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SPN 8x12

So I said that I was going to be hanging out on LJ more.  Well, this is what you get...

Train of thought blatherings and this is how I am at 2 amCollapse )

*jazz hands*

The last year and a half has been tough.  Pregnancy-induced anemia, baby #2 and the whole newborn and prolonged sleep deprivation hullabaloo, an Autism diagnosis for kid #1, a new house, moving into the new house, all on top of regular life and adjusting to having two kids under the age of 3 running around.  During that time free time was a rare luxury and, out of necessity, any surpluses of mental and emotional energy was allocated to decompression personal time, family, and RL friends in that order.

My fannish online time consisted of flyby speed reads of my flist and maybe leaving the occasional emoticon as a sad excuse for a comment.  And even though I would’ve liked to engage in thinkiness and many of the interesting discussions I’m sure were circulating, I couldn’t read anything more than a couple of paragraphs of text because I was mentally and emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted.  But more worrisome, my sense of humor divorced me and my dorky, geektastic, silly self retreated to a dark corner of my brain and decided not to come out until I stopped playing emergency grown-up.  In short, real life kidnapped me and didn’t bother leaving a ransom note at my LJ.

So sorry, flist, for being MIA for … years.  :(  I can’t promise I’ll be as active in fandom as I was back in the S2-S3 era of supersonic fangirl squee, but I’m finding that I’m feeling more energetic and inspired and itching for some fannish projects and good old discussions.  I’ve got a couple of posts brewing that I’m jazzed about, including some thoughts about why I feel like SPN is backwards and inside out this season, a visual meta about the influence of Gothic literature in SPN circa “Playthings” (2x11), and some blabberings about the writers’ execution and the audiences’ perception regarding supporting characters.  It feels good to have extracurricular thoughts again.  :)  For a while I thought my brain was permanently stuck on RL mode.  But most of all I’m feeling excited about just being here again.  *looks around and makes victory arms*

So cheers to 2013 and hopefully some extra time to get reacquainted with you, my flist!  You can expect more updates from me, personal and fannish.  And even though I may not have anything intelligent or worthwhile to say, you may be seeing me pop up at your journals more often.  Watch out!  *hurkie jumps and pompoms and manic smiley faces*

SPN 8x10: Dissecting Visual Drama

I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed how awesome the Sam-and-Dean-stalk-around-the-warehouse scene was.  It was visually the most memorable of the episode not only because it was Sam and Dean and their badass selves stalking around a warehouse but also because it was *dramatic* looking.  But what does dramatic mean exactly?  How do you define it visually?  And how do you make a scene look dramatic using camera, lights, and actors with rubber knives tiptoeing around?  There’s not a single answer for any of that as, I think, most of it’s contextual, but here’s an attempt to breakdown this scene to see some ways it was made to look so badass cool and *dramatic*.

Read more...Collapse )


If you're interested in more nerdy camera talk for this episode go here.

YES

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While I put K down to sleep for the night, I watch parts of mindless TV shows on Hulu on my computer with my headphones.  Tonight I was watching short clips from some of this weekend's ComiCon panels when I stumbled upon a mention of a 10th Anniversary Firefly Panel and promptly and silently (because, you know, drowsy baby in lap) freaked out.  Then, of course, being that I have no self control, I watched the entire 55+ minute panel instead of doing laundry (yes, I do laundry at night) or dishes (ugh, dishes) or helping my husband put T to bed even though I could hear them singing songs and someone jumping on the bed on the other side of the wall (shhh, some nights it takes a really long time to put K to sleep *nudgewink*). 

But, wow.  If you've ever wanted to see Nathan Fillion grab wads of Kleenex and cry (multiple times) or Joss Whedon get verklempt and teary while making impassioned speeches (multiple times), now's your chance.  I've never seen such an emotional or passionate panel.  And what amazes me even more is that this was for a show (and subsequent feature film) that aired a decade ago and was only 14 episodes long *boggles*.  Talk about resonating with fans.  It's hard to imagine what kind of following and response Firefly would've received if the show was allowed to fully develop or even finish out a full season or two.  Two thumbs down FOX executives.  I bet they've been eating their hat(s) for the last decade.  Booya! 

