mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

the box in the corner

Such a cosy gathering at Chez Munroe in Grimm last Sunday, the gang all together, happy days. Except Juliet rattling around alone in the big empty house slowly going nuts. Can you say entirely surplus to requirements? Good thing, too. No tv show ever needs a whining girlfriend.

It's about time they got rid of her, anyways, as Nick is starting to enjoy it way too much (I saw that smile). There's always a paying of the piper in tv shows. Get rid of her, give Nick some new reasons to feel all guilty and angsty, hit your tropes, move on. Not original, I know, but she just does not fit in with Nick's wee Scooby Gang. TV time is limited, give her the flick, I say.

Nothing worse than having valuable screentime gobbled up by characters I cannot stand in shows I like. If you wanna do a buddy cop show, do a buddy cop show, ferkrissakes, and stop dilly dallying with pointless, story slowing domesticity. If I want domesticity, I'll watch Munro in the kitchen, thank you very much.

Okay, rant over. And I'm not even going to mention the maggots. Ick.

Meanwhile over on Justfied, it just keeps being excellent. Okay, yes, I figured out who Drew was three or four episodes before Raylan (if not six or seven) and have had to wait for him to catch up, but now he has, so much fun. I loved how all the pieces finally came together, like the two vets playing off each other in that roadside standoff, and how Boyd knew exactly where Raylan had gone because of something they remembered from high school. Classic. I do love how the visiting crims always fall foul of that tight little community. Doesn't matter what side they're on, they're always more loyal to each other than any outside force, be it the DOJ or the Detroit mob. It's cute. (And you'd think the Yanks would learn from their own history, if not the Romans, never hire local guys, they're always loyal to their community first).

Anyway, I thought it was simple and clever, the way everyone played off each other. And comedy sidekick Bob proved himself again. Sometimes they work. They just have to be loyal. Proper no matter what take one for the team loyal. (Not whispering Iago loyal, and it's a good thing Cousin Johnny ain't up on the classics...).

Meanwhile, suckiness. Long hard day yesterday, long, hard, standing up for hours on a hot overcrowded bus commute home (took over three hours) to find out something I'd wanted so much and ordered had not been delivered to my local PO but a depot miles from public transport and only open business hours, with no number to call and five days time limit. So I just ripped up the card and threw it in the recycling. Yet another 'yes, finally' turning into 'no, never' moment.

Lot's of those of late. Cue Ballad of Lucy Jordan.

In other news, I did another shift at the show. Wasn't much fun, finally starting to lose the fun, but I signed up because I never got to go as a kid because my mother was my age and fed up by everything, which was hard on a kid. Fortunately, I only have my own inner child to disappoint, as I bargained with aching feet after a long shift to just do the cake decorating and see what was on in the ring before staggering home. Turns out it was some rodeo so I watched boofy blokes in chaps rarely seen outside Darlinghurst the morning after mardi gras being tossed about by various livestock. The crowd got a bit excited when it got a bit bloodsporty. I was so tired I was all 'meh'.

I usually love the show, it always reminds me of Carnivale, just a bit, even if Dekay has used up all his curency like a Cypriot bank, there's just something, or used to be something, that promise that anything could happen.

Was just about to leave as the sun set from organge to grey and the lights came on, when I saw a path leading down to lights, so I followed it down and found preening Alpacas being judged and a stand selling cheese on a stick, my Easter Show vice. I'd not found any other stall, but I found this one. I am a cheese on a stick truffle hound. Ah well, I suck at finding anything else, consider where my true heart clearly lies.

Sat down on a hay bale and thought vicious thoughts about the fic and how much I'm pretty much over it. Continued on my long walk out of the place (as always, my bus stand was so far away from the action as to be nearly in another postcode) when suddenly the speakers from one of the whirling rides blast of with Somebody I used to know, which would be anoying enough (I actually liked the song, the first 10,000 times I heard it), but no, it's the Bomer version. which they play again and again and again in the 30 minutes I have to wait for my bus when 30 seconds would have been enough to have me begging for mercy.

Kind of funny it started up the very instant I said I was done. So, ya wanna play rough? Bring it on.

