mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

shut up, freeze and cover me

"With Hot Fuzz, there was definitely a homoerotic subtext... what that film is about is the romance between Danny and Nick." Simon Pegg, The Slate

Okay, so I'm not watching Hot Fuzz wrong. Good to know. And I heart Simon Pegg, for his decision, admitted in the article, to remove a tacked on GF for Angel because he knew the film was really about the two boys. If only others in the industry could be so, decisive, shall we say. Be loud and proud with your tv buddy cop shows.

Sigh. Never gonna happen.

Anyhoo, I'm trying to cheer myself up by muching on Kid Awesome's muffin. Not a euphenism. No, really not.

Okay, so yesterday I couldn't get myself a cup of tea. Tried to make a pot of tea but forgot to put the teabag in the pot. When I finally overcame this hurdle, the milk was off so I had to tip my cuppa down the sink anyway.

So this dark morning (glorious now, pitch black when I was abroad) I saw Kid Awesome fetching his muffins from the oven and thought, yep, I'll have me one of those. It was chocolate, berry and orange and it was, indeed, awesome. Very naughty but I was trying to cheeer myself up, and they make great coffee (I figured I'd outsource since I'm currently too stupid to manage tea right now) and I'm usually too early for muffins as the Kid has said he can't do early mornings because he needs his beauty sleep, which is ridiculous as he is pretty enough for forty normal people, but there it is. So, unexpected muffins, why not?

And yes, one shouldn't muffin to cheer up, but I tried. I seem to be exceptionly grumpy this week. It's like my fixed grin cracked and suddenly soggy pasta and dirty dishes in a dirty sink were all too claustrophobic and my stiff upper lip just snapped. So, spending my Saturday scrubbing down the kitchen, I guess, like I should have done on Wednesday instead of trying, and failing, for hours and hours and hours, to post an entry on LJ.

Pity because I wanted to go out snapping for a photo comp but needs must. Sad too because I didn't get any typing done, even though I'd set aside an hour or two for such an activity late last night. I just got out my wee laptop, but after Wed I just knew if it played up I had no reserves of patience left, not a drop, so I pushed it away again. And then had fretful tossing fever dreams about walking about with my wee pink laptop trying to find somewhere quiet to type, but always ending up in mall foodcourts, rickety buses or the opera house concert hall. Weird, but clearly speaking of my self defeating frustrations, I think (looking for quiet in all the wrong places).

Hence the grumpy. It's either that or all these nosebleeds mean those antihistamines are really getting to me now. They always make me so cross and miserable. Sorry, crosser and more miserable.

From the headspinning newsdesk:
"even the NME leapt to the Wombles' defence" - The Age

Yes, that's right, the NME, that bastion of mean spirited bleeding edge when I was growing up, leaping to the defence of The Wombles. This tickles me greatly.

And damn if I really, really wouldn't want to be there. Summer, Glastonbury and Great Uncle Bulgaria. Oh yes, please.

And then there was this headline: Simon Pegg memoir reveals his fan boy side.

Well, young Simon certainly kept that secret under his hat, didn't he. A fanboy, eh? I would have never have guessed (she says, sarcsatically). Great outings of our time.

And, finally:
"God, I hate interviews with actors poncing on. Who wants to know about their lives? I don't want to know about Al Pacino's life. I just want to watch Dog Day Afternoon and think he's gay." Jason Isaacs, The Guardian

As for me, well, it was the worst of times, and then the even worse times.

Saturday, twixt loads of washing, I decided to walk around the local environs as the HHT was having a shoot your suburb photographic comp. Trying to make my virulent wasteland look exotic or interesting was a big ask, but I had no idea how dangerous it would be. People scuttled away like beetles down the shops, being all gangstas, and even when I perched atop the hill to take the view, several cars did sudden u-turns and I realised then I was in real danger of being shot, and then I was buzzed by the (hugely ineffectual waste of space) cops, twice. So much for that.

So, I'll just pick one and upload it anyway, right? Wrong. McAfee lets a virus through to the keeper (and I was just reading my mail and never even clicked on nuffin but I was on the wrong account, I admit) and so my laptop is cactus. Complete cactus. No net, no typing, no nothing. Worse, McAfee just charged me $150 to email them and never get a reply. I am furious. Nothing to be done but try and take everything off and then nuke the beast back to factory specs, if I can (Dell won't help me with that, either).

