zoubida: veronica at 'puter
So now the food conglomerates, after successfully inflating the portion sizes of the meals Americans eat outside the home, are trying to convince us that three square meals a day are not enough:

The campaign is called “fourth meal” and was originally launched in a series of Taco Bell spots telling kids that “everyone is a fourth mealer — some just don’t know it yet.” Now, new “fourth meal” ads are once again popping up all over television, insisting that “sometimes the best dinner is after dinner.” The ads are backed by an eponymous website and a “cravinator” smartphone app that helps binge eaters select their junk food of choice.

zoubida: veronica at 'puter
Robert Downey Jr.: "If Steve Rogers and Tony Stark’s relationship doesn't work, then the film doesn’t work." 


Avengers Trailer #2
This makes my heart burst, at the thought that the world at large will soon know how awesome Joss fucking Whedon is. May 4th, 12:01am cannot come soon enough.

zoubida: veronica at 'puter
I had been increasingly fuming about writers using "vice" when they mean "vise" but then my handy-dandy OED informed me that "vice" is the British spelling of "vise."

The English language makes my head hurt.

(no subject)
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
Veronica Mars, 3x11 "Poughkeepsie, Tramps and Thieves":

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Reading Log
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
The Towers of Trezibond by Rose Macaulay. It's one of those slight, batty, slyly funny British novels that are terribly amusing, until there's a sharp turn to quietly devastating and deep. A quote:

"The fact was that Father Chantry-Pigg would not really have liked the Byzantines much had he encountered them, though he would have preferred them to Turks and other Moslems. He was not actually a sympathetic clergyman, and, had he been with his ancestor for the great attack on Constantinople in 1203, he would have been amongs those who, brandishing the cross above their heads, massacred and pillaged and looted in the name of Latin Christendom, helping to put to flame the great libraries whose loss he now deplored. He was better at condemning than at loving; aunt Dot used to wonder what Christ would have said to him."

The tone is sly, batty, faux-naive, very British. A seemingly slight novel, but the further I read, the more depth it displays. I'm only a third of the way into it, and I can best descibe the subject matter as a meditation on religion, on the inseparable foolishness and profundity of religious sentiment, as well as a charmingly eccentric travalogue of the exotic East -- the Trezibond of the title being in Turkey.

The Heartbreak Kid by astolat. Eric/Vince, Entourage. *yay* It's as fabulously written as anything you'd expect from astolat, with the funny, the perfect plot developments and the hotness, but I loved this story for how perfectly she captures the show -- the characters, the world, the relationships -- and shape them into a kick-ass slash story. They could film this story and make it the third season finale; heck, even the explicit gay sex is so something HBO could air.

Fair by minnow1212. McKay/Sheppard, SGA. So beautiful, a descriptor I don't throw around lightly. The highest compliment I can pay is that after I finished reading, I didn't want to leave the headspace this story had put me in. Lyrical and lovely, minnow1212 takes a crack!fic idea and makes it into something as gleaming and precious as a gem.

Sisyphus toiling
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
Oh Jesus God -- this is ridiculous -- I'm too young to be hunched over the keyboard wincing and whimpering because my back feels crap and my neck won't bend left without *screaming pain*. In other related news, I've decided to name my laptop (only ONE YEAR after buying it) "Back Pain". It gets along swimmingly with my pillow, "Neck Pain". Together, they form an unbeatable "Pain in my ASS" club of destruction.

er: my life has been work - work - homework! - homework! - homework! for the past few weeks, and the only thing keeping me sane is that I don't have the flu. I do currently have a cold, though.

I'm also:

* reading like mad (re-read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn again last week and it still makes me want to cuddle Huck until he can't breathe; he is seriously the most adorable character in all of great American literature),

* watching Scrubs on DVD,

* did go to see Beach Blanket Babylon last Friday (according to wiki, the longest running cabaret show in America, having "sold out every performance for 32 years, with close to 12,000 performances") and commiserated with a friend over sinfully fattening dessert the miserable state of our respective love lives -- he got depressed, while I remain Zen.

* and decided to dub Congressman Don Sherwood with a new nickname: I think "Congressman Choke-a-Bitch" is very fitting. Also dashing and quite appealing to this young "hip hop" generation.

Music Video Rec
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
I'll be upfront and admit that I don't like most music videos. I think the ones that aren't actively offensive (boobies flying and ass-shots and jiggling girl bits) or pretentious (Hello, indie bands of the emo!) are boring (the rest of them). They rarely work as more than a fancified showcase for the song, rarely have the kinetic energy of a good movie even, but sometimes someone gets it right:

Here It Goes Again by OK Go. The song is cute and energetic, but the video rocks. It's a single shot, one-take (no cutting), with a totally static camera in front of which the bandmembers do this incredibly witty dance on treadmill. It reminds me of those routines Fred Astaire did with props, a casually picked-up umbrella or a coat hanger that turned deftly into a dance partner in his hands, where the wittiness of the initial idea is fully utilized and it becomes more than a gimmick. Something that could be really cheesy or stupid-looking is instead delightful; I literally cannot stop smiling every time I watch this video. Four guys doing a complicated, coordinated and syncopated dance on the movie surfaces of two rows of treadmills: oh-so awesome.

