June 17th, 2015


beside the seaside

It's supposed to be super hot today, and I'm still cosplaying the Crimson Horror from last week. Well, of course I forgot my sunscreen when off to Sculpture by the Sea. Remembered the hat, but not the sunscreen. No worries, I'll pick some up on the way, right? Nope. None to be had, for love nor money. So, ignoring my sizzling skin (where my 90% redheaded DNA will out) I trooped around the cliffs in bright sunshine.

It was quite nice, despite the difficulties in getting there (the promised public transport was a lie), and while a good two thirds of the show were same old, same old (a frequent complaint I overheard, and not just on the day), and, really, a couple of artists need to try stepping outside their comfort zone. I don't know why, but sculpture seems to be the most samey of the arts, and the one branch of the arts where you don't want samey. Especially in a forum like Sculpture by the Sea. It should be big, loud, silly and surprising because it's a walking picnic, with art. No message, no metaphysics, just something that delights the senses, full of whimsy. Not too big an ask, is it?

There was some cute, like the papier-mâché bugs on the cliff wall, and creepy, like the enormous faceless brass babies climbing up the hill - good use of site. I just loathe artists who don't take into account the site. It's like doing a Tropfest film without the theme item, in other words, pointless and lazy and speaks of trying to shoehorn something they had lying around in the back of the garage into the exhibition with no sense of context. It's Sculpture by the Sea, everyone should know what to expect, and what's expected. I always like the ones that make the fact that they're on the ocean walk as part of the art experience somehow, whether it's reflections, tones or cheesy seaside imagery (cheesy is allowed, what part of seaside picnic with art do some of these serious beret wearers not get?).
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Hello Possum!

Why I'm not sending the typed pre prepared missive is it's nearly 100F and the ageing Dell doesn't do that without screaming like an old Falcon with a faulty fanbelt, and yesterday, oh yesterday. Had our second possum bust through our feeble chicken wire guarding the attic access hatch, which they busted last month, and this critter, after doing a Keith Moon on the bathroom, ended up behind the bookcase, despite being the size of a large house cat (there's wall gap) and we had to move the bookcase and carry the critter out. Thankfully we'd been gently persuading it to exit with the broom handle all morning so it wasn't so feisty any more and Himself carried it out, still clutching at everything on the way like a cartoon, while Himself was clad in pith helmet, bomber jacket and gardening gloves. Sadly no pic as I was on rear guard with the broom. Anyway, I managed to snort up over a decades worth of toxic dust behind the bookcase we had to empty and pull out so I have massive sinus headache so no complicated computing, like replying to emails, for me today.

And now I gotta get my jeans in off the line - possums are kinda like skunks when they get corned.

Words will hurt - at 70kph

I have finally joined the 21stC. In other words, Netflix finally arrived in Australia. Of course I'm still going to try and stream Daredevil on 1940s era copper wire, but ever the optimist. Hey, maybe I should opt for Agent Carter instead, more in keeping with the period?

I've not actually done anything but sign up and up my IP plan, but hey, a girl can dream.

Re Hannibal, I should try the look away method, but that wouldn't leave me with much. Dear Mads - I must be getting squeamish in my dotage.

Have not yet seen Poldark, nor a peep about it playing out here. Mr Amazon still beckons, in other words. I am keen to see it, though. The original was, um, formative viewing.

So last night I basically fell over the threshold, but I watched the Flash and Justified. Interesting combo, but still at the mercy of the tv schedule here. To be honest, I found Flash more engaging. Justified so needs to ... or get off the pot, as my father used to say and would say of Justified. All this endless flirting twixt Boyd and Raylan, now, really. It's getting old. (Hrumph, though it could be the hangover speaking).

That's about it. Wallowing in my old Daredevil TPBs until DD day, waiting for GoT and Outlander to start up again (yes, Outlander, a girl's gotta have one guilty pleasure and I'm fairly shameless about everything else.)

TV? Nothing of note. Theatre? Not so much (I had to bail on my usual season pass) but pretty good so far. No soul sucking duds, unlike last year. Probably because I don't have my season pass (three good plays, three really bad ones).

Reading? Count of Monte Christo. Cracking read, but I nearly killed someone when the lunatic bus driver braked so hard the unabridged version flew out of my hands. Yikes. MxV=Clunk!

That's it. Been watching way too many chaps in tricorn hats of late.

Heh. Well, I still think Black Sails wins most improved series this year. Hell, they went a whole episode sans boobs last Thurs.

Did you see Rupes with that poodle on his head in one flashback? That killed almost an entire season's worth of Spooks brooding.

It's the only show I can honestly pimp these days. Everything else is either not screening here or dire.
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Yo ho whoa

A friend last night told me I should write more, that she missed my posts. While both sweet and unexpected, and, I'll admit, vaguely shocking, as in, WTF, someone found my blog, I'm doomed to disappoint.

Mainly because I'm so, er, um, weary this morning that intellectual discussion is the last thing you'll be getting. Fer starters, I couldn't fulfill my usual subscriptions so theatre is thin on the ground.

Also, I have a head full of silly today, as in, while hauling myself downhill on yet another dark morning (I now literally work downtown instead of uptown) I saw some large hexagonal prints left in the dust beside a shabby little shop being renovated. Okay, clearly someone had some large, oddly shaped bollards outside the shop during the night, and had taken them away, leaving only their imprints behind. Or...they were the tracks of giant robots. Giant robots who had slumbered beneath that little shop for aeons, only to be distrurbed by workmen digging into the basement, Quatermass style, and had now risen and walked out into the night. Giant robots, lurking somewhere in the city...
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