I realised, too late, that twice now this ill-starred top has caused me misfortune, okay, once just an unfortunate cancellation that I'd had my heart and soul set on, but the other a true Hollywood disaster film misadventure of misery. And yet, here I am, wearing it. So I will ascribe to it nearly missing the bus this morning as it arrived the same time as the garbage truck and went round, meaning to miss me and leave me stranded but pulled up with a sudden pang of guilt, perhaps, two blocks up the hill. As I ran, the button pinged off my cardy (and I'm going out tonight and also being called upon to curtsey to big bosses today). Fabulous.
I suppose I can swing past the haberdashery this arvo, if there's time, but as for the rest of the day, stuck with my odd number of buttons. Bugger.
Oh well, at least the bus stopped. Until I wore the embroidered top of evil, I was doing eeerily well on the buses this week, after weeks of uncalled for hardship. Three times now (three!) I've been running for the bus...and they've waited for me. In all my life, this has never, ever happened. Freaky. I mean, thanks, but vaguely creepy in a wtf kind of way, since I'm so used to the usual practice of them waiting till I draw up near the doors before they slam shut and shooting off, no doubt cackling over their shoulder. Have the drivers from the local depot been replaced by Auton duplicates who are, by necessity, less evil than those they replaced (because not even Autons are that crazy and wicked)? It's the only logical explanation.
I wasn't even going to wear it today. I had planned to wear my bright and silly maxi dress, but the weather report insisted that Summer was over and it was to be all wet and cold today. Nothing of the sort, of course, but there you go.
I am wearing one of my black skirt that is acting as a dust buster today, collecting every little bit of fluff as I pass by as I appear to be super statically charged today. Bound to happen, as, since I haven't been able to sleep for weeks, I gave up and scribbled last night instead. It always happens when I scribble, or think about what I want to scribble, and it's gone on long enough for me to call it an observed phenomenon. When I'm thinking ficcy thoughts I get all charged up, I zap myself on metal objects and my hair stands on end, making me look like a crazed, elderly Jewish academic (more and more these days, to my bemusement, especially when I wear the purple coat).
So there's that, too, but hey, at least there were some scribbles. Not good scribbles, but scribbles nonetheless. Not that I'll be watching White Collar tonight. One, I'm going out and two, they're turning off all the power on our street all day and everything had to be unplugged (including the fridge, oy) so there was no setting of the pvr. At least I already have it, but still. As trite as I find the plots, I still like watching the Matty. CF top of evil (second time it's come between me and Matty perving, too, though in a less intense and actual way this time). Ah well, at least I do have it, ahem, should the power be back on upon my return.
Meanwhile the Peanut Gallery found a picture of LBJ's Lincoln Continental outside the Art Gallery during his rather notorious visit here (as opposed to the time he nearly crashed in Queensland during WWII). This was the poor car that broke down, was splashed with paint, and inspired the famous outburst by Askin: "Ride over the bastards."
Still, the Peanut Gallery remarked, it wasn't the worst year the car had ever had.
Which got us pondering on ill-fortuned vehicles (hello, Supernatural). Apparently Franz Ferdinand (the dead guy, wot caused WWI, not the band) also had a particularly ill-stared vehicle (well, not really, but it's a jolly good tale).
Either that, or the Art Gallery of NSW is the building of doom and folly, as both LBJ and old Franz visited there (says so, in the guest book). Heh.
I know, it's all random and coincidence and poor monkey brains love seeing patterns, but I do love a good creepy story. Hello, Supernatural, can I have one now, please?
Here's hoping the current POTUS visit is sans paint, eggs or custard pies.
Thursday. Oh dear. That whole 'I think I'm coming down with a cold' thing I've been beta testing for the last couple of weeks I think has decided to go into full production mode. I mean, I know it's cold and wet, especially after Monday's stinking heat, but I'm especially shivery today, and not in a good way.
My fault entirely. I pushed the boat out so far it's just drifted away over the horizon. Went off to see Gross und Klein last night at the STC, even though I was tired, because I had my ticket and it was Cate in a tour de force, it truly was. The play? Well, it was German, for a start, and written in an age when narrative and structure were like so last century, so it was a collection of scenes, but they were good scenes. It sort of reminded me of Candide, with our heroine wandering fom pillar to post, meeting strangers, getting stranger, that sort of thing. Cate was really good. Mannered and out there, but the role required it, and even though it was a German play, it's always such a shock to hear her put on the strine, it was like watching Jane Turner at times, especially the dancing (especially, the dancing). It was mad, funny and shocking, and I know it sounds daft, but I really liked the sets. They were part of the show as pieces were moved on and off and round about and it was so much of an improvement of the one tatty chair on a dark stage school of production that seems to rule here I simply must applaud and encourage. Gimme some theatre with my theatre, dammit, you know?
