jmtorres: (mslash)
If [personal profile] ysobel and I, like all the other queer women online, are both straight dudes--does this mean we're gay for each other after all?
jmtorres: movieverse Steve Rogers with dorky grin. Text: The future is awesome! Who else is a robot? (awesome)
--FTM vampire Nikola Tesla; very George Sand except never known/revealed to the general public and, confident of having a great deal of time, gradually trying out medical procedures and treatments as they become less stupidly awful. In my head, Helen is snarking about the caterpillar he used to wear on his upper lip to pass. Also, Will's "what" face is very what. Somehow "the guy who invented the radio just dissed Jack the Ripper" fits into his worldview okay. And vampires. And other Abnormals. And stuff. But he is going "wait, what?" at the idea that Nikola is trans. Maybe partially because he's just so ordinarily trans. He is not "my Abnormal power is changing sex at will" trans or "the Source blood made me into a dude" trans or anything. Will might find the whole thing easier to grasp if he were. Will's sense of reality is so skewed. But mostly: Tesla! and Helen! And Tesla snarking about how if he'd given up and worn the damn petticoats he'd've had a much better chance with Helen back at Oxford, because Helen really wished she had another woman around.

--that time when Gregor was 17 and very nearly had an assignation with a girl whose family Alys felt was not at all proper and what was Gregor THINKING, nearly giving them a political hold on him, they're Conservatives for heaven's sake, only things are poorly articulated all around and what Gregor gets out of it is: he is not allowed to have sex EVER with ANYONE (presumably until Alys marries him off appropriately) and he has NO CONTROL of his own life and his security watches him ALL THE TIME and NEVER LEAVES HIM ALONE and obeys ALYS AND ARAL and NOT HIM DAMN IT. His sulk is epic as only teenage sulks can be, though frankly far more true than most over the top teenager complaints, and he has been tossed down to Vorkosigan Surleau to calm down and 12 year old Miles and Ivan um. help? try to help? by showing Gregor this hole in the security they found and they all go exploring in the mountains until ImpSec shows up about an hour later going OH MY GOD THE EMPEROR WE LOST YOU WE WERE AFRAID YOU MIGHT BE DEAD NEVER LEAVE US AGAIN WHAT IS THIS SCRATCH ARE YOU HURT DID SOMEONE HURT YOU DID THESE BOYS TRY TO ASSASSINATE YOU WE CAN FIX THAT LET US AT THEM. Everyone is sort of failing at the calming down thing. It's hilarious and terrible and also where Illyan pokes at wee Ivan and goes, "I see you have a brain. I will not allow you to waste it," and appropriates him to be a secret agent on the spot. After scaring him half to death, because what Illyan was meant to be doing was playing Simon Illyan, Bogey-Man, as Alys-approved punishment for gross stupidity (he offered because Alys was wringing her hands going I DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHAT DO I DO WITH MY SON FOR THIS, whereas Cordelia and Aral were just planning to have a long and very serious talk with Miles about recklessness and people trying to protect them and consequences, and ask Miles what he thought an appropriate punishment would be, because by that age Miles was very good at declaring his own penances far more strictly than certainly Cordelia would have handed out).

Er.
jmtorres: Don and Charlie, text: FBI Agent, Supergenius professor of applied mathematics, THEY FIGHT CRIME! (they fight crime!)
I'm wandering through my bajillion open tabs, as one does at four in the morning, and just read this essay on bisexuality by [livejournal.com profile] gyzym, posted earlier this month and which I probably set aside during finals week. I have no idea where I was linked from, more's the pity.

