Okay, deep breath, here we go. Did I mention how very bloody much I hate typing?
16 Feb 03: In The Navy
I was most remiss in neglecting to mention how cheerful, how pleasant, how kind the crowd were at the peace march, in spite of the dreadfully hot and humid conditions. Well done, everyone. Blame my poor, poor feet and haste to be packing, and, more importantly, setting the vcr, for my oh so brief post before.
Hornblower: Who's Daddy's little boy? Who indeed. I was giggling over Horny being Daddy's favourite when Sugar Daddy himself remarked upon it. Oh dear. It's canon, i swear, it is. So very very.
Navy Seals: I know, the last film I should be watching given my feelings on the subject, but (whiney voice) it's got Michael Biehn in it and he's being all golden blond and gorgeous and hey, if women didn't let their ovaries override their moral objections occassionally they'd be no human race, so there. So allow me my eye candy indulgence, politics aside.
17 Feb 03: Never Smile at a Crocodile
It feels like a holiday already. Mother decided to accompany me to the airport and I'm already crosseyed and twitchy, just from her constant jangling of the door keys as her way of saying hurry up. It's the small things that really irritate. She also had be out of the house by 6am for a 10:30 flight so here we sit, bored, bored, bored.
Ever notice how some people really dress up to get on a plane, and some people really, really don't. I fall into the don't category, though I blame this on being genetically incapable of wearing capri pants and stilleto sandals, and not having a dumb ox boyfriend to fetch my luggage and bring the car round. When one has to schelp out to the airport on public transport, practicality is key.
Excellent flight up, really good pilot, fer once, unlike the Air New Zealand guys who are solely responsible for giving me my fear of flying where previously I had none. I flew Virgin Blue because I can never afford Qantas and it was very cheap and cheerful. Everyone was in a happy mood because we were all going on a summer holiday...
Picked up at the door - yay! Met by mein host and we stopped off at Woolies on the way to stock up on groceries. Whee - bigger Woolies than at home so shopping was an adventure. Yes, I am easily amused. It was kinda fun. Lugged back lotsa drinks. I am in the tropics, officially, afterall. Well above the Tropic of Capricorn.
Where the frell am I? Gentlemen, you may open the maps now (except the Americans who will no doubt have an atlas showing my fine brown land upside down and back to front, you lot can skip this next bit). I'm in Cairns, see the eastern pointy bit at the top of Queensland. There. Or, more accurately, about 30km or so north of Cairns, right on the beach. A tiny holiday cabin on the beach of my dreams. I almost wept, it's so beautiful.
I didn't like to say anything before because people have a way of naysaying or mucking up my plans, either laughing, jinxing or actively sabotaging. Like the time people knew I was going to a con in London and there were these woman handing our flyers with my email addy on it conscripting people to send me hate mail. I know because they asked me to send hate mail to myself - they didn't even know who I was. They were hired for the occassion. Why anyone would bother is beyond me, but bother they did. Anyway, this organised hate campaign caused drunken doldrems at the bar that led to some repercussions, none serious, bar the theft of my screenplay and the embaressment of a friend who received a drunken postcard posted at 2am or possibly later.
Anyways after that fun experience I feel it's best to always tell you about my adventures after the fact. Not that I expect people to me handing out leaflets against me here, but you never know.
So, anyways, beautiful! I'm in lurve! This place is the frelling place of my dreams.
Went for a short walk down through a crocodile inhabited swamp, I kid you not, to sit on the beach by the most beautiful palms to watch the sun start to set. I know you won't beileve me about the swamp so I took a couple of phoos. While taking these I heard a splash and saw bubbles, which according to the locals is as much croc as you ever want to see, so a couple of photos is all you bloody well get. The beach was too lovely for words. I thought beaches like this existed only in my dreams. Didn't watch the sun set entirely though, having to go back through the swamp. Lots of mosquitos, but not at all as mean as the ones back home. Ned a bird book too, as I'm seeing lots of new birds. I guess they hover close because I have 'will give snacks' pinned to my back, as always.
