All right, I wasn't going to rant about this, but Sarah T. changed my mind.

Sex scenes.

We know 'em. Most of us crave 'em. Most every slasher has one pairing for which they'd seriously consider selling their first born if it meant we got to see them bump nasties on screen, and at length. But you know, we just aren't gonna *see* Wes and Gunn barebuck naked and twined together and touching and kissing and laughing gently and sucking and mouthing and moaning and gasping and --

Yes, well, we ain't gonna see it.

That's where slash comes in. Specifically, those lovely, lovely X-Rated lovelies.

God loves a good PWP. Trust me, I asked.

However, God *hates* a bad PWP.

You know the ones I mean.

Someone puts their tongue *through* a clitoris.

Positions heretofore requiring having ribs removed are achieved with ease following near-mortal gunshot wounds.

Gushing molten cores at the center of every woman.

Pulsing, throbbing, *horrifying* dicks. Revolting Cocks. Heh.

Self-lubricating anuses. Anii? (Get a *DOCTOR*!)

Disappearing testicles. (Okay, okay, I'm guilty, too...)

In short, fiction clearly written not only by virgins, but by virgins who don't even *read* or look at porn! Virgins, who, spontaneously decide to produce porn of their own, having only vague notions about thingies slotting into doodads with miraculous ease.

Why, God, *why*?

God doesn't answer. God's busy at UCSL.

Look, I just don't fucking get it. What possesses people to write sex when it's *quite*, *quite* possible that they've never even taken a good *look* at their own genitals?

I don't know. It's just bad. Badness.

Eh. Can't even work up a good hate. Why? Because these people, these -- look, *you*, you dumbass! You amuse me. Greatly. Sometimes I save the really awful ones to come back and read again later. Gallons of 'cum,' indeed. *snicker*

You know what, I'm changing my mind again. Keep it up.

No, really.

*cackling*

Music: "Schism" by Tool

Maaaaynarrrrrrd.... *moan*
8:41 PM : link

In media r -- er -- sex

Randomly. I'm making myself a half-assed pre-dinner sundae, mainly because I *can*, and the TV is on one of those endlessly self-congratulatory celeb shows. They're talking about Antonio Banderas, and kisses, and how hot his new movie is, but his hottest kiss may have been with -- pregnant pause -- Tom Hanks.

Blah blah blah, sex sex sex with Angelina Jolie, blah, sex, blah, sexity sex sex sex. And then they talk about the kiss in Philadelphia.

Do they show a clip?

Are you mad? Of course not.

They show a still. Of several moments *before* the kiss.

And I don't wanna bitch and moan about this, because I know I'm preaching to the choir, and that the choir is sick of it all and frankly wants to get back to all the cool singing and joyful noises unto the Lord, *but*.

It upset me.

Meh.

On the other hand, White Castle has an oddly sexy radio ad out in my area now, in which a man and a woman go toe to toe about their ravenous appetites. I swear to God, that woman talking about how you better count your fingers when she's done is one of the sexiest things I ever heard.

Yeah, baby.

Eat.

Eat it *all*.

Fuck, am I ovulating *again*?

*randomly nuzzles Sheila*

Music: "I Wish You Were Here," Incubus, in my head.
8:02 PM : link

Brighid! Happy birthday, girlfriend! I remember when I first discovered your XF fic... and immediately started seething because I couldn't *do* that and everybody would know that I wasn't the greatest thing since sliced bread and then, well, *badness*, and why couldn't you write in some *other* fandom, dammit???

But thank God, you just kept on writing, reminding us all of that whole poetry doodang.

Thank you.

*squeeze*

Me, I'm a fan of those two week long stretches of birthday goodness, where everyone you know gradually remembers your birthday and deals, so instead of just one day of being incredibly special, it just goes on and on.

Hope you get one of those, hey.

And dammit, Debba, where's *my* card??
3:19 PM : link

ARRRRRGH!

Now. Oh, *now* I'm pissed.

