You know, there will come a point, and I'm passing the signposts already, where I just go straight to Amazon without even bothering. Lift your game, Dymocks. Lift. Your. Game.
Mind you, Amazon are in my poo books right now because my Kindle app has ceased functioning on my Samsung and I was halfway through several books, which I will have to probably try and source in print form, only to have Dymocks cancel my order due to sloppy stock-keeping, then back to Amazon again, only to have my order lost, stolen, backed over several times by heavy machinery, half eaten by a wild animal, recycled as firelighters...
So, ya wanna hear about the fillum I went to the other night? Tom Hiddleston's latest. Avoid at all costs.
It wasn't that it was bad, per se, and, as the women behind me were saying, one expects a certain level of wank, but...
What was left unsaid was significant. I mean, it had Tilda Swinton in it, it had done the film festival circuit, so, you know, I knew what was I getting into. Kind of. And it might have helped not to have the chatty bunch behind who had no idea who anyone was (not even John Hurt!) and who were commenting inanely on the plot, such as it was, until they were bludgeoned into stupified silence. I was going to say kids today, no stamina, you should see the duff films Jude and Ewan et all have made me sit through in their time (often featuring Tilda Swinton, it's a thing with art films), but you know, this one was testing even my limits.
And vampires are such self indiulgent pricks. This lot more than most. No sex, seduction or killing, much (okay, there was some) but almost the entire film of goth wannabes lounging about on couches moaning about the price of eggs today or whatever, like any other bunch of naval gazing inner city twats. And if you're a suicidedly depressed vampire, perhaps Detroit isn't the city for you?
The only character with any interest or background was John Hurt's, and he was barely used, and my god, Tom, that hair. It made you look like my ex, so much, which made for some very uncomfortable viewing (but it's not just that, nobody else liked the film either, from the grumbling upon exit).
Well, at least it was at the open air cinema so I had the city skyline to watch (as the film dragged on, and on, and on), and at least I didn't have to pay full price for my ticket (I shoulda known, the one Hiddleston performance I was allowed to see). It rained halfway through and I barely noticed, for I, too, like Tom's vampire, had lost the will to live.
How on earth can you make a dull and depressing vampire flick? Well, I've seen it now. Give me Hammer any day. (That really cool one where the shadow of the cross starts moving - that nearly killed me when I was secretly watching it very late one night in my tweens).
Tom Hiddleston as a vampire: sexless, fussy and whining. Well, now I know.
High maintenance and needy, too. Oh, so my ex (right down to the cobbled together tech, ye gods, ahem, not that there wasn't fun, with the old thing, but I'm not the right person required for that kind of effort, alas).
Well, at least I know what film to watch, or not watch, if I ever want to remember that particular segment of my life. I swear I could smell that old couch. Hey, maybe it was an effective film. But dull, so very dull.
And I'm so annoyed. There were other performances in town that I would have loved to have seen, but didn't, because I can't get my shit together, they sold out or I was otherwise committed to dross, and I'm so annoyed, sick, really sick, about it. I know I can't do everything, but I would have so much rather have seen the opera (we love our opera, and Amanda was there) than the absolute utter crap I sat through last night (the only joy was endng up sitting next to that lovely old theatre buff I met earlier at other shows, we chatted so enthusiastically we only shushed when the lights went down). I chose poorly.
And I would really rather have seen Bullet Catch instead of that awful Hiddleston film, which I only went to because I was still hurting over not being able to get tickets to see Hiddleston in anything, anywhere. So I went, and deeply regretted it, and now I'm sick because I missed Bullet Catch, because it's a story I know so well, hell, it even pops up in one of those fics I never finish.
So, that's 2014, the year I'm supposed to get my shit together, but just can't. Need to double and triple check dates, to sort out so much paperwork (decades worth, which I don't have), so many jobs at home to do. Arrrgh.
Fic? I'll never, ever finish. See above.
Later...Not happy, but that's just this place, grinding me down into sub nothing. Way to invoke the self loathing. One day I'll be someplace where my continued daily existence doesn't cause deep revulsion. One day.
So...retail therapy? Finally got hold of one of the books I was after. Sat down with a cup of tea and was up to chapter four before I could stop myself. Cracking read, that Wilkie Collins. Too bad he's dead, he should disinter himself forthwith and get cracking. Though I understand he became very political/dull in later years and his lively works became tracts. Ah, well.
