fj: (health)
Thick-ribbed whole grain baked "crisps" spread on aluminum foil in the oven pan, stacked many many small slices of mozarella, put under the broiler. Meanwhile quickly heat can of hormel vegetarian chilli, add pre-cooked pieces of chicken. Store half of mixture for tomorrow's lunch, pour the rest over the molten cheese on "crisps", back under broiler to heat up some more. Put both salsa and guacamole, at which Tesco makes a really credible and fresh attempt, and cottage cheese in ramekins, remove food from oven, transfer the whole mess by the aluminum foil to a plate, put on tray with ramekins to take to dinner table. Oh yes, I had nachos, after, like, 6 million years. And yes, with the way I eat salsa and guac, you'd never know I used cottage cheese instead of sour cream, I know myself. I can't even write down dessert. Now that's a good start of the weekend.

I am in a spate of dowloading classics to watch over BitTorrent. They come in in about an hour or two. Not eveyrthing is there, but the ones that are are seeded and hosted with great care over thick pipes. Brief Encounter -- man that guy was fresh and pushy -- Imitation Of Life (1953, Lana Turner version, no waffles), The Day The Earth Stood Still. This could be a fun habit, althought mininova tells me nobody is hosting either Mommy Dearest nor The Best Of Everything. Also, it's really weird to get to the end credit of a movie and not get Robert Osborne telling me some trivia. It's like the movie didn't finish properly. It's just not right, you know.

 By the way, I am taking suggestions for classic pulp 50s Sci-Fi. I am not sure I have seen them all.

Geekery

Jun. 5th, 2008 08:52 pm
fj: (tech)
Is ST:TAS considered canon?

Edit: Yes, I corrected spelling.
fj: (Hector The Protector)
You know, maybe 2000 was too early, but you'd think that then by 5768 we'd have our goddamn flying cars!
fj: (Default)
Last night, going home from the gym in downtown LA at 8.30 or so, I saw a 9-year-old dressed in Luke Skywalker costume, walking with a chaperone. Today, having left home early, in that same downtown intersection, at 5.30 or so, crossing with a large group of people were two early twenty-somethings, or late teens, in full Jedi get-up. While everyone else around them tried to pretend not to notice, I gave them a discreet thumbs-up.

I suddenly got this strong urge to follow them and ghost that convention. Doesn't matter how kinky or buff or styled I may ever become; these nerds are still more my people.
fj: (Default)
No, there won't be a spoiler cut here. Just glance overt his post or trust me to not ruin your fun if you haven't caught up yet to Sunday's Season Finale.

Battlestar Galactica (current TV version) [BSG] is the anti-Babylon 5 [B5]. While I had great interest in B5 when it first came out -- right up until the Telegothis thing and then I dropped out -- I can't stand to watch it in re-runs. Once I am no longer surprised by the twists and turns of the story, the actual lines of dialog that flatten every character into a caricature, coupled with the embarrassing incompetence at, or lack of desire to, actually work said lines into something worthy of being called a performance on the part of most of the actors, just becomes too painful to watch. Once I know you will flatten a planet three episodes from now there is no point in watching you say single-minded crap without a hint there's more to your character than a vessel for getting the morality play from point A to point A-and-a-half in this particular episode.

In contrast, the last couple of episodes of BSG have had atrocious sequences of situations, but god are the actors running with what they got. The best example is the character Lee Adama delivering a speech in a situation where the fact that he was delivering that speech was so insultingly absurd it almost seemed a dare from the production staff to turn the TV off and never watch the show again, if it wasn't for the fact that the actual lines and progression of the speech was so good, and Jamie Bamber was working so hard, down to the faint almost-crying croak in his voice, with such great results (as always) that turning off was impossible. The actors all have been doing riveting portrayals of actual people trying to stay sane in an impossible situation, or entities looking for order but being corrupted dealing with these messy emotions foisted on them by interacting with messy humans. I am buying who they are, something half the cast in B5 never did for me.

The Season Finale is doing a down-the-line BSG Season Finale, though:
Adama clan at each other's throats.
Laura's mysticism dialed up to 10.
Crippling environmental circumstances any space-faring nation should have encountered before.
Cylon revelations that time-wise make no sense unless divine intervention was involved.


It was all there. And if you couldn't predict the last minute the moment Lee went off to check out the sighting, you have just not been paying attention.

I hope all these ideas and coincidences start getting put into a coherent framework with some answers next season. I have it on second-hand personal account that Ron Moore is not that interested in a strict description of 'reality' as much as telling a great story; supposedly even he hasn't decided what the Six is in Balthar's head as long as the episodes stay good. He'd better start making up his mind fast; as Lost and Twin Peaks showed, there's only so much dicking around the audience can stand before they want some satisfying answers for their investment in the mystery.

