Can’t Get Off of This

I have a serious (no, it’s a semi-serious, oh heck, it’s a snark) piece about Lucas North. But I’m saving it for later after I’ve gorged my imagination on Richard Armitage and food. I’m also wondering if all of you have a favorite food you like to eat while watching him — animated or stills. Or perhaps you have a food for him animated and one for him in stills. Bring it on, and yeah, I’m going to tell you mine. :D

Actually, I have a food for each of his characters.

Harry — blackberry cobbler, which is sweet with a zing, and topped with some ice cream.

Monet — some sort of white wine, and does it matter what I eat with it?

Guy — a big chunk of devil’s food cake with lots of hot fudge slathered on top or a steak.

Lucas — blackened red snapper. Fish and chips don’t quite fit him.

John Standring — cheese (any kind) before the transformation and some pudding after.

John Porter — Masgouf and falafel on the side, which I can pop in my mouth as I watch all the episodes in one sitting.

John Thornton — beef stew and later some sort of cream pie (I’m not particular) at the finale.

Ricky — definitely fish and chips, and the greasier the better.

Alex — what else but orangesicles.

John Mulligan — dry toast with nothing on it. Maybe a little butter. And some black coffee.

Heinz — Not sure about this one. No German foods seem to really fit him. I’m at a loss. I did eat nachos and popcorn on my first viewing. Perhaps some German chocolate cake (it’s my favorite cake), or is that too lame?

Yes, I’ve left out a few. Have to think about them some more, but for now I’m thinking about the future:

Thorin — carne asada tacos al carbon. Oh yeah! And something later that’s topped with a chocolate mole. Or I could eat a 1/2 pound cheeseburger in honor of Peter Jackson.

edit: I meant to list one more! Paul — pistachio nuts ’cause they’re salty and a little sweet, and I can’t stop eating them even when I know I should.

Graphic courtesy of Teena via

Diary of an RA Fan — Part 23 Fading From View — SPOILERS

See Diary Part 22 here, or to access all entries, hit “The Diary” tab above.

Entry — Still Fall, 2008 + a couple of days later:

I guess I can’t stop thinking about Richard Armitage in ‘Between the Sheets’. I haven’t watched it again. I’m really trying to forget it. The graphic sex scenes that were like a hot poker to my adrenal glands are still somewhat vivid but thankfully receding a little. Now I’m experiencing something less visceral and a little more thoughtful. I just had to get past the shock of seeing John Thornton in all his glory. LOL!

A long time ago I fancied myself becoming a great photographer. Eventually I “wised up” and let that go like I have a lot of other things I enjoy. I’m not sure I’ll ever get back what I once had, but there are things I learned and can’t forget. My first mentor told me to ditch the color. Once the color was gone, I learned how lousy my photos were. It was the first time I really considered composition and contrast, and they needed work. But I was glad I knew the truth. Sex can be like that. It can color everything — for a while. But when the euphoria of sex is gone, people look at their partners and ask themselves, “Do I really care about you?”

In ‘Between the Sheets’ the character Alona seemed to need the euphoria. Almost like an unbroken drumbeat she lets Paul, her partner, know how she needs sex from him and not much else. It’s plain that Paul was little more than a prop in her world.

After the dip in sex and some tense therapy sessions, she seemed to be fighting the urge to dismiss him and move on if he didn’t satisfy her. From talk about her son, to her job, to her dead husband, to her relationship with Paul it seemed that everything revolved around Alona. From the moment she learns about Tracy, she is suspicious of Paul and tries to control the outcome. Too late she realizes she might really care for Paul only to be startled by the final revelation. I would have loved to have seen another series to see who Alona really was. Part of me thought of her as a narcissist, and narcissists can be intensely fascinating — when you don’t have to live with them. In fact, they are sometimes the most interesting people. Self absorption that intense always has me wondering what created it and if it can survive.

My friend Leah was this self absorbed, and I have to admit she was extremely fascinating. In hindsight she was so obsessed with herself and getting her way that it was frightening, but at the time I alternated between admiration, humor, and a little fear about her desperation. By day she was a very capable physical therapist, and in her free time she trolled hardware stores for guys who could flip her in bed and install a hot tub or track lighting, or maybe a security system on the side. I actually laughed at this when I wasn’t horrified. There was no hesitation in her about using other people. Oh, she was smart, and frequently said things I thought, and now I’m wondering what was wrong with me that I wasn’t more appalled at the time.

