Sorry. Some things just make you choke on your cuppa in the morning. This is the first time I've really heard Matt in an interview (my evil wee pc has decided to curtail my youtube viewing, because it can) and he sounds like an interesting and articulate chap, which is all to the good. I didn't mind him in the other stuff I'd seen him in and I've heard such efulgent reviews of the latest series I'm actually worried I'm going to be left disappointed this weekend, but never mind, good luck to him.
Poor old David, though. Out of sight and out of mind. I mean, I knew it would happen, but some of the 'I never liked Tennant anyway' reviews, after years of slavish copy, sounded hyprocritical, cruel and downright bitchy. I shall reserve my opinion until I see the boy (what is it with policemen and timelords all being mere slips of lads these days?) in action, but so far, it sounds like I don't have to adopt the brace position, which is a relief.
Meanwhile..."Peter and Neal will still be going at it in a love/hate way, said Tim DeKay" - TV Guide.
I'll admit, I got as far as "Peter and Neal will still be going at it" and started to giggle, but that's just me, watching it wrong, as always. Incorrigible, unreformed and unrepentant, that's me.
Honestly, I've seen better buddy shows, but I'll take it where I can get it, and it is so very, very tame compared to what American tv threw up in, well, the Sixties, let's say.
The High Chaparral continues to stun and horrify with the shock and awe squickiness, but it's sort of like car wreck tv (as in I have to see if they can push that envelope even further, and they do). Let's just say tv kinfolk were obviously allowed far greater levels of, um, closeness back then. First there was the episode where the two creepy uncles decided to actually fight over Blue, but the next episode had us squealing for it to please just stop now it was so wrong in its wrongness. OMFG. And this sort of thing just banged out on the airwaves sans any sort of comments? Alrighty then.
Least squicky (but certainly not for those of a nervous disposition) was the one where Blue had his heart set on the gay saddle (in every meaning and sense of the word, past and present, delighted Peanut Gallery no end). It certainly was the gayest saddle that ever did gay but Blue's ever peceptive step-mum said it didn't have to be practical and it was alright for a senstive boy like Blue to like things just because they were pretty. I swear, I am not making this stuff up. I just wonder what on earth I'm supposed to make of it all. Because, like, it's American televsion, and they just don't do that on American television. Surely not, you know? And yet...
Oh well, forget about that. Also watched some Leverage, which I adore, because it makes me giggle lots (and, attenion please, White Collar, it shows, rather than tells, to hilarious effect). Not at all serious but I save that for the seious allegedly grownup HBO shows but really I was just watching Tim DeKay just cause. And boy, was I get my Tim porn yesterday evening. Hee. Sorry, serious grown up television for serious black polo neck wearing grownups, not Tim porn. Yeah, right.
Wasn't that well and Foxtel has been playing up so tv viewing has been spotty to say the least (Foxtel and evil wee PC seemed to have ganged up on me on Sunday to curtail my viewing pleasure). Caught glimpses of what looked like a pimp-tastic episode of Ironside (damn, I would have liked to have sat down and watched that, it looked so hilariously so bad it's good), missed just about everything else and never plant trees when you're not well. It's not wise.
Sipping medicinal twelve year old Glenfiddich (I swear it was medicinal) during Mannix, which ironically had a very young Martin Sheen in it, and I'm not sure, as I only ever seem to watch Mannix when unwell, and not even then, (mainly because I just let Fox Classics run and curl up into a ball), but does Mannix live across the way from Chez Chuck?
I did get to enjoy an episode of The Saint uniterrupted, which was fine and dandy. It was an art theft one, where Simon, internationally renowned art thief that he is, bets a gallery would be robbed by the end of the week, then lets everyone else do the heavy lifting to swoop in the end and set up the crooks who took his opening (thinking Simon would get the blame), so Simon could both win his bet and not get arrested himself. Wicked Simon.
Maverick meanwhile was dabbling in a spot of art fraud, where copies of stolen art works (including the Mona Lisa) were being sold to robber barons with more money than sense, the con working because no one could brag or go to the authorities for buying what they thought were stolen artworks at bargain prices. Bart, with the help of accomplicies, also does a bit of identity theft and sets up an extraordinarily camp Jack Cassidy to be shanghai-ed instead of Bart himself. Classic.
Meanwhile...James Hathaway: least likely Run DMC fan ever? I'm just going to have to file that one under 'ecclectic' and try not to think of it too much. Go to ITV/drama/Lewis and see if your machine will play the clip. James is in a terrible snit and seems to be content to lounge about in the background helping himself to whatever is on offer while Lewis does the heavy lifting. Oh, Lewis, you camp old sub, you, it looks like you're back in your usual place, whipped by your young Sergeant now, of all things. Heh. It looks like the usual lame sub Agatha Christie hijinks at play again, but I don't care, I'm only there for the boys.