Ok, so now that I ranted about science fiction television as if anyone cares, I might as well go all the way into LJ minutia: breakfast was a smoothie of a splash of OJ, a splash of cranberry juice, a splash of blueberry juice, a banana, frozen blueberries and frozen dark raspberries, and 40 grams of whey protein powder (natural flavor). Then I had a bowl of a combination of muesli and a flax-based cereal with milk, and a glass of water with my vitamins.

I did not cut myself today, not that I have that habit. But this is LJ after all, and if I am going all the way I thought I should mention that too.
fj: (Default)
The best explanation of dreams I have ever heard is that in essence, they are exactly the same process of model-building of the outside world that happens in your brain when you are awake, except that there are no external stimuli to keep your internal model synchronized with reality because you are asleep. Instead, your mental model-builder that usually makes sense of input from your eyes and ears and nose and the rest of your body has only the filings of your brain to go on, electricity sweeping through random synapses, triggering memories and emotions that then require your consciousness to build a story around.

From time to time very basic pure parts in my brain get triggered, resulting in dreams of sweeping grandeur of a profound emotion. I get reminded what it is like to feel these things without being able to distance myself through irony or logic or cynicism. I must go through them fully. I do not like feeling so fully. It is like being in a movie my real life could never fulfill, of sweeping passion in whatever direction the trigger happened. And it is not just fear that gets done, although it is the one I most frequently remember. Love or friendship or lust are actually equally annoying: the day after the night can never live up to it. These dreams leave me unbalanced the next day, and right now I am already not quite totally at ease anyway.

Of course, these storms then happen against a backdrop of random storytelling in my brain, fitting the narrative of whatever else is being triggered. Which is why last night was all about finding out a dashing life-long masculine older example figure breaks my heart with happiness when he confesses he always loved me, waiting until I was old enough to handle it. (I seriously don't think I have grown a day over seventeen in my dreams, which means that in my day life I am over twice as old as the putrid romantic narratives I put myself into. People tell me sometimes I am so mature, but it seems to not be filtering back into my subconcious needs.)

Alas, regearding that same brain and its narratives, this tidal wave of discovery happened against a backdrop of a plot in which members of a specific cult I do not want to mention in my blog because they sue any negative mention of their name, were weeding out traitors in their midst by taking up chainsaws. I am not entirely sure why I was there, but I was dodging crazed chainsaw wielding maniacs, while making sense of my protector / love-interest. It's hyper-kinetic B-movie action with denoument emotional coming-of-age passions, both epic enough to be worthy of anime needing 4 years of production. ("And then it turns out the galactic emperor is my father! And I am his heir! And I can fly!")

If this tech thing does not work out, I need to write this shit down and find out just how far I can go with the sex scenes to still be able to publish in the Young Adult section. It's Final Fantasy with living, breathing, over the top entanglements, all of them homo. Sci-Fi nerd faglings will eat it up, bodice-rippers for their specific market.

I'll have to find a female pen name. Nobody takes male slash writers seriously, after all.

Admission

Dec. 2nd, 2006 11:11 pm
fj: (phkl)
Ok, it's Space:1999. I just remember flashes of it, half seen episodes, dubbedin various languages, many with my sister's hand over mye yes during the scary parts. And during the actual year 1999, the SciFi channel, which has rights to it, didn't even strip it. Geeez. So yes, I am finally filling in the blanks.

Watching boht seasons. Season 1 was a cold, cold, show. The art direction was absolutely minimalist, all about these stark interior and uniform whites against the black night and rock. Except for the models, made by a team fresh off Kubrick's 2001, the special effects were, well, not very special, as Beavis n Butt-Head would say, but then again, which TV show's effects were in those days? Terrible, static, cold stories. Season 2 has all kinds changes, many drastic, introducing color, more action, cutting and adding cast-members without explanation. An utter change, and it makes it more watchable.

But that's like saying <insert a metaphor here about something barely getting better>. The premisse is so awful that it is impossible as an educated adult to suspend disbelief enough, especially since there basically is no pay-off. Except the art direction. Looking for images I am fortunate to have found this link of someone who did their entire appartment in that decor, including tracking down the designer furniture used in the series. That way I can say that it's been done. I am free. DOn't need to recreate my fascination. It would be derivative.
fj: (Default)
I have a Really Bad TV admission to make. I will make it soon. Although [livejournal.com profile] pinkfish of course knows, and I just confessed it in a commen to someone elset. It is a Sci-Fi series.

