Heh. Decided to dress comfy today rather than freeze my tits off in some thin cotton work blouse again, seeing as how I'm in 'I'm miserable, I might as well be comfortable' mode. No, never fear, this isn't some more existential ennui, it's just that somebody decided to share their horrid germs with me, in a totally non consensual way, and just when I'd vowed to go and and get a life, too. I spent all last night aching and creaking and wheezing and sneezing and exploding vile humours from just about every orifice. Not fun.
So I decided, recinded casual Friday be damned, I'm rugging up warm today in my denim skirt and chunky jumper. Turns out it's some charity casual day (so much for my statement of individulality) so for a couple of gold coins nobody can comment on my slack arsed attire today. Keen!
So what if I look like, as a friend so unkindly commented, a dyke of certain vintage? I think dykes and spinsters share a lack of a man's wage paying the bills, and therefore share the necessity of travelling to work by public transport in the freezing hours of the morning. Hence the warm and practical if daggy ensemble.
Had yesterday off, as co-workers began to realise their windows weren't safe, so I was allowed an actual RDO off. Amazing! Startling! So of course I woke up wheezing and sniffling and the works. Had planned to dip into the rapidly expanding a/v library but decided against that as I'd be all cross and I wouldn't enjoy it.
Ended up following AP to the nearest nursery accessible sans car (two buses, a taxi and a shitload of walking) in a carrier capacity (think some poor native struggling under the weight of a grand piano sized piece of cargo in some old b/w film from days of yore).
I've not been to that shopping centre in ages (hard to, since they cancelled the bus route) but since they pulled out the lovely 60s waterdrop fountain I've not really cared to. It had been remodelled once aagin. The once fabulous newsagency had moved and was now very lacklustre in its selection. The McDonalds was still where it always was, though entirely empty, the poor thing.
It was in that Maccas as children my brother and I came to some sort of agreement to stop letting our Mother set us against each other. We're not always sucessful, but it was where we called a ceasefire. So it's nostalgic.
Of course it had taken two buses and a walk to get there, and what a bus ride, chockers with grizzled and whining pensioners, winding for hours through all the council estates. Arrrgh. After that I needed sugar and I found a coffee shop selling French Toast. I couldn't remember what French Toast was (I once had it flying from SF to NY) so I ordered it and I'm not sure if it was traditional, but I loved it. Mmmm...syrup.
Then it was the long cold trek to the nursery which was a disappointment. It was smaller than I remembered, everything was bent over and shrivelled up with the icy wind and AP kept snapping me back into line as I trundled her increasing heavy tolley up and down the rows. I was permitted however to purchase one strawberry plant, which actually looked non GM, and I just loved the old style flowers. I also ordered this little shrub that looked like a cross between a Xmas tree and a muppet. If it ever arrives I will provide a photo. It was a native with soft grey fuzzy limbs. Oh, and I found a green man. Ha, been after one of those for, like, forever. He looks somewhat rakish hung from the back of the shed as he is. The sales clerk was most put out that we actually wanted to order things and book a home delivery. Yep, I love a clueless sales clerk. I mean, how hard it is to count three pots?
After that I received the run around from Dell again (this time they couldn't find my details) and I retreated to my room. Caught up on last night's telly. Without a Trace was okay. Yep, I could see the slashy potentiential but cf flu-ridden misery not to mention a dud tape that kept rolling and it was more a viewing of duty than pleasure. Endured more po-faced vulcans. Somebody please take Enterprise up the back paddock and put it out of its misery. Last season had its moments, this is just one dreary episode of po faced vulcans after another. Arrrgh.
After that I'd noticed Lost World had snuck back on in the wee small hours, in the middle of winter no less (it is so a summer show so it seems wrong that it's on now) and oh, yeah, baby, this is the stuff. I loved this. It was the giant killer bees episode, bits of which I have on my dvd but this was the uncut version, and oh my, happy cheesy goodness. I love this show, and I'd planned to watch some Sherlock so I guess this was my Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fix for the day.
After that it was onto Fox8 and the pilot for Roswell and the prom episode of Buffy. Both faves so I was happy. Fell asleep but weirdly woke up in time for Stargate and I'm so glad I'd already seen this on dvd because evilchannel7 was making free with the scissors again. It was annoying, I think probably more annoying because I knew where all the cuts were. Oh well. It was the Tokra vs the Jaffa episode. Not too bad though I wonder how many hapless personel Jack tagged as he shot up the little tin sheds. Poor Jack, being forced to play the diplomat - he looked so pained. Heh. The high point of the episode was of course Jonas being told he was surplus to requirements. Damn straight, zippy.
After that I couldn't sleep so I sat up reading Mansfield Park. Maybe it was the Sandro factor but I'd been reading for well over 40 minutes before I realised I wasn't having a problem. Now we all know I gave up reading because I was tired and I was having trouble with the glasses from hell and these new glasses are still not quite right but as over two dozen folks have stated to my face that my glases frames are my only redeeming feature vanity insists I persist with the discomfort.
