I do not grok the concept of memes. No matter how many definitions and discussions I read, I can't quite put my finger how the word is supposed to be used. I've seen "meme" used to describe religious ideals, fanfic concepts, stupid net quizzes...I accept that there are overlaps between these quantities, but as for the meme part? I just. Don't. Get it.
And then, this afternoon I may have had an epiphany. So let me run this by you to see if I've got it right: that idea showing up in Smallville fic about Lex always wearing long sleeves, because he's A). freakishly strong, B). hiding his lack of body hair, C). in need of a psychological shield, or D). covering up old track marks? Is that a meme? Or the one that I've seen in about five different stories lately, where Lex has the mutant power of quick healing post-meteor shower? Have I got the idea here?
Speaking of Lex and mutant healing, I've been puzzling over why I shy away from that idea whenever I encounter it. It's not that it's unsupported, any more than Lex/Lionel is unsupported, or that it's being poorly developed in the fic--I've seen well-executed versions of the concept by Livia, Bas, I think Te--but that it just strikes me as somehow wrong. On pondering, I think it's because Lex-as-invulnerable strikes right at the heart of what I love most about the character. Lex doesn't leave me sitting stunned and breathless with heartache at the end of "Jitters" and "Hourglass" because he's an unbreakable badass--so yeah, the badass part makes my palms sweat, but the kicker here is that he's fucking terrified. He could very well have been killed on the catwalk in "Jitters," and his frantic yell for Clark when he's dangling three stories up in the air says that Lex know that too. He's practically sick with horror at Cassandra's death and the implications thereof, and I know I'm wandering from the point here with physical versus emotional vulnerability, but the point for me is that Lex's fear, his terrible frailty of both body and mind, is what gives the character depth and resonance for me.
I mean, take away the fear, and what's left of Lex? A smug, self-righteous bastard who trifles--not gambles, because gambling implies the possibility of losing--with the lives and emotions of others. And no, I'm not blind. I know that the above description makes up a large chunk of Lex's character, and that the seeds--hell, the thigh-high sprouts--are there in canon. But they're tempered by Lex's fearful recognition of his own darkness. Without fear for his life, for his soul, there's no internal struggle, no moral ambiguity, and ultimately no interest besides the pretty face. Perhaps it's illogical, but for me the idea of mutant healing powers, of an invulnerable shield between Lex and the world, chips away at the very reason I find him so compelling.
I used to have similar problems with a lot of the characterization in Krycek fic back in the day. I was once on a Krycek-centered fic list that I eventually quit because--well, I quit because a mob of idiot fourteen-year-olds posting unbetaed Krycek/Mary Sue smut took over, but also because there was a Krycek characterization popular on the list that I just couldn't support. It was that of Krycek as suave, all-powerful, super-manipulator triple-agent genius, and that's not Krycek, that's Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible. Give me one good reason why I should care about that guy. He doesn't need my empathy, he's already got it all together. Canon Krycek wasn't fascinating because he was holding all the strings, or because he was supremely confident, or because he was a walking sex machine (although he was); at least for me, canon Krycek was fascinating because he was scared out of his wits. I'd argue that one of the character's primary signifiers was fear--how many times during the series do we see him cowering, groveling, or running for his life? Fleeing the car bomb and getting beat up on the hood of the car in the "Anasazi/Paper Clip/Blessing Way" trilogy. Scruffy and cowering in a hotel in Hong Kong, beat up in the airport, and later yakking up black oil in terror in the missile silo in "Piper Maru/Apocrypha." The slasher's wet dream that is "Tunguska/Terma," where he not only grovels before Mulder in the opening scene, gets beat up by Mulder and Skinner multiple times, and begs Mulder not to leave him chained to the steering wheel, but goes on to get his fucking arm cut off. And that's just off the top of my head.
