I could speak volumes about the first week of the new year, but I can sum up in a few fragments.
New Year’s Eve was David Tennant crazy (with Much Ado About Nothing and Fright Night). Ate homemade bagels and successfully conquered monkey bread with the lovely wife. Car took a shit and died. Got a new car. Had a phone interview for a job. I hope I get it and that they get back to me soon. Sherlock was fucking AWESOME.
And, more importantly, I’ve started my book project. Here we go. Fifty-two books in a year, reading them alphabetically by title. So far, American Gods by Neil Gaiman going well. Next up is Blindness by José Saramago, and then Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. Past those, I’m still compiling a list of what to read in the coming year. I’ve had some truly interesting recommendations and I intend to check some of them out.
Maybe when I have the energy, I will post about the whole Steven-Moffat-is-sexist debate that had arisen in the past from Doctor Who and has reared its nasty head once again in light of Irene Adler and Sherlock.
In short, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why it is that when a woman exhibits feelings for guy (a fucking human emotion that both men and women experience), instantly she’s a weak character and the writer is obviously sexist against women. I don’t understand why it’s sexist for the male protagonist to rescue a lady from certain death, especially after she’s saved his ass from being killed twice.
Maybe I’m the one over-simplifying things, but I also think that if you want to label someone as sexist, you can come up with almost any single little action or phrase to prove your point
But that doesn’t make you right. And it doesn’t make him sexist.