mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

  • Mood:

like crazy paving

Wed: Captain Awesome from the coffee shop had Kid Awesome serving with him today. They're from the Eastern suburbs, natch, but it doesn't disqualify one from looking, surely not. Never has 'under new management' been on happier terms. And they've really turned it around, too, actually serving very, very good coffee and having things in the glass case that actually tempt me on occasion. Okay, lots of occasions. If only 'look, but don't touch' applied to muffins as much as it applied to pretty boys, eh? It should, but my willpower only goes so far, man. Sublimate, sublimate, sublimate.

In the theatre of my imagination, the reason they shut up the shop early in the afternoons isn't because of the lack of passing business but because they have to go and fight crime. In tight fitting outfits. Okay, so my life is as dull as dishwater, so sue me.

Meanwhile I ended up perched on a seat next to a male self marinader on the bus this morning, and now I reek of cheap aftershave. I feel like I should have the hairy chest out with the gold medallions. I smell like a sleazy used car salesman. Not good. But that's not the worst of it. Some bastard sneezed on me on the way home and now I am awash with the dreaded lurgy. Whimper. Sneeze. Sniffle. Bastard.

Just perfect because I had a job interview lined up on Friday that I really wanted, and I was fretting about. For once I had all the quals but precious little experience, rather than the other way about, because I'd never used my quals, but as life seems to be not going according to Plan G or whatever this is, I thought I'd back up a bit and actually try Plan D, or whatever it was I actually did my second degree for. Ho hum. Things never go according to plan, do they?

Would that Plan A had worked out, but no (but I see someone has completely ripped off my ideas again, so it's not the brainbox that's the problem, just the packaging, as always. At fifteen I was told I was too ugly to write for radio, hence Plan G, or whatever it is now, and I've really got to stop workshopping my best stuff in classes, ack).

Anyway, oogy. Logged off the interwebs at 8pm last night and it felt worse than the 1am log off of last Tues. I didn't even stay up for Top Gear or the repeat of White Collar on W. Too miserable to ogle Bomer? Oh dearie me.

Speaking of White Collar, oh, they tease. The try so hard on the USA network to stamp out the slash, because they're just not that kind of network, mercy no, but then the boys carry on like this. Mixed messages much? Tease.

Meanwhile, I'm afraid I'm siding with Scott Evil re this spoiler pic. Bang, job done. When will these arch villains ever learn? You never tie up the hero, walk away and assume your nefarious death trap all goes to plan. And honestly, White Collar? Perils of Penelope much? Sheesh.

Mon: Dash it all, didn't get job at art gallery but they liked me and it was close. Best rejection call ever, very sweet about it, they were.

At least it was, so they said, a close run thing and they liked me and they encouraged me to keep looking elsewhere. It was a really nice let me down gently call. So you can well imagine just how gutted I am not to be working with such lovely people. It would have been a lot less pay, but it would have been somewhere I fitted, you know?

I do not fit here. Bring napalmed by a co-worker's perfume again, but I have finished up typing another notebook. Yay. This is like the longest unfinished fic ever (well, nobody else is in and the go nowhere projects I was given have all been taken off me after all the hard work I put into them, ie they're now might go somewhere projects. Sigh).

Friday was weird. started with a job interview at the art gallery, ended with Lloyd Cole remarking on my BO. It was hot, 'kay? Really, seriously hot and I made myself quite woobly running hither thither all over the city.

Well, first there was the hair dye explosion that had me frantically scrubbing every surface and myself, lest I walk into the job interview looking like a Fresian cow. You just can't imagine the frantic, or the scrubbing.

Then the bus trip took forever and a day so there was no time for anything but hoofing it straight to the big ol chairs outside the offices at the gallery (once were fancy and expensive). Not even time for a restorative cuppa. Anyway, it was a good interview, I think I did much better this time (and the phone call seemed to confirm my impression), but alas, etc, etc.

Still, I took the opportunity to wander through the Justin O'Brien exhibition. As is too often the case, exhibitions I go out of my way to see in great expectation end up a big bowl of meh, but exhibitions I just wander into just cause I was there can surprise and delight. I had read a review in one of the Sunday papers and I must say it hadn't put it on my must see list, but if I hadn't been apprised of the whole gay catholic with mummy issues thing prior to viewing I dare say I would have picked it up, what with some of the biblical fishing scenes, etc, looking, to these wicked eyes, as nothing so much as big gay beach parties.

Surprising, as I'm usually not one to enjoy the too bright, too acidy acryllic paints of the mid to late 20thC, I actually like his early works. Favourites, for me, were the one with butterflies and the mending fishing nets one. Gay as, but still kinda of sweet and naive, very sort of girly ken doll brightly coloured slashiness.

I think I was supposed to be admiring the use of colour and the deeply spiritual themes, but when I lok at some of the pics all I can think of is 'ooh, lets get our tops off beach party'. Possibly I've lived in Sydney too long - grin.

