One thousand one hundred and ninety-seven words today. Three thousand nine hundred and two words for week. Make like Dory and just keep writing, just keep writing.

CSI: Episode Bullshit--HAHAHA )
Sons of Anarchy S5, Episodes 8-9--SPOILERS )

Maybe I've been spoiled by the HBO and Showtime dramas I've watched of late, but CSI and Criminal Minds were so insipid that I meandered off twenty minutes into both episodes. They were both such shameless, lazy filler with flimsy cases and indifferent acting, and in CSI's case, I gave not one single fuck about their girls' weekend gone wrong. Their purportedly close-knit, girlish banter in the locker room was godawful, and I have no idea how it passed muster into the final edit. "Look, we're friends, such good friends, let's have a getaway in Reno and get pampered and laid! Kewlies!" Gag.

With that final grump, I'm going to vegetate and get ready for Turkey Day tomorrow.
One thousand and twenty-five words today.


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.
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.
The gifts have been mailed, and bless the postal employee. When we got to the post office, there was a line out the door of people trying to mail packages. I told Roomie that I expected to be there until the office closed forty minutes later. Ah, but I had severely underestimated the l33t ninja processing skills of the veteran postal worker. Dude was a machine(maybe his shiny, bald head was a solar panel for an awesomeness machine.). Weigh, stamp, process. Weigh, stamp, process. We were at the counter in five minutes, and out the door eight minutes later despite our four parcels--two for international shipment--and one card. I salute you, o, mighty USPS Shifu of stamp and sort, and never again shall I snigger at your knee-high socks.

Minor SPOILERS for CSI 1210--Genetic Disorder )

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?
For those who expressed interest, pictures from my Vegas trip will be up in a few days, once I bestir myself from my laziness and ask Roomie to upload them to his image host so that I can knick them for mine.

There is so much I could waffle witlessly on about--the departure of Laurence Fishburne from CSI, for instance(and the short version of that is that if I were TPTB, I would get down on my knees, back up the Brinks truck, and beg William Petersen to come back for one last run as Gil Grissom.)--but...why? LJ has been moribund of late, and my thoughts even bore me. Why inflict them on others?

With Rammstein on vacation and my television shows on hiatus, there is precious little to discuss. The fansites that haven't died have lapsed into a bleary, post-coital stupor. There were a few gorgeous photos of Richard onstage in Mexico, but that's about it. The shows have been squeed over and dissected, and the fans who met up at the various concerts have duly shared memories, and now everyone is trudging back to their respective slag heap and waiting for the next gobbet of news.

CSI:NY's season finale was a clusterfuck of self-indulgent back-patting and mangled continuity. Mac has only been a CSI for ten years, even though he mentioned in S1 that he'd been Stella's parter for ten years--eight years ago. Not only that, but Stella clearly had memories of Mac before Claire's death in 2001 because she mentioned him being far happier when Claire was alive. Even Quinn knew Mac while Claire was alive, as evinced by their guilty kiss at the lab. There is no way Mac was a green beat cop ten or even fifteen years ago. Would it really kill the writers to research the timelines of their own characters before they start smearing pretty, nonsensical words on the page? I know it makes their sacred peepees happy to think of themselves as magical badasses who don't need to concern themselves with the uncool, plebeian matter of fact-checking, but surprise, bumnuts, you do.

And fuck you running for the congratulatory, "Maybe I've done my part." Yes, Mac, you have, but so have the other cops who will still clock in tomorrow. You are such an insufferable, dripping cockspit. You want to retire? Then fucking retire. Don't use the possibility to beat yourself off and wallow in your pool of heroic laurels. Asswad.

And that is why no one needs to see my thoughts today.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Oct. 15th, 2010 03:29 pm)
The poor drone in the MSG office says my Rammstein tickets will be shipped today or tomorrow. Yea, verily, I am pleased, but I will not relax until the tickets are in my fist. In the meantime, I've been poking around the various means for limpers to get to NYC. Right now, Amtrak looks like the cheapest option, though I did see an ambulette service based in NYC that claims it will pick you up if your destination so much as passes through NY. According to their website, Ambulette. org, their drivers are all trained nurses, and their vans can accommodate up to seven wheelchairs or four stretchers at a time. Now, I have little need for a trained nurse--my CP isn't so severe that the spasticity affects my ability to breathe or clear fluids from my lungs, but it might be nice for Roomie to have a break from the constant caregiving.

