I even called upon AP for assistance, as she brags endlessly at her skill at rabbit catching (ditto my grandmother), but, alas, her rabbit catching skills are mainly found at the end of a .22, so it's probably best that bunnykins hopped away into the darkness. Else I'd come home to find rabbit stew bubbling on the stove and set to wailing that I wanted fluffy bunny for pet, not dinner. With parents raised in the country, the distinction twixt pet and dinner ain't what it could be, let me tell you.
I've never seen a rabbit roaming the street before, so that was different. I fear for him though. If the traffic doesn't get him, the local cats will. (I did try to catch him, but my animal nabbing/rescuing days are behind me, alas, unless they come to me).
Oh well. Something different.
Another Torchwood review:
Torchwood is just so utterly fucking juvenile. It’s a teenager’s ill thought out idea of what adult drama is. The end result is a shit soufflé that instantly collapses under the weight of its own pretensions.
I think it was the overhype (Peanut Gallery was so over the Torchwood refs in DW before the show even started) and the huberis of Mr Davies in various British papers that really made what was a middling (at best and my most kind hearted) SF show seem just, well, awful. Well, that and the "show me this Earth thing you call kissing" plot.
I still want to see more though. If it doesn't get better, well, kicking it about is fun, too. Kinda like a gladitorial arena sport.
Watched Deadwood last night. We're up to where I stopped with the disks (so very kindly sent) so it was like an all-new episode. You know, it took me several good long minutes to recognise Gale Harold under that floppy moustache. DW was kinda boring and I was re-arranging crap in my room, but then it all started getting real interesting real fast, so I sat down and paid attention. Looks like we're working towards somesort of high noon scenario, and with the Earp boys in town, that's a definite possibility (I could go look it up online but I won't spoil myself with specifics).
It's race day today. I wouldn't know: no office sweeps. Quelle Horreur! It's just not cricket. Mind you, it's crap times at the office. There's the election, the constant threats that the Black Douglas will get ye (if you don't do whatever that instant), etc, etc. Worse, my yum cha buddy's son had a parachuting accident, which has naturally cast a pall on things. He survived the splat, but it's a tad fatuous to wish the poor bastard a speedy recovery when he's more metal than man right now. Somewhat not happy. Miss yum cha buddy very much.
Also, more with the RL stuff. It's been unseasonably cold of late, it even snowed in some parts of the country. H and I were complaining of our aches and pains. Turns out her jaw was dislocated by an ex with a karate job, and my hip that has been giving me so much jib of late was taken out with a flying kung fu kick by an ex. Awful stats, two professional women aching all day from souveniers of violent arsehole exes. There was a great "all men are bastards" bonding session. Of course, not all men are bastards, but it is equally true that none of the gentlemen on this floor are hobbling around from a judo chop to the neck by an ex-girlfriend.
Ah well. Have booked the upgrade to digital (at near fainting expense). Now I just have to clear a pig track to the tv by next week (and scare off the panthers and pygmies and whatever else lives amongst the dust bunnies in that corner of the room). Personally, I could live quite happily without pay telly, with dvds and the help of friends, but this firmly comes under the heading of "anything for a quiet life". The stony stares I could not bear.
Meanwhile, gunfire, blackouts, food shortages. Downtown Baghdad or my suburb? And you wonder why I bury myself in telly.
Ah well. It fell to me to organise the Melbourne Cup Sweep in the office this year. At least I was pro-active and received several compliments for my hat (sadly a bit worse for wear having been retrieved from the charity box). Okay, so they're actually all laughing at the hat, but, you know.
They're amused at how animated I've become (I've also organised wine, chips n dip). [shrug]. I used to put all my Nan's bets on at the TAB as a kid, so I suppose this is comes under the umbrella of nostalgia. Back then, I could always pick a cup winner. In fact, the bulk of my savings are built on my childhood cup winnings.
Update: sadly all my horses brought up the rear, but the sweeps winner is very happy and everyone loved the dip, so good news all round, aAlthough the dancing about with the winnings jar, while joyous, could verge into unseemly at any moment.
Sour grapes? You bet. It's a shit merlot. Ah, well.
Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival
Eek, a merlot!
Jet-lagged mice die young: study
I Still Miss Republicans
Blowing My Thought Wad (Torchwood)
Brave new world
Elijah Wood A-OK With Being Very, Very Gay