ink_splotch: (vil elske dig for evigt [kærlighed])
I have a truly stupid amount of love for Shadowlands. On one hand, it does deal with many of my favourite themes: English literature, Oxford, repressed longing, Anthony Hopkins being English and repressed1 - it even deals with religion. On the other hand, I don't even like C.S. Lewis that much (okay, lies, I don't want to like C.S.Lewis that much, because of the Susan issue and because, well, I want to think that he and Oxford and Anthony Hopkins are overrated) and it's a Richard Attenborough film2. Also, it seems to imply that to truly love someone, you or they have to die, a theme I normally resent.

And yet, it doesn't even matter what all my other issues are, because that scene where Jack realizes that he loves her and cries in the church makes me cry. I just - I can't even tell you why that scene is so important to me, why it still makes me cry even though I've seen it at least five times now, but it's beautiful. Paired with the marriage scene (oh, my!), it pretty much is all I need in a love story. That, and apparently, middle-aged people.

Which, incidentally, brings me to a question: do you have a preference for a certain age group in your love stories? I'm kind of curious.

[Poll #1391000]

In other news, as of today, I'm 411/7000, and I have a massive friend!crush on Sarah Vowell, and you should too:

1. See also: Remains of the Day (also, read the book!) and 84 Charing Cross (see previous aside)
2. Look, I realize his Oh! What a Lovely War is a good film, but it kind of broke the point of the play (see also: the film version of Regeneration).
ink_splotch: (hard not to touch you [skins])
I think there must be some kind of problem with me; I am drawn towards really crappy English TV-shows like, like a magnet draws iron. Or something. And now I'm into Skins, which I am being mocked for by Gemma already, but it's kind of addictive - or certainly, the Emily/Naomi storyline is. I mean, sure, it's just another coming-out story, but it's really well executed and just so...realistic? And Emily such an awesomely sweet character and hot and also, a box of fannies. I kind of - actually, it mostly makes me very, very happy I'm not a teenager anymore, and that I've always been very sure of my sexuality (at least, I've never had doubts about liking fannies. I waver on the male issue).

Also, I've been listening to Mads and Monopolet so much that I'm turning it into a fandom. Skins is preferable to this, as Danish fandoms only end in tears, or rather, in really weird fanfiction scenarios.

Also, also, internets, why so low on Regeneration fanfiction? I want to read more about Rivers and Sassoon, and as my biographies and Ghost Road are in England, I look to the internet. And no help. This, I feel is not fair.
ink_splotch: (quintessentially british  [d/who])
In the past three days, I have managed to kill the USB drive that allowed me to get online (I am currently huddled in an over-warm Baresso in mid-Copenhagen), decorate the floor of the room I'm occupying with Tintin comics (in dated order too), start a tally of the world "homoerotic" in books about World War I (currently on "The Great War and Modern Memory"), and watch all 11 episodes of "Planet Earth" (I want to be an otter!).


(I blame the library being closed due to Easter. And also running out of accessible Discworld novels. I did also see Tess, which was ace; but apart from that, the lack of internet has killed any productive use of my procrastinating energy.)
ink_splotch: (we touch when we want to [love])
1. I just had the most ridiculous Easter lunch where, among other things, my cousin tried to drink his own weight in beer to prove that my dad had bought too little (...I know), my brother discussed intimate hair-dos, my uncle decided to declare he's a lesbian, I held a mini-lecture on the uselessness of Derrida, and we concluded that the global finacial crisis is nothing compared to the past couple of seasons for my brothers' football team.

Please tell me that this isn't just my family?

Oh, and we also discussed racism in Disney movies.

2. I keep having World War I related dreams. Not only have I had Siegfried Sassoon's shell-shock dreams (which is awkward enough), but I keep dreaming about trenches and Very lights. I haven't even started my essay for The Great War yet. This, I feel, is not promising.

2a. I have been scribbling notes for my essay everywhere though, and am beginning to regret only have 5000 words for this.

2b. Oh, I went to Dublin with Gemma (which was amazing - good Lord, Irish food!) and we stumbled over the most brilliantly twisty little bargain bookstore right near the university. We were both utterly enamoured of it anyway - and that was before I accidently knocked into a bookshelf and a biography of Sassoon dropped onto my foot - for 5 euros. Now we think it may be a magic bookshop, and wish we'd thought to want the entire Discworld series in hardback (though arguably that would have pushed us over our baggage limit).

