mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

american pie

Wed: I nearly didn't get home in time for Pushing Daisies last night, which would have been a pity because there was Pushing Daisies pie last night. Yes, actually. The dvd box set (which I bought cause I'm tired of missing PD on account of having to stay back for unpaid OT) came with a recipe book and while nothing else was done, pie was made. And it was rather good, too. I was worried, being an American recipe, that it'd dissolve my teeth on contact, but the bitterness of the local strawberries met and conquered the sticky syrupy sweetness (Himself grumbled that having the power to revitalise rotting fruit would be handy with our local grocer's shoddy produce as it took him four punnets to find enough viable fruit for said pie).

There was also homemade pork pie, just to give the evening that multicultural feel, but alas I conked out completely once I was snuggled up in from of UKTV so Tuesday's night of treats was lost on me entirely. Pity, because I'm really enjoying Martin Shaw in Apparitions the second time around. Woke up up after a couple of hours fitful slumber with the light and telly still on. Too bad it was 4am and getting up time. I am so tired right now. I always wondered how far I could last with no sleep to speak of. This far.

Work is of the suck but so long as the bullies aren't here (they seem to be late in) I can exist in a state of near blissful not caring numbness. It's only their constant attacks that have me on the ropes, literally. One was bad enough, two became a movement and unendurable hell. Perhaps Father Doyle can cast them back to the flaming pits from wence they came. No? Well, it was worth a thought.

Home is also of the suck. Nothing is going right. I try so hard, work myself into bloody blisters, but nothing gets done, nothing gets sorted and everything ends up just worse than when I started and I just wish it would stop. I mean, I thought I'd wrapped up the trauma with the telco, but no. The fence/tree saga is ongoing, the house is an absolute tip and this morning the hot water heater decided to splutter and cough. Arrrrgh.

But there was pie for tea. And I know I'll look back upon these days as "the good times" But right now, pie aside, it's not happening.

I did get a Bunning's run on Monday. Got another crabapple. It's like 'hands up, who wants to die', cause I'm not so stupid as to not have had a replacement crabapple ready to go but the bastard up and died about a week before the old original tree went over so that was all to nothing. We'll see how this one goes but I remain pessimistic. Bought some new garden clippers because I wore out the formerly good pair (wore out me too, but that's neither here nor there). Bought another orange tree to replace mum's ornametal little pine that went and died on me the other week. Sorry Mum, I'm making a complete dog's breakfast of your garden. It'd be probably better if I didn't try. Sigh.

TV? Oh, I wish I had time to watch tv, or time to write down what I thought at the time of viewing. Because I know I had thoughts while watching Merlin, though probably nothing coherent or printable. Heh.

Okay, a few thoughts. One, that Mr Head is quite right when he says Uther is usually right but nobody ever listens to him. Cause Lancelot needed to be told to piss off, and Mordred needed getting rid off, but there goes Arthur and his soft heart. Poor Arthur, nothing but trouble, that trying to do the right thing business. Also, despite the canon (and extra-curricular activities) demonstrating how Arthur and Lancelot are suppossed to be BFFs, it seemed far more so that it was young Merlin with the enthusiastic mancrush going on. And then some. Points to Gaius for taking Merlin's sudden enthusiasm for all things Lancelot, including the sharing of the room with the s-s-s-single bed, in his stride, as always. Despite his murky past as a Stasi type informer, dobbing in little magical Anne Franks in their attics, Gaius is, on occassion, the suave.

Oh yeah, the other episode was all about Gaius, a whole plot about being passed over for being a little bit creaky (a subject suddenly very close to my heart being an aging geek), and the foolishness of trusting one's medical care to one of the lunatic quacks from Green Wing (our beloved Julian). I mean, really.

Not a lot of Arthur in these episodes, alas, but that's okay, because young Bradley is very good about standing around in the background looking gorgeous, and sadly, not much in the way of Merlin/Arthur, except the requisite snarking at the beginning of the Lancelot episode, and it really did sound like ritual snarking from Arthur, and Merlin not taking a blind bit of notice, which is cute. Oh yeah, there were the fight scenes with Arthur and Lancelot. Woof! Excuse me while I go and put some paper down.

Oh yeah, I'm still love that little show. And I know why it hits all my pre-programmed buttons, because there was an article in the Sunday papers about that Tasmanian devil, that rake of rakes, that Hollywood star, that Aussie larrikin, my beloved Errol. I don't care what anyone says about him, I can still watch his films from start to finish and thoroughly enjoy them, and, my gosh, if some of his swash and buckle escapades hadven't set the template for Merlin. Well, I think so, anyway. I used to love all that ye olde fillum stuff as a kid: Robin Hood, Ivanhoe. Oh yeah, so there. Even now.

