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Friday, July 19th, 2002
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2:30 am - Paul!
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According to The Hollywood Reporter, Paul Ben-Victor is going to be in the upcoming Daredevil movie, information that made me go "squee" in the middle of Barnes & Noble.
I can't really stomach Ben Affleck -- and even less so in purple leather (MR would be another story entirely) -- but I'll definitely see the movie to catch a glimpse of Paul. Does anyone who's familiar with Daredevil canon know if his character, José Quesada, actually exists in the comicverse, or if he's been created for the movie?
My friend convinced me to go to a rather strange off-Broadway show tonight called, I swear, "Vampire Geishas of Brooklyn," a disjointed, and, as you can imagine, very odd little production that was worth it for one line: the men of the company, fed up at being bossed around by the women, decide that they're going to form a splinter theater group and start their own show. The title? "Samurai Man-Whores of Queens."
I really love New York.
current mood:  curious
current music: Oasis, "Champagne Supernova"
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| Wednesday, July 17th, 2002
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4:28 am
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| Tuesday, July 9th, 2002
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4:38 pm
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2:00 am - Subtext? What is this strange thing of which you speak?
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) valisme explains it all:
Well see, it involves this strange dance of looks (sometimes called eyefucks), subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) innuendo, and the collective overactive imagination of a subset of the population at large. Throw in two very pretty boys, a few Ty Nant bottles, a blue ball or two, and a whole fleet of svelte, sexy cars and voila! Subtext flambeau.
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| Sunday, July 7th, 2002
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1:15 am
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remember how it was when we belonged together
My new CLexy song of the moment is Remy Zero's "Belong" -- I've had the CD for months, and I didn't really hear the lyrics until tonight. Silly me. Lovely, and fitting nicely with my own slashy interpretations. Anyway.
but we were so strong together
and this world you gave me
i thought we'd go on forever
I am slow, slow, slow. Turtles give me a run for my money. Snails pass me by, sneering with contempt.
valisme offered to make me a plaque for the supreme honor of Taking Way Too Much Time With The E-Mail Thing.
It's been almost a week without internet access, down in Virginia for the 4th, and I think that my inbox may be trying to kill me. I owe a lot of e-mail, not to mention long overdue comments here, so if you haven't heard from me yet, I'm working on it! Sloths may move at a speedier clip, though.
Suburbia scares me. The south scares me. Conservative Republicans scare me. The suburban, southern, Conservative Republican side of my family scares me, and if I never have to hear the string of syllables "George W. Bush" again, it will be too soon.
A few days away and there's new stories from lexcorp_hope and thamiris and liviapenn and a joint seperis-thete1 fic, and I cannot wait to tackle them, hopefully once my inbox and I stop circling each other so warily. It's good to be home. No mention of our charming President in any of those, I think that I can quite gleefully predict.
Though Lionel Luthor probably voted for him.
i know we always belonged together
isn't that strange
all these things i hoped would never change
current mood:  mellow
current music: Remy Zero, "Belong"
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| Sunday, June 30th, 2002
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1:41 am - Notice to New Yorkers
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...and everyone else within traveling distance.
Neil Gaiman is going to be at the Barnes & Noble at Union Square (take the N/R to 14th street -- you can't miss it) at 6:00 PM on Thursday, July 11th.
Listen closely.
That just may be the sound of me squeeing for all that I'm worth.
current mood:  ecstatic
current music: Rufus Wainwright, "One Man Guy"
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| Friday, June 28th, 2002
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11:20 pm
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A few people have asked me how I feel about some of the "Immortality" backlash that was going on at TWoP.
Mostly, I'm fascinated.
I appreciate all the different reactions that the story seems to have garnered. All of them. I won't claim that it wasn't a little startling at first -- I'm not really used to having my stories the subject of debate. But I think that discussion is a good thing, and there should be more of it in the fanfiction community; if a story makes enough of an impression, whether positive or no, that people want to talk about it, more the power to them. Yes, kind of scary because it was my story tossed out there under the harsh lights. But if it gets people thinking and writing and arguing and turning back to examine what bothered them, what they liked, what they couldn't stand and why, then I'm glad.