And right now I seem to be watching every episode mostly for the fab interiors.

Acting's pretty good too, considering the dreck scripts they are being given. But really, gawd, the prodcution design.
fj: (Default)

Ready To Move In Together
"Ready To Move In Together", Nokia N73, Los Angeles County, 2006

fj: (Disney)
Since this whole thing is a little sudden, I didn't have a good lead time to plan a goodbye party. I will be back probably in the next months, but for now, I will be at Diesel tomorrow between 17:00 and 20:30.

Also of note: on my Flist already there have been two really good Fantasy & SciFi dreams described. I had an awesome one myself, set in the late 60s, and I got most of the costuming right, with a plot ready to be a literary novel.
fj: (Default)
The writing on Battlestar Galactica is slipping. I know this because I finally had time to catch up with the first three episodes of the Spring season. I had time, sitting in a train from Amsterdam to Maastricht (change in Sittard), two and half hours to, and back later at night. I sunk down into the chair, built for a people all my size, put on headphones and just watched the hours away. I have seen the landscape outside often enough. It's gray and rainy here anyway this month.

My eldest sister picked me up so I could spend time with her and her children, just doing stuff in and around their home in a small town in Belgium. We went to the stables where they are learning how to ride horseback. Got some nostalgia from when I learned as a tyke, in Colombia. I never got to riding saddle, the instructor had this thing of having the kids get a feel for horses by doing a year of vaulting first, but before I could graduate to proper riding, we moved continents. So yes, my eight-year-old self knows how jump on a trotting horse, how to stay on his back sitting on my knees, sitting without a saddle, turning to sit without a saddle facing backwards, standing upright (you can hold on to the mane for balance, they don't care), but I have no idea how to make a horse go forward when in a regular saddle holding regular reigns.

You never knew this about me, did you? I kind of forgot myself, and horseback riding just doesn't come up in conversation much in my life. I can vaguely remember I actually once did do proper horseback riding as an adult, but it must have been slow and short and on a really nice horse.

So my nephews, between 11 and 8, do know how to saddle up their horse (or pony, so cute), how to ride, do the little bouncing thing. My sister and I watched their lesson through the windows in the canteen, while we talked. No mishaps, no stalls, btw. We went home, I stayed for dinner, I showed them my phone, my laptop, we talked some. My eldest sister worked really hard to call me (Uncle) FJ, which wasn't easy for her. I can't help thinking someone must have talked to her. I do not think I expressed enough how much I appreciated it.
fj: (Hector The Protector)
I read on his website that the 'Running With Scissors' guy wrote his first novel in 4 weeks while he was getting sober from being an addled ad-man. Some humurous thing about TV Shopping and bitchy people. Ever since I read that I have had this idea that once I get bored in Amsterdam in the next year during a bout of joblessness, I'll just slam out a novel myself. When I mentioned this during the after-[livejournal.com profile] bubblebabble's-brunch convo, I got the very sensible question

"Do you write?"

Yeah, well, details. Ok, so I have no outline, no plot, no characters, a vague idea of location, and I don't exercise my fiction writing. At least all these entries have made my paragraphs structurally better. Jacqueline Susann is rumored to not even have had that.

Of course, it would have to be SciFi -- that's what my only publishing contacts are in. Darn.
fj: (Hector The Protector)
Ok, usually I don't think dream posts rank very high on the interesting scale, but this one I can write up to not be an introverted mess. And I am not making any of it up. It was an early morning dream, close to my standard time for waking up, which means my brain was starting to get ready for the day, a little more primed to remember, a little more ready to be active.

I was talking to a woman who looked like that nurse with the short hair on "The Flying Doctors", who was also later on "Farscape", telling her the standard story I tell all Aussies about how everyone in the Netherlands now think Down Under is one big wasteland of tiny villages with beautiful doctors in Cessnas, and we were laughing about it. I looked around the landscape we were travelling in -- gliding in something it felt, was I flying, was she? -- and I saw a strange animal float by, and away again until it was tiny. I said something, that I wanted to see it again, and it came back, closer, so I could make out what it was. A huge flying fish, floating in the breeze. I recently saw an anime with this image in it, which is probably why that neuron was firing, but, the thing is, is that fish, floating around in the air as if they are swimming, the boundary between the normal above-water world and their aquarium dissolved, is a dream image I ponder when I am awake. So I was triggered into lucidity.

"I am sorry, but I am dreaming, and I have to explore something else. Catch you later." And I flew away. Dream flying is a behavior I have pretty much mastered, I wake up often remembering having done it, in many situations, even if the dream was not lucid. It is alsmot second nature by now, and I am really overcoming my fear of flying very high. The physics of it are stable these days, I have focussed on it for a long time.