I guess I wasn’t that upset over her selfishness because I didn’t realize how much it hurt others, and I figured she was just lashing out about things in her life that were unfair — alcoholic parent, untimely death of her husband. There was also her well ordered life, which seemed to say she was in control but just battling some demons on the side. She had a great job, her house and her bills were in perfect order, her 14-year old daughter was very pleasant and a good student. But when her daughter tried to commit suicide, all Leah could talk about was how stressful it was for her and how she needed a damn vacation. She flew to Mexico for 10 days. Meanwhile the kid was on suicide watch at a mental hospital. I never saw any concern for this kid. I mean nothing. Any concern for the kid was left for others. Leah wrung her hands a little, but she was never there for anyone but herself. She did not know how to feel any kind of empathy or real remorse. She only reacted to being inconvenienced and then moved to take care of herself. I can hardly think about this without wanting to knock myself silly for not being more horrified and doing something. I’ve always prided myself on knowing what was going on, and thinking for everyone in the room. I am an idiot.

I think maybe I couldn’t see it because I couldn’t see myself. SO has told me in his quiet way to get over myself. But sometimes he’s gotten exasperated. When we were first together he said, “What happened that you think everyone in the world gives a f*ck about all of your opinions?!” He’s so right, and here I am journaling for the first time in my life and feeling like a putz. But didn’t he want me to do this? Maybe he just wanted me to write so I didn’t have to verbalize all of it to him. What the hell did he ever see in me? Only the pretty girl of 21? Does any of this shit I’m writing mean anything? What was my point? Yeah, Alona’s character brought all of that back, and as badly as I hate to admit it, somehow I saw a little of myself in her. Trying to control everything and controlling almost nothing. Faking myself out and sounding like I know what I’m talking about while I’m doing it. Maybe.

And Richard Armitage once again completely became someone else. I was actually dreading this performance and expecting it to be the one that disappointed me in his abilities, but from the first scene I saw Paul Andrews, the probation officer, and not Richard Armitage, and there was a suspicion about him at the periphery of my mind that wouldn’t come to fruition. He seemed to care about Tracy, but he was unsure of himself as a mentor, and his voice, which was so different from all of his other roles, did a lot to convey this. At times his contrition was almost too much and screamed he was guilty of something, but he stopped short and had the perfect intonation for nailing passive/aggressive. These made his fatal flaw believable. I loved the scene in the therapist’s office with Alona where he sounds like a boy lashing out at her. Plus, that sounded like some real shit that goes on between dysfunctional couples. Hell, aren’t we all dysfunctional? LOL! SO’s never sounded like a little boy, but he’s got his issues as well, and I could believe Richard Armitage has had a dysfunctional relationship; otherwise, what did he draw on to capture something that realistically? If not, then damn he’s good. He certainly had the whine and the subtle manipulation down, and I was never quite sure of the extent of the latter until the end. Usually I can quickly see things like that coming in real life as well as in a drama. In fact, my horribly arrogant, impatient nature often wants to bring things to their logical conclusion in an instant, so I can move on. I missed it this time, but I’ll blame that oblivion on his naked ass.

And I’m still trying to rationalize his naked ass in this show. It really wasn’t gratuitous sex even though on some level it felt like it. Rather it was a couple being intimate, and I was in the room with them.

I have never felt more like a voyeur. It was too much, and I came away asking: why did he do it? And when I think of it, I come to that question and can’t move on. I wonder about Julie Graham as well, but hell, I don’t have time to really ponder her when I’m wondering about Richard Armitage’s motivations. Was he that insecure about working? This is the most obvious answer. He had not made it big with North and South yet, so his offers had to be less. That makes sense, but maybe I don’t want to think of him prostituting himself to be working although the answer may be that simple. Or was he honestly unsuspecting of how the scene was going to be filmed, and he’s so biddable that he just went along with it when he found out? I’ve heard that reason floated by some, which makes my bs detector hit alarming levels. Surely actors aren’t that naive. Don’t they have agents who are supposed to be savvy, so they don’t just stumble into things like graphic sex scenes? Didn’t he have a contract with some details? It just makes no sense unless the agents in the UK don’t have as much edge as the ones here. I really doubt this. People are people, and negotiators no matter where they are have an uncanny awareness of how someone can get screwed.

