Saturday, June 15, 2002

*poking all of you*

The meme started here, and is expanding gloriously. People are even including links, bless them.

Fanwhoredom: Favorite Lines

A particularly enjoyable meme from Jane. Be warned, spoilers ahead. I recommend clicking on the links to the stories before reading the quotes. These are all culled from my recs pages anyway.

1. From The Spike's "He Shall, From Time To Time" (West Wing)

"There's a particular tribe in Micronesia," Marbury began, in that musing tone that reminded Leo, annoyingly, of Jed. "Who believe that the world was destroyed at 8:15 in the morning of August 6, 1945 and that these are the after days." He moved forward again, abruptly. Came to rest a bony, tailored-silk-trouser clad hip on Leo's desk. Placed the bottle of brandy on the leather surface with a sound that told Leo, with his extensive experience in such matters, exactly how close to empty it was.

"That would make us all ghosts." Marbury leaned in as he spoke. The smell of brandy filled Leo's nose, wound round with threads of tobacco, silk and aftershave. It seemed to hook deep inside of him, warming. Searing. Marbury was too close, looming over him. Leo's instincts said 'back off'. He didn't feel like listening. Looked straight into Marbury's eyes.

"You're drunk," he said, flatly.

"You're not," Marbury replied. And kissed him. On the mouth. Leo thought: I really should stop this. And didn't. Marbury's hands //soft, cold, delicate as a woman's // cupped his face. Marbury's tongue traced the line of his closed lips, and Leo...

//choices. Make one. Now!//

...opened to it. Marbury's mouth -- brandy, tobacco and heat -- like breaking all his vows at once. He pulled away. A little breathless. //A *little*?//

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Helping," said Marbury. Utterly serious. "It's what I do."

2. From Jessica Ross' Finale to 101 Ways To Wind Up In A Canadian Shack (QL)

[Sam] doused the front of the shack with gas from the second snowmobile, put a match to it, and stood back, warming his hands. Al stood beside him as they watched it burn. And burn. And burn.

"And behold, the shack was burned with fire and the shack was not consumed. And the hologram spake again unto the leaper that the place is hinky."

3. From Debchan's "Antigen" (SV)

He stroked Clark's hair, listened as his breath deepened, became slower. He craned his neck, studied Clark's fine features. Still the same, but then Clark never changed. Was still just as beautiful, just as earnest, just as terrible a liar. At first Lex had been furious. Had felt betrayed. Perhaps even felt hurt. Some day he needed to thank Clark for making him stronger. Maybe when he was actually strong enough to stop this.

Clark stirred sleepily, then pressed a kiss to Lex's shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, just something someone once told me about turning a disadvantage into an advantage."

"Do you ever stop thinking?"

"Not really, no."

Clark lifted his head and stared down at Lex, a knowing smile curving his lips. "Bet I know a way to stop you."

And Lex felt a distant tug on his heart, just firm enough to make his answering smile feel the tiniest bit bitter. "You can try."

4. From Basingstoke's "Viceroy" snippet, part of "Five Things That Aren't True" (SV/Brimstone)

Lex smiled. "I like this world, Father. I won't destroy it."

His father slid his hands down to Lex's throat, pausing for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Lex, Lex, Lex!" Lionel draped his arm around Lex's shoulders and walked a few paces. The room shifted around them, becoming the driveway of the castle once again. "I see I should have bought you that pony when you were six."

"This isn't just rebellion." Lex was offended at the idea.

"Oh, of course not. You're young. You've got some farm girl on the side.... I'm a patient angel. I can wait." Lionel smiled broadly.

"You'll be waiting a long time."

"You'll be waiting forever."

Lionel laughed and took out his sunglasses. "Just you see, son. You'll hate this world yet." He donned the glasses and vanished.

Lex pinched himself. Apparently, he wasn't dreaming, unless he suddenly had very persuasive dreams.

He walked over to his car. A cappuccino sounded good. He needed to clear his head. He needed to think, long and hard. He needed to find out what powers his father had awakened. He needed to find out how to exploit them.

Unbelievable. The townspeople were right. His father really *was* the Devil.

When he put the keys in the ignition, he glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed the horns still on his head.

5. From Sarah T.'s "Visitation" (SV)

When the two Luthors were out in the serenity of the woods, Lex would always speak to his father, even though Lionel couldn't answer him directly. His tone was invariably gentle and calm, and he stopped often to scrutinize Lionel's face for a response.