AIM just deleted my razza fucking buddy list. And crashed my system about six times. *GRRRRRRR*

So, basically, if you're accustomed to chatting me up from time to time and suddenly can't find me? It's because I've forgotten your bloody AIM ID. No, I haven't suddenly decided I'm too good to speak with you. If I've abruptly disappeared from your life, please drop me a line at thete1@earthlink.net with your AIM ID?

Music: "Fuck Authority"
12:33 AM : link

Uh, huh, yes, again.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, very very few of the people who are ranting about me all over the bloggy 'net at the moment actually had the balls to write me. The few that did had some interesting points. Nothing even close to making me change my mind, but interesting just the same.

They point out that, as the law stands, people who write RPF, gen, het, or slash, are arguably in better legal position than those of us who use copyrighted characters for our fiction.

Well, they could very well be right, when you look at the cold hard facts.

Unfortunately, what everyone seems to be missing is the personal angle. Everyone is focusing on past legal battles, and not on what could very well happen once all these celebrities find out what we're doing with their images.

The fact is, regular fan fiction pisses very few high-powered people off. We're free publicity. RPF pisses many, many people off, because it's seen as exploitation. The legal grounds celebrities have may be shaky, but they're *there*. There's *always* another loophole, people. Ask any attorney.

Honestly, wouldn't you do anything you could to keep smut written about you off the net?

And if you wouldn't care, what about your family? Your friends?

How would they feel about it?

Look around you. How many people who live within a block of your home honestly wouldn't give a shit about stories? Manipulated images?

See, I think what's happening is a severe case of tunnel vision, boys and girls. We're fans. There's a lot of us. But guess what?

There's a lot more of *them*. Them. The mundanes.

And you know what? They don't think the same way we do.

All I ask is that you consider these things before blasting your so-called "private" fantasies all over the net.

Not one of you has stood up and volunteered to be the test case.
5:52 PM : link

Kate says there's a revolution coming.

I can dig that. Hell, I can *see* it.

She asks whose side we're going to be on. Well, that's pretty simple, innit?

I'll be on my side. Mine. Not anyone else's.

I do what makes me happy. I write what I have to, and, when there's time, what I want to.

I expect other people to do the same.

But... but *Te*! *You* said what makes me happy makes you puke!

Yep, I did. It does.

Did I ever once tell you to stop doing it?

I'll give you a moment to think about that.

::does her nails::

Well? Did you find the damning words? Let me know if you did, since I'm sure *I* didn't write them.

So, what do we have here? An opinion or two was voiced. Many, many opinions were voiced in opposition.

That's fine. No one ever said we all had to agree. If they had, I would've beat the shit outta them. Plain and simple.

It seems to me that a lot of people are upset that I, Te, who they respected, am being mean.

Am I? It's possible.

But I'm also being honest. See, I have lot invested in being honest. I spend a lot of time making sure I sign every missive I post, taking stock of everything I say to make sure I really, really do feel that way.

So no, Dorothea, I'm not PMSing.

So sorry to disappoint.

What I'm doing is voicing my opinion. If that upsets you... well, you know where that back button on your browser is, don't you? Upper left, dear. No, a little lower. A little to the left... there.

:::waves:::

What else, what else?

Hmm... I stand by my point that there is a difference between the Blair Sandburgs, the Ray Kowalskis, the Dana Scullys of the world and the... boyband members of the world.

One group are created to tell a story. One group are not.

Are the former group *only* created to tell a story? Well, yes, viedma, that point could be argued. I agree with you that far. However, in the end, *one* of the reasons these characters exist is to tell a story.

I stand by my opinion that it is, to me, a waste of time.

Of course, if it makes you happy, then, to *you*, it is not a waste of time.

All right. Go to. Have fun.

Really.

But if you're not going to change *your* mind about the things you hold dear, why in God's name am I supposed to change mine?

Because it makes you unhappy?

I don't *think* so.

Oh, and Kate? I'm perfectly willing to be the one to explain why there are divisions in fandom. Just let me know when, I'll have my notes ready.

