I can't remember the last time I was bored by an NCIS episode, but last night was a snorefest not even Fornell could save. A convoy? Really? Actually, it was Ziva and Whatisface being tailed by Gibbs, Fornell, McGee, and Tony, and while Gibbs' canary-yellow Dodge Charger was sweet, that does not a convoy make. And since when does NCIS take on civilian carjacking cases involving ex-Marines and a duo of rich ass monkeys? The case logic was stretched so thin, you could see through it, and I'm sorry, but I don't buy Gibbs using McGee as his personal lackey and tiring him out to such a degree that's he's ineffective at his job. They were too busy trying for the chemistry and humor that usually is a natural byproduct of the script to write a coherent, engaging episode, and it showed.

NCIS:LA, on the other hand, was spectacular, and no, I can't believe I wrote that, either, but it's true. The cast has finally gelled and discovered its collective identity. The dialogue was crisp and fluid, and I could readily believe they were a family unit. O'Donnell is still leaden, and the psychiatrist is still a prying, uninspiring busybody that's as vestigial as a dried dingleberry on a butt hair, but the rest of the cast shines, particularly Agent Hanna, Hettie, and Nate. If the trend continues, there might be hope for the show yet.

And now, I'm off to keep the writing momentum going.
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Yes, [livejournal.com profile] knd79, butthurt cannon. If you're FallenforFlack and have a bone to pick with what I said, man up and pick the bone. Leaving tired, Buffy-inspired tween snark in the LJ comments to an ancient LJ entry from two seasons ago to express your pique is sadly unimpressive.

"Doing good gives me a boner makes me rich." Hearing that from Mac Taylor makes me nauseated. If it had come from anyone else, it would've read as largely inoffensive Christmas schmaltz masquerading as TV profundity, but as it is, it sounds like yet another attempt to showcase the awesome moral infallibility of the Great Mac Taylor. For fuck's sake, show. We get it. Mac is Christ in pasty Chicago whiteass. Goody for him, but I still don't care, nor do I think he's the super awesome kewlies. He's obnoxious and grating, and I'd give my right arm for just half a season that wasn't All About Him.

Methinks I'd better keep the hurl bucket on hand tonight in case things get too schlocky and mawkish to stomach. I can't afford to keep chugging the Pepto cocktails.

NCIS 711--SPOILERS )
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The way North Carolina handles IDs is ridiculous. Apparently, in a misguided attempt to prevent fraud, they won't give you an ID card in their offices like other sane states. Nay, instead, they mail you the ID to the address you specified. Oh, yes, that will surely prevent fraud. It's not as though postal carriers routinely lose mail or misappropriate mail or deliver it to the wrong address because they're old and desperately clinging to the job and too frightened of losing the benefits of a federal job to admit he can't see very well anymore. It boggles my mind. I've never been told I can't receive an ID the day I paid for it before. If it doesn't arrive within seven to ten days, I'm supposed to call them. What could go wrong with a system like that?

Roomie attempted to get his license today as well, but he failed the written test. It was quite the blow to his ego, as evinced by his savage mood since. He admitted that he feels inadequate, as though he's disappointed me by failing. He's also feeling cornered, as the original timetable gave him until October to study for the test, but then my mother just had to buy the car right damn now. We'd originally wanted to go for the test on Friday, but they insisted he "get it over with," and since they're the wheels until he gets his license, we couldn't refuse. The end result is a despondent Roomie and disappointed PC, and PC is insisting on taking him back tomorrow for another try. Roomie feels very cornered right now, and there isn't much I can do. I don't know what we're going to do if he doesn't fare better tomorrow.


NCIS:LA was a borefest. Chris O'Donnell possesses the emotive prowess of a bucket of oats. Hence, I'm uninterested in his mysterious, angsty origins. Linda Hunt's character has potential as a living Edna Mode Q, but unless she's on view for ninety percent of a given episode, her formidable charisma won't be enough to overcome O'Donnell's unrelenting indifference and incompetence. I'll give it one more watch, but if it doesn't blow my socks off, I'll give it a pass.

The Forgotten, on the other hand, has potential. Christian Slater, though excessively earnest a times, exudes enthusiasm for the role, and the cast of supporting characters is intriguing, particularly Travis, the felonious sculptor, who looks like a rumpled Johnny Depp, and W., the telephone lineman who fancies himself the next great crime solver and keeps a Photoshopped picture of himself and Andy Sipowicz from NYPD Blue in the visor of his car like a votive icon. It could succumb to the rot of didactic proselytizing and chest-thumping, but if it doesn't get canceled in three weeks, it promises to be a solid workhorse of a show.
-Dammit, I missed Harper's Island last night because of a storm. Of course I did. I was looking forward to the next installment. It's not great television, or even particularly good television, but it's got atmosphere, and I'm invested in seeing how several plot threads resolve themselves. Do Henry and his friends discover Fat Man's nefarious didoes with the purloined money? Did Mr. Wellington survive the chandelier collapse, and will he confront his philandering wife? Will Abby ever dislodge the splintery, Daddy-hating stick from her ass long enough to tell us why she hates him?

