There was one good thing about yesterday. Just one, and his name is Ewan McGregor.
It had been such a pig of a day. My website still ain't working, sigh, and I discovered I'll be running the internet/intranet all by my lonesome (with mega major projects looming) and I had a migraine that would have killed a large quadruped. So I wasn't going to go. I was going to give Ewan a miss. After all, I was getting too old for this sort of lark, in a cranky and bad tempered way, and even if I refused to grow up, the knees were definitely acting their age and I was feeling the obscene amount of tea I'd swilled to get through the day.
So I decided to go in anyway, what the hell, but not early. I hung out in Borders for a while, which was fun, but expensive. Picked up Goldfinger after being annoyed at the outrageous number of ads during the flick on Sunday - I'm sure that's the entire marketing strategy. Flicked through the magazine rack. Discovered Jamie Bamber is in that travesty of a Galactica remake. He looked very Babylon 5, I must say, but I don't think I'll be watching the 're-imaginging', ie we bought the name but that's it. It's so disrespectful, I mean, you wouldn't try and sell an American Pie movie under the name "Pride and Prejudice", no wait, they do. Americans, no respect. Not even for their own stuff. I loved BG as a kiddie. Why, some of my first slash and proto slash was devoted to that show (tragic, but true).
Decided to give Starbucks a miss as my hands were already shaking from too much tea and panadols, so off I toddled. I wasn't looking forward to it, fearing that once again I'd be crammed in with stupid squealy teens and hard core slash fans who hate my guts, an entirely unpleasant experience all round. I kept repeating to myself that I had as much right to be there as anyone else and my mission was just to get three half decent photos for the lj (besides, I've already had the hug, kiss, autograph and dna sample - he left a blond hair on my jacket, get yer minds outta the gutter, and one day I'll clone my very own Ewan) but my fears were unfounded.
I'm not saying there weren't squealy idiot teens there, but I was standing shoulder to shoulder with daft English tourists, friendly Japanese tourists, hard core Star Wars fans (who all look like a sliding scale of Fred Durst and the comic shop guy from the Simpsons) and a gaggle of ladies twice my age, so I was well within my comfort zone. We chatted a bit, it was really quite pleasant. The tourists kept asking me who was on the red carpet but as I watch neither soaps nor reality tv I was a piss poor ambassador for my country. I only knew Rove, who seems a geuinely nice chap as he chatted with us for a bit.
So Ewan showed up, pandemonium ensued. I posted a few of the pics of Ewan I took last night (at George St for the Down With Love premiere, in case you were wondering). They're at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/brit-actors/ under Photos -> MISC
They're not the best but I was being jostled, one bouncer thought I was filming and kept blocking me and as the press was arranged opposite us there was a lot of the back of Ewan's head. A lot. I did get one really nice one though. Not the three I was hoping for, but, well, I tried. Ewan looked stunning (I'm not fond of the beard though, not because I'm anti-beard but because it makes him look too much like my brother for comfort, oh, and insert beard jokes here, we always do), Ewan was very nice to the fans and hey, it was fun. I had fun.
I was also close enough to smack George Lucas. I wanted to, but I didn't, but I wanted to. I know I should have. Sure, I'd have been dragged off, but it'd be worth it. My defence would be mental cruelty and anguish. Hey, maybe we should hire that guy who throws pies while George is in town.
So, looong bus ride home, and just in time for Without A Trace. I enjoyed this one. It was Birthday Boy, meant to be a good one anyway, though I suspect it was cut because I have screen caps of Eric Close scenes that never arrived (oh, well) but it was good and I enjoyed it, probably because I was awake for once.
After that I flipped between late night news bulletins taping Ewan (the questions they asked him were inane. Did anyone ask him about the custard and Mrs Nivola? No, just the usual what do you think of Sydney rubbish. For the love of...) then sat through another dull timewarpy episode of Enterprise (minor slashy moment, but not worth the price of entry) but I was scrawling away the Billy scenes I'd dreamt up on the bus so it was just background buzz anyway. Oh, Ewan did go on about the pointy shows he had to wear in DWL, and I've just been listening to Cameron Kippen, another lovely sounding Scotsman, on The Curious History of Long Toed Shoes, which was fascinating. Too bad Ewan wasn't aware of the history of pointy shoes when he was interviewed. It's all about sex you know - grin.
Amazing what a difference a little bit of Ewan makes.