Well, the Americaness probably threw me off. What makes the ITC shows so dear is their essenrial and untintenionaly hilariously quirky Britishness, but White Collar and Burn Notice are just as playful with their own cultural kinks, and I love them to bits, so yeah, thank you, USA channel, and whomever is the ITC crackwhore over there (you, with the big Jason King box sets hidden the bottom drawer of your desk, I know you're there).
I also like the fact that they appear to be genuinely filming in New York. At least, I swear I've seen the boys wander past several pretty buildings I remember from my erstwhile wanderings. Not just the usual bits of stock footage of well known buildings, but just buildings I remember as thinking of as pretty, suave or quirky (New York does great quirky in the late 19th, early 20thC, as does Melbourne) as I wandered lonely as a cloud. I like that. I like they seem to have adopted the Hustle ethos of make it look pretty, and it does.
So yeah, second episode of White Collar last night, and what I saw of it, I liked. I laughed. I giggled. I smirked. It's fluffy, but I want fluffy right now. Oh yeah, got home so late last night. Someone had gotten in and 'improved' what I'd been working on all day to such a terrible extent that I could have them up on a federal hacking charge it was so bad, so I had to stay back late to fix it, unpaid overtime, then took me forever to get on a bus at that late hour, had to stand all the way home (and I live in another city), didn't get anything done that I wanted or needed to get done, not even Xmas cards, and I missed the True Blood finale. Harumph. And then I got told to take a chill pill. How I do not throttle these people I will never know. Too tired to, I guess.
But never mind, himself has his goat. Yes, his Xmas party this year has an orientalism theme (it's always costume parties, they're all camp old buggers from the sixties there) and he's going as Holman Hunt, or rather Rafe Spall's portrayal of Maniac, anyway and the outfit consists of a fez, a toy goat and a flashy dressing gown. And you'd be surprised which was the hardest to get, or maybe you're not surprised I could lay my hands on a fez in my lunch break? We were be-ribboning the goat last night, because sometimes Maniac wants the goat to make an effort - sorry, one of my favourite lines from the show. I'll never be able to look at Scapegoat again without sniggering.
Mind you, we were lucky to get the goat, I thought there might be a premium on stuffed goats what with one of those Sound of Music Singalongs in the offing sometime around now (and that co-worker who never spoke to me again after I sprang him in his lederhosen. Awkward), but no, goat was achieved.
So...Wincest is canon now? Finally got to see some SPN S5, as it is finally screening out here. Cass is back (yay), Sam is all spanked puppy and so many severely constipated looks passing between the brothers, oh dear. At least we had some old fave characters back and I was hoping the show had regained its mojo and it had, a bit. Actually, I was quite enjoying it, bar the fan baiting. I just can't abide the prevelant and downright nasty fan baiting that goes on in these, um, niche shows. Key words, here, guys: niche. I shouldn't be openly attacking your core audience (your only audience) like that, but what would I know. It just doesn't seem, well, nice, or a sensible business position. I mean, sure, SPN fans, who doesn't find the SPN wank wars as good as anything you'd see in the Coliseum, but I was always thought discretion was the better part of valour and maybe one should just politely ignore them? Fourth wall, guys, fourth wall. Anyway, that aside, and wondering if the boy's faces were going to break from all the straining angst, I didn't mind it. I miss the gritty old Rockford Files ethos and the urban myths are real conceit that so charmed me, but, well, I guess I'm stuck here for the duration. A little more Carnivale and a little less Charmed, and I'll be happy.
Anyways, had me one of those gingerbread lattes in Starbucks to try and cheer myself up. I'm not sure I'm cheered up but I'm hyper as, that's fer sure.
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