You can, of course, ascribe multiple motives to Krycek's actions here, but I think if you discount his palpable fear in those scenes, if you try to make him into macho sexy killer Krycek, you're missing the point. He's not cool because he's holding all the cards, he's cool because he's fighting his way through a deadly, scary maze and he's terrified, but he keeps coming back. He's got that same awful vulnerability, that same ability to bleed as Lex, and it's part and parcel of the ruthlessness and power.
You know, I may just cry from now until the Smallville season finale. The way things are shaping up these days, I might need the head start. Which is not to say I didn't like tonight's episode--I liked it quite a bit. But it was all about the tears, let me tell you. Clark and Jonathan fighting! Whimper. Jonathan getting angry with Lex! Snivel. Lex's dysfunctional family! Wipe away tears. Whitney's face scrunching up in pain when he talks to Clark! Howl. Whitney breaking down in the graveyard! Whimper more. Jonathan making nice with Lex in the last scene! The last scene, period! Bawl uncontrollably.
I'm getting soft in my old age.
Surprisingly, the person I felt the most love for this episode was Whitney. I mean, my love for Lex is unchanging like unto stone, but that Eric Johnson can really work it. That scene in the graveyard with Lana was painful, because, like, his dad's dying? And he's really torn up about it and crying and all? And his "supportive" girlfriend can't even hug him so that the light doesn't show through between them? Dude. I just want to give him to Te and let her make it all better.
I've been having a crappy day, right, what with the fatigue and the cranky weepiness and the headache, but I just talked to my dad and he made me laugh so hard I thought I was going to puke. He's been undergoing some treatment for early stage prostate cancer, and it's all going very well, and people with his diagnosis at this stage tend to have about a 90% cure rate and all. It could just be my dad intellectualizing his concerns, but it really seems like he's not terribly worried about any of this. So he had some sort of newish, vaguely experimental treatment, of which I've forgotten the name, that involves having little radioactive beads inserted at the cancer site. Me, I find this funny in and of itself, but the kicker? He's now radioactive. And my dad is a freak with access to high-tech lab equipment, so part of our conversation tonight went like this:
Me: So you're still feeling okay?
My dad: Yes...I've still got (brief listing of symptoms), but mostly I'm feeling fine. Did your mother tell you I'm still radioactive? The other day in the lab I held the Geiger counter up to my butt and I got a reading of about 200.
Me: Moment of stunned silence...Aaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha!!
My dad: And 160 from the front.
Me: Oh my God...asthmatic wheezing of laughter My dad: Then I sat on some x-ray paper for about half an hour, but I couldn't get it to expose...
I would just like to note that I am not writing tepid Chloe/Lana fic. It is highly unlikely that I will ever write Chloe/Lana fic. There are lots of Saras in this world, and I'm not that one.
The very short list of fic I have written (mostly unpublished):
1 finished X-Files story, Krycek-centric. Were I to write it now, I would change some stylistic aspects, but I'm still very fond of this one. Published.
1 God-awful XF filk of a Jimmy Buffett song. Also published (oh, the shame).
2 unfinished XF snippets. One, high-strung and serious, I refer to as "the pigeon story." The other is billed as a light-hearted M/K romp, with candy. Unpublished, obviously.
1 finished Sentinel story, goofy and vaguely slashy. I actually attempted to publish this one, but the archive was seizing up at the time, and I soon lost interest in the effort.
2 unfinished TS pieces. One, very sketchy with Paul Simon influences. Not good, except for one or two images I like. The other, longer with actual skeleton plot structure. Varies wildly in tone. Planned for 40-60K, in that I kind of thought if I ever filled it out it might be that long. Still like the idea, but no interest in finishing the story.
1 dS piece, unpublished. Stella POV, obliquely F/K. I don't know whether to class this as finished or non. It was betaed, and had several legitimate, necessary revisions suggested, but...I'm finished with it. I feel lazy when I think about that story, because I think it could be good, but I don't have the drive to make it so.
I wonder if these stories are really unfinished because of lack of interest. Would I know if it was fear?