And I said I would fly into my future. I wanted to see what I chose to be in my future. And at that point I think I lost most lucidity. and just had a remaining nagging feeling this was not normal.

So what was my house like? It seems that in my future I live in some misformed version of the summer house we lived in for a year when we just moved back to the Netherlands and were looking for a real house. (I was nine.) My job seemed to be genetic designer, I was told by the inhabitants when I said I wasn't me but past-me, and I looked around and strange little pets were running around: fluffball puppies with bird beaks filled with row upon row of teeth, visible when they yawned, and odd yet cute remixed bunnies. I had also made for myself a really devoted, blond, green-eyed slave guy, more besotted than Wayoun on ST:DS9, and I remember wondering why the hell I did that. There's no joy in that conquest; of course he loves me, I made him to love me. Cute though, if way on the skinny side for me. I petted him, and he seemed confused by what I asked him about himself. Devoted, pretty, and dumb. I gave him a stick to play with and he liked being given something by me so he played. And who were these people I lived with? I went downstairs to my bedroom and found I also had some normal pets: two cats on my comforter. And four dogs underneath it, I found when I pulled the comforter away. Four.

I found out I fulfilled at least one sexual fantasy as the evidence both said hi to me, but those twin guys just didn't even look super handsome. I remember thinking that even in the future fantasies ended up not being perfect when you get to do them. In the future I live in a distorted brown-wood, faux-birch laminate-furniture appointed, extruded, depressingly bog-standard northern european holiday bungalow, in an extended friends group, with a slave, some fuckbuds, and enough pets to qualify me for closer scrutiny by the Department Of Health.

Then I went upstairs again, and I made fun with Farrah Fawcett about her doing a choking move on me that was to cliche for words so of course I got out of it. Then I got in a fight with Linda Evans, so I spilled wine on her silver silk shirt. I am not making any of that up.

I think my subconcious was telling me through random firings of neurons that in the future, I might still be really, really, homo gay.
fj: (tech)
The concept of failure in transmission is changing.

CD's don't skip, they stutter.

Digital TV doesn't snow, it pops and tiles and pixelates and goes black.

Mobile calls and digital radio don't fade in and out of static. They become choppy and disjointed and then drop.

15 years from now, static or snow as experienced in analog transmissions and currently seen in shows will totally date the production as being from a pre-digital era. Much SciFi will look strange. Very young kids will simply not understand it when they see it. People in shows 'faking' static to get out of a phone call or radio contact is a joke these viewers just wont get.
fj: (tech)
Animation of nightfall on the speculated moon of a confirmed Jupiter-like planet in a system with three stars (HD 188753).
fj: (smug)


Forget the top pic, who wants a blood red pool? Goths want a blood red pool! Finally the finisihing touch to the Goth Pool Party of my dreams. Black bathing suits only, swimming starts at dusk.
fj: (Hector The Protector)
Emperror Palpatine An unfortunate picture of Pope Benedictus XVI
That's what you get when you follow a link provided by [livejournal.com profile] henare

Anecdote

Mar. 11th, 2005 11:44 pm
fj: (Hector The Protector)
[livejournal.com profile] pinkfish and I were watching one those horrible Mars movies that all came out in the same year a few years ago, the one in which the computer-rendered alien was crying more convincingly than the actor who had to portray he just saw his wife die. So in the end one of the characters gets to sit in the alien spaceship that will take him To The Stars on a journey To The Advanced Aliens, and there was the question whether he was ready to give his whole life up for this leap.

I turned to Dean and said "I want you to know that I love you, but if the benevolent advanced aliens send me a one-seater spaceship to Explore The Universe In A Wondrous Faster-Than-Light journey, I'd leave you in a heartbeat." He didn't just answer that he understood, but indicated that I might want to make sure he didn't get to the ship first himself.
fj: (talking)
Sci-Fi cons are weird: one moment you are meeting an out-of-town LJ friend, the next moment you are in a hotel room suite eating grapes and cream puffs watching masturbation videos to celebrate a wedding anniversary. And I didn't even attend the con in any sort of way.

Hi [livejournal.com profile] drewan!
fj: (Default)
One of these days I am going to find myself kissing a girl. I think I already know which one.





Oh, and my weekend was like [livejournal.com profile] pinkfish's, but without the folk-dancing and more staying in one place. An historical mansion to be exact, of which one room was covered with matresses and where cheesy 50s SciFi movies were watched. Gorgeous fun.

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