Anyway, after reading it, I felt compelled to comment about my own sexuality in-the-ways-that-it-intersects-with-bisexuality and well, I'll reproduce it here:

deep thoughts on attraction and the self-limiting factors of labels

I'm about 4.5 on the Kinsey scale and I identify as lesbian. But the fact that I am not a total six means sometimes there are dudes I find attractive (and sometimes really, really not--like I look at some of my fandom friends' objects of interest and am confused? like, I understand that other people are attracted to other things than me but I cannot grok it: like, say, Supernatural. I have heard those boy described as model pretty and... I don't see it. Imagine me with your porn headtilt.) but okay: on some level it's always weird to me when I find a dude attractive. I am more comfortable with attraction to dudes when they are pretty, even though my attraction to women covers a very broad range of looks and is not limited to pretty. But, like, for example... I don't know if you've ever watched Numb3rs? The premise is: two brothers! Charlie is a genius mathematician! Don is an FBI agent! TOGETHER THEY FIGHT CRIME! (And some other people. Charlie's hot mathematician gf? RAWWWWRRR can I have her for my very own, please.) But so, early on, I thought Charlie was cute, and I was okay with this, because especially in the early seasons when he has long hair he is totally the pretty one. Don, being the FBI agent, is totally the manly one. And then one day I caught myself looking at Don's lips and I was like WHAT. Like, it shocked me to be attracted to the manly dude (even if his lips were pretty).

I have lesbian guilt. I know this, and I know it's ridiculous, and I have it anyway. Like, regardless of attraction, I could never see myself with a dude, and part of it is I don't know how I would explain to people the "I am a lesbian dating a dude, no, don't try to make it make sense." And I can't even figure out the chicken and egg issue on that--can I not figure out how to explain it because it would never happen? or does fear of explaining it prevent it from happening? Maybe I would have an easier time in my own head if I identified as "bisexual with a preference for women" but I don't, lesbian is the identification that works for me (with that addendum about being a 4.5 on the Kinsey scale, where necessary). But holy crap does being a lesbian have some baggage if you are not a total six, and it astounds me that queer identities have enough of a cultural narrative attached that I can get mired in feeling guilty for being attracted to not the "right" kind of person when a heterosexual attraction could, technically, drop me into the dominant cultural narrative. I feel like, goddamnit, ALL THE STUPID BOXES CONTRADICT EACH OTHER.

So while I have a label and it is mine and I identify with it, oh my god, I wish society as a whole could chuck out labels.

(...hi. This is probably tangentially relevant to your entry at best, but um, I felt strongly and wanted to talk about it?)


In conclusion: why do I not have an Amita icon?
jmtorres: From Lady Gaga's Bad Romance music video; the peach-haired, wide-eyed iteration (lady gaga)
Today one of my coworkers asked me if I'd heard about the Weird Al-Lady Gaga thing and I said, yes, I had, and I deeply regretted reading the comments on Weird Al's blog enry because it just pissed me off that his readers got homophobic and transphobic right off the bat. Then my coworker voiced the popular opinion I've seen on the internet that Lady Gaga was lying about a manager having said she said no when she hadn't seen or heard anything. Only he said Lady Gaga was a "c" who was lying.

I. don't even.

"Also misogynistic," I said. "Not really down with that."

I cannot believe he said that to me. Like, my disbelief was so enormous that I walked out of the office and didn't really think about it again until just now. I kind of want to do SOMETHING to educate him and I can't figure out actions available here would teach him the lesson that "cunt," even if you shorten it to "c," is a gendered insult and disrespectful to all women and not just the woman you're trying to insult, rather than the lesson that you shouldn't say the seven dirty words to coworkers who could complain about you. Or to you. I just.

Argh.
jmtorres: Electric Mayhem: the Muppet Band's bus. (music)
Have you ever been listening to the radio and suddenly felt like the song was written for you personally for five seconds? When I was putting together this list I found myself realizing how much it says about my psyche and maybe also my generation. Like, I almost wish Imagine or something was on here, it seems loftier than *cough* some of these, but I grew up with Imagine, I never had a paradigm shift on it, it was just always there for me. These? These were really personal moments of impact.

Three song lyrics that meant the world to me:

I was made to believe there's something wrong with me, from Cold War by Janelle Monae

This was the line that made me want to write this entry. I wish I'd heard this years ago. I wish I'd heard it years before she even wrote it. I wish I'd heard it in high school. I don't know if I would have understood it, if I would have had the objectivity to get it, but this was something I struggled with, as a queer girl growing up: the sense that there was something wrong with the way I was, that didn't actually come from something being wrong with me but from something being wrong with society, that society was telling me you don't fit, you're a broken cog but it wasn't true, it was society being a broken machine. It's hard to see it the first time but it's so liberating when you do. If I could send this song back in time a dozen years to tiny me, I would.