Thursday: Okay, sorry to everyone about yesterday. Write this down: do not fingerprint me before I've had my morning cuppa when I'm having a really bad period. Everyone got that? Okay, good. Also, didn't help that all tech was being, shall we say, puckish yesterday, if not downright evil and wtf, man, with all the scans and searches. Clearly some strange usage of the word "welcome" I wasn't previously aware of. Harumph.
Anyway, it's over with now (and here I was just worried about showing up like Nate from Leverage on a particularly spectacular bender). Gave up on the interwebs last night and settled down with a cup of "special tea", to paraphrase from my Aunt, and it's medicinal, I swear, 'cause I was having a really rough trot, so I was, and watched little marines get lit up somewhere in Queensland (looked Port Douglas-y but I could, and probably am, wrong).
Yeah, Pacific finally started out here and I wasnt sure if I'd enjoy it because Band of Brothers holds just a place in my heart, and, unlike BoB, I didn't know hardly any of the cast prior to this (totally showing my age, only the older bastards were known quantaties), which is a bit shaming because it was made here, but there you go. By about a third of the way into it I was into it, and it really is a bookend piece, and I kind of like that even with the decade inbetween (that long, hell's bells) they decided to make them very much bookend pieces. It played to my love of symmetry. I liked. I liked a lot (despite the fact that every marine I adopted got blown away - manipulated much?). I just wish Seven wouldn't chunk them together they way they do, but what can you do?
I flipped across to see Gilroy buy it in Burn Notice. Poor old Gilroy, I kinda liked him, but I guess he was just too mincing to live (repent or die, as they say). Pity. I was wondering just how far he was going to push Michael. Guess I'll never know now. Switched back to the wee Marines and stayed there.
Best tv of course was Maverick. It was the one with the bank where Bart and Doc get involved in about six or seven different types of white collar crime, one scheme of which Bart demonstrates with a watering can and pot plants, which I far prefer to coffee cups (so pedestrian). And one of the other (entirely brilliantly legal) scams involved a camel sadddle. Fie on your music boxes, camel saddles - that's were the quirky is. Oh man, I love that episode so much (especially the bank robbing bank managers holding their first board meeting) and, I do declare, if you could slip a piece of paper between the two boys at any point during the proceedings, well, I'd be very surprised. Any episode that involves gunslingers, bankrobbers, scams and schemes and totem poles and camel saddles is okay by me. Yes, it was silly, but also very, very clever.
And the chick of the week (or attempt at chick of the week) was left standing on the steps waving as the two boys rode off together in a buggy. As is proper and right. Oh, how I love that show.
That's about it. Just about finished another little notebook of hand scrawls and I wonder when oh when I'll get a chance to type it up (and don't say stuff like last night, because I assure you I could not manage the pc and unwell, no matter how hard I tried). I'm fairly sure everyone will hate it but I'm having fun, and surely that must count for something. Right now I'm trying to go back and finish it off, actually fill in the blanks I skipped over in the race to the finish and round it off and rewrite according to new thoughts other folks have introduced me to.
I still like having Neal a bit of a calculating and manipulating bastard, though. The fact that he's actually really dippy for Peter just makes it all a bit messy. I've also had to go back and drop in some music box stuff (which really wasn't on the horizon when I first started scribbling) but that's sort of a complicating external factor. I just want to keep my main conceit of having Neal being sort of Lovelace, that arch stalker of yore, yet in the Clarissa role, if that makes any sort of sense. Neal is sort of playing the ingénue, yet manipulating the chase, the pursuit, the game, with himself as the prize (much more fun than any damn music box). At least I'm trying to make it work (the scenes need rewrites and rewrites and rewrites, I know this) that Neal, as a young thief just starting to get a name for himself hears about this hotshot FBI agent. Neal, modest fellow that he is, decides he wants to get noticed, he wants to test himself against this agent, and thus begins a merry dance, and while Neal may have started out with the intention of besting and humiliating Peter for sport, he finds that Peter plays the game so well that he enjoys it too much, he flirts, he gets extravagant, he gets cocky, Peter gets the upper hand...and now here we are at round two, so to speak. Only now it's become very overtly about the romantic, shall we say, pursuit, as much as old game of cat and mouse. At least, that's where it's going, and, weirdly, it does end up as 'be careful what you wish for', but that's just the way it wanted to go, and who was I to argue?
And you know what, I really think I ought to finish those Lewis stories because you know what? I think James would step over the line. Seriously over the line. A round the world plane ticket over the line. It was poor crumpled Lewis I couldn't bear to write, but I think I ought to man up and just finish it. It's not a professional piece of writing by any means so what does it matter where it ends up? I mean, at some point those rumbling lakes of lava that we were so sure were bubbling under the placid surface of Lake Hathaway were due an eruption, right? Man the lifeboats.
That said, I'm having a real case of be careful what you wish for my self, as the flashbacks I wanted and am apparently now getting in White Collar will totally stomp on any background I might have invented. Oh well, them's the breaks, I guess. I still like the idea of a young cocky Neal wanting to make a name for himself by beating the best the FBI could throw at him, though. I like the idea that it was a tip of the hat rivalry between those two boys. I like the idea that Neal wanted, particularly, and deliberately sought out, Peter's attention.
