Still a bit bullied about going out to see films, so I usually wait for dvd/cable releases, unless I do sneak off to the flicks, and then it's usually not something I want to admit to. You know, those films made by middle aged men for six year old boys, and that's always a bit creepy and sad, if you ask me, the whole little boy bait thing/men who've not aged past six. I mean, you never see female film executives/producers/directors, but if you did, they wouldn't be desperate to make that My Little Pony movie they've always dreamt of. Nope, it seems to be a peculiarly male obessession, this need to inflict their sandpit Tonka truck greased up action figure fantasies on the rest of us. Well, the greased up action figure part I can at least get on board with, if he's cute and has a cute friend. Yes, I am that shallow.
So, the play. I actually enjoyed it, and considering I'd had a horrid day and had to run (uphill) all the way from work to the theatre, with no stopping for tea on the way, that they won me over is a pretty big deal.
Twas The Seagull, yet another Russian play. I tell ya, but the end of this month, I'll be all Russian-ed out. Once I used to race around the world to see a performance. These days I can barely raise the enthuism to catch a bus (though I've walked to every performance so far).
Too much, too much, but who could resist the urge to see David Wenham or Judy Davis on stage? And it was a very good production, Oz-ed up to a near ridiculous degree, modernised, with current jokes thrown with nodding winks out to the audience, and a great deal of farce, especially Ms Davis as the extraordinarily self absorbed aging actress (if that's not a tautology) and Mr Wenham as the equally self absorbed writer.
I had no idea Ms Davis, who has terrified me since my school days, could be so damn funny. I was laughing out loud at the OTT near Shakespearian capers of this dysfunctional group of people, who, as always in these plays, are complete strangers to each other even though they've known them all their lives. It was rollicking right until the end when, being a Russian play in origin, it ended with a cheery gun in the mouth, as they all seem to do.
So yeah, I liked it, it had a lot to say about life and art, real and fake, and stuff. Sorry, I've not had a proper sleep in days so you're just going to get 'and stuff'. There were some highlights, for me, though, like the play at the beginning that took the piss out of 'edgy' theatre so much I though for surely the Belvoir was having a sledge at the STC, because it was so spot on re all the screaming and smashing plates. Smirk. Also, David Wenham, cracking me up to pieces by doing nothing more than walking across the stage or sitting in a chair. The man is a master.
So yeah, totally worth going to see. Also, tick, another LOTR cast member. Not that I'm counting, but there it is. They're thick on the ground this year (what, did they decide to keep their schedules open and close to home in case the phone rang?).
So, theatre, not tv, though I did the old microwave glop in a pot in front of a late repeat of Doctor Who on telly later, because I'd not eaten all day. It was the lodger ep, which wasn't one of my faves, but it does have some great and funny lines in it.
I did also have the MIA H50 finale ready to go but Morpheus called instead and I guess four hours passed out is better than nowt.
Today is Wednesday, alas, which is never a happy day for me, but at least Bully #1 is away. I'm still basking in the nice email I had yesterday (a nice email!). Usually when I'm told to organise a meeting, I do all the prep, booking, catering, av, materials, agenda, etc and then never get a word in as Bully #1 shouts, screams, waffles, ring bashes the table and, lately, kicks me under the table, but no, this time I got to manage the meeting as well and the thumbs up email was treasured, especially as they author used to work at the ABC, so it has a certain cachet for me.
As for what Bully #1 was kicking me black and blue about, well, let's just say I'll take any sort of punishment to try and stand up for my dead Daddy's work and my dead Daddy's legacy. Just call me Dean Winchester.
Oh, and before you say nepotism, can I tell you how many times I've been shifted about all over the place and back again before being arbitrarily assigned here this year? Freaked out? Just a little. This year, the battles are personal. Very personal. And bruising, apparently. Very bruising.
Meanwhile, I've decided that even if White Collar disappoints, I'll always have those summer mornings typing on the porch. That was fun, it really was. Happy times.
