I was going to start off by happily describing my Saturday night tv fest, but Monday, dreaded Monday brings the server down and my own, private inbox awash with nasty, fetid little emails telling me my fic sucks. Now, since I never get feedback on my fic, ever, because nobody ever reads it (they quite probably do suck, but that's not really the point), I can only assume such a barrage of badly spelt and punctuated missives are the wash of the fanwankery I've been enduring thus far this year.
Fuck off. I spent the weekend going out with friends, reading, watching dvds, scanning pics for folks and gardening. And you? You spent it writing horrible little emails designed solely to cause pain. Who is the biggest loser here?
I was going to tell the gentle readers about the lovely lilac fog that rolled in early this morning, bringing a beathless stillness, an almost a fairytale waiting to happen quality to the still sleeping streets. But I won't, because I'm all upset now. All my efforts at keeping calm and productive have come to naught. They prick me, and I bleed.
So, anyway. I might go and get a coffee and come back and tell you about Sideburn Saturday, ie enough sideburns to choke on. This is what happens when one programmes an evening of Life on Mars, Jason King, The Professionals, The Sweeney, The New Avengers and The Saint. Bless UKTV for its Saturday night lineup. Bless the friend who supplied the Life on Mars, and hooray for the dvd collection that provided the rest. Flares, fast cars, wide collars, cuffs, cravats, oh my. Hairy chests, bad hair, pubs, pub fights, flash cars, flash gear, strutting, groovy porny soundtracks. What is not to love?
Obviously the makers of Life on Mars love their 70s coppers as much as I do. It's brilliant, just brilliant. Everything I could ever want is right there. Oh, feel the squaling love. It's just near damn perfect, with the grimy alleys, the outfits, the near impenetrable slang, and the cars. And the music: great, great music. There's also the test pattern girl, the creepiest thing on tv, ever, and the time travel conceit, where the issue of watching 70s copshows with current eyes is neatly and cleverly addressed with Sam standing in for us and our wtf moments. His speech on how a bit of football loutishness will escalate to terrible, unthinkable tragedgy, well, I damn nearly teared up, so I did. It was as nearly as heartbreaking as the factory closing. So, nice Northern stories, too. As much fun as they're so obviously happening, they do have a point, and good points, so it gives the series an edge and depth it might have otherwise lacked. It keeps it from floating away into parody.
Please, watch this show. It is brilliant. If you have ever enjoyed an episode of The Sweeney or The Professionals, you are going to love this. And is it just me, or is John's accent thickening since he's been working ooop north again for a bit?
So that was the mostest fun. Well, that and flipping through the book on Beatnik tat my brother bought. Too cool for cats.
The rest of the weekend was spent scanning a bit, though just a bit, and hard labour. There was the shopping, and the only time it rained the whole briliiantly sunny weekend was the distance from the shop to home. Grrr. I was carrying the frankly enormous pot in which to repot my frangipani (a gift) that is no longer a stick but a fully fledged tree. The wind kept blowing it over, poor love, no matter where I dragged it.
I also bought a more robust portable fan for blowing over poor Dell Boy. It's not just a fan, it has leds that make over 64 patterns as it whirls around, and they're not kidding. Whatever will those clever Chinese chaps think up next? It's very pretty, but hugely epilepsy inducing, I should think, as it flickers really fast. What's that fan? Kill them? Kill them all?
Ahem. You think I'm kidding but you should see it go.
I also bought new bright pink butterfly patterned thongs, already covered in mud. There was mowing, sawing, weeding, cutting, pruning, repotting, trimming, edging, tying, watering, being sunburnt and bit to pieces. In fact there were so many mozzies I thought standing down the back while I was watering was a test of fortitude, that if I stood it I could practice enduring greater miseries. Then I just gave up and was miserable, being bit to bloody pieces as I was. Then it was just a case of washing that spider right out of my hair and sending it on its way (down the plug hole). I also broke my foot, stubbing it rather soundly. It hurts, but I'm just going to have to deal. Weirdly, sticks and stones and broken bones hurt far, far less than nasty names. So there. And I speak from experience, covered in bruises as I am right now, and thus able to offer up a comparison.
Oh, I didn't watch the Grammys at all, but we let it play for a bit inbetween dvds, just to see what new bands the kids were listening to these days. And it was...Paul McCartney?? Okay. Hopefully not up for best new artist. Anyone want to tell The Grammys they might be just a tad out of touch?
Gak. Remind me to byo more coffee to work. It's gonna be one of those weeks. That's all I'll say. I'm going to try and lay off laying into somne of the byotches I have to work with, because, aside from being hugely cathartic, venting is only timewasting, mean, demeaning and likely to get me into trouble if they ever read what I really think of them, or worse, as usually happens, other folks read the rant and think I'm talking about them. The larger part of me wants to laugh and point and say "guilty conscience much?" but I really shouldn't. I'm gonna try and take the high road. But, gah. Is all I'm saying. With a side serving of pounding my head on the desk, maybe some jaw grinding, and most definitely some comfort eating.
Speaking of which: lunch. TTFN.
Post lunch update: trotted down to Customs House to see the small yet entertaining Rowe St exhibit. Briefly, it was a part of Sydney that looked, and had the atmosphere, of an old European street, with little shops selling all sorts of exotica like Japanese prints and leftie books. It looked brilliant, the sort of street I could live in 24/7. So why didn't I remember this fabulous little arcade? Because it had been demolished in 1973. I tell you, urban "planners" are the source of all evil, ugliness and unhappiness (just read today's Herald for proof). Why let a lovely piece of organically grown fun survive, when you can bulldoze it for your perfectly planned and deadly dull office blocks instead. Grump. I hates them. Now I have to go to Melbourne for streets like that. Sigh.
And this is the year of the end, it seems. Last ever Western Union telegram, last MASH...
WHO magazine's top 10 sexiest men
'I've learned how to fight'
By George, now we’re talking politics
Clooney modest about Oscar hopes
The steely side of genial George
Hollywood to tackle Iraq war
At home on the range - and at war
Sorry Johnny, not everybody wants to walk the line
Night Work If You Can Get It
Directors attack rise of Hollywood clones
Not naked but nude
Up and at 'em
In brief: Damon and Affleck reunite for legal drama
Affleck, Damon Together Again
Getting his act together
Ledger in damage control ahead of Oscars voting
Heath's home is away
Mountain is Critics' choice
'Brokeback Mountain' sweeps up more awards
Ledger in damage control
Love, not sex, is the key to Brokeback Mountain
Hollywood 'resists gay US actors'
Porn star fury
Funny times return for Denisof
Firefly Documentary On Sale Soon
FILM TV & RADIO MUSIC ARTS BOOKS FASHION GOOD LIVING PEOPLE DVD REVIEWS FILMFONDUE FILM REVIEWS
End of an era as US Army packs up its last MASH unit
Valley of the Kings yields first tomb since Tut
TV bulge battle earns ire
NY (but I just really liked the picture)
Low-Fat Diets Flub a Test
Climate 'warmest for millennium'
First tomb since King Tut's found in Egyptian valley
Mummies found just yards from Tutankhamun's tomb
Pharaonic tomb find stuns Egypt
The singer, the crim and the scientist: who we look up to
Inns of distinction: The pubs that made history
Why Smash Hits' bubble burst
I'll wear ovaries T-shirt again: Nettle
Congress 'made Wikipedia changes'
Chinese man 'jailed due to Yahoo'