Anyway, the next day I was menaced by airships. Or a airship/blimp/dirigible or whatever you want to call it. I asume it's a show thing as I'd seen it from a distance the day previously, but this was early in the morning and I was hanging out washing on the line and I could hear this low motor, but not a copter, and this odd hissing noise. And then it hoved over the fence, huge, and low, so low the tow rope was tickling our trees, and indeed most of the huffing was from it having to bank sharply before our trees, which are a bit high these days.

Suffice to say I was somewhat startled by a large blimp bobbing over the yard, and my parrots, who had been just settling down for second breakfast, took off with shrieks of fright, and never came back. Even Mittens, the feral cate, broke cover from where he'd been stalking, and took off over the other fence in terror (I call him Mittens because he's just the right shade to make matching mittens for my fur coat, and any animal that sneaks up on my half blind parrot while we're having our quiet Sunday breakfast deserves to be thought of as potential glove trimmings, as far as I'm concerned). As for Nazi airship captains, well, they baulked and banked at the trees and pootled off, humming and hissing, and I never saw them again (though every low hum after that had me racing outdoors, if only to prove I'd seen it, as the only evidence were the Mary Celeste like abandoned breakfasts, mine and the parrot's, on the table).

Thursday. Oh, what a week. Take yesterday (please, take it away and dump it under sixteen feet of solid concrete). So many deadlines, and only me to do it (there are only about ten souls left on the floor after the restructure, and it's creepy). The nework was so slow it was taking so long and I was being yelled at again, ver nastily indeed, but this time I literally and actually stood up to them, instead of letting them stand over me and scream, and so It installed one of the other boxes from one of the vacant desks and so there I was, madly working on two PCs at the same time (and wishing I had two heads and six arms) trying to get everything done before they turned the power off at five (because the new tenants do not want our sucky cabling).

And then there was the horrid, hot and hard and eternal commute home. At least I got on the second bus today, not the third or forth (on Monday and Tuesday it took me several buses and several hours before I could even get out of the city).

I hate it when people say I have first world problems. I'm fairly sure not being able to get home at night because there are too many people and no buses (they've cut them back to just four now) is a third world problem. As is the lack of health care and hospitals, the lack of education and opportunity, the lack of good food and clean water, the lack of broadband (the WWII era copper wire gives me 12kps on a good night) are all third world problems. The violence and nightly gunfire.

Horrid is trekking to the last remaining bus stop that is covered in rubbish. Oh no, worse, now it's ankle deep in broken glass. Could it get worse? Why yes, now we have human excrement. What could be worse? Oh, try blood everywhere this morning.

Yep, loving my life. Don't tell me to move, you think I'd choose to live in a slum if I could afford anywhere else?

Sunday: Oooh, don't forget no postal deliveries. Discovered they'd cancelled deliveries to the old slum and I now have to pick up my mail at a depot four surburbs away, which I had to walk, as I have no car. That was not fun. Especially on one of the hottest March days in like, ever. Well, that'll stop me ordering stuff online.

Thanks for the disks, btw, but far to knackered to watch 'em once I staggered back over the threshold. Also picked up the V&A catalogue. That was fun, and almost worth killing myself collecting it.

I've squandered my two days off, running around doing jobs. Finally it's Sunday and it's all gloomy, so no lolling about on the banana lounge or typing on the back deck. Sigh. That'll learn me.

So it's getting stuff of the pvr instead. I'm still loving Justified. There's an article (below) from the Guardian about how the don't make westerns on American tv any more. Oh, really? I'm sorry, but, really? Raylan's hat and gun not enough for them?

There was an article in the SMH bagging Parade's End for its lack of joy (which I still haven't seen, will have to pick up dvd), so I can't comment on PE, but I agree heartily with how they paised Miss Fisher for it's sheer joy. Beautiful, unpunished joy.

There's a playfulness, too, in my other favourite shows: Justified, Sherlock, Doctor Who, and even Supernatural, when not being dragged down by the boat anchors of dull story arcs and overwrought American angst.

A lot of the joy and playfulness in these shows comes from knowing the genre and source materials and not being afraid to be, well, playful, and from the play comes the joy.

Which is why I had that WTF moment reading that article in EW about how some guy hated, hated, hated the original Star Trek series, so he was perfect to be in charge of the reboot. Huh? And the fuck?

Why do American studious think this? Surely Sherlock and Doctor Who are fun because it's made by people who love it and know it. Ditto anything Joss Whedon gives his heart and time to.

