

So I'll just open it up. Ask me for five somethings. Anything you want...

I need a personal moment...

deadsoul820@aol.com — Fri, 25 Aug 2006 00:39:44 GMT

So I'm watching a Tivo'd rerun of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. It's the one where he goes to the Texas/Mexico border. He's in Nuevo Laredo at a leather goods store, fondling the whips and riding crops. "I need a personal moment," he says.

So did I.

Fic: Spike/Dawn

deadsoul820@aol.com — Mon, 29 May 2006 01:58:54 GMT

Title: Bending Spaghetti
Author: Dead Soul
Pairing: Spike/Dawn
Timeline: BtVS, mid-Season 5. Part 1 is set just prior to the episode Crush and Part 2 is set just after Forever
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual situations involving a minor
Dedication: for darkinnocent in the What If Spike...Ficathon
Requested Premise: What if Spike had fallen for the littlest Summers instead of Buffy?
Requirements: Spike/Dawn, mention of Spike's family (Dru, Angelus, etc), Tara, leather
Thanks to: darling_effect, lillianmorgan, and ladystarlightsj who all gave early input. The story is unbeta'd beyond that.
Author’s Note: Refers to my story, O, Little Breath of Oblivion
Summary: A spell goes awry, as they are so wont to do. Love is re-directed, but love, as it is also wont to do, goes where it wills.

Bending Spaghetti

Part One

"Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now is the time for all good men..."

Tara continued to chant the old typing exercise. It helped to center her, to quiet her mind. For this spell to go right, no outside influences could be allowed to intrude. And especially, she could not allow any of her many doubts to creep in; no matter how sensible they were. Now that she'd decided on this course, she had to be fully committed.

She'd have preferred to do this spell with Willow. Willow had so much more raw power, so much more pure talent, but Tara was afraid that Willow was too emotionally connected to the problem; that she'd go for revenge rather than subtlety. That she'd want to blast the problem into oblivion rather than delicately re-direct it.

The problem. Tara focused on the problem as she continued to chant. She saw things that the others were too close to see. She saw how Spike watched Buffy and she saw what it meant. Spike’s kind of love and obsession could burn them all and would be a dangerous distraction from their fight against Glory and from their fight to save Dawn, the key.

Finally, she felt ready. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the ingredients she'd placed carefully around her within her sacred circle and changed her focusing chant into the words of the spell, "Aphrodite, hear my plea..."

One week later

"Did you know that the Chinese invented spaghetti?" Dawn asked Spike as they ate their takeaway dinner in the Summers' kitchen."

"'Bout everyone knows that, Bit. Marco Polo an' all that."

"And did you know that you can't break spaghetti in half? It'll always break into three pieces. It's some math thing."

"Don't know what you're going on about spaghetti for. This is Japanese, not Chinese."

"'Cause I don't like fish eggs," Dawn said, gesturing with chopsticks disdainfully dripping noodles towards the California roll that was halfway into Spike's mouth. "They feel like I'm eating zits."

Spike's bite didn't hesitate, nor did he hesitate over something so poncy as not talking with his mouth full. "Been a few years since I had one of those," he said through a mouthful of sushi positively riddled with popping fish eggs. "Spots, I mean. Care to give me a few of yours so's I can compare and contrast?"

Dawn's hand flew up to cover the tiny blemish on her chin that she was convinced was big enough to be seen by the Hubble telescope. "Eww, gross much, Spike?"

"Not to worry, love, your nose is still the biggest bump on your face – or anywhere else, if you take my meaning."

"I'd be careful about mentioning bumpies if I were you, fang-face. And what do you mean, 'anywhere else'?" Then she noticed where Spike's eyes were focused. "Oh, you so didn't!" she accused, crossing her arms over her chest. "When I tell Buffy you were looking at my boobs, she'll, she'll..."

"Most likely biff me on the nose again – not that she needs any reason to do that. Just any old day that ends in 'y'."

"Yeah, she does like to do that. Is that why you go away sometimes – you don't want anyone to see it all purple and swollen?"

"You're too young to be thinking about things that get purple and swollen."

