- "Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
Rom & Jul, Act i. Sc.5
Thursday: Another long day, but at least I finished reformatting the Dav series, all 300+ of the buggers, amongst other things. No writing, no reading, no cleaning, but you can't have everything.
Saw most of Charmed, SVU and the pilot of The Shield. Not bad. It was very gritty 70s cop show and I diddn't wander off too much during it, but I did mainly tune in for Reed Diamond. D'oh! I can't believe that's the Commish. Little doughy sweet as pie Commish. Yikes.
Then it was Stargate on TV1. After two hours of cop shows busting sleazy pedophiles, watching Jack abduct an 11 year old girl wasn't cute, it was downright creepy. Very, very creepy. It was just the juxtaposition of tv genres, but still, creepy.
In other news I've cast Tony Curran as the Mad Scotsman in my story. The character is mostly based on one of my cousins (because I don't need to outsource for mad Scotsmen) but I'm casting Tony Curran to cover myself. If you don't know my cousin or Tony Curran (shame!), then think Groundskeeper Willy - smirk.
Friday: You guys watch Joe Don Baker films?
Damn straight. Due to the highly unsual circmstances of six months worth of seperate orders from all over the planet all converging on my doorstep in one mighty postal delivery I found myself able to program an afternoon's viewing solely from the year 1975, and it was good. We could pretend like the 80s never happened, and I wish they hadn't.
Truly, I find sex and drugs unpleasant and uncomfortable at best, and rock and roll barely rates with me these days. Give me books, comics, films and, oh god, yes, yes yes, classic telly. I tell you, the moment the theme from SWAT started up, I was in funky telly heaven. Absolute heaven. It was also far grittier than I remembered but I suspect the SWAT from my childhood was as butchered as the Professionals were several years later, rather than my fuzzy kiddie recollections being at fault. I also understand that like S&H, SWAT was heavily butchered itself as the anti tv violence rubbish came into full swing. Damn. These early episodes, it's almost like watching The Shield. And what's up with all the middle aged white guys with all the bling bling?
Followed up SWAT with some Starsky and Hutch (ripping off a Mod Squad episode, for shame) and MST3K doing Mitchell. Too feking funny.
All of the above as much fun as the 1967 day we had a few months back, such is the state of my retro tv collection.
Dragged myself into the 90s kicking and screaming by watching Buffy and Roswell on Fox8 (Band Candy, Meet the Dupes) but mostly I was scribbling away at (drum roll) the next Alan and Billy fic. Yeah, I need to finiash the first one first. shrug. Weirdly there was an article in the Herald that was almost exactly the fake thesis I was sketching out for Billy. Heh, nice to know that I've done the right reading and I was on the right track. Nice to guess right, makes such a change from work where I feel so stupid all the time.
Tea was an excellent Rogan Josh out of a tin. Sherwoods - recommend it.
Scrawled away during Stargate. I was actually watching Stargate this morning and enjoying it. Obviously I'm still persona non grata with the wider fuckwit, sorry, I mean fan community, but I'm still enjoying the show in spite of that. Weirdly it hasn't entirely destroyed it for me, unlike Due South which I still can't bear to watch., not at all.
So then it was Jonathan Creek, a little tired and ho hum and frightfully twee these days. Spooks though (or MI-5 as it's called in the US because they can't say Spooks) was fucking brilliant. Absolutely cracking. Ten out of ten. It reminded me of a couple of my favourite Professionals episodes, especially the old ship the terrorist to the middle east and let them deal with them ruse, so beloved of the Profs, and, cough, real life governments. Totally excellent edge of the seat episode, all serious, no pantomine this time around.
Saturday: He really moves me.
Some housework, miminal housework, barely any hosework really, maximum dvd viewage, helped along by rain squalls keeping me indoors.
I can actually now tell when it's going to rain by listening to the songs the currawongs sing. I now officially possess the skills necessary to warrant a good burning at the stake, rather than simply being massively unpopular - a feat I've managed to achieve all my life.
I fear my defective butt-kissing gene is to blame. I simply lack the ability to suffer an excess number of deadshits in my life.
So, two more Stargates from S6, which I enjoyed. Sometimes it really is worth saving up the dvds until you're in the right mood, rather than when it's just convenient. Season six rocks, in spite of all my obvious and vocal misgivings, and to my complete amazement. Maybe it's the new network forcing them to tighten up the storylines, and they are vastly improved, and maybe I'm not watching it with a stopwatch, counting the scant seconds of J/D interaction, if any. Maybe, relieved of my expectations, I'm just watching it and enjoying it without agenda.
Then it was on to The Recruit with commentary by one Mr Farrell no less (edited, but who in their right mind would let Col do the commentary?), aided by a couple of jugs of margueritas, apparently. Please tell me he didn't learn to drink jugs of margueritas in Sydney. Please don't let that me my sole contribution to civilisation.