Also spent my birtday voucher on...gasp...sleepwear. If you know me, you'll know this should have never have happened, but as my attempts to obtain Big Trouble in Little China on dvd ended in a massive chemical spill (only me), I've quite given up on the idea of books or dvds and so went with the coat nightie combo, on special, just the thing for being hauled off by da pigs (well, it was this time last year that the neighbours embarked on their campaign of terror - this time I'm ready).
But me, buying sleepwear, for my birthday. Well, yes, still treacherous waters, I dare say. It goes like this. Once upon a time an evil witch promised an unloved little girl that if she did all the housework, and scrubbed the house from top to bottom, in ever corner and nook and cranny, she'd get a Barbie doll for her birthday. Well, the little girl cleaned as hard and thoroughly as she could manage with her little hands, all night and all day, as expected, and she got...a nightdress. And a cheap shitty one at that. I still had it, as recently as several years ago, kept to remind me of my forever burning hate and loathing.
Because so not fair. I realise, now, that the horrid cheap nightie was probably already a done deal, so it was the meanest trick, and while a cheap nightie be just barely acceptable as a gift for an old crone, never ever for little kids promised toys for chores.
So, not over that. Still. I wonder if I'll ever be able to look at that nightie without gritting my teeth. Probably not. Probably not the best choice, but it was that or horrid shirts that screamed 80s far too loudly. Fie on this latest 80s revival, fie. I never wore dotty shirts in 1987. What on earth makes you think I'm gonna wear one now?
So that's a no to retail thearpy. Not cheered up.
TV? Well, still mourning Ripper Street (axed so the BBC could commission exciting new shows like reboots of Only Fools and Horses, like WTF). No sign of Supernatural, Sleepy Hollow changed channels and, aside from the mighty fine Tom Mison, I'm just not that into it. Grimm is okay, it has its moments, and as much as I love the Mads, I'm finding Hannibal way, way too cold and creepy and just plain weird.
So, nope, not a lot of excitement there. The only thing I look forward to is seeing how far off the map Murdoch Mysteries can go this week. Someone I follow was loudly berating its overt Canadianess, but I find it cute. Not everything has to be American, you know. Vive la différence.
Later still...I'll spare you my Oz Day rant, in which I am sick to death of apologising for the fact that my ancestors, herded onto the beach at gunpoint, did not die there. Fer fuck's sake, get over it. Or, if you refuse to get over it, can I carry on then about my people being forcibly displaced from the Eastend slums (be it ever so humble), Scottish crofts (one now a vegan restaurant, to add insult to injury) and that lovely land we had in Cambridge before they gave it to some upstart Norman in 1068 or whenever. Harumph.
Anyways, went to the symphony in the domain thing because they were doing The Planets and I love The Planets, so much so that it was cold and raining when we left, but we were soon broiled in the sun when we got there. In fact I think I'm still suffering from too much cheese, wine and sunshine. Well done the vollies from St John's Ambulance who walked amongst us giving free squirts of sunscreen because I wasn't the only one to rock up ready for rain and hail, not shine.
I did enjoy it, though. Well, as much as I could with being stepped on or tripped over every few minutes. You wouldn't think I'd ever be classed as invisible, huffing there on my picnic blanket like a beached whale, but there you go. I really got cranky when I was given a really good bell-ringing kick in the head, but that was during Mars, so the red haze of aggrievement was apropos, I suppose. Clearly, I should have brought along the sit-down gun.
I know, drink more wine, eat more cheese. They also had Mr Bell reading suitable illustrative bits of Shakespeare to go with each piece, and that I enjoyed.
The finale was the now expected 1812 Overture, with cannons (fake) and fruitbat troubling fireworks (fabby, well, not for the fruitbats, but I love a firework) and everyone waved sparklers (except me, it's been so long since I've been I was out of the loop on sparklers). Rather good, and an amusingly odd tradition, but I like it.
So the clouds came up and wafted away again, the stars came out, the fruitbats flew overhead at sunset, the old picnic basket got another outing and I got to hear Neptune performed again. Neat.
