mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,


I shall tell you about the philosophy class I went to on Saturday. They're held every so often and I usually don't disciuss them as they're a bit of private fun for me but as I had to give up my ticket event due to extreme ooginess, philosophy it is. I love these classes. I really do. I love the tutor, who has something of a cult following, but he's reallt good, and I love the way we discuss the text before having to read it, which is so much easier than the other way around. I love that,because these are only like community college courses, we only have to read selected extracts and not whole books, because, personally, I don't have the time (would that I could) so while I only get a surface view of the issues, at least I've been made aware of their existence.

I love the use of film to illustrate points, because it really helps clarify obscure ideas, and it also flips films I've seen before and makes me look at them in entirely new and thoughtful ways. There's a reason why I chose these instead of any writing courses. I couldn't do both (the tyranny of time and money) but I think these help more, they remind me of or introduce me to grand themes and concepts that run through so many media forms these days (films, books, comics, tv, etc).

I also love the films he picks, introducing me to films I've never seen before, but should have, especially the older films, which I often only recognise through later shameless ripoffs and homages. It's certainly made my Amazon purchases and recommends list more able to be seen in public - grin (yes, I buy the dvds, still no broadband, sigh).

I also enjoy meeting smart people and having conversations that don't involve the latest cricket scores (kill me now). I am so lonely and starved of good conversation that these courses are like a feast or fix for me. I feel like I've taken my poor, shrunken brain out for a run, even if it does return panting like my old dog.

So that was the highlight, even though I wasn't at all well, and the rest of the week, with long, hard days, long, hard nights, and long, hard Sundays, were, well, long and hard. Yesterday was such a nightmare/farce of compounding fuckery that by the time I'd staggered home, in the dark, after over three hours on a criminally crowded bus, I was so fed up I couldn't give two hoots that Cas was back on Supernatural. I was really just watching it with a frown and pinching myself hard to try and stay awake, even though I'd just come through the door.

More fun was the last episode of Danger 5. Oh, silly, silly, silly. And yet I love it so. To think that I used to watch stuff like this without irony when I was little. No wonder my poor old brain is scrambled. Heh. But I love Danger 5. So very, very much. Let's just say they went very Japanese in the last episode and leave it at that. You'll see what I mean.

Speaking of Herr H, I really need to change my viewing habits because I saw the same clip of H. within an hour of each other on Sunday, catching up on a week's worth of viewing while playing Victorian invalid, and he popped up in a surprisingly good episode of Grimm (well, I suppose it had to happen with all the German mythology at the root of the show and I admire their restraint to make it this far, although it's hard not to go to the Danger 5 place, it really, really is) and there he was again in Stephen Fry's doco on language, illustrating hate speech, natch. Hate speech aside, the bit with my beloved Brian Blessed not only swearing up a blue storm but lambasting various actors as wooden as he went, including calling Patrick Stewart a fire hazard - squeal!

You can imagine that from now on a great many actors will be labelled fire hazards, using Bian's deep intonations, just for effect. Tee hee.


It's been so long since I've had a chance to type, and even now it's a very stolen moment, so I will quickly recap last week, which pretty much starts with the Scottish play on Thursday, though there were diversions to the branch office and many, many meetings. So, off to the Opera House to see the Bell production of MacBeth. This was more about me trying to catch up and see the plays I studied and should have seen when studying at school but did not because my school was so poor and shoddy (but I still top the school and top ten in state so there, with only a grubby copy of the text as my guide), rather than me interested in what they were going to do to the text this time.

So let's just say I had expectations, preconceptions and knew the text backwards (to this day, it's a wonder what old school rote learning will do). And I liked it. There had been some considerable press about 'the curse', which sounded more like the publicity department making a meal out of the Opera House cafe sangers, and if they had the salmon, I can well understand the results (it was... the salmon sandwiches...). Oh no, now I'm conflating Monty Python and MacBeth already. And here I was trying to be good and not go to the Goodies place, near impossible though it is, having seen the episode at a young and apparently very impressionable age.

Okay, the play, I liked, though it must be on the curriculum again because it was packed with very badly behaved little twats who yawned and groaned and commented loudly on the proceedings (though some vicious words from other suffering theatrephiles took care of the bulk of that for the remainder) but I had such a glutinous handkerchief snuffler next to be, I mean, full ou cauldron boil and bubble as she snorted voluminously into her hankie, especially everytime MacBeth stepped forward for a really famous bit that I'd waited all my life to hear spoken aloud. Given the glares, I dare say he'd have happily have handed across the dagger he saw before him so I could have at the bitch (and I'm sure, given my ire, I could have managed something with a stage prop skewer, and been rather less disturbed by the act than the too sensitive MacBeths - no stomach for the game of thrones, those two).

So, despite loud comments from the audience about MacBeth being too slight and Lady MacBeth looking like a dog (and we were in row C, for eff's sake and how dare they, I adore Kate), I liked it. My viewing experience wasn't enhanced in any way, but it was okay. I liked the mirror above the stage, giving it an unearthly appearance, I loved the witch, one very creepy which with a whole bunch of autotune to sound like three so she was very creepy indeed, and I loved the Rennie Mackintosh chairs that came out for the banquet, one of the morst awkward dinner parties ever, this time presented as a line of chairs, making it appear even more awkward. This MacBeth completely loses it when Banquo shows up and no one knows where to look or what to say (well, you don't when the head guy is mad and murderous).