3. In an effort to not do any useful work, I am currently working my way through the Tintin series (this is...somehow relevant. Or it will be, since I've managed to get just about everything else I've read and watched recently to be at least vaguely related to World War I - something of a task when it comes to Discworld, but hey, I manage). Naturally, this means that I am also sticking my toe into the fandom, which has fabulous things like this article and this, Ulysses, which is kind of amazing. It's not a big fandom, but hey, the old comics are brilliant enough on their own. Still: oh, internets.

3a. Hey, speaking of fandom, how much do I love that "Mads og Monopolet" (a Danish radio show) had a discussion about Harry Potter slash, wherein all of the commentators were totally awesome about it, and said it seemed like a creative and fulfilling hobby. THIS IS WHY DANISH RADIO IS FOR THE WIN, people. Also, because they discussed porn-for-women, and the brilliance of written porn. ♥

4. I've got the door open, Aerosmith up loud and no one else home. \o/ It's almost summer, you guys!
ink_splotch: (tower of learning! [leicester])
Right now everything feels like a countdown. Last lecture, last seminar, last presentation...It's surreal on so many levels. I have a feeling once this really hits me, I'll be a wreck1, but for now I am pleasantly melancholy and so happy with my memories.

It helps that I'm keeping myself busy2.

1. So before then I need to invest in due South. *makes notes*
2. In no particular order: working on various essays, on tomorrow's presentation; working out on my WiiFit; trying not to get dragged into due South fic; watching the Regeneration film.
ink_splotch: (be your partner and friend [together])
So, I seem to be reading due South fic and panicking about the future. It's all very 2006 around here.

I am desperately tempted to buy the last season of due South as I lost all my original episodes when my first external harddrive crashes (may I take a moment to note that no one ever warns one that this could happen? Oh, no, it's all "back it up on the external harddrive, in case your computer crashes!" but not word one about what you're supposed to do when your external harddrive dies?). I have neither time nor money to get into it right now, and yet it is desperately tempting, because due South is a lovely, happy place for me and right now I miss it. I do love the fic and the fandom, but occasionally, I crave the episodes. I'm particularly wanting "Mountie on the Bounty" right now, or maybe "Odds", or "Say Amen" or "Call of the Wild". I just... so many of the other shows I watch - I'm thinking specifically of Doctor Who and Being Human - are, for all their humour, kind of Tragic and Deep and Meaningful with intentional caps. Whereas due South is nothing in caps, except mayve Awesome, and it moves me and makes me happy and I miss it.

I also have an irrational urge to write Wilde RPS. This is all entirely the fault of Pat Barker and her stupid Regeneration trilogy and it's stupid queer subtext. By which I mean: I am re-reading the books for my "Great War" module; they are possibly actually better than I remember them. The relationship between Rivers and Sassoon, especially, got to me this time, in a way that it didn't the first time I read through it - particularly in the last scene between them, when Rivers is warning Sassoon about the Black Book. Oh my heart! (As an aside, this also makes me go, Oh my heart!: Sassoon’s description of the doctor in 'Sherston’s Progress', lingering as it does on Rivers’s warm smile and endearing habits- he often sat, spectacles pushed up on forehead, with his hands clasped around one knee- suggests that it was more than liking he felt. And privately he was rather franker, telling Marsh, whom he knew would understand, that he ‘loved [Rivers] at first sight.’ Damn it all, Sassoon, I don't want to like you this much.) But the book in general - there are so few aspects of it that don't hit some fiction kink of mine, it's kind of ridiculous. It's one of the few books that manages to make me laugh and think and get ridiculously angry and morose. And I get to write about it. \o/

How, however, does this equal wanting to write Wilde RPS? Mostly, this is Michael Sheen's fault for being in the Guardian so much in the past week. Paired with Robert Ross's presence in Regeneration (hovering in the background like some sort of spectre of persecution), I've had this huge urge to write about Robbie Ross being haunted by Wilde. Why this does not already exist, I do not know, though I must say I am most disappointed by the internet in this instance. It needs writing, because - as we all know - ghosts are really just figments of our own imagination (except perhaps Bob Fraser...) and Robbie would remember him as he was before Reading, even if it hurt; he'd have the laughing, camp Oscar, and it would be inappropriate - the World War 1 raging outside - but at the same time it would be so needed, and it would allow for those things that hadn't been said yet; the apologies that Oscar owed him and he, maybe, owed Oscar.