Me, I think it's a pretty good question. It can lead to all sorts of discussion on why there are... divisions. Period.

Oh, and for the record? My inbox is open, should anyone have any further questions and comments.

That's it.

1:06 PM : link

Second: dead fucking serious.

Are you people *high*?

Do you really think The Powers That Be don't care what we, as fans, do with their creations?

If you do... Well. Here's a little experiment for y'all. Get yourself a nice big site. Fill it with sound clips and screen caps and .avis. Hell, put a whole episode up.

Sit back and wait for the lawyers to track your stupid ass down with cease and desist letters.

You think I'm paranoid? Ask around.

I'll wait.

Are you starting to get the picture yet, babies? Is it starting to sink in? They're *on* to us. If they can find Your Daily Caps, they can sure as fuck find *you*.

So far -- so *far* -- we writers of fan fiction have had it easy. All that webspace. All those archives. It was, really, quite safe to assume that they *didn't* care about *us*. Here's another research question for you: What's happening with all those Anne Rice VampChron spec sites?

:::waiting:::

Uh, huh. Yes. Are you getting it?

Now, don't get me wrong. I love love love me some screen caps, and, so long as Ari will have me, Teland will be up there, big and bold and rife with perversion. The jackbooted thugs are gathering, but they have not marched.

But really, what excuse could you *possibly* have for putting your RPS up all over the place where anyone and their publicist could stumble across it in a random web search?

Are there celebrities who've said they don't mind our prurient fantasies? Sure. But you sure as fuck aren't sticking to *them*, are you?

Is it illegal? Why, no, not yet. A show of hands, please -- which of you wants to be the test case?

Not once have I ever denounced RPS as a genre. I'm rather fond of the idea that I'm not a hypocrite, after all, and I've *certainly* read and written my fair share. So, you ask, what's my problem?

Very simple -- while I'm all for you lovely slashers being out and proud -- there are still some things that really do belong behind close doors. And firewalls. And passwords. Let's be honest, people. What do you really think is going to happen the day someone very rich, very famous, and very homophobic stumbles across your vast oeuvre?

To be more specific: Just how likely is s/he to differentiate between the RPS that's pissing him/her off and all the regular slash out there about his/her characters?

Can you say "crackdown?" I knew you could.

I'm not going to sit here and argue about the morality of RPS. While I most probably wouldn't care who wrote *what* about me, so long as I was getting laid, it's abundantly clear to me that most people, celebrity or not, do *not* feel the same. But you know what? Some of you people are so stupidly insensitive that you're never going to get that. Fine. So be it.

But for the love of *Christ*, people! Keep. It. Private. If for no other reason than to not to give TPTB one more excuse to crush us like the bugs we are. Oh, you're gonna want to send me to that idiotic RPS Defense page. I know you are. I can *feel* it. Don't bother. I've been there. You think you can't be found? Type in RPS and the subject's name/band/whatever in google.

Then shut the *fuck* up.

*Think*, dammit. They know we're here. They tolerate us *on their sufferance*. Why in God's name do you want to piss them off?

Music: "That Thing," Lauryn Hill

Oh, and Woodinat would also like to suggest slashing Eminem. Lean, brash young thing. Methinks the lady doth protest too much...
8:08 PM : link

First, quasi-humorous:

Why can't you people slash a *real* band?

I've heard all the arguments, in between endless spewage about how *cute* they are, how *funny*, how *slashy*, how too *too*. Don't make me hurl, people. Boybands are a menace. A *menace*. You get a bunch of suits checking the numbers, endless numbers we all create buy buying this and watching that and they realize: Young chicks dig vaguely homosexual men and crappy music... there's money in this!

So they get together and scour the hills and fields for boys the focus groups find attractive. Dress them up oddly. Teach them to dance. Hand them pre-fab sloppy poppy *goop* to "sing*.

My God, how the money rolls in.