I do keep trying to finish the fic but Neal keeps finding new things to do and twitching the plot this way and that way, and the other day he even dropped a 'marry me' on Peter. Peter kind of splutters a would if he could, but of course Neal only hears the would, even though Peter is highly unlikely to pull the chain on his life for a pretty boy who can be so charming but lies constantly to his face. Oh dear. No good can come of this.
Why did Neal do it? Oh, Peter had just fished him out of another fine mess and was doing the whole stoic gladly my cross I'd bear thing and Neal suddenly gets it, that his 'friends' might scuttle into the shadows when the shit goes down but Peter never will. No one will ever protect him and put up with his crap like Peter does. In short, no one will ever love him like Peter does. And you know Neal, from idea to action in seconds, without really thinking it through.
So, just when I thought I could type 'fin' on the thing, it's off and romping again. I am seriously going to have to split it into parts, or I would if I didn't have to keep going back and adjusting for new directions (retcon, retcon, retcon).
Ah well, if the FBI doesn't work out for Neal, he can always go work for News: News 'hired criminals'
I gotta say, this is probably one of my most favourite news threads ever. It's got every thing you could want in a King Lear/Richard III/whatever type classical brouhaha: dynasties, corruption, the works. And just when I think it's all going to die down and never be spoken of again, it gets stirred up bigger and better. All that business about hacking the PM and the royals, isn't that, like off to the tower stuff? Is it too late to bring back the stocks? That I would like to see.
And all because a little butterfly called Hugh Grant flapped his wings. Yep, best news story EVER.
Back to The Eagle, and Donald Sutherland. Perfect casting, but it's odd to see my dead eyed psycho from all those b/w ITC shows I have now being all twinkly eyed and non threatening. Ditto Mr Sutherland in Pillars of Earth. And, considering just how many British productions Mr Sutherland has shown up in, sometimes I wonder if he doesn't count as a British actor. I mean, sure, he has American credits, too, but, who, the ITC years, and now all these movies/series. What is one to do?
It's a similiar curly question posed to those who must, on the record, try to classify who is an Australian artist. Born here? Early work? Primary career? Later work? Came here for his summer hols? Because we've got artists who come out here from Europe or America, then go back to Europe and/or America, then come back again, then go back again, and infinite combinations of the above. TripleJ had the same problem when trying to classify Australian albums (AC/DC? Crowded House?).
Off the record, I was snarkily told that 'if they pissed here, they're Australian'. I figure that's the new Admin rule for Brit Actors.
Which would make Donald Sutherland a British actor. And, to be fair, I could proabably find you a brace of born and bred Brit thesps with less British creds on their CV. Heh.
But that still doesn't solve the problem of my dear dead eyed psycho now being all benign and twinkly eyed, Daddio. I loved those old shows, and you always knew when Donald showed up he'd be on you with a knife before you could say don't drive that white Jag anywhere near a cliff.
Heh, that's what White Collar needs: a white jag taking a header into a quarry. Go ahead, make my day.
Yes, yes, yes, I need a new fandom, but all I can find are remakes of my childhood fandoms (The Eagle, Hawaii Five 0), and I'm just not quite ready to take that leap yet (though if I can get past my cherished memories of book and BBC serial, I've certainly bloody well done the leg work for The Eagle, oh yes indeedy).
Thursday: I could use a bloody hypocaust right about now. It's cold. Somewhere in Queensland got -6C. Queensland.
Flipping through Empire this morning, pre-scanning (and I'm sorry about all the ick on the scanning plate but it's a communal one and scratched to buggery and I try to fix 'em in photoshop but sometimes I can't so we'll just call it my little watermarks) and it made me think how theatre is a much kinder medium to women than film or television, and I'm not just talking about the lack of HD closeups. In theatre, you get to see their whole performance, and not just have the camera wedged down their tops or up their skirts, like you do on tv these days.