The only thing that worries me about some of the responses is the idea that there "has" to be some kind of light at the end of the CLexy tunnel. Comic book canon establishes Superman and Lex Luthor as enemies. The creators of Smallville have made it clear that Lex isn't going to be playing for the good guy team forever. I can't count the number of times that I've seen Michael Rosenbaum's character described as Clark's "future nemesis." They're best friends now. But we know that this is going to change. We don't know how. Maybe it will take years. Maybe it will happen in the season opener. We have no idea about what's going to cause the break between the two of them, only that it's going to happen.
Yes, there is a part of me that would love to see their relationship stay good. There's a part of me that's a hopeless romantic and wouldn't mind if Clark and Lex could live slashily ever after. I just don't see it, and that's why I was surprised by the insistence that, no, no, this couldn't happen, it can't happen. If people want to see Clark and Lex and no conflict whatsoever, I'm not sure what show they've been watching, but it doesn't sound like Smallville. If they'd prefer a universe where everything's shiny and there are no dark spaces between the two of them, reading fanfiction seems like a strange thing to do, because I know that I'm constantly turning to other people's stories for new perceptions, new angles, plots that challenge me. If I had a set concept about how things must turn out, I think I'd drive myself crazy by reading anything new.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and tastes, and I value them all. Criticism is always constructive for me. But I'm concerned about thinking a story is "sick" because it proposes something that you might not have wanted to see. Why else are we all a part of this community, if not to enjoy the show, question it, and explore new ideas?
Thanks to seperis for reading this first.
current mood:  contemplative
current music: Ben Kweller, "Walk On Me"
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(13 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, June 26th, 2002
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4:37 pm - Ah, Summer.
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Immortality is up and posted. valisme is my own personal goddess for all of her help.
I finally got AIM to work on this old computer; it should have "Piece-of-Crap" emblazoned across the bottom, instead of "Apple".
I made a page to put the fics on.
I would like to sleep for about a week.
current mood:  drained
current music: tick, tick...BOOM!, "Sugar"
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| Monday, June 24th, 2002
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10:34 am - Recipe For A Lazy Day In The LJ
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2:33 am
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LJ is on massive amounts of crack. First it posts this. Seven times. Then it deletes them all.
I'm not sure it appreciated the cursing.
Anyway. Just getting back into the swing of things. I missed the computer -- and everyone out here, by extension; I think my fingers were twitching for want of a keyboard. San Francisco was fun, though; I did the whole tourist-thing, and there's definitely one thing to say for the city -- gay men. Lots of them, and even more open with themselves on the streets than they are here in New York. It was a beautiful thing to see.
So I've been working on a new story nonstop for about three days, on paper out there, and now carried onto that much-desired keyboard here. It's kind of kicking my ass, but I've been thinking about it for so long that I'm not letting myself stop. If I did, I might have to think about what the fuck I'm doing to my poor Lex.
There's a snippet below, for those interested. It's from the middle. The whole thing should be finished soon, hopefully before I collapse on top of it.
Clark. Lex. Futurefic-ish.
I love me some music. I don't think I could have gotten through as much of the story as I have without the Hard Core Logo soundtrack. Mmm.
( Read more... )
current mood:  restless
current music: Hard Core Logo, "China White (Ten Buck Fuck)"
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, June 14th, 2002
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3:56 am
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| Thursday, June 13th, 2002
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1:41 am - rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints
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One tremulous performance in a play (there was a point under those stagelights when I forgot my name, let alone my lines), three graduations, and five parties later, I'm convinced that high-heeled shoes were invented by some insane misogynist, for the torment of women everywhere. Yeah, they look kind of hot, but I don't think my feet will ever be the same again.
Anyway. Craziness over. Time to breathe. Time for comfy shoes and those blessed things known as socks.
Many apologies to everyone that I haven't gotten back to yet. I'm trying to remember how to use a computer, because it's been much too long since time permitted me to get close to one. I need to be beaten over the head with a wet Lex (and, okay, not the worst form of punishment there), and just jump back into everything.
There's a story idea somewhere in the confused, overtired muddle of my head, and it's been kicking at me to get written. I wrote the first line about two weeks ago, but lately everything else has been consigned to being picked over in the few minutes between sleeping and awake, wanting words and a keyboard to attempt them.
Clark is never going to die.
Is. Pretty much all I've actually typed. I have so much respect for all of you folks who are productive and prolific that it isn't even funny. If I can get even a page written, I think I'll throw myself a party, sans high-heeled shoes. I'm going on a mini-vacation in a few days, so hopefully boring plane rides will provide inspiration. Cheerful thought, huh?
