May 8th, 2002

Carravaggio

just a good ol boy...


Thanks to that SFX all Smallville issue, I've had the Dukes of Hazzard them stuck in my head since lunchtime yesterday. Arrrgh. Still, lovely pic of Rent Boy Clark though J

The thing about catching public transport is that one often has adventures before one has even gotten to work. Though less now that my commute is no longer the three days by horse journey that it used to be (just to give you an idea of the distance travelled) it's still not without its occassional quirks. Like this morning. Eschewing the big fuzzy bear coat (wakka wakka wakka) for my light and completely ineffective at keeping the cold work coat, I stopped off for hot chocolate at the Vietnamese doughnut shop on the way into work to warm myself up. Wickedly, I was tempted to buy a doughnut too, though my painful breaking in of the new Docs (a rite of passage) has helped me fit back into my work shirts, and as the surly young woman went to fetch it some guy just walked up and then walked off with my hot chocolate. This being one of those places that always shows up with a big red pin on police maps, we let him have it. We stared at each other for a moment, but since I had neither paid for the cup nor touched it or done anything in the way of taking it down from the counter which would indicate it was now my responsibility, she just shrugged and made me another. But, hey, a quirky start to the day.

Fortunately hardly anyone reads this aside my two fave people, but that's fine. It was nice of one friend to pop over after my shirty day bearing tapes. I've bought her the Smallville issue of SFX as a thankyou. It has the infamous Clark as rent boy pic in it J.

My Church review last week has gotten me in terrible trouble with a friend who much prefers their later stuff. Worse she tells me she's used one of the songs I dissed as a songvid, and this was some bone of contention between us, though I had honestly meant no disrepect to her or her tastes. I really didn't and regret that it could possibly be inferred.

I'd hoped that the review had come across as affectionate if disappointed, but I guess not. Or, as the Regurgitator song goes: "I like your old stuff better than your new stuff". It was a good lesson in self censoring. Ah, yes, always with the life lessons J. I was trying to write in the style of SFX, which I adore as a mag, forever putting a loving boot to their fave shows. It must be something we get from the Brits, the playful dismemberment of things we like, especially if they've gone off the boil a bit. Anyways, I'm over it, lovey, as they say. Just got two, two nice emails re my latest Ezra fic so I'm a very happy girly.

Haven't had much sleep, it being the night of nekkid Spike - had to
stay up late for that treat - it was worth the lack of sleep? Especially as JM decided to go method on the nekkid bit. (if you still advance through the scene you'll know what I'm talking about. I eagerly anticipate the dvd release). J

Weirdly, I typed methos instead of method just then. Was there something, honey? I guess I was thinking HL this morning. Funny old world. Funny old head o'mine.

Thank god I have an outlet on the Net for my fic now. I have a 4ft pile (at least) of notebooks from 1980-1997 still waiting to be typed, though I think I'll skip over anything prior to 1986 J. One of these days. There's this whole Duncan/Mary Sue story that has just enough moments of occassional good ideas to warrant my inflicting it upon the world, just to prove I can write Mills & Boon fic should circumstances require it. Actually, it probably reads like Highlander meets Charmed now, exactly, but I did write it in '92 so it's coincidence for the witchy sisters at least. Scary but true.

There's also about a dozen or so Man from U.N.C.L.E. fics, a dozen or so Young Riders fics and a handful of comic book fics that need to be typed up, and I think a three part Buckaroo Banzai epic that is nothing if not topical - no longer as sci-fi as it was when I wrote it back in 1990.

I loved Buckaroo Banzai, I really did. I raced out and bought the dvd, and, oh my, how memory had coloured it in mich softer hues. It's complete, albeit well meaning, crap. I think even Return of the Killer Tomatoes has higher production values. Oh yeah, add to those The Brain That Wouldn't Die and you should see what my Amazon recommendations look like now: Good Morning, Miss Havisham. As you ordered some complete crap last time we've really scraped the barrel to offer up some tasty video excrement for you to buy next. Heh, not unless one of my fave boys goes shirtless (at the very least) in it. Factor that into your marketing database - snicker.

Oooh, who was that guy in the tea room, what section does he work in and can I get a transfer? The first sign of real talent I've seen in this place. Not that my workplaces are anything other than entirely bereft of not merely talent, but gentlemen I would actually ever talk to voluntarily (and considering I've been known to strike up conversations with tramps at bus stops you can possibly understand how dire the situation truly is). Usually the only hope of office totty comes in the form of temps, and I've seen none out here. Previously in other jobs it's been temps ahoy but the problem is just when I get up the courage to ask them out for drinks they're off to Thailand the very next day, accursed backpackers. I did once strike up a friendship with a lovely chap, bonding over our comic collections, until his girlfriend (whoops) forbade him from talking to me - I must have been mentioned once or twice in the conversation. Now she looked like Nicole Kidman and I look like Dawn French so I don't know where her insecurities lay. Never dreamed I'd ever have a chance. I never do. qv Dawn French. Sigh. Is it too late to stick my finger down my throat over that illgotten doughnut this morning. Quite possibly. A long march home today, then.

Huh. apparently there's now a Parramatta Road in Lebanon, there being more descendants of that village living in Parramatta than the village proper. I just read on Sunday that a tiny Greek island is awash with Australian accents every summer because there are about 10,000 people on the island, but ten times that number of descendants living in Australia. Funny, that, that the children of migrants are returning home and taking pieces of Australia with them. This means of course, as a friend in Seattle fears, there is no place on earth you can go to without running into an Australian.J


 


Carravaggio

smallville vs metropolis


This is from the NY Times, but it's a good real life model of the essential tv premise of wholesome country lad vs evil city slicker (oh my god, she's being serious again, somebody stop her!):
True Blue Americans May 7, 2002


And while we're on the subject of inequity, let me refer you to the Seattle Times article on burger-nomics that has the good grace to note the the Australian dollar is undervalued by 35%. Add a 10% sales tax and that's me paying a whopping 45% more on everything than my American pals, while only earning 75% of the wage, and having to pay for my own health insurance on top of that, plus shipping, currency conversions, you name it. Do I wish more politicians and money men could be smited? Too bloody right I do (qv celtic goddess).


 

Carravaggio

a rose by any other sex

Now I really had to share this, being a complete wank about Shakespeare:
Is Deceptive Portrait Tied to Shakespeare? New York Times May 6, 2002


    In his essay "Shakespeare's Sonnets," the poet W. H. Auden dwells on Southampton's narcissism, noting that the young man probably knew he had some power over Shakespeare but was unaware of the intensity of feelings he aroused. Southampton gives the impression, Auden writes, of being "a young man who was not really very nice, very conscious of his good looks, able to switch on the charm at any moment, but essentially frivolous, cold-hearted and self-centered."


    What makes this anonymous portrait of Southampton interesting, then, is the belief that it shows him as he looked when he first became Shakespeare's patron and, perhaps, the muse of the
    "If you believe that the young man addressed in the sonnets was Henry Wriothesley," Mr. Holden quoted Sir Frank as saying, "there is the additional thrill that this could be the face that Shakespeare fell in love with, perhaps wishing its owner was a girl. The magnitude of the thrill depends on how much you think the identity of the young person matters to the poems. Many think it matters a lot."