I have clothes capable of changing the weather. There's a thick black jumper I have that can change a -5C morning into a 35C afternoon, and likewise I own a light sleeveless cotton blouse that can apparently turn the most vicious road melting tropical heatwaves into snowdrifts by sundown.
Well, not snow per se, but definitely sleet and driving rain as I struggled home with groceries up the hill under leaden skies. I was actually delighted to receive a blast of hot air when I opened the house. Mmmm, hot sweaty house...
Miserable, damp and cold, I had just had cheese on toast for tea and retired to my lair. These days as there's nothing but reality blah on tv until 9.30 pm, and as the sudden cold weather was making me want to catch up on a fortnight's sleep debt with no real choice in the matter, I thought I'd snooze and wake up at 10pm, ready to watch.
1.47 am and oops. Spent the next hour chasing and catching another noisy roach in my room (must dispose of all of b-day chocolates in an appropriate manner, bugger rationing, as they're attracting every roach in a 500km radius), then watched some TV1 as I was too groggy to read, yet too restless to sleep. I must have though because the alarm jerked me awake most painfully.
Usually I like to write my lj before I read any other posts in the morning, so I'm not influenced unduly by any other thoughts but my own little pestilence (then I sit on it all day as my self imposed cooling off period), but today I'm going to borrow from the thoughts of others because I've got nothing.
I woke up today with a headache that feels like I've got a bison sitting on my head, and not in a kinky barnyard way, and it hurts to blink. So I'm going to go ahead and borrow the brains of others, hope you don't mind too much.
A friend mentioned they had made a US version of Wire in the Blood, which she described as an abomination. Up until now I'd been living in blissful ignorance of this travesty. The very idea just makes my blood curdle. After what they did to Cracker and Coupling, when will they ever learn?
It's not like they can't make good tv in the States, cf the first season of Six Feet Under, Angel (alas, deceased) and the first three seasons of West Wing, but really, just leave the Brit stuff alone, okay?
Another friend had recently seen Hidalgo and, while impressed by the Viggo factor, was concerned that certain unverified tales were being presented as documentary fact in the film. Hey, U571 anyone? At least in Hidalgo it's only whether or not the eponymous character participated in certain events that's being queried here, rather than a complete re-writing of history at the expense of a nation very sensitive over the events described. I understand the Ghost Dancing scenes etc were at least an attempt to recreate the spirit of what had gone before, if not the actual letter, though I'm talking through my hat because I've not seen the film involved.
You know, the grey area betwixt dramatisation and fiction is worthy of a blog discussion, because there's no definitive answer or quantative measurements as to the ratio of truth to fantasy, especially as the facts of the case may only be one person's pov, recollection, hindsight or hearsay. Even dull administrative documents are flavoured by the politics of the time, as I could very easily demonstrate by just showing you what does and doesn't go up on a government web site.
So it's hard to say where truth and fiction part ways in the historical record, and anyone assuming a book or film to be the definitive record must be crackers, no matter what the blurb says (yet they do). I mean, how reliable are eye witness accounts? Exactly. Now take all that subjectivity and add in time, hindsight, axes to grind and the prevailing philosophy of the day and that's just your dry academic text, never mind those laughable docos on the History Channel. Yep, I get annoyed at the 'from a true story' tags too, but as recent events have shown, what is truth, anyway? Truth has left the building, and a long time ago, at that.
Besides, it's all a bit like family history. Legends are always more fun than the grain of truth they sprang from (remind me to tell you the time my Great-Grandmother offered Jimmy Blacksmith tea, so he murdered the family up the road instead).
Another discussion involved Six Feet Under, and the indecipherable Australian who showed up and ladled it on so thick I thought Rachel should belt him one or stand party to yet another US stereotype and risk a good egging on her return to her homeland, but, hey, we all lay it on pretty thick at times. The thicker the better, especially if it annoys the Yanks - grin.
Well, we have our own language and we're proud of it. All that weird and wonderful slang evolved from the secret languages used by criminals, celts, swabbies and revolutionaries and lower classes in the latter 18thC and 19thC, all of whom were shipped out here. A lot of it is 18thC slang in a time capsule - so much slang or terminology used in Master & Commander was still being spoken here up until recently (ie the US ownership and content of all our media outlets) but anyone my age and older will still use all those words - more so when overseas, because, as it was intended, it's a signalling device to locate other like minded souls, ie fellow Aussies, in a crowd.
Our language is a wonderful thing, full of old nautical terms from the age of sail, military terms from the Napoleonic campaigns, words that have their origins in archaic regional gaelic dialects and those secret, made up languages used by Eastend criminals and revolutionaries from all over Britain, Ireland and even Canada (cf Canada Bay). There's also the stuff we picked up from Colonial India, the East Indies and Hong Kong, not to mention our attempts at the local native dialects. What a rich stew. It'd be a pity to lose it, don't you think?
So yeah, it is a special, secret language, with a proud up yours tradition of thumbing its nose to our masters and betters :D
Too bad The Chaser don't have their Oscar article online. They gave Pirates an Oscar for best SFX: almost making Orly look hetrosexual. Smirk. Titter. How unkind...
BTW, so far only two pals have taken advantage of the 'email the doofus a reminder now if you want a birthday greeting' offer. So send those dates in. I'll write them down in my diary this year, promise.
Rant: You know me, I've never, ever refused someone using my scans and screencaps. Share and enjoy, I've always said. I'm not even fussed if I get credit or not. I've just discovered though that I get very, very upset if other folks take credit for my efforts, and take all the kind comments that I never, ever get. Nobody ever says thank you to me. Sulk. Pout. Whine. It's enough to make me want to take my ball and go home. Petty, sure, but I'm as surprised as any of you as to how upset I was to see someone getting 50 accolades for my fuzzy and funny coloured (off third gen tapes) screen caps. It was like a kick in the guts. Why do I bother at all? Why do I get up two hours before I have to, just to scan stuff for the ungrateful hordes? Why? Why? Why?
Perhaps I should use my time to read a book or something for the rest of the week, until I get over myself. Maybe, gasp, I shall write instead. That'd be a change.