Sometimes, I wish I had high-speed Internet with which to watch the shows I miss, but it's just not in the budget.

-I was fortunate enough to watch most of my shows' season finales. On the main, I found them lackluster and underwhelming when compared to previous years, but with the exception of the Bones season finale, which collapsed with three heave-inducing words, they were serviceable.

Bones Finale--SPOILERS )

D

NCIS Finale--SPOILERS )

C

The Mentalist Finale--SPOILERS )

A

So, a recap of season finales:

NCIS: C
The Mentalist: A
Criminal Minds: A+
CSI:NY: A
Bones: D
Supernatural: N/A
Numb3rs: B+
-Dammit, I missed Harper's Island last night because of a storm. Of course I did. I was looking forward to the next installment. It's not great television, or even particularly good television, but it's got atmosphere, and I'm invested in seeing how several plot threads resolve themselves. Do Henry and his friends discover Fat Man's nefarious didoes with the purloined money? Did Mr. Wellington survive the chandelier collapse, and will he confront his philandering wife? Will Abby ever dislodge the splintery, Daddy-hating stick from her ass long enough to tell us why she hates him?

Sometimes, I wish I had high-speed Internet with which to watch the shows I miss, but it's just not in the budget.

-I was fortunate enough to watch most of my shows' season finales. On the main, I found them lackluster and underwhelming when compared to previous years, but with the exception of the Bones season finale, which collapsed with three heave-inducing words, they were serviceable.

Bones Finale--SPOILERS )

D

NCIS Finale--SPOILERS )

C

The Mentalist Finale--SPOILERS )

A

So, a recap of season finales:

NCIS: C
The Mentalist: A
Criminal Minds: A+
CSI:NY: A
Bones: D
Supernatural: N/A
Numb3rs: B+
After three weeks of avoiding my primary email address on AOL, I finally wandered in to find spam addressed to me from myself. Only it read [primary address] at AOL dot com, including the domain name, which AOL usually drops. One was an ad for penile enlargement; the other was the "item of the weekr". I'm not sure what's going on, but I haven't tied that email address to anything but LJ and TalkCSI. Any ideas? Is it a cloned address? I junked them without opening them, but it struck me as curious. GMail sometimes does this, too, but I've never seen it on AOL. Nothing appears to have been sent from my address, so I suspect my address was just spoofed by a spammer.

NCIS-Legend, Part II--SPOILERS )
I've consumed a staggering amount of food in the past forty-eight hours, most of it from various fast food joints, though Roomie did cook a lovely small ham for Christmas dinner. On Friday, I downed a nasty Big 'n' Tasty from McDonald's, Doritos, several large slices of honey-cured ham, and half a Vanilla Coke. Today, I demolished three pieces of fried chicken, a pint of mashed potatoes, two apple hand pies, some chili cheese Fritos, and the remainder of the Vanilla Coke. I'm now downing a cream soda. My stomach is dragging the ground, and I'm sluggish and dull-witted. The worst of the Red Bloat has passed, however, so perhaps the gremlin capering gleefully inside my stomach will soon revert to a more docile Mogwai.

I caught a few episodes of NCIS S5 on USA today, and it reaffirmed my belief that S5 was the worst season of NCIS ever. Director Sheppard was an amoral, narcissistic, clit-stroking, prima donna hosebeast in control-top pantyhose, and her unexplained obsession with Le Grenouille made me want to fling carefully-rolled balls of shit at my television screen. The night Director Sheppard went down in a hail of bullets was the most glorious night of my fannish life. I've no doubt that Director Vance is up to unpleasant didoes with his paper-shredding, but at least I don't have to sift through fifteen layers of sexually-charged doublespeak for him to make his point. Even better, his point isn't made against the painful backdrop of a badly-lit fuck scene somewhere in the Czech boonies.

Sheppard's ridiculously overwrought and overwritten obsession with Le Grenouille was choking the life out of the show, and I'm thrilled that the entire convoluted mess was jettisoned along with Lauren Holly.