"I closed up the house in Metropolis, Dad. It was such a waste of money to keep it heated. It's not fitting for a Luthor to be living in a pretentious, hideous pile like that, anyway. I sold off the furnishings, too. I know you were awfully proud of them, but, just between you and me, they were terribly arriviste, you know? Victoria didn't say anything, but I could tell she was suffering."

"I was shocked to find out that Dominic had been embezzling from the company for twenty years. I can't imagine how you never spotted it, Dad. But then it seems like most of your senior staff were engaged in questionable activities of one kind or another. You were a little too trusting, I guess. Shame about Dominic's family--after he's done paying restitution, I can't imagine what they'll live on."

"I decided to go ahead and launch that soybean program. I know you always thought it was too risky, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh? LexCorp had to shut down that waste-treatment facility that you built to free up the revenue stream, but I never thought that was going anywhere. No offense."

"Louis and Lily are doing splendidly. Louis just became junior national champion in epee, and Lily is a Westinghouse finalist. I'd bring them to see you--sometimes I don't feel that they know you as well as you would like--but it's such a long trip, and I don't want to take them away from their studies. I know you understand."

The visits were never very long--perhaps only a half hour or so--and Lex's schedule, of course, did not allow for lingering. But the nurses knew that Lionel appreciated his visits. He always came back with trembling hands and tears in his eyes. In fact, he was so moved by his son's devotion, sometimes he even wept before Lex came. The nurses found that very touching indeed.

6. From The Spike's "The Butterfly Effect" (SV)

"It's not... Lex, they're just signposts. Cassandra said. And my dad. We make our own destiny. Nothing's written in stone."

Lex opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. Looks at Clark. It's a long look and so many things pass across his face Clark can almost catch them, almost put
words to them.

Believe me, he wants to say. Trust me. Lex's eyes flutter a little. Fall shut.

"Lex?" He can't stop himself from reaching out. Palm to Lex's knee. The eyes snap open, not quite there. "Lex, what's happening?"

"There are a lot of stones, Clark," Lex says. Soft. Not angry any more.

"What does that mean?" It seems to take some real effort for Lex to focus this time. Get the words out.

"A lot of... futures. You just saw... one." Clark thinks about that.

"Well, that's good. Right? There are other futures." Lex winces, eyes fall shut again.

"Millions." Almost a whisper. "Millions and millions."

"Millions of futures?"

"Millions of stones."

7. From Debchan's "Fate" (SV)

The first one had come out wrong. He was still perfecting the process, but had been too eager to wait. It had hair, for one thing, and its brain never fully developed. That one had only lasted a few days before Clark decided it was a failure.

They improved as he went on. Eventually he worked out the required sequence to retard the follicles and to keep the skin from cracking open and peeling off once it was out of the tank.

When they came out physically perfect, however, there was still something lacking. Some spark of personality that made them nothing more than pretty dolls programmed to parrot back what he wanted to hear. Being with them was almost worse than being alone.

Almost.

Next came experiments in implanting the engrams he'd carefully saved along with the tissue. That was a little trickier. Too much and they came out wanting to kill him. Too little and they wept and wanted their mother. Some merely lapsed into catatonia and never came out when they saw what the world had become.

He lost count of the failures. But honestly, it didn't matter. He had nothing but time.

8. From Merry Lynne's "The Road Home" (SV)

Lex closed his eyes. So, he'd been driving a little fast. The road was empty and straight, the headlights were strong, the fog lights cut through the mist like lasers. They'd been doing something like sixty; Lex drove faster than that down his own driveway. He got out his cell phone and started to dial.

"Lex, wait."

His thumb hovered over the send button. "What?"

"Don't you have a spare?"

Lex frowned. "A spare what?"

That grin shot out, powerful even in the dim blue light from the dash. At the moment, it wasn't terribly endearing. "A spare tire, Lex. To replace the one you just blew out."

Lex snapped the phone shut and reached deep inside for patience. "Okay, first, I didn't blow out the tire. A crater the size of Metropolis in the middle of the road, a crater that should have been fixed around the time you were born, blew out the tire. And second, I have no idea if I have a spare tire. I assume, if I'm supposed to have one, I do." If he was supposed to have one and didn't, someone was going to pay for it with his job. And possibly a limb.