So what was it that motivated him? Maybe I’ve invested in watching him so much that I will not let myself be disappointed by thinking he might be shallow or God forbid, a hedonist. So maybe he felt some artistic challenge? Maybe he really is interested in the human condition and the stories that come from it to the point that he could suspend any compunction about getting naked? Damn, that’s a pretty big step. It’s not just being without clothes. It’s the intimacy portrayed that will be forever captured on screen for his present and future loved ones to see and wonder about to a much greater degree than I’m doing. That’s something he can never take back. It’s out never to be private again and will have to be confronted again and again. Was he that thoughtless?

Or was there such a relief in being naked that it didn’t matter about the consequences? When reading his comments about this show and his family’s reaction, the flippancy of it borders on disrespectful. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but that’s how it seemed. Maybe he seems too much like SO who chafed under the rigid mores of his parents and I’m assigning motives to him that are really SO’s. His upbringing does sound much like SO’s, and that upbringing is still so foreign to me. To be that inhibited about speaking of one of the most elemental things in life — sex? I can’t really wrap my mind around that. But then maybe I’m misreading his comments and maybe I’m a freak. I was at the other end of the spectrum — never inhibited from discussing anything, Mom and Dad really were not like other people, and I’ve fought that notion for a good part of my life. When I was a kid and my friends used to comment on how different my parents were, I blew it off as my friend’s ignorance of people. Years later I realized they were right. I certainly was aware of sex and a host of other subjects long before my peers. Even today I still shake my head in bafflement when I hear women talk about their mothers never telling them anything — even about their menstrual cycles — so that they freaked out when they finally got their periods. I don’t understand this kind of parenting. A friend of mine told me that her mother left a book out for her to read about periods, sex, and unwanted pregnancy but never said a word to her. My friend got pregnant as a teen, and it was the first time she had sex. Small wonder.

One of my many sex talks was Mom telling me that unwanted pregnancies and disease are certainly issues of indiscriminate sex, but the most important thing is how much sex affects your head and your heart. Those are what really matter. In one instance she ended with, “because there is nothing sacred about a p*ssy.” Mom always did have a way of putting things in perspective. LOL! So to think of some mom just leaving a book out that hopefully her daughter might find and understand and heed is… I don’t get it.

Maybe I do have issues with that kind of detachment, and I can’t help being curious about those who may have experienced it. We’re all inclined to seek intimacy. It’s hardwired into us. So I wonder what it would be like to seek intimacy when coming from a perspective where intimate matters can never be discussed with our intimates, i.e., with those closest to us who have our best interest at heart. Whom do you discuss intimacy with if not those people? I still marvel at the fact that sex was never a discussion in the house of SO’s youth. There weren’t even any implications of it other than his existence, and others outside their home who talked about sex were like aliens speaking a foreign language. SO is infinitely curious about life and people and how they work, and he’s also the most honest and forthright person I’ve ever met, so he felt like an alien in his own home. I was his relief, and to a lesser degree so were my parents. But what happens to people who get little or no relief? Where do they go? How do they make sense of things when they have never been able to talk of things that profoundly affect us all? And if they are curious about the truth, how do they seek it and convey it?

I know discretion was something I grappled with as I was coming to adulthood, and at times my reaction to my parents’ unabashed and sometimes brutal honesty has provoked me to such a circumspect posture that I’ve fairly strangled my emotions. I can’t help but wonder what went on in Richard Armitage’s head with respect to his upbringing and whether it played a part in selecting this role. Maybe I can understand his need to take the bark off the tree as it were. If I could not easily speak of elemental things to people who matter to me, I might also want to show my ass, just to know if it was real.