Just the other day, some Hollywood type, confirming my opinion of Hollywood types, only made one comment about an actress, and it wasn't about her performance, it was about her bra size. Here's hoping the Ernies have an international category this year. Harumph.
You know you've hit old and grumpy when you run into the Lady Gaga machine on the way home and you only response is 'oh for fuck's sake'. Once I would have been excited that a circus had rolled into town, but now I just wanted to stump from office to bus stop with as little fuss as possible. Sigh. This place has finally done it, I just don't care about anything any more except where my next cup of tea is coming from.
Not that I had much luck with getting a cuppa as it was squawks from the moment I stepped through the front door. Harumph. Redeemed greatly however by surprise dessert.
Sat down to Big Valley, another show that loves its femme fatales. This time the femme fatale of the week had set her mercenary sights at, oh, whatever the name of the character Peter plays is (Nick Barkley), all the while playing two other gentleman off each other. That's some time management skills, says I. That's a lot of balls in the air, quips the Peanut Gallery.
So she gets Nick (thank you, offsite Google brain) to shoot one guy, but forgets that Nick is rich and gets rich folks justice, which isn't even a warning, just the sheriff looking a bit piqued at having to do the paperwork. So miffed Nick heads off to shoot the other guy because he doesn't like being made a fool of, I guess, with some blah about this guy having been a gunslinger in the past so that makes it okay, I guess, to stomp onto his property and shoot him. Ah well. I was more concerned with the visible lack of VPL every time Peter shook his pert little derriere at the camera.
It's not Doc (Maverick), but sometimes a girl just has to take what she's given and like it.
Also, being a tv western, there was another magic 'you're quite possibly not actually watching it wrong' moments when Nick bails up the stage and asks the driver where the FFOTW went.
'Oh, some woman got off at the last stop,' the driver shrugs. 'She was was with a guy, taller than you, nice build, better looking than you, too.'
At which point we're all 0.0 and pleased that Wells Fargo were apparently an equal opportunity employer in the 19thC - grin. No wonder Nick was all angry and shooty, dissed and dumped by the chick and the stage driver. It just wasn't his day.
Oh, did I mention I won the Bonanza 60s tin lunchbox on ebay? It's so cheesy, lurid and cute, though the Peanut Gallery says he can't possibly take it into work, mumbling something about some Native American show coming up. Me, I don't see what the problem is because it sure looks those injuns have got the drop on the Cartwrights on the old lunchbox lid - grin. I wonder if that was intentional?
It's late in the run, though, because there's no Adam. Which only adds to the value, says Peanut Gallery, hugging the lunchbox to his chest. No Adam fans in this house.
Meanwhile, with the typing, I'm bemused at my attempts to match the characters on paper drink for drink with the ones on telly (as for the rest of the continuity, I cannae be arsed, it's all 'based on' now). My, but they put it away. They remind me of The Avengers, only they'd be more Patsy than Purdey if they really actually tried to stagger around to find clues after some of those drinking sessions. Neal drinks like a lonely spinster, I'm just saying. I'm not judging, I'm just bemused (how very Bridget Jones of him). On tv, nobody ever has hangovers or panda eyes.
Speaking of Patsy, you know, it's not a lot of degrees to get from Burn Notice to the New Avengers (Press Gang, Ab Fab, done). Scary.
Friday: I has gots me new glasses and so I'm wobbling about like Patsy in AbFab anyway, without any other help. I was desperate to try new frames but ended up getting the same sort of frames I always get: short, squat, square and darkish, just like me, I guess.
It's a constant misery, I thinks to myself as I wobble down Hunter Street, that one one side of the family I have square, blonde and wicked smart, on the other, tall, dark, thin and stupid. I coulda been tall, thin, blonde and wicked smart, but I got lumped with square, dark and stupid. And I've paid for it ever since, damn it. Add to that the wrong school, postcode, name, and oh, woe is me. I coulda been a contender. But no, just me, in stupid glasses, and people would still rather stand than sit next to me on the bus. Sigh.