After a quick dash through the halls (hey, Fred!) it was a sweaty trot up the hill to the SLNSW to the bush and beach exhibition, and I loved it to bits. Now these are photographs. None of your artsy fartsy NY glitterati here, just reportage of ordinary folk doing extraordinary ordinary things in a past that looks so alien, nostalgic and yearned for, all at the same time. Those milk shops from the mid 60s were not so different from the ones of my childhood, and I ached to see them. I could smell them, the chips and vinegar, the hot tar and broken bottles under (bare) foot. Oh, those black and white days!

The captions were very dry and amusing, too, as he reflected on the passing of time, social tastes, etc. Oh, I must get the book. They were wonderful to see. These were the images of my country I grew up with (all before my time, but the images oft used in educational materials and the like). It really was a frontier, it really was.

By then, I really could have used a pitt stop, but I didn't (and I'm still paying for it) and it was off on a mad dash across town to see Exposed at the Sydney Uni art gallery (up the stairs, very arcane and tiny). Alas, mostly weird ugly scribbly chicks of the sort of mid 20thC local artist who has seen the masters but can only attempt to copy them in kindergarten crayon scribbles. Oh dear. There, were, however, on the far wall (and right next to the exit, should Neal Caffrey be so inclined), a couple of underwhelming Renoirs, Picassos, Matisses, etc. The sort of lesser scribble that Oz galleries can only afford and still rarely ever show. Harumph. Well, it was a lot of effort for so little impression. I did like the Cocteau one, though, just for its whimsy.

Then it was the trek into Newtown, past shops no longer as shiny as the last time I saw them, to a very indifferent (ie rubbish) curry house, that seemed to be oddly familiar (I swear I even saw someone I used to know dart in and out), and then a coffee shop where I'd hoped to spend the couple of hours I now had to kill writing but I'd eaten and drunk much too fast after all that running around on a very hot day and I'd made myself quite unwell and so I just sat and read King Solomon's Mines, which I loathe, but I thought I'd better read as it forms the basis of the lost world genre which I used to adore as a child. I'm afraid the casual racism, the hunting and the blokiness, while naturally of its time, make it rather revolting reading at times. Most of the time. Pretty much all the time, if I'm honest. Not the best thing to be stuck with when tired and unwell, a rubbish book full of bloood and death.

However things picked up once I got to the Enmore. Got myself a bottle of water, got myself a seat and waited for Mr Lloyd Cole to arrive on stage. Ah yes, age has wearied us all but he's another act I never got to see in my yoof and better late than never. Rather than delving into the back catalogue prior to the show, I instead resolved to be pleasantly surprised if he played any faves, and he did, even ones I'd not thought of for ages, as well as new stuff which I didn't mind at all. It was worth it though, just to hear the crowd, a very laid back crowd of aging fans at that, croon along to Rattlesnakes:

she looks like eve marie saint in on the waterfront
as she reads simone de beauvoir in her american circumstance
her heart, heart's like crazy paving
upside down and back to front
she says ooh, it's so hard to love
when love was your great disappointment

What fun! Me, I was just happy to hear Perfect Skin, which I've been humming a lot over the last year or so (for some reason - grin). Oh, it was a good night. Not blow me back in my chair brilliant, but pleasant, sweet, gentle, warm, familiar, and Mr Cole has a very nice line in dry wit as he tuned his guitar between songs.

Afterwards, I even queued up to get my cds signed, whereupon he asked if it was hot in the audience. Why ever do you ask? Could it be because the woman sitting next to me held her nose the whole time. Not my fault, I'd been running around in the heat all day. Ah well. I finally, finally, finally get to meet one of my heroes and he remarks upon my sweatiness. Perversely, I've had worse.

Sat? The sincerity of my intention to sit out on the back porch working on the wee pc while managing the washing can be measured by the heaviness of the first rain falls since Xmas. Harumph.

So, cleaning? Dvds? Nope, nana nap. Oh well, at least I got this far before I couldn't hack late nights any more, eh?

Steven Moffat:
Been stuck on a scene ALL DAY. Solution: a monster attacks. After seven years writing this show, you'd think I'd crack that a bit quicker.

Sunday? Belated interwebs inbox catching up on, and then a small selection of video entertainments in lieu of me actually doing anything, including Hawaii Five-0 redux (I don't mind it but Himself is quite the fan, comparing it to Unit One, mercies, in one episode, though he was right, plotwise), the latest Chuck (one series where their fill in episodes are actually quite a hoot) and an episode of The Good Guys, my favourite cop show du jour. A pox on you, Fox, for canning my most beloved show. I heart it, hardcore.

