mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

  • Mood:

lovely bunch of coconuts

Please excuse all errors made. I'm operating on a lack of sleep that would incapacitate even someone mildly competent, let alone me. And I am the author of my own mire, although I take no ownership of the internal kickings that have kept me up all week thus far, it was I who went off to see South Pacific at the Opera House last night.

And it was...oh. Background: My mother went to see it when it toured in the 50s, and spoke of it often, in the fun times before I Runied Her Life (like I ever asked to be born, would have preferred the coat hanger, always my first choice, given the alternative, which is me, blot on the landscape), anyhoo, she had the LP and, though music was never allowed in the house, it was allowed to be played, sometimes, at Christmas, maybe.

Even so, I knew all the songs off my heart, and when I heard the orchestra strike up, way, way better than an old crackly LP from the 50s. Music! Music I knew and loved! sets! Costumes! Lighting! And the cast! Who knew Lisa (lots of crap tv shows) McCune could act? Teddy can't, but he can sing and he's gorgeous, so it didn't matter, and besides, they all had to compete with Ms Ceberano as the crone like Bloody Mary (boy, way to make me feel old) and the scene stealing Mr Perfect, who I just had to see after his relevatory and amazing and inspiring turn in Threepenny Opera. Still a bit of Mack in Billis, I thought, but I didn't mind. Just to see him juggling the coconuts as Honey Bun, quite the sight (he was so naughty I could barely hear the lyrics for the rattle of pearls being clutched about me) and the review was right, never has There Is Nothing Like a Dame been performed better, with more verve and cheek.

This was a much, much better version than the film, because all the sex and racism is back in, rather than glossed over, and it makes the stakes higher, motivations and actions clearer, as each character now truly speaks, or sings, from the heart. Who knew a mid 20th century musical could still have the power to shock an audience of posh pretenders (well, dearie, you might live in Mosman, but it's hardly Surrey now, is it).

But, basically, I loved it. All my favourite songs, done well and done proud and done so amazingly I couldn't have dreamt they could be so wonderful to be a part of, and I did feel a part of, even if the audience were a little too moribund to dance in the aisles like they should (think room full of dessicated, perfumed and powdered figures of an average age of three hundred, each).

Any night that features Eddie Perfect in a grass skirt and coconuts is all right by me.

Sadly the trip home was unfun as I told the taxi driver not to take me on the $20 detour as I only had enough for the usual fare home and no more. He was not very happy with me, and it was a grim, tenense and terse trip home, although fast, as he went through just about every red light, just to get rid of me as quickly as possible. Well, it's true, it was late, I was in no mood for the $20 detour that the worst drivers try on, and I'd already spent my $20 on my programme.

Sigh. And it had been going so well. Well, not the day, everything not working, but I left as soon as was decently possible and popped into the Museum of Sydney, to see their exhibition Home front: wartime Sydney 1939-45, because it was keeping to the WWII theme, and I like theme-y days. And it was good.

The Historic Houses Trust, direly budgeted though they are, do put on small, very small, but ecclectic and eccentric exhibitions which I rather adore, and this was another one, with posters, letters, badges, photos, paintings, children's war themed toys and some rather exploitative ads (think the recent Olympic themed ads, now imagine them all saying they're for the war effort), souveniers of Japanese midget subs and actual shell casings (to those who say Sydney was never bombed in WWII, well, yes, but we were torpedoed quite a bit, taking out houses and ferries - with loss of life). There were videos and songs (but not my favourite, When a boy from Alabama (meets a girl from Gundagai), which Himself laughs at, wondering if they thought Tokyo Rose wasn't trying hard enough, and I tend to think as a match made in hillbilly hell, but that's just me).

The usual stuff, victory gardens, bomb shelters and fund raising and rationing. One thing I was not aware of, was how hardcore the Jewish refugee population were in their war effort, everything from providing kitchens to knitting camoflage nets. Those who weren't interned, of course. I can never understand the arbitrary nature of internment, but the times were frightening, I guess, but some refugees were interned and others weren't. Same as now, I guess, which was probably the point they were trying to make.