Though I'll tell you what, being exiled from both my job and my circle of so called friends, I landed in the lap of Irish temps and their backpacking buddies way back when and I wouldn't fucking swap a minute of it for anything. Bitchy little no account fan gatherings over some of the massive Friday nights I barely remember? No way, no how. Give me life, give me drink and song and sweet, sweet Irish backpackers, the kind you could find religion over, compose sonnets to, or at least write them into shockingly bad fan fic - smirk.
Nor do I regret buying The Recruit on dvd. Watching Colin on screen is money well spent.
Brief intermission for afternoon tea, Angel and more throwing out stuff.
Then Love's Labours Lost. I remember going to see this but it had been one of those jaw grinding days and I just didn't enjoy it but this time around I did. All singing all dancing Alessandro. Swoon.
Seismic swoon because it's been a horrible, painful month and I was well overdue and thinking this is it, cronesville and I'd had dreams of smashed egg cartons but watching Alessandro, listening to him speak Shakespeare (wibble), all well lit and purty, well, zing went the strings of a lot of things and won't Monday be fun when I'm in the office all myself myself and uber crampy and squishy. Ah, Alessandro, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman...
So I followed up the dimpled young Adonis (skipping Who Mourns For Adonis on TV1) with Jurassic Park. Not III but I, just for reference and Sam drooling purposes. Been a while since I've seen it and I'd not realised how much III is a carbon copy of I with Billy very much in the Ellie role. Heh. I still like the idea of Billy, in a silly homage to Dawson, who devoted his life to Stephen Speilberg after seeing JP, well, imagine young Billy seeing Alan circa Jurassic Park. Well, it amuses me, anyway. Must finish one before I finish two. Part two which already has to offer apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (again), Badger, Doctor Who (the loch Ness Monster episode). You'll see. Oh, lots of Dog Soldiers too, I suspect, and huge dollops of Brotherhood of the Wolf.
So yes, watching Sam running about, all sweaty and muddy. Hubba hubba.
Now it's well past the witching hour and I must abed, not because I enjoy keeping nana hours, I'm a late to bed, late to rise person myself, but the rest of the fuckers in this house aren't and I will be awoken by slamming doors promptly at 6am, like it or not, and like it I do not.
I should write but I'd like my ideas to roll through a few more spin cycles in the tumble dryer that is my brain before I commit anything to paper. I have ideas, I'm just playing them out. Besides, I have some reading to do. It's quiet and I might get more than fifteen minutes without being required for duties elsewhere.
Sunday: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Or hello cramps, my old friend. The wind, when I woke up, was coming from that direction that I love best, the one with a taste of salt and summer in it, even if it is the dead of winter. In spite of some discomfort I propped myself up on my pillows and scribbled some more. Watched some more Stargate. Was worried the Jack and Maybourne standed episode would pre-empt my fic but it was more Lord of The Flies than Lost Boys so I'm saved, for now.
Then it was time for pre-prepared video treats: The Dish and Best Laid Plans. Okay, Sam in a cardigan doesn't really light the blue touch paper, but never mind, he's always a joy to watch, and no affected accent this time, yay. Just Sam being stuffy and sweet and sounding like an ABC newsreader - grin.
Next up: the joy of Alessandro, all golden and gorgeous, even in fuzzy video vision. Yeah, I have the dvd now but due to ye olde picasso-vision telly I can only watch the vids in my room so vid version it was. Mmmm, Alessandro. It's not a bad little fillum either, all twisty and turny and doublecrossy with Alessandro and Reese being somewhat tainted and only really redeemed by their affection for each other. Josh is a real worm in this - heh. Mmm...Alessandro. Sweetness and light.
After that I was left to revisit some SWAT, and, being put in a 70s mood, decided to go Streets of San Francisco rather than that very worthy but very boring WEllington doco. In anycase it didn't matter as I passed into a mersyndol drugged slumber.
Monday: heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Here I am, crampy, squishy and a headache that makes blinking the most painful thing in the world to do, let alone anything else. I'm supposed to be working but I think sulking over my complete inability to find any properly pervy pics of Alessandro poncing about in Shakespeare (or soundbites of him reading Shakespeare - wibble) is much more my speed today. I don't feel well. I want to go home. Whimper.
- Crew Cuts (SMH 10 July 2003)
A crack team of retro hairdressers specialising in intergalactic mullets has reportedly been called to the set of the new Star Wars film to ensure continuity with Star Wars Episode IV, filmed in 1977. "George [Lucas] realised there were going to be real continuity problems with hair," an insider told Celebrity News Service. "He's got the best hairdressers he can find to work with the actors and make sure they at least reflect the way Han Solo and Luke Skywalker looked back then, without making them look too ridiculous."
It shouldn't be too hard to find a local stylist specialising in shaggy '70s-style hairdos - the producers could just hang around the state's football clubs and find out whose been rearing the manes of Andrew Johns, Brett Kirk and Willy Mason.