I auditioned many opening lines for this post. Many. Here are some of the contestants:
*People whose brains I would like to eat, beginning with LaT.
*Yes, I suppose I've been on a bit of a hiatus, but probably not for the reasons you think.
*Apparently I have bursitis. And really flat feet. Neither of which are particularly significant, except for the part where I have to buy arch supports for my running shoes and stretch even more, but I really like saying "bursitis." Bursitis bursitis bursitis.
*I can't believe we're buying a house in a region where the temperature reaches 91 degrees in mid-April.
*I've never really had much of a thing for hurt/comfort fic--I mean, I like a little angst as much as the next person, but the hardcore rape 'n' blunt trauma stories put me right off--but then I met Lex.
*I got yer fannish malaise right here.
So, that's the state of things here in Texas. I've been, well, slowing down a little. Avoiding the great time-suck that is the internet. Making a conscious effort to stop rushing, stop making lists in my head, stop "looking forward." Looking around; looking at April, and what that means in my part of the world. Smelling the damn flowers. Literally--today my 9:45 kid, TK, came in bearing an enormous jar of showcase-perfect yellow and scarlet and lavender blossoms. Lilies, and I think narcissus; all from his mother's garden. I had to drive home with the jar clenched between my thighs. Mr. Sinatra is currently stalking around the house telegraphing, "Soon, my pretties...soon you will be mine..."
I had a dream with Fraser, naked and aroused. It was not a sex dream, or even a sex snippet, although I dearly wish it had been. I've been thinking of Fraser lately in the mornings, stepping outside into the soft, humid air; thinking of Fraser and aching. I don't pine for the cold, exactly, although I get what aerye is saying about the embarassment of spring. I miss the clarity of the air, though. I miss the ache in the bones.
I finally watched "Victoria's Secret" the other weekend; something of a personal victory. I knew, I knew it would be good, and intrinsic to my understanding of Fraser's character and all that, but you have to understand that I was scared to death. I couldn't get past that episode, because I also knew it would rip me up. Fraser's blood, and his pain, and his tears...there are moments when I love Fraser more than I know how to hold, and I didn't know if I could see him in the candlelight and the cold and not bleed too. But I watched and cried, then soothed myself with Ray Kowalski and "Eclipse," and fell into bed exhausted, and lived. And "VS" was beautiful, in the way that the ache in your bones on a clear winter night is beautiful.
*Pass out at 10pm on Friday after uneventful night in.
*Wake up at 6:45am Saturday to meet the trail running group. Go prepared for 7 miles. Discover everyone else is prepared for 10. Suck it up and have excellent 10 mile run that includes--no joke--edging sideways along a minor cliff face while hanging onto a chain for dear life.
*Attend crawfish boil at boss's house. Drink beer. Shell and eat crawfish. Do not suck the goddamn heads, because that is revolting. When I visit a culture where people get mortally offended if you don't eat crawfish brains, then maybe I'll suck the heads. Stay at boss's enormous, incredibly fancy and expensive house for a really long time. Like, two meals worth of time. Drink beer and frolick with coworkers.
*Sleep in Sunday morning.
*Hang out with LG and look at pictures from her sister's wedding. Feel pangs of sympathy for all the people I made go through my wedding album.
*Go to church with LG, then leave to meet friend BGR for the evening. Eat fabulous vegetarian (possibly vegan) meal with tofu and spicy yams and coconut bubble tea. See extremely cute lesbian movie, Kissing Jessica Stein--described as sort of like Bridget Jones lite.
*Drive home in rain.
*Nearly have aneurysm while helping the Hubster clip the rabbit's claws. She has black claws and you can't see the quick and my dad clipped the vein once by accident and she bled like crazy, and it shouldn't be that freaking traumatic for either of us but I hate it. Cry and hide the rabbit from the Hubster when he tries to bring out the wire cutters. Vow to give up and again look for a vet who will both take rabbits and work on weekends.
*Headache.
*Go to bed.
