"So it is that Britain's latest men's style icon is a fictional asexual sociopath first seen onscreen hitting a corpse with a stick." - Alexis Petridis: No chic, Sherlock
Well, yes, quite. Btw, the dvd finally arrived, via the always slow boat from parts northern. And, since I'm with the Sherlocky news, did we nearly lose John?
Say it ain't so, Martin (though, truth be told, he would have made a perfect Bilbo, can they not delay the film, after all the delays so far, what's one more?).
In more sombre news, the man responsible for so many inadvertently amusing winter night's entertainment has left us. The man who gave us creepy Uncle Buck (hands! hands! hands in new places!), Adam's BFF (the glorious episode with Robert Culp) and non pc giggles aplenty. Vale, David, I could not have survived this winter without you: Bonanza Creator David Dortort Dies at 93.
At least Mr Dortort knew the correct use of the chick of the week, almost always guaranteed to expire/leave abruptly by credit's roll, especially if Little Joe was involved (sometimes we wondered, but that's another post, but the young Romeo was fair racking up the body count - grin).
These days, with irritating chicks of the week (and another annoying, show ruining characters), they just hang around like a bad smell. For some of them, I swear, the only way to get rid of them is by hiring the services of a good exorcist and flicking holy water at them, you know, the whole deal ("The Power of Christ compels you!").
Not even then, with some of them, I reckon. Sigh. At least in the olden days, they knew how to do it properly. But I'm still wondering if garlic and crosses would work on some so-called characters, so annoying and viral are they, but no, probably not. I can see them just stalking off like Henry, muttering that they weren't Catholic (such a great moment).
Monday: Hola. I figured a sixteen page blog entry was enough for anyone so I've started a new one. 'F knows when this one will ever be posted. But, as I'm back to being sidelined again at work and too tired to care, here I am.
I did try to get to bed early last night. Eschewed tv and interwebs but a fat lot of good it did me. Tossed and turned with feverish dreams of being unable to serve icecream in this American shop: it kept melting insanely, I'd take it from the too fancy trays by mistake, I didn't know what an ounce was, everything was labelled in French. One of those nightmares that resembles nothing so much as a Lucille Ball sketch. Arrgh.
Then my dvr decided to run extraordinarily noisy self diagnostics for about five and half hours (at least, that's what it felt like) so that was the end of sleep. And this to a poor wee girl who was up at 3am the previous morning when the wind hit with a bang, because I don't like it when my room shakes violently (hence the Human Targeting until dawn).
Tuesday: Oh, what a day. Cruelly sidelined again. I mean, I know I must have done something wrong, even though I tried my best, because despite all my qualifications (I can code in about a dozen languages, four of them even adequately) the most I am trusted with is stapling and wheeling the recycle bin around. Sigh. At least Himself has picked up the annual report job so one of us is trusted to get the job done. Me? I'd stare out the window, if I had one.
It's so frustrating, because I have three and a half handwritten notebooks to type out but I must waste 16 hours of every day on nothing, and then stay up all night trying to get stuff done. Which I did last night, which is why I'm all tired and grumpy, with a headache that feels like my head is gonna explode in a shower of cheap FX like in Scanners, I swear.
It probably would be so bad if I didn't have a million things I'd rather be doing, or could get on with them on the sly but alas, way too open plan for that. I'd understand if my replacements were better at my job than me, when in fact they're far, far worse, so I know it's just cause they can't stand the sight of me. As with everything. I was told when I was four that I was too ugly to ever be loved. Man, they sure got that right.
I suppose I'm just tired, having racked up quite a few decades now of being actively loathed. Clearly, I have problems, but I try so hard. It's kinda heartbreaking.
It's probably why I really felt for poor Suzy Darling in Spirited, when she was ambushed into an "intervention" where everyone just had a go at her, basically. Oh, I felt for the poor girl. Maybe it's an Oz thing, that kind of passive aggressive viciousness. Nevertheless, it sure touched a a raw spot.
I do love Spirited though. I love Henry. They delved into Henry's history and it was so spot on I feel Ms Karvan and I had the same posters on our bedroom doors. It was just...exactly right. Did I mention how much I adore Henry? This is Henry.
And the husband? We're still tittering, because as much of a tool as he is, everyone knows someone like that. Oh dear. Not so much a caricature as an archetype. Read into that about Oz men what you will (ie a bunch of cruel, selfish, self absorbed tossers who make dead English rock stars a real and positive lifetsyle choice).
