Take yesterday, for example. I had a hideous day at work, simply hideous, resulting in more misery than I could endure I was really in quite bad shape when I boarded the bus and there was the Peanut Gallery, with a completely spontaneous present for me, too, and not just any present but one that meant he'd been paying attention to my witterings. Mercy me. It was just a shiny Chinese Warrior xmas dec from the latest Art Gallery of NSW (AGNSW) show, but I'd been sighing over the one I'd bought from the British Museum (BM) who'd gone the way of the rest (rats 1, Xmas decs 0) and so he saw 'em for sale here (I think it's pretty much the BM show I saw but I've yet to get there myself to confirm) he bought me one.
So there I was, numb with misery and suddenly I has shiny thing. Wicked.
Then there was tea and best biscuits and Doctor Who, with the Peanut Gallery archly remarking they'd left enough room for me to tip in my usual slug of Glenfiddich. Yes, I've been self medicating this week, and very effectively, too, I might add (no screams, no buckets) but I promised to sober up by next week.
Just in time for the Glenfiddich pudding, cake and mince pies the Peanut Gallery has squirrelled away in the Xmas treats box, the PG noted even more archly. Ah well, yes, but I think trying to get through Xmas sober is where I go wrong. I was slugging away because it stops the endo stone cold dead far more effectively than any painkiller I've wasted my life bothering with and it makes everything, well, merry. The only really scary thing is how I can do so much more housework and better when buzzed. You've no idea, I've just about finished the spring cleaning, bar dusting the delicates and hanging the glass baubles on the tree, which I was worried about, though I dunno, I think I'm more of a klutz when sober, too.
Managed to get through all the to do list, including dusting, polishing, doing my hair, all before White Collar, last night.
Ah, White Collar, and the benefits of viewing Bomer through a merry and uncritical golden haze. I'm fairly sure they've been shaving slices off scenes here and there, like a fine prosciutto, and there seems to be less Mozzie, or, maybe I just don't care any more. It was just all, oooh, pretty, he's soooo pretty, and just drooling over any scenes Neal and Peter had together. I still snort at their idea of a corrupt politician and spin (amateurs) and snorted again when Diana revealed herself to be a diplomat's daughter (snorkle, trope!) but other than that and the silly hooker subplot and Neal sharing with someone other than Peter, again (I'd prefer it if it were Peter who heard these little slices of Neal, but oh well, and I suppose he was a bit miffed at Peter over trust issues), I enjoyed myself.
It is the shallowest show, but I'm really just there for the eye candy. It's harmless fluff, very much in the mould of what William Gaunt, bless, referred to as the "white jaguar" school of British television.
Oooh, speaking of which, I was home sick on Tues and guess what I saw in The Saint? A white jaguar chasing Simon down a steep and windy road. Dare I hope, oh yes, there she goes! Score!
And for those of you not in on the joke, there's footage of a white jag slamming into a quarry that I think was originally filmed for the Baron but turns up all over the place (Saint, Champions, Department S) that any time one sees someone get in a white jag and take off at speed, one if fairly sure of the outcome (but not always, dammit). It became a bit of a joke and is oft referred to in British pop culture, well, okay, the cult tv end thereof.
Tuesday night I was very unwell, but suffering in style as cable tv, no doubt alarmed at my threats to disconnect, served up, in a single night, mind, one after the other, for my televisual pleasure: a delightful Rupert Penry-Jones in Who Do You Think You Are, Rupes and Mr Armitage in an old Spooks (how many times can I see Rupes blown up in one night? Quite a few, as it happens), then an impossibly louche Fassy in an old Poirot and then a repeat of White Collar (#101). Oh my. Oh my indeed.
Like I said, a lot of pain and reward this week. Weird. But I don't mind, too much, at least I get my treats. A little bit of sugar, to help the medicine go down, so to speak.
I was also startled by an email about a fic I'd written ages ago lobbing into my inbox. I never, ever, ever get any feedback (good or bad), and to get it after such terrible swipes at work, well, it was nice. Too bad I never get to finish any fics these days. I was hoping to, over Xmas, but, ah well. I shall take this small carrot as an indication that I should continue my late night typing sessions (I started to give them away because I was tired and it seemed no one cared).
I might as well. I've got nothing else that I can do. Certainly not at work. Once again that extreme wizened old massive bitch of a temp has been given all my described duties so I've got sweet FA to do, but see how quick she'll report me if I start googling stuff for the belated Brit List or worse, start typing from ze notebook. So I have to sit here and stare at the (beige) wall for eight hours. It drives me to real and actual tears, and I don't think I can exprect a surprise present every day, more's the pity.