I have a feeling that at the end of this narrative, Robbie dies. Which brings me right back to why I need to get my filthy hands on some episodes of due South.
ink_splotch: (i'm telling you stories [books])
So, the English Ball is coming up (in, like, two months, but most of that time I'll be in Denmark, so let's call it soon), and even though I don't need a dress for it, I kind of want one. Specifically, I want this or this. They're both pretty, with sleeves and fuctional looking - I could particularly see myself wearing the Gwyneth one more than once. And yet - £85 is so much money. Do I really need another dress? But still, they're so pretty. And relatively easy to accessorize, I should think; particularly the Gwyneth would be lovely with dangling pearl earrings and some nice mid-heels.

I'm slightly worried about the fact that I'm using fashion as a way of relaxing. not entirely normal.

In other news, the essay of doom has been finished; I am almost done with my presentation notes for tomorrow; and I've finished The Passion, so I'm not behind on any of my reading. Not ahead either, but if there's one thing the 6 hours of therapy and stress-workshops I've attended in the past week have taught me, it is that small victories are still victories. So, I am going to celebrate by spending 15 minutes looking at shoes and surfing Jezbel before I start on dinner. Mmmm.

(Also keep my fingers crossed that housemate R is working tomorrow instead of me, so I can go to town with Gemma.)
ink_splotch: (Friends will be friends [calm])
For a in many ways bad day, today really made me realize how much I love my department and my university and my stupid lecturers. I (somewhat inevitably) ended up crying in my seminar today, and so my lecturer (awkwardly, my favourite lecturer ever, who was my first tutor in first year) pulled me aside, and basically did everything he could to make life easier for me - he gave me an extension on my essay, told me not to worry about falling behind on reading, and assured me that I could catch up - and then he basically all but ordered me to seek help, and reccomended me a doctor. And it was just so stupidly nice to have an adult telling me that I'd be okay; I really appreciate the support I get from my friends and all, but it's different having an adult tell you these things.

So now I'm embaressed that I cried in front of a lecturer, and yet oddly happy, because, well, my university is lovely.

(And today I really wanted to talk about the awesome that is Being Human and the comfort food that is Star Trek, but instead, have more of my crazy!)
ink_splotch: (first day of my life [bubble])
I love the fact that, as part of my course work, I get to sit and watch Gary Oldman make-out with men for two hours.

In other news, am listening to Danish music non-stop; it is part of my plan to indulge my homesickness for a little while, so it doesn't overwhelm me. It's sort of working. As is - most of the time - plan "distract self with work". Even if that is mostly making me want to curl up with the entire Graham Greene canon.

Do I really need a degree? I mean, really?
ink_splotch: (there will be time [poetry])

I've listened to this song six times in a row now. It's ridiculously soothing and suits my mood kind of perfectly. I love the gentleness of the Zulu words particularly - they sound so...sweeping.

Today's weird. It was mostly normal until I curled up to read The End of the Affair. It's cold outside and the snow's still coming down, and I've been reading as the light fades, meaning that my room is mostly dark, just my bedside lamp lighting up enough to read. It is so quiet, so - unreal, almost - so peaceful in a rather sad way. I don't want to leave my bed; even though I know that part of the reason I feel so sad, so melancholy right now is because of the dark, because I feel so far away from the rest of the house. But it's warm here, and quiet, and I think I'll stay a little bit longer.

Two weeks ago, I was accepted onto Sussex University's Gender Studies MA. So far, six people know: a guy from my course, R, my parents, Bean and Gemma. I'm feeling very ambivalent about it. I am pleased to have got in; the course has everything I want and the department is the best in the country. Still, I don't particularly like Brighton, the town the University is nearest, and I feel like moving to a smaller city, with a university that's further from the city, is just the opposite of the wishes I set out for myself. Three months ago, I was going to be in Newcastle with Gemma; now I'm at the opposite end of the country, and Gemma will probably be at a university nearby, but not that near.

I know it's just a year. I know. But a year breaks down into a lot of days, and right now, I think I need to be sad about what I thought I wanted, before I can be happy about what I want now.
ink_splotch: (we talk of nothing for hours [cosy])
I am drinking wine, eating caramel shortcake bites and reading Oscar Wilde, with a slight breeze coming from the window and the heat of an electric blanket below me.

mmmm, hedonistic. And best of all? This is me doing homework.
ink_splotch: (bigger balls than any of you [milk])
I have made sweet potato pie! And rolls! I feel so domestic - today I cleaned and cooked and baked, and it was amazingly nice. It felt really good and active; like I achieved things (things that made other people happy and warmed up my house!). I did also create a mini-anthology of World War I poetry, but in the grand scheme of things, cooking is much more exciting.

I also read Stargate: Atlantis fic (Nunc Dimittis - Rodney is a monk and John is a wayward knight, and OH MY, how much do I love medieval AUs? Medieval AUs that take place in monastries!) and watched seven episodes of Darkwing Duck while cooking and why can't every day be like this? For serious. I could get behind that.