Clark nodded, his eyes wide, his face oh, so innocent. "Do you know if you have a trunk?"

"You know you're walking home, right?"

"Can't." Clark grinned. "No shoes."

Lex dropped his head back against the seat and sighed. "I have people who do these things for me."

"I don't see any of them here."

"Assuming there's a spare, do you know what to do with it?"

"Are you kidding? Have you seen my dad's truck? I've changed its tires more times than I've changed my underwear." Clark climbed out, then stuck his head in through the window. "Pop the trunk."

He did, then followed Clark to the back of the car. He found Clark pulling equipment from the trunk with both hands, smiling happily. Clark's breath misted in the air in front of him, and Lex shivered on his behalf. Not that Lex's jacket was helping that much, either.

The yellow trunk light turned Clark a little sallow. It should have rendered him completely unattractive, but that wasn't the way Lex's luck was running tonight. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"This is great, Lex! You've got everything we need and most stuff we don't. Spare tire, tire iron, jack, jumper cables, flashlights, bottled water, first aid kit, transistor radio...Oreos?" Clark looked up. "Better that than eating your fellow travelers, I guess."

"Don't think I've rejected that option."

Frowning, Clark reached into the trunk. When his hand came back up, a pair of silver handcuffs dangled, glittering, from one finger. He looked an interested question at Lex, smirking.

Lex hadn't known Clark could smirk. Calmly, he took them away and pocketed them. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"We do get cable TV here, Lex."

"Really? In color?"

9. From Jane St Clair's "Smog" (SV)

Bruce doesn't drink. Just water. Ice in his hands, condensation on the glass and the tips of his fingers. And he almost collapses back into the armchair. Gnaws on the second knuckle of his thumb for a minute, then looks over.

"Lex, are we friends?"

"No."

Ghost of a smile. "Fair enough. Allies?"

"What are you offering?"

"I need a favour."

"Corporate?"

"Personal."

"I'm not my father's messenger."

"Yes you are. But I'm not asking your father."

"Then I'm listening."

"I need you to take Dick for me."

It's not what he expected. Something darker. Or. Less sticky than this, more convoluted. Take the boy. Move him. Get him out of the country?

"Why?"

Silence. "Lex, what do you think he is to me?"

"There's no safe answer to that."

"Try."

"I won't."

"I'm not."

Beat. "What?"

"I'm not." Hesitation. "I want to say I'm not sleeping with him, but on a purely technical level that isn't true. He has nightmares." Smile. "And cold feet."

"He can't be more than fourteen, Bruce."

"He's twelve. Thirteen next week."

Good god. "Who is he?"

"I adopted him. Four years ago, after his parents were murdered. It shouldn't have happened. It was my fault." Misery. "It's not what you think."

"Bruce, I'm not sure you should be telling me this."

"I'm not fucking him, Lex."

Quiet. He doesn't think it's a word he ever expected to hear the man say. Bruce is almost icily polite, most of the time. Better manners than anybody ever beat into Lex, but maybe being raised by Alfred makes a difference.

"So what do you want?"

"I told you. Take him away for a while."

"Why me?"

"Because if I send him anywhere myself, he's going to think I'm angry. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Then why send him?"

"Because if I don't, I'm going to do something."

10. From Livia's "Impact" (SV)

"You aren't..." Clark frowns again. Impossible to know how much of what Lex said last night was true, and how much was Rickman's influence, but... "My parents really don't hate you, Lex."

"Yeah, well." Lex says softly, his fingers tracing the curve of Clark's ribs. "Give it time."

Probably more later. I haven't even looked at Buffy or Due South or or or...

Music: He's got his hands in my hair and his lips everywhere...

Recs Update!

Just finished a major overhaul of my recs pages. There's now a central index here:

Recommendations Index

From there, you can pick your fandom and go nuts. I also fixed a huge amount of broken links. Please change your links accordingly -- I'll be pulling down the old pages soon.

New recommendations in the following fandoms: Smallville, Buffy, Angel, X-Files, and Due South.

Have fun. *g*

::stumbles bedward::

Friday, June 14, 2002

Campfire Tales...

... is just a damned cool site. Includes a great deal of the best dark MEverse fiction around, but that's not what I'm pimping today. Check out the interviews here. Very interesting stuff from a number of perspectives, including my own. *snerk* Okay, so mine you can skip, as you've already seen it here, but hey, I'm just one in a crowd.