I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance

Okay, don't laugh at me, you folks.

I first heard this song--saw the music video, actually--during Lost Year II, The Flunk Out of Every Institution in the State Remix. We'll call it the Geographically Challenged Year. It was bad, but not quite as bad as my Lost Year, and part of the reason was this song.

I have chronic clinical depression. The Lost Year was the year I just went under to it, the Geographically Challenged Year was the year that I could admit--to myself, if no one else--that something was wrong. I burned some bridges figuring that out, but. It was better. A little.

You see, clinical depression is, 95% of the time, invisible to other people. You're tired or you're cranky or in a bad mood or whatever, you should just buck up and get over it. (You can't get over it, it goes on and on.) And it's so ingrained in our culture that the answer to "How are you?" is "I'm fine" at the best or "I'm okay" at the worst. If you say "I'm awesome!" people look at you kind of pityingly, like "I'm so sorry your company is asshats, at least they don't also make you wear flare?" If you say "I'm terrible," you really had better be bleeding to death, and even then, the temptation is to brush it off as "Just a flesh wound." And if anyone has any reason to suspect you're not really okay, that you're just giving the socially acceptable response, the thing to do is in fact to promise, to assure them that you're okay. Even more for women, I think, there's a negative stereotype of a the woman who complains, what a nag, what a hag she is, and no one wants to be that, right?

So for ages and ages I told everyone including myself that I was okay, when I wasn't, because I didn't know how to say anything else. It seems like such a small thing that this song deconstructs but I don't think any more sweeping statement would have had the same impact--if they had said "I'm depressed, my life sucks," well, that would have been the sort of sentiment you can get away with in emo music, right? But "I'm not okay, I promise," takes the thing you're supposed to say, with all its trappings, and says, "That is a social fiction. That is a lie."

Seven years later I can admit to myself when I'm not okay, and sometimes even to other people.



Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears, from The Cool, Cool River by Paul Simon

This is off The Rhythm of the Saints, which may be one of my favorite albums of all time. What this line encapsulates for me is how the creative process comes out of deep emotions--for him, it's music; for me, it's fiction or film. You don't know how many times I've been jarred to realize that I'm putting myself down on paper at the safe distance of a character in a story. Sometimes it's enough, sometimes you can work through your issues at that distance and write something that's interesting to other people and we call that being inspired. And sometimes it's not enough, sometimes putting things at the safe distance of fuel for the creation engine is putting them too far away, sometimes the only way you can actually process is to own it in yourself. Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears.
jmtorres: From Lady Gaga's Bad Romance music video; the peach-haired, wide-eyed iteration (Default)
[personal profile] happydork wrote an interesting entry examining why her own writing didn't reflect the diversity of characters she wants to read about. I thought both the entry and the conversation it sparked were fascinating and I encourage you to go look at it and post your own thoughts because I want to see what more people think!

I look back at the last dozen stories I've written and find I have a similar problem with focusing on the love lives of white dudes despite my broader interests. I think for me the socialized programming to accept the white dude perspective as normative in fiction is something I have to think about to overcome even though my intellectual beliefs concern greater representation of a variety of perspectives in fiction, both fan and media, to the end of normalizing being a not-white/not-dude/not-assorted-currently-normative-states.
jmtorres: Electric Mayhem: the Muppet Band's bus. (bus)
I mean, is it just me or is a bus stop a weird place to try to pick someone up?

People use my hair as an opening to talk to me, because it is interesting colors. Both men and women have done this, so I can say that my feelings about being hit on at the bus stop are not related to "I am a lesbian: go away, dude." I just don't really feel the bus stop pick-up at all.

