But I digress. I am tired today. I keep almost having to hit myself and tell myself to wake up. Didn't help that the bus broke down twice on the way into work. The first time a mere two metres up the hill from my bus stop. Shortest bus ride ever?
Shouldn't have gone out last night, feeling wretched after a twelve hour day, but I'm glad I did. In my continuing quest to find age appropriate entertainment, I bought a ticket to sing-a-long to the Sound of Music. Bingo. A sea of women of a certain age (and gay guys of a certain age). It was a good natured crowd, though SoM fans haven't got a leg to stand on as far as pointing and laughing goes, anyway. I was delighted to run into a few aquaintances, including the lass who gave me the frangipani (now a tree), and I even spotted a co-worker in lederhosen. OMG. Burned into my brain. Burned into my brain. Burned. Into. My. Brain.
So what exactly is the etiquette for greeting a colleague the next day after you've seen them dressed up in lederhosen? I mean, I had no problem when one of my mates turned up as a nun on a mardi gras float, but that was decades ago, in simpler, more rollicking times.
Fun night. We each got a little baggie of props for the night, including a little plastic sprig of edelweiss - how sweet. Everyone hissed at the Baroness, booed the Nazis and there was a lot of wicked extra textual reading going on, especially with the nuns. Much MTS3King. Hysterical. Tragically, I knew nearly all the words (over a decade of school choirs will do that) and a couple of songs in and I was belting it out for the first time since high school. Marvellous fun. Incredibly daggy, but fun.
Okay, back onto Life on Mars, my monomania du jour. Heh, sounds like a band name, as much as badly rendered birds, from the peanut gallery's comments re the end of an episode of Smallville: "And thus the sun sets in Smallville, and our two lovers are silhouetted against the setting sun in a luridly bad piece of digital wank and badly rendered birds." (the other great band name was from a typo that offered up "aesthetics as a whale")
But I digress, again. It's not the years, it's the lack of sleep, I swear. So, Sam. Coma? Time traveller? Barking mad bloke from 1973? Are the inaccuracies proof that it's all in Sam's head, or a clever dodge by TPTP? Ditto the increasing all over the place chronology.
Don't know. Don't really care, though the guessing game is fun to play. Again, I think upon Gene saying that Sam requested his own transfer. It ties into 1973 being a year of unfinished business for Sam. Then there was Sam's state of mind at the time of his accident. Maybe it was a case of wishing he was anywhere but here, followed by a large dollop of buyer's regret. Be careful what you wish for, etc, etc. Oooh, The Sweeney, Quantum Leap and The Twilight Zone (and upcoming episodes looking very Dr Who). It's also been compared to Vanilla Sky and Back to The Future.
And speaking of which, if Sam is time travelling, he's being a very naughty boy, meeting his parents (chatting up his mum! Oedipus ahoy!), and himself, changing the outcomes of investigations, giving tips on a winning horse and basically leaving a very large footprint of cause and effect. Tsk.
I love reading the theories, like the characters being figments, the period/realities bleeding across each other, Sam's hallucinations. Somebody swears there's a freeze frame of Sam in his coma in episode four. Must go back and watch it carefully. Any excuse, eh?
I never thought I'd find Seventies clothes so sexy, but the way young Simm struts around...oh my (actually I think I remember reading somewhere that JS hadn't realised there was quite so much strutting going on and was a little embaressed about it). Gene's green shirt and white shoes are harder to come at, but I can forgive Gene almost anything. And he loves Westerns. Can't fault him for that.
Oh, and from wickedly looking at some spoiler pics this morning (Sam being manhandled by Gene again: ooh, bruise me, you big bad copper), it looks like I'm going to have to rewrite my description of the 70s loos, being apparently not half as primitive as the ones I have to deal with in my office right now. Never mind. I'm just glad I stopped off in Manchester again and had myself a real good walk around, more of a walk than intended, getting lost as I did, but still, I did find some alarmingly gritty parts I can draw on for illustration.
In fact, as soon as I can figure out how two grown adults can bounce away in that rickety little bed of Sam's without it collapsing in a tinny heap, I'll have a badly written fic finished for people to ignore and ridicule. Yay?
Normally, I wouldn't be drawn up so cold on such a small detail, but I remember there being a fold up guest bed like that in the house from the early 1970s, and it being very much like that thing Sam owns, and I know it was badly constructed, rattly as hell, bad tempered and given to collapsing or folding up on a whim. I just can't get my head around anyone trying to sleep, let alone engage in adult activities, on such a terrorising piece of alleged furniture.
Ooops. I promised I wasn't going to talk about fic. Forget I said that. I'll just think happily about how very pretty Sam looks when he's all angsty and upset, or giggling like a loon, or smiling, or just strutting about. And how sexy Gene is, despite conventional all wisdom. And how I feel the need to watch those speedos in action, again - heh.
Mmmm...Seventies coppers. Love 'em.
Missing in action: the real movie star
Matthew Fox Visits "The Late Show with David Letterman" - February 21, 2006
"The Matador" London Premiere
Harrison and Calista dazzle Down Under
Possums help Kiwi cops tackle drugs
Man who awoke from 10-year coma dies
Entertainment News: Aquaman Recast
The unknown world: How I tracked Bigfoot through the Malaysian jungle
Bird flu threat drives Tower's ravens indoors
Split Enz concert tickets sell out in two hours
Unromantic snip for school plays
Greater Manchester Police
'There was no apology'
Life on Mars (television)
Silver screen loses its lining but Toni's show goes on
Ill wind blows well for Daddo