Another foggy morning. Not quite so grand, and I really didn't hit it until I got into town, but nevertheless. In fact it's still hanging around, unless that's just smog from the motorway - so hard to tell.
It wasn't a good morning. Oh, I woke up okay. Tired, old, but, you know. Sorted out what I was going to scan. Of course it was going to have to be the Jude cover Premiere I squeed over in the local newsagency (for local people) last night. That newsagency has always only offered half a dozen or so magazines, none interesting, and never foreign, but somehow they'd been sent a Premiere by mistake, and there he was, the Jude. I was being such a fangirl that there was some comment on whether or not I should pay for an adult bus ticket, as I wasn't acting like one (too bad I have to pay for the age I am, not the age I act, cause then I'd always be free, ie aged 0-4 years - grin).
Then, as it's mufti day, I went for a rummage in the washing basket of lost t-shirts and pulled out the old GAP shirt a dear friend had once sent me from NYC as a present, back in the days when we were bestest, bestest friends. I'd forgotten how lovely and soft, and almost flattering (the fault solely resting with me, Michelin Girl), it is. So I was happy about that.
Then I was leaving, AP pronounced all genealogy on the Net stupid and anyone who would bother to look at such things, stupid beyond belief. Now I'd spent over ten years of my life, with many a great sacrifice, trying to get genealogy databases online. It was a ten year labour of love letter to my unfeeling AP (who, if she witheld any more would implode into a blackhole) and she just dismissed it as stupid, without ever once ever having looked at it.
So I did the only thing I could do. I burst into tears and fled up to the bus stop to snuffle away. Horrors, somebody else showed up to use the bustop, for like the first time in two years, so I had to stop snuffling and dry my tears. I resented the intrusion intensely, public space though it was.
Oh, and the website I was working on beat out 2,000 dead Koreans as newsworthy, just so as you know the sort of pressures I've been under this week. No, please don't go look at it. For four hours work (the impossible deadline I was given), it ain't fancy, as I promised.
Then there was Fearless Leader, knocking off for a half day yesterday, having today off and of course, Monday, being a public holiday. As he walked off he told me to mind the store. I remarked something like, yeah, sure, whatever - perhaps just a tad more formerly, and he looked at my sallow, shrunken shell and had the utter cheek to remark that I should have a holiday. This from the man who works a three day week (forcing me to pull triple shifts), has every school holiday off and cancels my own planned holidays as inconvenient. If I'd been in a 90s sitcom you'd have segued to a dream sequence where Fearless Leader's head connected with a hard swung chair. But, alas, I'm not in a bad sitcom, even though it sure feels like it at times. No, I just said it'd be nice, and off he trotted. Bastard.
Last night was SVU night. You can watch it all night long if you don't mind hopping channels. More Munch and Meloni than this gal can handle.
Speaking of Mr Meloni, in a roundabout way, I saw several ads for NCIS last night, which I fully intend to watch on account of Dave (Illya! Illya! Illya!) and Mark (240-Robert!), and possibly Michael (Dark Angel!), and, guess what, it's gonna be on Sunday nights. Opposite Oz. Ack. And the Sunday ABC serial. It was working so well: frock dramas on the ABC, then Oz. Now they've gone and put NCIS on too. The only progs I want to watch all week, all on at the same time. Ain't it always the way? Okay, I guess I'll buy the ABC stuff I want on dvd (Brit boys ahoy) and I'll tape Oz at the 5am repeat screening.
I just love that. Oz just before the morning cartoons. Tips on playground fun and games for the kiddies. How to make your own shiv as a craft project. Heh. Not that Oz is any more violent than the morning news you'll find elsewhere, and, no, I still haven't forgiven EvilChannelSeven for replacing the cartoons with news. You know why they did it? Cause they discovered the only people watching the cartoons were my age, so they decided we'd prefer finance news instead. No, no, no and no. Grizzle. Gripe.
Meanwhile, I can't describe enough how much I've been enjoying "Finessed" by MAC. I've been reading it in fits and starts over the week and I've been living from installment to installment, let me tell you. It's cute, it's funny, it's got action and angst. And it's got characterisation. Yep, no foolin'. Everyone gets a turn in the spotlight, everyone is fleshed out and I want to just shower her in rose petals and chocolates for her portrayal of Buck.
Usually poor Buck is never even named, just labelled the ladies man and dismissed out of hand, even in gen fics, but especially in slash fics, as though they don't know what to do with a hetero character, and have no wish to do anything with him. Poor Buck. All that character, all those layers, all that history with Chris, dismissed. Ain't fair. And, to my mind, what with the hands! hands! hands in new places! hug he gave Chris, in his underwear no less, in the pilot, not to mention chasing after the "funny cowboy", well, you could start to wonder about ol'Buck. Methinks there's been a few cold nights cuddled up on the trail for our boy.
So you can imagine how pleased I am that Buck, the most interesting of the seven outside Ezra, imho, is finally getting some column inches. I think her Ezra is a little too high strung, but okay for comic effect, and I really love her Chris and her Vin, her, the whole shebang. Wonderful stuff.
Also wonderful are JJ's Raffles stories. Then she went and mentioned Angel. I think I have to go breath into a paper bag again...WAIL!!!
To try and end on a slightly upbeat if wrong note, I forgot to mention that while testing out my new software on the Holmes disk, I had poor Holmes and Watson going for their exposition walk in the country on x4 speed, which was a tad undignified and had me chuckling slightly. Bro then leant over my shoulder to see what I was up to and started humming the Benny Hill theme as Watson chased Holmes through the trees at x4 speed. Too fekking funny, and chuckles turned to hoots of laughter. That soft, turbine like noise your here is poor old Jeremy Brett spinning in his grave. ;p