Naked asses aside, ‘Between the Sheets’ is so obviously designed to provoke someone to honestly examine their opinions about sex, and I guess I’m verbalizing my response to the show here since I can’t really talk about this to anyone. But it’s not the sex. It’s the fan odyssey I’m on. Sex is so easy to talk about. My need to watch some obscure British actor is not. I’ve enjoyed so many of his roles, but if I’m honest, something unhealthy is going on with me. The fact I’m writing all of this about some actor is….I don’t know what it is. Certainly it’s an escape, and the problem is this show wasn’t an escape. It was too damn real, and here I am trying to get in Richard Armitage’s head. I have to admit there is something satisfying about that. Certainly, I don’t know him, and to speculate that I do or can guess what he’s thinking really is one of my curses but then I always try to get inside people’s heads. I’ve been doing that since I was a kid. I can’t stop now. I never want to do it to exploit anyone, but I really do want to know what drives people, and isn’t that the point? Isn’t the point of me watching all of those characters to be curious enough to wonder what in hell’s name is going on inside their heads? And if it spills over to the actors themselves, isn’t that a normal reaction? Or maybe I do have CWS. Whatever is going on, I’m intrigued and can’t just turn that off.


I found myself feeling very sad for Hazel. All that angst over what? Some misguided sense of decorum? Yeah, yeah, I know that was the point of the show — more bark off the tree. It must have been hell to grow up in an era that didn’t allow you to speak openly about something so important as sex and Kay Mellor and company are definitely of that era (I think of them now as the British version of the Ephrons only less restrained). Hazel’s part practically screams it, and I appreciate what they were doing to show just how silly some of the mores of that generation were. Plus, abuse is still something that too often shames people and keeps them quiet. The muzzling effect of it can’t be exposed enough. So I’m glad they worked that in. But mostly I look at Brenda Blethyn playing Hazel and how she’s about the age of my mother, and I realize Mom was and is so open and honest about so many things — so much more than most women I meet and come to know. She’s always been honest to a fault. No sexually repressed woman unable to articulate what she thinks for her. Thank you, Mom. You are rare, and I realize it more and more every year. I’ll have to tell you this next time I see you.

I was a little uncomfortable with the use of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. My first reaction was, No! don’t use that. It’s so cliche’. It’s becoming nothing but a caricature of forbidden fruit for the repressed woman, and so unfair to D.H. Lawrence. I think I rolled my eyes a little, but Brenda Blethyn does a decent job. The cliché aside, I just liked Hazel. She was sincere even if she was a little silly acting at times. At first I was predisposed to dislike her since Brenda Blethyn can’t move two feet without emoting and usually plays someone a little silly. Then there were the times I felt some queasiness at her part, but that was coupled with my admiration for her guts in taking off her clothes. I guess all naked asses don’t bother me, but then I didn’t have to see Brenda’s naked ass while she was scr*wing.

Peter’s mother, Audrey, was a hoot, and thank God I didn‘t have to see her naked ass. But who couldn’t like Audrey? She was so gentle and earnest. I can hear my own mother talking like that when she gets to be Audrey’s age except my mother adored my dad when he was living and doesn’t seem to be the least bit interested in another man since he’s been gone. Of course she might surprise me, and that would be fine; nothing she might do would take away from Dad. As for Maurice, he must have had more going on behind closed doors. LOL! He was a little mouse of a man.

Georgia was fairly clichéd too, but I liked her as well. Where I come from Georgia would be called “a good ol’ gal”. They always have a heart of gold even if life has done them dirty. The only problem I had was a couple of times she started looking like Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke. It made it hard to keep a straight face.

Then there were the children. Kieran was a shit with an endearing quality. Maybe it was the twinkle in his eye that had the promise of someone with depth. Whereas Simon was just a shit. An angry shit but still just a shit. No, there was more going on; I just didn’t care to find out. If the series had continued, maybe I would have cared. Of course there was Fiona who got my pity for being caught up in this mess. Sweet looking little girl. I wonder if she’s ever watched this show.

But Peter was the one who got to me more than any other. I loved him even though he cheated on his wife and had a seedy profession that should have generated self-contempt. Yet he kept trying but getting things so wrong. Boy can I relate to that. I felt his remorse so much that I sobbed over the herons too. Even writing this I’m getting choked. I just wish the writers hadn’t wrapped up his and Hazel’s story in a neat little package. It was decidedly unrealistic in a show that seemed to wear realistic on its sleeve. It’s never that simple.

