mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

  • Mood:

Climb every mountain...

My Sports Night dvds finally arrived from, after bumming around Europe for about four months or so. Yup, dumb Yanks can't tell the difference between Oceania and Europe and their demonstrated complete lack of basic geography really worries me, considering their habit of invading countries lately. Most alarming.

Maybe we could start an educational campaign featuring Arnie and Steve Irwin pointing out the difference between the two nations.

So my parcel finally arrived, covered in more stamps than my passport, having travel to exotic places I'll probably never see in this lifetime. I'm green with envy. If only parcels could talk (or take photos). Then it could tell me how it sailed by clipper from New York to Southampton, avoiding icebergs along the way. Then it crossed the channel to board the Orient Express, pulling out of steam shrouded stations to chug through postcard scenery, only to be held up by the mystery of the vanishing old lady and the odd murder or two. Arriving in Istanbul (Not Constantinople) my intrepid little parcel dodged Bulgarian spies and escaped onto a train heading to Austria with a naughty Russian package. After valiantly fighting off SMERSH agents my parcel finally arrives in Austria, but is forced to flee the Nazis over the Alps. Alas my poor parcel fails and ends up in Berlin. In the dead of a moonless and misty night two men meet at opposite ends of a tiny bridge. One man walks slowly forward and lays down my parcel in the centre of the bridge before retreating, waiting for the other man to slowly, carefully step forward and collect my parcel. At last my parcel has escaped back into the West. Then I assume it rolls around Europe a bit more, sampling the coffee shops in Amsterdam perhaps, maybe taking in a show at the Moulin Rouge. Alas, it's the wrong time of year for Oktoberfest so my poor little parcel is loaded on a plane and finally shipped here.

I'm sure that's what happened, certainly it's the only logical explanation for where my parcel has been and what it's been up to all these months.

As well as Sports Night I'd also weakened and ordered the first volume of Kimba. Hey, I've wanted this since I was four but I thought I'd just buy one instead of the box set because I've learnt the hard way how childhood can colour some shows far more kindly than they really deserve. I'd also seen some version of Kimba that was just all the animals beating up on each other and that wasn't the Kimba I remembered. I remembered plot and pathos and comedy between the fights, and the animals being a lot nicer to each other. It must have been the dreadful new Kimba. This is the old, classic Kimba, and it was exactly how I remembered it, except in colour - grin. In fact I'm startled at how well I did remember it, I must have sucked in every scene as a tiny child, and it was so sad in parts, and violent, and surprisingly more adult in plot than most grownup shows these days. I really loved the trek through the desert scenes, the artwork was just stunning, especially for it's time. How very Samurai Jack of them, I thought - grin. You can cleary see the influences, no wonder I glommed onto the Jack the way I did. One thing I did miss as a child was how much of a pair of wise guys the naughty hyenas were. It made me giggle. Oh, I really loved that. Childhood nostalgia that turns out to be even better than I remembered it.

The really scary thing? Watching Kimba and the way the scenes jumped around and all the angst, well, if you ever want to see one of my heaviest influences, here it is. I never realised but it was soooo damn obvious. Stuck in my head is the entire series of Kimba, and I think it colours a lot of what I write, still, without realising it.

Speaking of my noggin, I decided to curl up and try and read some more Chandler last night as I'd bogged off early again, most wickedly (ie I'd only done a nine hour day). I was struggling over every sentence like those tortured illiterates at school until I finally took off my glasses, then I ripped through twelve chapters like butter, just like old times. Thank fuck, it's not me, it's my dodgy glasses. That's a huge relief. Now I've just got to save up and get new glasses with the proper perscription this time round. I'm so fucking relieved. I'm not a moron, my (now most definitely former) optometrist is. In the meantime I might try taking my coldfusion textbooks home and reading them sans glasses, too. Can only try this at home as I am as blind as a bat and I need to prop the book up close.

After that I watched Roswell, 24, Buffy (Tabula Rasa) and the treasured and beloved Kimba.

In 24 Palmer has been deposed by Evil Jim From Neighbours. Lookit, an Aussie in the White House. Heh. In fact there are so many Aussies, Canucks, etc on the show I'm suprised they don't stop filming to observe the Queen's Birthday - giggle. If they hire any more Australian actors it'll qualify as local content, if it doesn't already - grin.

Been discussing how weird it is that the few people I still enjoy I've known for yonks. It's not that I don't or can't make new friends, it's just, maybe a generational thing, or I just found it amusing that most of my new contacts of late are actually people I've once known or who have known me through my pages, for many a year. Two recent correspondents have both been over my sites many a time so when I emailed then I first received a polite generic response then - sorry, didn't realise it was you. :) After that, hilarity ensued. It's sort of like going to the same parties and meeting the same people.

That and yeah, these days I'd rather read a good book than hang with someone for the sake of hanging with someone :) Sad but true, but I read yesterday that solitude was the new black - grin. So in that, at least, I'm trendy.

Hmmm, some other friends of long standing aren't returning my emails now, either. Either their ISPs are also on the fritz or they're probably steamed because I've called just about everyone in their fandom of choice a pack of mean spirited joy sucking toxic harpies who'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes. What I meant to say was the people in that fandom who tore me apart like a pack of crazed bacchae I do not like, at all, but they might have decided to themselves that I implied guilt by association when I meant absolutely no such thing. I understand how one can't really control who joins lists and therefore the company one keeps. You can try blackballing certain bastards but they just keep joining under an army of sock puppets so you just give up. So no, I still love them muchly, I just really dislike the attitude of some of the people in that fandom. They need to repeat to themselves it's just a show and sit back and relax.

I mean, holy wars over readings of the sacred texts? Do we really have to? Can't we just ogle the pretty boys? Please?

Whatever. I'll be too busy in the next few weeks to care about anything much anyway and it some sick way I'm looking forward to it. Somethimes burying yourself in work is as good an escape as any, though the 36 hours of unpaid overtime I'm clocking up every month is a bit excessive. Still, much as I hate it here I'd rather be here than at home, most times. Be better if I was paid though, then I could pretend I was saving up for a holiday with greater conviction.

Hmmm. I think Invisible Bob, the masked html mangler who strikes at midnight has struck again. In other words somebody has messed up some pages and nobody's copping to the crime. Grrr. The prime suspect is Irish, so maybe they're using their evil leprechaun powers for mischief and devilment. Like I need this with everything having an arbitrary due date on 1 July, not because it's doable, but just because it looks good. Grrr.

The other day AP asked where those nice doughnuts we were given at The Show could be found. You see while queuing up for tickets as The Show back in April I saw a lad handing out free Krispy Kreme donuts and I raced over and grabbed some, not having had a KK since Boston '96 but remembering the experience fondly.

Well, durn it, now AP is addicted to the things, as if we weren't Americanised enough. Never mind, they're opening in Sydney. I see a trip to Penrith in the near future as AP has a worse sweet tooth than I do.

  • This holey addiction's a heartbreaker - thanks, America

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