I cried and cried and cried, so bad the Peanut Gallery brought me back a stuffed monkey from the markets, which is what you're supposed to give traumatised primates. Did not help that I had to walk, watching my back, up through the once vacant lot where I was repeatedly raped by a local pack when I was five. They're buildng McMansions there now. Yay?

So not happy. Bullied terribly at work as always and still firewalled from everything so I can't even do my job and I borrowed the Peanut Gallery's PC (it's still mine, technically, as I still pay for the net account as well as having paid for it) to check mail (very, very carefully) and I still can't post to LJ.

I think I need a holiday. Either that or a little less self inflicted crap in my life.

At least I did get an astounding amount of housework done while I was upset (and Himself was out at a gallery, but he did bring home the toy monkey and chocolate and made me chai tea) since I was sans distractions and online obligations and I even had time to sit down for some Good Guys.

I love The Good Guys. They saved the day when I was really, really upset a year and a week ago, and they saved the day this weekend, too. I found the disk and the dvd player still played (by this stage I was extraordinarily paranoid re things with buttons) and I pressed play and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

It's like an American tv cop show made by someone who's seen Hot Fuzz and Life on Mars so it's sort of a hyper American TV Cop Show, and I love it to bits. It is everything I could want, the whole buddy cop show thing (young by the book cop vs boozy old cop), car chases, cardboard boxes, all the tropes. And who else could play Dan's old partner but Gary Cole. Even the casting is perfect. Extra special hurf durfs with the boys on the trail of scum so evil he kicks over kid's bikes, going by the name of one Jeffrey Eastin. Hurf durf indeed (take that!).

Oh, three hours of cold winter evening happiness. We even ended up watching a fourth episode instead of Chuck (but we'd already seen Chuck, but still, golly).

Also: bits of Downton (we watched the repeats), Hawaii Five-0 (not fun this week, which is a shame because it usually brings on the cardboard boxes, as proper tv cop shows should) and that's pretty much it, as I was busy weeping into cushions. As one does when one proves to be a failure at life. Sigh.

Friday: Oh, what a week. I actually slept last night, no doubt relieved to have staggered through my various obligations and engagements without doing too much damage.

Monday I was off to the theatre to see the STC's White Guard, but first I thought I should eat something so, walking past all the posh eateries, I make it to the charming and old school Mercantile, glorious in its art noveau patterned windows and tiles, and pretty much all original fittings, which ads to its slightly run down charms, but at least I don't feel too scuzzy to trip across the threshold. The staff are friendly (mostly) and I got myself a pepper steak with salad and chips for $12. Okay, yes, the steak was a bit gristley, but I've paid three times as much for six times worse, and I figured I needed a fortifying beer and a steak after the weekend I'd had.

The play? Well, even Shakespeare knew the value of comedy Russians and here we had a lot of very silly and earnest Russians scampering about. For some reason, my first proper workplace was flithy with White Russians, via Harbin, so I sort of knew some of the story beforehand, which was good because it was bloody confusing otherwise, one of those really need a scorecard jobs to keep track of all the warring factions. Which was the main fault I found with it. The society matrons called it silly and left at halftime, but there was a good play in there, they just needed to loose the middle bits with the Green Guard and the Black Guard and just stick to the central narrative thread and the central characters. Otherwise it was just too many people shooting and shouting at each other in great confusion, which was no doubt realistic but it might have helped to distill down events for dramaic purposes.
That said, I did get to see Miranda Otto being a perfect pre-raphaelite looking figure again on stage (I seem to be ticking off the LOTR cast, with no great design to do so, but there you go), and some of the other dudes were good (my fave was the guy playing the hotheaded Viktor) and I enjoyed it, and I didn't mind the Australianess of it. There's always been a bit of a character match between drunk Aussies and drunk Russians, so it wasn't foreign in that regard. What was foreign was young men willing to die for ideals - not really a middle class experience these days. Kind of empty and sad, too, as it was all for nowt, but such is the way of things, and so it goes on.