"I so don't have any idea what you’re talking about, nor do I ever want to know. I'm just so, so ignoring you for the rest of – forever. Is forever long enough, or will you still be disgusting then, too?"

"I yam what I yam, and more so than most."

Unable to refute this, Dawn, for once, said nothing besides a muttered "Aye, aye, Popeye" choosing instead to take the high road by trying to unravel individual udon noodles out of the cardboard Japanese takeaway box with her chopsticks. Buffy had always said she should be armed at all times.

"I guess this ends the amusing banter portion of the evening," Spike said after a moment, as charming as listening to Dawn slurp noodles was. "'Bout done? Or do you plan to continue to make like a Hoover and..."

"Suck? I'm disappointed in you, Spike. Usually your jokes are slightly more, um, inscrutable."

"Some little bird's been swotting on her vocab. Did I tell you the one about the..."

"Duh-uh! I mean, what else rhymes with Nantucket?" Dawn stabbed her chopsticks into the leftover noodles; stood and stretched, causing her shirt to ride up and expose about four inches of midriff. Spike lunged, blowing a deafening raspberry on her bare skin.

Dawn shrieked and tried to squirm away but Spike would not let her go. "Ewewewewew! Vampire Spit! Get off, get off, get OFF!" she screamed, laughing so hard she was crying. Her squeals were ear splitting, but then she remembered. "Spike, stop!" she whispered, "You'll wake Mom up!"

"But you want me to get that nasty spittle off you, don't you?" Spike segued from loud blowing to quiet licking as Dawn confined herself to silent squirming and sotto voce ews.

In the living room of the Summers' house, overhearing Spike and Dawn's roughhousing in the kitchen, Tara's heart, stomach and all the other bits that could sink, did sink. And flip and turn over and rise to lodge in her throat.

She'd been waiting to see the effects of her spell. When she saw that Spike continued to hang around as much as before she'd worried that the spell hadn't worked at all. Now she could see that it had worked. It had just gone horribly wrong. And she knew how. As she'd begun the spell her thoughts had still been lingering on Dawn and how important she was. The intent of her spell had been to change the object of Spike's obsession from Buffy. The problem with that was that she'd had no new object in mind and the spell had taken the image of Dawn from her mind.

But knowing what had caused the disaster didn't mean that now she knew what to do about it. All she could think to do was pray to Aphrodite that Dawn would not return Spike's love and she knew what a forlorn hope that was since Dawn had been half in love with him already. Now that he was focusing his charm on her as a suitor, rather than as a big brother, Tara was afraid that Dawn did not stand a chance. Perhaps Willow would know what to do.

Part Two

Dawn had sneaked away from her quiet house to the one place she knew she could find comfort. Now she lay in the bed that Spike had set up in the lower level of his crypt, letting him hold her and stroke her hair.

"Tell me a story, Spike," she said.

"What kind of story do you want, Bite-size?"

"I don't know, anything, I guess."

Spike was silent for a moment, as if thinking, and continuing to stroke her hair. "I could tell you about the time that Dru almost cut her hair."

"Okay," Dawn said, snuggling a little closer to him.

"See, it was the Twenties, flappers and all that and all the women were cutting off their long hair because they all wanted to look like this dead sexy film star named Louise Brooks."

"What did she look like?"

"All big dark eyes and bobbed black hair. A bloke could get lost in those eyes, like I could get lost in Dru's eyes."

"I've always wanted dark eyes. They're so mysterious."

"Never say that, pet," Spike chided. "It's your baby blues that catch me now."

"Liar."

"Never!"

Dawn decided to let him have the last word on that subject. "Hmph, well, go on with your story."

"As I said, Dru was thinking about cutting her hair. Her long black hair. I didn't like to think about it, but I'd have never forbidden her. I just suggested she try it first before deciding."

"A wig? Ew!" Dawn shuddered.

"Well, a wig of sorts. See, we killed this flapper chippy and Dru tried on her hair."

"How? Oh! You don’t mean she...!"

"Pretty handy with a flaying knife, was our Dru."

"That's the grossest story in, like, ever. So, did she end up cutting her hair?"

"Nah, decided she wasn't ready to come into the twentieth century just yet."

"Spike?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you tell me that story just to make sure that I'd never cut my hair?"

