mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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liar, liar

I wish I could watch whatever show the person who does the White Collar promo clips is watching. Oh, they tease, tease, tease, they nudge and they wink, but when the episode finally unfolds it ends up nothing like the promised and much advertised bromance, and I always (okay, almost always, "Company Man" offered up some treats but skipped the payoff) feel somewhat cheated and ripped off.

Still, I suppose that's Neal Caffrey all over, ain't it. All hat, no cattle.

At least have my wandering, never ending fic to with which play with whether or not Neal is running a long con on Peter, is suffering Stockholm syndrome or is actually and truly dippy for Peter because Peter is the one person who genuinely intrigues him, or d) all of the above.

But damn it all, what I wouldn't give for a HBO version of the show where they make good on their promises.

On a happier note I spied several ads for White Collar on W (starting 5 Dec), all of them cute, and yes, there was squee. Audible squee. Oh, show. Oh, Neal. Oh boy.

Anyways, been offline mainly because it's been brought home to me via many anvils of late that if you can't be smiley face happy clappy one should be mute and compliant, or, in my case, sulk silently in the corner.

So, happy news first. I saw the STC's performance of "Uncle Vanya" last night, featuring Hugo Weaving, Richard Roxburgh, John Bell and Cate Blanchett, no less, all magnificent. This is my second Chekhov, and, I gotta say, it put Ken's "Ivanov" in the shade. It really did.

And I wasn't at all well, had crap seats and I was just about passing out because of the well marinated perfume abuser next to me, and I was still edge of my seat rapt in the proceedings.

Rox seemed to be still chanelling some of Hawke into his performance and Cate reminded me a bit of Claudia Karvan in Spirited with her brittle but very Oz perormance. Who knew Our Cate could pratfall like a pro? John Bell was, well, John Bell, and then there was Hugo. Ah, Hugo. I love this man, but I really love this man on stage. There's something about the way he moves and glitters, so very, very sexy (in a serpentine kinda way) that I just don't get at all when I see him on film, but in the flesh, oh man, I just can't get enough. Every moment he was on stage I was mesmerised and not even Rox dancing about could diistract me. Well, not too much, anyway.

This whole year's subscription was just so I could get tickets to see Hugo (I missed out last time, and the time before that, grumble). The whole year has been an entree to Hugo. Worth it? Oh yes. I think he's my fave stage actor, with David Tennant coming in at number two (which surprisd me more than it may surprise you but I thought about it all the way home last night and yes, I really enjoyed young Dave in those two plays I saw him in).

I also really liked that is was very obviously an Australian version of the play. Not that they'd Oz'ed it up, per se, but rather that they hadn't toned it down. No clipped RP, in other words. And I think it worked. For me, it was far more effective than the English play I saw. There's something natural and right about an Australian cast speaking the blunt and brutal lines of a new translation, without any embellishments. It also made it very funny in places, funnier than intended, I suspect. And isn't it terrible that I'm always shocked and amused to hear actors speaking Strine. Cultural cringe mode fully engaged, Captain.

Anyway, yes, it's the sort of year I've had when I go to see Chekhov for fun, but so it was. I loved it. I was moved by it. I was nodding away. I nodded with Sofia and her laments on being plain and her never to be requieted love and her strength, and would that I had her faith and acceptance. I nodded with Vanya, clever enough to know he's wasted his life but not clever enough to do anything with it, that no one appreciates the efforts and sacrifices he has made, unrequited in love, disliked by his mother, every day a struggle, just waiting to die. Oh yes.

Not terribly cheery, but I understood, and it was surprisingly cathartic to see someone else articulating frustrations I simply could not (or wasn't allowed to). And when Vanya totally loses it when the Prof decides to sell off the estate Vanya has given his life to. Oh yes. I know that pain, betrayal, the grief of loss, the lost life one could have led, since nothing matters anyway (certainly not loyalty or sacrifice).

And yet I'm so happy, so happy I saw it. So happy I enjoyed it. So happy it spoke to me. So happy I saw Hugo and Rox and company. Woot!

And this despite it being a horrid wet day (I was soaked walking down to the theatre, in my fave purple coat) and I was very tired and very unwell. I haven't had solid food all week. Nothing I washed of mine on Sunday wasn't caked with blood or vomit and I've been screamed at for not doing this and that, or doing this and that (delete as applicable) day in and day out. Hmm, maybe I'm just lightheaded rather than lighthearted. Whatever.

