Sunday brought Hawking to telly, the first in UKTV's 'celebrating the genius that is Benedict Cumberbatch' month. Oh, if I could only get a copy of that fangasm ad. UKTV goes Japanese schoolgirl strange for Benedict. It's so endearing (and a little creepy). Nevertheless, I was treated to some prime time prime Cumberbatch goodness, and this made me happy.
Otherwise, still winging about the smack to the back of my head I clocked last week. They really rung my bell, and when I sleepily poked at it yesterday there was a crater as well as lumps. They got me a good one. Ouchy ouchy.
Which is why, despite the glorious weather, I was just quietly sorting recycling, and, despite completely failing to manage something so simple as pushing the button that means go on the washing machine on Saturday, I installed all the new software for the new peripherals for the evil PC (the one that is so loud it makes my nose bleed) because my old stuff was so old there wasn't much point in trying to find the install disks (full scale archaeological exacavation of desk would have been required, because I would have put them in a 'safe place' which always means to be found only by archaeologists a thousand years hence). I figured I'd save myself that much angst at least and spend $$$ I didn't have on new stuff. Which worked, to a point, as it all installed, without me stuffing up and bursting into tears, just for once. Took me a double episode of Virgin Queen, though, but I shan't complain. I remember when installing software meant kissing your loved ones goodbye and sitting down to insert disk 1 of 57.
Oh yes, Saturday also brought a much desired screening of Some Like it Hot on ABC2, which I was delighted with as I've been dying to revisit it, but it seemed I could get any Billy Wilder film but that, and any Tony Curtis film but that. So I snuggled up to watch it and it was fun. So damn transgressive, even by today's conservative standards, but cute. And transgressive on many levels, I guess, as Tony, Jack and Marilyn are all dead, but hot.
Kind of wrong, but actors are the ultimate vampires, forever young, forever hot and immortal.
I also finished readig Persuasion. I wasn't that much into it at the start, finding all the grading according to manners a tediously middle class obssession, but sure enough I was into it so much by the end I damn nearly missed by stop on several occassions. I don't know why I get so anxious, it's not as if Captain Wenworth is going to fuck off this time when I read it (unless it was a hideous hollywood re-imagining or a choose your own ending book) and yet anxious I was. There needs to be a word to describe that sensation, of being so carried along that you get caught up, even though you know what the outcome will be.
It always makes me cry, too, being a fantasy book of the one trhing most of us never get: a second chance. But most women suffer that terrible pang, that trait of 'loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone'.
They took away the seat downstairs, you know, where we used to sit. they did it while I was away, so at least I did not have to see them do it. Sometimes I do wonder it is better to have loved and lost than to have never known what love truly was. If I had not, I might have settled for some gentleman I might have just about tolerated, like poor Charlotte Lucas, but no, having been in love, having tasted it, that one magic kiss, how could I ever settle for anything else, knowing the true and bitter sting of love's arrow.
Which made me think maybe it was a good thing I lost all those pages on the story. They were just waffle, really, serving the plot, but not the charaters. My story should be about that one true kiss, and poor Peter, having tasted it, never being satisfied, knowing peace or being tranquil again.
But I digress. The other fun thing about dear Jane is how she pefectly captures girl on girl violence. I'm not talking cat fights, I'm talking the slings and arrows that you daily see in Facebook. Just like this (from Persuasion, the haughty Elizabeth speaks):
"I have nothing to send but my love. Oh! you may as well take back that tiresome book she would lend me, and pretend I have read it through. I really cannot be plaguing myself for ever with all the new poems and states of the nation that come out. Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications. You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous the other night. I used to think she had some taste in dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert. Something so formal and arrangé in her air! and she sits so upright! My best love, of course."
Sock! Kapow! Wot a bitch. And so it goes. Some people think that current fashions in television invented the vapid whore, but no, it just facilitated finding and broadcasting them to a wider audience.
If you really want to see just how enduring Jane's tropes are, in Northanger Abbey there's a car bore, a hundred years or so before the first Model T rolled off the production line. It always amuses me, a regency Clarkson.
Tues: So I finally connected the scanner and it wotks. It is also fast and cheap, which were, to be fair, my main objectives, but that's all it is. It's very small. I mean, I knew the W would be a problem, flopping over every side, but it struggled with the Womans Day. And it scans everything upside down, which I'll have to adjust to, but it didn't help to be dealing with pictures of Fassy hanging upside down. Which way up was this picture again? Not keen on the lousy resolution, but at least it's not oddly purple like the old one, or the first one. Nor does it yet have any scratch marks (made by other careless people) or weird digital quirks that serve as watermarks, so I can tell when someone reposts a scan I paid $350 to make (air-freighted magazine, scanner, pc, electricity bill, fraudband connection, etc) and they get 200+ comments and I get nothing but silence.
