One thousand and twenty-five words today.

Dear NCIS:LA,

You get Craig Parker in a guest role, and that is what you do with him? Fools! What A waste of talent.

Dear Criminal Minds,

Holy God, are you scraping the bottom of the barrel. I see you trying to insinuate that J.J.'s having an affair with the new Section Chief, but lo, I have been watching network TV too long and am not fooled. I know it's likely connected to some clandestine case about which J.J. has been sworn to secrecy because you useless scribble monkeys need to ratchet up the angst. It's nice to see that the team hasn't learned anything from the Prentiss boondoggle.

And are we really going to watch Hotch have a thunderclap heart attack in the middle of a briefing next week? God knows that's just what I look for in my crime procedurals. Just rename yourselves Grey's BAU.

Dear CSI,

Whose dick did the obnoxious and talentless Elizabeth Shue slurp to land this job? She's godawful, but I'll grant that she hasn't been given much to work with. Does an experienced CSI like D.B. need to be told that exposure to heat denatures DNA? Why not have Finn toss that bit of ridiculous at someone better suited, like poor Alimi Ballard, relatively new detective? I don't think your script monkeys are even trying to pretend that they don't write with their own poop anymore.
Newspaper wadding was duly acquired, and the package will begin its overseas journey tomorrow.

Criminal Minds hasn't just gone downhill, it's plummeted from the cliff and is wallowing in the mire. Tripplehorn has zero chemistry with anyone but Gubler, and the dialogue and purportedly erudite thought processes of these elite profilers are atrocious. To leap from erotomanic to unsub with a twisted superhero fantasy based solely on the level of overkill in the murders was patently ludicrous. It makes me think that the writers are simply fumbling in their grab bag of psychological theories and terminology and pasting whatever falls out into the script with the hope that the fans will accept it because hey, group of highly-skilled profilers with a family vibe.

J.J. has no business being a profiler. I know it was the carrot to mollify A.J. Cook after the network treated her so shoddily and then had to go crawling back, but it adds nothing to the show, especially since Blake is clearly the writers' favorite new toy. Perhaps they should have either elevated J.J. to profiler status or filled Prentiss' seat at the table, but not both, because right now, it's a game of doling out lines to everyone like cookies at snack time and making sure no one gets too many. The cases are thin, and the acting is lackluster. If this trend continues, this might be my last season of Criminal Minds.

And I give zero fucks about the team's stalker.
I spent the evening writing and watching the season premieres of Criminal Minds and CSI. CM was mediocre, with too many leaps of baseless intuition, and after Blake's opening scene with Garcia, my reaction was, "Go away, Hermione Granger, no one likes you." I know she was single-handedly solving the case because they need to establish her credentials and competence, but she was overbearing at times, especially when she steamrolled Morgan during delivery of the profile and haughtily invited him to join her and Reid for a brainstorming session. Mmmmkay. I'm sure Morgan knows how to brainstorm, thank you. He would just rather you share with the rest of the class.

CSI was better. I love you, Russell. A lot. Finn is still brave but incredibly dumb.

The Sprache interstitial should be finished by tomorrow or the day after, and then it will sit until can proofread it with fresh eyes. With luck, it'll be posted Monday or Tuesday. Calliope has come to the(glaringly obvious, woman, Jesus)realization that she is in love with Richard. I think she's been in love since Berlin, honestly, and she was certainly gone by the end of that trip, but she's proud and doesn't want to come off like a starry-eyed tween with her first bout of the twitterpated tinglepants, so she's keeping mum for now.



Looks like someone fell asleep in the tanning booth.

SPOILERS for CSI:NY, Criminal Minds, and The Mentalist )


Oh, LJ, what the hell? The new font is so spare and ugly.
A mishmash of thoughts:

SPOILERS for CSI, Criminal Minds, and NCIS:LA )

-Do all scrotes look like drawstring bags made of elephant hide?
A mishmash of thoughts:

SPOILERS for CSI, Criminal Minds, and NCIS:LA )

-Do all scrotes look like drawstring bags made of elephant hide?
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Mar. 25th, 2011 02:04 pm)
Cry moar, CM fandom. Spoiler warnings are a part of fandom, yes, and they should be employed for a time after an episode airs, but seeing members of [livejournal.com profile] criminalminds whine that people should use spoiler cuts for six months or more because some European fans won't see the episodes until then boggles my mind. When I was heavily-involved in tvfen, the rule was one week. Spoilers required a cut for one week after an episode aired, and then you took your lumps. Many people continued to use cuts well after the week ended, and most ficcers warned for spoilers, but if you chose not to do so, no one got butthurt about it. For the record, I will use spoiler cuts for longer than a week, and I do warn for spoilers in my fic, but the simpering entitlement of expecting fandom as a whole to spoiler-cut everything past "Revelations" just in case some hapless newbie or European fan wanders into a comm is mind-croggling. Would the same concern apply to a fan in the wilds of Appalachia who had no cable connection but had wifi and watched the DVDs that they sold third-hand down the thrift store, or is this a case of fannish guilt that American fans get new episodes first? Whatever it is, it's moronic.