Me, I just love all the Rosie the riveter style posters, and the Women's Weekly going all gung ho and women in uniform. No wonder they needed to invent the Fifties to put women back in their place. Girl power! Keeping the homefires burning, and the ammunition coming.

And the Yanks. Quite a bit about the oversexed, overpaid and over here thing, with their chocolates and silk stockings, and segregation at certain dance halls, but not at others, and if you see the photos, the crowds seem very mingled, which was nice to see. Quite a bit on war brides (many an American ended up with an Australian grandmother, oh dear). Hey, at least some of those suave coves made good on the stockings and chocolates - grin.

So that was fun. Then I went to City Extra and they let me snuggle down in a corner booth and get out my new wee pc and type. Just for an hour and a bit, but better than nothing, which is all I achieve at home (nothing), and I had wine, and a view of the Harbour Bridge as the sun set. I was content. Just for that moment, but content. Such a fleeting moment of satisfaction.

It's a good thing I've not typed before now, or all I'd be doing is moaning about a certain domestic incident, and now it is churlish to do so as I was hit with the cake offensive again last night, a plate of orange custard Portugese tarts, and they were so delicious, so I really shouldn't say anything, and couldn't, but it is a touch frustrating not being able to get it off my chest.

You know, the whole I took Monday off cause I really wasn't well so I really didn't need to find the washing basket left for me in themiddle of the kitchen, with a pile of wet towels on top so I had no choice but to do it, even though all I wanted to do was curl up in bed, and I ended up so unhappy I couldn't even read my book or catch up on the pvr.

The cakes were lovely, but I would have appreciated an opportunity to say that I wasn't happy and should not be happy if the same circumstances were to recur.

See? Told you I'd sound all grumpy and unforgiving and ungrateful now. They were nice cakes, though. Very, extraordinarily wonderful cakes. My silence was bought. I just fret that I'll have to go through it all again next month (if so, there had better be cakes).

Meanwhile, it's going to be a many pots of Yorkshire Gold morning. I hate that they won't give me access to do anything, expect me to do everything, and snarl at me when I can't, then ignore me because I can't do anything, because I lack the tools and access to do so. It is horrid. Especially when overtired and a little bit crampy.

Excuse the major spammage re Tumblr. Discovered it wasn't blocked (though they still block MySpace, bless) and I got some likes on the Hiddles picture I posted and, as I never, ever, get any likes on anything I ever do, I went a bit nuts, craving approval as I do, and pissed off everyone (even my Twitter feed is now down to only a handful of the hardiest spambots) and now no one is liking me any more. Standard operating procedure, in other words. Carry on. Me, I'm just going to stare at my tea stained blotter and miserably ruminate upon all the wrong decisions made, unkind circumstances and plain bad luck that led me to the here and now.

Oh, I didn't get that job I went for. And it was really cool. Like, way cool. Far too cool for me, alas. I get it. Who'd want to look at me every day. It is a truth, universally acknowledged, afterall, that an ugly woman is a blight on nature. No one will let me share a seat on the bus, or a lift in the building. The external unhappiness of being ugly.

Oh well, at least there's Grimm. Opposite the Festival of Cumberbatch on UKTV and True Blood, but I'm so over TB so I'll pvr that at the exciting time of 2am or whatever, and see if I can pick up Grimm on the west coast channel (aka Fox 8 +2). I don't know why the US doesn't do that. I bet it's just to make it look like we have lots of channels just by doubling up, but the two hour delay repeat thing is dashed convenient, especially when everything I want to watch is on in the same timeslot, while the rest of the week is apparently left free for good works and study (yeah, right).

Oh well, at least Foxtel wins a reprieve. They taketh away the Bomer, but they giveth Grimm and the Cumberbatch. Yep, that'll do me.

Friday: After all the frustrations of yesterday, all I wanted to do was go home, get a cup of tea and watch White Collar for the last time on W. Nope. Nothing doing. No Bomer ogling. Nada. Nil. Null.