Hit the link. Browse around.

Music: Poe, "Lemon Meringue"

And another thing.

Some snarky comments have been made -- quietly, for the most part -- about how people think it's the Wes/Gunn "break-up" that drove people out of fandom, with the insinuation that this, somehow, isn't a *good enough* reason to leave.

You know something?

Why the fuck not?

Honestly, we all watch these shows for different reasons, and *hell*, yeah, one of the reasons I loved Angel was their interaction. Jesus, I practically *started* that fucking 'ship. ::resists the urge to rant some more on Pod!Gunn::

But this isn't why I started this entry. This entry is about feeling it, as Kita put it. I've been thinking some more on things, and you know... what would've happened if Wes wound up with Fred and Gunn was the one who kidnapped Connor, got his throat slit, wound up screwing Lilah, etc.?

I bet I'd still be watching.

Why?

Well, let's break it down a little. Alexis is probably the best actor on the show. He could've taken the saccharine storyline given to Gunn and gone somewhere with it, whereas, as much as I love J. August, he often seemed to flounder as the romantic lead to Amy Acker. Granted, the whole prophecy angle would have to be glossed over somehow, but it could work. And who better to assume Angel would eat the baby than the guy who's had Angel issues from day *one*?

But you know what? This has nothing to do with *rational* reasons.

Nope, this is all about being a raging fangirl. And I am one. Gunn. Gunn. GUNN. Y'all remember I'm Black, right? And that I've got some bitterness about airtime for my brothers and sisters in genre film and television? Good, we're caught up. Now. Who's the last young, attractive, intelligent, *major* Black character you can remember on genre TV who didn't get killed off instantly?

I'm waiting.

How 'bout one so slashy he needs a superhero costume with a giant virgule?

Still waiting over here.

Here's what I'm trying to say: Some shows you watch because the shows themselves are just. That. Cool. S2 Buffy, anyone? And then there are the shows you watch because you're hopelessly in love with one or more of the characters. When the Smallville pilot aired, I knew I'd have another hour of TV to watch every week, *solely* because I fell head over heels with Lex -- and with the way he cruised a certain underaged farmboy. With Angel, I was madly in love with Gunn. I loved Wes and Cordy, too, but not quite as much. What I loved the *most* was the way the three of them interacted. Along comes S3, and suddenly the only character left behaving like himself is Wesley.

Frankly? Not enough.

So, you know what? It's all well and good for people who are in this for Wes, for Lilah and Connor and Justine to bitch the rest of us out for being deserters. Just try to imagine what it would be like to walk a mile in *our* shoes.

Music: "Just A Phase," Incubus

Not a hater, but...

You know what? I'm with Kita and Sarah on this one.

1) For various reasons, all of which I've gone into at length in various forums, Angel ceased to be a show I could watch without rolling my eyes, laughing out loud, falling asleep, wanting to throw things, or falling into a black rage of fan fury. Or all of the above. When this happened to me with X-Files, I stopped watching. Ditto with Angel -- though several people kept poking me to watch in the case of Angel. And I tried. I really did.

I really, really did.

IMO? Major suckage. I can sort of see how they got from there to here with Angel. Sort of. If I squint. It's easier to see with Wesley -- but only if I ignore the hatchet job done with Cordelia and Gunn. I started watching the show because I fell in love with the characters. I watched them grow and change over season two, and then, all of a sudden, it seemed as though the writers forgot how human beings *worked*.

But hey, the point has been made that all sorts of fans write for and around crappy shows. I've done it. However...

a) My crappy is not your crappy. Jenny-O loves Angel, as does Sheila. Neither of them seem to give a rat's ass about Smallville. Chacun a son gout, eh?

b) The canon for those bad shows/films I've written for had been very closed. I cannot stress enough how helpful this is when trying to get around a troublesome point of suckage.

2) My second issue... okay, here's what I don't get. Is there some vast forum somewhere with people pissing and moaning at length about how much Angel sucks and how they'll never write fiction for it again? I go around blogland and see people bitching about how MEverse fandom is full of people who... can't stop bitching.

The hell? But really, this latest... I understand how frustrating it can be when all the good writers desert your fandom of choice for the big shiny new thing over *there*, but Jesus H. Christ, anyone who's been around the block for more than a couple of years knows that happens all the fucking time. New shows premiere. New movies premiere. Pretty boys and girls get exciting new roles that are slashier than ever. Is this something that never occurred to y'all?