When you join a fandom in medias res, you run the risk of being spoiled, and those who got there first get to set the pace. If I became a fan of a long-running German television show tomorrow, the onus would be on me to catch up, and I would certainly not expect the rest of the fandom to spoiler-cut everything so as not to besmirch my fragile fannish eyes with unwanted knowledge. And the mod frothing about posting spoilers in a summary after a spoiler warning has been duly posted is a fool. Unless you have a rule in place that specifies a warning must come a set number of lines before the spoiler, then the fan can post the spoiler anywhere they choose as long as it follows the warning. So, if a fan posts fic like this:

SPOILERS for Lauren )

I'm tired of every asshole in every fandom behaving as though fandom exists solely for their enjoyment and throwing a tantrum every time fandom isn't their special perfect bubble of awesomeness. And I'm tired of hand-wringing mods catering to them as if being told, "too bad, so sad, cope" is the height of villainy. Personal fannish responsibility is not a dirty word, but it does seem to be a foreign concept.
I really want to like Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior; I like Forrest Whitaker very much, and Prophet and Super Sniper have potential as characters in their own right, but so far the cases have been tepid rehashes of CM plots with females in the unsub roles, and Cooper is such an overwrought, frenetic character that it's hard to take him seriously as a stable leader to which the others can look in times of stress. It's hard to muster a sense of urgency about whether the intrepid heroes will thwart the dastardly unsub when your primary thought is, "Damn, that guy needs a Xanax before he pops a blood vessel." Intensity is good, as evinced by the stoic awesomeness of Hotch on CM, but agitated mania, not so much.

Still, I'm going to give it the old college try and watch a few more episodes before I write it off.

SPOILERS for Criminal Minds, Specifically Prentiss' Storyline )
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Jan. 27th, 2011 12:38 am)
I scarfed a box of Cracker Jacks the day before yesterday, and I've had a piece of popcorn hull lodged behind a rear molar ever since. I've tried brushing it out, gargling it out, and flushing it with a high-pressure water spray, but the damn thing won't budge. Today, I even tried to dislodge it with a Q-tip, but no dice. I think I'm going to have to pick up some dental floss tomorrow and go to work. I've never had a scrap of food so tenacious.

I really need to get back to the story of Fictional!Richard and Calliope, but the story of Rammstein/NYC has devoured my creative energy. The Atlanta section alone threatens to hit sixty pages and pummel it into bleeding dust. I can't imagine who's going to want to read it at this late date, but I suppose you could read it while trapped at your doctor's office or awaiting the results of your tax audit.

Dear Criminal Minds,

"The Thirteenth Step" was a pile of shit. Does anyone remember when the premise of the show was a group of really smart people figuring out how broken people ticked and trying to stop them and not the totally wonderful Garcia magically pulling deus ex machinas out of her ass every single goddamn week? And way to waste an hour with totally gratuitous violence that was handwaved away so we could watch the nutbars of the week dry hump. Jesus, but were you even trying? Worst episode ever, a complete embarrassment.
Criminal Minds should be subtitled "The Show That Makes You Go, 'EwewewewewewaghaghaghaghaghshowershowershoweraghaghSHOWER'" God bless that boy for being as strong and resourceful as he was, but oh, God Almighty, the implication of the flashlight scene was nauseating, and the designated unsub was creepy as hell. And eleven registered sex offenders at the same address? There's a thought I need to have festering in my head while I'm wandering around New York.

Spiel Mit Mir is off to a decent start, but I think it needs a news forum. I could just plop a news thread in the general forum, but I'm not sure if that would be sufficient.

And news there is. If cheeky Paul isn't pulling our chains, then Rammstein will release a best of album in 2011, along with a DVD. Yee! I would love an album full of my favorite tunes, not to mention another opportunity to leer at Richard in various states of undress. Of course, the fannish rumor mill has begun to speculate that the best of album will be the impetus for a US tour. I think they've based this on wishful thinking, but I certainly won't complain if it turns out to be true.
Roomie's father and stepfamily are coming for a visit tomorrow, and though he hasn't said anything, he's obviously excited. He hasn't seen his father in four years because he hasn't wanted to subject me to the horrors of Greyhound or the humiliation of inaccessible bathrooms. I'm no great fan of his stepmother or stepbrother, but this will be really good for him, and I'm thrilled that he'll have a chance to reconnect, if only for an afternoon lunch.