I shouldn't care, but sometimes it gets through my crumbling defences. Sorry, been barked and snarled at all this week. At least when home at last, there was the remainder of yesterday's clove and cinamon cream to be stirred into hot chocolates (delish!) and the Fassbender on telly (Hex is on SciFi as of last night). It doesn't fix the day but it sure papers over the cracks.
I am happy with my wee beastie though. Any book mentioned that takes my interest I can have to read in minutes, and I have telly in my pocket. Pocket Bomer, at that, on tap, whenever I want. Heh. Dance, monkey boy, dance.
Better still, thanks, finally, to a drag and drop system instead of hair tearingly convoluted software, I can have all the music I want, for the first time in years and years. Of course, this means my wee beastie can never, ever be allowed to fall into the wrong hands now (Haircut 100? Really?).
It also makes for wrong thinking and doing, as I'm pretty sure the lads on White Collar would never be au fait with the works of The Clash (I Fought The Law), The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl (Fairytale of New York) or Billy Bragg and Kirsty MacColl (A New England). Not at all. And yet it creeps in. Ah well, if I was doing it proper I'd probably edit it out, but I ain't, so I don't. Besides, I like the scene where Neal, alone in the courtyard, wishes on space hardware.
It gets worse. Last night, during one of those awful stuck for actual hours and hours in traffic trips home and I couldn't play my music because of some doof doof doofhead behind me, but when we had a bus driver change (yes, my commute is so long we change drivers along the way) he was a blaring AM radio dude and I could hear Morten hitting those high notes in Take on Me, all the way down the back of the bus, to my great amusement.
So I was wondering how long White Collar was going to drag on for, and if they'd ever get up to the so bored now format breaking episodes (cf Supernatural S6), because Neal disappearing into the Take On Me video, that'd be cute.
Okay, did I mention I was trapped on a crowded bus for hours? It gets to you. I dare any one to go through that every day and not break.
Speaking of things nordic, on Monday while I was struggling with my not-broadband, I had it on this doc called the Art of the Heist or something. It was a dreadful doc, production wise, but interesting nevertheless as it described the FBI and Danish police working jointly on some art stolen Bond style from a Swedish museum, motorboats down canals and everything.
So my ears pricked because, first off all, that heist just screams Caffrey (flashy, overly complex and with actual showboating). Second, the FBI and the Danish police, working together. Danish beach houses! Burke, Fischer and La Cour in the same room! Sorry, back of a lorry - grin. Whee! The plot bunnies were rolling forth like Duracell bunnies at this point.
Then a retired FBI agent, the one who followed the gang back to Denmark for the sting/takedown, was talking about why he tracked down stolen art works, and how important it was to restore these items to the people and civilsation. I wish Peter could make the same sort of speech. It was certainly far more articulate than 'screw you'.
So yeah, it was fascinating, and full of things to think of, even if the doc was really, badly put together, the way these cheapies usually are. The FBI agent offered great insight into his role. And, Danish police cross over. Whee!
"Request for Assistance"
Oh dear, I think I have a new White Collar fic swirling in my head. Why White Collar? Because it's so full of holes I guess it just makes it easy for fic. Other shows that are nice and tight leave little room for what ifs. Other shows get it so right that I don't need anything more. But White Collar is a frustrating viewer experience for me, and so I have fun trying to 'fix' it.
And did I mention I now have actual real life precedent for getting Fischer and Burke and Caffrey and La Cour in the same room/truck? And didn't Neal say he was in Denmark once? Commiting crime? Heh heh heh. Throw in a couple of Hamlet references and I'm done. Oh, I could so totally be a White Collar hack, I really could.