(However, tomorrow I need to finish reading Jude the Obscure - current front-runner in the category worst literary characters ever - and buy and read Endgame, as well as fill out several funding forms for masters funding and current SU funding and possibly clean my room. I also need to book a table for Friday - my second anniversary,yay! Also, as of tomorrow, there's two weeks until I get my grades. I want them now, curse the English department!)

But until then, I am going to eat sweet potato pie, listen to Working on a Dream and feel calm. mmm, yes.
ink_splotch: (boblende latter under din hud [glæde])
I have turned in all my work, done my exam and caught up on sleep and I feel fabulous. The kind of fabulous that you really should be able to bottle so you can always remember feeling this way even when you're bogged down with papers, applications and exams.

Today, I plan to continue the relaxation I started yesterday and take my best girl out for coffee and cake, while dressed in a very spiffy dress (the dress is important. It is adding to my general fabulousness, you see), after which we shall head to mine for reading. Reading is emphasized because it is the kind of reading that is not in the least bit related to my degree programme. This is very exciting, you see.

(Hee, Gemma just looked over my shoulder and went, "You are not allowed to use the expression 'best girl' in real life. Ever.")

Anyway, during yesterday's relaxation-a-thon, I finished People of the Book, which people insist on comparing to the Da Vinci Code. Which I suppose it is a bit like. You know, if Dan Brown had done research, taking a creative writing course, had an editor, and decided to write a historical novel about book conservation instead of a thriller about religious theories everyone already knew about. Which is to say it is nothing like The Da Vinci Code and reveiwers need to shut up and stop using comparisons in their reviews.

People of the Book: Review )

Now, however, I am really craving a book about inter-faith relationships. Nothing dramatic - no Romeo-and-Juliet retellings, or books that feature insane religious families (I stumbled over the latter particularly often, and while I understand that they're sometimes realistic, they're also way too common) - but just a book where two people deal with the fact that they have different traditions and rituals and how they compromise and get through this. Hmmm.

However, I think I'll end up reading Michael Chabon's Summerland next, and then probably Lillian Faderman's Naked in the Promised Land. I have missed this SO MUCH, you guys.
ink_splotch: (own kind of music [feminist])
Pointless Procrastion, Icon Edition )

Now, off to make up more reasons why I want to do a Masters. SEND HELP.
ink_splotch: (flowers & girly infatuations [merlin])
Girls of St.Mary's - SGA, NC-17. I know everyone and their mother have recced this fic already, but still - it's just that good. It really is, all hot and awkward in the first two parts, and then brilliant and heart-breaking and real in the second part, and seriously? 1950s school girls making out. Why are you still reading this?

In other news, as of tomorrow, I should be done with all of my written work this term. Okay, so it's late coming, but hey, I'm done and that's something.

It's something that means I should start revising and I really should know what I want to do next year and why is this stupid year so stressful? I mean, I love this and all, I really do, but right now? A year off almost sounds like a good idea. No papers! No homework! No panicking about deadlines! On the other hand, crappy job back in Denmark. Err. Maybe not that good. Hum.
ink_splotch: (we were beautiful [bubble])
So, my dissertation is in editing and Gemma's gone home after being up for two days (New Year's was really nice - just us, a lovely dinner and watching movies all night. It was kind of *exactly* what I needed), and because of this, I have had time to read a little bit of Yuletide fic. And I have compiled recs!

First, written for me: Seeking Comfort - Fried Green Tomatoes, Ruth/Idgie, R. I got sex and coming together and such a beautiful characterization of Idgie. And a take-charge Ruth, which you know is canon.

And then five (mostly) happy recs to go with:

Becoming a Lesbian: Megan Bloomfield's Guide for Cheerleaders
- But I'm a Cheerleader, Megan/Graham, R. Because I never knew how much I wanted this fic until I read it. Perfect Megan, perfect Graham and, best of all, perfectly the surreal world of the movie. It's just a sweet, happy read, with some laugh-out-loud lines.

The Thin Man Takes a Husband - Donald Strachey Mysteries, Donald/Timothy, R. Hot and plotty and from Tim's point of veiw. A bit sappy towards the end, but then again. It's Timmy.

Tokens of Affection - Hot Fuzz, Danny/Nicholas, R. Christmas-themed without being sappy, and involving the entire precinct, and just ridiculously engaging and charming.