Thing is, I can't find even a ballpark price for their services anywhere on their website. I suspect this is because they're so exorbitant that their more fragile prospective clients would die at the sight of it, stunned into an aneurysm or acute respiratory arrest by the usurious fees. They claim to accept Medicare, but only with prior approval, and I can't see them writing off the cost of transit to a Rammstein show as a necessary medical expense. Has anyone ever used long-distance ambulette service? Is it worth the trouble and expense, or should I just bite the bullet and pray the underpaid Amtrak conductors don't break my spine getting me on and off the train?

CSI 1104; Sqwee-gel--SPOILERS )

Does anyone know how to register Avast? I know you send off for a license code, but I don't know what to do with it once I get it. Do I have to use my real name, or can I use an alias? I want the program to keep working, but I don't want a bunch of l33t computer hackers in the Czech Republic to know my name.

I'm getting a new tin roof next week. When got wind that the roof was leaking, he decided to bite the bullet and replace the roof. The previous owner had roofed the house with rubber because it was all the rage in Florida at the time, but he failed to take into account the fact that North Carolina weather is not like Florida weather. Florida, especially South Florida, has two seasons--fifty-one weeks of summer and one week of winter; if you're in north Florida, you get three weeks of butt-ass cold and forty-nine weeks of frying on a giant asphalt griddle. North Carolina, on the other hand, has an actual winter, with freezing temperatures and snow. The rubber roofing eschews the constant expansion and contraction, and it's developed cracks and gaps over the years.

The red-necked angels are coming next week to install the new roof. They're currently occupied with re-roofing the neighbor's house, which is leaking in five places. I hope they can finish before the next spate of rain, which is scheduled for next weekend. It'll be nice to be able to lounge about the house without fear of an unexpected shower.

CSI Trilogy, Vegas, The Lost Girls--SPOILERS )

One of the best perks of high-speed Internet is the ability to watch TV online. I prefer watching on the television, of course, but when two shows conflict, like CSI and Supernatural, I can watch my favorite on the tube and catch the other at my convenience. Hence, I've been watching CSI: Langston Flavor on I miss Grissom, particularly S1-6 Grissom, but Langston holds his own. The team isn't as crisp, and the chemistry is flatter, but I like Langston, nonetheless. He's thoughtful and smart and even-tempered without appearing grossly unempathetic and detached from the human collective, as Grissom sometimes did. He's Zen, but not so introvert and emotionally damaged that he's unable to connect with his colleagues. Grissom loved his team, would have set himself afire for them if he had to, but often that love showed itself as cool reserve or indifference when one of his cubs was in trouble. Warrick's death was the first time I'd ever seen Grissom display such raw anguish and human frailty.

Langston, by contrast, strikes me as a man who would cut a bitch or three to protect his people. I understand Grissom's reserve and admire him for it, but my heart yens Langston's moral orientation more readily and intimately.

Dear F. Gary Gray,

Thank you for the gratuitous shot of Gerard Butler bareass nekkid in Law-abiding Citizen. Though utterly irrelevant to the screaming melodrama of the morally didactic and fulsome plot, I am grateful for its inclusion. It made my happy in my muffy secret triangle. Mmmm. Too bad the movie suffered for its moralistic ham-fistedness.

I know Jamie Foxx was the hero, but I was rooting for Clive. Reaffirming obnoxious societal mores and the diseased status quo, you're doing it wrong. If Clive hadn't strayed from the purview of the actually guilty into the murkier realm of those guilty by association, I might've thought you were trying for subversive social commentary, but alas, he did, and so the movie suffered from gangrenous preachiness by an unsympathetic assclot of a "good guy". Oh, goody.

But nekkid Gerry Butler was so worth the ticket.

La Guera
-Dear CBS, if your budgets for TV dramas are so tight that you're pleading poverty and "asking" your talent to take pay freezes, then mayhap it would behoove you to stop paying exorbitant sums to flash-in-the-pan celebrities of dubious acting ability. Sean "P. Diddy" Coombs as a lawyer on CSI:Miami is a case in point. Or you could scrap your plans for an NCIS spinoff featuring LL Cool J. Because, you know, the world was just hanging out for that.