The dude today was telling me how he'd had his hair done blue in the winter and it had gone to turquoise fairly fast, to his disappointment, which, you know, that is a bitch, and he thought the stylist had used cheap dye on him, and stuff. And then he segued into telling me how to attract the right person you just have to be completely yourself and I was clearly on that path with my red hair and then he leapt to body type. I have broad shoulders but he respects me. And I am not obese. I think he was incoherently trying to say I looked comfortable in my own skin, because to say that I am not obese is laughably non-factual. Still, I had a moment of DAMN YOUR FLATTERY, GOOD SIR, WHY MUST I RESPOND TO IT SO INSTINCTIVELY. Excellent grasp of which cultural triggers to deconstruct to flatter a fat girl, he had, just utter absurdity in execution.

Fortunately the bus came then, and he didn't get on it with me.

The gays

Mar. 8th, 2010 09:27 pm
jmtorres: From Lady Gaga's Bad Romance music video; the peach-haired, wide-eyed iteration (Default)
I'm listening to this lecture and my professor keeps saying "the gaze" only I keep hearing "the gays."


We are the gays. Hollywood makes us, the audience, the gays.

Humphrey Bogart is the gays.
jmtorres: From Lady Gaga's Bad Romance music video; the peach-haired, wide-eyed iteration (Default)
The siren, who turns herself into whatever your most desired sexual partner is... for Dean, turned into a guy who digs his car and his music.

ETA: *continues to watch episode* Man, was that a fake-out? They do like to fuck with us, don't they.

ETA: ...double fake-out. OH MAN. YEAH, YEAH DEAN'S A LITTLE QUEER.
jmtorres: The arch-elf from the movie Santa Clause, with pita. (holidays)
Hi. Hi there. I realize this is late and I apologize, I hope you haven't been freaking out. I know I promised to link/list some stuff in this letter, so I'm especially sorry it took me this long to get it done.

Right, okay, my requests:

1. Less Than Perfect - Kipp Steadman )

2. Final Cut (software) - the programmers )

3. Raines )



Beyond fandoms: what I like.

I realized that I didn't put any pairings in any of these, so I should probably say here, I'm mostly a slasher. But I also read gen, and I also read het (and I also read femslash, although I had to remind myself to add it as a separate category, because I tend to assume "slash" swings both ways), and I also like threesomes etc. (I kind of think this is unlikely to come up with this request set, but, my favorite threesome configuration is M/M/F--Mommy and Daddy and Daddy's boyfriend!) I don't, usually, read smut, though. I'll read stories with smut in them but I tend to skim past it. Unless there's important characterization to be had in the sex, I'd druther a fade to black.

And, seriously, gen is totally fine too. (I'll note again that I didn't put any pairings on these. Heh.)

I like humor. I like crack. (If you had any desire to take a standard crack or AU trope like Age of Sail or Egyptology or Genderswap or Wingfic or With Dragons and drop it on any of these fandoms, I think I would probably die laughing. But I'm totally a fifth-wave fan; if you're going to do something like that, commit to it, invest in the detail and treat it seriously, because that's how it becomes seriously awesome.) I like irony and snark and gallows humor. I like plot. I like fluff. I hesitate to call the kind of wallowing I do with angst "like" but I do enjoy it. (I enjoy it more if everyone's dealing with angst by snarking off. Did I mention I like snark?) I like it when I read the dialogue and it sounds so true that I can hear the characters saying it in my head. I like smart. I like it when characters are smart and I like it when plots are smart and I like it when stories answer questions, and when they pose them. (This is probably related to my enjoyment of science fiction in its speculative mode, but also to my enjoyment of fanfiction as a way to fill in the blanks canon leaves, explain things left hanging.)

I've put this in two previous yuletide letters so I think I'll keep it as a tradition:
In someone's commentary on the Etiquette of Yuletide, there was mention of the struggle some authors have between fulfilling exactly a detailed request, and writing a good story. It is my feeling that this should never be an issue. If you are struggling between writing a crappy story to my specifications and writing a good story that throws them out the window, for God's sake, write me a good story.

Thank you.