To be honest, it wasn't the scanner that made last night so difficult. It was having to use the cut down version of Photoshop (since I'm no longer a student, and man, I held onto that old version for as long as I could) and it doesn't have the cropping finesse I require, so yes, I know those scans look like a monkey cropped them. A tired and cranky monkey did. If anyone has any tips or suggestions, please.
But the worst of the worst was Optus. I'm trying to upload the scans, and I was getting 0.00 kB/s. That's not the broadband I paid for. Arrrrgh. It took over six hours (best speed was 17kB/s). I can't be doing that every other night. It was misery.
It's really stripped my gears today, too, but maybe that was a result as it was a long, difficult meeting that was pretty much a French tribunal re my labours, but I was so tired I could only answer the facts, no cheek or snark. So I got through that with about as much dignity as anyone in that situation could muster, I've had my tea and my banana (a three hour meeting and no catering, harumph).
Big day tomorrow and I feel like a smear of poo on a boot. Oh dear (aside from anything else I woke from a fever tossed doze to find my glands swollen like two angry boiled eggs under my jaw, and if it is gf, yet again, I've just opened a particularly nice malbec, buggeration).
Late PM update: apparently my performance at the meeting/tribunal is being described as sparky, feisty and various other words to that effect. And here I was thinking I was wilted and restrained. Well, I suppose my perception would differ from others. Being an ill-used, ill tempered Scotswoman, I consider myself restrained in not having thrown anyone out the window.
Wed: Missed out on seeing young Mr Renner, whom I adore, last night as it was the night before another job interview and I decided to be responsible, for once (this from a fangirl who has travelled the earth for a glimpse of her idols). Well, it was cold and late and I really did need to be tucked up in bed like a nana.
I was right, too, as the glands have gone down and I no longer look like the Elephant Man more than I have to, and I'm far to old to play at fangirl games anymore, either. Hell, I recolied in horror in the office bathroom mirror yesterday when I saw what looked like the salt vampire from Star Trek staring back at me. Best I spare young Jeremy having to catch a sight of that.
That's when I really decided that it was a cup of tea and an early night instead (though I did watch a bit of White Collar S2 on tv. Bomer pretty). Sigh. That's Mr Dancy and Mr Renner I've sacrificed to my desperate job hunt now. Please don't say I'm not taking it seriously enough.
I'm even dressing serious, well, as serious as I can manage. I have to make it a drop on, drop off outfit as I am foolishly going out tonight, but I bought the ticket a month ago, when I still had my tablet, sigh, so, shrug. You know, I've not bought any tickets since I lost my tablet. Weird. No perfect meeting of opportunity and need and internet access, I guess.
Yesterday, despite the big meeting, I was wearing my favourite 'Brunettes Have More Fun' Wonder Woman t-shirt under my favourite tangerine jumper. I don't know what posssed me, other than my other jumpers being in the wash and my favourite blue t-shirt ruined forever (cue Kirk Wrath of Khan voice: STARRRRBUCKS!!!), cause usually when I know I'm up for a drubbing, which is basically any meeting I'm called to, I wear my most loathed items, so they can soak up the negative energy, but I think the Wonder Woman t-shirt worked, as I deflected every barb zinged at me like bullets.
Okay, off to catch more bullets.
PM update: Well, that worked. Sort of. No idea about the job interview (if I think it well I bombed, so...), but peripheral to that, my plan to loiter in a cafe in the lower levels of the MLC Centre went off fine (and I don't think I've been to a cafe there since I was a little kid in the 70s and Dad took us there to try it out, when the MLC Centre was all sparkly and new and alarmingly modern, rather than pleasingly retro as it is today). Told myself firmly that, as hungry as I was, I was not to have the French Toast with Berry Compote or the Bacon and Eggs Brioche with Tomato Relish. That's just asking to show up to the interview looking like one of the vamps on True Blood post feeding frenzy. So I stuck with tea and marmalade on toast and ended up with very sticky fingers indeed as the eastern European waitress, bless, had spread it right to the very edges of the toast.
Sticky fingers slightly problematic but nevertheless, I opened up my new baby PC and typed away while I waited for my interview (it was at an odd time so I had to take a half day, but it was easier to come in on the regular commute, so I waited in the cafe and typed and typed and typed some more). Yep, I couldn't bear the loss of my wee pc and the new pc from Dell is rubbish (the noise it makes, industrial deafness, nosebleeds, migraines) so in desperation I checked OfficeWorks, who impressed me with the delivery of the scanner, and they had a wee HP on clearance for cheap so I dithered for twelve hours then pressed 'buy'. So it'll do until it dies and I won't be able to replace it and I swore I'd never buy HP again after that nasty piece of crap lemon I was sold 15 years ago when I really, really needed a working computer, but this one works, and works well, better than my old wee PC, truth be told, if different (could do without all the pop ups) but it runs silently and it's just for me to type on and it worked, I typed, so all is well. Phew. I've been so upset over that whole thing. And it fits in my handbag. Neato.
Now all I need to do now is replace/repair/replace my tablet and my camera and...oi.
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27 July 2012