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My final is over. I think I did well, though I blanked on the name of the maiden Zeus impregnated via a golden shower. And no, that isn't a typo. I can only hope that the golden shower in question bore no resemblance to the ones on view in underground porn films featuring R. Kelly, an underage girl, and a bidet.
So, lo, I'm free until January 7, when I'll be taking Ancient Mythology, which will focus on Sumerian and Egyptian mythology. I plan to fic and play video games and watch DVDs, to decompress until the new year, when the whole blasted race will start anew.
I swore to myself that I wasn't going to get sucked into another Jerry Bruckheimer creation, but so much for that dream. I've been watching Eleventh Hour for the past three weeks, and I think I'm descending into a newfound addiction. Jacob Hood is a warmer, more human Grissom, and his Scully is a tough, fair, but hemorrhoidal Sara Sidle. The show has a definite CSI meets and sexes up The X-Files tone, an unsurprising fact given that Danny Cannon was once CSI's head honcho. It's currently case-driven, as CSI was in its earlier seasons, before shippiness and the blight known as Character-Driven Angst Rot set in, and I like that. It won't last, I'm sure, but I hope to get a few seasons' pleasure out of it before its inevitable descent into screaming melodrama involving Jacob Hood and the reanimation of his beloved wife's moldering corpse.
Just please God, don't let him leave the field to appease his whiny, clingy One Twu Wub. I'd rather have him die by terrible disease than see him warped and emasculated a la Gilbert Grissom.
So, lo, I'm free until January 7, when I'll be taking Ancient Mythology, which will focus on Sumerian and Egyptian mythology. I plan to fic and play video games and watch DVDs, to decompress until the new year, when the whole blasted race will start anew.
I swore to myself that I wasn't going to get sucked into another Jerry Bruckheimer creation, but so much for that dream. I've been watching Eleventh Hour for the past three weeks, and I think I'm descending into a newfound addiction. Jacob Hood is a warmer, more human Grissom, and his Scully is a tough, fair, but hemorrhoidal Sara Sidle. The show has a definite CSI meets and sexes up The X-Files tone, an unsurprising fact given that Danny Cannon was once CSI's head honcho. It's currently case-driven, as CSI was in its earlier seasons, before shippiness and the blight known as Character-Driven Angst Rot set in, and I like that. It won't last, I'm sure, but I hope to get a few seasons' pleasure out of it before its inevitable descent into screaming melodrama involving Jacob Hood and the reanimation of his beloved wife's moldering corpse.
Just please God, don't let him leave the field to appease his whiny, clingy One Twu Wub. I'd rather have him die by terrible disease than see him warped and emasculated a la Gilbert Grissom.
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