Interesting, though I think alas, Jude might be getting a bit past it, but I can't think of anyone better off the top of my head.
Nipped off early to try and get some kip, and it almost worked, had my (not so) favourite cockatoo spied me nestled in quilts under the window (for the breeze) and crept as close as he could before leaning in and screeching "WAKE UP!!!" and then giving me that little boy "I'd like a biscuit please" look. Worse, once he'd got me up he let his mates know, so I had the whole bloody gang 'round the back steps. It's moments like these that make you wonder if they'd be better served as sausages or pies.
Speaking of pies, and an offline discussion that rapidly degenerated into Sweeney Todd scenarios: Pig farmer 'killed 49 women but wanted 50'
Note to self: don't eat any pork pies from Canada.
TV last night. Well, Top Gear, of course. SBS ut up this pleading note that they were the heavily cut international versions and it wasn't their fault, but I still saw scenes in the end credits not in the show (par for the course after the local stations have taken to a show with a meat cleaver). Fortunately I do have some proper BBC Top Gear lying about, even the 2005 season of which this is. Time to start handing them around, methinks (copyright violation vs censorship - discuss). Anyways, it was hilarious as always. I really should be tut tutting like the wizened old prude I should be, but, honestly, I'm too bloody amused for that, and I think all the rev head stuff is so wicked that it makes it twice as funny, just by being, you know, a bit naughty.
Ah, what a world when petrol heads provide all the ooo-er these days.
Then it was time for Supernatural. This episode, frankly, rocked. It wasn't brilliant, and the acting is still of the excrcuiatingly stilted school of American pretty boy mannequins (though they really, really tried, either that or they were both a bit constipated that day, it's always hard to tell with American actors as to whether they're torn apart emotionally by some catastrophic event, trying to remember to pick up the laundry or suffering a mild dose of indigestion), but it entertained me, and that's all I ask most days. Bonus points for the Jensen eye candy (the other lad does nothing for me, less, alas).
Okay, so we had evil clowns as the A plot and grief over their dead daddy as the B plot (which was a wise move because even though the characters were required to be emotionally shut down, let's just say the breakdown at the end left Mr Simm in no danger at all of retaining his crown as the King Of All Angst). Oh yeah, I was bemused that the redneck with the impressive mullet was a geeky nerd on Buffy repeats (I Robot). The decade has not been kind - snerk. Anyways, evil clowns. For a moment there it started to get all Carnivale on me, and I got my hopes up, but it was just a whiff (but sometimes, just a whiff is enough) and the episode finished with a very, very Hardy Boys chase through the mirror maze (it's the one episode of THB I can actually remember), but the Winchester boys are way cooler, though the FX are still very, very dodgy. Very wisely the episode was constructed to merely suggest monsters and monsterous deeds until the big reveal. I should stick to that, if I were you, as shadows and suggestion are always going to be scarier than cheap cgi, and will make the show less cringeworthy down the track (Buffy demons are much less impressive on digital telly, I must say). Btw, the actual skeleton in the fun house is based on a real event but buggered if I can find an actual reference now, but trust me on this. That one I did read about in my travels.
As for the boys we had some minor dysfunction (though the bit, which I swear was a shoutout, where Dean declares he will not put his head tenderly on Sam's shoulder, cry, hug and maybe slow dance had me LOL), and some manly pouting. At least they carried the fetching physical scars of their misadventures, even if the emotional scars could only be served by the aforementioned manly pouting. But if you're into that sort of thing, then I think it was the closest to flailing you're gonna get, what with Dean's refusal to slow dance n' all.
Then I ended up watching a bit of West Wing, and then Shameless (no wonder I've got a crick in my neck). There's real dysfunction for you, though I envy the lifestyle those Brits manage on welfare. I aspire to that lifestyle. Damn. Played my cards right and I could have had meself a Frank Gallagher (or why I'm stuck a spinster, Exhibit B).
Tv tonight is a choice between the Sheriff in Bodies or Much as the little gay fella in Ultimate Force, but I think I'll go the UKTV2 route again (so handy for scheduling conflicts, I must admit).
Poor Much. Finally found the oft mentioned quote where Robin just, well, puts the boot in:
Robin Hood: You know something? If you want to get lost, then why don't you start practising now?
Much: You don't mean that. You know, a smaller man would be offended. A smaller man would be wounded.
Robin Hood: You see, there is no smaller man, Much. You ARE the smaller man. All you care about is the roof over your head, the food in your belly. You speak every facile thought that comes into your head. You're like a pox on my skin. I keep scratching but you never go away.
Ouch. That's way harsh. That's tearing out the poor guy's heart and stomping on it. I've had a few dressing downs like that from a presumed beloved and it's not the sort of thing one gets over, or at least, I haven't. Much, though deeply wounded, is either made of sterner stuff, deluded that Robin didn't really mean it or that he'll come round, ceaselessly loyal or about to turn serious bunny boiler (hey, it's a viable character direction, given his sychophantic attachment to Robin).
