fiercelydreamed: (Default)
So that Carly Fiorina "demon sheep" attack ad?

Voiced by Acastus frickin' Kolya, baby.

Seriously, it just gets more and more hysterical that it was made in earnest.

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DUDES. So I'm watching the Castle episode "The Fifth Bullet," in which Riley Finn Marc Blucas is a crime victim with amnesia. The psychologist they've brought in gives the "three kinds of memory" speech, and in a narcissistic moment, I think "Huh, that's basically a paraphrase of the explanation Carson gives John over the phone in Unidentified."

Then, as they're all sitting awkwardly there because no one knows what to call Blucas, Castle suddenly grabs a form, passes it to him, and tells him to sign his name.

And all I'm hearing in my head now is Andrew Welles in the BtVS episode "Storyteller," yelling, "Damn you, get out of my head!"
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You all remember that thing that happened a couple of weeks ago, when [livejournal.com profile] tropes and I stayed on the phone too late? No? Good, because it's really only going downhill from there.


[livejournal.com profile] tropes: I think that John should become mesmerized by Rodney's heart-shaped ass or something. Let's just pull out every cliche.
[livejournal.com profile] fiercelydreamed: You realize I'm typing this verbatim.

After John has a couple of Marines escort Rodney off the premises -- waving at him with that bullshit little smirk, of course -- he turns to the staff sergeant on duty and says, "Who the hell was that guy?" The staff sergeant limply hands over the business card Rodney had slapped down half an hour earlier, and John takes it with him four levels down and back to his office, where instead of attending to his customary duties -- aka making little whooshing noises as he fake-dogfights his mini F-15 and throwing darts at a picture of General O'Neill's head -- he Googles the guy. The website is nondescript. The testimonials are amazing.

Meanwhile, back at his condo and sulking in his utter, utter defeat, Rodney remembers that bullshit little smirk and starts Googling.  )
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So I've gotten in the habit of watching TV while I cook, do dishes, or do other household stuff that happens mainly in one room and doesn't require my full attention 100% of the time. This means that I end up randomly surfing whatever's on Hulu when I run out of new stuff to watch. Tonight, inspired by TWoP's ode to dead sci fi shows, it's Roswell.

Now, my best friend in high school was pretty into it, but I don't think I ever saw a full episode. As a snapshot of recent pop culture history, though, it's amazing. The music: Dave Matthews, Dido, and Sarah McLachlan in 42 minutes? Amazing. The fashion: the non-low-slung pants! Maria sporting 1990's bicurious template haircuts #1 and #2! Dear god, Katherine Heigl's hilariously bad padded bras! (And don't even get me started on the cast: two episodes in, and we've got one degree of separation from TSCC, Band of Brothers, Bones, Buffy, Angel, Supernatural, the West frickin' Wing, and that one show with all the doctors on it. No, not that one, the other one. Not to mention, oh, John Doe.)

This is like late adolescence in a time capsule I never knew anyone had buried for me.

Also, I love Maria. Is there femmeslash?
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So [livejournal.com profile] tropes and I are the phone for reasons that don't bear explaining, and we're suddenly plotting an AU in which Rodney McKay is a professional break-up artist. You know, for those times when it's agony trying to craft the perfect "it's not you, it's me" or "I really valued our time together, but I think it's time we go our separate ways" or "I've filed a restraining order and I want my shit back, you skeezy asshole" -- it's times like those that you really wish you could just contract the whole thing out to a professional. He ghostwrites your break-up email, closes your joint accounts, files the legal paperwork, whatever it takes. And your ex never knows it wasn't you.

So Simon Wallace hires Rodney to break up with Elizabeth Weir, because he doesn't want to eat Athosian food: "It does not sound fan-tastic." This, of course, is not the reason Rodney gives. (Rule #12: the more spurious-sounding the explanation, however truthful, the more back-and-forth correspondence will be required. Clients don't like it when you go over-budget.) So Rodney sends her an elegant break-up letter, firm but oozing integrity, in Simon's impeccably forged left-handed script. And Elizabeth almost buys it, but buried in the middle of paragraph thirteen is a small but decidedly paranthetical joke. And if there's one thing Simon never had, it was a sense of humor.

She goes digging through Simon's personal accounts -- because one of the perks of working for the SGC is you can get an order to hack anything -- and finds a sizeable payment made to Forensic Services, LLC. One emailed work order to the SGC IT department gets her the sole proprieter's name -- Meredith Rodney Ingram McKay, Canadian citizen, Colorado DL 801792635 -- and the address of his business/residence.

It's a slow afternoon. She goes by in person.

The next morning, Elizabeth takes a personal day -- her staff know better than to ever ask -- but at 9 am sharp there's a really pissed-off Canadian guy yelling at the staff sergeant on door duty that he wants to see Dr. Weir right now, no he will not wait, yes he knows this is a secure facility -- though secure is a relative term, those keycard readers are woefully inadequate -- but she should have thought about that before she came to his home. It was a business transaction, that was all: just because she is incapable of separating her personal and professional lives doesn't mean that everyone else suffers from the stunting of emotional intelligence--

The staff sergeant, in a blind panic, dials the first number he can think of, because he remembers John Sheppard bought him a beer that one time and besides, everyone says the guy has the emotional range of drywall. Having no idea what to say and next to no chance of being audible over Rodney's voluminous protestations, the sergeant waits desperately for the click of John picking up and then wordlessly hits "speaker."

[livejournal.com profile] tropes: "Oh my god. This is the greatest thing ever written."

John spends about two and a half minutes listening to Rodney, hears the staff sergeant trying to placate him in half-sentences, figures out where they are and decides to amble upward to see what's going on. This takes a few minutes.