As this place is much nicer than expected it actually has a tv, quite a good one, better than at home (everything here is better than at home - I apparently live in one star accommodation). So, a tv. So much for my week of quiet reflection and writing. So there was me kneeling in front of it, praying please, please let it get EC7. Well, in Melbourne they never get the same tv we do, but in Cairns they do. So...
24: Wow and wow again. Totally rocking episodes. One of them was written by Howard Gordon and he's still got the stuff. Bombs, radiation poisoning, back stabbing, politics, gun play. If only someone could put a bullet in Kim, then I'd be really happy.
Buffy: Nice Run Lola Run homage. Nice Tremors homage. Like to try something that isn't a homage anytime soon? Spike's gone back to the bleach and is dressing very very Queer as Folk and I don't know why all of a sudden. He just is. Heh! A moment of Spike/Xander slashiness. Like actually canon, like the boys are the only two who haven't slept together yet. Please don't correct that oversight. Just say no, Joss. Followed by a bar fight. Heh, Firefly bleed through.
Aw, poor Spikey. Joss sure likes his babbling nutter characters. The old dramqaric chrous/fool device, the ones with the plot point info. Love the scene with Spike draped over the cross. How very - I've seen that in a comic somewhere, I just can't place it.
18 Feb 03: South Pacific
If I can't finish SANFU after traipsing through a crocodile infested swamp several times a ay I'm just not trying.
I did try though. A bit. Got up early, waited for it to stop bucketing, grabbed notebook, walked through said swamp, where I heard another splash, to the beach where I nestled amongst the coconuts. It was too hot when the sun came out so I shifted back to the picnic table and tried to write between the ant bites. Then it bucketed again and I sought shelter at the pic nic table with the tin roof and a couple of old geezers. Small talk, not writing followed while it poured and poured then it stopped and I decided to go swimming, being all soaked now anyways. Bliss. Three hours of bobbing in the warm water like a cork and no writing being done. Then I decided to walk up the kms of near deserted beach to the overpriced resort in the next cove along, feeling like Robinson Crusoe looking for his Man Friday - and I've been reading slash too long because that sounded really gay.
It was all very shipwrecked sailor though with just me, beach, jungle, swamp and kookaburras. For a while you can imagine it's unspolit deserted coastline, just as when Capt. Cook saw it when the Endeavour passed this way (and caught herself on a reef up this way).
This American I met once in Bali, one of those hugely annoying going bungy jumping where they normally shoot tourists kind of American, as opposed to the other equally annoying kind who travel in a vacuum of Americaness and whine loudly when confronted with anything that doesn't fit their American norms (I'm sure there must be a happy medium but other than those delightfully white trash yet big fun Florideans who drove all the way to the Grand Canyon for the sheer heck of it I've yet to meet any), anyway, she saw I wasn't enjoying my tour of Bali as much as I'd hoped and declared I was a city girl with no business being in a tropical paradise.
Fi. The problem I had with Bali was never being allowed a moment's peace, except once in a temple forecourt. Here, on my pretend deserted beach I'm totally island paradise girl. I like the quiet. My ideal desert island companions would all be smoked for food, just so I wouldn't have to listen to them whine. I love walking by myself, swimming by myself, all the stuff I did as a child but rarely since. The solitary child grew into a solitary adult and I like the quiet.
Of course the heat, humidity, rain squalls, mosquitos, crocodiles, stingers, snakes, spiders and sharks are why I have this place to myself - it's cheap in the off season. Besides, I'd rather share the beach with a crocodile than some people I've known.
