Mainly because I'm so, er, um, weary this morning that intellectual discussion is the last thing you'll be getting. Fer starters, I couldn't fulfill my usual subscriptions so theatre is thin on the ground.
Also, I have a head full of silly today, as in, while hauling myself downhill on yet another dark morning (I now literally work downtown instead of uptown) I saw some large hexagonal prints left in the dust beside a shabby little shop being renovated. Okay, clearly someone had some large, oddly shaped bollards outside the shop during the night, and had taken them away, leaving only their imprints behind. Or...they were the tracks of giant robots. Giant robots who had slumbered beneath that little shop for aeons, only to be distrurbed by workmen digging into the basement, Quatermass style, and had now risen and walked out into the night. Giant robots, lurking somewhere in the city...
And that's the state of my head today. I blame lack of sleep and a far too jolly time last night. It was a sad state of affairs, the occassion being the last of my old team being given the boot, and so it was last orders, and yes, they've annoyed me over the years, but I've spent most of the last decade of my life with these people, so it's been a wrench, too, like any breakup you never really saw coming. Anyways, it was all smiles and hugs and everyone pleased I found a new gig. And people buying me drinks, lots and lots of drinks.
Somehow I made it home. Himself made me a sandwich and I settled down to what was left of Grimm (meh), The Flash (I seriously love this show) and Justified (I was expecting a showdown and instead I get some 60s heist/chase film).
The Flash dropped quite a few plot clangers, and for an episode featuring Mark Hamill dining on the scenery, there were some surprisingly human moments, mainly young Grant making Barry the very vulnerable little boy lost that he always is - though for a boy who wails about being esentially dadless, lawks, how many does he need, between the not entirely self seving Wells and dearest Joe, whom I just want to hug the stuffing out of every time I see him. So yeah, there's Barry all pouty, with his three dads fussing over him. It'd be annoying if Barry wasn't the sweetest lil superhero ever. So well done to Grant for not over-playing Barry's weaknessess, his smugness or cheekiness, as so many could have and would have. He's sweet, and that's something quite radical these days, to have a superhero not gnashing away in a vat of Frank Miller angst.
I was reading some classic silver age Flash reprints (I meant to go back for more, but alas, the shelf was bare) and that was a fun afternoon (I've had one of those bad months where I'm quite ill for a week before, a week during and a week after) and I thought I'd entirely wasted my afternoon, but no. The very next day we were having one of those daft sesions with butcher's paper and textas where you're supposed to provide input nto some new project. This time I was asked to draw my customer's journey, as in actually draw it, here's your storyboard, fill it with in. So, being still somewhat woozy and unwell and reeling from a personal upset, off I went, filling each square with properly heroic silver age stick figures in a hero's journey that people, who saw said 'artwork' were still smirking over days later.
So, thank you, silver age Flash. Not such a wasted afternoon afterall (I lack talent but at least I could remember how to use a panel to convey meaning).
But yeah, I'm dancing around the elephant in the room. Silly thoughts, Dark angsty superheroes. Trailers that make me squee. watching Stardust again last Sunday, because I was too tired to read the book, true, but I couldn't wait the days to see Charlie Cox, also true.
Yes, Daredevil. Oh, dear. I have tried so hard to avoid Daredevil these last oooh, twenty years. You see, you think you've seen me obesess about something. You haven't. Fortunately my whole Daredevil thing was pre-internet, and all that remains is a box of old comics and a folder full of really, really bad fic, but oh man, it was intense. And, uh, well, this week I fell off the wagon. I went down hard. Trade paperbacks, trailers, magazine articles, the works. Oh dear. And double oh dear to the fic swirling around my head (hopefully the tv series will put a few nails in that). But yeah, the ultimate angst ridden hero boy, and I've fallen, all over again. Oh dear.
Meanwhile, Saturday night is turning out to be quite the British crime series night (cup of tea and a biscuit). I love Grantchester, love it to bitty bits. Grizzled Geordie copper (my beloved Robson, no less), angsty religious lad with dark secrets (do I detect a pattern here, surely not), and reasonable teatime adventures without being overly preachy about the times, they are a'changin' (and for a show about a vicar, that's no small ask).
Sunday night is swash and buckle night, and Yo ho Hum Black Sails took a turn for the yo ho Sebastian. I must be losing my touch, because I thought to intense looks off to the middle distance represented unwise choices from the craft table, not yearning bedroomy feelings for one's fellow man. So there was a Cambridge Spies redux moment in this week's episode. Happiness and joy. Well, for me, not the lads. Still, bold move to wait for 1.5 series before explaining what the flying fox the lead character is about. Turns out he's been nursing a red hot thing for RPJ. Well, alrighty then.
Turn has only just started here. It didn't garner much in the way of reviews, which surprises me as it's so completely biased towards the upstanding family men that are the Americans, as opposed to the stiff and sadistic redcoats. Still, it has a lot of Brit thesps in it. Burn Gorman was going total Frontbottom, which was my main amusement in the episode, though probably not in the way intended.
Mind you, if it's reminding me of the Olden Days/Rush, I probably can't acuse the Yanks of owning all the bias (though, damn). I should also point out that Rush was co-funded by a French company, who probably insisted on insulting the English in the contract - grin.
Black Sails has definitely been most improved show this year, taking forever to get moving, but now that it is, it's suddenly become show of the week. I'm not sure who, if any of them, have any motives worth redemption, and maybe going back and reading Treasure Island helped (cracking read, btw) but it is a slithering pit of snakes, and a vastly intriguing one at that. Through in the whole reveal that mad bad Capt. Flint once had a fling with Lord, not Lady Hamiliton, and, well, oh my. Though I'm not surprised. Other sources on pirates dismissed them as sodomites to a man, hence theor outsider/outlaw status, and while I'm not sure that's not hyperbole, I'm surprised Flint has been the only pirate outed thus far. Not that I care, but you know, historical accuracy and all. Says she about a show involving pirates and buried treasure.
Other than that, and I do enjoy my Sunday night swash and buckle (Turn, Outlander, Musketeers, Black Sails), my other guilty secret is The Flash. The actors are engaging, the plots are Smallville stupid, but the constant nods to comic book canon, daft though it maybe, make me squee with delight. Because I'm sad that way.
Books? Currently reading The Count of Monte Christo. also a cracking read, a back cracking dead weight in my backpack (I bought a new one as my wee British Museum pack I'd had since January fell to bits) and a danger to other. The other day the lunatic bus driver, and they all seem to be lunatics, or possibly they try to make up time once we've popped out of the 30km tailback, anyways he braked all of a sudden, hard and fast, just when I was turning a pge, so not having it in my usual death grip, and it shot out of my hands and nearly brained someone three seats down. Ooops. Mass x Velocity.
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