Hmm. Thinking some more... yeah, it's true. A lot of people have been in MEverse fandom from the very beginning and barely ever strayed. Dude, if I'm not that faithful to my own girlfriend, why on earth would you expect me to be to a *hobby*?

Anyway. Do I wish I was still in a place where I could still share fannish love with people like Sheila and Jenny-O? Hell, yes. It's uncomfortable and vexing not to. The best I can hope for is that eventually I'll reach a place where I'm indifferent to Angel at this point, and that sucks donkey balls. Ah, well. At least I can still read the stories, and, yes, even write them -- because there's nothing like a big bad AU to soothe the mind and heal the spirit.

Music: "They-Say Vision," by Res

Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Pimporiffic

Welcome the fab, the frivolous, the fantastic boombastic romantic... kormantic, situated neatly to the left. She has joined the blog collective. She can check out any time she likes. She followed the grail-shaped beacon. Get the cool shoe shine. I do believe my drugs are kicking in.

In OTHER news... my review of the book that I like to think of as WHEN MARION ZIMMER BRADLEY ATTACKS!!! is up here. Go. Read. Drive up my hit count. Argue with me, if you'd like.

Music: Ani, "Dilate"

Fannish Flutterby

So Jenn got me thinking on one of my old AU ideas that never went anywhere *beyond* the idea stage because I most sincerely needed a co-author or two for it. The set-up:

Post-Gift, the Scooby Gang aren't thinking about resurrection at all. Why? Well, gee, because everybody knows that resurrection spells never *work*. Right? Right. They are, however, thinking about the fact that Dawn's the Key. A plan is formed. The multiverse is huge, maybe even infinite. Somewhere out there is a universe where there's a Buffy who isn't needed as a Slayer anymore. They find one. Lock onto it. Magical mystical blah blah. Someone -- probably Tara -- points out that what they're doing isn't exactly fair. The rest of them are either not listening, or pointing to the huge fucking demon hotel where the Starbucks used to be, or being all Giles-y ruthless, or pointing out the crumbling Buffybot, or all of the above.

Stars in alignment. Ritual begins. Wahey, bikers. Or whatever. Things go wrong. They manage to yank *a* Buffy through... but not the one they planned on.

The biggest difference I've thought of was that when she found out what was happening with Glory, she took it upon herself to kill Dawn. Now that I think about it, her world was probably a lot darker overall. Rewind back to S3, the Faith arc. Something Happened around Bad Girls with them, yeah... and I bet Faith either killed or hurt Willow pretty badly, not to mention the Xander-rape....

This Buffy's not evil, she's just not very *nice*. Kinda Wishverse-y.

Anyway.

Music: "Drive," Incubus

Roots Showing

Hope recs Andy's The Cat with the caveat that those who want warnings should scroll up, and that those who don't should just read on. I highly recommend reading as is. I refuse to spoil. Just... refuse. Gah. I can't think of a way to rec this without spoiling, but it's brilliant, and gorgeous, and made me scream and laugh in that way that always makes people look at me funny.

Go read. Go.

Music: "She Bop," Cyndi Lauper

No, I *couldn't* resist.

"though i'm past one hundred thousand miles, i'm feeling very still..."

quiz created by neondisease

Which David Bowie single are you?

Gettin' my pimp swerve on.

Yay me! I've got a new book review up at zentertainment here:

Nebula Showcase 2002

Go! Go now! Drive the hit count up so high it touches the heavens!

Er... yes. *g*

And check out the other cool stuff, too. *g*

Music: Annie Lennox, "Love Song For A Vampire"

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

Dream Blog To The. Um. Other Stars?

*So* not gonna analyze the dream where Sarah T. was stalking me and had an evil anti-shrine with glitter and glued on macaroni.

I was walking with Jess, who was irritable about the cracks in the pavement that went down to Hell, and we saw a guy walking a cute dog. I said hey, cute dog, and the dog immediately went after Jess, bouncing and yapping. We couldn't get the guy to control it, and she was getting more and more pissed (being as she's allergic) and I felt all helpless and whoops, floated into the sky. (this happens fairly often in dreams)

Jess jumped up to get me and helped me find my way through the clouds and suddenly we were in Heaven's rather skeezy waiting room. We had to fill out forms with math problems, and I messed up on one and wound up in Hell.