Other things? Well, my Sherlock dvd arrived in the post, and still no sign of it in the tv schedules. Aside from holding up two fingers, and the dvd, to Channel Nine, who, inconceivably, are the alleged broadcast network responsible for Sherlock, I seriously question their competency not to just run a tv network in the 21stC, but any company. Because of course we're going to wait and wait until they screen it. Sure, they can get their mates in the government to tear up the broadband network and close the post office, but still, how thuggish and primitive. Australia all over.
Which brings me onto the criticisms of Mr Moffat, re both Sherlock and Doctor Who. Yes, certainly, the writing has been over smug and sloppy, building up overly complex plots that go nowhere, dropping plot holes and threads all over the place, worse than my feeble attempts at knitting. That I will grant you.
But the misogyny that has my overseas friends in a flap? Eh, I shrug. Sure he's an old reptile cut from the same cloth as Gene Hunt, and it comes across in wildly inappropriate quotes, but if you've ever seen the earlier work, like Coupling, it's his house style.
Also, snide remarks uttered by a BBC executive (and why the fuss considering what passes for normal behaviour at the Beeb?) are nothing compared to the aggressive stance of our current PM (oh, woe is me) who quite happily stood beside placards calling for the then PM, in possession of XX chromosomes, to be burnt at the stake as a witch.
Basically, compared to what passes as fine and dandy here, remarks by Mr Moffat are beyond mild in comparison. The worst Moffat can do is disappear so far up his own funadment I stop watching his shows, but he's no clear and present danger to my own bits, and my sovereign rights over my own bits, therefore I declare him 'mostly harmless'.
Ah, my fine friends and their first world problems. Me, I'd like some decent transport, decent web infrastructure, clean water, health care, education opportunities and fresh food. It's all very well for those living in nice sububs with everything I'm denied, being of the very undeserving poor, but how am I to eat properly when there is no greengrocer for miles (but plenty of takeaway), no public transport so it takes several hours to get home, no time to shop or cook? How am I to look after my health when there is nowhere to go? How am I to exercise when it's not safe to walk the streets after dark? And I only get home after dark - see 'no transport', above. How am I to access even basic information with old rotting copper wires? How am I supposed to get some fresh air when all the parks have been bulldozed to build slums? It's just not fair.
Okay, rant over. I did enjoy Sleepy Hollow on Monday, though, despite myself. Crane started off one one of his usual electrickery rants about his phone, but what he really wanted was an upgrade. So cute. I said he was like a sexy Catweazle, at which point the Peanut Gallery clattered his teacup so much as to nearly drop it, and asked me not to speak of such things in public or in front of ladies. Oh, dear. True, though. So very true.
As you might discern, I was quite fond of watching Catweazle as a child. Ah, 70s kids shows, when nobody ever saw anything wrong with crusty old guys hanging around with minors. Ahem.
At least the old Doctor always kept it strictly above board, on screen at least. And yay for Peter Capaldi. Somebody via Twitter has already pointed out the similarity in promo photos betwixt Capaldi and Pertwee. Don't have a problem with that.
We were watching an old, old Poirot the other week and there was young Pete, dressed up as a clown. No, we collectively pleaded, clutching our pearls and fearing a return to the bad old days. Then he turned up as an artist of the new school, with wild 90s hair and flappy coats and we were still shaking our heads. Nope. Fortunately they seem to have settled on something I can live with. Phew. (He looks just like the bad boys I used to fancy, but lets not go there, I don't want to hear any more teacups being rattled).
Quite looking forward to seeing what he does with the character. I mean, it's a big ask. It's not just a bit part on the telly, he's the ambassador for the brand, the BBC, Brirain. The only other acting role that comes close is James Bond, and he jumped out of a helicopter with the Queen at the Olympics, which puts Brand Bond on the same footing as Brand Windsor (which is also entirely fictional, when you think about it).
Anyways, it's a vocation, not a job, but with all the anorak juvenilia they've been uneathing re young Capaldi's engaged fanboy past, I think they've chosen the right man. Maybe a touch too well. I mean, the dear boy was 'counting the sleeps' until his first proper day on the show, bless. I'm seeing a 'they'll have to prise the sonic screwdriver from my cold dead hands' situation. We'll see, but they've got a superfan at the Tardis controls now. Could be a ride. Hey, maybe he'll keep Moffat honest?
So that's me, off for a cup of tea and a lie down. Sorry it's so ranty, but at least I spared you the rant about being stuck here (arrrrgh)...