Ribbons and Lace - Neil Gaiman - Stardust, Victoria/Louisa, PG. Just. If Neil Gaiman had entered in Yuletide and written this, I wouldn't be completely shocked. It fits so well and I really like the idea of focusing on Louisa (and also Victoria, since she got ridiculously slighted in the film.) Gorgeous.

On the Doors to Paradise - The Bubble, Ashraf/Noam, PG-13. Okay, first you need to go watch the movie, as this takes place post-movie and I don't want to spoil you. Go on. I'll wait. It is so very much worth the price of the DVD; it has great acting, charming characters and - I don't even know how to describe the plotline, except good, and hot and heartbreaking for so many reasons. Then, come back and read this, and you'll understand that this needs to be canon.

In case you were wondering what I wrote: Names, Navigation and Other Issues Rising Aboard the Caspartine. I still can't believe I wrote Stardust (movie) slash.

And now I really should get to bed, as I am due into work tomorrow. Which should be fun, but at least housemate J and I may be sharing a shift.
ink_splotch: (i play in a rock'n'roll band [estreet])
This quote is just. It's about Steven and Bruce and I'm sitting here with the biggest stupidest grin on my face because THIS. THIS IS SO WHAT THEY ARE.

i. I made this icon a few days ago, and it might have to become my new default. That is how much I love it. Their stupid faces, you guys! I just. They are vital members of a legendary rock band, and they are both fifty-something, and they are also a couple of sparkly "BFF" necklaces away from being a pair of thirteen-year-old girls.

ii. I think my personal canon is now that they're both wearing said necklaces under their shirts. Bruce bought them, obviously.

From here

(and now I must go warm up by dancing around to Bruce Springsteen turned up way high.)

ETA: AHAHAHAHAHA! See also this performance of "Thunder Road", where, after the kiss at the end, he pumps his fist in a sort of "GO TEAM INTERRACIAL HOMOGAY ROCKSTARS! :D"
From here
ink_splotch: (wacky modern-day families [us])
Where's my DVD, Amazon? I was promised a DVD today, and I upheld my part of the cosmic bargain - 5219 words, baby - and now I want my boykissing. NOT ON AMAZON!

Speaking of my dissertation - it's still sans conclusion, which is fun. I figure it's easier to edit first and then, when I'm really sure of what I've actually written, my conclusion will be easier to write. Right? Someone back me up here? I am a bit worried that I will have to lose something important to make room for my conclusion - or, rather, I'll have to lose one of my pet points. Or some of the theory - I love all my stupid sociology notes.

However! Today I have to entertain R (and possibly cook dinner, which seems like a lot of work right now) and then tomorrow's New Years, so unless I burn the midnight oil again like last night, I won't be doing any work until the 2nd. Hmm.

Now! To email Newcastle and ask if an English degree is good enough to do gender studies. Busy busy, people!
ink_splotch: (how they shine for you [stars])
Dude, packing, why so hard? And why is it that whenever I go home, my suitcase is always heavier than going out? Even this time, when going out I was dragging a PlayStation3 for the littlest bro? The thing took up half my suitcase! And yet, today there is barely room for all my stuff! This is considering I am ostensibly only bringing back four books, a pair of trousers, a pair of shoes and a dress more than I left with. The hell?

Also, I can't get over the fact that I'm going home tomorrow. And that it's almost 2009. And that from tomorrow onward, I will have no excuse not to write my dissertation already. And my American Studies essay. Actually, the weirdest thing is how much I'm looking forward to it, like I needed these days off to finally realize that I like what I'm doing (well, these days off and a discussion with my father about the relative merits of the nuclear family and Reagan's presidency. That helped too, mostly because it turns out I know what I'm on about. Which is very nice!) I also have encouragment to do work in the form of The Bubble, which should be arriving the 30th. Which I am only allowed to watch if I've typed up the last 1500 words or so of my dissertation, which should be pretty easy. I mean, I already know what I want to say for most of it.

And if pretty gay movies aren't enough to inspire me to work, then I fear I am a hopeless case.

Apart from all that - it will be good to be back home. I love Denmark, I love my friends here and my family, but - I miss Leicester, you know? I miss Leicester and Gemma and Bean and everyone and my stupid house.

Still. I really fucking hate packing. Urgh.
ink_splotch: (one for all and all for one [trio])
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and happy December 24th to those who don't!

(My mother's singing along to Last Christmas in the kitchen, my brothers are watching yet another Simpsons Christmas Special, and my step-sibs are picking out their clothes ♥. There are several signs that this Christmas may yet end in chaos, but right now? I'm very happy & content.)


ink_splotch: (Default)

April 2009

5678 91011
19 202122232425
2627 282930  


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags