I just wanted to finish it because Neal and Peter are aboout to kick off into a very savage fight. Neal has just accused Peter of only ever dropping by for two reasons, one being illegal search and seizure. Neal has struck the target and they're about to start slinging and flinging, but, well, it might as well be the old lunch time bell from high school, grumble. Back into your corners, boys. Round two, whenever.
It's really got nothing to do with the show any more. If nothing else, because I don't have insurance investigator Barbie in it because most of her scenes I've already written with Peter (and last year, at that) so why would I bother cluttering up the place with her? I am relieved to learn that Neal has a bathroom, a walk in wardrobe and can cook, because that was really going to crimp the fic otherwise.
That Neal can cook I just threw in from watching, or reading something else, maybe it was all the fussiness in Fleming, and most of the scenes are just something for the boys to do, other than the obvious, when they're hanging out. There were two scenes I couldn't loose though, the one with the smashing plates and the one where Neal really, really needs to impress someone important. Oh, and the first time Neal cooks for Peter, it's when their whole friends with benefits thing takes a turn for the serious.
Anyway, this is what I fret about when I don't want to fret about work, bills, where I went wrong in my life. That sort of thing.
Give me my tv opiate, and plenty of it. Besides, I ended up watching the W White Collar screenings twice on the weekend. Bomer just glows on screen. He just glows. I could watch him all day. Just about did. Yes, I had many, many other things to do but I'd been messed about so much on Saturday, with the interwebs being so stuffed it took me over eight hours to post a single email and after that I had no reserves for anything else. None. Not a shred.
So I watched White Collar, drooled over Bomer, tried to work out where they were (outside the FBI building? Hardly, they were so in the east fifties, look, there's the bus stop I used in my travels peeping into shot) and made sure my fic at least sat well within series one, which is when the first part is set (well, it was still series one when I started writing it). It was the stolen painting one, which has the cute scene where Bomer trips up the stairs (Tim looks back twice, bless), the lovely car domestic and the hotel room where Neal really does try to ruin poor Peter (always testing to see where Peter's boundaries are) and seriously, how smugly self righteous of Neal to return the artwork to the rightful owner. Neal will be over that by series three, mores the pity. If anything, our boy has back slid terribly. At least in series one it's just Kate making him do the wrong thing. In series three, it's all him. I really don't like series three Neal, not when you watch him side by side with series one Neal (puppyish with some promise of going straight).
The other one was the Chinese version of a big poker game one, and Neal really pisses off Peter here, and yet still finds the dead FBI agent upsetting (I doubt S3 Neal would give it a second thought, so hardened is his heart). Still there are the cute scenes with the boys in the warehouse, the scene where Peter is worrying about Neal in his own way (with Neal listening behind him), Peter being furious with Neal, Peter playing the dumb FBI agent, Jones quite disturbingly happy to sit down and listen to Neal's exploits over the wire.
Also caught up on Leverage, Burn Notice, Covert Affairs and Murdoch Mysteries. Burn Notice has PSTD Michael, which I get, but I'm still not happy with the hair, but at least I saw it, because Ten are Nate haters and that episode will never screen out here. Leverage was cute solely for the argument over the pros and cons of CGI Yoda. Clearly, George Lucas is the grinch who stole Christmas because this was pretty much a replay of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost in a previous interview. Not a crash hot episode but the Yoda bit cracked me up.
Suits. I watched the pilot of Suits, since a friend seems to be into it. I can see why the press dismissed it as White Collar redux, and since White Collar is a bit on the flimsy side you'd be expecting a series of diminishing returns but it wasn't that bad. A touch more adult than White Collar with hints of real world concerns (poverty is whispered, bad life choices have actual, until the fairytale moment, consequences). Of course, it's also two apparently self interested gentlemen also righting the sappiest of wrongs, or maybe it's just me, finding the harrassment case entirely lacking of any of the savageness of the similiar real world DJs case. It gave the show a rather childish Quantum Leapy feel as opposed to any grit it might have had. No, wait, this is the USA Network, what am I thinking?
So, vain glorious rule flaunting Harvey gets himself a mini me protoge. Cute? Possibly? Mirror licking narcissism? You betcha. Not exactly opposites attract. I hope the cases are good because as much as I've loved Gabriel in the past, he's kind of Gordon Gecko on crack creepy here, but maybe it was just me being far too grumpy and fed up to do anything on Sunday except catch up on tv.
Games of Thrones, though, I have no such complaints, except for having had the series immesurably ruined for me by ill considered spoilers (who knows how much I might have delighted in seeing Sean on telly again, had I not had my appreciation muted). Oh, I'm not keen on having my beloved Nikolaj play such a douche, but he does it so well, which is perhaps the disturbing part. And young Harry, screaming in a blonde fright wig, turning the panto evil up to eleven.
Okay, so everyone is screwing over every one else in this, figuratively and literally, but my, how I was completely sucked into this world for two hours. Peter Dinklage was brilliant, it was a delight to see Joseph Mawle in something again and I swear I love Iain Glen even more every time I see him in something. And then there was Sean. Older, so much older, but he was still Sean, and that voice, it was still Sean. And The smile. And, oh, happy Sharpe flashbacks.
I won't say I loved it to bits, because it seems a fairly nasty story (not read the books, never been one for doorstopping fantasy series) but my gosh, I was completely lost to it, the way I rarely am these days. I was completely into it, and I actually care about several of the characters, hence my unease (I mean, I know at least one beloved one is doomed).
Okay, so I can see what all the fuss is about. Very involving, if a bit silly in daylight. I think they oversell the proper grownup-ness of it. I've seen Doctor Who episodes that were scarier, with mercifully implied violence, with the same sort of heightened high stakes back stabbiness going on. Still, it's a nice salty yin to all those silly USA show yangs I've been watching.
Tuesday: So I decided to be unwanted and undeed on the couch at home, watching the end of Live and Let Die. Yes, I've seen it dozens of times before, but it's either amazing or really, really sad that I can still see things I've never noticed before, like Kananga having a life preserver next to the shark pool. Safety regs are important I guess. I'm sorry, it tickled me so much. There he is posturing over his evil shark pool, along with his evil monorail (and how come only Sydney, seattle and supervillains have monorails?) and there is the life preserver. Well, you can never be too careful. And, hanks to that poor unfortunate truck driver in NZ, myth plausible. Which I would have never have believed, to be honest, but there you go.
Why can't Burn Notice or The Glades do the stunt with the alligators (or, indeed, the boats). Don't go telling me Burn Notice is far too serious for that sort of malarky, because I just won't believe you. Me wants.
And Felix, stop making that put upon face, you should be used to being James Bond's manbitch by now. After all, it's actual canon that poor Felix is the first person James calls when he finds a dead hooker in his bed - grin.
Anyway, nothing like a spot of Roger and a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to turn that frown upside down. Merci beaucoup, Rog.
Hot on the heels of 007 were the Barkley boys (with bonus Yaphet, because you can never have too much Yaphet).
Oh, I tried not to get into this, but it has all my boys, and last night's episode was so stuffed full of tropes if it wasn't so early tv wise I'd think they were taking the piss. The Peanut Gallery reminds me that Maverick was being arch back in the black and white days, so perhaps they are being OTT for the sake of it.
It's the old prison camp run for profit/power with inmates swept up on trumped up charges, last seen in Leverage, I think, but here we are, Nick and Heath in caged heat with a sadistic I've read Moby Dick way too many times wanna be sea captain psycho warden in charge. Basically it was just a Heath whumping episode, with Nick angsting his little heart out. I swear, if they weren't half brothers, I'd have been raising my eyebrows well before the first ad break. Tried very hard to keep the eyebrows under control when Nick finally rescues Heath, and Nick's version of brotherly love seems to mainly consist of grinding Heath's face into his crotch, as in oh, pookie, are you okay grind grind oh baby grind grind. Lawks.
Tv westerns. Gotta love 'em. Especially the ones from the 60s when men were men and women were surplus to requirements. Heh. How much do I love Peter Breck now? As if the gift of Doc on Maverick wasn't enough.
Ah, I miss Maverick. I miss my boys. My second fave semi reg was Dandy Jim Buckley, played by the gorgeous Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. I swear, Dandy Jim Buckley was only out dandied when my beloved and lamented Gilroy of Burn Notice fame wafted onto screen. Swoon.
Btw, The Sting was based on Shady Deal at Sunny Acres, so anyone
Anyhoo, as if the Brothers Barkley wasn't enough fun for one night, Supernatural finally decided to own that whole western vibe they've been inhabiting to a ridiculous extent. Sadly, the only westerns the writers were familiar with was Back to the Future III but beggars can't be choosers. Jensen was nearly spraining something to do his best Eastwood. So cute, but boy, you are trying too hard. Go watch Clint in that episode of Maverick. Effortless, my dear. Just effortless.
So, this whole it's obvious even to strangers thing they've got going with Dean, where at least once an episode someone will refer to him as gay (and I just loved the dismissive judge in this episode), are they ever going to shit or get off the pot with that? Or just carry on with the nudge nudge wink wink. I don't mind either way, but, I tell ya, if the Winchester boys got up to half of what those Barkleys got up to...oh my.
Though I wouldn't be stunned if Dean really was. All that self loathing daddy issues stuff that roils under that too pretty skin of his. Oh yeah. That whole disappointing daddy thing, I don't think we've really gotten to the, ahem, bottom of that yet. I'm just saying, it wouldn't be a startling development, unlike other plotiness I've been enforced to endure in other shows (have they killed Neal's pointless and inexplicable GF yet? For the love of...can I not stuff her in the boot of a white jag with Jesse from Burn Notice and half a dozen other wastes of tv space and send them careening over a cliff, can I not?).
Anyway, sucky day at work, tv bliss.
PM update: watching Prof Brian on telly. Such a dear.
Meanwhile, it's effin' cold. It was a long chilly scribbling session in the park. Okay, not as cold as the time the ink in my pen froze that day at Highgate, which set the bar on cold scribbling in the park sessions. I can't remember whereabouts in the story I was then, but I'm sure I could find it if I flip through the notebook. It'll be the page where the writing slowly dies (and I would have little match girled after it if I'd not shifted myself).
That was the day that turned really miserable (by my soft southern standards anyway) and I ended up taking refuge in that horrid pub. I remember walking in and being confronted by brown every where I looked and I was thinking 'holy cow, this looks just like...' and the juke box starts up with 'It's a god-awful small affair...'. Spooky.
Anyway, it's effin' cold, so bugger typing tonight. Sorry, Neal, but duty and persistence have their limits.
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In the prime-time limelight
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