Tuesday I spent rebooting, restoring and rebuilding my pc. I did it, all by myself, but man, I had to have cuppa and a lie down afterwards. Special thanks to Morse and Lewis, Sam and Michael and even MacGyver, who all kept me company on telly while I battled for the life and soul of my sick little pootie. I'm usually so careful. I can only assume it came from an ad on the LA Times page because that's what I was looking at when it all went pearshaped. Bad LA Times, bad.

Wednesday and it was off to the art gallery to the pre-raphaelite exhibition, which I got comped into (free Rossettis!). Alas, as always, only 1/3 of the original showing in Birmingham, if that, but it was lovely and had some very nice pieces, and pieces I'd never seen before, like the studies for Chaucer at the court of Edward III which included the chicken on the head of the jester. I have walked past this painting so many, many times, how have I never seen the chicken (aside from the fact FMB chickened out, as it were, and gave the chicken hat to the blue jester, not the yellow one as per the studies)?

Anyway, there were my boys. Ruskin, allegedly horrified by maps of Tasmania and yet producing disturbingly gynaecological drawings of plants. Weirdo. There were Millais, Hunt and Rossetti, who is so, so much better on paper than on canvas. I just love his drawings to bits, though we chuckled at The wedding of St. George where Mrs St George is looking suitably unimpressed and despairing at the dragon's head, which doesn't go with anything in the loungeroom, clashes with the curtains, and is wondering where on earth she's going to put it.

Best of all, there was my 19thC boyfriend, William Morris, with his wildly patterned wallpapers, including a study for what looked very like the wallpaper I have on my wee beastie at the moment.

I also liked Burne-Jones's Theseus and the Minotaur in the Labyrinth, which looks like it should have Hanna-Barbera sneaky music attached to it. Later, said the Peanut Gallery, they would chase each other impossibly up and down corridors ala Scooby Doo. This is what happens when one doesn't have a classical education.

Then there was a walking talk through the exhibition by the softly spoken curator, flown in from Britain, no less (possibly also in a crate in the cargo hold, who can say) and that was very educational, as, lacking that old classical education, I was missing all the usual biblical themes and cues I was supposed to be immediately understanding. Alas, I suddenly came over all queer halfway through and had to sit down and was offered glasses of water and fanned, most embaressing, but I recovered enough to see out the end of the talk, albeit leaning on a cabinet, and later asked him what he thought of the tv series and he threw his hands up in horror, as expected, but I did manage to introduce him professionally to the PG (and the bristling folder of notes tucked under his arm), which was a tidy bit of networking, I thought.

Dinner was at my old favourite Selah's, which did happen to be on the way, sort of, to the nearest transport hub. Still as lovely as ever (small but delightful of staff and tasty of food, and they still had the scallops on the menu. Didn't order them but was gladdened to see them there). I had a confit of duck with a parsnip puree and winter vegetables. The first time I've ever tidied up parsnips, I can tell you. Himself had the fish and chips and seemed satisfied (hard to tell, as always, but the plate was polished off).

Thursday and it was afternoon tea at the tea room at the QVB with friends visiting (late of Sydney, now of Tasmania). I'd planned so many things but when they said they just wanted tea somewhere I was glad to just sit down, oh, I am getting old. So I pulled out all the stops and picked the tea room, hoping that even though I was sure to say or do the wrong thing the cakes would carry the day, and they did. It was most elegant (though the waiters at the Empress wore gloves) but I'd been dying for a high tea for ages and never thought I'd ever get in, but it looks like the ladies who lunch have all had to find jobs (like the evil temp who torments me so) so waved in we were, even if we did look vaguely disreputable, as it was three quarters empty.

The settings were solid silver and Royal Albert Country Roses (so Goggle told me) and the cakes were divine and the sandwiches squabbled over (fortunately another tray of sandwiches came round, and peace was restored). We chatted, we caught up, it was nice. I miss having tea with friends. It was nice. Lovely, fancy, and nice.

Later, I popped around to T2 and picked up more lumpy chai tea (well, another week like this and I'll be scraping at the far corners of the tin in desperation).

Home to left over homemade curry (so it was really, really good) and Time Team on the telly (also, later, a spot of White Collar, because Matt is so pretty).

It's been a week. Hectic, brilliant in parts, dreadful in others, but I've just about made it through. Phew. I need another cup of tea.

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Tags: bonekickers, hot fuzz, roger moore, white collar

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