1. I am so sick of tiptoeing around spoilers. I know, I should find something to fan about which I've seen the whole of.
2. I have got Rick Wakeman's "The Myths And Legends Of King Arthur And The Knights Of The Round Table" as sheet music! I'm not a big fan of Yes, because their songs often seem to prioritise showing off their progging skills over decent songwriting; but oh such skills, and I make an exception for Wakeman, because he's a keyboardist and I'm just overcome by how impressive his playing is. Fingers shouldn't move that fast. King Arthur is a terrible album - lousy lyrics, even by prog standards, and with a single exception Wakeman's twiddling is weighted down by a choir and full orchestra. Also, it was originally performed on ice. I'm still excited about having a bash though. There's more black on these pages than white, folks; trills and swoops and playing 19 notes in a space there's really only room for two. Watch this space :)
3. If you'd rather not watch this space, then watch Wakeman instead.
4. I'm getting really into funk, in particular listening to a lot of Stevie Wonder and The Brothers Johnson. Funk is one of those music styles that, regardless of how much you enjoy listening to it, always sounds fun to make.
5. Dissertation titles loom on the horizon. I'm not going to talk about mine, because you're all sick of hearing me whine about my university. But a gal in my class has already chosen her topic: bees. Any particular bees? No, just bees in classical texts. It's nice to have ambition.
6. I just saw a cloud shaped like the Starship Enterprise. Is it a sign?
7. There are posters on the Tube advertising careers with MI6. I haven't considered being a spy since my Prisoner phase, but now I reflect its a perfect career for me: apparently adorable, actually devious, Olympic champion in the telling of fibs, good at being nice to absolutely everyone, discreet, likes firearms and a knack for languages. Unfortunately, the poster also notes that you are not meant to tell anyone you have applied for a job, and my immediate thought was they'd probably frown on me having a blog. That's enough to put me off!
8. I bashed my finger yesterday somewhere in Central London, but it didn't hurt so I didn't notice until I saw that my hand was very gory. It wasn't serious, just messy, and inconvenient because I was in the middle of nowhere and really, no one should go travelling in public with their hands covered in blood.
I'm exaggerating a little, the cut was the puniest thing; I wouldn't even have remembered the event if not for the mess I caused before noticing I was suffering a mortal laceration. Never commit a murder. It gets everywhere. I've been cleaning off my posessions ever since. How do you get blood out of clothing? It's splodged my coat, and I've gone at it with a damp sponge, so it doesn't look like blood any more, but there's still a big red stain. My Oyster card just looked nasty, but luckily it wiped clean quickly.
The punchline? Among the items I accidentally smeared was the library copy of Jack the Ripper: The Murders and the Movies. There is now a big red splash down the white spine. I regret nothing.
9. This is a tad morbid, but I visited the Museum of London. They are refurbishing the everything post the Fire of London, so it was a tad dull. I got distracted by the brilliant 7/7 memorial there. I went on a school trip all about memorials to the dead, all marble and sweeping angels, and this is one of the nicest I've ever seen. It was a book of photos and writing by the families and friends of the departed, which made for miserable reading, but I did look through the whole thing and it struck me as a perfect memorial of sorts.
Anyway, it set me thinking, and without being morbid - sorry - it occured to me that accidents do just happen, and you've no concrete idea of "my wishes" - though I'm sure this will all strike you as obvious. I considered putting it on paper, but there's no way I could do it that didn't seem like a letter from beyoooond the graaaave, which is why you get it in blog form. It's the least melodramatic thing I could come up with. First, if I'm in one piece, let the medical services pinch and pickle as many organs as they can. I will almost certainly never get around to putting myself on the organ list. Achieve a funeral as cheaply as possible - cardboard eco-coffin please - and either give what you would have spent to charity, or spend it on a holiday, a really good haircut or some other treat. Please be flippant. I can't take serious occasions seriously, so I see no reason why you should be "respectful" on my behalf. You have 100% of my support to hold the funeral in fancy dress; in fact, please do. It'd be the campest thing ever. As much as I would love a decadant flower arrangement, do charity donations instead of expensive flowers; and while I'm not going to complain if you do get flowers, why not get cheap ones off a garage forecourt or - even better - buy and plant yourself some living things. You can choose the charities. Bury me under a tree if possible. Haven't decided what to do with my Literary And Artistic Legacy yet. Dump my other possessions as you see fit, in a way that best benefits the people I know - I'm sure the Doctor Who collection would go to two good homes - and what you don't want to keep give to charity.
