Lucky I was wearing my relentlessly cheerful (ie really loud) shirt this morning as the bus driver nearly shot past me in the middle lane. Cheeky fellow.
I like this shirt. For the first time I can afford to but shirts when I see them, not only when I need them, so I like this one. It reminds me of a similiarly patterned late 60s shift I used to wear to uni, when I couldn't afford to shop anywhere but op shops. I loved that dress. My best friend loved that dress. One guy really got in my face on campus, unable to deal with my decade mixing op shop fashions, but if I upset his world view wearing a bright shift with faux DMs (I couldn't afford real ones back then), well, that was his problem. Man, I miss that dress. Good times, good times.
If a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, as that old pill popper Ms Poppins used to sing, then a tablespoon of sugar in a caffeine confection gets the housework done. Coming home all hyper I decided to put myself to good use and polished up all the brass and copper, from Buffy (the one where Angel pretends to be evil: "While you're there I mostly want you to wriggle") to Streets. It was actually rather fun, chroming away on Brasso fumes for a few hours (by royal appointment, no less, well I'll be buggered).
Happily the last time I did all the brass and copper was about six months ago so it was an easy job, not the sweaty and red faced effort that it often is (being 20C and not 40C also helps). Nope, no silver. Mother had to do the silver as a child and won't have it in the house. What little there is, I do, along with everything else, and I have since I was four.
This is how I end up with brasso fingers (bright coppery green, and cue Shirley Bassey belting out Brass Finger...), because I won't use gloves. Aside from my latex issues (ahem), I like getting into all the nooks and crannies (ooo er, as the Bishop said to the actress) and feeling all the ridges and patterns (hello Vicar). I've polished some of those pieces since I was four and I swear I know them so much better by touch than by sight (and doing them after the sun has set, by candlelight alone, I'd better know them by touch) and it's kind of soothing and familiar and almost a ritual in the way I clean them, like I imagine touching a personal religious talisman would be like.
At least I feel seasonal now, perfumed as I am by the vague smell of Brasso. Scents are highly evocative and it just wouldn't be Xmas if I didn't reek of household solvents :)
So that was my evening. Simultaneously I also managed to burn a few more cds, upload pics, download mail - ah, sweet, sweet coffee, the gods' gift to multitasking.
Sat through the last Without a Trace, there was one nice scene with Martin, but that was about it, and EC9 inexplicably cut the Jeff Buckley song in half, which was a bit rude.
After that I switched over and found Shore Leave on TV1. I love that episode. Okay, yes to the whole sad Trekkie thing, but it is one of my favourites. It delighted me as a small child, then I thought it was silly, and campy when I was a teen, and now I think it's silly and campy and it still delights me. Plus it's one of the few episodes not entirely done on a sound stage with those tragic papier mache rocks and red backdrop (red sky at night, this episode is shite).
I love all the lurid colours on Trek. It's still a novelty to me because I was still watching it in black and white, nearly up to the 90s, not able to afford a colour tv. Of course, it had more suspense back then, as, since everyone was in grey shirts, anyone could buy it at any moment. Now I know about red shirts, well, it kinda kills the surprise. Still, nothing like watching Jim beam down with a phalanx of red shirts. Then you just know you're in for some classic tv violence. Pass the chocolates :)
Re Oz films, a friend in the UK remarked that if you took your date to any British film that didn't feature Hugh Grant, it meant that you were breaking up. Cruel, but too amusing by far not to repeat.
Oh dear. Popped down to Starbucks for an iced latte and a wrap. My first ever wrap was sampled in DC back in '96, and my cosmopolitan US pal laughed at my hillbilly ways and ignorance, but they still don't sell them out here in Smallmindedville (bar Starbucks). Nor do they have salad bars. Just about every chain of fast food imagineable, and a kebab shop (that hot bed of terrorism), but no salad bar. Sheesh. Starbuck wraps are expensive, so it's a once a month treat, however today was the day :) Unfortunately the very trainee barrista made my Latte 50/50 syrup so now, well, remember when Bart had the slurpee trip? Like that. There goes the diet, but I'll probably be good for scrubbing down most if not all of the kitchen cupboards tonight.
Fwd from a dear friend (and this pretty much applies to Oz cons to) Con fun (reproduced without permission):
'spoilers' move heaven & earth to get the latest eps
of their fave TV series direct from the U.S. hours
'idle wankers' wait for the local TV execs to
condescend to show U.S. quality shows instead
of cheapo local rubbish.
There will be fistfights between these two groups
over asking certain guests at this weekend's Starfury
Con about their return to a certain series.
Meanwhile the more ruthless of us will be
inviting the local virgins to special
'midnight premieres' of eps unseen in the UK.