Poor Much. Yes, he does whine, but he's also had the rough end of the pineapple, dragged hither and yon by his wandering star and getting ever deeper into peril and hardship. Much is a house servant, he envisioned his life being all about ensuring his master's comfort and dignity and that he was turned out prettily every morning to greet the day. This warrior/freedom fighter stuff just isn't Much's bag. Yet he stays. He's so unhappy, but he stays and he tries to do what's right and if he's annoyed that Robin cares more about peasants than keeping his promises to Much, well, it's a grievance not without foundation.
That said, he does whine, endlessly, but he was trying to comfort Robin at that moment, and such a searing 'knife between the ribs' rebuke, was, I feel, unjustified.
Too bad that's not the sort of show, badly written/produced/acted as it is, that doesn't lend itself to such wild fancies as BunnyBoilerMuch. I mean, further to my discussion of the fate of Fancy Dans on Bonanza, offline giggling produced a theory wherein the Cartwrights saw off all such trepass with a certain finality, with a sideline in dog food and pawned gear, while poor Little Joe sobbed quietly in the corner over the loss of his latest friend. Silly at it is, one can point to the canon at the hostile treatment of strangers and the statistically significant number of folks who cross paths with the Cartwrights and end up either dead or disappeared.
Of course, it's not just the Cartwrights. Any show from the 50s-80s where large numbers of incidental characters were dead or vanished by episode's end (the girlfriend of the week syndrome) lend themselves to this scenario (sadly, though promised GFOTW, Jonas was sorely denied same in RH). One of the more amusing fics I've ever read had Spock responsible for everyone Jim glommed onto banished by episode's end. I'd love to be able to give Much a similair revenge, but sadly, there just ain't any textual meat in the episodes to support such a fancy. Shame. Usually, the worse a show, the easier it is to mess with (the writing being so haphazzard and contradictory to start with). Sigh.
That's one thing that annoyed me with Robin Hood and Torchwood, the half and half approach to character arcs. They don't quite hit the reset button at the end of every episode the way tv used to, but nor to they fully commit to any character arc and live with the messy consequences. Thus Robin dumps Much brutally, but we don't really know why, other than he's found new friends he likes better, which is cruel in a teen bitch queen kinda way. We don't get any real response from Much, at all (in fact, Robin is very much a Nasty Girl when I think about it, behaviour wise).
Will and Allan get precious little development and the Robin/Marian seems forced and contradictory. I mean, love/hate hot/cold can work wonderfully well when done right, but this is so very far from right. They seem to flirt or argue depending on the way the wind blows rather than any organic ebb and flow in the relationship. Guy's backstory is merely hinted at, which I'm very okay with, but this switching from clod to evil to just misunderstood and back again makes my head spin at times. Marian has kicked him in the balls often enough now for him to be twisted with bitter, but no. This love whipped act does you no favours, Sir Guy.
So, sadly, not a lot to support the Much's revenge plot bunny, just the Much endures the abuse story line, which has little to offer except tears before bedtime for poor Much.
Nor is there much to support a dark Robin/Guy reading of the text, aside from the UST vibes steaming up the screen. And Robin does seem to like powerful, violent men, especially Richard, whose escapades poor old Guy can only aspire to (rape, pillage, deceit, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, hostile takeovers, just for starters). If Richard is the sort of man to really, really move Robin, well, I can see why Guy would offer something of interest. (Poor Much, he's never going to be anything more than equipment to Robin, and he's far too gentle and pliant to ever really, ahem, stir Robin).
Oh, hell's bells. I should finish that damn LOM fic and get started, since obviously its bouncing around me head.
Speaking of writing, I heard I nearly made a complete stranger weep on the Central Line the other day. It bemuses me, weirdly. Not the making cry bit, just the bit about being able to affect someone. I pass through this life so unnoticed and unregarded, you see, and nothing I do is of any consequence, or even lasts from one day to the next, so to have reached out and touched someone, well it's different. I have no real existence here, far less than Sam's, because even if it's not real, as such, Sam at least interacts and makes a difference, his actions have reactions, and people care about him and notice him. Me? I can go for days without speaking to someone or being spoken to. It's unreal. But this week, someone heard me, or rather, read my fic. Neat. Otherwise it's all a bit if a spinster writes porn in a forest...(or set in a forest...ahem, sorry, images of Guy and Robin tied to trees will intrude at untimely moments).
So at least somebody out there liked the fic.
Dear Sam and Gene. I will miss them terribly. I've had so much fun playing with their world (or Sam's world, so we're led to believe). Poor Gene, he really has got it bad for Sam, who seems determined to be difficult and interesting. I think Sam has finally met his match in someone not easily fobbed off by strops and the like. Bless Gene for hanging in there. Even if Sam deep down refuses to believe that Gene is real, at least he knows by now that Gene really cares. I just love it when they both really connect with each other (on screen or in my imaginings).
I've really got to finish that fic. No excuses like work, heat or migraine inducing cleaning solvents.
They know what it takes (Vaughn)
Heroes Preview: Is Ando More Than Just a Trusty Sidekick?
A Clue: No
Labor leader sides with PM in festival flag row
Blue Monday: the most depressing day of the year
The World Is Watching. Not Americans.
Calls to sack TV star for gay slur
Anatomy of an Insult: ABC Is Stung by an Actor’s Anti-Gay Slurs
Film studios to attract Hollywood projects (RH ref)
Google wants to put you on the map
Hammond's drive to win back licence