"Rumbled my cunning plan, did you?"

"Don't worry, I'd never do anything you didn't like."

"Don’t say that, love. Do as you like, I'll love you anyway. Always."

"You know what I'd like now?"

"What's that?"

"I'd like you to do that thing with your belt again, you know, and the headboard."

"Vixen." Spike rolled over onto Dawn, kissing her deeply while reaching down over the edge of the bed for his jeans and the leather belt threaded through the loops.

In a candlelit dorm room on the Sunnydale campus, Tara and Willow had joined hands within their circle, beginning the spell that Tara prayed would set things right.

"Aphrodite, hear our plea..." they chanted.

FIN

We value your opinion

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 18 May 2006 05:46:09 GMT

Rec me things to add to my netflix queue. As I was re-ordering mine, I realized that I wasn't all that thrilled about anything left on it.

I know that there are things that I've been meaning to add but I'm drawing a blank right now.

If only so many things that will be available later this summer/fall were available now. Life is woe.

Question for you beauty product mavens out there. I'm all confused about body scrubs. Apparently those in the know say that you use the scrub on dry skin, then rinse it off. The instructions on all the scrubs I've looked at say to moisten the skin first. I got some new-agey dead sea salt, lavender & St. John's Wort scrub from the local snotty health food store. I tried it on dry skin and it was pretty damn painful, especially to my hands, and it was very hard to get the oil off, even with lots of body wash. However, I'm pretty damn exfoliated and no redness or irritation. But there's got to be an easier, less painful way, right? What are good brands that rinse easily?

517 words of fic done tonight. That's a good enough start. Although it will need a thorough Britpicking before it's good to go. Any volunteers?

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 18 May 2006 01:13:57 GMT

I am at this very moment committing fic. Well, not this very moment because at this, and that last and for the upcoming several, moment(s) I'm committing post. Either of which is cause enough for shock and awe.

As fic goes, it's very very misdemeanorly, as I've only written the title and three very short paragraphs but isn't starting the hardest part? Since said fic is for a 'thon, you may somewhat reasonably expect to see it in a few weeks - the Sunday before Memorial Day, to be specific. In the meantime, enjoy your sushi ;)

After that, it's probably back to the fanged four tagfic we're trying to jumpstart over at the_fangedfour community. It got stalled when the person tagged broke her arm in order to get out of it. And I thought I came up with some pretty outlandish and extreme excuses to procrastinate.

Netflix is on some serious crack, even more so than usual. It's sending me things that are down 200 or so on my list. Mostly things that I just hadn't gotten around to deleting. So now they're not only throttling heavy users, they're screwing with the order of their lists. Bastages. However, Northern Exposure isn't as dated as I would have thought it would be. I still love Ed. Chris, not so much, and the whole Holling/Shelly thing is as boring as ever. Rob Morrow looks so young!

Like most I've seen who have expressed an opinion about the CDC women's health guidelines as reported by the Washington Post (I'd provide links but they're all over the place - you've probably seen tons of rants about it already. That, and I can't be arsed), it's pretty infuriating to be constantly in a state of "pre-pregnancy". I practically had to threaten to sue to get my IUD and I was 35 at the time. Plenty old enough to make up my own mind about whether or not (not!) I wanted children. He was such a condescending asshole. He wasn't my actual doctor - I was being attended by a nurse practitioner and he had to be called in to do the actual insertion.

They had to use the really long speculum to do the procedure and were commenting about it. My response? I said, "I wonder if this is the female equivalent of being well-hung." The nurses laughed; the doctor was not amused. I'm assuming he disapproved of the extra distance the spermies would have to travel in order to impregnate me.

Bless the draft autosave! I just had a major screenfreeze and had to re-boot, but I only lost my cut tags. And, thankfully, I lost none of the three whole paragraphs of my story.

Well, back to it, then. I may spam y'all some more since that seems to be what I do when I should be writing.

May the road rise with you. [/John Lydon]

ETA to add: I wonder if I could get away with writing my entire story as dialogue. It's something to try. Results later.

