Dear Diary, today I added the words cocksucking, blowjobs and pteranodon to my Word dictionary. I'm feeling ever so pleased with myself.
Okay, what else have been up to? Worked back late late late on Monday again. Watched Roswell (S2 finale), 24 and that was it. Because I was home late, Aged Parent made dinner and poisoned everyone again. Happily I didn't have more than a small portion, unlike poor Bro who helped himself and is still most delicate. Three people puking, one toliet. Not pretty.
So, I stayed home and watched Roswell and 7 Days (Hannibal ripoff) and Tron (die evil program, die). I rang up work and said I was sick and I wanted to catch up on a nights sleep. Fat chance though, with noise and interuptions. Ran off to the Art Gallery instead, as I'd been meaning to for ages anyway.
Saw the Conder exhibit. He's a good artist but rather a dedicated follower of fashion as when he was hanging out with Tom Roberts all his paintings look like Tom Roberts and when he was hanging out with Monet all his paintings looked like Monet. As the 'Gurge song goes, I prefer his earlier stuff to his later stuff. His Australian works have a quirky sense of humour that is missing from the later European pretensions. Favourites: The Fatal Colours an A Taste for Literature. I like his cows. Weirdly, they are far more expressive than any of the women in his paintings - make of that what you will.
Then I popped down and found American Beauty which was a room full of photos by Americans over the last 100 years. Mother saw the Maplethorpes and fled but I was delighted to find a couple of Weegee and Sid Averys on the wall - they were so cool. The older works, too, were fascinating historical documents. Everything from the 70s onwards was just showy and shocking grandstanding and had nothing really to say about the subject, just how important the artist felt he was. Boring, and unpleasant.
After that we had tea on the balcony of the gallery cafe. Not bad, but I've been to better, though far more posh than what I'm used to. when I asked for a sandwich the girl asked me rye or sour dough and it took me a few seconds to realise she was asking me brown or white? Even the sausage rolls featured "rustic sundried tomotoes", fer fuck's sake. The tea was also loose leaf, rather than just a bag dangling in a pot, which was a nuisance as mother has an insane phobia of tea leaves so I had to ask for a strainer. Sheesh. Poncy poncy. The view was pretty bog horrible too as the once worthy of painting harbour shoreline was a mess of extremely fugly Meriton boxes. Still, it was nice to be outdoors and the freezing cold temps remiminded me of my holidays and I think AP is a bit green that I've visited some stunning tea rooms with Friend In Seattle. Alas, all the classic and classy tea rooms here were demolished, as with anything else of any aesthtic qualities. It's an ugly, brutal old town.
Did some shopping. Katies have are having a closing down sale (pout) and I managed to pick up a brace of skirts and shirts for work for the price of one. Found only one magazine to tempt me (with Colin Farrell leering from the cover - natch) and marvelled at one store's complete lack of Sam Neill in the (admitedly small) dvd collection. That's a noteworthy effort, you must admit. Did manage to find Face Off at the store I thought it'd be for the cheapest price (with price differences of up to $25 one simply must expend shoe leather in shopping around). Dreadful film, but Alessandro is so cute in it (I do love a pretty young thing of a pyscho). Did they give him blue contacts in that, or was it just Big Tel giving him Daniel Jackson eyes? Damn, now I'm going to have that song stuck in my head all morning.
Slumped home on a long, rather purgatorial bus ride home that was not in the slightest bit condicive to day dreaming of horny paleontologists (nor was the journey in), watched Buffy (Oz is outed as a werewolf), Roswell and my dear little twitching Alessandro, bless. Been ages since I'd seen the film and I can see why it's not one I watch a lot. Thank godness for scene access - grin.
Watched Farscape - featuring horny IASA commanders, as it was the sun dive episode with the naughty mist, lots of foreplay and, horrors, Mark Mitchell as a god like alien. I'm with Crichton: man, do I hate god like aliens.
Discovered a great many people actively dislike me due to my fics. Strange people. I suppose they're the sort of folk who sue rock bands for not being sudfficiently entertaining. Whatever happened to live and let live? Besides, I can't help it. I've had a brutal, nasty life just teeming with physical, sexual, verbal and emotional abuse and you write what you know. If you don't like it, then don't read it, but don't hate me for it. Sheesh. Some people. Still, I'm having the most fun I've had all year (sad to say) writing this JP3 fic, so, although the slings and arrows do pinch and scratch, this time I really don't give a flying dingo carcass what you lot think of it - though the couple of people who have liked it are warm buttery gravy :)
To sound completely hypocritical, I forgot to mention how much fun we had gently mocking Mutant X the other night. The poor show just invites it, I'm afraid. First off, the plot was a direct rip from The Rock and don't think I wouldn't notice (oh, crap, I do seem to be building a large Nicholas Cage collection by proxy). We tittered as the young male models tried to sneak into the power plant - it's like Zoolander with superpowers. We giggled at the large black truck - oh no! 18 Wheels of Justice! (The symbol of everything that's wrong with the US these days, as that show gets renewed and my fave shows get axed. It's all about the bottom line and the lowest common demoniator these days, never art or craft. It's all selling hamburgers, not telling stories, sigh, mutter, grumble). We try to avoid pointing and laughing over plot holes and silly science, telling ourselves it's just a cheap cable show, but we do crack up over all the elaborate computer hacking going on. For fek's sake, he's sitting at the desk of a public servant - just try password. Much writhing with giggles over the thought of how far the use of the password 'password' would get you in a real system. Still, I don't hate the show and I don't send them hatemail.
Ah well, back to work. Password.