Neal being grilled by Fischer? Not before time, I should think. Too bad Fischer never got to do that FBI course, so he'll be all moody, I guess. SOP, then - grin. No, wait, I think Fischer and Peter should have some sort of professional history, and it was Fischer who kept Peter in the loop re Neal's adventures in Denmark, and he's still got his sights set on the bastard re unsolved crimes. I can see Fischer and Burke leaning up against the lorry, bitching about their partners. Just for once Peter has a colleague he really trusts, admires and confides in, and Neal gets all pissy, and a pissy Neal is an acting out Neal...
Oh dear, I feel this idea rolling on like that boulder in Raiders... (but please do drop me a line re any ideas you might have).
Saturday: Way, way to happy to discover the Thunderbirds on telly, and proper stringy Thunderbirds at that. Oh, fabulous stuff.
Shouldn't have watched it after the Girl From, sorry, Covert Affairs, because now that just looks really silly by compatison - grin. Also found that missing episode of H50, it was on the pvr the whole time. I swear, if I had half a brain, I'd be dangerous.
Oh, the optician stuffed it, My theatre pair were meant to be bitchin' designer wear, my computer pair just cheapies. So here I am, typing to you in bed, with some Very Expensive Eyewear. Sigh. Why does this always happen to me (and no wonder I thought things were a bit wonky yesterday until I realised they'd fucked up)? Sigh.
Why is every song on my player a soundtrack to the fic? From Nancy Sinatra to Oasis to...well just is.
Oh, I suppose I should have been supporting the local industry last night and watching Crownies and not drooling over Fassy. I might have, but seeing as how Crownies is about young lawyers drinking, taking drugs, swearing and shagging, I really have seen it all before. It was called This Life. It pains me that it was a lifetime ago and the targeted demographic weren't even born then. Ouch.
This is me: squat, blind and old. Sigh. And forgetful. Nearly forgot that, too. Damn.
Memory lapses becoming the norm as Google steps in to fill the gaps
Google Maps mistake leads hordes to woman's property
Amazing maps show Twitter and Flickr activity around the world
News 'hired criminals'
The game has changed. The emperor has lost his clothes
The press's rotten values were embraced by the whole country
FBI Opens Investigation Into Murdoch's News Corp.
The great Murdoch conspiracy
It is in America that Rupert Murdoch faces ruin
Why a Parent's Empathy Is Vital for a Bullied Girl -- and Why It Often Goes Out the Window
Broments In Love
Could Shatnerpalooza be the highlight of Comic-Con 2011?
Stink follows Hollywood A-list as star system looks set to collapse
Joyless divisions: the end of New Order
Musical scores for silent firms unearthed in Birmingham
Triple J listeners show their age as hottest 100 albums list skips a beat
Bats care for books in libraries.
The Rosetta Stone
Questioning the Inca Paradox
The Van Gogh Job
Art Heist Four: The Swedish National Museum
More arrests over Swedish art theft
FBI Top Ten Art Crimes - Sweden’s National Museum Theft
Forensic Science for Antiques
The Art of Deception
'Lost Michelangelo' found at Campion Hall, Oxford
Rediscovered da Vinci piece set for London display
Looted church sculpture to return home
Sun to hit NY in magical Manhattanhenge
White Collar Season 3 Review: ‘The Dentist of Detroit’ Always gets his Melon
Exclusive: White Collar Captures Dylan Baker
Thiessen shines as wife in 'White Collar'
Joe Manganiello vs. Matt Bomer: Who'd You Rather?
White Collar Review: Neal Caffrey 2.0
Joe Manganiello Arrives On The ‘White Collar’ Set, Plus News On His ‘True Blood’ Character
'White Collar' High Five: 'Scott Free'
WHITE COLLAR “Scott Free” Review
White Collar's Tim DeKay: 'It's Game On, Neal'
Emmy Nominations 2011: Our Predictions
Episode 6, Scott Free - Preview Clip
Matt Bomer's upcoming film "In Time" featured in Entertainment Weekly.
Tonight on White Collar: 3.06 "Scott Free"