Although --
Clark and Lex joining the Mile High Club.
Hmm.
current mood: exhausted
current music: Billy Joel, "Only The Good Die Young"
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| Wednesday, June 5th, 2002
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5:43 pm - Help!
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So I'd like people's opinions, if you're in the mood to render one. I have to sign up for a seminar for next year, and can only choose one out of a great many options. I was all set to go after this "Murder and the Human" literature class, when I turned the page and saw this.
American Voices:Superheroes
Superheroes as we know them (for example, that guy from Krypton) emerged in the late 1930's, in the very popular, often-reviled medium called comics -- one of the first cultural products marketed directly to youth. What do superheroes -- and the America from which they came -- have to do with comics as an art form? How has that art form evolved? What can superheroes (as concepts and as comics) tell us about conventions and kinds in other fields of art? Do old literary works about heroes with exceptional powers (like John Milton's Samson Agonistes) share any features with books about folks in tights? And how did any big book about superheroes and their creators -- Michael Chabon's blockbusting Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay -- win 2001's Pulitzer Prize? We'll explore these and other questions in a course that includes literary history and theory, novels, poems, and comics old and new: texts will include Chabon's novel, Milton's dramatic poem, Alan Moore and David Gibbons' Watchmen, and work by other creators including William Butler Yeats, Virginia Woolf, and Scott McCloud.
So, with my current SV obsession, this seems to fit nicely, as well as sounding like a fascinating class. But would I be screwed going in with little-to-no actual comic book reading under my belt? The class will probably be filled with people who take their comic canon pretty seriously, and might not be too happy about my Clark/Lex fixation. Still, it looks interesting, and I guess it's never too late to start learning about the actual history behind some of the stuff I've been writing about...anyway, I'm veering majorly towards wishy-washy, so any suggestions are very welcome.
current mood: confused
current music: Billy Joel, "Captain Jack"
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(11 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, June 3rd, 2002
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12:58 am - Everybody Wants To Be Lex Luthor
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So Peter Krause had to wear a bald cap tonight on the season finale of Six Feet Under, and Peter, I love you dearly, but you're no Michael Rosenbaum.
Made me appreciate all the times MR has waxed happy in interviews about having the right "kind" of head to be shaved for the part. It might've been a little difficult to buy a convincing Lex Luthor whose scalp was hidden under a big stretch of plastic. I hadn't really considered that the bald look would be so hard to pull off, but now I'm in even more awe.
Which was, of course, exactly what I needed.
Still, pretty good finale. A little melodramatic, but that's become SFU's staple these days. Peter had some fantastic, emotional scenes -- he and Michael C. Hall are wonderful together -- but it made me miss the old days, and Casey.
Made me miss Dan and Casey.
current mood: nostalgic
current music: The Beatles, "Rocky Raccoon"
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, June 2nd, 2002
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3:25 am - Ficletness (Clark/Lex, R)
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Because it's too late, I'm too tired, and I wanted to write something.
Lex can't breathe.
Clark is curled in, tight on his hip and tighter length of one arm across his chest. Clark is curled into sleep and into Lex, and Lex isn't sure but he thinks he remembers that air is conducive to breathing.
The restriction on his throat feels familiar. Reassuring, almost. Half-remembered flickers of himself, mouth working desperately, gasping for breath. The air rejecting him, ten years old.
Clark's back is ridiculously broad in the half-light from the window. If Lex could move he'd trace a finger across the lines of muscle, down the ridge of spine. Scrape fingers again and again and again, until his nails started leaving marks. Which Lex thinks might be never.
Clark's hair is moon-bathed like some overly used cliche, too long at the edges for propriety. Dangerously close to succeeding in falling in front of his eyes, like something out of a story. His face, Lex notices, is triangular. Full and sharp all at once, and his cheekbones are too pronounced for someone who claims that his only experience with makeup came as a turn playing the Tin Man in a fifth-grade production of The Wizard of Oz.
"Silver lipstick," Clark had said. Made a face. "Never again."
And Lex would have begged to differ. Flash of silver lips wrapped around his cock and Lex can't breathe but he might be smiling.
Clark turns in his sleep, buries his head in the pillow away from Lex. And it's easier, easier without the scrutiny of closed eyelids, so that when he tries again he drags in a breath that hurts and is foreign and feels like his first taste of a cigarette.