Now, if only we could cut losses with Danny and Lindsay on CSI:NY and derail the approaching Flack/Angell train before it ever pulls out of the think tank station, I wouldn't be embarrassed to watch the show. I am embarrassed, for the record. If it weren't for the fact that most of my fannish interaction comes from my involvement with CSI:NY, I'd wash my hands of it and move on. S4 was a creative abortion; I watched three episodes from my S4 DVD set and wished I could return them to the store so as to salvage my time and dignity. But alas, I need them for reference when writing fic, so I'm stuck with them. At least there's still Flackpretty.

And now to work on "C Is For Confession", which, God help me, is the story that never ends.
Before I talk about the awesomeness that is Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I just have to mention this little nugget from the mouth of Pam Veasey(and yes, it was her mouth, I swear):

D/L S5 SPOILERS )



NCIS 602--Agent Afloat--SPOILERS )

A. Ding Dong, the witch is dead, and NCIS is fun again. It's amazing what happens when you remove shipping and its rotten-planked phantoms from the equation.
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-
BWOOP! BWOOP! BWOOP!

This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill. NCIS has jumped the shark. Man the lifeboats and leave the dead. The show has jumped the shark, and other sharks have been spotted in the vicinity of the sucking vortex that marks the spot where its quality once stood.

Oh, NCIS, how could I have known that your once mighty hull had been compromised by insidious fail? You were so wonderful in your first four seasons, so shiny and balanced and engrossing. I never dreamed that you could sink to such awful, perfidious depths.

All Aboard the USS NCIS Failboat--MAJOR Finale SPOILERS )

F- squared
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I was all set to write a puff post about my latest book purchases. Then NCIS veered into Wonky World, and I decided I had to choke a bitch.

NCIS 517-Recoil--SPOILERS )

Oh, show, I remember fondly the days when your writing didn't suck such unfettered, pungent ass.
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Because I don't have enough of a fic backlog, what with [livejournal.com profile] spn13 in sore need of a contribution, I signed up for [livejournal.com profile] spn_summergen 2008. The assignment will be mailed out May 22, and the fic will be due July 4. No pressure there. The due date is problematic, IMHO, but I knew what it was when I signed up, so that's that. I'll just have to finish ahead of time.

Friday was a mixed bag.

The Good: I left the apartment and got some fresh air and sun for the first time in 2 weeks.

I had chicken teriyaki at Sarku Japan.

I bought Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman for seven bucks in hardcover. It was on the publishers' remainders table in Barnes and Noble.

I had a candy apple.


The Bad: Roomie went to McDonald's for breakfast, and the special education valedictorian who took the order botched it; I got a sausage biscuit instead of a sausage McMuffin with egg. They charged us for the McMuffin, however. Ass maggots.

As we were leaving the house to go to the mall, we noticed that the pipes outside were spurting water with the cheerful gusto of veteran bukkake competitors. At one point, they spurted in sequence and bore an uncanny resemblance to those lighted fountains in Vegas that spout and surge to music. If only I'd had a copy of Handel's "Messiah". Luckily, after the Great Sewage Revolt of 2005, the complex installed flapper valves on the pipe ends so that toxic sewage couldn't back up into the apartments of those who might have weakened immune systems, or who might be quadriplegic and therefore unable to flee a turd tidal wave should one come surging forth from the drain and toilet. So no sewage menaced my apartment from within. We notified the complex manager, and when we returned, they'd cleared the pipes and sprinkled the area with lime.

I couldn't find Four Walls, the latest CSI:NY tie-in, at the bookstore. Not a trace. I'll have to check Borders next week.

Speaking of Four Walls, its author, Keith R.A. DeCandido, has oozed onto the TalkCSI boards to schmooze and pimp the book. He even created a topic on the forum to pimp the release and trawl for comments. I know it's harmless, and I know it's writerly instinct to pimp your babies, but it rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's because I know that if I were to post a thread dedicated to pimping my latest fanfic, I'd get thwapped for posting off-topic and told to post it in the appropriate forum(but only if it's PG-13 or lower, of course). But since he's a proficcer writing official fanfic, it's perfectly acceptable to schmooze, gladhand, and drop treacly, self-serving hints the size of Volvos about the status of his sparkly fic. In the most heavily-trafficked fora instead of the most appropriate ones, like, oh, say, Merchandise. Agh.

Moving on...

Before coming home, I ordered a 6" roast beef from Subway. What I got was a 6" turkey. Roast beef does not sound like turkey, nor does it look like turkey. I can only surmise that the hideously misidentified "sandwich expert" was another mouthbreather from Club Special Ed, mayhap even kin to the valedictorian holding court at the McDonald's. Greatness runs in families, you know.