It might also behoove you to trim the bloated cast of Numb3rs. When your ensemble is so vast that you're forced to rotate one or more of them out every week because you can't pay them, your casting director has clearly gone mad. Lose Bettancourt. She's an annoying version of Sinclair with tits, and she kills every scene she's in. You could also scale back the number of Robin's appearances. I know she's bonking Don, but there is no need to see her in every episode. The show did very well without the presence of a U.S. attorney in the shadows of every case. You could also limit Rob Morrow to one vat of bootblack per episode. Face it, the man is getting older, and no amount of dye is going to mask the crows' feet and the dull, waxy skin.

-Lawrence Fisburne was excellent on CSI when I finally broke down and watched an episode, but he simply wasn't enough to counterbalance the noxious, grating rankness of Riley, who screams spoiled brat badgrrrl wannabe every time I clap eyes on her. I guess it's back to World's Dumbest Criminals for me.

-I'm currently reading Caleb Carr's The Alienist, and it is fantastic, CSI for the Victorian age. The language of the narrator is adorably quaint, and I'm occasionally amused by the characters' goggle-eyed wonder at techniques that modern forensics either takes as a matter of course, like fingerprinting, or has dismissed as outmoded and fallacious, a la measuring the bones of individuals to establish identity, but the psychological insights into the human condition are mind-blowing, and the pacing is first-rate. The book is four hundred and seventy pages, a daunting number in today's world of neatly packaged two hundred and fifty-page, ADD-inspired lightweights, but I could happily read four hundred more and not feel overburdened by the plot or tired of the characters.

Actually, given the steep, psychological underpinnings, Alienist should be considered a Victorian episode of Criminal Minds, with Reid as the narrator and Rossi as the grizzled, old Laszlo Kreizler. Some of the best money I've ever spent on a book, and you can bet your ass I bought the sequel, too.

-More books on my To-Read pile:

A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
Angel of Darkness by Caleb Carr
House of Chains by Steven Erikson
Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson
The Overnight by Ramsey Campbell
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by Daniel Wrobleski
Miracle at St. Anna by James McBride
CSI 904: Let It Bleed--SPOILERS )

If my CW affiliate didn't emit high-pitched squeals akin to a gerbil imitating Rob Halford through its tiny, puckered asshole, I would've watched Supernatural instead.

F-, and the last miserable, disengaged hour I spend on this fading show.
Well, it's been a big day in entertainment since I last posted. First Gary Dourdan was arrested on drug possession, and then Sean Avery of the New York Rangers collapsed this morning and was rushed to the hospital in reported cardiac arrest. It was later reported that he had a ruptured spleen. I'm not sure if that was in conjunction with the cardiac arrest, or if the press leaped to that conclusion on hearing of his collapse because it was the most salacious. In any case, Avery is recovering in a New York hospital.

Gary Dourdan, though, is another kettle of fish. I shouldn't be as shocked as I am because hey, it's Hollywood. Who isn't snorting coke or downing Oxy by the fistful or chewing diet pills like Pez? But I am shocked because it's Gary Dourdan, and he plays Warrick Brown, who I adored before S8, and even though I know that actors are not their characters, there's a space in my brain that insists that no one who plays someone as cool and decent as Warrick could possibly pass out behind the wheel of their SUV and be found with cocaine, heroin, and Ecstasy. It doesn't jibe. It'd be like Charlie Eppes, geek god, being caught at a NAMBLA orgy or holed up in some flophouse with crab-infested hookers and a pyramid of crack phials. It's incomprehensible. And it makes me worry that one day, I'm going to read about Eddie Cahill, forty and blasted out of his mind on coke on Santa Monica Boulevard.

I've neither right nor reason to worry about that. I don't know Eddie and never will. But I do worry because I associate him so strongly with Flack that it would be like Flack going on a bender. Like it or not, fans--even sane, respectful fans--can be proprietary over the characters they've come to love, and the actors who give them life. So even though I know Gary is not Warrick, my brain keeps bleating, "Warrick on smack? Impossible."