So for all you Browncoats still out there, watch this.  Don't forget your Kleenex. :')

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This originally was intended to be a small comment for spnematography’s episode discussion for “Reading is Fundamental” (7x21), but it grew into something bigger and took me too long to post in a timely manner for the discussion prompt.  So, weeks months later, here it is.  Whoops, deadlines.

The meta fairy visited...Collapse )

An article was posted about how JA and JP approach their craft and the story behind the camera.  The second paragraph of the article discusses JA’s directorial choices.  It reads:

Yay!Collapse )
Edlund leaving SPN.

What?!??!!  Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.... *crumples to the floor*

My inner fangirl is in a tizzyCollapse )

SPN 7x21: What was that?

What up, yo?

Hello virtual world!  *waves with both hands*  I don’t know if anyone is reading this journal anymore but I thought I’d jump in and babble for a while since the stars have aligned and K is actually NAPPING.  OMG.  A miracle.  *pees pants out of excitement*

Nattering about TeeVee and potties and much needed vacationsCollapse )

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If Sam and Dean were cellists

I'm so articulate ... whoa intense.  Maximize the screen, turn the volume up and put on your headphones for these.



Being a Mom? I quit. Seriously. That bullet train zooming between France and Britain, untouchable and buried under hundreds of feet of water and on the other side of the gigantic ocean called the Atlantic? I’m on it. It’s dark and quiet and I have my own music playing loudly and I have two free hands and I can sit on my computer and be a dork and drink coffee and wine (maybe even both at the same time just for the hell of it). But most of all I’m utterly and completely ALONE. There is no dinner to make, no laundry reproducing in the closet, no Little People or plastic potatoes waiting to ambush my feet on the way to the kitchen at 2 am, no Elmo stickers clandestinely hiding on the back of my sweater or my butt when I go to the grocery store. Nobody wants to suck on my boob or is crying because their banana broke in half. My showers don’t include a crotch-high peeping tom licking the shower door. My laptop is not playing Super Why or Elmo and Friends or The Wiggles. I can talk on my phone without it being commendeered for that talking, farting, cake-throwing cat app. My hair is styled in something other than a ponytail. I do not smell like baby barf. I’m blissfully unaware that newborn baby poop looks like mustard and cottage cheese had a wrestling match. I don’t have to make a plan of attack that would rival anything the Pentagon could draft and requires 6 trips from the car to unload 2 kids, a double stroller, a diaper bag, library books that only have cartoon characters on the covers, and groceries that always include toilet paper, laundry detergent, and macaroni and cheese. I am composed and unhurried and look calm and serene and smile at everybody. People think I’m awesome. I don’t have to wrestle anybody into their pajamas backwards at 3 pm everyday because they’ll strip naked and use their room as a toilet. There is no such thing as potty training. Or dirty diapers. Or diapers whatsoever. I can read the newspaper without it being ripped in half or chewed on or drooled on. I can sit and eat a meal without getting up once. My feet don’t stick to the dried applesauce on the floor. There is no applesauce on the floor. There is no food on the floor period. The toilet paper is on the dispenser. I’m not continually bested by baby gates, doorknob and outlet safety caps, and cabinet locks. Nobody hug-grabs my legs and sticks their head in my butt as I’m walking up or down the stairs. There are no claps or high-fives at dinner. No triumphant smiles and screeched HORRAYS while making Play-Doh pancakes. No sleeping milk-breath babies. No sneak-attack hugs or spin arounds in the living room. No singing Wheels on the Bus loudly in the car. No bubble chasing at the park. No Santa. Nobody greets me like I'm the best thing ever just happened. I’m not the best thing that ever happened. I’m totally awesome, but there’s nobody there to share it with.

Okay, I feel marginally better. Meltdown narrowly averted. I don’t think I’ll run away anymore. As you were. Carry on.