Still no writing - will try harder. I look upon my walk as research - grin. Walked up the hill to the local shops, such as (the Ampol petrol station is the happening place in town) to post my postcards. Stopped off for a strawberry smoothie in the chip shop which is just like my old 1950s era chip shop before they ruined it and turned it into a kebab shop. Plastic strips in the door, blackboard menus, grease circa 1950, the lot. I love it. Everyone here is from home and they took the chip shop with them.
Tragedy. I bought digicam up here because I know she can handle being baked, steamed and salted but I forgot monsoonal downpours so digicam stays in the suitcase. I'd intended to use my old 1970 Olympus OM1 but due to cruel neglect Oly is sulking and simply won't wind on. It's hopefully a matter of opening her up and greasing and twiddling, Oly being ancient and entirely mechanical but...my Olympus. Wail. How can I possibly see sights without Oly there to take my pics for me, without her comforting weight in my hand? I'v viewed the world through her viewfinder. I'm more than upset she's broken, it's a loss. Fortunately I alo brought my Pentax aka backup cam (Oly has been bad tempered since London) but I shall be very upset over no cool photos - nobody takes them like Oly does. Bugger. Hope I can fix it, hope there are places that still fix things.
Angel: Why the Mutant X ripoff? It doesn't really mesh. Oh well. Note scene where Wes tells Angel to fuck off, essentially. Okay, he just glared, but his glare said fuck off. Wes isn't about to let go of a near suffocation and cruelty lightly. Nice Wes and Lilah naughty sex - and Angel knows. Always has such an interest in Wes' sex life. Jealous jealous. Angel again bangs on about not needing to breathe - and I can't believe that line about his girlfriends loving that made it to American air. But if vampires don't breathe, how come Spike subdued Drusilla at the end of S2 by choking her? Repeating to myself it's just a show...
I'm going to get into trouble. I'm not supposed to track sand into the cabin and I washed my feet dutifully like a good little girl but I'd failed to notice I'd gone down to the beach a B cup and come back a D cup so when I whipped off my cosie - instant sand castle. Ooops.
I didn't need to pack the frankly enormous amount of enormous underwear as I spend most of my time in my cosie and before you go gouging your eyes out I wear it under a t-shirt and boardies so we're pretty much neck to knee as required. Besides, any exposed skin is more prone to sizzle than a vampire's. Damn pure white Scottish skin.
19 Feb 03 She swims with the fishes
D'oh! Brought my waterproof camera all the way to Green Island, then left it in my locker while I went snorkeling.
So, my day. Woke up early, had a cup of coffee, then waited down by the road for the us. Saw all sorts of wildlife scurry from one reserve to another, skirting the narrow strip of American style houses inbetween. Thwy're all Brady Bunch style homes. If I lived in a jungle my American style home would be all southern gothic, something Louis and Lestat could appreciate. Heh, I just realised I spent the entire 90s watching vampires on tv. Okay, moving on.
After a very winding bus ride through fields of cattle, through fields of cane, and lotsa tacky hotels - Cairns is totally Waikiki'd out - we marched through a muddy consruction site onto the boat, your typical big tourist boat - yuck. I hate them but I did pick the $80 tour over the $180 tour so I shall quit complaining. Sat out the back to take advantge of the fresh air but despite my best efforts I get sea sick for the first time in decades. Doesn't help that people keep racing out to the railing to heave over the side. The weather is a little rough. So of course my sub tour leaves immediately after we dock, and my glass bottom boat tour immediately after that. I try, I try so hard but the mini sub lurches this way and that way and that's it. An hour of non stop puking all the way out and back again. Coral? Fishies? I saw nowt but the bottom of my paper baggie (took even less photos, but you trying throwing up and taking photos at the same time on a rocking sub) and for someone who skipped dinner and breakfast still manage to fill up three paper baggies. Oy. Toss in public humiliation and condemnation and you have one of the most wretched moments in my life.
