Stargate: (Redemption pt 1 I suspect - redeem this, arseholes.) They're trying so hard to make me like Jonas, he of the idiot grin. They're trying too hard and I'm going to be a sullen child scowling in the corner with her arms crossed. No, take him away. Don't want a new puppy, want Danny. Oh, gosh, another long standing character bites the dust, off screen, natch, the cheap bastards. But another returns from the dead. Lt. Simmonds! I thought for sure he bit the big one way back in season 2 (or was it 3?). Guess not. Where the hell has he been hiding?
Once a Thief: Vic. Mac. Drool. Loved the faux Elvis gangster. I shouldn't but I did. Bring on the cheese! btw, I think I'm going to exceed my Vikki Pratt allowance this week.
Buffy: Inca Mummy Girl. Hmmm...Incan mummies. I might just add that to my fic shopping trolley. Can't watch the scene where Xander deep throats the twinkie without thinking of a similiar scene in QAF when Brian went down on the eclair. I think the comment then was: nice technique, I hear that takes years of practice. Heh. I wish we'd had Larry and Xander, because that would have meant more Larry and much less Anya. Win, win, all round.
Friday: I write this as a particularly violent storm pounds down overhead and it's the perfect end to a perfect day. It all started with a phone call from work, the shit was hitting the fan again - Marketing demanding to know why pages they hadn't told me about weren't online yet. I resolve to go in after lunch, after I take Mum to the flower show as promised. So we walk up to the bus stop and one of my lorikeets is so surprised to see me out and about at that time of day it squeaked and flew across the road to greet me - a car smacks straight into it, not even braking, and I get a face full of feathers. I just burst into tears - and I never cried during Bambi.
The flower show was a mosh pit of senior citizens and there were no spanish lavenders to be had, not even for money. So I go back into work, recieve my bollocking, apologise and have to work back half a day, which means staying late, but it's not so bad. That coffee I had at the flower show was some powerful shit. I'm missing Illya but it's a sacrifice I have to make. The bus takes forever to get home though - the driver seems to think the bus will explode if it goes above 10kph and he starts a protracted fight with every second customer who gets on. It's one of those days.
Got home in time to see the last ten minutes or so of UNCLE. It's better than nothing. Spent the rest of the night watching Brit cop shows. I'd bought a box of chocolate covered macadamias (for UNCLE, originally) and we had one everytime anyone said "Guv!" - needless to say we'd munched our way to the bottom of the packet by the end of the night. This new Robson show is very much like a Brit version of Profiler: more kinky, more quirky. In fact so kinky it was quite a shock to realise I was watching Brit telly again. I enjoyed it though. I love quirky and I've always been fond of Robson, even though he had the Geordie turned up to 11.
Oh, Mark Lutz just popped up on QAF. Why am I not surprised.
The Biehn Project: Clockstoppers. Oh no, I didn't. Oh yes, I did. My boy on the (allegedly) big screen. I have no shame. It was in the dreaded Broom Closet Number 5 (again) and I was the only one there without kids. Everyone stared as if I'd forgotten to byo my plastic mac. So the film starts, tiny speakers 'n' all. You know, I'm used to films opening here in ratty condition after they've played all over the world but I think this copy did a tour of Afghanistan. Good grief, I used to load 30 year old educational films at school and I've never seen anything as crappy as this. I so hope they used this print for the dvd master. Okay, yeah, the Herald was right, it was a paint by numbers plot, and could the soundtrack be any cheesier and the acting was all over the place and all my boy was required to do was stand around and leer and sneer but sometimes, on crappy weekends when one has coldfusion homework, it's enough.
Saturday: It was a lovely morning so I decided to take my papers and cup of tea outside and commune with nature. Noticed a large brown spider strolling over my shoulder as I turned the page. That's enough nature for today. Rolled inside to watch a few dvds and then Andromeda. Another prison planet episode. Please, my ancestors were not WWE rejects.
Mutant X: the Director from Once a Thief taking orders, from EvilAndyWarhol? Say it ain't so. My respect for her takes a bashing.
X Files: yeah, still hanging in there. Well, actually, no. I haven't really watched the X Files for about 5 years now, for various reasons, but hey, what else am I going to do on a Saturday night? Go out? As if. So, I'm watching the X Files. Actually I'm watching Xena in the X Files. When worlds collide. And if it ain't Westley. Heh.
Sunday: Superfriends. And on the day when bad taste was redefined we stood in awe and watched. They discover the Titanic only it's been turned into a mutant jaws like creature by evil mutated algae. This amuses. We run through a check list of Celine Dion jokes, James Cameron jokes, etc. The Titanic menaces a coastal village, chowing down on a lighthouse. The Super Friends decide to stop the Titanic by lobbing another iceberg at it. Down it goes. Oh no, oh dear. How wrong. How fucking hilarious.
Dark Angel: Max goes in guns blazing because she wants the Disney ending to the little mermaid. It's all rather cute. So is Alec. Cute.
History of Britain: Simon sticks it to the reigning intelligensia by uttering the words "class war" when talking about the peasant's revolt. Only they weren't peasants, they were lower middle class wanting to hang onto their status, elevated since the plague. This leads us to a discussion on the desperate social climbing of the lower middle class and the whole milk in first thing. You see, I was brought up as a milk last girl and I'm always being picked on for being so rustic and backwards. Well, according to Bro, the Chinese weren't about to tell anyone how to make porcelain so the Euros tried and got it but the Brits - not quite. Now, the Aristos, they could afford real porcelain, or at least the Dutch stuff, no problem, and the workers, well, they couldn't afford tea and they had good old earthenware anyway. It was only the middle classes with their locally bought crappy faux china who had to put the milk in first to stop the cups exploding. Eventually over the centuries the workers began to afford tea and began aping the middle classes, because 300 years ago it was the proper thing to do. It's merely an affectation 300 years past it's use by date. So those people who pick on me are social climbing gits of the highest order. Hyacinth Buckets, the lot of 'em. Class warfare, I'll give you class warfare - fetch my Billy Bragg records. Hmph.
Monday: My injured currawong manages to limp to the bus stop to beg me not to go, because I am feeling truly crappy. But I have deadlines. She's right though. Everyone is in at 7 am so there will be no fic today, and probably none for the rest of the week. Bugger. Bit worried about all my favourite birds being injured/killed. The other week I was sitting down on the garden seat surrounded by my favorites and it reminded me of the old woodcut of the witch and her familiars. Now they're being taken out. I don't like it, not one bit. Sneezy, the allergic magpie, gave me a dreadful fright yesterday when I looked up to see him just lying on the grass. Up I popped, fearing he'd keeled over, and up he popped. The silly bastard was just snoozing and sunbaking - figuring I'd shoo away any cats. Damn stupid birds.
The day is more or less salvaged by laksa with Drew. Drew is off to see the Great Wall of China. sigh. Everyone is going somewhere, but me. And I don't even get to type up ficcie today.