However I was having no problem last night. Either the flu tabs rock or the fact that I'd made sure the el cheapo books I'd picked up that morning were all English printings was the thing. Because the books I was having trouble with I'd bought from Borders, ie they were in American, which could be one reason why I kept being thrown out of the story. Obviously I don't like translating late at night. Bad enough I have to code in American. Worse that I find myself using American and only my Australian English version of Word picks it up. I hate that, it makes me sick with shame (and I used to be beaten at school if I accidentally used US spellings or idioms, back when corporal punishment was just fine and dandy). I mustn't lose my language, I must try to keep it alive. I'm so with the (insert non American culture here) on this one.
So anyway, happy reading late into the night for once (maybe it was just the familiarity). The small essay in the front was illuminating too, as Mansfield Park apparently marks the shift from 18thC frivolity to 19thC morality. This is why Henry is painted as such a cad, when really he's just a lad. Funny how social fashions come and go. Especially as I'm watching the world veer off into another round of conservatisim, and happy go lucky boys, whose behaviour wouldn't have drawn comment previously, are now having to explain themselves. Colin Farrell as a modern day Henry Crawford: discuss. It doesn't have to be Colin. Any party boy will do. Besides, Colin has a certain degree of sincere sweetness, the same quality that Sandro managed to bring to the role of Henry. He's not bad, he just wants to have fun.
Saw Alyson on the NBC show this morning as I was getting ready to go. So nice to hear Alyson is much sought after and feted. She's sweet and deserves to do well. So glad to read in other press that the bottle blonde steamroller that is Sarah is getting her just desserts at last and her career seems very much in decline. CoughKarmaCough. I so dislike people who are so self important and career orientated that they just ride over everybody else. It's just not nice.
Which brings me back to the apparent themes of Mansfield Park, that doing what one ought to do makes one a good person. Which must make me good by default, because I'm almost always doing what I should, not what I want to. The world is divided between those who get to be flighty arty types and those who actually work drudge jobs to foot the bills. As much as I will always loathe and despise it, I find myself in the pays the bills category. Oh, how I dislike sponsored creative types. It's pure raging envy of course, and take I take no joy from doing the right thing, and I receive no credit. None at all. No Edmund waiting in the wings for me, alas. I'd settle for a sugar daddy. Anybody?
Hmmmm. I'm pissy, hungry, craving chocolate and completely scatter brained. Oh dear.
As I had to go through all of the brit-actors archives to save all the attachments, I found this, my original posting for MP. If you think a certain somebody isn't mentioned, be aware that it is a British actors list and fer once I was staying rigidly on topic:
Date: Wed May 3, 2000 3:49 pm
Subject: Mansfield Park
Saw Mansfield Park last night. I was quite sure that I'd have to slink off by my lonesome but my friend went *Jonny* over the weekend, so saw it together. In fact, I'm rather annoyed. I spend the weekend watching Jonny and she gets my dreams. So not fair.
Anyway, we were originally going to see another movie, before her recent conversion to Jonny, so we flipped for it, heads for Jonny. It came up heads - yay :) So off we were lead through labrynths to the broom closet aka cinema 11, an intimate little affair but nevertheless nearly standing room only. We sat up the front for the full Jonny effect (certain people still mock me for sitting right up the front to more fully appreciate the codpiece in Ever After, but I digress), and, darn it, I enjoyed the movie. No surprise, I think I've seen/sat through every Austen adaption out there both for study and for pleasure, and, gracious, give me a gorgeous young man in a flouncy shirt, tight breeches and riding boots and day of the week. Oh yeah, baby ;p
Hard to see Jonny as the nerdy bookish 19thC geek, what with him being the "criminal type" n all [grin - Operation Good Guys reference]. I kept so waiting for him to grow a spine, but, by gosh, he was so cute and adorable, almost achieving the level of fluffy puppy [vbg]. I really liked him in this, possibly one of the most gentle roles I've seen him in. And I could have watched him walk off in those boots for the whole of the credits [g].
Filmwise I liked it, though I thought it was trying too hard to be too clever at times, but I'll allow it for style, and it kind of fitted with the ideas of literary styles at the time. I enjoyed the humour too, at times it was sending up Jane as much as paying her homage, which I enjoyed. I don't believe in taking things too seriously, and this film was refreshingly cheeky.
I was also really pleased to see James Purefoy in it too. I've not seen him in anything for probably a year, so that was an extra treat. I think the whole cinema heard my peep when his name came up on the screen, but it was a small peep in a very small cinema [g]. I like Broadway though, they have those comfy US style seats instead of those lower back pain inducing creaky old horrors on George Street.
So it was a good night. And thanks Jonny for being in a film I really liked (cause sometimes I see my boys in films I really don't like). I can't wait to get the video [g]
Nemo me Impune Lacessit