Toddle ashore, finally, walking I don't know how all the way up to the shops where they make me drink all the water I'd bought and supply me with a fistfull of ginger tablets. At least the resort staff make a fuss. I look so bad they worry I might need proper medical attention, but I rent a beach lounge at what the prices but it's well worth it because after two hours of just lying there listening to one of those classic hits stations they have set up on speaker, I start to feel like I might not perish that day.
You know how we always joke about setting your watch back 20 years when you cross the QLD border (as opposed to the hour you actually have to set your watch back), well, I've yet to hear a song that wasn't playing when I was in highschool. On the bus down me and another girl who'd actually gone to the same highschool were singing along with Aussie Crawl on the radio, much to the consternation of those too young, too old or too foreign.
However they play one of my all time fave songs, Rock Lobster, and I decide to shift my very sorry self and go snorkeling. I promise myself just to paddle out a bit and back in again just to say I've done it but the moment I hit the water I'm back in my element. I never did learn to ride a bicycle but I spent all day, every day, snorkeling as a wee thing in Nelson Bay, before it was ruined, so much so that as a child I was checked for gills. So after a minute or so it all clicks and I'm away swimming, herding schools of fish up and down (ran into an enormous school of thousands of shiney silver fish but backed away cause I knew there'd be sharks there, and there were), peering blurrily at lumps that I suspect are coral and basically having a blast. God knows what I look like from shore (James Curran wouldn't be the slightest bit impressed, I'm sure) but at least in the sea I feel like me, my body does exactly what I tell it to when I tell it to and it's just perfect. I'm totally with Phoebe on the whole I wanna be a mermaid thing. Last week I thought it was silly in Charmed but now I never want to come out of the water. But I must. So I buy more water, take more ginger pills and slop back to the boat. I sit up the back in the open air again but it's warm and I keep nodding off so I get back without incident, ditto the bus ride.
One shower, one cup of tea and it's collapsing into bed because I'm feeling ill again. woke up only in time to catch the end of Boomtown. Neal is blonder in this episode. Much better. The ad for next week shows him even more white blond. Even better. I'm glad they gave up on that ridiculous dye job.
Yes, I should be writing, not watching tv, but I'm so damn tired...
20 Feb 03: Bwana.
Okay, it must have been a bad photo because I'm looking at Sean Patrick Fannery on Charmed and he's looking absolutely scrummy. And from the ads on tv here I'm thinking QLDers are a little more Oz than the rest of us (where 70s ads go to die). And EC9 better not be teasing over all the Without a Trace and Smallville ads they keep running (sadly not running in Sydney - I'm gonna hafta move to Cairns).
Okay, my day. Another painfully early start but no breakfast today either, just in case. Good thing too because nobody told me there were over 240 hairpin bends up to the Atherton tablelands, and me in the back of a mini-bus. I'm pea green but have nothing to come up. Had a lovely cruise on Lake Barrine, saw lots of birds and reptiles. I was worried but I'm just fine on the lake and the fresh air revives me. We had a very nice devonshire tea but I could only manage one scone so I offered the Brits my spares. It was rather like feeding the magpies at home, ie throw the plate and run, checking for all fingers later.
Then it was waterfalls, waterfalls, waterfalls and finally Paronella Park. This is the stuff. A ruined jungle vine covered 1930s architectural folly built by a mad Spaniard? Yes please! I loved this place so much. It was just so perfect. All burnt out and ruined and crumbly and moss covered and vine choked. All it needed was a few head hunters in the bushes. So very very Lost World/Tomb Raider/Relic Hunter/Raiders of the Lost Ark/Adventure Inc., etc. You get the idea. I loved this place so much. Then it was fields of cattle, fields of cane and home again.