Fine. I survived New Kids on the Block. When I was in eighth grade, I bet two especially obsessive other girls twenty bucks a piece that in two years they'd wish I'd just forget just how obsessive they were.

"No way!" said the girls.

Precisely two years later, I collected.

So when the boyband craze slouched its way back t'ward Bethlehem to be born, I was relaxed. I was no longer 13. There would be no icky sticky idiot obsessives harassing me about corporate shills with tight asses.

I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was.

Okay, okay. I get it. You find them attractive. They touch each other. They say cute things. You want to slash them. What about the fact that it's RPS? Oh, will we *ever* touch on that later. You don't care. What about the fact that's it's not a *show*, or a movie, or a book, or *anything*, really? Wrong, you say! They have interviews, and specials, and stuff! It's canon, just like anything else!

Well, if you don't look at that very closely, I guess y'all have a point. After all, what's any character but an artificially created persona enacting someone else's fantasies, you say.

*I* say that the difference between, say, Ray Kowalski, and a Lance, or a Justin, or a whoever-the-fuck is really quite simple. Ready? One is a character created by an artist to tell a story s/he cares about. The other is a character created by a bunch of money-grubbing suits to shake his ass and make them some money.

Ah, you say, but there's still a story! How does Lustin *really* feel? Why is Jance such a fairy? Well, those are interesting questions, really. Have a good time answering them for yourselves. You do realize that's what you're doing, right?

Or did you really think all those "candid" shots and "real" interviews were unscripted? That all that adorable mad-cap behaviour wasn't expressly designed to make them appealing? You didn't really believe *that*, did you?

Tell me you didn't. Lie to me if you have to.

To quote dear old Puff, it's all about the Benjamins, baby.

So maybe you're aware of all that. Maybe you've decided to agree with all those suits and focus groups. They're kicky! They're fun! Maybe you're just really *invested* in digging beneath the surface and finding out how these... "musicians" tick. Okay, I can dig that. You've got your opinions. Some of you are excellent writers. Artists, really. I'm sure you're producing wonderful fiction about each and every one of your favorite whores.

Good for you.

But you didn't really think I'd give a flying fuck, did you? That all your blandishments and pimpery would make me change my mind about this rank, avaricious perversion of music?

That, somehow, all your interestingly reasoned arguments would make me realize, joy, boyband slash is the wave -- the *way* -- of the future?

Honey, if you did, just stop. Really. Give it up. 'cause it ain't gonna happen. Boybands, I hope you've realized by now, make me physically ill. Being physically ill upsets me. Being upset makes me rage. It's really quite a simple progression.

If you want to spend your time crafting depth, creativity, *lives* for these shallow little prostititutes... that's fine.

If I consider it to be a waste of your time and talent... well, that's just fine, too. We're all entitled to our opinions, no?

You're not the first fangirls and boys to be told -- by other fans -- that you're wasting your time. You won't be the last.

Who knows? Maybe you'll prevail at the end. Maybe I'll have an epiphany about ol' Jance and I'll write stories, series, whole *novels* about the boys and their endless love.

Maybe I'll just continue to guard my -- admittedly odd -- morality with a shotgun and a sharp tongue.

Maybe tomorrow you'll come to your fucking senses.

Who knows? The shadow do, not I.

In the meantime, I offer the following suggestions. After all, there *are* other bands to slash:

I submit for your perusal,

Trent Reznor. Lithe, pale, taste for leather.

Maynard James Keenan. Tall, leanly muscled, tight little ass. Taste for women's underwear.

Tori Amos. Angry, fiery, bizarre. Taste for clingy sundresses.

Switchblade Symphony. Brash, Goth, voluptuous. Taste for Catholic schoolgirl uniforms.

Oasis: Brothers with a grudge. ::wink, nudge::

David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen. Spandex. Betrayal. Hurt/comfort.

These and many more, all just waiting to be slashed within an inch of their lives. Well?

I'm waiting...

Music: "Psycho Killer," Talking Heads

realisant mon espoir / je me lance vers la gloire
7:32 PM : link