Friday was very, very bad, of course, one of the worst ever, but I got up early Saturday morning, while still dark, despite not feeling at all like I wanted to, and went off to my course, which was an examination of The Great Gatsby, which I enjoyed immensely. The discussion was robust, new ideas and interpretations were opened up to me, things I'd missed were illuminated and explained.
I love these courses. I can't afford to go every month because they are pricey, but I need them, I need thoughts, new and interesting thoughts, and I learn things, things that everyone else learnt at school but I never did because they had us sewing curtains and aprons, and yes, even mob caps, once.
So yes, ideas on illusions, dreams, reality, fabrication, connections, disconnections, fantasy, truth, lies, love. Yep, all stuff I could use in the fic if I ever put pencil near paper. I like Gatsby, all myth and mist and mirror, yet with that terrible, tragic longing, always looking as though he'd stepped from a glossy magazine ad (which is so Neal, you must admit), that whole bad boy thing, the pinning of everything on things he will never, can never hold.
It's meant to be a comment on the American Dream, and how rotten and damaging it can be. Oh, what else did I see that was also speaking in metaphor? I forget. That's the problem with learning this stuff now. I forget.
Still, I watched tv and I think that's what I needed. I certainly needed Emily Mortimer. I've always liked her, and, as her father created Rumpole, she has a lot of esteem to ride on (I remember Wil used to call this a nutguard, that is the goodwill you feel towards a certain person that sustains and protects their standing in your eyes when they do something that would normally bring discredit. Right now young Cumberbatch's nutguard is wearing perilously thin. I enjoyed his shots at Downton because I have a deep and personal set against the creator, but being snide about Jonny Lee Miller won't wash. I've been a fan of Jonny's for nigh on two decades now - ouch - so much so I even own a copy of Plunkett and Macleane, such is my devotion, so mind yer P's and Q's, my young sir) but I adore her in Newsroom.
Yes, it is prechy, like Quincy preachy, but it's preaching to the converted, and it's almost a relief to find I'm not the only one who cringes over beauty queens insisting they're 'an American, not an American't', but Emily brings the best fiesty plucky girl reporter, okay, actuallt EP, but it's the trope, in ages and ages and I was laughing out loud and it was just what I needed. Bless you, Em.
I even applaud her taste in husband, something I rarely ever do (though I only cringe at Bomer's choice because his hubby, via lackeys, no doubt, used to send me the pissiest emails ever re fanpages I used to run). No, that's not true, it's neither here nor there what I think of an actor's partner, however I do applaud what I consider good choices, and regret others.
Sunday I did my chores, then was treated to watching Doctor Who on Himself's iPad, as it's only available to watch via Apple, so I saw it there and it was brilliant. Well, maybe not brilliant on subsequent viewings but there was nothing I needed more that weekend than Doctor Who, and there he was, my Doctor, always there when you need him most, and the episode had enough Hartnell menance, spliced with Coupling-esque quips, to make it very much worth my while. The daleks were creepy again, and Gina should be upset that Stephen has found a new muse, oh dear.
I kind of liked the snappy new girl, though I don't know how they'll re-introduce her (some refits have been so lame, in the past). But I have hope, and that's the main thing. The episode delivered, it was scary, funny, heartbreaking (funny that it's this little old tinpot of a tv show that has me crying and holding my breath and covering my eyes more than anything else) and I love it.
Missed the Pond Life thing (UK only, thus missing the first two Ws in WWW) so I'd only been briefed by press that Rory and Amy were estranged, but it wasn't a shock, Amy has always been looking outwards, where Rory only has eyes for her. It's like Amy only remembers her attachment to Rory when it's about to be torn away, which is often, Rory having died more times than Daniel Jackson now, which is impressive. It's kind of cruel, and it was good to see that cruely given an airing, at last (so much a Rory flag waver, and not just cause he looks cute as a Roman, though it doesn't hurt).
'The Doctor gets to skitter about being nutty, Amy gets to be forthright and angry and funny and brave and awesome, and Rory gets to be, well, Rory. If you've been watching the show long enough, you know that's not only a good thing, it's a very necessary thing.' - Huffington Post
The trailer ended up with a dinosaur, so we went straight onto Invasion of the Dinosaurs, the one where the Doctor is menanced by the worst T-Rex hand puppet ever. I swear, Sooty would have been more terrifying (at least to me, Sooty once sent me a pissy Tweet in reply to something I wrote. No, really).
So, should have been out in the garden like everyone else, but we had tea there, proper leaf tea in nice cups and then it was just watch Doctor Who, cause I needed a time out, and those 'monsters' were comedy gold. Poor old Mike Yates though. Sad.
Sad Mike and really sad dinosaurs aside, at least it made more sense than the entirely mad Ghost Light I was watching the two nights I was very upset. Not sure what that mad glam rock alien was on about, but I think they pushed the catalogue metaphor way too far and everyone rushed about on acid. Ykes.
But the festival of Doctor Who was just the ticket. I just want you to know I am very chipper right now, I have a pot of tea, I cannot be spoiled for Doctor Who cause I've seen it and I'm ever so pleased that I have, and the sun is shining and I will happy until they show up. It's not me, it's them. They are mean, nasty, shouty people and they distress me so, especially when they set impossible tasks with impossible timeframes. I wish, I wish the Doctor would sort them out.
Also, loved the eggs joke. This whole weekend has been about eggs. Shit, mine are square, I tell ya. Ouch.
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