mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

  • Mood:

On second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.

It was a lovely dawn this morning while I was scanning articles on Arthur, King of the Britons. How I am going to make it through that fillum without going to the Holy Grail place is beyond me, but I suppose I'll manage. I did, afterall, make it through Troy without riffing on Hercules Against The Moonmen once, (which I can still recite off by heart thanks to having to dub six copies in one day), but I was considerably off my game the day I went to see Troy.

I'd meant to get on the PC last night, but I ended up getting home late, so it was just Relic Hunter. Would you believe Fearless Leader had the cheek to tell me I was getting canned on Wednesday? I had the pleasure of telling him no, in fact the Big Cheese had just signed me up for another six months. Ah, smug smug type type as he made like a goldfish. Yes, gloating isn't very zen but I'm still far from enlightenment and, well, it was one of those moments, you know?

I watched Bowling For Columbine last night, so now I'm annoyed with Americans again. Sure, everyone on the planet is wacko, but they're armed to the teeth fundamentalist wackos, and they don't keep it within their borders, as the doco pointed out. And I'm not just talking about the blanket bombing if you step out of line. I hate that the Free Trade Agreement, or rather, the F*ck Australia Treaty is going to turn us into the 51st state, making meds cost 300% more, destroy our social welfare infrastructure (health transport, housing, education), make everything survival of the richest, kill or be killed. Because, you know, we couldn't make our own version of Survivor. We were too nice, too helpful, too caring. I want to keep that, please.

The fillum also made me shamefully rethink my opinion on work for the dole schemes. I always used to do a dance of glee when they were brought in because I knew far too many fat lazy single folks w/o kids who hit on me for far too many free lunches, so I was amused to see several of them actually go out and get actual jobs rather than be assigned them. So for that much needed kick up the butt, I was thinking, yes, the system works. But for poor families, I mean, poorer than mine, I can see how shitty it would be. So I'm ashamed of my previous support, even if it is immensely satisfying to know the bastards aren't snuggled up watching cable tv while I work.

Speaking of Oz things, gabbed again with folks over how wonderful and frelling hilarious Stiff was. Poor Daisy. He was so droll and laid back, we've no idea how they could possibly sell it overseas. I mean, I've got American friends who stare at me like I've grown horns when I mention how funny some Brit shows are. I suspect they'll be scratching their heads over this, aside from the slapstick, because it was just so dry and droll. Like you couldn't tell it was a John Clarke script. It had his sticky fingers and way with words and the way he says them all over it. I was bemused. I'd not heard the phrase "quick sticks" since primary school. Hee.

And speaking of Oz, this from Column 8:
On a recent trip to New York, Alison Simon of Seaforth took her husband to Broadway to see "our" Hugh Jackman in The Boy From Oz. As the applause died down an elderly American man said to his wife: "that was a great show, but I just don't get the title, The Boy From Oz?" Before Alison's husband could impart some local knowledge, an American women piped up: "Oh, that's because Judy Garland is in it and she was in The Wizard of Oz."

[face palms]

At least there were a lot of Aussies (pronounced Ozzies, please, for the love of Hugh) in the audience when I went to see it (whee! and whee! again) and I assume there are lots most nights. Tall poppy syndrome? Not a bit of it. We're all happy and proud to support our boy done good. It'll be only if he ever starts getting stroppy that you'll hear the words tall poppy and lopping (unlikely, I hope). For non celebs, it's simply called pulling your head in and stop being a dickhead. Words Rusty needs to hear at least two or three times a year, apparently.

So, lollapalooza is scrapped. The end of an era. Not that I ever went, but I used to wish I could go. Weird about the slack ticket sales, but then again, a lot of my flist are changing jobs, moving, tightening belts, scrimping, saving, changing, adapting, sacrificing, selling up and selling off. Symptoms that the economy isn't as rosy as the papers say? Or some other maliaise?

They should pack it up and hold it out here. I mean, the Big Day Out still sells out, ditto Splendor in the Grass, and there's nothing, nothing like a rock festival to bring on those flooding rains, and we need flooding rains. I'm bored with drought. Really bored. Endless blue skies and sunshine - feh. Though at least our lawn is proudly dirt and dust. No midnight sprinkling for me. Occassional sneaky dumpings of tumblers of water on plants that are looking warby, but no lush and verdant lawns for us.

I'm also queen of the minute shower. In fact I was in NY two whole days before I realised I could just stand under the shower, rather than lather, rinse and out. Illicit, guilty, squeaky clean joy.

I've just worked how I came to have a pocket full of rubber bands. All this week I've been heating up a soup I loved but nobody else did, and, as they've yet to make a container than survive being thrown up and down in my backpack as I run for the bus, I have to take the rubber band off before nuking it, thus, a pocket full of rubber bands. Usually I don't go near the microwave at work, because I'm trying to diet and the bloody thing is older than Elijah Wood and was last cleaned when we had a Labor PM, but as I said, nobody else wanted the soup, and it'd be a pity to waste it. Tastes funny after being nuked in horrid pvc containers though. Bleuch. Throw away the soup and eat the rubber bands.

Finally, it must be true what they say about being lucky at cards but unlucky at love, cause Benny won the poker championships. Mind you, I think he dodged a bullet with the diva, but that's just me. The boy needs more than poker to occupy him, though. Somebody, Kevin, give him a comic to write. That'll keep him off the streets, and I'd actually be curious to see what Benny-Boy could come up with.

Mmmm, sudden pang to pick up (by now massive) standing order. I shall wait til next week, when I can stroll in apres work. Whoo.

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