21 Feb 03: By the seaside
I know what you're thinking: more writing, less swimming. Bite me. Though you'll have to stand in line. You know how I can't step outdoors at home without being attacked by ants, mosquitos, spiders, flies, wasps, bees, etc? Well up here it's 30 times worse. The writing isn't flowing as I'd hoped. I'd wanted to get away from boss sign but instead I get: With one, ow, bound Jack was by his, ow, side. Ow, Daniel, ow, felt Jack's hot breath on his, ow, cheek, as Jack, ow, ripped the green cammies, ow - jaysus! (followed by much jumping up and dancing about) and so on and so forth. I try buy these constant assaults ar most distracting. Still, it amuses me to think of my ant-phobic US pals holidaying up here.
It doesn't bother me, as such, it's just hard to get a good flow going when one is constantly being nipped at from all directions. My white man's war paint, ie vampire strength sunblock, was a good deterrent for a couple of days but the mozzies have got a taste of me now, and they like it. Especially down in the crocodile swamp. Even sitting in front of the telly I'm fair game for ants marching in legions under the front door.
In spite of this I'm thinking of blowing off those cons and coming up here again instead. Why hang out with people who hate me when I could just lie around watching palm trees waft back and forth and forget that everybody hates me for an hour or two.
22 Feb 03: Ocean Girl
Okay, tv. Hey, I thought I'd be tv free but here I am: Charmed, SVU, Dead Zone, Roswell, Silent Witness, Thunderbirds. They're behind in Roswell. Instead of the finale I get the Maria wants to be a rock star episode, again. Oh, joy. And Dead Zone - didn't know there were any Sioux in Maine. Okay, repeating to myself that it's just a show...
Today I got up, watched the Thunderbirds, walked up to the local shops for stuff, then decided to check out the beach. So I basically spent most of the day lying in the sand under palm trees. There was some writing, none of it good, and lots of swimming. I've rarely been able to laze about without being interupted with things that need doing. Bliss. Of course, there is a downside. Being more sun ensitive than Spike, well, just call me Captain Magenta. Still, it was fun, though what little writing I got done, it ain't good. Too distracted by scenery, ant bites and watching he sea birds catch fish and the little girls dig for pippies, etc.
Came back and had a swim in the pool here, had a snack while I read the papers, packed up a bit, got Olympus working again, more or less, dear thing. Now it's either more writing or a nap. I'm thinking nap. I am, sadly, a little too flambe to write quality fic unless the muse strikes, and strikes hard. Mostly hack work this trip, I'm afraid.
23 Feb 03: Over fed, over paid and over here.
Olympus is working again, sort of. So it still wants to be difficult, eh?
Today it was Kuranda, by scenic railway and sky train. Discovered being loudly vocal about idiot midwesternAmericans holding up the entire ticket queue as they fiddle faddle about won't shame them, it never does, but it did get me a seat to myself in the all Australian carriage. Yay. Watch Australians and Germans get their tickets. No muss, no fuss. Sheesh.
Realise that if this carriage was built in the 1880s then the ones I used to commute to work on must have been much older. Yikes. No wonder Keiko laughed at our funny old rail carriages. Our US civil war era carriages. Okay. Still, I miss the old leather seats, windows you could actually pull open and shut, the creak, ratle and scream of the wheels on the track. Ah, the romance of rail. The rest of the passengers were less than impressed, alarmed even, while I wallowed in nostalgia.
Very pretty views though mother would no doubt be distressed to learn that the 1915 station at Kuranda has been Americanised, ie had new toilets put in, elevatrs, new steps and there was even a bus to take those fat loud Americans up the hill to the shops. All 200 metres. Over the hills and far away would have been better. Look, they were loud crass midwesterners. Come on, that's bagworthy in of itself.
So, Kuranda markets. Oh dear. Now I know what a Disneyfied version of Australia would look like. This was The Rocks and Manly Corso only much, much worse. Endless Bewdy Bonza Aussie souvenier shops. Oy. Nothing at all nice in the markes that I couldn't get back at Paddys. Hmph. Not much of a market. Had a hamburger (beetroot but no egg or pineapple, pout) and a mango smoothie at a cafe that looked cheap and dodgy enough so that only Australians were eating there, to my amusement. Did the butterfly park and the bird park which were tiny ripoffs but they amused and filled in the time.