I'm sorry to moan about work, but I've got nothing else going on. The commute is horrid and takes six hours of my day, which means I have to spend all weekend failing miserably to catch up on housework and if I get anytime to myself it's from 11pm to 3am, the few hours I had left. I mean, even last night I was so unwell but still had to stagger from chore to chore until I collapsed in front of White Collar, my one treat, and that was it, no reading, writing or typing. Sigh.
Sorry, I was chipper but that evil hag was just badmouthing me loudly for a good hour and it's got me down, more than her doing my job (and badly). I feel so useless and unpopular and, well, I think the unbearable misery is welling up again and overwhelming the post Bomer viewing high which had sustained me until now. Sigh.
Fri: Hey there. I was gonna post this yesterday then I figured I might as well stick in Friday as well. Yes, I'm lazy. And man, am I tired this morning. Pushed the boat out too far last night, after all my very careful taking things steady. But it was fun.
I went to see Blondie and The Pretenders last night at the old Enmore. I wasn't going to 'cause the last time I saw The Pretenders they sucked, but way back in May I realised I was humming quite a few Blondie songs to myself so I thought why not? Even then, I still wasn't sure I'd go, but I'm so glad I did. Woork makes me so miserable, I need something that isn't.
Oh, it was fun. Sure, Ms Harry looks like she's escaped from a John Waters film these days but I like it, cause you know my motto is always 'what would John Waters do?', and it was all cheesy and silly and so much fun and everyone just bounced up and down and bellted out their faves along with the band it and was just big silly party fun. I was delighted. Happily, a lot of the songs I'd been humming popped up: Atomic (yes!), Heart of Glass, In The Flesh, Hanging by the Telephone, Tide is High. Happiness and joy. So much fun.
Then came The Pretenders. It wasn't as bouncy and I was wary, but in amongst the new stuff (and fair enough, it's just that they get no airplay anymore so they've no time to become faves) there were my old faves like Talk of the Town and Brass in Pocket and Don't Get Me Wrong and, especially, I Go To Sleep, which has been a go to song when writing of late (oh dear).
Such a great night, and such value for money. Impossibly, I managed to get a taxi easily (unlike apres Mr Weller, which was a whole night's adventure in of itself) and the driver was fun to talk to. We went past the totem pole in the park near Sydney Uni, which is so random and I just love it. He asked if I knew what it meant and I said I did, a bit, and explained, then, realising I was doing my Aspie explainy thing, cut myself off, mumbling that I'd dug folklore so much I'd gone on to start an anthropology degree that went nowhere. So he asked my what my favourite myth was. You know, in all my life, with all my books, posters and all the gods scattered through my garden, no one has ever, ever, ever asked me that. Stuck, I spluttered and could only come up with a few archetypes and characters, and then said the easiest answer would be just to hand him a copy of The Seven Faces of Dr Lao. We carried on and chatted and we were at my gate in no time at all. He thanked me for the conversation and I thanked him, as neither of us had enjoyed such a robust and wide ranging natter in ages.
I guess that's my main problem. I am lonely and starved for the company of people who don't loathe me (and vice versa).
Anyway, before the concert and due to the loathing part, I bunked off early (well, late, for me, technically, but those slug-a-beds always scowl) and ran away to Newtown which has magically become the cool and edgey place I always imagined it being in my youth but it was so sadly not. But now it is exactly the Newtown I've always wanted and it was wonderful, in a torment of Tantalus kinda way, wandering in and out of the shops without being able to buy anything. I found the perfect cafe and sat up the back, scratching out pages and pages of bad fan fic (if that's not a tautology) while they played Sinatra, Bassey, et al at me. I was in heaven. I also copped a blast of Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and the support act turned out to be responsible for that song I really love on triplej right now (no idea who or what, they never back announce) so I was having all my treats, and all the songs in the unofficial soundtrack for the truly awful fan fic (but hey, it keeps me happy and upright).
And now to work with rude and surely so called colleagues. I am so not going to the Xmas function.
Sunday too far away: I never did go to the office Xmas function. Not very mature of me I know but there you go.
I was walking back through the station when the MX distributor I say hello to asked me where I was going all dressed up and looking very swank and so i told her I wasn't going anywhere but going from, as I was supposed to be at the office function but several so-called colleagues had been so unspeakably rude and unkind to my face (telling me they didn't me there and that I was cheap and common and crass, just for starters) and I had become so distressed I'd just fled. Not terribly mature I know but it was another full on anxiety attack and it was either flee or stay and burst into tears, or, better yet, throw my drink in their faces. Retreat, I felt, was the better part of valour.