As you can see, RL is kicking my butt literally.  One day I hope to rejoin the world of fannish squee and silliness (because it's obvious I need both like whoa).  Pray for my survival.  *treads water and scans the horizon for the lifeboats*

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The World is Made of FAIL

There are very few things that make me get up on my soapbox and scream at the sky in frustration. It seems, though, that the news has decided it's about time for an all out scream fest (or has decided I should be enraged enough to vent at my hibernating journal). *raises fists* This past week I've run into more news articles that have my hackles up that I almost don't want to read anything else for fear that I'll run screaming into traffic.

I've mentioned my issues with girls' clothing before, so when I saw the JCPenney debacle resurface yet AGAIN, I stared incredulously at my computer screen. Really? Who are the people creating, sanctioning, promoting, and selling shirts with these kind of blatantly sexist messages on them? Not only do teenagers and tweens have to deal with being teenagers and tweens, but to have messages that tell them being smart is lame toted as fashionable and cool is wrong.  It's even more disturbing when that message emphasizes being pretty and having one's brother do their homework because one can't.  

Then there was a blatantly discriminatory bit of legislation passed in the North Carolina House of Representatives disallowing anyone to challenge the ban on gay marriage. So not only are gay marriages already illegal but the Republican-lead House is looking to make it impossible for judges to overrule the same-sex marriage ban on top of it. This is the state I now live in, and the state I'm raising my kids. How depressing. I'm now fully understanding the converstation I had with another woman whose life circumstances are very similar to mine who was desperate to move back to LA so she could raise her children "anywhere but here" (here meaning South Carolina, but close enough). The only marginally decent things associated with this is 1) voters will vote on this amendment in May and 2) the mayor of our town wrote an official and lengthy letter of non-support for this change. You better bet I already have my voter's registration card handy.

Finally, some of you may remember my long post last year about childhood vaccinations (specifically the varicella vaccine), so when Michele Bachmann began reciting a story about a women who had a daughter who suffered mental retardation as a result of the HPV vaccine on national forums, I buried my face in my hands and screamed. This propagation of misinformation, lies even, affects lives, and what's worse is that Bachmann refuses to take responsibility for her claims and instead reiterates that she was just reporting what a women told her. So now, apparently, politicians can make whatever claims they want and presumably affect policy based on anecdotal stories from random strangers. Nice job, America. 

Things like this make me wonder if the sky is going to fall in tomorrow morning because it sure seems like things almost can't get worse. 

P.S.  On a positive note, my youngest brother is now a daddy and I'm a new auntie.  Welcome to the great big world Nolan Robert.  I hope we can make it a place you can be proud to live in.  *kisses and hugs*

Also, one of these days I'm hoping to find the time/energy for a proper and overdue update with pictures.  Sorry for being MIA.

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9/11

Remember.
So remember when I was all "I miss being a spaz!?" :(  I've apparently found my inner fangirl again.  And apparently I have a thing for glasses.  A BIG THING.  Narrghhhhhhh.  Is it wrong I want to crawl up his face to get a closer look?  OMG.  JP why so geeky hot in those?!!  I think Sam needs to become farsighted yesterday now so he has to wear glasses to do research and write in his little FBI notebook thing and to pick locks and to just randomly pull them out and put them on to see things.  And Dean will give him crap about it in a big brother way but then get seriously concerned when Sam breaks his glasses and can't see anything (ha, see?  I can turn even inanimate objects into the focus of a h/c fic! \o/).  Wheee.  It's almost next Friday.  :) 

There better be more JIB Con pictures surfacing with these ASAP. 


source

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Hard Drive Dump 3: Fic

I’m still attempting to do hard drive housekeeping.  As with most things of late, it’s sporadic, unpredictable and sort of manic.  *waves the white flag of surrender at life*  Ugh.