What I liked most about this production was that the MacBeths were shown as very much in love at the beginning, and grieving for lost children, and this grief, so it says in the program, is the unsteadiness the witches use to prise open and poison them with. It actually does make them sad and tragic, rather than the sort of bitchy overly ambitious social climbing toffs that inhabit Midsomer that they usually seem to be portrayed as. The fall of a godd man is so more affecting that the trip of a bad, and that's why I liked this.

That and MacBeth, and Kate as Lady MacBeth, rocked, and the costumes were cool and I only wish the audience had been less annoying in the really good bits.

Then I went home and found the hot water heater was kaput.

Friday I spent working at a show on the stand, which was kind of fun but exhausting, I ran into three people who knew my father and insusted on discussing his suicide and how certain policies didn't help. Yes, have a brochure on those policies. No, I have no isues in being transferred to the department that contributed to my father's suicide, none at all. This stint was supposed to bury those demons. It rather unlocked the door, but no matter. By the end I was tired and it was too crowded near the oyster stand which I had long coveted so I ended up with cheese on a stick instead, a show fairy, saw some of the arts and crafts, got me show bag and left.

Himself had spent the afternoon there and had taken some really excellent photos, so it wasn't a complete waste. I was just tired, and, oh yes, I now have a really bad cold. It was also really insanely hot that day, really bad in the tin shed, like stupid hot for April, but at least it made the cold shower that night not a chore.

Then we had the cold snap. And I had to spend all weekend trying to tidy before the repairmen came. Oh, that was a farce. They'd all been booked for different days/weeks/times but no, they all rock up at the very same time so I had white vans parked all over the front and neighbours staring but the upshot is I have hot water and wifi at last. Yes, at last, I was still stuck on the contract my dead mother had because the phone company was intractable, despite even getting the ombudsman involved and I filled out forms every week for two years before I had to give up for my health and even Optus took three months instead of three days to wrestle the contract out of Telstra's (and my mother's) cold dead hands, but hey, wifi, at last. I had to install it myself as the guy pretty much just threw the boxes at me and fled the Addams house, but after an afternoon on the phone to tech support I had it working on six devices. Such a day, though. Windy, cold, and I felt awful.

It's just been survival mode since then. Gave up telly last night and the interwebs to try and get some sleep, and I must have, 'cause I remember dreaming about all sorts of things, and, in a curiously proactive stance, as opposed to my usual blubbing in dreams, I woke up in the midst of poisoning everyone wot had done me wrong. There I was, mixing up a batch of hemlock and whatnot and making these really fine cupcakes with my best icing ever, like, magazine style, and decorating them with smarties, which was a nice touch, I tought, and I was about to serve them, quite cheerfully, I might add, when the alarm went off. Clearly the old subconcious is as mad as hell and ain't gonna take it any more. Funnier still, one of the folks rang in sick today. If only, eh? Why am I so annoyed. Oh, you know, the usual backtabbing, lying, stealing, cheating bitchiness and betrayal that accounts for normal day to day interaction, at last in my work. I was really upset with a particularly impressive piece of backstabbery last week, which is why I was keeping my head down, but I guess I've not shaken it off at all. Still upset. Cupcake, anyone? Relax, I'm pretty sure I don't have any hemlock in the garden any more. Pretty sure.


So not happy. You may, or may not, been aware that I've been looking forward to seeing lil Matty Bomer doing his Duran Duran thang on Glee for months. It's probably been the only thing that's kept me putting one foot in front of the other, through office bastardry, public transport woes, no hot water, working on my hols, losing my XHD with all my shit on it, the house repairs, the spider bites, etc. All of it, just berable, because I had Bomer to look forward to. Even yesterday, I was humming Duran Duran while walking down Castlereagh Street on the way to an assessment, which I'm not allowed to talk about but I found personally unfun, wondering where 323 was before realising that, eejit, it'd be one from 301, and I know what that is, and if you don't know what 301 Castlereagh St has to do with Duran Duran you're not a True Fan (so there, I was there, and let's not think how long it's been since I walked down that section of Castlereagh humming Duran Duran songs).

So, imagine my grief, when, keeping his usual iron grip on the remote (what is it with boys and remotes, I swear, they probably piss around the tv when we're not looking) and I missed it. So not happy. So extremely not happy.

Yes, it was just a show and it's unfair to load all my hopes and dreams onto Bomer's shoulders only to have him crumple like a daisy and break my heart again, but really, is it too much to ask, one hour of telly? Apparently so. And I am Not Happy.


Runing around and making a mess of things. And my favourite blue bag broke. Again, small things, but that bag had become such a talisman for me, I find the loss...distressing.

Anyway, Himself was so thrown by my displeasure he walked into the door (the same door that concussed me last Sunday) and had a nosebleed so it was hard to stay made. Finished off awful day with pork sausages and grilled apple, with pomegranate and rice pudding to follow.

Quickly, reboot of Being Human looks promising, ditto Whitechaple, Games of Thrones yay, Awake very Life on Mars.

Okay, miles to go...

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SciFi Magazine

April 2012




SciFi Magazine

April 2012













Who Weekly

16 April 2012

Who Weekly

16 April 2012


Tags: alexander skarsgard, brian blessed, channing tatum, danger 5, grimm, hugh jackman, magazine scans, matthew bomer, stephen fry, supernatural, theatre, william shakespeare

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