NCIS 515-In the Zone--SPOILERS )

Fail. Utter, utter fail.
The Red Bloat has come at last, and if it weren't for caffeine, I'd be an inert, drooling lump of sloe-eyed woe, gazing blearily at the screen and wondering why I need a coma after a twelve-hour sleep. I'm in second gear as it is. Still, the last few days have been good ones, so I'll take it.

NCIS-Internal Affairs--MAJOR Episode and Season SPOILERS )
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I finished Part I of my [livejournal.com profile] all_hallows_fic submission, and Lindsaybun is happily ensconced in her hutch, drying her fur and nibbling carrots. Unfortunately for my readers(and me, because I like showing off my stories), I can't post it anywhere until the 30th. Because [livejournal.com profile] scarletts_awry said so. So, in the meantime, I'll be working on Part III of Et Tu and prepping my next fic for [livejournal.com profile] spn13. After that, Danny Messer would like a word on Halloween.

I should spend the day studying for my Philosophy of Religion exam tomorrow, but that would be boring and sensible, and so, I'll likely loll about on the Internet instead and read my new books.

The first is The Mammoth Book of Monsters that I'd been eyeballing since last month, and the second is Books of Blood 1-3 by Clive Barker. I've read Weaveworld, one of his longer works, but never his short fiction. Someone-[livejournal.com profile] death_ofme, maybe?-assayed that he was superior to King. Though I am unabashedly biased, I can't agree thusfar. The prose is more lyrical, but the stories are devoid of the emotional resonance that vibrates in your teeth long after the story is finished and imprints lasting images in your mind.

NCIS 502-Family--SPOILERS )
NCIS 424: Angel of Death--SPOILERS )

C, and that's being generous. Numb3rs handily wins my vote for Finale of the Year.
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laguera25: Dug from UP! (Flackale)
( May. 22nd, 2007 07:25 pm)
So, I went out to pony up the phone bill and pick up Deluge, the latest CSI:NY novel. Well, the phone bill got paid, but the book was a wash. You have to order it. Even though it was released today. I can only surmise that the first two Kaminsky masterpieces went over like a tinseled turd on a tea tray and Borders thus forewent the temptation to host the third dollop on their shelves. I'll check Barnes and Noble on Friday, but I don't hold out much hope.

I'm so sleepy; I never do well after a day in the sun. I get headachy and stuporous and heavy, and all creative impetus grinds to a halt. Still, I had to bear the drain on my energy resources, else my phone would be turned off, and the cupboard would be bare, and besides, there is still the slender hope of a few hundred words before the NCIS season finale.

The ficcing list I made a few days ago continues to pay dividends. I started Part XVI of Danse Macabre yesterday and logged 1,443 words. Having a barometer of my progress is wonderful; I've made lists before, yes, but I'd never thought to pin them and make them private, so they always fell off the page of most recent entries and into obscurity. Pinned, this list is always the first entry I see, and it goads me, challenges me to increase the current word count if I dare.

Enough rhapsodizing abut the geeky joy of pinned lists. I'm going to veg and wait for NCIS and sacrifice a chicken, a Tums, and a roll of toilet paper for the death of one Jeanne Benoit.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( May. 15th, 2007 11:49 pm)
I took a nap today for the express purpose of ficcing. That didn't happen. My SPN fic is still ahead of schedule, but I can't afford any more slacker days since the deadline is June 1.

I wasn't going to, but I caved and bought NCIS Season Three today. There is a scrumptious shot of Gibbs in a tux on the cover, but unfortunately, the delectable view is ruined by Jen in an appallingly fugly mansuit and poodle perm. Why must TV shows conflate "strong women" with dressing and acting like a man? This seems to be a trademark of Bellisario TV, and I wonder if it will change now that he's been ousted? Women can be strong and feminine, as evinced by Stella on CSI:NY and Calleigh on CSI:Miami. Shoulder pads, butch bobs, and prosthetic balls should not be standard-issue equipment for TV bad girls.

The season finale of CSI:NY is tomorrow, and I'm glad; it's been disappointing and maddening, and the temporarily fixed canon will give me time to refine my teetering pile of fic possibilities. Flack lust ensures that I'll check in for the start of S4, but the first few episodes will decide if I stay on board. If it's going to be nothing but cheap stunt casting, blatant product whoring, and "hip"(read nonsensical and juvenile) cases, I will respectfully bow out. That is not what I signed on for and not what was promised with S1, which was flawed and brilliant and gutsy as hell.


Have a laugh courtesy of Great Britain and [livejournal.com profile] faylinn_drake: Racing Grannies.
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