"This CGI bullshit is the death knell of cinema. If I'd wanted all that computer game bullshit, I'd have stuck my dick in a Nintendo." (Quentin Tarantino)
First off, apologies, but I think I'm gonna have to renege on my weekend promises and anticpations, as much as it pains me. This has been a rough week with a lot of long days and long nights for a girlie still oppressed by a really bad cold and honestly, I can't think of doing anything more energetic than popping up some of the prints I bought yesterday.
Yeah, I was at the gallery yesterday, actually for work because there was a govt conference there, but afterwards I wandered the old wings and said hi to Gabriel and the gang, and admired the Sydney Longs they had up and compared the Streetons to ones I'd seen in Canberra. For a girl who was considered unfit to study art at school, I'm coming along, I reckon. I know the names, some bios, and I really do know what I like now. The Bunnys were back in situ, too. Going against the grain, I prefer his earlier work, and why hasn't anyone noticed that he always puts something red in each picture, be it a rose, a slipper, a fan, a lantern, a ball. There are all these blues, pinks and creams and then a point of red. I kinda like it, even if it is gimmicky, it's sort of what they do with films/tv these days (one shot for every time you see a creepy little girl in red).
I was also thinking of creating something like art gallery bingo. You know, cross off a square for a still life with apples, woman reading a letter, high Victorian beach scene, ruins with peasants and sheep in foreground. Or maybe I could make it harder, you know, more specific. I remember reading about the burd watching tours they ran in the Met a few years back (so would have loved to have done that) and that's fun, if you try it. There are lots of birds in paintings, if you start really looking. What's really weird is spotting what look like Oz birds in paintings from the 17thC. I can only assume they're from the islands formerly known as Java and the art is so, um, unspecific I can't tell which shade of species it is. Either that or we really have to re-write the history books (like those big old globes in the Vatican that had most of Oz on them back when it was supposed to be the great unknown, as I was taught in the world's crappest school, apparently).
Anyway, bought myself my fifth fabourite Long (they had no other) and a Waterhouse (one I quite like, and recently referenced in Seeker, of all things) because otherwise I'd be plastering the back of my door with dim witted Texans and that cannot be allowed to happen.
Ah yes. Was up late on Monday (or was it early?) catching up on two weeks worth of stuff and watching interviews on the YT. Dear little Matty Bomer, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, eh? But who needs to be, when you're that pretty, I guess.
Still, it goes to one of the reasons why I tend not to do much re American actors. For one, they don't need the publicity and the blog was orginally started because no one would have anything to do with "obscure British actors" so it was two fingers up at that attitude, which, in the fifteen years since I've been doing this, has done a complete 180, you must agree. This is good, this is progress.
Because Americans boys, sweet though they are, tend to be very what you see is what you get, which can be quite adequate, in its own way, but they tend not be bursting with hidden talents nor be amazing raconteurs, as a rule, the way Brits are, like Ben Miller who was blinding us with science the other day on QI and then he snogged Rob Brydon. American actors just don't, they rarely ever go off message except when they get arrested and/or fall into a gutter outside a nightclub. Which isn't to say Brits don't, but to a far lesser extent than your American actor, statistically speaking. So yeah, as a terrible generalisation, Brits tend to be funnier, smarter and less troublesome, which makes them very attractive and very interesting (for all the right reasons).
Which isn't to say I don't fall, and fall hard, for an American now and then, and I realise Matty totally falls to type. I realised this over the weekend when I was watching Leverage and Falcoln and the Snowman and renewing my former interest in one T. Hutton, esquire. Watching Leverage though, I was bemoaning how young Timmy isn't quite so pretty any more, alas, and I realised with a jolt he must be near or older than his dad was, his dear Dad who never got a chance to lose his pretty. Man, I was mad about Jim Hutton when I were lass. I loved him so much, and his death was pretty much the only celebrity death that really, really upset me. I guess I hardened my heart ever since, and it's probably why I'm still so wary of Americans. Gosh yes, they're cute and fun to watch, but they'll break your heart, break it good and proper.
Brits, by contrast, are far more dependable, and even after half a dozen dogs they'll usually do something remarkable and renew your faith in them.
But yeah, my American tv boy du jour? Dumb as a box of hammers, but he's such a handsome guy, to steal a line from a song I long forget. I hope he does well, though, because I saw Bryce Larkin in Chuck on a really bad day and he made me forget all that and that earns a lot of points in my book. But there's still a part of me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I shouldn't, but once bitten, as they say.
So, anyway, bought myself some proper art to pretty up the place. Much better, much more proper, correct and grown up. Indeed. Bomer boy can just settle for being my wallpaper on the mini pc of mean, as soon as I can get Win7 to let me have wallpaper. Sigh. How I hate Microsoft, let me count the ways...
Now don't get me wrong, though, I am a huge, shameful fan of American telly, though lately it seems to be just old westerns, but, oh my. Those old westerns, home of the big gay man love.