Saturday was a disaster. It's what I get for being a bit pleased with myself. Cause I booked himself up for the train ride last year for his birthday but he seemed somewhat muted by the whole affair so I was surprised and pleased when the brochure came my way again this year. If 'same again' is the closest I can get to thumbs up, I'll take it.

So I booked the trip, steam train down to the 'Gong, cruise back, and I was even looking forward to it, even though it turned out to be a stinking hot day. Still, the trip down in the steam train was nice and I hadn't realised just how much I'd missed sitting in those old, old red rattler carrriages on the deep green leather seats with the old brass window chocked open. It was pretty when we got down to Illawarra, with those prehistoric lillies gathered about in sinister clusters. Could they have looked any more Triffid-y if they tried? No, they could not, is the answer. Round the coast to the sea.

Sadly, because of a late departure there was no time to wander around Wollongong as anticipated, and himself had his heart set on fish and chips, sadly not a spot on our local, which is tragic, really (because fish and chips deep in suburbia should not be streets ahead of fish and chips by the sea, it's plain wrong). I was still a bit wooby so I just had a spring roll. Even that was a mistake.

We wandered around lighthouse and canon and I observed the water looked a little choppy but we pressed ahead and onto the cruise ship back instead of piking and taking an ordinary train back. Big, big mistake.

As I said on Twitter, three hours of terror and vomit with a three metre swell that the boat just crashed down. The tiny ship was tossed, as were all of our cookies. It was so bad they handed out the life jackets. What a birthday treat!

Somehow, after sicking up everything I'd eaten in the last six months, pretty much, we finally made it through the heads and into the harbour and I tell you, even after all the times I've flown home through rough weather I've never been so happy to see the Harbour Bridge in my life. Staggered off at Circular Quay and fell on the nearest seat.

Spying a shop open across the way, and knowing I wasn't going to be able to get a taxi home in my current state (you really don't want to know), I toddled across and can I just pause here to praise the girl in French Connection at the Quay for her complete professionalism, kindness and care. Would that I could ever be as good as she. Anyway, instead of showing my bedraggled arse to my door she instantly understood the problem (high seas, I'd explained) and rummaged through the racks for something in my style and my size. She found the perfect top, it was just perfect, and she took the tags off and let me change in the shop. So at least I got a brilliant new top out of it, I suppose.

We've been pale and wan and off solid food ever since, I'm afraid. I think a touch of sunstroke came into it as well. I don't suppose he's going to forget this birthday in a hurry. Oh dear. I did try. It wasn't, technically, my fault a huge storm rolled up over the mountains just as we got on that boat. The best laid plans and Hell paving company, etc, etc.

Sydney skies finally brighten up, but ...

Spanish lady with wild temper to take Sydney by storm this summer

In other news? Not much. Work sucks. Well, some of the people suck and that just drags the rest of it down, really. When they're away, like today, it's quite tolerable (so at least I know it's them, and not me, that makes me so sad and angry). Even with the massive thumping construction going on up on...gulp....Level 13.

Typing, online stuff? Not so much. TV? Just catching up on ancient episodes saved on the HD that are either so stale and/or lame I can't bring myself to speak of them, in a feeble face saving attempt. In other words, feeling a bit out of touch and frumpy with the viewing choices of late, instead of merely just trying to pretend I'm quirky and interesting with my ecclectic viewing habits.

That said, I have been enjoying the Trek they've been playing on Go! lately, even if the episodes are criminally cgi'd - I must admit I'm a purist when it comes to pointless tweaking and I liked the 60s tweeness of old Trek, part of its charm. But at least the guts of it are still intact and these are the early episodes, which are still very cool and clever and inventive, even if there is a bit of soapbox (but not as much as later on). The casual racism and sexism has been a bit of a shocker though. Poor Rand has been dreadfully manhandled every week so far, tsk. And as for don't ask, don't tell, have they somehow cgi'd up the K/S, because, oh man, I'm seeing it all over the place in ways my naive younger eyes just never did (possibly not helped by the knowing guffaws from the peanut gallery).

Happy days, and, I tell ya, my old tv shows are happy to go places White Collar never dares, more's the pity. You'd think we'd be more cosompolitan these days, but you'd be so wrong. That episode of Maverick, oh my, you'd have to get HBO to see something so risqué these days. Sigh.

Line of the week has to go to High Chaparral, though (who else?) with: "Are you going to stay bent over like that in this alley all night?"

Never afraid to go there, the High C. More's the pity (because, oh man, nothing is off limits).

Anyway, it's not so bad today. Peace.

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Tags: hugo weaving, maverick, star trek, white collar

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