Lex closes his eyes. Tries for sleep. Tries to regulate the in-and-out motion of oxygen. Tries not to feel Clark's flung-out arm like a brand.
Instead, he remembers.
Remembers not being kind.
Remembers taking out the aftertaste of a bad day on Clark. Fucking him to within an inch of his life. Remembers Clark moving with him, silent, hands meeting at the dip of Lex's back like some half-echoed recollection of gentleness.
Remembers slamming Clark down and pressing hands against his shoulders. Imagining that the strength in his arms could be enough to keep him there.
Pretending that it could.
Just. Driving down and driving into him. Against him. On him. Something frantic and desperate and completely unapologetic.
Came with his lips between his teeth, biting down, afraid of what he might say.
Clark still with his eyes closed, empty. A thing for Lex to ride.
Remembers rolling off of Clark. Panting and putting space between them.
Faint sound that was Clark quietly finishing himself off. And Lex didn't look but he thinks if he had Clark's hand might have been shaking.
He'd waited for the questions. For the reprimands. For all of the anger and sympathy that never came.
Instead there was Clark closing the distance. Stretch of his arm hooking around Lex, and Clark's mouth was too close against his ear.
"Thank you," he'd said. "Thank you."
And Lex found that he was having trouble breathing.
Ridiculous fool, Lex had wanted to say. Stupid, misguided, destructive. Pathetic.
And he wouldn't have been talking about Clark.
Lex had closed his eyes and his mouth and said nothing.
Words required air.
Remembers the impossible heat of Clark curling in around him. Tug of Clark's hand against the sheet cover, and Lex was so warm that he shivered.
"Lex." And had Clark really still been talking? Lex remembers, but the words had been as inconceivable as Clark. "Lex. I love you."
Lex remembers.
He just doesn't understand.
He hadn't even kissed him.
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(18 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, May 30th, 2002
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12:00 am - view from the second row
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i have seen
the face of god
and his name
is
dave matthews
current mood: fuck ME
current music: ears ringing
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| Tuesday, May 28th, 2002
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3:15 am - You, Too, Can Have A Slashy Mix...
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So I've been listening to the Smallville mix that a friend (who's an ardent Clark/Lana shipper -- ugh! -- but somehow puts up with me and my Clexy squealings) made, and the lyrics are starting to get to me (note: this results when one has a CD on repeat for, um, days). I've decided to break down a few of the songs for my own fiendishly slashy purposes. All of these were played on SV episodes at one time or another.
( Read more... )
current mood:  geeky
current music: Hmm...
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, May 27th, 2002
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12:42 am - Run Away! Run Away!
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I have some major plot bunnies on the loose right now, and they're bouncing around in my head with the continuous thump-thump monotony of clarklexclarkwritemelexlexlexlexclark. I have to work on being able to write at a time that isn't a) the middle of the night or b) right before I'm going to sleep. The other night, bits and pieces started forming in my head just when I was finally settled, and I had to jump up and go hunting in the dark for pen and paper to write it down (kind of funny to reread half-vertical, half-horizontal, and wholly incoherent scrawls the next morning).
It's not that I want the plot bunnies to die. I love me some bunnies.
I'm just wondering when sleep will be an option again.
current mood:  awake
current music: Phantom Planet, "Lonely Day"
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, May 25th, 2002
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1:11 am - Artsy-Fartsy Porn, And Ramblings
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I've been crazy for the last few weeks, caught up in end-of-the year junk and trying to keep my head above water. If you haven't heard from me in a while, a hundred hugs and apologies; this is the first chance that I've had to really sit down, and breathe. And update. I'd pushed online-ness onto the backburner until things calmed down, and now I can finally be back -- with as much of a vengeance as a crappy dial-up modem will allow. Damn you, 52k bps.
So my friend gave me a gay porn magazine today as a joke; I've bothered her so much about slash that she said she "saw it and thought of me." I'm not quite sure if that's the best association to have, but the magazine is absolutely hysterical. It's like pornography for the art-house crowd. Now, I know I'm not a gay man (even if I do have an -- er -- minor obsession with writing about them -- but it's not very appealing. Some of the pictures are well done; I guess a few of them are kind of hot. But frankly, the magazine is a little insulting in the intelligence arena. It's trying very hard to be all artsy and dramatic -- there's literally naked men on a white background with sonnets on some pages -- but it mostly ends up somewhere near ridiculous. And the "stories" that accompany the pictures read like something out of a "this is what not to do when writing slash" tutorial. A sampling of some of the "dialogue": They made a devastating couple. Victor realized how easy it would be to fall in love. He realized that he didn't even know this man, didn't even know his name, but his heart didn't care.