My mother is due to return from Florida this afternoon, and because I'm an uncharitable turd, I hope she'll be too tired from the drive to drop in for a visit. She'll immediately go on a frenetic cleaning spree and start nosing about in my bills and year-end Social Security statements, as if my finances were any of her business. She'll be by for her mail, eventually, though, and to celebrate a belated Christmas. So help me, if she bitches that I don't look as clean as she thinks I should, or that it's cold, I'm going to lose my mind. She's the one who's dragging ass on the shower head I requested months ago, and who's constantly harping on "keeping the utility bill down". It's not my fault the heater is a balky piece of junk that turns off every six minutes.

Lest this turn into a boring screed about the many shortcomings of my mother, I thought I'd post the opening paragraphs of the various fics currently in progress.

Works in the Pipeline, If Only I Could Get Off My Ass )

Now I'm off to scarf wings and a hulking, crusty calzone.




And finally, I don't yet write for Criminal Minds, but for those that do, [livejournal.com profile] cmfanficawards is hosting the 2009 Criminal Minds Fanfiction Awards. If you know of a CM fic that deserves recognition, read the rules and submit your nominations.
Yesterday, Roomie noticed that the computer was running several mysterious processes, so this morning, we gave it the figurative finger with Avast. Sure enough, it had acquired three trojans within forty-eight hours. They're all relatively new; WOW64main.exe emerged just six days ago. Anyhow, Avast! kindly torpedoed them into oblivion, and the computer is purring happily along.

The lesson? Norton is useless. I'd uninstalled Avast a few months ago because it and Norton were having a massive technological cockfight that was gobbling system and network resources. Since Avast finds threats Norton doesn't, it wins the proverbial shooting match.

The heavy rains resurrected the previously-patched leak in the roof in the upstairs bathroom. Ideally, I'd replace the shingled roof with a new tin one, but I know that if I even broach the subject, my mother will immediately renew her campaign for me to buy another house in the area and move again. I could negotiate with the red-necked angels and pay for it from my trust, but the house is still in her name, and I couldn't keep her out of the loop in good conscience. If the bathroom were the only problem, I might keep mum and learn to live with a wet ass, but there are other water spots in the master bedroom, and I don't relish the thought of waking up to a spot of impromptu water torture. I just know that this is going to invite the bull drama llama to the yard faster than the enticing scent of llama pussy on the breeze.

I fully expect the CSI:NY portion of the much-bally-hooed CSI trilogy to be a Mactimonious snorefest, but I'm hopeful that Criminal Minds will continue its trend of coaxing superlative performances from guest stars of dubious talent.

Dear entitled NY fantits,

I'm not sure if Eddie Cahill will get "paternity leave" when his wife gives birth, but fuck you and your self-centered whining. If the man takes a week off to be with his new family, he has that right, and good on him for using it. He's not your personal masturbation fantasy doll. It might come as a shock to you, but Eddie isn't Don Flack. He's Eddie, whoever that really is, and he doesn't need your permission to live his life. I'm sure he won't lose a wink of sleep if you stop watching because he misses a few episodes. Unlike you, he has his priorities in order.

Fuck off, you selfish little fucktits,

La Guera
I am dead-dog tired. Because enrollment in class is a requisite for university housing, I'm taking a six-week course in Central Asian History, and today was the in-class essay. We had three hours to answer two questions of our choosing. I used two blue books and two hours and fifty-seven minutes and still didn't answer the second question as thoroughly as I would've liked. No, I'm not Hermione Granger. I'm just constantly haunted by the fear of paucity, that bane of professorial existence wherein lazy students scribble vague, unsubstantiated generalities onto the page in a bid to camouflage their gross unpreparedness. Perhaps nine pages for one response was overkill when you consider that he classified five paragraphs as a thorough answer, but I would rather overperform than underwhelm.

I only managed three pages for the second question, but by then, I was running out of time, and my hand was cramping, and so I left him a note at the bottom of the page crying surrender and promising to be more specific on the rewrite if necessary. And I meant it. But just between me and you, I hope it isn't because I've no desire to tread that particular patch of historical ground again.

I'm proud of my effort but anxious about the results, and the combination had rendered me groggy and slack-jawed and a trifle headachy from three hours of rigorous participation in the esteemed and oft-held Nerd Olympiad, and so I doubt I'll be fannishly productive tonight, much as I'd like to fic and squee about the season finale of Criminal Minds. Like as not, I'll stare at the TV in a vacant stupor until I collapse from exhaustion at a ridiculously early hour.