Mind you, I haven't really written all that much, (I've fallen into the terrible WC trap of telling, not showing) as I was just about to put pen to paper when I read anything I wrote now would be overwritten in a couple of months. Still, I probably should press ahead, as it's important, for me, anyway. I like the idea they've been playing this game for a long time before the story picks up with the latest chess move.
Meanwhile, having a rotten day at work, but that is by and by. I was in a good and silly mood this morning but that was because I'd had my cuppa. Now I'm tired and ground down. At least I got across to the park. I swear I am going to get killed, and very shortly, because my poor tired little puppy brain knows when walkies are in the offing now and it jumps about excitedly before I've even managed to cross the road and I swear one day I'm going to absentmindedly walk in front of a bus while the impatient fic unspools before my eyes. Oh well, at least I won't die bored.
Meanwhile, I'm bemused by the random images the PC is throwing up from the photos in my folder as it sits in screensaver mode. A statue at Pierrefonds, snowdrops at Glastonbury, an ancient oak, a bronze age helm dug from the Thames. What's that, Merlin? You getting restive too?
Friday: Sorry, still not getting this posted. Meant to, but wallowing in front of the telly seemed a much more comfy option. It had been a day, and I was scribbling away in the ad breaks, anyway. Dollhouse seems to be wrapping up, and wrapping up so fast I can no longer follow it as they try to wrap up every single damn thread they've ever dangled. I understand, I probably would have done the same thing in the same circumstances but I think it would have made for a better quality product if they'd just picked one or two and ran with those, and saved the rest for comics, novels, webisodes or whatever. But that's just me. I know what it's like to have to get it done before the money runs out. But still, it's kind of going out in a confused jumble rather than anything signficant. Alpha was back (love him) but he just bounced Ballard out of the story without much fanfare. Maybe that was the point, but still. It all seemed a bit rushed and confusing and therefore not nearly as involving or thought provoking as it should have been.
Equally weird, or maybe I was just tired, was the Burn Notice finale, with Michael promising not to be so lone wolf-y, and then pretty much doing just that (leopard and spots, I suppose, to keep wth the zoological theme). Lots of racing around with the nutjob who got him burned (many explosions for the boys), and then the weird Prisoner-esque ending? Oh, too see young Michael sporting a jaunty blazer - snerk. Btw, I should point out that I wrote my White Collar fic bits before I saw the Burn Notice finale, weeks before, but clearly we were riffing on the same vibe. I'm just sayin', cause you're gonna find it awful samey but this time it really was just a coincidence.
I'm not sure where Burn Notice is going from here but I agree it was getting a bit tired with the puppet master of the week plots. To be honest, I just miss the client of the week stories, which seems to have become more and more the B and even C plot at times. Character growth I'm all for, character journieys, too, but these arcs just drag shows down like boat anchors, stifling organic direction changes and spontaneity and suck up valuable airtime from the caper of the week hijinks that made me watch in the first place. I'm just sayin'.
But never mind that. This morning I'm still fluttering like a silly wee tween over today's Twitter pic of Matt (and really and obviously, I'm not a sugar hyped child any more, but damn, there was, and still is, massive squee). Bloody hell, how does that boy look that effing good on his first day at work? He's just a bundle of cheeky monkey hotness and my heart goes pitter pat, still.
Oh, and here I was thinking that I'd be getting online tonight because now that White Collar is over I have nothing to amuse me on a Friday night. Au contraire. A quick look at the programme today, which I'd not peeked at until now, reveals that there may yet be persons of intertest on the tube. Step forward, Det Sgt James Hathaway and your erstwhile long suffering sugar daddy. Oh yeah, just when I'd given up all hope of it ever, ever screening out here, Lewis is back on. They might go straight into S4, fingers crossed. Squee!
Meanwhile, somewhat rueful over having bought a shiny new shirt last month, then puffing up like a blowfish. Sigh. It's those bloody blancmanges. Still, if I catch whatever Himself caught at his conference last week, well, it ought to be good for at least a dress size, judging by the state of him. He even wanly handed over his travel weekly for me to use up. This never, ever happens. Oh dear.
Don't mind me. It's Friday and I'm bored. It'll be mad in a bit, like The Thick Of It mad, but right now, waiting in the trenches, bored now.
Eeep! The Rev Walker is back in stock! Oh, how I've been mourning my wee Rev Walker, ever since he was eaten by the evil possums in the attic. Christmas just hasn't been the same, quite frankly. It's one of my favourite pictures, just for its whimsy, and I was just wondering the other day, if I could ever get another. Here's hoping. Bwee!
We've also been talking about great bush expeditions undertaken (much hilarity and tales of torment). What passed for car/camping holidays last century makes what was on that Top Gear special the other night look positively tame. Oh, the stuff I've had to endure. I suppose they call it character forming.
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