Dodging bullets. Thankfully the bullets were made of wood, but so was everything else, so that wasn't much help. Made it into a metal room where the gang from Angel was hanging out.

Angel was feeling Gunn up and people were starting to get weirded out, but it turned out that Something Was Very Wrong, and Gunn was burning up with fever. So hot he was actually *burning* Angel. So he and Wes stripped him and covered him with cool cloths and Fred and Cordy poured cold water all over him. Woo-ha.

Meanwhile, giant orange alligator demons with shedding skin kept attacking. Angel was the only one who could get them to stay down, and eventually he just sort of wandered off. Gunn was delirious. Cordy and Fred were carried off.

Wes and I figured out that the orange juice we were giving Gunn was poison to the demons and went to the restaurant next door (where Methos was dining with a Japanese pimp) to steal all the OJ they had.

To distract the patrons, I offered myself to the pimp, apologized for being so American in my forward-ness, then went back to business. The waiter offered to take care of our bill if we just got rid of the demon infestation.

We dumped orange juice (and Methos) down the shaft to where the demons were breeding, listening for the screams of pain and to see if we could hear Cordy and Fred. Eventually, Methos climbed back up alone.

"Are they dead?"

"Almost ::gulp:: all of them."

"Well, good God, man, get back down there!"

"Well, that's the problem... ::hic:: It's. *swallow* In my... ::gurgle:: throat." ::Methos turns around and makes yarking noises::

I nearly lose my lunch. Wes tosses orange juice all over Methos. Methos thwaps Wes with decorative sculpture.

"I was just *kidding*!"

Te wakes up.

Yep. It's the bad crack, all right.

Music: OMWF

Bouncing off Destina's journal...

... some short stories I have loved:

"Survivor Type" by Stephen King
"Cabal" by Clive Barker (novella?)
"Snow, Glass, Apples" by Neil Gaiman
"The Jaunt" by Stephen King
"The Death of the Duke" by Delia Sherman
"Pamela's Get" by David Schow
"Soft Monkey" by Harlan Ellison
"O, Rare and Most Exquisite" by Douglas Clegg
"The Witch's Heart" by Delia Sherman
"The Cruel Countess" by Chris Bell
"Radio Waves" by Michael Swanwick
"Casey Agonistes" by Richard McKenna
"The Writer's Child" by Tad Williams
"Cain Rose Up" by Stephen King
"Go Ask Elric" by Tad Williams
"Some Things A Man Must Do" by Lawrence Block
"A Blow For Freedom" by Lawrence Block

And about a gazillion others by Block, the sick bastard. *g*

Music: "Sleepy Hollow," by Korn and MM

Monday, June 10, 2002

Die, Crackheads, DIE

Just my reaction to the delicate, fragile flower Lex thread.

Also? Sleeping pill so very much not making me sleep.

Sunday, June 09, 2002

On Manly Man Man Men

So, chatting with the Spike and Debchan on the issue of M. Diesel, and how he's just... just...

Yes, well. We were trying to come up with other men who had this quality for us, and here is our list, in no particular order:

1) Vin Diesel
2) Clint Eastwood
3) John Glover
4) Harvey Keitel
5) Hugh Dillon
6) Oliver Reed
7) Sean Connery
8) Peter O'Toole
9) Keith Hamilton Cobb
10) Brian Blessed
11) Viggo Mortensen
12) Martin Sheen
13) Joey Pantoliano
14) Laurence Fishburne
15) Anthony Stewart Head
16) Laurence Olivier
17) Humphrey Bogart

Various worthies were rejected for various reasons. "He's too stupid." "He's too much of a 'phobe." "He's a shithead." "He's sexy, yeah, but not in that... that..."

Essentially? A manly man man man has to be the kind of man who occasionally makes you want to say "oh, DADDY," and, like, *mean* it. As the Spike says, "... men who just blow you away. Hugh Jackman had it as Wolverine, but he doesn't *own* it. Wolverine has it."

Other suggestions?

And here's the list of guys we're wibbling on. Do they own it? Was it just for the role?:

1) Denzel Washington
2) Robert Carlyle
3) Andre Braugher

Music: Riddick and Tyr wrestling in oil in my happy, happy brain.