Meanwhile, UKTV was playing S2 of Torchwood, which is more Owen than I could endure, and indeed, I dipped out to watch The Saint, Merlin and, gasp, do housework and yardwork, but I did sit down for a couple, okay, a few. What can I say, Torchwood is a weird show that has no middle ground, it's either brilliant or rubbish. Still never gonna shed a tear over Owen, the date rapist with a heart of...lead? Or Tosh, whose character was toally trashed by the writers, like all over the place, the poor little sock puppet, and Torchwood, you know when it's a good idea to finally give a character that interesting back story and third dimension? Not when you're killing them off. Anyway, the one thing I did notice, aside from how Gwen is a bigger psycho bitch than I give her credit for, or how Rhys needs to run, and run, and never look back, how much I love PC Andy or how lamentable Jack's management skills are, ditto his hiring of unstable stalkers, but what a trigger happy little bastard Ianto is. Always getting in there with the taser first and not bothering to ask questions later. Vicious little sod, which makes me wonder how fake those fake memories were, like already working with raw materials? Loved Ianto being sent out to get the wedding dress (well of course his second job is a wedding planner, snarks the peanut gallery) and bemused over the Bringing Up Baby pterodactyl scene, where Ianto flirts wildly, and somewhat creepily, with Jack (what about the cyberbeard? snarks the peanut gallery again). As previously discussed, we're convinced that Ianto kept the cyberbeard in his parent's basement, and his parents were just happy to see him with any sort of woman that they overlooked the whole killer robot thing. So yeah, still loving the Ianto.

Haven't seen any Maverick this week. Sulk. Pout. I did catch the last five minutes of one where, once again, Bart leaves the girls behind and rides into the sunset with his new bestie. The peanut gallery now refers to the chicks of the week as beard of the week in the case of young Bart. Oh Bart, you urbane confirmed bachelor, you.

Last night apres work I met up with Himself and we decided to do the Brian Eno curated Vivid light show walk thingy, on the second coldest night of the year (tonight is supposed to be the coldest), which sort of gave the night a bit of an old school cracker night for me, but it did mean we packed it in and retired to a pub in The Rocks instead of climbing up to see the last exhibits atop Observatory Hill, which is windswept enough at the best of times, let alone a howling gale with some teeth in it (though nothing to anything my northern or southern friends experience, we're just soft subtropical jessies). The Opera House was great, and the whirly oil on water patterns reminded me of stuff from the 70s, like the Tomorrow People. It changed every 15 minutes or so and we stood and watched it change a couple of times before hypothermia pressed us to move on. The main problem was the world's crapest map provided my the Vivid website, which meant we missed half the exhibits as we tottered along, or found them indistinguishable from the usual lights going on down at the tourist strip, but I liked the MCA lights and the creepy monks lurking down by Cadman's Cottage and the neon flowers. The rest was a bit pedestrian, to be honest, and, like I said, hard to distinguish from commercial lighting. Oh well.

Dinner was fun as the steak house I remembered was still there, but we should have avoided the mushrooms (oh dear). Caught a taxi home, watched back Spicks and Specks which was a 50s special (and what does it say that I knew all the answers, and I wasn't even born then). Had The Invisisbles on as I pottered about but it failed to engage me again despite the presence of several actors I normally enjoy.

Oh, okay, my department has just been abolished. Here we go again.

And I'd only just finished moving all my books back in here. Ah well. My teapot is still wrapped up at home. Well, I've been here a year. Been a horrible year though. So okay, next week, nothing but panic and angst (and as if I didn't have enough on me plate right now) but for now I'm just floating in relief, because, you know what? I seriously don't think I could have stood one more week of this rotten department, not one week (and I use rotten in the old fashioned sense). Okay, yeah, I've got a few more weeks here until I get my marching orders to another dept or out the door, but I've no real say in my fate, and right now, I'm just happy this year of my life is finally over.

I will miss the park, though. I had a dream that I should go down to the park today and there would be music and there was. There was this guy playing a trumpet, just for the sake of playing a trumpet in the park, so it was all very abstract, but he played very, very beautifully and I enjoyed it very much as I scribbled out my slash (I promished Hathers he'd get some me time today) and sucked on a mandarin. Oh yeah, I'm gonna miss the park. What will I do with purple park pickernick blankie now?

Oh, I caught some of Bonanaza last night (the telly was still on after Maverick). I only stopped to stare because I saw Robert Culp, no less, being all grim and methody in amongst a bushell of tv actors. Lighten up, foe fek's sake, it's only Bonanza. Then, oh boy, he whipped out a guitar and started singing them sad, sad cowboy songs, and began a budding bromance with Adam Cartwright (and no, not really making crazy textual readings, imho, and besides, Maverick started it, though, especially where Bart is concerned, Maverick shouldn't cast stones while living in tastefully furnished glass confirmed bachelor pads).

Saturday: Just back from the Powerhouse museum, which was cool, and I saw many cool things, from Barbie to netsuke to 17th waistcoats. Am now off to dinner with friends. It's cold here, but good.

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Tags: maverick, merlin, torchwood

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