I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, so it was a shame that perfection was offered but unattainable, but never mind. Popcorntaxi were doing a promo for a new cable channel (oooh, what's that, 41 channels now?) by showing two episodes of Dexter (for the benefit of those who'd not sourced it elsewhere). It kinda reminded me a lot of those old pre-broadband SF show screenings of days of yore (back in the bad old days when the shows weren't shown at all, or suffered a six year lag). Only this time they had the star, wheeled out for a regrettably lame Q&A session (but a girl can't have everything).
I managed to get there early and grab a great seat (had cameras not been verboten, straight down the barrel) and Michael C. Hall was cute, if short, and funny and charming despite squirming with jet lag and the odd extremely creepy fan. Loved his demonstration of the different reactions to him playing David and Dexter (alas, visual, but the Q&A will be on Showtime, and should show up on Youtube shortly thereafter).
Was also bemused that he had been told about Adelaide, freaky murder capital of Oz (remember the time poor Wil Anderson had to publicly repent for a week, as in "Adelaide: it's okay" after annoucing: "Adelaide: thunderstorms: bad weather for burying bodies". Heh).
MCH talked about creating Dexter, Dexter sublimating his desires in food fetishes, the joy of being in a cool show, Dexter's daddy issues, Dexter's too eagerly enabling Dad, Dexter not being as closed off as he likes to think he is, Dexter being overly cocky about covering his tracks and Dexter's relationships with the other characters. He also joked that Julie Benz thinks that the calories from food eaten for a take don't count. There was also a bit about a bucket, but I'll spare you. Fake blood tastes sweet and his favourite moment was taking a face plant in a pool of blood. Oh, and pork. He talked a lot about pork.
Anyway, it was groovy, Dexter on big screen, big comfy posh seats, Michael C. Hall mere metres away. The only thing that ruined it was the fact that I'd been across town between my two non connected depts so much that I'd thrown up three times and my feet were bleeding. I was feel a bit, you know, frayed. Not to mention having to look for those damn monster eggs for Himself.
Oh yeah, as it was always just me who bothered with Halloween I decided to give it a miss this year, having enough on my plate, but Himself comes home on 30th October with Halloween M&Ms for any purported trick or treaters (highly unlikely) and bemoaned the lack of plastic skeletons, bats, ghosts etc which were still in their box in the crawl space (actual crawl space, as in only accessed on one's hands and knees through a hole behind a cupboard, the space left over twixt bathroom and master bedroom, where all the decorations are stashed) not to mention the carved pumpkin (surely the carpel tunnel gives me a doctor's note this year?). I usually take great pride in my pumpkins but I just thought it wasn't worth the bother, but oh nos, way to make me feel guilty (and you know, if it had been raised on Sat I coulda done something about it, but not 9pm on Tues). So I ran around the enormous Westfield at Bondi looking for his monster eggs. Found 'em.
(Also, what's with jaffas? Okay, I've not had any in years (what a good girl am I) but what are these tiny nubbins they're trying to pass off as jaffas? They are like a third of the size, mere peas compared to the marble sized treats of old. Bah!)
And it wasn't like I hadn't made some small token gesture, with my witch t-shirt bought special for the occasion from a stall at Granny Smith day. It's just a black t with a sillhouette of a witch flying across a full moon, but I liked it. Hand printed, so they said, but sometimes I suspect "handmade" is what they call dodgy factory seconds as in it's not a design flaw, it's proof it was made by artisans. Crap artisans - grin.
Anyhoo, there I was, all day with a witch on me tits, and not one person noticed, not until the American barista at Bondi squealed and jumped up and down over somebody, finally, acknowledging the occasion. The poor wee bubby, he'd been distraught to learn the hard way it was just another business day here. He'd been made painfully aware that Halloween was not merely not celebrated here, but actively frowned upon.
Oh yes, a line had to be drawn in the sand re our aping of American culture, and just typically they had to draw that line between me and free lollies. No one was allowed to go trick or treating when I were lass. No one (neither had Wil Anderson, according to last Sunday's column). I suspect it was because it was because our parents were tightfisted as much as holding back the tide of Americanisation. Certainly tightarsed parents and their penny pinching ways seems to have been a collective experience of those of my generation in fibro suburbia (as also remarked upon by Mr Anderson in a regular segment back in his triplej days).
I suppose were were poor, what with dirt roads, septic tanks, petrol rationing, blackouts and unstocked shelves, made all the worse by watching rich American families with all their shiny mod cons and big cars day in and day out. Americans do wonder why they are so resented, well, avarice is a nasty thing, and Americans will flaunt their wealth with so little sense of decency or decorum (at least on tv they do). And nothing was worse than knowing full well Yankee kids were running amok gathering armful of lollies while we were just not (it was almost like being stuck on the wrong side of the iron curtain, but as Bill Bryson joked about Britain in the 70s, hard to tell the difference at first glance).