I've always known I'm my own worst enemy

deadsoul820@aol.com — Sat, 13 May 2006 03:42:32 GMT

I whacked nwhepcat for this:

The Tooth Puller
People Iced:	Thirty Three
Car Bombs Planted:	Three
Favorite Weapon	Potato Gun
Arms Broken:	Nine
Eyes Gouged:	One
Tongues Cut Off:	One
Biggest Enemy:	The Tooth Puller
Get Your HITMAN Name

Please accept my apologies, or, Tartar Sauce and Spurs

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 20 Apr 2006 03:02:46 GMT

(If you could somehow imagine the subject line of this post as inimitably mangled and mispronounced as only Hugh Laurie doing a comic German accent could do it, I would be eternally grateful.)

I'm not going to be writing any questions or replying to any comments tonight. I'm in the foulest mood in the history of ever.

I was all right until the gallon of tartar sauce tipped into my lap. I was able to rinse all visible evidence of it out of my dress but the aroma of lemon and pickle relish followed me for the rest of the day. And one of the buckles of one of my new (expensive!) boots started jangling very annoyingly. I prefer to sneak up on people.

But mostly I'm grumpy because I've discovered that I may be becoming that most despised of creatures: the micromanager. Kill me now. But make sure that you do it to my exacting and painstakingly spelled out instructions while I hover over your shoulder and tell you in minute detail everything you're doing wrong.

Adding to the grump, I'm listening to a local radio show because a co-worker (a wonderful, funny, smart and terrific person) is on, and the music is ass. What the fuck do I tell her tomorrow?

Me and my grumpass self are gonna go watch some bad teevee now. Because I don't want to spoil anything that might actually be good by tipping a gallon of tartar, er, bad sauce, er, mood on it.

Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.

deadsoul820@aol.com — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 04:48:32 GMT

1. Leave me a comment saying "Interview me" (please keep in mind that I really suck at the question-asking part of this meme).
2. I will respond by asking you five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature.
3. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

c_mantix's questions:

1. I've 'got' to ask... how does Georgette Heyer, mistress of the Regency romance, fit into the dark Gothic/Romantic flavour of your other interests?

2. Is there a distinction between a dead soul and a lost soul? Can a dead soul ever be 'resurrected'?

3. Who is your favourite Pre-Raphaelite and why does the Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic interest you?

4. The darker, non-canon, side of Spike appeals to you. Do you find it difficult to reconcile Canon!Spike and your Spike?

5. Whom would you cast in a postmodern version of "Singin' in the Rain" (possible reworked plot: real actors are being replaced by CGI actors but real actors are playing the CGI actors...)?

1. I've 'got' to ask... how does Georgette Heyer, mistress of the Regency romance, fit into the dark Gothic/Romantic flavour of your other interests?

I had to go back and glance over my interests list - I have a habit of adding to it randomly in the hour or so between taking a sleeping pill and actually conking out.* It didn't look that Gothic/Romantic to me, but then if one were to call me a superannuated goth/punk chick (but without the emo 'tude), it'd be a fair cop. That said, literarily, in the Austen/Bronte divide, I fall heavily on the side of Austen.

My mother had all the Heyerses and they were some of the first grown-up books I read, and I still love them. She just brings the funny so well - all madcap and mad energy and gorgeous clothes and no one taking themselves at all seriously.

*That said, a random and inchoate interests list is preferable to my all too frequent post-pill tendency to internet shop very wtfly.

2. Is there a distinction between a dead soul and a lost soul? Can a dead soul ever be 'resurrected'?

I have to confess that I'm very tired of my handle. I chose it in a fit of pique/dark humor as I was preparing my first (of several utterly forgettable) posts at the ATPo board.

I'd been obsessively absorbing the board's archives, just around the time the Great Soul Debate was hottest and heaviest (Season 6-ish). Soul this, soul that, soul=conscience, no, no, soul=humanity/essence, you can/can't be good with/without a soul, you are what you do/you are what you believe/you are what you're born with, blah/halb, nature/nurture...and even more....

(Oh, I remember exactly when it was - Normal Again had just aired)

So I finally think I have something, of a fairly smartass nature - naturally, to post and am flailing around for a pseud. At that moment, the song Dead Souls by Joy Division (there's some Goth for ya!), came on and, Bob's your really annoying and inappropriate uncle, an albatross was born. A few fics later and I'm well and truly stuck.