[note: spoilers in this video]

I had never seen much with Alun Armstrong, but after this, yeah, I’m a fan. I guess once that fan thing gets turned on there’s no telling where it will be directed.

There are so many more things to say about this show. It had a lot of layers. Why do I hear Shrek’s voice in my head? Yeah, it was like an onion. It had layers. But I’ve got to stop thinking about it or it will drive me crazy. Kay Mellor would be so proud.

Not sure where I’m going next with my Richard Armitage watching. Maybe I need to cleanse my mind with a little John Thornton.

See Diary Part 24 here.

Screecaps and clips are mine courtesy of a friend loaning me the DVD. Thank you, friend. :D

edit: I frequently get email about this post and specifically about the pictures. Just so you know, the screencaps untouched were not nearly so tame. I strategically cropped them to make this post “safe for work.”

Diary of an RA Fan — Part 22 Objects May Appear Larger Than They Are — SPOILERS

See Diary Part 21 here, or to access all entries, hit “The Diary” tab above.

[note: if you are easily offended, don’t read this piece]

Entry — Yet Still Fall, 2008

I finally started watching ‘Between the Sheets’ last night.

A couple of days later:

Part of me wants to finish this show and the other part wants to delete the files.

A little while later:

I really didn’t need to subject myself to that. What in God’s name was I thinking? I’m really naive or stupid. Did I think this was going to be just some analysis of sex with all the suggestive comments I’ve read about it? Man, I am dumb. No, I’m not dumb; I just really like watching Richard Armitage, and that rendered me temporarily stupid.

And the manipulation of Richard Armitage’s parts was literally in my face! One minute I’m looking at this:

and hearing his character, Paul say, “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” The next thing…WTF?!! Uh, no, no, that’s not what I mean. I know what it is. That’s exactly what it looks like. Richard Armitage should get a f*cking award for that — literally. ROFLOL!!!

Then later he and Alona, his partner, are at it again, and if there can be an award for sexual groaning, Richard should get it. Meg Ryan’s got nothing on him. Oh, the vocal range. Ohmygosh! he’s good at this too! I think I’m traumatized. LOL! Me, who has always loved earthy humor and who has adored SO sexually and otherwise and thoroughly enjoyed making children with him and all the the other times we didn’t make any children, is feeling a little violated. I don’t know whether to laugh or scowl. But I am mad at myself for overruling my gut. My infernal curiosity got the best of me. I just had to watch one more thing with Richard Armitage, and it turned out to be what felt very much like gratuitous sex and definitely too much information. It would be about anyone!

How did I get here from John Thornton?


Maybe I’m just being a prude. But I haven’t ever been a prude. That’s just not me. Plus, I’ve seen nudity in movies many times, and it didn’t freak me out. No, I was desensitized to nudity long ago, which I’m not sure is good. But it’s hardly surprising since I saw both of my parents naked on several occasions when I was growing up, and I never thought much of it. But then, they didn’t appear to be having sex. LOL! ‘Between the Sheets’ was pretty graphic sex short of seeing genitalia, which is the only thing that keeps it from being porn.

Then there was the plain talking about sex, but that couldn’t have bothered me. ___________ [my sibling] and I grew up in a household where almost nothing was off-limits for discussion. My parents did stop short of talking about their intimate relationship, but that’s it. Talk of sex in general? Ohmygosh, I heard lots of talk about that. I get tickled when people mention their parents giving them “the talk.” The talk?! LOL! I got countless talks, and they were honest with a vengeance. In fact, there was such an honesty to my parents that it bordered on inappropriate at times. I’m sure that I, in turn, didn’t display the kind of decorum most others are accustom to; it’s hard to know when you grow up with such free talk.