Speculation About Gary Dourdan and the Fate of Warrick Brown. SPOILERS for S8. )
Oh, CSI, how you have fallen. Setting aside the utterly cracktastic Warrick Brown smexing scene, I was appalled at the dismantling of Warrick as a character. Yes, he's going through a contentious divorce, but why, why must you have made him a pill-popping, belligerent, drunken asshead? The common, safe answer is for Teh Drama, but the cynical, liberal hippie in me can't help but wonder if it wasn't because you finally realized that you created a character of color with integrity and substance. Well, you fixed that red wagon, didn't you? And for nothing, too, because we all know Warrick isn't going anywhere. Feh.

And I know Grissom is clueless, but honestly. Warrick's early comment to him about feeling alienated should've raised red flags. After everything the team has endured over the past three seasons-Sara's meltdown, Nick's abduction, Catherine's drugging, Greg's beating, and Sara's departure-he should have been almost oversensitive to the possibility of more problems, yet there he was, burbling about Warrick still having his work. Because to Grissom, work is better than sex.

No support. In fact, all Warrick got was a thinly-veiled warning about maybe not having his job. As if Warrick didn't have enough pressure and uncertainty with which to cope. Apparently, Grissom only uses his soft touch on the secret valley between Sara's legs.

And Greg forgot to wear gloves when handling evidence. Grand.

Supernatural is new next week, thank God, and I don't think I'll make the mistake of checking in on the pile of aborted fecal matter that is CSI ever again.
I wasted today reading In Extremis the new CSI novel by Kenneth Goddard. Goddard is a former CSI, and it shows. More than half the book is spent detailing evidence collection and examination techniques, and while that might be fascinating reading to a tech in training, it's exceedingly dull to fans accustomed to a more action/suspense-oriented approach. No Brass interrogating suspects, no snappy dialogue, just pages and pages of tedium and minutiae.

Goddard also proselytizes about "the good ole days", when accident reconstruction was done with trigonometry and a slide rule. Whee. The tortured wailing readers hear as they turn the page is the grinding of Goddard's cherished axe of obsolescence. Back in his day, forensic scientists knew what they were doing with their coal dust and flint tools and trusty abacus. Young CSIs are just numb cogs in the machine, following procedure and lulled into stupefaction by the green glow of the machines. After a book full of such sentiments, I started to wonder if Goddard kept his abacus in his bedside table, right next to the lube and Viagra.

The climax was a painfully contrived infodump. Archie the lab tech knows an Army colonel from the gun range? OooK. Does Goddard even watch the show?

Stupid book written in the Dull, Thudding Tract style, and I'm sorry I wasted eight dollars on it, particularly since it was only two hundred and seventy-five pages. Books are shrinking along with the human attention span, I tell you. When I was a teenager, novels clocked in at four hundred easy, with King clocking in at seven hundred more often than not. Now I'm thirty and paying eight dollars for work that wouldn't have qualified as a badly-written novella ten years ago. Ah, progress.

Those scientist bewailing the incremental but steady erosion of human intelligence over the past thirty years might be on to something. I'd say Goddard was a prime example of the ADD generation, but he keeps his teeth in glass beside his house keys and wallet.

Thoughts on the reaction to CSI:NY:

CSI:NY 401 Redux: Victim of Unrealistic Expectations )

Thoughts on Criminal Minds 301--"Doubt"

Criminal Minds 301-Doubt--Minor SPOILERS )

Thoughts on CSI 801:



For those who skipped my last entry, Haunted is now being aired on SciFi at 10PM Eastern, and the last two episodes will feature a young Eddie Cahill in the role of Nick Trenton, a young lawyer possessed by a demon.

I'm going to try once more to get my [ profile] all_hallows_fic to the finish line tonight, and if I can't, I'm going to set it aside and work on Et Tu Part III. My Flack doll needs to get his angst on, and so do I.

Hello, [ profile] mbnola. I hope you like it here and aren't put off by long rambles and oodles of Flack crackfic that often involves crossovers with HP. I write canonfic, too, which is denoted by an author's note and an "N/A" in the pairing slot of my fic header info.


laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)


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