[livejournal.com profile] fiercelydreamed: "Then what?"
[livejournal.com profile] tropes: "Well, it's love at first sight, of course."


***


This concludes our first exciting installment of The Break-Up Artist. Because some things are better in summary than they are in real life. Tune in irregularly as our feature possibly continues. Or not. Whatever.
fiercelydreamed: (Default)
So when I asked you guys for music recently (those of you who offered some: thanks so much, I'm listening to it now and I'll be commenting back soon), one of the tracks [livejournal.com profile] utterfrivolity contributed was Ernie from Sesame Street singing "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon."

Now, I love this song in a completely unironic way (between me and a younger sibling, there was Sesame Street in our house until after I left for college), and it had slipped my mind for years. However, partway through my wistful slipping backwards into childhood nostalgia, I remembered the context for which I'd asked for music in the first place, which was that I was soundtracking an SGA fic.

... OH MY GOD. Can someone please, please make an SGA vid to this? I mean, seriously: everything described by this song either happens literally or figuratively on that show! Just listen!

Ahahahaha.

Aug. 5th, 2008 12:53 pm
fiercelydreamed: (Default)
Oh, Doctor Who series 2 outtakes. I want to shake the hand of whichever Sycorax decided to kill time by recruiting three other Sycorax and singing "Bohemian Rhapsody."
fiercelydreamed: (Default)
Okay, so whenever [livejournal.com profile] thingswithwings and I shoot the shiznit, geek idea pingpong ensues. Tonight's flash of insight? The world needs an SGA/Batman Fusion. Fr srius, peeps.

Our casting thoughts? I'm so glad you asked!

Well, to start off with, Rodney is E. Nygma. )

So if anyone is lacking on things to do on this fine night, you should weigh in! Fill in the blanks! Argue! Or better yet, WRITE THIS. After all, that's the whole point of the DC universe -- anyone can do anything, there's a million spin-offs, and it doesn't need to make sense because you can just retcon it together.

Come on, people! We just gave you a world where John has Ronon's lovechild.
fiercelydreamed: (ho for the cause)
Hey guys, I'm working on a fic and was wondering something:

1. Did/do Canadian high schools have Home Ec? Or an equivalent thereof?

2. If not, would Canadians at least be familiar with the concept (from American friends/pop culture/whatever)?


By the way, I should take a moment to say thanks to all of you who keep chiming in to answer my various canon and RL questions. What with the end of the quarter and life stuff that interrupted my internet access, I know I've been crap about replying to comments for the last month or so, but I really do appreciate the time and help. :)
fiercelydreamed: (Default)
Rodney McKay has this taped to the lid of his laptop.




For those of you whose browsers won't display the alt-text, it reads: On the other hand, physicists like to say physics is to math as sex is to masturbation.
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Bones, I like you a lot, and I want to like you more. So you know what would be stellar? If you would have characters played by large people where a) the point of the character is not their size and b) they aren't portrayed as unstable at best, mentally ill at worst. Pathologizing fat is neither funny nor cute, so knock it off already.

Seriously.

ETA. Seriously. Thanks for hiring an attractive fat woman under the age of 35 (a fucking rarity on TV, period), and making her a stalker. Stellar and in no way fat-phobic story choice, guys.
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I took Angel S5 out of the library and I've got it going in the background while I do homework.


...

Wow, I know you guys had told me that this season was slashy, but the word we want here may actually be gay. As in, this subtext is mostly text.

Frickin' awesome.

ETA: Ahahahahhahaha the kid who gets whammied at the beginning of "Smile Time" is baby!Dean. I don't even care how much retconning it takes, this is my new personal SPN canon.
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I am positive that, after four years of fandom, there has to be fic and/or art of an SGA AU of The Wizard of Oz where Teyla is Dorothy, Ronon is the Scarecrow, John is the Tin Man, and Rodney is the Cowardly Lion. It's impossible that there isn't. So will someone please link me to it now?

I will also accept other cross-characterizations, as long as John is Dorothy they make a sufficient amount of sense or are so cracked out that I'm laughing too hard to care.

Should this somehow not exist, you are collectively responsible for fulfilling the "yet" implicit on the end of this sentence's first clause.


Hi! Can you tell academia is starting to destroy my brain yet?
fiercelydreamed: (Default)
So, the way I use this journal is generally pretty narrow, but today I'm stuck inside on a gorgeous Saturday poking at an SPSS database of national travel information that I only sort of understand. Normally, this is the kind of thing that gives me lots of geeky pleasure, but guys: it is beautiful outside, it's the weekend, it's over 75 degrees for the first time since -- jeez, probably October, and I. Am stuck. Inside. (For which I have only myself to blame.)

I've discovered a weird thing about my ability to concentrate: if I give myself a specific off-task thing I can use to break up the work, I actually concentrate better and dick around less than if I try to stay 100% focused. Since more people read this journal than my RL one, I figure I'm more likely to find confederates here.

So, let's play complete the sentence!

Rules are simple: you comment with the start of a sentence, I reply with the rest of it. These can be fannish (i.e. John Sheppard's ugliest pair of boxers are) or personal (i.e. If I could spend the rest of the day doing something totally undignified, it would be), or whatever, really. I'll probably opt out of anything personal enough that it'd otherwise be under lock at my primary journal, and due to current venue I need to avoid anything really NC-17 (though suggestive and innuendo-laden is fine *g*). Other than that, have at!*


*... please? Seriously, I'm going nuts here.

ETA: Game closed! But this was so much fun that I think I'll have to repeat it again soon. Thanks for the great prompts, guys!

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