I remember the first time I could hear my parents as other people must have heard them. SO came to dinner, and afterward we were sitting around the table talking. Dad and SO were talking and Mom was telling me about some article she’d read. If I’ve heard her begin with, “I was reading an article the other day,” I’ve heard her begin with it a thousand times. Most of the time it’s really interesting since her reading material covers such a variety of topics. This particular evening she launched into a clinical discussion. She’s always made a steady diet of JAMA, NEJM, a few other clinical periodicals, and of course the PDR. I think I was 15 before I realized people didn’t normally possess a PDR, and this was long before they were easily available to the general public. But Mom was always driven to find out about anything that went into our mouths, so she was never without it. That evening she began to hit me with her latest discovery. It was something about f*latio facilitating infections. It took me a few moments to snap to on the word, and then I didn’t move and wasn’t sure where to look. SO and I were pure as the driven snow at this point, so I was mortified by her free way with words and her pursuit of er, knowledge.

Now that I’m reading what I’ve just written, Mom seems buffoonish. I wish I knew how to really capture her and Dad. It’s so frustrating to want to say something, and it just comes out all wrong. SO has begged me to write a book about them. He thinks they’re too fantastic not to be captured on the page. I don’t think I can do it. Just don’t have what it takes.

Thankfully, SO wasn’t listening to Mom that evening, but really, even if he had been, he would have had a great comeback. He’s nothing if not great at comebacks. Still amazes me. Why I want to underestimate him I don’t know. Plus, he’s always admired my parents’ honesty. He would have simply laughed and praised them in his mind for their frankness. Hell, it would have been a relief since his parents were the type that make you wonder how they ever had kids. I guess I was his Gaylord Focker and he was my Pam. No, no, Mom wasn’t Rozalin Focker, she’s always been Auntie Mame and I’m Patrick. Except for my dad, that story could have been mine. To this day when someone asks me what Mom’s like, I ask if they’ve seen Rosalind Russell in Mame.

I don’t know whether to be thankful for her, or…Oh hell, yes, I’m thankful, and whom would I trade her for?

The next day:

Now I’m hacked at the producers of this piece. I hate being manipulated when it’s not fun. I can’t even talk about this to anyone because I would have to explain too much or lie, and I refuse to lie, so I’m not talking. All those other times I felt dumb watching something more than once?! That was so benign. I guess I could say something to SO, and he would listen, but eventually there would be another comical name for Richard Armitage. And I can’t get on the Army board. I’m pretty sure of the reception my reaction would get. It would be dismissed as the reaction of someone who just isn’t intellectual enough to look beyond the sex scenes to the larger context albeit they would do it subtly so as not to put down the provincial rube, and they would be so right. I am provincial and a rube.

But is this just about intellect or a bourgeois mentality? No, I’m a human being who is profoundly moved by sex, and that’s healthy, and it’s not all driven by my intellect or conventional mores although that’s part of it. Isn’t it a wonderful thing to be profoundly moved by sex? I’m sure I would rue the day I wasn’t moved by it or the day I could sit and watch something as graphic as ‘Between the Sheets’ and view it only clinically or merely use it to get off on. Hehehe look at Richard Armitage’s “peaches.” Oh brother. But then, some of the cute remarks about his peaches may be from people who are flabbergasted like me and trying to make sense of it.

I just really don’t want to watch people having sex and don’t need to watch them having sex to get turned on. But I could never say that on a forum because the minute someone says something like that hardly anyone believes them, or that’s how people seem to let on in a group. Everyone must be cool, and especially concerning sex. That’s how people come across, but get them talking in a private room, and it’s usually a different story. Anyway, I’m glad I had a visceral reaction. It was healthy, and I would worry about myself if I hadn’t.

Surely the people who put this show together knew it would have this reaction from some, or maybe they’re so desensitized they don’t know. I wonder. I hate sometimes that I wonder about so friggin’ many things. I do not need to spend time thinking about this. What’s funny is that I’ll bet the makers of this show would love to know they riled someone like me. Kay Mellor and company hit the jackpot with my reaction. Of course my curiosity demanded I had to find out about her. Shit. I hate that I do things like that because what difference does it make what I know about Kay Mellor? Useless, useless knowledge, and I’m overflowing with it! And now I’m a little weirded out by the fact her daughter played Georgia, WTF? And her little granddaughter played Fiona. Then her other daughter helped produce it. Just a family affair. Wonder if Richard Armitage is a cousin.