Caught the skyrail back and it was brilliant. Gondala carts across the rainforest canopy. Stunning. Simply stunning. Can just imgaine getting mother to go on it - not. Irene, if you ever get out this way, this is a must do. Guranteed. Worth every cent (though knowing you, you'd rather hack your way through the jungle with all the spiders and snakes, adventure girl). Then it was back on the bus through more fields of cattle and cane (listen to the GoBetweens song). A nice bus driver today, for a change. He's from Newc, and had his childhoods at Soldier Point (old barracks rented out, tin row boats), so he totally knew what I meant by this reminding me of there, before it was discovered and ruined.
It amuses me that every second person I've met up here is from my hometown or surounds. White flight anybody? It makes it sort of like my home the way it was in the 70s when I was a little kid, as everyone moved up here and they've taken everything with them. This place also reminds me of growing up with my grandparents, before it turned mega tourist resort (a pox on my mother for selling that house, the rent alone would have put me through uni without working). Just a nice local beach with local people. Yep, it's a bit Royston Vasey here (especially the local shop) and a bit Children of the Stones, ie people come here and never leave. So consider my amusement when I discovered the house on the corner, on the road out of town, has several very Avebury like stone monoliths sitting on the front lawn. Cue OTT histrionic Mike Oldfield inspired orgiastic sinister choir. Hey, if you've seen Children of the Stones, and you must., you'd know what I mean. It did inspire The League of Gentlemen, afterall.
Sunburn update: Still magenta and very ouchy. That'll learn me to be sloppy with the slip slop slap. Looks like I've been smacked all over. Stings, too. Totally nostalgic, but not in a good way.
Hornblower: It's so slashy I can barely stand it. I'm not sure Sugar Daddy approves of Horatio marrying his beard. Much meaningful eye contact at the reception, followed up by the extravagant gift of a ship's steward. Still Daddy's favourite. Alway's Daddy's favourite. Oh dear. And then a promotion. Daddy's favourite indeed. Poor Bracey though - sniff.
After Mr Hornblower flicked across to 28 Days and before you go what the may I point out it features the very fine Mr Mortenson. Ah, his hair is the same colour gold as, well, never mind. Of course it's hard to lust when terrified - am being subjected to the worst thunder and lightning I've had to sit through in a while. The room is shaking. Cower.
24 Feb 03: Home again home again
Monday was a sad, sad day. Got up early and said goodbye to the beach. Then I said goodbye to my little flat. How comfy I'd made myself. How I'd grown to love it so.
Flight back sucked. Sat next to this total uber bitch who reminded me too much of a bitch I'd gone to school with, the way she clomped down, took over the spare seat without a thought and swilled booze out of a mineral water bottle, like you couldn't smell it, and was just really awful in general. Little Miss Important.
Long trip home in peak hour traffic. Unpacked just in time for Roswell - the 1947 episode which I've never seen before. Boys in uniform, yum. Cute format breaking episode, nice idea and it did through in a few more plot points and exposition. The problem with Roswell is that they crammed nine years worth of plot into three years so they thrown in stuff they never use again. Pity. One of these days I'll go back to Roswell to do the fic because there are just dangling plot lines all over the place and if US tv gets ultra conservative again I'll have nothing better to do.
Folowed Roswell with another kickarse epiode of 24. Poor, poor Mason. And the scene with Nina where she's supposed to hate him, so not. The actress loves her man because all the things she can't control like upil dilation and the blush response are all super happy vibes. Aw, sweet, really. She sure loves her man. And quiet on the set please, Mr Sutherland is emoting again. That Kiefer, such a serious actor, darling.
