I really should go back to buying dvds and comics. It's a helluva lot more expensive, but easier on the ever expanding waistline. Of course, one's life should be such a joy that one should lightly float through it sans the need for carrots. But it's not. I have a contrary, mean spirited and bullying manager, who is, really the source of nearly all my woes other than the list of outstanding house repairs and I really should just leave but can't re outstanding house repairs. Oooh, vicious cycle. I need my props and it's either sugar or pretty pictures.
Didn't get pretty pictures yesteday, either. Well, I did and I didn't. I nipped up to the Gallery to see two exhibitions of photos, one on the Murray-Darling (which I'd already seen, as it happens) and the other was a collectio of old snapshots that were bursting with delightful whimsy. Sweet and silly enough to almost make even grumpy old me burst into one of those "I love people" speeches on Doctor Who that I loathe so much. But they were cute, and folks can be so sweetly daft, everything for kids in homemade fancy dress to German soldiers larking about. Lots of lovely gems showing off the lighter side of folks. It was nice, and very personal, because these were snapshots there was a degree of intimacy, in jokes and relaxed attitudes of people at play. And the photo of two Victorian ladies up a tree proves once again that they were never so prim and proper as they were supposed to be.
That meant though I was catching a later bus and we got caught up in one traffic snarl after another and it took me over three hours to get home and there went my net time. I barely made it through the door in time for Rome, which I am loving muchly. Also watched the Catherine Tate Show. Was bemused about the ongoing sketch about the poor copper who gets knocked over and ends up in 1951. He's having a hard time of it, the poor dear. And yet it seems a vaguely familiar premise, somehow (yes, I know it's a pisstake).
Forgot to mention some of the tv I got to watch last Saturday, in between duties and dinner. Watched the second last Protectors (sniff) on the disks and it was very much a Sweeney episode, except the ending which came out of nowhere, upended everything that went before and was so wrong it had me howling with outrage. So we switch across to Danger Man (aka Secret Agent for you R1 folks). This, the Peanut Gallery assured me, according to prissy Pat's own edicts, would feature no bikini babes or oggling at same. Alas, poo PG couldn't finish the sentence before Drake was leaning over the balcony, binocs in hand, perving at bikini babe. Heh. It was also a very, very weirdly arch episode (I seem to remember it being far more dour, but I used to watch it at 6am) that strayed into camp more than once. Strange episode, but it was new ITC (ie unseen by me) so can't complain.
Saturday: Sigh. Yesterday was supposed to be just for me. No housework, no being sick. I had it all planned: a couple of panels I really wanted to go to as part of the writer's festival, a museum exhibition and maybe a local fete on the way home, if I was up for it. A day of grown up, sophisticated and educational fun and absolutely nothing to do with buckets. I'd even managed to get an RDO out of work!
So I ended up alertnating washing with having my head in a bucket and hugging hot water bottles, or was it the other way around. Whichever, I'm still bloody miserable. Sulked on the couch and watched the Da Vinci Code between cycles. So that's why all those bovine Mid-Westerners were doing crowded around Newton's tomb. I knew it couldn't be an interest in science or history (too cruel, or just enough cruel?) Bloody awful film, though (but amusingly the only flick I kept ticking all the been theres).
Meanwhile, a friend found this quote and it has bemused me:
"Until I started working at a bar, I never realized just how profoundly I was disconnected from normal, non-geek, American society. Like, to the point where it's not just jokes and references that don't work, but turns of phrase and basic diction. There's this gaping chasm between our experiences and views. I feel like I'm floating around in a parallel universe or foreign country where everyone speaks the same English, but the rules and nuances and everything are different. I don't know how to navigate, how to relate. I thought I stopped being socially awkward when I was about 15 or 16, but apparently not. I don't know how much of it is my age or background or just the people I choose to hang with, but... I just Don't Get Normal People."
So true. Worse, Peanut Gallery and I talk "fan" at home so much we get looks when we slip into it in the "real world" (like this afternoon when I found him covered in crumbs during North by Northwest - beloved fillum - he just said Leo's dump was cake time, meaning afternoon tea was best served while Mr Carroll elaborated extensively upon the plot, and yes, we had cake again, from the lacklustre fete which PG went to).
Anyway, it is someone's hard to hang with folks who don't know who Neil Gaiman is. I mean, one should hang, to broaden one's horizons, but it's so easy when one speaks the lingo, nest-ce pas?
Anyway, gotta go. It's late, I'm all crampy and grumpy again and Morse is reading poetry to Lewis in the pub. Now he's talking condoms. And now we're back to dusrty dons. Sigh. It was getting interesting there for a millisecond.
The original Indiana Jones: Otto Rahn and the temple of doom
Indiana Jones: 10 behind-the-scenes facts you may not have known
'Indiana Jones' whips up the action
Action hero but no archaeologist
The Further Adventures of the Fedora and Whip
Indiana Jones and the Last Hurrah
Trust drug may cure social phobia
New dinosaur tracks discovered
The miraculous tale of Edwyn Collins
Dracula: once bitten, forever smitten
Garner recovering from stroke
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)
Jared CWConnect Interview (feat. Jensen)
Can you swallow this?
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Neil riffs DT
Cartoon for May 18, 2008