~juls
jmtorres: Utena and Anthy kissing, Revolutionary Girl Utena. My prince has come. (femme)
There's a patch of my scalp that's a little tender right now, because I was bleaching the hell out of my streak (I'd let the roots get out a couple of inches) to re-dye a new shade for the wedding. I'm only using 30 peroxide, not anything rougher and tougher and salon strength, so getting my hair bleached enough to take cool colors takes a few runs--the first go gets me from dark black-brown to vibrant orange; the second to a paler orange, around where I can drop a magenta or red on it; the third bleaching gets me to a light gold that can slide under violet, though I'd probably twitch at trying to get it under blue, because blue will green out on you. (Two or three more runs gets it to proper platinum, but I don't so much do that all at once--it's just what happens with the length of the streak when I'm working on the roots.) So all told I spent a cumulative two hours with bleach in my hair tonight, and yeah, my scalp is sore.

Beauty is pain, right? /irony

(In an ideal world I would just naturally have a white streak up front like Rogue or Sam Beckett, and when I felt like dyeing it an accent color to go with my dress and my mood as I periodically do, I wouldn't have to bleach it first.)

My mother likes my streak bleached but undyed; she says I look like a marbled cake with blonde and brown hair. I did that look for a while when I first got up the gumption to bleach the streak--and it took gumption; when I told my mother on the phone, because I was away at college at the time, my lead-up made her think I'd gotten a tattoo or something permanent, because I really thought she'd disapprove like crazy. Maybe that's why I didn't finish the job with the dye, then, and yeah, it felt unfinished, the bleaching's always just to make a canvas for the color. But I really did feel that my mother wouldn't get it, would make me feel guilty about it--not for doing something non-conformist with my hair, no. For using beauty products, for falling prey to societal pressure to do things that are bad to my body to try to look pretty.

I think I'm the wannabe punk child of a wannabe hippie flower child.

Growing up, I absorbed from my mother that: make-up is a waste of time and clogs your pores and by the way, lipstick is to make your mouth look like labia; leg and pit hair is natural and women in Europe don't shave it off, so why should we; that mustache ain't going anywhere no matter what you do to it (this was probably my mother's longest hold out in the vanity department, she was bleaching her mustache long after she'd called it quits on a lot of other regular beauty work); heels will screw up your feet and back; Barbie is not a natural shape and not one to aspire to--I nearly added it's okay to be fat, but that one didn't quite stick, because my mother did pressure me to diet with her all the time. By the way, we're both still fat. I think she still tries to lose weight. Eventually I got her to leave me out of it. My stance is I don't want to work specifically to be thin; if I lose weight because I'm working my ass off, then yay, but I'm not going out of my way for it. This seems to me to be the natural extension of everything else she taught me about rejecting society's urges to prettify, tempered with an acknowledgement that all false images of what health is aside, I am actually fatter than is healthy.

So there's all of that. The anti-pretty, where pretty is defined by glossy magazines and Hollywood movies. Except that on some level, I do still want to be pretty, even though I know how false all of that is. The first time I acted in a theatre show in college and the director showed us how to put on make-up, not street make-up, pancake make-up, but you know, with cheekbone shaping rouge and eyeliner to make your eyes big and dark, everything exaggerated for stage--I looked in the mirror and thought, "I'm pretty," and I hadn't known that was possible, I hadn't ever thought of myself as pretty before.

I didn't start wearing street make-up. I don't do that for everyday life. There are occasions when I'll do measures of it for performance, and I don't necessarily mean stage performance, because not all performances are the official kind. Part of my rebellion and part of my queerness is that I don't do that performance for men--the most frequent occasions are Club Vivid at Vividcon, which has an overwhelming majority of female attendees. But pretty isn't who I am on a day to day basis, and though pretty still gives me a little surge of guilty pleasure, I am content to look like what I actually look like here in real life.

Except for the hair.

Here's another thing about my hair: getting my hair braided, especially braided in some fancy, intricate way by someone else, is a guilty pleasure for me. I don't know why; braiding doesn't fall under the same stigma of pretty in most cases for me--I braided my mother's hair when I was a kid, and it's not load-the-chemicals-on alteration of self that she taught me to rail against. But there despite that sanction, I still feel like a pretty, pretty princess when someone does my hair, and feeling like a pretty, pretty princess is a guilty feeling for me. Ironically, it's an act of defiance against my (personal/familial instead of societal) norms to ask for it.