X2 recs
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
I am so bad! I haven't posted fannishly in a long, long time, maybe because I've been missing the new season of SGA and not really caring, and just generally out of squee right now. I'm squee-deficient. I thought -- was really looking forward to -- Superman Returns stuffing me full to bursting of squee, but yeah, that didn't work out so well. I'm still struggling to articulate my responses to the move, both positive and negative, but what I did, after seeing the dismal X3, was re-watch X2 to see if it was really that much better (YES IT TOTALLY WAS!!!) and hunt up stories to go with my jiving-to-X2 mood:

Overture by wax_jism, Bobby/John

This is a story I read years ago and loved forever. Wax captures John's inner voice so perfectly that he's fleshed out from a character with maybe 15 minutes of meaningful screentime to this boy saddled with a bushelfull of thorny, teenaged issues. She gives John an inner life that the movie only suggested, and her vision is so believeable that it influenced the way I saw his character when I re-watched the movie. It feels that powerfully true. The story also does one of my favorite slash tropes (*koff* boarding school boysex, yes!) to perfection.

For the Kingdom of Heaven by c_elisa, Hank gen

Harsh, insightful and clear-eyed look at the true meaning of what the Cure could mean in the world of the X-Men. Both the movie and the comics could learn from this story; it takes the Cure storyline from the world of politics and mutant wars and makes it achingly personal. Gorgeous in a low-key way.

His Terrible Sword by [Unknown LJ tag], mostly gen with pairings

There are things I dislike about this story (Logan/Marie is wrong, wrong, wrong) but the good things far outweigh the bad. This is just good storytelling; careful character development, delicate managing of the relationships and emotions, and everything working under the mastery of the plot. I just sat back and admired her craft, because it's a 400 KB story with the perfect blend of romance, action and character-building.

The bigger problem I have has to do with the juice of the orange; in the intro to A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess explains the significance of his title: "orange" is Malay slang for human being, a "clockwork orange" meaning a mechanical human, and Burgess's meaning is that the point of a human being is the juice of the orange -- without that sweet, pulpy tartness, you've only got a clockwork orange, something mechanical and programmable. I think "His Terrible Sword" is a good story, but I don't know if it has any juice inside.

going down series by astolat, Erik/Charles/Mystique

Chock full of the juice of the orange. Erik and Charles with Mystique their conduit in-between: this series of short stories reminds me of Hitchcock's best movies, of possessive, undeniable love that's been bent out of true and made even more compelling because of it. It's a love that's been repudiated and denied, but overwhelmingly powerful. And the best part of all is Mystique's slightly detached viewpoint as the outsider; she has her own feelings and thoughts about what exactly is happening, and her clarity is chilling.

Feed Me To The Tabloid Monster by apocalypsos, Bobby/Marie

ahahahahahaa!!! Crack-fic! Mpreg! too fucking funny:

"Once upon a time, Frosty the Snowman and the original Mutant Hose Beast got hitched and decided to try making a very small person who cried. But seeing as how the original Mutant Hose Beast tended to shut down internal organ systems with a kiss, making a baby the usual way would be difficult. And to be honest, really painful to Frosty.

So Frosty's best friend, Hefty Smurf, suggested that the loving couple do something very gross with a turkey baster. This didn't go over well."

Weather breaking; drifting from SGA
zoubida: veronica at 'puter
Living in San Francisco has many advantages (one of them: fabulous burritos) and one of the best ones has to be the fog. Oh, how I have missed you, you great gray beast on little cat's feet. The heat wave never got too bad here; it topped off around 90-ish degrees, and even with the heat, it was never truly unbearable because of the breezes coming off the ocean. But still, native-born and -bred San Franciscans recoil from actual hot weather; when it hits the eighties, everybody goes about in tank tops and pale arms, complaining about the heat. We're not built for this!

When I was in high school, I read an essay by E.B. White lamenting the advent of air conditioning in New York, how it robbed the summer days and nights of their tropical flavor, when the whole city was transformed into a simmery, heated urban jungle. In my naivete, I thought his sentiments romantic and sweetly nostalgic because I had never experienced searing summer heat. I sincerely thought that propping open a window on the side of the house not facing the sun and staying in the shade adequate for anything summer could throw at one; it wasn't until I lived outside of S.F. that I really understood the pernicious effects of heat. I want to go back and kick my own stupid backside. I also never ever want to live any place that isn't right by the ocean (or without great burritos).

But yay! the fog is back, and beautiful and it even began drizzling a little tonight as I was driving home after midnight. Tonight was also the third time since the SGA premiere that I've gone out on Friday nights, and the third time I haven't bothered to set the VCR. Or download the ep. I'm drifting from the show something fierce, and I don't care. Instead, I got home by 2am, ate a very late supper and watched Midnight, an extremely charming 1939 romantic comedy (in the French farce/Continental style) starring Claudette Colbert and co-written by Billy Wilder. It's not out on DVD, but should be; it's sparkling and funny and surprisingly sexy.


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