Sorry for dampening the mood. With my organs saving the lives of perhaps four other people, and with everyone I've ever met giving a fiver to their favourite charity, from an economic perspective death almost seems like the best bet* :p
* before you worry, THIS IS A POOR-TASTE JOKE.
The Sci Fi Stuff which you can Skip If You're Not Interested
9. Ex-Who chaps die off all the time, pretty much as regularly as their onscreen counterparts, and the folks on Outpost Gallifrey, bless them, log every single one. I don't normally report it on here because there's so many of them, and also because there's normally not much to say beyond "sad for the family, but he was an old man who had a good life so...". But I felt a tangible sense of sorrow at this news, because one of the things that always impressed me about Pyramids of Mars was how darn good the visual effects were for 1975. How spinetingly and creepy. Of course, the fact that Pyramids of Mars is still marvellous 40-something makes it no more sad, and I don't know what I'm trying to achieve by rambling about it.
10. Overdosing on B7 over the weekend has lead to three very disturbing ideas. As the show is famous for its wildly innacurrate title, I've started making a graph of number of episodes vs. number of main characters. Current data suggests it should perhaps be renamed Blake's 6.75. It's kinda catchy...
11. Our constant point of reference has been modern Battlestar Galactica, considering it basically attempts to do the same brand of serious sci fi only 30 years earlier: from the realism (no silly aliens here!) to the moral ambiguity. Friend 4 and I have been talking about the almost inevitable reboot and why it would or would not suck. She suggests they should recast Avon female.
Suddenly, there is a whole generation of Galactica fans for whom I feel the deepest sympathy.
12. in Leamington Spa, there is a driving company called Starbuck Driving. I am convinced this must be a reference, and it makes me very happy.
13. And this is my final comment on the topic I promise. I wasn't kidding about BSG comparisons, because season 2 has unfortunately imitated that show's most irritating feature.: inconsistant characters. I wish Terry Nation's series bible had defined Avon a little better, because he swings between chummy to antisocial, from challenging to outright mutinous, from professional dislike to a seething pillar of hate. He is an antagonistic character, but each writer has their own take on what exactly that antagonism means. As a canon nazi, I don't like to admit the author's hand - I'd rather find an in-universe solution. But what if the only solution is one you don't like? As Sherlock Holmes says, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?". I always thought that was a stupid idea, especially because in this case infatuation seems like the only way I can rationalise it, especially because his current M.O. goes something like: "always look out for number one! Don't waste your life on stupid selfless gestures! And now I'm going to plunge straight into danger to save you..."
It works, but I still don't like it. It seems too lazy. Please mail better suggestions quickly.
2. I have got Rick Wakeman's "The Myths And Legends Of King Arthur And The Knights Of The Round Table" as sheet music! I'm not a big fan of Yes, because their songs often seem to prioritise showing off their progging skills over decent songwriting; but oh such skills, and I make an exception for Wakeman, because he's a keyboardist and I'm just overcome by how impressive his playing is. Fingers shouldn't move that fast. King Arthur is a terrible album - lousy lyrics, even by prog standards, and with a single exception Wakeman's twiddling is weighted down by a choir and full orchestra. Also, it was originally performed on ice. I'm still excited about having a bash though. There's more black on these pages than white, folks; trills and swoops and playing 19 notes in a space there's really only room for two. Watch this space :)
3. If you'd rather not watch this space, then watch Wakeman instead.
4. I'm getting really into funk, in particular listening to a lot of Stevie Wonder and The Brothers Johnson. Funk is one of those music styles that, regardless of how much you enjoy listening to it, always sounds fun to make.