...and I was walking around wearing half the hibiscus tree (the twiggy bits) and a few dangling spiders today. Okay, time to hack it back, pretty pretty flowers or no. But hey, at least it's picked up, it's sentinel mate on the other side of the gate did not. Sigh.
Today...so hot and sticky I had to stop scanning because I was having to peel myself off the magazines which is never a good thing. So I'm sitting here, having a peppermint tea because I persist in magical thinking by insisting that sweating peppermint makes me less liable to be bitten, despite all evidence to the contrary. I'm supposed to be out weeding but there was a warning to stay indoors so I latched onto that (I have a note) and here I am. Maybe after 3pm, but I dunno, heat = humidity + hormones = sitting quietly, I reckon. And watching more Man From Atlantis.
Oh yes. Already watched the Doctor Whos I got for xmas/birthday, plus Phryne and Tommy and Tuppence, but what I really wanted was some cheesy childhood nonsense. Hello...Amazon.
So it arrived, and I was wondering, is it going to be awful? Well, yes. Even as a child of the 70s, I recognised it as being not good as it unspooled before my innocent eyes (I don't know what the writers were smoking but I think it had detergent in it). They say the writers were ex-Trek, but clearly the Trek writers who gave us A Piece of the Action and Spock's Brain. Ah, well. It is classic 70s SF telly, though (ie completely baked), and then there's young Patrick Duffy, in those tight little yellow speedos, emerging from the water like a man candy Nascita di Venere, well, I just don't know where to look (smirk). Plot? Who the fek cares?
Never been a real fan of Mr Duffy, couldn't watch anything else he's ever been in (though lord knows I tried), but I'll happily watch him in this. Not to mention dear Victor Buono gorging himself on the scenery with gusto. I dunno, the way he got so fussy over the fonts to use in his ransom note I found rather endearing, but others may well find annoying.
So yes, probably spending the rest of the afternoon watching Mr Duffy in those little yellow swimming trunks, instead of wrestling with jungle outside ala the Seeds of Doom, which I was watching last night (yes, hitting the comfort tv rather hard this week, got a problem with that?).
Oh yeah, yesterday I dreamt The Idiot set the house on fire. Yesterday The Idiot set the house on fire. Left the bamboo steamers on the stove by their lonesomes. I walked into the kitchen to find nothing but smoke and flames. Oh, it's all out now, only lost the steamers, the saucepan and the pork buns (weep). A bit of scorching and a smoky smell that just won't go, and Idiot Boy still sulking in his room because I called him an idiot (and that's as harsh as I got, which was pretty controlled, under the circumstances, and reasonably accurate, imo). Happy Chinese New Year?
The List of Things
The Golden Age of insect aviation
Edwyn Collins: The pleasure was all ours
The Ellen DeGeneres Show: James Galea
The 100 best novels: No 19 – The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins (1868)
Frozen ice cream and 6 other things you can thank Australians for
Up Helly Aa in pictures: Viking festival in Lerwick, Shetland Islands
Rat-infested cruise ship adrift in Atlantic
Downton Abbey Porn Parody Rife With Historical Inaccuracies
The review that left Diana Rigg feeling flat: Avengers star recalls how critic described her breasts in 1971 nude scene as ‘insufficient flying buttresses’
"Off we go to our weekend at the remote cabin for...:
Rose McGowan on the 'Softness' of American Male Actors – 'That's Why We Import Them'
Patrick Duffy and Belinda J. Montgomery Talk MAN FROM ATLANTIS at Paley Center Retro TV Screening
Patrick Duffy: The Man From Atlantis Swims Again!