Loved the tent though. Should get a theatre award.
It was the first preview, too, so it was probably a lot stagier than the review version will be, but I liked it. Long bloody night though, after a long bloody day. I dashed from the theatre out into the rain and saw a taxi going past the other way. He stopped, backed up, pulled over and waved. I had, apparently, hailed a cab just by giving it my SIGH look, he saw it and felt sorry for me. Clearly my SIGH look has been catching me taxis and buses all week. This is how rough this month has been on me - taxi drivers and bus drivers are taking pity.
Anyway, he was a great guy, Indian, former sys admin, now much happier driving taxis. We bitched and moaned about admin (first in, last out, did I not tell you not to touch that?) all the way home. Made me feel a little better and I actually slept when I fell into bed. Shame I only had a couple of hours in which to do so.
It was funny trying to reset all the clocks at midnight, though. I had to wait intil it was after midnight just so I could see that 00:00 was working and not not working. Oh, power outtage, you bastard. No White Collar waiting on the pvr for me. Grizzle.
Apparently it was the whole suburb, not just the street, as Himself, on his day off, heard the peal of the old, old school bell ring through the valley, as opposed to the prison style buzz they installed a few years ago (because the actual prison buzz wasn't enough, apparently). Extraordinarily Proustian, apparently.
At least I had tea. Popped into the old Mercantile on the way down (the best and cheapest place to get a feed as the cafes near the theatre are woeful, and Cate gave them another well deserved spray in the Herald the other day) and had myself a very fruity white wine and salmon fillet, for $15. It's getting uncomfortably upmarket though as they tear down the old houses and slap in condos instead. Soon I won't be allowed across the threshold, as with all the other pubs in Sydney. SIGH.
Still, I like it, I like the old dining room, as yet untouched by chi chi remodellers and still quaintly and solidly 1900s. With the window open (it was still quite warm last night), it was nice. Me, my wine, my book.
Oh, but I'm blooody knackered now and I've got an inbox full of stuff today. Would that today was one of those days they decided to cut and ignore me. I could use a day being not poked or talked to in the corner. Just this once.
Quietly though, there has been some nice stuff going on. One of the bullies has gone, which usually means nothing as bullies are like bits of Hydra (am I thinking of the right mythical beastie?), you know, cut off a head, get two more, that kind of thing. But for now, I'll take the gift. And speaking of gifts...hmmm, how to mention this without any identifying marks. Let's just say there was a project, I put a lot of effort into it, lots of bells and whistles, it wasn't perfect but I did my best, but the savage notes I had back, cc'd to everyone involved, while not responsible for me bursting into tears on Friday (that was the deletion of an important system file, for the third time that week, I was tired and stressed, okay?) it certainly didn't help. Well, this week small parcels of chocolate have been quietly arriving at my desk, all delivered by one of my very few true friends here. So I know my efforts were appreciated elsewhere, which is the sort of affirmation I do need at times (lots of stick, precious little in the way of carrots). I'm not sure about eating them, because they feel like blood chocolates, but it's the thought that very much counts.
So anyway, late day due to the whole coats on, coats off thing we've got going at the moment (that's an old army term I picked up from ex nasho ex pats of my father's generation, for the exact same sort of deal), so instead of getting home and having my tea at a decent hour I was running around doing and undoing until I just couldn't do or undo any more.
I did get to see Mr McAvoy on the Graham Norton show though, and what a disappointing turn that was, nothing at all like the Jamie Bell show last week that had me in fits. Oh, James was his usual fine form (I shall forever treasure that piece on, Fallon, was it, where he's talking about Band of Brothers and how the cast split down along those of the method school and the rest, who just lounged about smoking and drinking. 'I'm an actor, darling, I don't do tents', he said, in his best British luvie voice. *dies*
Alas, here they had the worst, most boorish and unfunny "comedian" who seems to have crashed landed from the 40s or 50s, he was so unfunny, and he just talked over the top of everyone and stamped on their stories so James just shut up and I was so annoyed, because wee Jimmy is so funny when he's allowed to be. Grumble. Oh well, at least the boy was looking mighty fine.
There was some recap of his lame X-Men power, where James mimes understanding that someone wants a cup of tea, but that was it. Sigh. I remember reading somewhere a review that echoed my sense of disappointment that it was not the story of a grand and heroic friendship and the tragic breaking thereof, as promised, but yet another collection of explosions, with the Erik/Charles thing squeezed in as an afterthought. What, studio too scared, too homophobic, too unwilling to risk making a grown up film where young passionate men clash on philsophical ideals? Nope, more babes, more bangs. Sigh.
I wonder if you could ever do that, have a superhero film as a kitchen sinker, where the boys argue in pubs, we see Erik drift and slip more and more into radicalism while Charles tries to hold the difficult centre path. Yes, there was some of that, but as B plot asides, mostly on the Blu-Ray as extras which I don't have and have never seen, so the film I wanted doesn't exist for me, except in my head.
Oh dear, not a new fandom, darling, surely not. Well, it's been a miracle I've resisted this long. No, I'm not lashing out on a blu-ray player, not, not, not. Probably not.
They missed a trick though, because it would have been a more timely film, exploring the circumstances, both external and internal of one man's increasing radicalism into terrorism. Or perhaps not. More bikinis! More babes! (It would be querulous to say but I feel I must, in that I can see they were trying to go for a Connery Bond thing but they missed the boat entirely and ended up deep in Roger Moore territory, or, at the very least, a latter Connery, like Diamonds Are Forever).
Okay, stopping now. Now I must wrestle with a wilfully disobedient piece of script. Wish me luck. I'll need luck, as I lack brains.
Someone recently remarked they were surprised I was in IT as I'm more interested in the arts. Aye, there's the rub. You have to be beyond exceptional to make a living in the arts, where you can be barely adequate and still pick up a paycheque in IT, and so it came down to simple maths and practicality rather than heart's desire. I had four dependents at the time. I gave up my dreams to put food on the table. Would that I could have made it a noble sacrifice, instead of letting it shrivel my soul every day since, but there you are. And so, even though I suck at it, struggle with it and in no way have any flair with it, I must plod through black and white code, and dream only of colours, sometimes, in my sleep.
Cate Blanchett shows versatility in Sydney Theatre Company's final 2011 production Gross Und Klein
Return of the TV Western
Audi And GQ Men Of The Year Dinner For Timothy Olyphant
'Chuck': Brotherhood of the traveling pants
10 thumbs down for our 10 days left.
'Murdoch Mysteries' staying alive
Channing Tatum Eyed for Steven Soderbergh's THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E.
The Wombles To Battle 'X Factor' For Christmas Number One
'Dr. Who' Movie On The Way
Hollywood: keep your hands off Doctor Who
Doctor Who: Will this film do the series justice?
New Doctor Who film: should the Doctor take to the big screen?
Q&A with the cast of 'Torchwood: Miracle Day'
Why sci-fi can be more powerful than reality-based dramas
The Muppets do Twilight in three new posters
Danger Mouse creator Mark Hall dies, aged 75
'Dr. Horrible' Sequel: Joss Whedon Updates On Second Neil Patrick Harris Film
Tournament of Muppets finale: Kermit vs. Gonzo
Culture Club to reunite in Sydney
Icehouse singer Iva Davies performs live acoustic set
Police Destroy 5,000 Books In Their Eviction Of #OccupyWallStreet
Police, Protesters in Zuccotti Park Standoff (updates re above)
Elderly woman blasted with pepper spray: How the photo happened
What Occupy Wall Street Has Taught Me
Study Shows Fox News Viewers Less Informed on Major News Stories
Sing-a-long-a sex education
James Bond magnetic buzz-saw watch sells for $198,000
Pirate booty turns up in East Bay storage unit
Dirt play leads to pay dirt for owner of $400,000 clock
The Lord Of The Rings (1944)
Barbican celebrates Avengers' 50th anniversary
Revealed: the worst passwords of 2011
Cleaning is not greening, and can leave you browned off
Women: natural born backstabbers?
GQ Man of the Year awards (Alex O'Loughlin, Nash Edgerton and GQ man of the year Joel Edgerton)
Gay vs. straight: What’s a sexy man?
'Burn Notice' Season 5 Exclusive: A Sneak Peek At Next Week's All-New 'Depth Perception'
TV Fanatic Staff Selection, Take 1: Harvey and Mike for Most Dynamic Duo!
Ryan Gosling fans protest over Bradley Cooper's sexiest man alive title
How Daniel met Zoe
'The Simpsons' and Neil Gaiman heist 'Twilight,' 'Hunger Games'
Neil Gaiman's Birthday Cake
ABOUT PERIODS (Bomer)
Matt Bomer as Prince Philip
White Collar New Episodes - This Is Neal Caffrey
21 November 2011
11 November 2011