Meanwhile, what a weekend (and I feel suitably wretched this morning, you'll be gratified to know, even overslept by and hour, but somehow in my panic managed to get into work half an hour earlier than usual - how, I will never know, but it possibly involved bending the laws of time and space in ways that one really shouldn't). Nevertheless, I was treated to seeing beloved Paul McDermott singing the praises of syphillis as I sipped warm champagne on a warm summer night. It doesn't get better than this.
Went to the Domain to see Leonard Bernstein's Candide performed live. Yeah, I know, Candides are like buses, suddenly two show up at once. Still, it was a rare opportunity to compare and constrast (and, no surprise, there's no slave in the American version). I really enjoyed this version, though. There we were in the park, and there they were, all done up in Fifties suits, so it really looked quite the thing. The music was fab, the lyrics wicked, wicked enough to have me choking so I wonder what American audiences of the then made of it, them I remember how suavely sophisticated parts of the US were in the 50s, well, okay, the island state that is NY, but still. And the performances! Woah! Blew me away, and Paul? National Treasure status is wholly secured. He was marvellous. Puckish. Superb.
I ended up going with an aquaintance from last week and her mates, but if nothing else I brought the gear (blanket, cushions, cheap bubbly, salad, pies, juice, plates, glasses, knives, forks, serviettes - or napkins, I forget which is non-u) and it was all very grown up and rather like that picnic painting that everyone copies in ads, only I kept my gear on. The sun set, the lights came on and there it was, a musical treat. Oh why have I not done this before? (Mainly because the thought of going by myself was daunting and pathetic?)
Anyhoo, that was Sat. Sunday I was up early, well, not my usual early early, but not midday as I'd planned, and it was sunny so I put a load of washing on, settled down, nearly spat cereal all over Bomer in the paper, then waterred the garden and of course by the time I'm onto my third load of washing it suddenly starts pissing down, while the sun is still shining I might add, so it was everything off the line and bunged into the drier.
After that I watched the last Saint on Fox Classics (weep!) then got online, intending to only have a peep, but had to apologise for my trady appearance at luncheon on account of having worked my way through a long Boner post. And how is the dear boy, the Peanut Gallery enquired. He been to a Calvin Klein show and then popped up on Ellen, in matching outfits, says I. Still firmly wedged in the closet then, snarks the PG.
Oh, dear Matt, how you try. This one's for you, buddy.
So, El Diablo, the PC of mean, had melted in the heat and it was time to head off to the Laneway Festival. Fest was okay, I liked the bands very much and the location (a gothic Victorian nuthouse and grounds) was superb but I kept being knocked over by whipper snippers who'd decided the shortest route between points A and B was through me (and from a complaint I heard, not the only one) and I only stayed for a few bands, nana that I am these days, but I really enjoyed Mumford and Sons, Sarah Blasko and Echo and the Bunnymen.
Poor old Bunnies, no one knew who they were, or any of their songs and when they asked if there was anyone from Liverpool there was silence, but they ploughed on and I enjoyed 'em. I loved them so much when I were lass and if everyone else in the audience was bored I, at least, was having Gilbert fun.
Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon
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I gotta say, though, how bemused I as that the band who got the top slot in the Hottest 100 was playing a small mid-afternoon slot. Ah well. I loved them though, I love them lots and I've been playing them quite a bit of late so I did relish the chance to see them live, even if it was at a distance.
Left after the sunset because of the nightblind thing and I was in slightly unfamiliar territory (until I got back on the main road) and I'd ruined my ankle again (awkward dismount from a slippery portapotty) but I was also tired, nana that I am, and I was a bit worried about getting chased down and beaten again all because my crystal had gone white (alas and alack). I just wish they'd through a few of these shows for us still groovin' oldies, and not the really lame stuff that does tour out here in retro gigs. I felt a bit of a dill leaving before the last act but I felt discretion the better part of, etc etc.
As it happens I managed to stop by a still open curry house and pick up what proved to be an above average and really hitting the spot mango chicken and naan and then managed to hop right into a taxi, the end result being I walked through the door just as b>House</b> was starting so I got to sit down and have my tea (that curry really, really hit the spot) just as I would have if I'd not gone out. It still feels all turned upside down though. I do not go out and get home in time to watch telly (and to be honest, I thought it was much later and was quite disorientated by the whole it's only just after nine thing). Once upon a time bands wouldn't even think of walking on stage before 2 am but now with this reg and that it's all keeping to my nana hours. I was home much, much later with the Opera. Clearly that's where the edgy lives these days.
House? Well, I was kinda doing the whole tea thing, then checking my mail again, during it, and it had been praised so much that I felt the stunning new direction wasn't that stunning, it didn't even really deviate from the rock solid House plot structure, but whatever, j'adore Mr Laurie and that's all that really matters. I'd watch him read a phone book (and some episodes of House, well, you know). I was bitterly disappointed that Frank didn't take his arse down, the way he would have in days of yore (oh, Frank, how you've mellowed) despite me chanting box! box! box! (sorry, Homicide ref) and even locked away from the usual cast House, like Holmes (and to a lesser extent, our latter day Raffles, young Mr Caffrey) still requires an audience to perform to and amaze. So startling new character insights? Not that I saw, anyway, but I was impressed by the pre-stashed sample buddy. That was an impressive chess move.
And so that was my weekend and now I am knackered beyond belief, probably because I stayed up late watching telly. Tsk, when will I ever learn?
* It's a song from Candide, as performed on the night.
Operatic perfection and Broadway cheek
Calvin Klein Collection And Los Angeles Nomadic Division Event In Support Of L.A. Arts Month And ALAC (Bomer)
big boner post: ellen appearance, more pics from that calvin klein thing & white collar clips
New motto: Trust everyone over 30
Chuck's Zachary Levi in TV Guide's 'Cubicle Confessions'
Stephen Garrett blasts American version of Life on Mars