5. Dissertation titles loom on the horizon. I'm not going to talk about mine, because you're all sick of hearing me whine about my university. But a gal in my class has already chosen her topic: bees. Any particular bees? No, just bees in classical texts. It's nice to have ambition.
6. I just saw a cloud shaped like the Starship Enterprise. Is it a sign?
7. There are posters on the Tube advertising careers with MI6. I haven't considered being a spy since my Prisoner phase, but now I reflect its a perfect career for me: apparently adorable, actually devious, Olympic champion in the telling of fibs, good at being nice to absolutely everyone, discreet, likes firearms and a knack for languages. Unfortunately, the poster also notes that you are not meant to tell anyone you have applied for a job, and my immediate thought was they'd probably frown on me having a blog. That's enough to put me off!
8. I bashed my finger yesterday somewhere in Central London, but it didn't hurt so I didn't notice until I saw that my hand was very gory. It wasn't serious, just messy, and inconvenient because I was in the middle of nowhere and really, no one should go travelling in public with their hands covered in blood.
I'm exaggerating a little, the cut was the puniest thing; I wouldn't even have remembered the event if not for the mess I caused before noticing I was suffering a mortal laceration. Never commit a murder. It gets everywhere. I've been cleaning off my posessions ever since. How do you get blood out of clothing? It's splodged my coat, and I've gone at it with a damp sponge, so it doesn't look like blood any more, but there's still a big red stain. My Oyster card just looked nasty, but luckily it wiped clean quickly.
The punchline? Among the items I accidentally smeared was the library copy of Jack the Ripper: The Murders and the Movies. There is now a big red splash down the white spine. I regret nothing.
9. This is a tad morbid, but I visited the Museum of London. They are refurbishing the everything post the Fire of London, so it was a tad dull. I got distracted by the brilliant 7/7 memorial there. I went on a school trip all about memorials to the dead, all marble and sweeping angels, and this is one of the nicest I've ever seen. It was a book of photos and writing by the families and friends of the departed, which made for miserable reading, but I did look through the whole thing and it struck me as a perfect memorial of sorts.
Anyway, it set me thinking, and without being morbid - sorry - it occured to me that accidents do just happen, and you've no concrete idea of "my wishes" - though I'm sure this will all strike you as obvious. I considered putting it on paper, but there's no way I could do it that didn't seem like a letter from beyoooond the graaaave, which is why you get it in blog form. It's the least melodramatic thing I could come up with. First, if I'm in one piece, let the medical services pinch and pickle as many organs as they can. I will almost certainly never get around to putting myself on the organ list. Achieve a funeral as cheaply as possible - cardboard eco-coffin please - and either give what you would have spent to charity, or spend it on a holiday, a really good haircut or some other treat. Please be flippant. I can't take serious occasions seriously, so I see no reason why you should be "respectful" on my behalf. You have 100% of my support to hold the funeral in fancy dress; in fact, please do. It'd be the campest thing ever. As much as I would love a decadant flower arrangement, do charity donations instead of expensive flowers; and while I'm not going to complain if you do get flowers, why not get cheap ones off a garage forecourt or - even better - buy and plant yourself some living things. You can choose the charities. Bury me under a tree if possible. Haven't decided what to do with my Literary And Artistic Legacy yet. Dump my other possessions as you see fit, in a way that best benefits the people I know - I'm sure the Doctor Who collection would go to two good homes - and what you don't want to keep give to charity.
Sorry for dampening the mood. With my organs saving the lives of perhaps four other people, and with everyone I've ever met giving a fiver to their favourite charity, from an economic perspective death almost seems like the best bet* :p
* before you worry, THIS IS A POOR-TASTE JOKE.
