Red and silver stars

So... I was sitting there staring into space, half-asleep, listening to Heart-shaped Box, and someone hugged me from behind.

My mother is home. She looks a little different - her hair is longer, she's wearing a dupatta over her clothes, she's more than a little over-emtotional, but she's here.
The very first thing she did was to look at my wrists to see if I had any new bracelets, and when I next looked at my wrists, I saw she'd already stolen the red-and-silver-star one. I'm so glad to see her. I've missed her; she looks around and says it's so quiet. She can't believe the silence in the house after the noise in New Delhi, and above anything she's glad to be home. I told about everything she'd missed - my parent's evening, the non-trial of Paul Burrell, the pictures on the wall, the firefighers' strike, my A-level choices, the death of Myra Hindley, SG-5...

She thinks my CD player is gorgeous, my pocket chains are odd, the bracelets are pretty, the house is clean, and she says she wanted to get me something but didn't know what, so she told me about it anyway. She told me everyone missed me - Dadu thought my emails were hilarious. Dadu, for those not familiar with my half-Bengali family, is my mother's father's younger brother. But my maternal grandfather died thirty years ago, so Dadu took the place of a father for my mother, to the extent of giving her away at her wedding. He calls her "Dipu" instead of Deepali. They're very close.

Anyway, I wrote to Dadu, in an email, something along these lines: "Dadu, would you do me a favour? Please tell my mother I miss her and I know how to work the washing machine."
Dadu thought this amazing. According to my mother, he told everyone who would listen: "That girl is pukka British. An ordinary Indian girl would say 'Dadu, tell my mother...' But no, she asks me to 'do her a favour!'"

Apparently, everyone agreed with him. Even Chintu did, who is currently in San Francisco and in no position to talk about cultural displacement.

Anyway, she's asleep now. I'm going to do some homework and then go to Yusra's party.

And oh, yes - happy birthday, purplerainbow! I hadn't forgotten, I love you just as much as ever, and I hope Alyson Hannigan jumps out of your cake...

Yusra's party; or how Stargate fandom sucks.

So... I went to Yusra's party. I'll admit I didn't go because I was expecting enjoy myself, I went because Yusra's sweet and she wanted me to come, and I wasn't staying long.
But I actually did enjoy myself. I met Verena on the train there, and we went to her house together. Bev was already there, banging out "Fifth Dimension" on the piano. Yusra showed me her room - it was just like Becca's. No, seriously - it could have been Becca's room from a different angle. The same lilac and silver theme, the same squidgy carpet, all the same...
Becca and then Ella arrived in quick succession. Becca was suitably enthusiastic about Yusra's room, and we sat in there for a while before I shyly asked for something to eat.

"Something to eat" - understatement of the century. The amount of food was out of this world - and all good too, all kinds of stuff. This is Ramadan, and Yusra must have been much hungrier than me, but we all enjoyed it. The cake was a chocolate sticky thing with only eight candles, for some reason, but it was perfect once you took a bite. Becca made a friend of Yosef, Yusra's younger brother - they spent the whole time playing with Beyblades, which are apparently a kind of spinning top. I wouldn't know. Becca tried to teach me, and when I proved unworthy of Beyblade teaching, she spent her time pulling at my chains. "You see, you move when I pull them," she said. "That's how light you are!"

I left at about six, from a quiet, deserted station - Hall Road station is built like an Indian station, on a smaller scale, with fewer lights, and the trains burst onto the scene like firebreathing dragons.

And that brings me to the point of this entry. Or rather, it doesn't, but I've got to get to the point eventually. I'm sick of Stargate fandom. There, done it.

I'm sick of the continuous arguing, the continuous bitching and backbiting on most of the lists, and I'm sick of the way the Sam/Jack shippers have taken over the fandom with their continuing obnoxious-ness. The show itself seems to be leaning in a Sam/Jack direction, which ruins it in my humble opinion. And then you've got all the people who like Jonas - who were invisible until a week ago! - bitching about Daniel coming back. Nothing makes any of the fans happy - all the people who until a week ago never thought of Jonas at all are suddenly all OMGTHISSUX about Corin Nemec becoming a recurring character rather than part of the regular cast. I'm not saying I don't like Jonas myself - I think he's without a doubt the best thing about the sixth season, rather sweet and charming with a nice set of idiosyncracies - bananas? the Weather Channel? - but the rest of it isn't so brilliant. I haven't been bothering to watch the season 6 eps on Sky, just taping them, and that's only because snowdrop24 asked me to. Heliopolis doesn't help, either - since it became upload-your-own the quality has almost sunk to that of fanfiction.net.

I will admit to being a Danielite. I thought that Daniel was probably one of the most complex television characters ever written, with the obvious exception of Hawkeye Pierce. I enjoyed whumping Daniel, of course I did. He was pretty. But the furore over his death and departure, and now his return... I don't know if I can be bothered any more. I want to write one more Stargate fic, the one I've got planned for osiris13's birthday next week, but I really don't know if there will be any more after that.

It will be very odd, writing M*A*S*H and Enterprise fanfic. But everything changes.

Quizness

( V. long quiz-ness... )