Anyhoo, the barista mentioned that most folks had been all bah humbug, to his shock, and he'd been told that was why. It just simply wasn't done. But he laughed and did a whole "pagans rock" thing, since obviously I couldn't possibly be wearing a t-shirt for Halloween - grin.
He was cute, too. Totally one of those corn fed blue eyed boys straight from central casting. They really actually exist. Well, bugger me.
So, anyway, on account of feeling surprisingly wretched I left early (boo hoo), caught a taxi all the way home (there goes my budget, ouch) and crawled into bed to catch the tail end of Life. It is definitely showing signs of evolving from the pilot into another show entirely, a possibly better show. And thank goodness it's being allowed to grow (I hate shows that stomp on anything organic and stick to the template). Certainly I caught some very nice partner work from the leads and some ultraviolence from Crews, which I need, I don't know about anyone else, to offset the cloying zen-ness elsewhere. You know, a bit of chilli with my tofu (oh was that a hint of hunger, after nearly 24 hours of being sick?).
Forgot to mention what we watched on Saturday while tea was in the oven. The Mrs Bradley Mysteries has just come out on dvd (I adored it when I first saw it) and naturally the first episode to be played was the one featuring David Tennant and Peter Davison. Two Doctors and an Avenger - could it get much better? Well, the plot was your stock standard Christie thing, but it's almost like A Comic Strip Presents version of Christie, where everything is all arch and silly and it's all very campy. Most of all I love George. I love his wiley ways, his loyalty, and the obvious, um, affection Mrs Bradley has for him. Now that's the way to treat the help (though she does mock him so, it's never nasty, always fondly).
So I was happy to see that at last because I've been missing George something rotten (I quite adore him). And somebody, somewhere, please post screencaps of David in his plus fours. Tee hee.
What can I say, it was one of the first British shows I watched when I got my ABC reception back (via Foxtel).
Also watched Doctor Who, the Girl in the Fireplace this time. Well, it's on during tea and we're so uncivilised/working class as to sit and eat in front of the telly (and the dining table be covered with probate paperwork anyway). And I just love that episode to bits. To find fault with it, well, I can't. It just all works so well. One of the best tv episodes ever. Even if it is just repair droids run amok again. It's got love, angst, horror, comedy, big gowns, heroics, a full on Scooby Doo fireplace, clockwork men in canivale masks and my favourite line: "Look what the cat dragged in, the Oncoming Storm". There simply is no bad here. It's nothing but goodness. Best. Episode. Ever.
Oh, I should also thank the friend who sent the Bones eps because it was a repeat on Fox8 and nuts to that, so I watched a new one. It wasn't a good one though, at least, it wasn't working for me, but seeing DB trussed up and smacked around did bring back happy Angel memories.
Also attempted to watch Life on Mars but I was fussing about for the first bit and then nodding off for the second, which is a pity because I'm usually more into the Tuesday screenings. Not that I should be watching repeats when I'm so far behind in my tv, but, well, I'm trying to kickstart that last remaining fic.
Not that I ever have anytime to write. The moment I pick up a pencil or open Word my name will be shouted shrilly and it'll be off scrubbing toilets again or somesuch. This can't go on much longer, you know. Sooner or later, I'm gonna blow because it's just making me wretched. I need to write. It's the only thing that truly makes me happy.
The Mrs Bradley Mysteries
Sky fleshes out Bones campaign
Casting About: Bones Digs Geek as a New Regular
Kaiser Chiefs snub James Bond
MySpace co-founder busted for faking his age
Sarah Jessica Parker named world's unsexiest woman
Why men and women argue differently
Mystery of why German soldiers use 10 rolls a day
Leftovers are a cheaper, greener option
Science: Horrors of Hallowe'en are all in the mind
Clam claims oldest animal record
Ancient mariners enjoyed Hawaiian holidays
Roman tombstone found at Inveresk
Healing powers of oysters could mend human bones
Home sweet home in Blandville
CBS pumps new blood into 'Moonlight'
Moonlight- "Interview With a Vampire"
Bird hunter shot ... by his dog
"Mythbusters" still happy blowing stuff up
Hollywood braces for possible writers strike
Elderly man dead after argument over lawn watering
Awesome beasts roved ancient site
"Gone Baby Gone" - Madrid Photocall
Why Sam Raimi is the biggest bogeyman at the box office
Australians reenact Light Horseman experience
Bus stop blues keep people away