Sausages weren't as good as they could be and Himself was carrying on about being expected to grill sausages without his special Nazi sausage pricking fork. Ditto mashing the tatties. Seriously, we have a Nazi sausage pricking fork. It was from some relative of my mother's who was a POW and carried this fork with him across Europe when the German army was in retreat, or some such story (you know how family stories are). Nevertheless, we have a Nazi fork. Unspeakable regime, but bitchin' cutlery. You'll find no finer fork for pricking sausages or fishing pickles out of jars, as you might expect. However, it was starting to really degrade and I had to ban Himself from using it, being as its historical and everything. Hence the grizzling over insufficiently pricked sausages. Communist forks just don't do it like fascist forks, apparently.
(Btw, can't help being bemused that Chairman Bush has had to invoke the greatest nationalising drive since the 1930s in the US of A. To borrow from the Herald, when the going gets tough, the tough turn to socialism. That it's America, well, that's just gravy. I know, I know, it's all too much like that famous 1933 "For gorsake, stop laughing: this is serious!" cartoon, but there's a certain delicious slice of schadenfreude, nevertheless).
Fascist forks aside, tea was good, if served late: I had a very bad bus trip home and there was an ick factor. I'd picked up two charity bears (it was shutting up shop time and they were flogging 'em two fer one) and I'd meant to sent them OS for the tots but by the time I'd spent all of Wild at Heart cuddling said bears, well, they ain't going nowhere.
I know, I know, I'm too old for bears, but I'm also enough I'm too old to find myself riding through Paris in a sportscar with the warm wind in my hair. A gal can never have too many bears in that case.
So we ended up having tea while re-watching last Monday's Bones. Okay, possibly not the wisest choice when feeling queasy, but what the hey. I was enjoying myself. Besides, it segued nicely into Wire in The Blood. Not so good this week, seemed rather borrowed from all those torture porn films. Oh well, can't win 'em all. Besides, it was all background for the real plot: Tony's nemesis escaping from Arkam in typical Hannibal style. Derivative but fun. And great shot at the beginning of the episode. I'm thinking upon it still.
Saturday dawned with a crash as a neighbour decided to demolish their house (asbestos protocols my Aunt Fanny). So I decided to watch the last twp eppies of Generation Kill in between laundry loads, since there was a lot of bangs, thumps and crashes going on. Sensoround, baby!
Man, I've taken that odd little crew to my heart, and was all choked up to see them go their seperate ways. Especially the frosty Brad and his cracking wise sidekick, whose sudden silence and bouts of violence were more worrying than any of the horrors of war (is that right, or am I like the guys and just desensitised?). I loved it. One of the best war films I've ever seen.
There are so many things, but I feel for the guys and their messed up chain of command, the horrors of war and the stupidity. It was surprisingly even handed, and a real insight into male culture. And, damn, I miss those guys. They were good guys. Well, except Captain America. He was an effing loon.
Sunday, I'd meant to do stuff like scanning and posting n stuff but instead of rain it was sunshine so it was yard work. Got the tiny herb garden in. Got the washing dry. Did some weeding.
That evil, evil bastard of a cockatoo snipped through the fishing line tethering one row of pots and tossed them off. One poor pot had already been tossed off before but the superglue job held, it just got more chiped around the rim. Worse, the bastard left one white feather as a calling card (though The Peanut Gallery suggested the equally homewrecking possums had left the feather there as a frame up job).
Then I caught the bastard tearing my only pair of good work slacks as they dried on the line. Arrrgh. And he knows eactly what "No!", "Naughty!" and "Stop!" means, he just don't care. I just don't wanna know what little projects he's been up to today while I've been at work.
Then it got too hot for someone with ginger in their genotype so I retired to watch Morse, which was all about a Cezanne painting, amusingly enough (the AGNSW is now the proud owner of one! Cezanne, whoo hoo!). Poor old Lewis. Even Strange pulled Morse up over his mistreatment of Lewis, so the later half of the episode featured Morse trying, very uncomfortably and unconvincingly, to be grateful and encouraging. This is the one where Lewis decides to shoot for Inspector, so it's important for that minor plot point.
Then there was Dr Who. The big super team up one, well, part one thereof, anyway. Stoopid plot, lots of JNT style fanboygasm, but it was cool to see Sarah Jane, and the Torchwood gang (I tried to say that Owen and Tosh had just slipped out for a ciggie, but Himself wasn't buying it and they dropped the spoiler later anyway). I gotta say, the somewhat slimmed down Torchwood team kinda works though. Loved Ianto's jealousy over Jack chating up UNIT dude in bars (first off, loose lips, UNIT dudes, and better watch those bunny boiling tendences of young Mr Jones, if I were you Jack, but then Jack does seem to like that type...).
But I digress. Big plot Blah blah blah. So over daleks. So over Rose. More fun though was the confidential cut down where young Mr Tennant was almost vapourising in fanboy glee over Davros. Now, at least, we have some clue as to why DT seems to go through a girlfriend per fortight: it takes a special kind of woman to endure 76 phone shots of Davros for the love of her man, and they tend not to be the tall leggy blonde type. I'm just sayin'.
Then I watched Messiah. Jamie Draven is gorgeous. He even makes a good looking corpse, which is highly disturbing, but there you are. Now I know why he's not in next week's episode: turns out he was an insane little catholic detective with serial killing bent and delusions of deeply spiritual kind. Oh dear (and have I seen this before? I swear I haven't but there it was). I'm not sure which was more disturbing,: the gruesome set pieces arranged by our little nutty detective, or the fact that he was using the bible as a how to primer on killing folks in really nasty fashion (each murder recreated the martyrdom of a saint). Religion: freaky.
I gotta say, I didn't pick Jamie as the one what dunnit, though I knew Father Edward Woodward was a red herring. But does every twisted yet cute catholic detective have to turn out to be a serial killer? Oh well.
Bemused at the American casting that ensued from the co-production with Paramount (Rebus shagging Ensign Ro? Yup). But I really liked it. I might watch it tonight since there's no Burn Notice. Though I do have to get online sometime sharpish. Shoulda got online last night but I was watching Morse and jotting down ideas for my own twisted catholic detective. Heh.
PM update: Watching Messiah now as it happens. Only they've given me Alun Armstrong to replace Jamie Draven. No disrespect to Joe's dad, but that's hardly a fair swap, is it?
Thanks to sleeper_frost for the link collecting!
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