Title:
The Pieces You Carry
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1450
Warnings: Language
Summary: The summer after Sam is gone, Dean drives.  Pre-S6.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any part of the Supernatural universe.
A/N: The result of a flash prompt from hugemind.  I finally got around to capping off the end.  I hope you enjoy the rest, sweets!

All Dean needs, besides Sam, is space.Collapse )

SPN 6x13

DEAR CW,



That is all.

Damn you, Cosmic Justice League

Once upon a time there was a little girl who was wonderfully naive and unknowingly happy in her ignorant bliss (because how can you know you’re happy about not knowing things you don’t know yet?).  Then that little girl grew up and had her own little girl and began learning how much she really didn’t know ever.  And she began to think about conversations she’d had as a little girl with her parents and how there must be some sort of omniscient and all-knowing cosmic justice league somewhere laughing their faces off at her now. 

Little girl: If there’s Mother’s Day, then why isn’t there a Kid’s Day?
Parents in unison: Because every day is Kid’s Day.
Little girl: But I don’t get presents everyday.  No fair.

*facewall*

Today we tried out a new music class, which consisted of about 8 other parents/babies (babies ranged in age from 10-16.5 months).  T spent probably 35 minutes of the 40 minute session running the perimeter of the circle, dancing in the middle of the circle, visiting all the other kids, trying out other peoples’ laps, playing with the group leader's demonstration doll, and dashing to the door to play with the doorknob.  The 5 minutes she was with me was because I was holding her as we whoosed through the air to music.  I know I’m suppose to nurture her little self and help direct her natural tendancies blah blah, but, OMG, I have to get this out:

There are kids who will just sit still for 10’s of minutes at a time?!?! 

I don’t know what to do with this information.

I found myself staring in wonderment at all the other kids sitting quietly in their mom’s/grandmother’s laps.  And then wondering why the hell my kid won’t sit still.  And then starting to be alarmed while words like “ADHD” began to zip through my head.  And then I felt terrible for thinking those things instead of being proud that T is so daring and fearless and naturally curious, which led to doubting my parenting abilities, which led to fears about having an out-of-control and dysfunctional kid who will never be able to have a happy and well-adjusted life.  And all the while we’re singing “Hickory Dickory Dock” and shaking plastic egg maracas.  I felt like I was having some silent existential crisis.

Then I went home, fed T, read her stories, put her down for her nap, took one look at the dirty dishes on the kitchen counter and the food refuse from lunch splattered on the floor (and wall), went straight to the cupboard and got a container of dark chocolate peanut butter cups, walked past the dirty bathrooms and the buzzing dryer, and plugged myself into my computer where I’m now listening to a stupid Katy Perry song on repeat (WTH?!) and going slowly and quietly insane.  Jesus.

P.S. So apparently when under duress, I eat peanut butter cups and I watch TED.  Here's a honest and humorous look at the reality of parenting, taboos and all. 

Hard Drive Dump 2: Fic (OMG, What?)

In another lifetime I pretended to write fic.  But most of the time what came out was lame and over indulgent so I would just stockpile everything on my HD and then delete it whenever I felt the need to purge and organize my life ... very therapeutic.  Anyway, in 2011 I've somehow decided not to press the delete key.  Yikes.  So, f-list, have some fic.  :)

Title:
You’re the answer I should know
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,200
Warnings: violence, language
Summary: Hell recycles.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any part of the Supernatural universe.
A/N: A reinterpretation of who Meg was.  

She smells them. And it makes her feel alive.Collapse )

I officially feel like a walking zombie.  As in brain dead and aimless.  The new semester is about to start and not having any classes to prepare for, I think I'm on the verge of hysteria.  Whoever would've guessed that staying at home and taking care of a 1 year old would be so rewarding and simultaneously mentally destabilizing.  *is slowly going insane*  On top of that I feel like I'm intellectually constipated to the point that I'm starting to seriously wonder if something is damaged.  So in order to make myself do something besides domestic things and in the spirit of cleaning out the old and bringing in the new for a new year, every week I'm going to post some fandom-related project that has been lingering on my hard drive for eons until they're all gone.  Yep.  No matter how many typos and incomplete thoughts, no matter how old the project *waves at SPN S3*, no matter how purple the prose or ridiculous the plot, no matter how much of a disaster it is, I'm going to post it.  Prepare yourselves for ... I don't even know (see? I can't even come up with a suitable analogy) this journal is going to become an excavation site of an ancient and ugly landfill called bowtrunckle's hard drive dump.  Feel free to wave your pompoms, groan into your hands, silently pity me and my lack of brainwaves *beep beep beep booooooooooooo*, or join me in my housekeeping.  :D

