Go, baby, go! I am just so tickled, to come from such a long line of irritable ratbags. Would that I could stand in the street and scream GFY at the top of my voice. Heh. I do love him, aliases, identify theft, potty mouth, music critic and on the run from that terrifying people trafficker, Caroline Chisholm (what they don't tell you is her 'assisted migration' required significant restitution). What's not to love?
They are such a bunch of chancers, that side of the family, it is a great sadness to me that the surviving members are so deathly dull. Ah well. But if nature and/or nuture has anything to do with it, I come from some seriously crazy people on both sides, and the sound of splintering wood is heard often in the annals of my family.
So it should be no surprise to me, or, indeed, anyone else, that I'm always in trouble, or causing it, or being in its general vicinity.
Thursday: Rebuked, and rebuked again, and unfriended. Honestly, I'm surprised that more of you haven't bailed. I'm sorry I've been so venomous lately. It's just that I'm bitterly disappointed with just about everything.
Got a rejection letter this morning from that job I applied for (and really, really, really wanted), so I'm stuck here, earning a third what my predecessor earned and half of what's need for happiness, apparently. I have nothing to do and I can't do anything and that blasted woman has drenched herself in so much stink I'm all but flipped on my back and writhing like a failing cockroach from my dratted perfume allergies. Woe is very definitely me. The milk of human kindness has gone off, love.
So it's gonna be sour lemons, sour grapes and sour milk for a while yet, I'm afraid. I wish I could be more Pollyanna but I'm afraid I just can't afford the drugs of total happiness. It's too bad that folks can't be just shirty cause life has kicked 'em in the teeth. Why must I walk around with a cracked grin fixed to my face? Why must I be so polite when I want to rage and rage?
Sigh. I feel, still, like that old Models song: "If I were more stupid, I'd have no problems at all." (Unhappy).
There is nothing worse than knowing it's all gone horribly wrong, but not being clever enough to get out of it.
Oh, It's sunny now. There were some clouds to make for a bronzey morning as I travelled into work and while walking halfway up the hill it started to rain a bit and the streets smelt like Melbourne, all wet and rainy (not a slur, I like Melbourne, but as it buckets on me every time I go there I associate rainy streets with that fine city).
Though why I would be looking forward to park time I do not know. Every time I've tried this week I've been chased off by school groups who have no respect for me in my wee corner. Once upon a time the little urchins would be told not to harrass members of the public, but these days I'm fair game, and liable to be charged for it, too, so I have to leave, every time. It's so distressing.
To the dear friend who so kindly attempted to send me the fridge magnet, I examined the envelope carefully and there is a very small and neat incision along the bottom side of the envelope, just enough to slide out the magnet. It's so neat I'd handled the envelope several times without noticing it. It happens, a lot, but, well, harumph. And I know it's not even a drop in the great ocean of things, but, blimey, I don't even get to keep my fridge magnet? Ah well, it was the very kind thought that counts, but other people can be so mean. Yet another small and neat stroke in this death of a thousand cuts.
Maybe I can use it in a White Collar fic. 'F knows, Peter has turned a blind eye to everything else, what does a little mail theft matter? Sorry, that should read 'a little more mail theft'.
Btw, spoiled on White Collar (tried, but there was just gonna be no way, you know?) and all I can say is, yeah, right, as if. Promises, promises.
Friday: It was all foggy this morning, and I usually love a fog, but I was too bothered to enjoy it. Ah, the moment I've long dreaded has finally come, too weighed down by wordly worries to appreciate anything wonderful.
Today's misery was my accidentally destroying the most wonderful 60s lamp. I swear, I just reached up to turn it off like I always do and it completely and instantly self destructed into pieces. WTF. So now I have a broken lamp and no light (cause the ceiling fixture has never worked). Damn our wiring. I should do something, but I'm skint. I really, really needed that job. I shouldn't have had those trips, but who knew everything was just gonna fall apart? All at once?
We've given our local plumbers such business this year they sent us free concert tickets. Perhaps I can get a similiar toy surprise from the local sparkies, at least get a quote, see if the job can be done in stages, payment options, etc. I can plan this stuff out, it's just that my best laid plans, etc, etc and I'm annoyed as I have paid for this work to be done before, except it all went on the horses. So, no, I shouldn't have gone to New York, but I was so annoyed, spending my entire youth in poverty (with no trips or nice clothes), because of somebody's secret gambling habit.
Sod it. Turning to whimsy, as one must in days like these, if Himself can have a fez, can I have a turban? seems only fair.
Sigh. Not that I'm going to the party now. No job there, no party. And I was so looking forward to it. Whimper.
Okay, enough wallowing. Chuck was an episode unseen last night and, if I can cast my mind back that far, one that caused quite a bit of controversy with the one eyed Chuck/Sarah shippers as they partnered up with various others. Usually I'd count myself among their number, and usually I can't stand the former Ms Lang, but she's so sweet as Hannah, so it's hard to be churlish (yes, even me), but as for Shaw? Please. Oh, tell, me, Sarah, you are not falling for that cheese. Maybe it's because I'm toroughly spoiled on Chuck as well, that I don't care for the character, but it's more than that. You, sir, are no Matt Bomer (and it's almost cringeworthy to watch him try).
Seriously, this whole Shaw thing, was this a Bryce arc that was torpedoed and hastily but scrappily re-written? I keeps feeling like that to me, but you know me: one eyed Bryce Larkin fan.
