May 11th, 2009


On Shamelessness

I finally got to watch the 100th episode of Grey's Anatomy otherwise known as The Show About Doomed Young Doctors In Love With Too Many People. It's no longer the show I signed up for, with the wacky drunken sex accidents, and is far too lachrymose for its own good, and it lost something when Addison went off to some other show that bores me too much to watch, even with her in it. Yet, and especially right now, when I am aware of the bleakness and fragility of life and beauty and art, it meets my needs, which is to cry for someone who is not myself or the real people I love, because crying for a bunch of dead kids, or for Izzie Stevens, relieves my feelings and hurts less.

I am noting an odd orthodoxy in American shows not actually dealing with mediums, which is Collapse )


Oh, and I saw Coraline 3-D twice - my review to follow when the TLS prints it in a week or two - and some movie based on a television show that I vaguely remember...Which I loved and may yet post on. And I am reading the new Pynchon.

The real tragedy of Death and Love is this, Life nonetheless goes on, and we grieve, but we listen to The Musical Offering and The Rite Of Spring, and Holly Cole singing Tom Waits, and 69 Love Songs, and life goes on.

Which is something that Shonda is good at showing us.

Daybreak - Roz's opinion if anyone is still waiting for it...

My piece is now up at Strange Horizons here along with one by Karen Reisner, who likes the BSG finale for reasons that are amazingly close to the reasons why I hate it. I think this is going to be one of those things about which people end up just not agreeing.


I had a very weird dream at some point between awaking briefly around 6 and waking up properly at 8, weird in the sense that it seemed that I was watching a movie and yet at the same time hovering among the characters, identified with none of them.

A local hoodlum, successful simply because no-one was prepared to resist him, was planning to torture and kill a blonde whom he believed to owe him some money, or drugs, or a secret, that she did not in fact have, and had never had. His plans involved seething her fore-arm in a pan on a stove and then disposing of her messily once she had spoken in something he called The Macerator.

She turns up, all unknowing, at some sort of public barbecue, accompanied by four men from out of town who have given her a ride, and who instantly go on her enemy's death-list. They would probably have looked out for her anyway, but picking up that they are in trouble, and that some at least of the men present will curry favour with him by helping him dispose of them, they move through the crowd as a single violent unit, knocking people down and telling them to stay still if they do not want worse, and accumulating weaponry as they go.

They come to, and brutally subdue the hoodlum - they are interrupted by a woman in a wheelchair accompanied by several tough-looking women, who says that she is his mother. One of the locals who has joined them slaps her in the face and she kicks him back, then turns to the strangers and says that, if they are putting her son down, she wants in on it, as do her companions whom he has been blackmailing with compromising photographs.

He manages briefly to crawl away - one of the strangers and the blonde catch up with him at the toilet and they were just about to do something terrible to him there when I woke up.

I don't know whether this is a memory of something I saw, or whether it was a response to something I read - and it doesn't seem like anything I would want to write. But it was an interesting fragment of plot, simply because it had this background of people who don't want to get involved, standing around and watching unconcerned while serious violence is going on a few feet from them, and eating potato salad, coleslaw and sausages off paper plates.