That being said, here's the first dump.  Whew, I already feel better deleting this file.  One down and who knows how many to go!

\o/Collapse )

When Fandom Meets RL

It's snowing here.  Not just a dusting of snow, but full fledged stick-your-tongue-out-and-catch-a-million-fluffy-flakes snow.  The kids in the neighborhood are going C-R-A-Z-Y crazy.  Our street is filled with shrieks of glee and a gaggle of brightly colored, stiffly running marshmallow kids (i.e. in snowsuits and ginormous coats) running in circles.  Right now I'm watching our 2-year old neighbor lick snow off the rear bumper of a car parked in the street. XD  It makes for amusing window gazing.  And being that I'm baking and am afforded a window view from the kitchen, I get to watch all the antics, and I saw something that reminded me of how important siblings are and of two fictional brothers who once were little boys. 

There are two little boys who live across the street.  They're brothers obviously.  One is maybe 8 or 9, the other probably 4 or 5.  The older brother is tall and gangly and has sandy-colored hair, the younger has a mop of dark hair.  When it started to snow, the older brother bolted out of the house and ran up and down the street barefoot, whooping and yelling with his hands in the hair.  After a moment the front door opened again and out vaulted the little brother, who took a flying leap down the front steps and ran after his brother, jumping and yelling and doing a little brother imitation of whatever his big brother was doing.  After a while they got tired and ambled back to their house.  I thought that was the end of that and went back to baking.  Then A walked by the window and said something about the neighbor kids hopping around on their front step.  I went to the window and saw the two boys still outside in their T-shirts and barefoot, apparently they locked themselves out.  The little brother was hopping from foot to foot, trying to keep his toes off the ground as the older brother fiddled with the doorknob.  Then the older brother glanced down at his little brother next to him, got down on his hands and knees, and proceed to stand barefoot on the snowy steps with his little brother on his back until his mom opened the door and let them inside.

*sniff* 

Boys.  Be brothers again soon.  Apparently my brother love deficit is critically low such that I'm seeing fannish connections in RL.  In the meantime, anyone have any good brother-bonding wee!chester fic recs? 

Fic Rec

So lately I've been pursuing other fannish endeavors, mostly regressing back to my first fandom because SPN has become so difficult for me to watch.  Then I somehow stumbled upon this fic by gretazreta and was reminded of the amazing quality of writing the SPN fandom possesses.  I don't read a lot of fic and I certainly don't devour a 44,000 word story in one evening, but tonight I did (and look at what time it is!).  This story is a merging of SPN S1-S5 and the novel "The Time Traveler's Wife".  It twists the canon of both just right such that this new story has legitimate legs while somehow remaining true to both the original sources, and, like the novel, this story pretzels in on itself in the most satisfying way, making you want to read more and more and more until you're up at obnoxious hours of the night pounding away on your keyboard and blabbing in run-on sentences into the void of the internet.  This is such a gorgeous story.  The writing is tight and deft and not at all purple, yet gets the reader right where they need to be--in the emotional story, inside the head space of SamandDean.  It's the Winchester boys so wrapped up in each other that it reminds me of the fic the SPN fandom was producing during S2 and the S2-S3 hiatus--when it was just Sam and Dean and their Big Fat Tragic Devotion against all else.  And perhaps that's partially why I enjoyed it so very much.  It reminded me of what was (and I hope will be again) the heart of this little show about two brothers and their epic love story.  If you haven't read this, do it now.

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