So why pick someone who hates the source material, the history, the fans, and seems intent on doing nothing nut producing big bangs. Yawn, and how 90s.

And so missing the point. He calls old Trek people standing about talking. I experience it as some of the best modern day (using a near 50 year old show as modern in the looest sense) philosophical discussions it has ever been my pleasure to sit through (Plat's cave, logic versus instinct, the price of free will, the rise of the ubermensch, you name it, Trek explored it).

Can you say missing the point? Americans working in Hollywood can be so dismissive, so arrogant, so betraying of their ignorance. Oh for the days of the Maverick writers (some topping scripts there, the like never seen again until Justified and the encabled alum).

There was another article on Clockwork Orange (which I'm sure the aforementioned idiot is unaware of) which discussed, again, the philosophical implications of free will, crime and punishment (hello, Dostoevsky) and the dangerous beautiful boy, as seen in Romeo. How Alex sees what he cannot have and resents it, takes it, steals it, destroys it.

Reminds me of Neal, the beautiful dangerous boy, wanting Peter's life, and cheerfully destroying it at every opportunity. If Peter had read his Aristotle, he'd be even more alarmed. Can Neal be reformed? Should he be? The dark side of joy, the unbridled ID.

Anyway, films that are nothing but explosions and tv shows rehashing plots that were tired in the A Team, sigh.

Thank goodness for Justified.

Also, loved Neverwhere. Please, make Benedict play a baddie in Doctor Who, even if you have to tie him in achair to do it. Happily, lots of Doctor Who baddies can actually be played while tied to a chair - grin.

Watching classic Pertwee right now, Spearhead from Space. What's this, asks the Doctor, beholding a tank of tentacled goo. Well, it was a Damian Hirst but we forgot to screw the lid down properly, deadpans the Peanut Gallery. Heh.

Meanwhile, parrots are still angry with me. Heh. Just wait.


Q&A: Neil Gaiman on the Star-Studded BBC Audioplay of Neverwhere

Neverwhere is a reminder that radio is already innovative

Doctor Who: a 50-year history in one data visualisation

‘Doctor Who’ at 50: Meet the 11 faces of the Time Lord

Blazing a Trail for Hypnotic Hyper-Realism

Missing an oddly crucial ingredient

Shock treatment

Spooks: we don't need a film version

Bilingualism Steps Into a Leading Role

Australia's cultural cities: Sydney and Melbourne

Amazing "Grandma Got STEM" Project Fights Old-Lady Luddite Stereotype

Nature’s Case for Same-Sex Marriage

First photographs emerge of Mussolini's secret wartime bunker

Live bomb found in squid

Fixing emotional eating

Your evolution is totally gay

Pompeii and Herculaneum at the British Museum: sex, death and some very burnt toast [warning: contains that goat statue]

'Berlusconi's penis' successfully removed

The top 10 gay movie cliches

The myth of the cowboy

The return of the Elvis quiff

Robert Clary a survivor in life and entertainment,0,2050636.story?track=lat-email-latimesentertainment

The New Movie Stars: How Jennifer Lawrence, Jessica Chastain and Ryan Gosling Are Redefining Stardom

Boris looks human among Westminster waxworks

Sometimes Tornados Do the Chasing

One in ten Scots men descended from Picts

Edward Grim


Lion man takes pride of place as oldest statue

Six Ways to Avoid the Classic “Broken Bottle Scam”

Matt Bomer & Dita Von Teese: 'The Beauty Detox Foods' Book Launch Party!

Matt Bomer to attend World Premiere of Superman: Unbound at WonderCon

Fit stars celebrate celebrity nutritionist at book launch bash

Matt Bomer Hits The Red Carpet For ‘The Beauty Detox Foods’ Book Launch

 photo ncw-vanityfair632apr13uk_zpsd6743b15.jpg Vanity Fair


April 2013

 photo spn-sfx144jun06uk_0006_zps8f7baa18.jpg SFX


June 2006

 photo as-gqstyle16springsummer13uk_0005_zpsb6a9681d.jpg  photo as-gqstyle16springsummer13uk_0006_zpsfdc0470e.jpg  photo as-gqstyle16springsummer13uk_0007_zps1ac772ba.jpg GQ Style


Spring-Summer 2013

Tags: doctor who, grimm, justified, magazine scans, neil gaiman, nikolaj coster-waldau, star trek, supernatural, television, white collar

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