bluecastle: (ianto clipboard)
I read this in the paper here at work this morning:

British police are investigating the theft of hundreds of private e-mails -- some from a [my Uni] professor -- that were leaked last week by hackers, causing a commotion over whether scientists have exaggerated the effects of man-made climate change.

And suddenly I had this vision of Tosh and Ianto hacking people's emails to lay down a false trail in order to cover up some giant alien snafu that resulted in the amping up the global temperature or sommat. LOL.

In other news... had a really excellent (if not relaxing) four days off.

The new/old carpet was installed in the soon to be guest room.

Rehearsals were held, and I am still the person least likely to ever play Bob Cratchit, but it's hilarious. I think I play seven different characters over the course of the show. All that back and forth, and literal changing of hats is just a mad dash, but so fun.

Had dinner with the invisible BFF and another mutual friend Saturday night. Invisible BFF (altho not best pleased when I told him that's how you all know him) is being uncharacteristically social of late. He initiated dinner. The day after he set himself up a facebook page (despite being mostly verboten by his school of employ) ... and hysterically enough, got himself a Farmville farm. He says he's tired of doing things other people want him to do, and he's now doing things HE wants to do.

Mostly I suspect this is code for "my ex-girlfriend has been taking up too much of my time, despite being an ex." She's good at that.

Also, I have heard this speech before. But I am trying to remain cautiously optimistic.

STARVING as a result of having NO FOOD in the house as a result of having NO MONEY in the bank. Today is payday however. Thankfully, my work day doesn't really have anything to do with the actual running of the office and seeing students, so I can slip out here in a little while and pick up lunch (and something for later before rehearsal). Everyone but about five of us seems to be out killing deers. Or trying to.

Prospects for the rest of the week.. wet and rainy with too much to do, and not enough time to do it in. Huzzah.
bluecastle: (black as death)
It's now about 10:30 a.m. on Saturday morning. Day Six, as it were...

Yesterday I sat and watched all through the evening and far into the night as the episode downloaded. (Oddly, as I am not particularly religious in any way, it felt a bit like sitting shiva.)

At 3 a.m. I finally hit "play."

At 4 a.m. I surfed around looking at other people's reaction posts to see how they were wrapping their brains around this last piece. I needed to wrap myself in other people who were suffering along with me. It was good to know there are others out there as gobsmacked as I am by this season/series/story. Thanks guys for your presence in my life ... even if I don't know you and you don't know me, really.

At 5 a.m. I went properly to bed -- the first time since about Wednesday.

At 7 a.m. I woke up having dreamed of Russell. About Russell. Something. It was nebulous, as dreams often are, but it rather seemed like I was hearing someone read a fanfic (a sort of fictional RPS if there is such a thing) about Russell, narrated by an OC, and saying something about how over the course of his DW helmsmanship he's watched every surviving episode of Old Who at least twice.

Now I think if heard/read somewhere that he's got copies of them all, and watched them, but not sure of the facts, and for the purposes of my waking epiphany about Day Five it doesn't really matter. (And how much do I love that I'm dreaming in fanfic?!)

But I woke realizing what would have made Day Five ... well... I realized what I wanted from Day Five that I didn't get.

I wanted, when Jack is in that security warehouse, and they hack into the Torchwood servers or whatever to see what they can do to best the 456. Round about the point the nasty scientist is dripping with contempt about "hacking into Torchwood years ago..."

I suddenly knew what would have given some purpose to the events of Day Four.

Jack should have found some piece of information meticulously filed, or cross-referenced by Ianto in the database that led them to their solution.

It could have been easily written. It would have given some purpose for Ianto's time at Torchwood Three. It would have allowed him to help Jack one more time. Bonus points to lessening the grimness if it would have saved Stephen.

It would have been one pure moment justifying Jack's team before it all crumbled away. It would have made me feel better. 

At the end of the day, that's not the story Russell wanted to tell. And I'm cool with that. His story isn't my story. It doesn't need to be. It shouldn't be. And all those people who feel "betrayed" somehow... well I get that this was a hard story to witness. It was. Days Four and Five have gutted me. Headache. Nausea. Lack of sleep. Crying. All of it.

But I think of that. That one guy halfway across the world sitting down and writing a story can have that effect on my life. Examining that power...

How five words ... "our father worked at Debenham's" ... five simple words shoved into the middle of a much larger narrative ... well those five words are either the cruelest piece of character assasination or the cleverest piece of character development I ever saw. I'm still not sure which. But as I dozed in my bed, thinking about Russell and research and meticulousness...  it gave me all the backstory I may ever need about Ianto Jones.

A boy and his Father who always wanted MORE. A boy and his Father who watched movies about people who were larger -- grander -- than the life they saw around them. So the boy idolized his dad into something MORE than he had been. And as he grew up, the boy searched his whole life for something MORE...something or someone larger than life... someone he could love and respect and maybe even fear, just like his Dad.

And I think he found him. For a while.

"And it was good, yeah?"

Hell yeah, Ianto Jones. You might have been the smoke to Jack's fire ... but without the smoke, sometimes you can't see the fire.

So there is a lot to process. There's a lot of sleep to catch up on. I am not sure how I am going to get through the next two week's performances of the Emily Dickinson piece that is so much about death. There will be more tears.

And there will be more stories.
bluecastle: (janto)

unpacked out of the brainbox in no particular order

* continued love for random YouTube posters putting me out of my misery.

* Dear Uncle Rusty, Your loving overseas fandom is now made of insomniacs. I'm glad COE is doing so well in the ratings... but this five night in a row things is hard! I know that's generally a good thing in the land of Torchwood... but we're all going to be exhausted by Saturday. Send tea and chips plz. K? Thx.

* Having now had my say ... I am going to eat some peanut brittle ice cream (ice cream headaches be damned) and then try and get some sleep...

avert your eyes... spoilers below... )


bluecastle: (Default)

January 2015

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