Courageous, she said, but we both know I'm going to cop it on Monday. Ah well.
at least at home we had chicken burgers (a special treat by Himself, who usually doesn't allow junk food) and Dr who on telly (the one with the clockwork robots, no less), danny Craig in Archangel and Callum in Shattered (such a daft show but I love it, they do it all so pofaced and nobody does crazy cakes like Callum) and I finally got the tree up.
Oh yes, the tree. Looking good this year, especially with the Reverend Walker II (The National Gallery of Scotland will be pleased I am no longer nagging them for a Rev Walker dec to replace my first one, got it now, thanks).
Ooops, broiling hot sun about to hit the unshaded veranda. I must retire indoors. Pity. Lovely summer day (at bloody last) but I dare not garden as the giant spiders (the size of monkeys, some of 'em) have given me the wiggins again.
Well, I would plant all those trees and ferns down the back where the creek used to run (and still does in flash floods), only with all the rain of late they've gone nuts. Proper jungle down paast the Hills hoist now. Yikes. I should not at all be surprised to run into dinosaurs, lost tribes and man eatiing plants down there as well as giant spiders.
Okay, indoors, with the Leverage ominbus on the telly. It's gonna be W all day today with Burn Notice, White Collar and The Glades on tonight. But first, I gotta do a month's worth of ironing (after a month's worth of washing yesterday, first sunny saturday in weeks). Yikes.
Pretenders and Blondie
London's secret historical treasures
Steve McQueen unseen: Private side of film legend revealed in wife's pictures
The Princess Bride...With Lightsabers
The Brit(ish) List
Actor, boxer and chiropractor Gus Mercurio dies, aged 82
Farewell to creator of ABC's Mr Squiggle
Doctor Who writer keeps his cool
Supernatural Wins TV Guide Cover Poll (Cover Photo Included!)
Supernatural Wins TV Guide Magazine's Fan Favorite Cover Poll
Top 10 Epic TV Bromances of 2010 (Morgan/Casey)
The Moth's Storytelling Event "A More Perfect Union" (December 6th)
"True Grit" Los Angeles Industry Screening - Reception (Olyphant)
Burn Notice Creator Teases Finale
Matt Passmore is no croc
First Look: Castle and Beckett's First Kiss
'Castle' alert: Beckett, Castle share first kiss
Fake Writer, Real Books? That's 'Castle'
Richard Castle gets credit as mystery writer
Leverage Star Goes Country
Sam Neill to Star in J.J. Abrams' Alcatraz Pilot
Rake, Thursday December 2
Happy couple collaring cliches
WHITE COLLAR 'Burke's Seven' Season 2 Episode 10 Photos
WHITE COLLAR 'Forging Bond' Season 2 Episode 11 Photos
Anne Rice suggests Matt Bomer for revived 'Vampire Chronicles' franchise
Matt Bomer gegen religiÃ¶se Intoleranz
This weekend: 'White Collar'
Mozzie is alive and well on White Collar returning in January 2011 (Video)
Downey Jr., Bomer for Lestat Reboot?
Mediocre picture of @Chris_Gorham Matt Bomer
A More Perfect Union: Stories of Prejudice & Power storytelling event (Dec 6th)
USA Network & The Moth's Storytelling Event Present "A More Perfect Union: Stories Of Prejudice & Power"
The 33rd Annual Kennedy Center Honors
AN EXTRAORDINARY MIX OF RENOWNED ARTISTS GATHER IN WASHINGTON, D.C., TO SALUTE THIS YEAR'S HONOREES AT 'THE 33RD ANNUAL KENNEDY CENTER HONORS', TO BE BROADCAST TUESDAY, DEC. 28 ON THE CBS TELEVISION NETWORK
TV's 100 Sexiest Men of 2010 (#5 Matthew Bomer, White Collar)
2.11 - "Forging Bond"
Kristen Chenoweth Hosts Storytelling Event to End Discrimation
Matt Bomer and Chris Gorham step out in New York City
Matt Bomer and Mary-Louise Parker pose pretty
Kristin Chenoweth & Matt Bomer: Library Storytime!
Matthew Morrison & Matt Bomer: Kennedy Center Honors!
Interviewed: White Collar's Tim DeKay
David Nutter (pilot director Traveler)
PHOTO FLASH: Matt Bomer, Kristin Chenoweth, Mos Def, Peter Gallagher, et al. at NYPL's A More Perfect Union
'White Collar' teaser on Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke's relationship
Matt Bomer is a GQ stunner!
USA Network & The Moth's Storytelling Event Present "A More Perfect Union: Stories Of Prejudice & Power"
‘Now’ Co-Star Matthew Bomer Wishes for Justin Timberlake’s Speedy Recovery