Oh, all right. I'll say this about the CM finale. It made me do the Xandir P. Whifflebottom Panic Dance. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God...!"

Criminal Minds Finale--MAJOR SPOILERS )

A+
I am dead-dog tired. Because enrollment in class is a requisite for university housing, I'm taking a six-week course in Central Asian History, and today was the in-class essay. We had three hours to answer two questions of our choosing. I used two blue books and two hours and fifty-seven minutes and still didn't answer the second question as thoroughly as I would've liked. No, I'm not Hermione Granger. I'm just constantly haunted by the fear of paucity, that bane of professorial existence wherein lazy students scribble vague, unsubstantiated generalities onto the page in a bid to camouflage their gross unpreparedness. Perhaps nine pages for one response was overkill when you consider that he classified five paragraphs as a thorough answer, but I would rather overperform than underwhelm.

I only managed three pages for the second question, but by then, I was running out of time, and my hand was cramping, and so I left him a note at the bottom of the page crying surrender and promising to be more specific on the rewrite if necessary. And I meant it. But just between me and you, I hope it isn't because I've no desire to tread that particular patch of historical ground again.

I'm proud of my effort but anxious about the results, and the combination had rendered me groggy and slack-jawed and a trifle headachy from three hours of rigorous participation in the esteemed and oft-held Nerd Olympiad, and so I doubt I'll be fannishly productive tonight, much as I'd like to fic and squee about the season finale of Criminal Minds. Like as not, I'll stare at the TV in a vacant stupor until I collapse from exhaustion at a ridiculously early hour.

Oh, all right. I'll say this about the CM finale. It made me do the Xandir P. Whifflebottom Panic Dance. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God...!"

Criminal Minds Finale--MAJOR SPOILERS )

A+
Random Thoughts I Meant to Record But Never Did:

Wednesday: I know road rage is wrong; I know shotguns are not the answer to the oblivious rudeness of strangers; I know that Norm was deranged and dangerous and a family annihilator, to boot. I know these things.

And yet, when he shot the woman on the Bluetooth who'd cut him off in traffic and then berated and ridiculed him when he attempted to confront her, I experienced a brief, shameful frisson of satisfaction. It was wrong, and I'm totally going to Hell for delighting in such a disproportionate comeuppance, but I'm not going to disown the feeling, either.

I know what it's like to feel invisible, impotent, and worthless. I'm confronted with the invisibility of disability every day. You do get that angry, that desperate to be heard and seen, to be taken seriously as a human being and not considered a breathing obstacle to other people's lives. The difference between Norm and me is that I know blowing away random motorists on the freeway won't change a goddamn thing, and even if it would, my aim sucks, and I'd probably blow my ladybits off instead.

Friday: Oh, Charlie, why? Why are you sporting a terrifyingly unflattering Julius Caesar haircut? Were you hoping to distract us from the fact that Rob Morrow is now shampooing with bootblack in a feeble attempt to maintain the illusion of mid-thirties youth? If so, I can't say it didn't work, because I was so mesmerized by the wretchedness of your new coiffure that I couldn't focus on anything else, including the dry, uninteresting case.

Larry needs to take the math car to the nearest salon not run by palsied stroke victims and demand that they fix your hair.
Oh, W., you are an asshole. You've had days to address the collapse of the economy under your watch, days and days of shitty repeats that you could have interrupted without hampering the fall TV season. But you decide that you just have to address a crisis that is well underway during premiere week of the fall TV season. At 9PM. And better yet, you've probably known about this address for days but didn't bother to inform the networks of your decision until it was too late for them to adjust their schedules. So, Criminal Minds will be delayed by at least ten minutes(oh, sure. Make that forty-five in the real world)while you dither incomprehensibly about another plan to turn this country into a superstitious, repressive, irrelevant, impoverished backwater that makes British-ruled India of the 1800s look like a liberal utopia.

Well, fuck you. I'm sure that nothing good is going to spill from that Howdy Doody mouth of yours, and since you're going to be out on your ass come January 20, I don't care about whatever cockamamie plan you've cobbled together from bad advice, rich-man's privilege, and cack-handed buck-passing and ass covering. I don't want to meet the new demagogue who will have trillions of dollars at his disposal with no oversight other than the pleasure of the Fundie in the White House. I would really rather watch pretend criminals commit pretend crimes and be caught than watch real ones commit real crimes on national TV and get off clean.


NCIS 601--Last Man Standing--SPOILERS )

A-
.

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