Talking with The Man From Atlantis: On Patrick Duffy and the glory years of TV stardom
Superheroes a 'cultural catastrophe', says comics guru Alan Moore
Sean Connery is my ultimate James Bond, says Honor Blackman
Vintage Garden Bird Feeders
Artistic masterpieces brought to life with video magic (nsfw)
Lost Rabbie Burns manuscripts set for exhibition
A beaver in England? Well, I'll be dammed
The decline of the Australian in the UK:
Attention seeker has had his last chance
Here's Why The Idea Of 'Traditional Marriage' Is Total Bullsh*t
Homophobia doesn't just oppress gay people, it affects us all
The myth of the Christian conservative
The American Gun Culture: Standing Your Ground Against the Deadly Use of Popcorn
ALMOST EVERYTHING IN “DR. STRANGELOVE” WAS TRUE
21 Statues Who Are Having A Worse Day Than You
6 Famous Quotes You're Probably Misusing
Nine technologies that have faded into history
WHEN THE NEW YORKER MOVED TO CONNECTICUT
Gorgeous, Decaying Photos of Firemen, Rescued From a Watery Grave
Lone Photographer Climbs Canadian Rockies At Night, Documents Hike In Stunning Photos
Fish find could cast light on 'watershed moment' by identifying the birth of breathing
Mysterious Undersea 'Crop Circles' Finally Explained
Watch Arcade Fire in civvies perform live in triple j's studio
Fate of Germany's 'degenerate art' revealed
Van Gogh's iconic 'Sunflowers' paintings reunited in London for first time in 65 years
Porsche’s First Car? An 1898 Electric Buggy
Mail Rail: What is it like on the 'secret' Tube?
Victoria line cement ‘flooding’ fixed: Workers used sugar to stop spilled concrete from setting
How Londoners Died in One Plague-Ridden Week in 1665
Return of the Black Death: Plague that killed millions is able to rise from the dead
University of Sydney scientist Professor Edward Holmes helps explain mystery of the Black Death and Plague of Justinian
When an elephant walked on the frozen River Thames
British dinosaurs should be everyone’s cup of tea
Neanderthals gave us disease genes
Archaeologists unearth the tomb of a previously unknown Egyptian pharaoh
How the Steampunk movement is catching the eye of Big Tech
Swindles, Cyanide, and the Underwater Ballroom: The Story of a Doomed Victorian Scoundrel
Scientists accidentally capture ball lightning, proving it to be a true natural phenomena - not an optical illusion
Stars form in electrician's eyes after powerful shock
Earthquake rocks New Zealand lower North Island
Giant eagle sculpture crashes from New Zealand airport ceiling in severe earthquake
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
William Shakespeare, the 'king of infinite space’
Stephen Hawking: 'There are no black holes'
Why your brain has a ‘Jennifer Aniston cell'
Watch: Neil Finn live webcast
Greg Kinnear Talks RAKE, His Approach to the Edgy Role, Similarity to the Australian Series, and More
Captain & Tennille Divorcing After 39 Years of Marriage
John Lithgow On Being 'So Married' To Alfred Molina In 'Love Is Strange'
X-Men Bromances: An Ode to Michael Fassbender, James McAvoy, Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart
Sleepy Hollow Star Orlando Jones' Guide on How to Be Your Best Fangirl
The CW’s ‘Supernatural’ Has Its Most Watched Episode Since 2010
Ratings: Supernatural Hits Three-Year High Against State of the Union
Jared Padalecki Names Son Shepherd
Patrick J. Adams & Gabriel Macht: 'Suits' TCA Panel!
Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Special Credits Recreated in the Style of ‘Friends’
'Doctor Who': Steven Moffat needs to stop playing Matt Smith favorites
Fan Friction - “Sherlock” and its audiences
Sherlock Isn't the Fan-Friendly Show You Think It Is
'Sherlock' Season 3, or why 'Doctor Who' needs less Steven Moffat
'Sherlock' Makers Will Be Sticking To Shorter Seasons
'Sherlock' Star Louise Brealey Talks Season 3 And Molly Hooper's Lovelife
Sherlock's Louise Brealey: on kissing Benedict Cumberbatch and my Del Boy moment during that slap...
'Sherlock' makers sticking to abbreviated seasons
Fan Friction - “Sherlock” and its audiences.
Matt Bomer: Shirtless Sexy Cabo Vacation with Simon Halls!
Matt Bomer Cuddles with Simon Halls at Cabo Birthday Celebration
All-star cast takes on AIDS TV drama
Space Station 76
Matt Bomer & Partner Simon Halls Get Cuddly In Cabo San Lucas!
Kelly Ripa, Matt Bomer And Their Sexy Beach Bods Vacation Together In Cabo!
'White Collar' Finale: Mozzie Becomes the Latest Target
Exclusive White Collar Sneak Peek: Can Mozzie Find the Diamond Before His Time Runs Out?
Suspense builds in Tim DeKay's 'White Collar' about renewal for a new season
White Collar Recap: Did Neal Find the Diamond? Was Rebecca Captured?