it was very dorky, and i find basically any form of dorky that isn’t creepy is adorable.
okay… i suppose that makes sense. i still don’t get what’s adorable about sadness tho??? ur strange
the pervasive sense of disappointment engendered by series three is the worst bit
I mean, leaving aside the emotional manipulations, the poor writing, the cop-outs, the homophobia, the lack of depth or complexity, leaving out all that
those characters and those actors had so much potential
and you threw it away so you could crack a few jokes
I mean, jesus
shit son the crime barista better fuckin be working tomorrow morning i need to talk to someone about this movviiiieeee skdhfslgusdfh
I swear to god though, the BSI are basically the old-white-guy Holmesian equivalent of the creepy half of the Sherlock fandom. They’re obsessive, conceited, and needlessly elitist, and I would never, ever, ever want to join them.
it’s like, I have an enormous (AND CURRENTLY UNFULFILLED OH GOD) oral fixation, and I’d really like having something to fiddle with when talking to people
but I’m also not stupid enough to flood my already-shitty lungs with smoke???
god dammit cigarettes
so aesthetic, yet so impractical
oh god no I TOTALLY GET the minesweeper after effect (I started using minesweeper as a problem solving rubric wat) I think S1 of Sherlock I watched while on exchange? Or like just before hmmm
but you just can’t stop
aw jeez, no, I remember it so well
it aired in the UK in line with the night before my trials week
I finally downloaded it pretty late, thought it could be good
I got maybe twenty minutes in when I was like ‘holy shit this is so great, okay, I’ll just watch ten minutes more, then go to bed, it’s practically midnight already’
AN HOUR LATER…
I’m pretty sure everyone hated me the next morning, they were all trying to study while I was just skittering everywhere and hissing 'has anyone watched that new Sherlock show holy shit it's sO GOOD sdkjhflsugdsfh'
You feel it, I feel it, everyone who has seen five minutes of BBC’s “Sherlock” feels it. There is something a bit… odd about Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch. Ladies adore him, gents like him too. He’s talented and intelligent and it’s generally agreed that he occasionally says things that are charmingly awkward yet ill-advised; for instance: asking Sir Patrick Stewart if taking a role in the “Star Trek” reboot would damage his career.
But dagnabbit… what is the thing with his face?
The gamut of intense reactions to Cumberbatch’s preternatural mug reveals our unconscious psychological bias toward certain facial patterns. Like a computer missing a chunk of software or the rioters at Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring,” we simply have no idea what to make of something so familiar yet… so odd. People become fixated on Benedict Cumberbatch’s face and can’t seem to talk about anything else. Some ladies clutch their pearls and declare him an ovary-annihilating “life ruiner,” while less enthusiastic observers (usually accompanied by a string of disrespectful jabs at his name) see him as some kind of freakish extraterrestrial. Ocassionally, detractors act as if they are uncontrollably repulsed by some aura of Das Unheimliche that apparently floats, miasma-like, around his head. For an actor with a rapidly exploding body of work and the potential to break out as a huge international star, that’s a pretty bizarre public response. The way some people go on, you’d think there was something fundamentally backwards about him.
Here’s the thing. There just might be.