The Sci Fi Stuff which you can Skip If You're Not Interested
9. Ex-Who chaps die off all the time, pretty much as regularly as their onscreen counterparts, and the folks on Outpost Gallifrey, bless them, log every single one. I don't normally report it on here because there's so many of them, and also because there's normally not much to say beyond "sad for the family, but he was an old man who had a good life so...". But I felt a tangible sense of sorrow at this news, because one of the things that always impressed me about Pyramids of Mars was how darn good the visual effects were for 1975. How spinetingly and creepy. Of course, the fact that Pyramids of Mars is still marvellous 40-something makes it no more sad, and I don't know what I'm trying to achieve by rambling about it.
10. Overdosing on B7 over the weekend has lead to three very disturbing ideas. As the show is famous for its wildly innacurrate title, I've started making a graph of number of episodes vs. number of main characters. Current data suggests it should perhaps be renamed Blake's 6.75. It's kinda catchy...
11. Our constant point of reference has been modern Battlestar Galactica, considering it basically attempts to do the same brand of serious sci fi only 30 years earlier: from the realism (no silly aliens here!) to the moral ambiguity. Friend 4 and I have been talking about the almost inevitable reboot and why it would or would not suck. She suggests they should recast Avon female.
Suddenly, there is a whole generation of Galactica fans for whom I feel the deepest sympathy.
12. in Leamington Spa, there is a driving company called Starbuck Driving. I am convinced this must be a reference, and it makes me very happy.
13. And this is my final comment on the topic I promise. I wasn't kidding about BSG comparisons, because season 2 has unfortunately imitated that show's most irritating feature.: inconsistant characters. I wish Terry Nation's series bible had defined Avon a little better, because he swings between chummy to antisocial, from challenging to outright mutinous, from professional dislike to a seething pillar of hate. He is an antagonistic character, but each writer has their own take on what exactly that antagonism means. As a canon nazi, I don't like to admit the author's hand - I'd rather find an in-universe solution. But what if the only solution is one you don't like? As Sherlock Holmes says, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?". I always thought that was a stupid idea, especially because in this case infatuation seems like the only way I can rationalise it, especially because his current M.O. goes something like: "always look out for number one! Don't waste your life on stupid selfless gestures! And now I'm going to plunge straight into danger to save you..."
It works, but I still don't like it. It seems too lazy. Please mail better suggestions quickly.
Comments (7)
I always thought you'd like a quirky headstone - written entirely in elvish or something similar, The Church Police probably don't allow that these days. Also, have you seen any of the B7 episodes that don't have Blake in? That really pays with the title. I keep wondering what would happen to Greys Anatomy if Elen Pompous got bored/fred/hit by truck but they have cleverly intodued her cute littl sister so the series is Ellen-proofed.
Ps I have visions of how poeople taught by Starbuck would drive.Frakkin nuggets!
sorry about the eccentric typing in last interstellar message. CIvl ervice keyboard is rubish
Oh, that would be marvellous! Though if it's one of the two, go for tree over headstone. I believe Blake's off at the end of this season, but it is true that the chief reason I started watching the show was my amusement at any show that would get rid of its named main characer and gleefully carry on.
I suppose nowadays, most shows must take that into account with their titles. Doctor Who came up with a smart get-out clause. I wonder what they will do with Bones?
Greys has quite a wide cast, though, doesn't it? You could easily do what I imagine B7 is going to do - focus on the other characters and keep going.
I remember you telling us to sell your Tragic Story to 'That's Life' or 'Chat' or whatever and give the money to a puppy charity lol.
I don't want to let myself think about this too much given that my walls are covered in Richey tracts but for future reference my instructions are saved to a notepad document on my computer. soundtrack and all. mwhahaha.
sorry, need a bit more evil laughter there:
mwhahahahahahaha.
Oh, I'd forgotten that - but great idea. Make sure you exaggerate my lonesome demise to Mythic Heights. A movie deal would be great...
Also, cheers with the spoilers pa :) I'd be cheesed if you'd told me something I didn't already know...