25 Feb 03: Tuesday.
Slept in, did the washing, had brekkie, read the papers - a week's worth so we're talking all afternoon. Then I did a bit of writing, just even cowboys get the blues stuff that needs a serious rewrite and then it was Relic Hunter, in Paris, no less. Ah, Paris, my spiritual home. It didn't matter how bad Highlander got, so long as it was filmed in Paris. Look at the pretty scenery and all the lovely crumbly buildings. As if invoked, we're suddenly at a barge parked in fron of Notre Dame. Dunkie's barge! squeal! Much happy squealing ensues. There's the tunnel where Methos stood, there's...etc. Oh, I miss my boys. So, it's all about the kerniggets Templar. They get a few facts right so we can't help but poke holes in everything else (like the alleged anime fan with the Dragonball poster - purlease), even though it's shooting fish in a barrel. It's Relic Hunter and we want historcal accuracy, proper museum protocol and proper scientific procedures? Repeating to ourselves it's just a show...
Poor Nigel's pratfall occurs just towards the end of the episode. We we waiting. Eschewing Farscape because I never want to see the eyeball scene again (Clockwork) I've got the Guardian playing in the background. So odd to see an Australian face in an American show, though I should be used to it. The Guardian, 24, Without A Trace, Six Feet Under...the invasion continues.
26 Feb 03: Wednesday.
Write some, veg out some, find the siren call of Charlie's Angels impossible to resist at lunchtime. Stay up to watch Boomtown. That Donnie can really act. Fancy that.
27 Feb 03: Thursday
Decide I'm wasting my holiday so we head to Manly. Only we can't get on the ferry so the zoo it is. Only 90% of the exhibits are closed. Pretty much the snake house, now called a serpentarium, is the only thing going. Highlights of the day included watching a rattlesnake eat a rat, a seal play with a plastic bottle somebody had thrown in its tank, and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence out for a day at the zoo. I want non precious friends like the girls watching the rattler with me: "Oh gross, that's so gross - no, don't take a photo now, wait'll just his legs and tail are sticking out of its mouth..." Heh. My kinda people.
Did not get sick on the ferry. Sunburn critical though. All bubble up and peeling. I look like something from the X Files.
28 Feb 03: Friday.
Decided to watch dvds, 60s spy dvds. The Saint, Department S, The Avengers, including the Superlative Seven: Charlotte Rampling, Brian Blessed and Donald Sutherland, with the very same set of expressions as Kiefer. It amuses me.
Stayed up to watch a disappointing Silent Witness (back to Homicide next week) and that's it.
1 March: Saturday
Slept in, watched some dvds, then typed, typed typed. It's James Marsters day on Fox8, as the lad is in Buffy, Angel and Andromeda. Stayed up to watch Michael Biehn in Strapped but it was so bad that when the film went back to the start again for some technical glitch reason I gave up on it entirely.
Sunday: Slept in after taking the asprin on account of my amazing red rash that I'm covered in, because the second degree sunburn wasn't enough. I'm simply covered in red splotches but nobody cares so it's more typing and reading the Sunday papers, only enlivened by some friends dropping by and watching The Lost Boys on tv which I have't seen since the 80s. These days the scariest thing about it is the hair, especially the vampire gang and their undead uber mullets. We fall about laughing. A friend said to watch out for the gayest pic of Rob Lowe ever on the kid's closet door (hmmmm) and she was not kidding. Much giggling and guffawing. Kiefer gives us his inherited glare and for all his brat packing he's barely aged since then. Hmmm. Bro at last gets all the Simpsons jokes and notes how many scenes show up in Buffy, particularly Welcome to the Hellmouth. Derivative much, Joss? Still, a fine campy Sunday afternoon movie. Now it's yet more typing and hopefully the Hound of the Baskervilles (with two Aussies in the cast, one as Holmes no less!) when I'm tucked up in bed. After a steamy summer there's suddenly ice in the wind and I hear it's snowing down south. Winter already - where does the time go? I've still got Xmas wrapping paper shoved down the back of the couch.