And then there's the bleach and the dye. It has been eight years since the first time I bleached my streak in; I have been inconsistent about maintaining it (see also: a couple of inches of roots) but it's been part of my self-image ever since. I guess that's an act of defiance against my personal/familial norms too, but one specifically designed to be outside the conventional definition of pretty too: unnatural colors, and just the one streak, not the whole head of hair. But it makes me hugely uncomfortable on a philosophical level that I have to buy into artificial beauty products to do it. I have this tender patch on my scalp right now, reminding me that everything my mother taught me to resist in the idea of hurting yourself to look different than you are because society thinks you should. There's a push-pull of how I want to look and how I look without alteration and how I want not to look specifically because the world says I should want to look that way. It's hard for me to sort out. I can't quite solve it; the contradiction is rooted somewhere primal in the construction of my personality.

I have a whole hell of a lot of identity tied up in my hair. The other day at work I said something about being butch, regarding my badassery at moving boxes of books--mostly in jest, because the butch/femme binary is not quite synonymous with my issues and not really how I think of myself. My boss said I'd need to cut my hair off if I wanted to look butch and my automatic answer was No. I also said that short hair is not a requirement for being butch and it's an attitude more than a look and that my boss was being reductionist and on some level I believe all of that and on some other level, that was all rationalization for that instant answer, No. No, my hair's not going anywhere. There's too much me there.

But a me I need to manipulate, to alter. Why is that? What is it about me that I need to look different from what I am?
jmtorres: (gay)
So for reasons that don't bear examining at the moment, I was looking up Cobra Starship's parody of Kate Perry, "I Kissed a Boy," a song which I find hilarious but about as problematic as the original (plot: singer kissed a boy to "start an altercation" and "[get] all the honeys at the club excited"; it would be nice if someone would tackle this in a way that wasn't so heteronormative with a side of "oh look it's kinky to be queer, not that I am!").

In any case I came across someone's school project music video for I Kissed A Boy and to my amusement there's not a girl in sight. You say it's all about the bitches, boy? Because I don't see any.

icon meme

Sep. 27th, 2009 10:25 pm
jmtorres: Purple boots. Love me, love my boots. (boots)
[personal profile] aris_tgd selected these icons of mine for me to talk about. If you would like me to do the same, pls comment.

Restrain America for the good of the world This is an image I screencapped from an episode of 7 Days, which was a trashy time travel show I enjoyed before the internet regularly pirated stuff, and which has never been released on DVD, which means the only copies circulating now are from Spike with a squished aspect ratio and cut for syndication. It might be a service to the internets if I capture my first-run VHS recordings. Or not. It really was a fairly trashy show. I'm easy when it comes to time travel stuff. Anyway, dude on the left tied to the car in nothing but his flag boxers is Frank Parker, our weekly time traveler. Those are his lucky boxers, given to him by dude on the right, Craig Donovan, who is, at this moment, saving his ass. Adorable slashy buddies, they are. It occurs to me that Frank and Donovan are former and current Navy SEALs, so I have a route to writing a crossover made in hell with NCIS. This icon was made during the Bush administration; I am not so often moved to use it anymore.



full body condom This one is Andy Warhol Mason Eckhart from Mutant X, a show I used to enjoy with [personal profile] j_crew_guy for like a season before there were bizarre cast changes and hair changes and really, all the cheesy goodness was eventually leached away. I mean, the plot was always bad? But it got worse. Eckhart is the nemesis-cum-ex-boyfriend of the team leader for the ensemble of not-X-men, Adam. Something horrible happened to Eckhart that he blames Adam for, which may or may not be true, I honestly forget how much of what happened we fanwanked and how much was revealed in seasons I don't consider canon and how much they just didn't say. Anyway, his immune system was shot to hell so he now wraps himself in Saran wrap on a daily basis. We always found this really, really kinky.