And it's odd, I'm not sure if Mr Nix had just seen a box set of LOM UK, or not, but, by crikey, it seems to owe a lot to the Sweeney, far more than say S&H, and Dan, at times, seems very close to Mr Waterman in New Tricks, but maybe all old coppers look the same, but I dunno. Sometimes it really made me wonder, amidst my great amusement. It'd be cute if it was an American cop show influenced by UK cop shows, influenced by US cop shows. With that amount of feedback, no wonder only I could get the joke. Ah, well, at least I have twenty episodes of pure pleasure to treasure, and I'm only up to #6.

Rest of Sunday night, that wasn't spent doing other things? Doctor Who (the one with Amy, the Angels and River, even better second time around), Chuck (the return of Armand Assante as the cheesy dictator. All very silly and man, did they dig the old 70s console out of props? Spot on), Burn Notice (vale, Gilroy, you minx, and it was drinks all round as another navy buddy of Sam's turned up, it is soooo Mannix I can't even begin), The Glades (very meh episode, not even Passmore could save this one) and White Collar, which I adored. It was the silly jade elephant one but we do get to see the boys doing the whole Oscar/Felix thang, and what's not to love, especially since I'm not sure whether we're supposed to think Peter really is that boorish, and he just took advantage of sending an oh so precious Neal fleeing to have a stickybeak or if that was the plan from the get go. I'm gonna go with the latter because I like my Peter devious, thank you. That said, huge, huge breach of trust and no wonder Neal kicked him out. And after Neal was so damn keen for the sleep over, too, aww. And where, exactly, was Peter sleeping? Surely not The Good Couch? Oh, leave it to my imagination, whydoncha.

Even the fight is fun to watch, this time around, because it is such a domestic, and the way Peter kind of hitches when he has to explain Neal deciding to walk home later, heh. Yes, I annoyed my BFF so much he decided to stalk home in a snit than cadge a lift. Oh, boys.

That's pretty much it. And now I'm stuck here. I don't get to move to a new job, where the people are nice. Sigh.

Justin O'Brien the sacred music of colour

Beach, Bush & Battlers: photographs by Jeff Carter

Exposed: Art & the Naked Body

Art Project

Neil Gaiman – Harlequin Valentine (23:52)

Strange celebrity adverts abroad

Sign Language: week 138

Nobody puts the '80s in a corner

'Burn Notice' prequel gets release date

Chuck's Joshua Gomez Spies 'Awesome' Twist

Exclusive First Look: Nathan Fillion Lights It Up as Green Lantern

Timothy Olyphant pulls menace, charm out of hat

Timothy Olyphant of 'Justified' puts on a producer's hat

Olyphant: Leonard says hat not 'Justified'

'Justified' aim is true as Season 2 kicks off

5 Reasons You Should Watch Season 2 of Justified

Matt Bomer in DirecTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl


DIRECTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl - Arrivals

DIRECTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl - Game

DIRECTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl - Inside

DIRECTV Mark Cuban HDNET Exclusive Super Bowl Party With Performance By Usher - Red Carpet

DIRECTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl - Red Carpet

DIRECTV's Fifth Annual Celebrity Beach Bowl - Arrivals

DIRECTV Mark Cuban HDNET Exclusive Super Bowl Party With Performance By Usher

Captain Morgan In Dallas For The Super Bowl

Scene #1 from White Collar - "Countermeasures" 2/8

Exclusive: White Collar Promotes Hilarie Burton to Series Regular

"Under the Radar" Episode 2x16


Scene #3 from White Collar - "Countermeasures" 2/8

Celebrity Beach Bowl pics: Chord Overstreet, Matthew Bomer, Marisa Miller and more,0,3166612.photogallery?index=3

White Collar's Matthew Bomer Hits Jimmy Kimmel Ahead of Super Bowl Weekend

'White Collar' 2.13 'Countermeasures' Recap And Review

WHITE COLLAR “Payback” Season 2 Episode 14 Photos

WHITE COLLAR “Under the Radar” Season 2 Episode 16 Photos

White Collar on USA Network - "Payback" 2/22

White Collar Photo Shoot 2011! Matt Bomer and Tim DeKay for TV Guide Magazine!

White Collar Season 2 Episode 13 Review – Cool Guest-Stars and Pure Fun

Interview: 'White Collar's' Tiffani Thiessen is no Trophy Wife

White Collar - An Interview With Tiffani Thiessen

Episode Stills > 2.15 - "Power Play"

Exclusive Video: Behind the Scenes with White Collar

White Collar Promotes Hilarie Burton to Series Regular

'White Collar' 2.13 'Countermeasures' Recap And Review


Stars Get Their Game On in a Celebrity Beach Bowl!

Is Matthew Bomer Wearing a Wedding Ring?

WHITE COLLAR “Payback” Season 2 Episode 14 Photos

WHITE COLLAR 2.13 'Countermeasures'

White Collar 2.13 "Countermeasures" Review

'All My Children'

White Collar's Matt Bomer: Fantasy Valentine!

White Collar Season 2 Episode 13 Review – Cool Guest-Stars and Pure Fun

Tags: chuck, doctor who, hawaii five-0, white collar

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