But it just keeps feeling like second rate Bryce, and I can't shake it, and, having skimmed some of the press at the time, I'm not the only one to hold that opinion.
True Blood, and the dumping of Sookie. I'd love to be able say that finally Bill has come to his senses, but I can deduce from his clenched grimaces (and really, how does one tell from Bill's usual air of grimness) that he was acting against his true desires, for whatever reason (he's either operating undercover in some elaborate scheme or hopelessly clueless and out of his depth - now which one sounds like the Bill we know?).
Still, it was hard not to feel for Sookie as she went the full roll of toilet paper crying jag. Who hasn't been there, eh?
I have no idea what's going on (because I've not read the books and I suspect it's not at all as complicated and twisty as I feverishly imagine it to be) but I like it. It really is just a lurid American soap with vampires and werewolves. What's not to love?
(And to think my English teacher ripped up the stories I used to write, saying that no one would ever want to read or see such things. Hate. Them. I coulda been rich, dammit).
But I do like True Blood. It's sort of like the Days of Our Lives I remember watching in the bar at uni, which bears no resemblance to what actually aired, but we used to elaborate on the plots and make up such silly back stories for boring people (with bonus Jensen Ackles, if I remember right, and I don't. Whatever happened to him, I wonder...).
Oh, it used to be fun, the diy mashups (which was just us basically yelling out things at the screen, but one bunch of students from another uni took the semi-scripted show on the road), all very MST3K, and if someone was always wearing sunglasses, well, they were clearly A Vampire. And so it went. Hey, we didn't have cable. We made our own fun.
This is why, I think, I enjoy True Blood far more than I should. Especially this year. It kicks along, it ticks the boxes.
One bit I did like was Bill telling Sookie they should part because of the constant sturm und drang of their relationship as it lurches from one extreme calamity to the next, and the toll it was taking on themselves and those around them.
I was thinking, after the crazy betrayal after betrayal after betrayal in my White Collar fic (let alone canon) that Peter should be phoning up Neal to give him the bad news, but that'll never happen. Peter is so in thrall to Neal it ain't ever gonna happen (I'm actually begining to think Peter enjoys it, so warped as it is).
But now I'm suddenly thinking Neal would, he totally would. He's ruthless enough to totally dump Peter just to get closer to the prize. Hmmm...
Burn Notice? Not so much. I'm not sure the new guy is fitting in, either with me or the team. Certainly I enjoyed it more when he was offscreen (and, and entirely coincidentally, Michael smiled more).
Not that I was paying that much attention (I was trying to get down stuff I'd thought up on the bus before I forgot it entirely). But, well, maybe I've been watching too many MacGyver repeats while doing the ironing on the weekends, but the whole must save the clinic from the evil drug dealers thing? Purlease. That was cringeworthingly overly worthy in the 80s. And the hot bad chick with the secret? Again? The whole 'who burnt Michael' macguffin is getting a bit tired. Essential to the series set up, but still, getting a bit old, especially as it is flogged around the track with a different driver every season. At some point, and it's been a few years now, Michael is gonna have to, not get over it, because I agree with Joss, that never happens when you've been really, truly fucked over to your very core, but at least learn to live with it and adapt to life without his old career.
Not that I hold much hope. Michael has demonstrably some prior form in his inability to let go of old grievances against his person (don't mention the daddy issues) and if he ain't over high school yet, there's not a lot of hope that he'll accept being burnt any time soon. Michael is, in many ways, an angry little boy, a lost boy, a hurt little boy, who, despite his mad skills, is all about lashing out at bullies, no matter how he may clothe it in strategies, duty, acts of war, etc.
At least we know where the puppy is in Burn Notice. It's never the client, they're just a two-legged macguffin. The puppy is Michael, and, ironicaly, he's his own saviour, too, the one who stands up for the scared little guy inside and kicks the bully's arse. I dunno, he strikes me as a kind of Buffy hero, one who'd rather die than settle down and be happy. He's just so screwed up that there's never going to be really any peace bar that old blaze of glory (the one he flirts with daily). Poor little puppy Michael.
Man, his dad really did a number on him.
Late PM update: Been reading some articles (of which sadly the urls elude me, yes, paper based medium, how quaint) that lamented this current age of 'the new boring' and too much timidity and politeness.
I'm not saying we should go around klacking people on the head with violins, because clearly that wasn't on even in 19thC frontier towns, but still, I miss the more colourful days of yore.
And since I've mentioned frontier towns...
Avalanches - Frontier Psychiatrist
Shameless creator's despair at same old faces appearing in television dramas
The downside to weight loss
The gender myth
TV Vampires of the Ages: The Vampire Diaries vs. Forever Knight
'True Blood': 'Fresh Blood' has Eric feasting on Sookie before walking out into the sun to die
Watch an Exclusive Supernatural Behind-the-Scenes Clip with Commentary from Eric Kripke (vid)
Clint Eastwood as Superman or James Bond? â€˜It could have happened,â€™ he says
White Collar - Season 2.5 - Promo
'White Collar' & 'Covert Affairs' Have Stellar Tuesday Night Ratings
Tim DeKay: Even I was shocked by the 'White Collar' finale
WHITE COLLAR & COVERT AFFAIRS HAVE STELLAR TUESDAY NIGHT!
Swinging with Matt Bomer (White Collar)