Other than that? Not much. Typed all through Covert Affairs, hardly ever glancing up, which is why I suppose I noticed they were using library music I normally associate with White Collar. Do not use those musical cues if you're not gonna give me Neal Caffrey. I was actually disappointed. Damn stupid White Collar. Why this show, above all others, to get under my skin?
Speaking of musical cues, I just love the old B/W westerns. Sometimes it's really quite obvious when they're using an old radio script, or an old radio writer. There's the whole tv for the blind aspect at times, e.g. "Why look, it's the Pony Express rider, he just rode into town". Why, thank you, I might have missed that. I am being overly sarcastic, though. As we usually just have them beaming away during the whole tea thing it's useful to have shows one can follow from the kitchen.
There's also those episodes that feel like they are 15 or 30 minute radio scripts stitched together (there was one Maverick one that changed location and plot every 15 mins, on the dot), but what I really love are the musical cues. Injuns are always announced by drums, the Chinese (there are no other Asians in tv westerns) get Chopsticks or something of that oriental ilk, the Brits get Rule Britania (or similar), etc etc (ethnic slur) etc. Wagon trains and cattle drives get their own, very familiar and rigidly adhered to musical themes. So I can be washing up and I'll hear 'wagon train' followed by 'war dance' and I know they're gonna be circlin' them there wagons in five, four, three, two, one...cue my old favourite gunshots record with my favourite ricochet that turned up everywhere until superceded my more modern gunfire. These shows are so law abiding I can even tell who made it and who didn't, and oh, here come the cavalry, over the hill (okay, so that one is always a gimme).
I should probably just invest in some old tv radio shows and be done with it when I'm in the kitchen, it's save on running the tv (though the poor old set is getting to an age where it needs to be on and stay on for the evening, hence the old westerns).
I was going through some Dr Who audios for a while there (until I ran out). Which is why, when the cursed and alleged hot water system makes particularly high pitched BBC Radiophonic Workshop squeals and whoops when I attempt to wash up there's usually a comment about Jamie and Zoe and the need to run because the Ice Warriors are back (cue foam).
Meanwhile, tragic as it undoubtedly is, surely I wasn't the only one to go to the Spinal Tap place re the untimely demise of the guy from ELO? Now I'll never be able to hear ELO again without thinking Spinal Tap. Most unfortunate.
Wednesday: Typed all through Supernatural, with Hoyt from True Blood doing a rather good job as a minxy siren. That episode was, on the uncut Fox8 version, just so much Wincest canon I, well, eww. I'm just sayin', but if you swing that way, this was your episode. Hell, it almost made me a believer (and did I mention, eww?). It was almost a threeway in that motel room until Bobby showed up.
And showed up again in Deadwood (my first Jim Beaver double shot). Still with the clumsy typing, but there was precious little Bullock, when he wasn't getting whacked on the head by an aggrieved Native American, so a'typing I went, at least until my eyeballs totally dried up and I had to put the wee pc away.
Tonight though I am faced with a dilema re my typing backdrop, as EvilChannelSeven insists on wickedly screening Lewis opposite Human Target and Spartacus. The fiends. Still, I have Lewis on dvd already, so I guess naked sweaty men win again. That said, I was wondering wherefore this reputation for sex, sex and more sex on Spartacus when the version I was watching was as tame as, well, something that doesn't have any sex in it. Pure as the driven snow, in fact. Apparently it is being cut to ribbons, complete and utter ribbons. No wonder I've been finding it a touch disjointed and hard to follow. Oh, don't make me have to get the dvd. That's not fair. Grumble.
Late PM update: Still loving Henry. Spirited is getting better and better.
Noticed there's a few instances of actual Neal bashing in the stuff I'm typing up. To be fair to Peter, Neal's always in want of a good slapping and in this instance Neal hasn't just crossed the line, he's lapped it a couple of times. Besides, it's old school John Wayne kinda stuff, as in "I ain't gonna hit ya, I ain't gonna hit ya...the hell I ain't."
Well, it's not like Neal responds to "please don't" or "because I said so". It's a bit like what Henry said about Suzy, cause Peter lets Neal walk all over him and I were Peter I'd be wondering where my balls went, but that's just me. Peter needs to stand up, like Henry advised on telly tonight, or get out, as Martha advised.
I haven't decided yet. Back to typing... (and I chose Human Target, in case you were wondering).
PS: all the lights blew out in the kitchen, then the desk lamp we were using shorted out. Seriously, dining in the dark might be on trend but I'm not so keen on washing up knives by touch.
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