are you okay? you've been shot in the head The quote on this one is from a David Bowie song entitled "Seven Years in Tibet," and the character pictured is Creegan from the short-lived US version of Touching Evil, who has been shot in the head and has brain-damage related behavioral problems that make his take on fighting crime somewhat wacky. I adored the US version of this show--it was gorgeous--so much so that I have never gotten around to watching the UK version, which by all accounts is very different. For one thing, the US actor had a scar on his head, but on the other side of his head from the original character, so they rewrote how his damage manifested to be accurate to the new location. I vidded this fandom to this song, though the icon came first, if I recall correctly. I use this icon for emo whine entries a lot, and [personal profile] niqaeli made off with it as one to use when posting for me or when I'm hijacking her journal. (Likewise I have her kitten icon.)



it's not forbidden to be what you areThe image is from the cover of Moxy Früvous's final album, You Will Go To The Moon, the lyric from the song "Boo Time." This was one of those touchstones for me, the line it's not forbidden to be what you are, as a baby dyke coming into her own. This is one of my earliest icons, from way back when I started my (live)journal. You can see from how crap it is *G*



Tony Stark, Iron Maiden I modeled my version of Woman!Tony Stark off of Corky from the early Wachowski brothers (you know, the Matrix dudes) film Bound. I photoshopped it myself and somewhere there's a bigger copy but I'm not going to link to it because it was never intended to be more than an icon so it's kind of rough. I was writing a story to go with this that I never quite finished; I was in fact going to inflict the title "Iron Maiden" on it (Pepper snarked, "Maiden? You, ma'am?"). I'm trying to find an entertaining pull-quote, but while I outlined it fairly thoroughly, I didn't write out a lot of it. Tony Stark is pretty much the same as a woman but the world bends differently around her. For instance, when she gets back from Afghanistan she gets asked (in a well-meaning let-us-help-you way) if she was raped. And she's like HELLO ARC REACTOR IN MY CHEST, WHO GIVES A SHIT? Also I love Tony/Pepper a lot but for some reason it's like, ten times hotter if they're lesbians. Go figure.



*hides* Danny Tripp from Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip is terrified of his girlfriend, who is also his boss. This is one of my few animated icons, and also one someone else made! Gosh.

RAGE

Apr. 20th, 2009 12:20 am
jmtorres: (cusack)
I just went from being heart-warmed to being infuriated in three point one four seconds flat.

I watched this movie called Martian Child in which John Cusack plays a believably eccentric science fiction writer ("So instead of becoming a well-adjusted normal person, I became a sort of successful, deranged person. And I don't know which is better but it doesn't really matter because you don't get to choose," is one of the early lines, which is really so very true about being, well, any kind of fiction writer, I think). This writer adopts a kid who believes he's from Mars, and they have all sorts of touching life lessons about what it means to be human and how really, not going to float away, you are my son forever and ever.

It's sweet.

In the credits I saw it was based on a book by David Gerrold. I know David Gerrold's name, I recognize him as the guy who wrote that old Star Trek episode "The Trouble with Tribbles," I have a book on writing that he wrote that is full of the kind of that's so true of that line I quoted up there, like this method of expanding characterizations by imagining you're interviewing your characters, and this one time he didn't get much in the way of verbal response but his character did try to come over the table and knife him, which is certainly characterization information to explore. I haven't read as many of David Gerrold's novels as I'd like, but what I've seen of his work, I like. And I still do.

I wiki'd the movie to see what it had to say about the novel. It was, unshockingly, based partially on David Gerrold's real life experiences adopting a son. Here's the part that's pissing me the hell off:

David Gerrold is gay and out as gay and adopted a son as an out, gay man. There's two versions of his written story Martian Child: in the novelette, the protagonist's sexuality is not mentioned; in the novel, the protagonist is, like Gerrold, gay. In the movie? THEY STRIPPED THE GAY. They made the protagonist a widower, dead wife two years ago, plus a vague female love interest hanging around. They straightened him up! Polished the gay right off so they could make a fucking family-friendly flick.

FUCK YOU, HOLLYWOOD. FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.
jmtorres: (getbackers)
[livejournal.com profile] faile02 requested GetBackers boysex. I, er, sort of stretched the definition of "boy." Hope that's all right.

Happy birthday, [livejournal.com profile] faile02.

461 words. Spoilers for episode 25. Also on AO3.

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