The cable box had gone kaput and while I could hear young Bomer, all I could see where green on black lines, and, frankly, what's the point of that? Okay, yeah, after a few minutes sulk I cracked the dvd and watched that, if only to make sure the tv and dvd player were still functioning, but it's the principle of the thing, that the universe had to be so mean spirited as to give me that one last kick, you know?

Today I am doing my best to remain calm. I had breakfast, for once (being so Jabba the Hutt I try to limit myself to one small meal a day, to no avail), a big pot of tea and I have my music (on a tiny cheap mp3 player since the Samsung is kaput). To no avail, as I am snarled at for not being able to complete tasks on systems I am locked out of. It's all politics of the most brutal Shakespearian kind and I am just not in the mood.

All I want to do is shift the contents of my inbox to the out and go home and read a book, since there no tv to be had (well, at least my problem about what to watch on Sunday night is sorted, in the most brutal fashion, that's what I get for looking forward to Grimm with childish pleasure) but my reading light will probably go out, again, and, well...I suspect not all the tea in China will make today go away.

Oh, and I miss my Samsung tablet this week, as I cannot watch Husbands (no fraudband at all at home, despite being in credit) and I so wanted to, especially since I helped pay for it. Sigh. It would be something to cheer me up at least, as I am ominously locked out of all the systems here.

Oh, I forgot to mention I went to my philosophy course last Sat. This was the hero's jorney, which I'd so wanted Ray to re-visit, having missed it first time around, and perhaps because it was a retread, it lacked the punchy interest of others, though I thought there was more to say, so many more examples (beginning to be very over LOTR and the Matrix by now) and when Yoda popped up as an example of the sage, one of the young gentlemen in the front row pointed out, quite rightly, that Yoda sucked as a teacher as his students either go seriously off the rails or fail. So that kind of sucked the air out of the room, for a bit, and we had to quickly dial up some Gandalf on YouTube.

Some interesting points, as it's been years since I've read any of the Campbell books, about the hero having to slay, symbolically or otherwise, his father and his teacher. I was thinking I can see how by the numbers White Collar (argh, daddy issues) is going, but it doesn't look good for Peter, either, if they adhere to the checklist. Still, our hero may yet be tripped up by a tragic flaw, such as hubris (see also Achilles). I mean, Neal, hubris, what are the odds? Smirk.

Anyways, it was a grim and ghastly day of black gales, on the coast, anyway, and a good day to be indoors educating myself, I thought. But it wasn't the best or the funnest. Oh well. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I would have enjoyed it more had they used the latest Spider-Man, a clear cut template if ever there was, or, indeed, the Abe Lincoln vampire film, which I mentioned, to much derision, despite the fact that it pretty much ticks off the chapters in Campbell's book with dotpoint precision. Oh well. At least a few westerns got a look in. Yay.

Saturday: I was going to nip off to the flicks, maybe get myself a bit of Renner action, or give Magic Mike another try, but after a Very Long Week I decided to give in and accept washing and cleaning as my destiny. And good choice, too. Today is a perfect washing day, all sunny and blowy, so I've even got Monday's load whirling about on the line. And I've done a bit of scribbling done twixt loads. And I watched The Thunderbirds this morning. On tv.

Yep. After trying the ritual of jiggling plugs, unplugging and re-plugging, switching on and off,bowing to the four corners and repeating three times, the cable box finally came good. I do know it's because it's an old box and the firmware or whatever is out of date and when they do hard updates it crashes and one day it won't come back, but so far so good (though i should probably keep on with the tidy kick in any case, but it's not so much being a slob as the six hour daily commute that is the problem), but it's not like I can update the box myself and when powerless to do anything these silly little rituals help at least to calm and focus. which is why I make so many damn pots of tea in the office.

Anyway, brilliant day to throw open the doors and dust. Possibly. Just after I check Twitter...

Oh, sod Twitter. Brad and Jane were just chatting on Googleplay. Sometimes I just adore the serendipity of the interwebs.

Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific

Sydney Opera House goes Broadway with South Pacific

South Pacific dress rehearsal

Perfect pitch - Armed with tatts, charm and a hula skirt, Eddie Perfect is relishing his South Pacific posting.

Even decades on, it remains an enchanted evening

South Pacific - The Musical

Taking a break is secret to success

Londoners at play

In the beginning, there was fan fiction: from the four gospels to Fifty Shades

Workflow (in Exquisite Detail)

Quote of the Day: Neil Gaiman on Mistakes

Amanda Palmer & Neil Gaiman, Queen's Hall, Edinburgh

Long hair over 50 - pretty or past it?

Archie Bland: You're a posho, Benedict, just shut up about it

Picasso piece rediscovered after 50 years in Indiana museum storage

The empress strikes back: Catherine the Great exhibition at the National Museum of Scotland

Your story of British art - in pictures

William Morris Gallery re-opens in Walthamstow – Seven magazine review

Richard Guard's 'Lost London'

Scottish people's DNA study could 'rewrite nation's history'

More pyramids uncovered by Google Earth search

Amazing tattoos covered ancient Siberian princess

Duran Duran

Gotye pulls together the ultimate Somebody I Used To Know YouTube tribute

Sapphires proves an Aussie box office gem

The Sapphires a box office smash hit on opening weekend

The man with the golden touch

Joss Whedon Wants You to Boycott 'Sleepwalk With Me'

Nikolaj Coster- Waldau on Once Upon a Time in America

Jo Nesbo's 'Headhunters' Required 'Game Of Thrones' Star Nikolaj Coster-Waldau To 'Be Good With Animals, That's It'

Jeremy Renner Talks The Bourne Legacy

'Bourne Legacy's Jeremy Renner takes acting break: 'I've been lonely'

Jeremy Renner not happy with Hawkeye's presentation

Jeremy Renner on his issues with The Avengers

The Bourne Legacy exclusive interview with Jeremy Renner

Jeremy Renner criticizes the Kardashians: 'Stupid people, zero talent'

Actor who played nerdy teen Arnold Horshack on Welcome Back, Kotter dies

Episode 36 - How Big Are Your Signed Nuts?

Neil Gaiman Remembers Sci-Fi Author Harry Harrison

'Lawless' writer Nick Cave: Violent films can inspire violent acts,0,7986335.story

Kirk Douglas shows off 'censored' Spartacus

'Supernatural' star Misha Collins: 'The show can go on without me'

TV review: 'Grimm' goes epic,0,6154676.story

Grimm Season 2: The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

'Grimm' is back...and better than ever. Here are 5 reasons to tune in to NBC's fairy-tale cop drama

Grimm Hires Bones Squintern to Worship Nick

Avengers Director Joss Whedon Guest-Stars in Season Premiere of Husbands; GLAAD Interviews Creators Brad Bell and Jane Espenson


Preview: 'Husbands' Embraces Longer Episode Format

What to Watch: 5 Web Series Worth Checking Out

When He’s Not Busy Writing The Avengers 2, Joss Whedon Is Playing An Overly Gay-Loving Sports Agent On Husbands Season 2

Hollywood Stars Drop in on Male Newylweds in ‘Husbands’

Hypable Reader Review: Jane Espenson's 'Husbands' season 2 premiere

Web Darling Husbands Is Back

I'm Officially Obsessed With Husbands And You Should Watch It Immediately

Writer Bret Easton Ellis slams Matt Bomer for being too 'openly gay' to star in Fifty Shades of Grey

Matt Bomer Gets More Support To Portray Christian Grey In Upcoming 'Fifty Shades of Grey' Movie [PHOTOS]

GLSEN Respect Awards To Honor Matt Bomer, Jeffrey Katzenberg And Others

Matt Bomer and partner to receive gay 'Inspiration Award'

White Collar

Exclusive: CSI: Miami's Emily Procter Heads to White Collar

White Collar Season 4 Review- “Honor Among Thieves”? Not This Go 'Round!


September 2012


September 2012


September 2012

Who Weekly

20 August 2012



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