I know that most of the people who buy the magazine are probably a whole hell of a lot more interested in the pictures than the accompanying written "action." But I guess that years of reading slash has raised my expectations -- and I think I'd buy a lifetime subscription to any magazine that had some of the incredible writers out there working on the captions. I've read stories so hot I'm afraid of my monitor melting; Hot Male Couples' offering -- "Yeah," he heard Rusty say. "Oohkay," Trent croaked out. Inside his head it was yes! Yes! Yes!! seriously leaves something to be desired. I think I'll stick to slash, though I'm interested to know if people have encountered any gay porn worth watching -- something with a plotline, maybe. Sex alone is hot, yeah, but I appreciate when there's a context to the situation. If Clark and Lex were mine, I'd quit school and go into amateur porn (hey, Alice).
In other news, I was a very happy television addict after Smallville's finale on Tuesday. [Minor spoilers] I think I might have actually squealed when Lex tied Clark's bowtie, and it was a very good thing that no one else was in the room. I saw Remy Zero when they opened for Travis in October, and was pleasantly surprised that they got to play a song other than "Save Me" on the show. [Minor musical spiel] Cinjun Tate, the Remy Zero frontman who looks like he's trying hard get the Lex bald-groove on, was incredibly emotional; he must have thanked the crowd a dozen times for being there, promising to remember every single one of us, which was kind of sweet -- considering we were all there to see Travis. They played "Perfect Memory," which is the song that Clark requests for Chloe in "Tempest," and I couldn't help thinking that if the band was that grateful to a half-interested crowd at Radio City, they must have been absolutely thrilled to be acknowledged on primetime. "Save Me" is overplayed, sure, but the guys are nice, and they deserve it. I have to wonder how Michael Rosenbaum felt having another bald man on the set.
I got to watch the episode again at a friend's house, where she has a movie-sized projection screen, and Rosenbaum's expression at the end, when he's deciding what to do with Lionel, is some scarily brilliant shit. It helps when it's about twelve feet high and you're sitting three feet away from it.
That's a whole lot of Lex.
And a whole lot of me, well. Squealing.
current mood: peaceful
current music: Pete Yorn, "Just Another"
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, May 12th, 2002
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6:02 pm - Gloverlovin'
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I was cleaning earlier, and I unearthed my program from Sorrows and Rejoicings, a play that I was dragged to as a requisite for a class without much enthusiasm in the winter. The usher handed me the Playbill, and I idly flipped through it; there were only four cast members. Glancing at the bios, I saw the words "Lex Luthor."
And froze.
Reread. There, listed among the impressive paragraph of his accomplishments (including a Tony for Love! Valour! Compassion!), the last sentence of John Glover's bio read, "He plays Lex Luthor's father Lionel on Smallville."
John was the star of Sorrows and Rejoicings, and once I got over a minor fit that I was going to see him on stage, about ten feet away, I sat back and reveled in it. Ninety minutes, and the man that I, thanks to TWoP, consider the "magnificent bastard," actually made me cry. I don't cry easily.
He was fantastic. John's character, Dawid, has just died; the play opens with the gathering of the women he left behind. For most of the scenes, he hovers, haunting the backdrop with enough sheer presence to draw eyes away from the action and dialogue on stage. Threw himself with unbridled enthusiasm and often overwhelming angst into the flashbacks that lead up to his death. The part was as unLionel-like as could be conceived -- a man who's a broken poet, unable to write, unable to live without writing, losing himself to alcohol and pining for his hometown in South Africa, from which he has been exiled.
Lionel Luthor may be a bastard, but John Glover is fucking magnificent.
The New York Times basically tore the play apart the next day, in a small, impersonal review, and I'm not sure if it ever ran beyond that opening night in New York.
But I can say that I've seen the man I associate as Lionel Luthor fling himself across the stage in birkenstocks and too-large shirts, his hair a crazy halo around his face, leaping onto tables and reciting Ovid. And that's enough for me.
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amused
bouncy