I don’t know what to think of him. I’m feeling a mixture of disappointment and pity. His sexual scenes were much more graphic than any of the others. Why were his parts so in our faces? Yeah, I know the answer. Talk about being objectified. Wonder what it was like being a fly on the wall during that filming. Wait! I was a fly on the wall. LOL!

Not sure I can watch him in anything else or certainly not before I forget what he looks like scr*wing. This may really be the thing that cures me of my fascination. At least I had the common sense to watch it on my computer. If I had been watching that on tv and my kids came into the room, I don’t know what I would have done. That right there tells me I shouldn’t have been watching this show. SO and I have always been so open with them. We talk about everything with them short of our intimate relationship, which is none of their business. But everything else is up for discussion. To sneak around and watch this show?! It sounds like something I’d rather not name.

A few days later:

I’m sure not Richard Armitage’s mother and sure as hell not old enough to be his mother, but I find myself thinking about her and continually trying to rationalize his part in this show. Good grief I am actually thinking about some actor’s mother! I read a few of his supposed comments about the show, and now I can’t help but wonder about her. Supposedly he didn’t know what he was getting into. LOL! Bullshit. I also read that his mother watched it. What?! How would I feel if I saw my son like that? (eyes crossed) Mrs. Armitage, wherever you are, I feel for you.

I need someone to slap me for caring about this.

Present day:

This was a tough entry to edit, and I have so many more thoughts about this show. But I’ve got to stop. More later.

See Diary Part 23 here.

Screencap is mine.

Diary of an RA Fan — Part 16 The Third One*

See Diary Part 15 here, or to access all entries, hit “The Diary” tab above.

Entry — a couple of years ago minus a few months, a couple of days and maybe two weeks:

It seems I can’t easily get my hands on Between the Sheets. I would have to order another DVD. So I watched a couple of AlisaGB’s clips on YouTube. Once again Richard Armitage is completely unlike any of his other characters. Cloris Leachman came to mind. Maybe it was Paul’s whine. And I’m not keen on him with brown hair, and especially with that catch me/do me cowlick preceding him like an ugly prow. That whine really did get on my nerves, but it’s the whine and his helpless demeanor that makes me curious about this part. I don’t want to mess with this right now. The show just didn’t look very appealing, and the wife? I can’t stand her ’cause she whines too and she’s pushy with it. Could she be more one-dimensional and unappealing? But then this is only an excerpt.

As much as I like Richard Armitage, this might be the first thing I don’t like, and I hate the title. It was enough to sort of turn me off. If anyone else were in this, I wouldn’t bother. Titles like that say no one cares enough to go beyond the prosaic. But then Richard Armitage is in it, so it can’t be that prosaic can it? Maybe it means something else. It was one of his earlier works, but I think it’s after North and South. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll love this. My gut says no, but my gut has said no every time. To a show, I’ve resisted everything of his that I’ve watched except maybe George Gently. Even now looking at the North and South DVD case, there is nothing to recommend it. It’s drab and sounds like a cheap version of the better period dramas, and I absolutely hate that picture of him. That may be the worst picture of him I’ve ever seen. He’s pasty looking and dull. Did someone who doesn’t like him design the cover? It is atrocious. It’s amazing that what looks like something out of a sale bin at WalMart would have led me to spend this much time and money.

SO now asks me periodically what I’m doing, and then looks at me intently. The quiet look on his face is heart wrenching, but I can’t explain! I keep waiting for him to ask me why we have a multi-region DVD player. But he knows the question is already hanging between us. I don’t want to answer because I don’t understand why I bought one. I can’t articulate it, and I don’t want to articulate it. All I know is that I feel like I’ve stepped into something and can’t get loose and don’t want to.

When I was four almost five and couldn’t swim, I jumped into a swimming pool. I remember the sun shining on the water, and the marine color looked like I belonged there. It was awkward to stand on the edge just looking at it. The water bubbling in front of my eyes blinded me as I went in, but it felt so soft and good to slip down in it. I began to feel the water in my nose and wanted to let myself slip further. Then there was a huge woosh behind me and a vise around me, and dad was pulling me to the surface. I don’t remember panicking or crying, and I knew I wanted down in that water again.

*Yannis Kitsos

See Diary Part 17 here.

Screencap courtesy of