My suspicion that today would be a waste was confirmed when I arrived at work half an hour early and was already slacking off at 9:10, reading today's issue of Salon. One of many film reviews was for "The Old World," the pretty-looking one about Pocahontas with woodland chases and bare-chested natives; the review was soundly negative but made me laugh when it said "At one point high muckety-muck David Thewlis
is summarily executed for being a jerk." I trust that wasn't an upsetting spoiler for any of you.
It really was a terrible idea to make us work all day when clients were clearly not in their own offices to call us. By early afternoon I'd given up and started skimming Sam's archive
at sam_storyteller, the shorter stuff, all Marauders- or Remus-centric, mostly things I hadn't read already (though I gave "Pilgrimage" another go because I'd liked it so much back in the paper-writing days when I didn't have the time to appreciate it properly). I liked this little bit from a Remus/Lily story, "The Bowl of Lilacs"
"Father!" James announced proudly, turning to them.
"Dibs on godfather!" Sirius shouted.
It struck me as very Sirius, and a lighthearted but entirely plausible take on how he would have reacted to the news. But, being tired more than anything, I gravitated towards the more melancholic stories, and bless Sam, he portrays humor and sadness with equal skill. This passage stood out so much that I wanted to share it with you specifically. From a quiet post-OotP story called "You That Have Whetted Consciousness"
Crouched that way, eyes searching for something, Lupin looked like Harry imagined he did at school -- happier, full of mischief like his father and Sirius, young. James was twenty-one when he died, which means -- adding Harry's age onto that, less one -- Lupin is only in his thirties to begin with. Everyone his father's age looks older; Snape from bitterness, Sirius from prison, Lupin from his disease. A wrecked generation, Harry will think later, though for now he merely thinks it weird.
Good fic like that pulls at my chest in the same way the half-unaddressed tragic Marauder moments do in the books. If anyone has quiet, melancholic MWPP recs, not tipping into angst if you can help it, please pass them along; I'm in the mood.
Off for a hopefully rejuvenating Friday night with Hogfather
(thanks, Cat, for the rec) and Jeremy Irons' syndicated radiocast from the Salzburg Mozart festival.ETA:
Oh yes. Also in Salon this morning, Wil Wheaton
wrote in an editorial about the War On Christmas as seen through the lens of his annual family get-together that he is one of many people who "use 'Merry Christmas' and 'Happy Holidays' and 'Season's Greetings' interchangeably, hoping that the recipient of my good wishes will understand that I'm really saying, 'I'm not religious, but I hope you have joy and love in your life, good health and happiness.'" That's what I hope each of you to whom my belated holiday cards are soaring through air mail at this very moment will understand if you open them up and discover that my sincere, if stilted, messages sound like they belong on a Hallmark product (or whatever the equivalent prefabricated greeting card company is in your area). The holidays, even if not celebrated by all of us, for me are a time to indulge in some healthy sentimentality, and if that means getting sappy on a card, so be it. I love you all
and want you to know it.
Good night and happy holidays!