Dead soul? Lost soul? Soul, schmoul! Next question?

3. Who is your favourite Pre-Raphaelite and why does the Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic interest you?

No deep answer here (and by Pre-Raphaelite I'm really only talking about the style of painting), I like the pretty. Among the painters of this style, Rossetti is my favorite. I love his strong-featured women and slightly stiff composition. Gillian Anderson has always looked very like a Rossetti to me and I think she's about the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I even watched the recent production of Bleak House on Masterpiece Theatre so I could look at her, even though I despise Dickens.

Millais can be nice (who doesn't love his Ophelia?), too, but is usually too saccharine (The Blind Girl).

A lot of what appeals to me about the movement is that it looks back to the medieval/Renaissance, but also looks forward to Art Nouveau and the Aesthetic movement.

4. The darker, non-canon, side of Spike appeals to you. Do you find it difficult to reconcile Canon!Spike and your Spike?

I am a canon whore which is why I prefer to read/write pre-series, or at least pre-soul, Spike. However, I'm not one of those who feels personally insulted that the show didn't go in the direction I would have preferred. I just re-watch post-soul seasons a lot less.

If Spike's redemption were at all important to me, which it's not, I'd be a soulless redemptionista just because the viewpoint that the soul is the be all and end all of being a "good" person rubs me way the hell the wrong way. I'm sure in my gut that it's a variety of -ism that one day humanity will be advanced enough to eschew. Heh, how's that for wank?

That said, I'm always on the lookout for characters who aren't good or on their way to becoming good. I want characters who embrace and enjoy their selfishness. As, you know, a change of pace. Characters who see the self-righteousness in everyone around them and laugh at it. And laugh at themselves. Oh, and who aren't suitably punished in the end. Who get to take their ill-gotten gains (preferably earned in an amazingly clever and intricate caper-movie kind of way) and retire to Tahiti. Which is why I love characters like Gwen and Lilah.

5. Whom would you cast in a postmodern version of "Singin' in the Rain" (possible reworked plot: real actors are being replaced by CGI actors but real actors are playing the CGI actors...)?

This is by far the hardest question. I'm not a fan of modern musical theatre so I just don't know what current actors are good singers and dancers. Eddie Izzard would have to play Cosmo Brown, though. Hugh Laurie as Don Lockwood? Someone really fabulous would have to play Lena Lamont - she's the best character in the whole movie. "Whatta ya think I am? Dumb, or somthin'?" Jessica Lange, maybe? I can't think of any of the latest crop of ingenues who wouldn't make me heave. If Stephanie Romanov can dance, she'd be great as the Cyd Charisse character.

I love the 1920s goofiness (and clothes!) of the original so much, I wouldn't want to see it set in a different time period, although I do think your suggestion is pretty marvelous and very clever in the way you've found a modern analogy to the silent/talkie conceit of the original plot.

If one went backwards, maybe something around pre-movable type/post movable type could be imagined. Slow moving monks resisting that new-fangled, and no doubt devil-inspired, contraption all the young whippersnappers won't stop going on about. "Make 'em read, make 'em read, make 'em re-ee--ad!"

Widdle, Puke, and The Bumtrinket

deadsoul820@aol.com — Wed, 12 Apr 2006 06:12:02 GMT

I was going to post tonight. Really. No, really, I was. But then I got all tired 'n shit.

It would have been great though. Funny and deep and of something something something to all the somebodies. Did I mention tired?

To be honest, mostly I was just going to preen about my new hair. [/preen]

Now I shall wave you all a weary good-night.

"I was up until 5AM having a really pointless discussion about apathy"

deadsoul820@aol.com — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 04:13:08 GMT

Subject line ganked from the overheardnyc rss and has nothing to do with the actual subject of this post which is to thank so_sharlemaine for the virtual chocolates which look very like the actual chocolates I got from the ee.

In other news, I'm completely consumed with watching every possible minute of the Olympics that I can, so am not, and will not be, around much until they're over.

As you were.

ETA: It appears that I would fit best as a crewmember of Serenity. Shiny!