Lately it's been The High Chaparral that I've been watching wrong. Okay, there was the episode where Blue wanted to run off to be an artist (no surprise there), and there's been a few times I've raised eyebrows but this weekend took the biscuit. First there was the episode where Mano was upset and on his knees before Buck who was, er, comforting him. I had to keep repeating " it's not what it looks like, it's not what it looks like, it's not what it looks like" over and over. But then there was Saturday's eppy. Two characters we've never seen before and never will again got married after employing Buck on Cyrano duties. At the wedding the bride threw the bouquet which Buck caught and this big blond cowboy, whom I'd always thought was way too familiar with Buck in episodes past, threw his arms around Buck, kissed him, full on kissed him, and declared loudly they were next, to all and sundry.
Jaw on floor. And now the next time I hear Gene Hunt wax lyrical about The HC I'm gonna wonder if he's hoping for the eppy where Buck caught the bouquet.
I tell ya, these old cowboy shows, mercy! Big gay cowboy man love. And I tell ya, I was trying to watch Bonanza most primly (and lawks, that was a struggle), but after that wicked, wicked episode of Maverick that said everything that needed to be said about the Cartwrights (oh dear), well, all bets were off on both shows, as far as I'm concerned, and, frankly, what the hell if it's so obvious another tv western is gonna send it up, in like '61??? Oh yeah, I'm watching it right, I reckon.
And Maverick, stop being so damn post-modern when you're supposed to still be just being modern, will ya? This is why I hate Mad Man, it pretends 61/62 etc was so backwards and then you watch shows from the era (Maverick, The Saint, The Avengers) and they are really far cleverer than anything you see on telly these days, mainly because it was all done with a wink and a nod and don't get me started on the women, what happened to all those sassy tv chicks like Modesty and Cathy???
Anyhoo, yes, tv, far more fun before the bible belt started buying the devil's own box, imho. And tv westerns? Every episode, guaranteed. How much fun I have, watching my cowboys and gamblers and their friends. I mean, I know media studies types like to discuss westerns, homoeroticism in, but dude, did you see that episode? I've seen episodes of Torchwood that were less gay.
Oh, Fox Classics, don't ever stop dealing the slash crack. Seriously.
I used to watch a bucketload of Westerns as a kid (in the good old days of the paternal control of the dial) and now I'm not sure if I'm a slash fan because of it, or if I'm just watching it wrong/right now. Certainly a lot of the older (50s, 60s) tv westerns are very, very sly with their east coast/west coast humour. I think I'm just 'getting it' now (but I do wonder if it didn't inform my viewing tastes as an adult, because, man, I'm sticking to fave tropes of late).
Now, you're probably not going to have too much sympathy for me if I say that in addition to the long, long days at work, I said I went out last night, but I did. It had been booked months ago, and I couldn't pass it up, especially considering the seat I had. Row 1, for the first and probably only time in my life. Oh my.
So what did I see? Something cool? One of those hip new bands touring right now, or old 90s creakers? Heavens, no. I went and saw someone a very ex friend used to play at me as torture. Shows what she knew. I went and saw the man. And, loving it. It was, in fact, the experience of a lifetime, I had so much fun.
It was a long shitty day (you know when's a good time to decide for a total redesign? Not during implementation!) followed by sushi and I wanted to get there in time to see David Campbell. Lawks, but that boy is a chip off the old block and then some. He did a fantastic show, and I knew all the songs by heart, great dag that I am (and only the Dexys one was from my era) but I loved every minute and man, oh, man, is he slowly turning into his Dad, but in a good way. Young David sort of started off crooning but is now in full on Johnny O'Keefe mode, which is, of course, perfectly fine by me. Some of you are probably wondering who the hell Johnny O'Keefe is and I'm not sure how you could go through life not knowing Johnny O'Keefe but apparently some of you manage it. Young David did two tracks, but here's the man himself:
Johnny O'Keefe - Shout - Live
And then, at last, the man, the legend: Sir Tom Jones. Oh my. He's still got it, man, has he still got it, and when he did "Thunderball", I was having that sort of religious experience that was entirely lacking with the van Goghs, and you know where my seat was? Front and centre, so there was Sir Tom, right in front of me, grinding away to "You Can Leave Your Hat On". By rights, I should be preganant now. Mercy!
Tom Jones - You can leave your hat on - Live at Cardiff Castle
He played all the faves, including new stuff, newish stuff, like the stuff he did with the Stereophonics, and the old classics, including my favourite murder ballad: "Delilah"
There was "What's New Pussycat" (which I loved as a bub), "Green Green Grass Of Home", and, oh, so many more, and a really cool version of one of my favourite Elvis songs, which I am going to be humming for a while, I hope:
All the faves, including "Kiss", which is a personal fave (man, he rocked). And yes, there were knickers. And all this when he's turning 70 in June.
Brit boys, eh? Free bus pass and still banging it out to the back rows. This is why I love them so.
On the other hand, the only thing keeping me going on this wretched post Tom workday is the happy thought that I've been resupplied with Chuck by a very kind friend. Of course, it'll be Bryce free Chuck, which is a bit of a downer, but there you go, and I'm not sure of the change of direction/reboot that's going on, but I'll reserve judgement. Please, make them amusing at least. And I'll try to think of Bryce as not being dead, but just relocated to a seaside village, possibly somewhere on the coast of Spain or Portugal, and cutting a dash in a particularly jaunty blazer. Be seeing you.
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