mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)
There's so much to tell you. On a personal level, things are not as I've still not be able to find a new job. all tips and suggestion will be given careful consideration.

I could tell you about the spider bite on my arm that looks like I've grown a third nipple. Should have caught the bugger and maybe had a new species named after me, but I was rather too involved doing the GEORF dance, alas. We were putting in a few new fruit trees to replace the poor old lemon which finally tottered over. Not that I'll see any fruit in my lifetime, but behold my optimism. Ah well, I like to think we were rescuing the wee trees from the supermarket and I'd rather see a shrubling than bare earth (unlike the neighbours whose Agent Orange scorched earth policy has to answer for my upwind dead lemons, oranges, quinces, plums, mangoes, etc).

So, theatre. At least I've still got pre-purchased tickets through to next year (though I'll have to sell my Hamlet ticket, such a cursed play for me, what with Toby Schmitz abandoning his long anticipated run as Hamlet last year, thus cruelling Toby Fest '13 forever and ever). I'll let you know when I pop it on Ebay (still holding out for a few more months, ever the optimist).

So, recent to last? Let's see if I can remember them.

There was the much anticipated and oh my god it's actually good Luke Mullins turn in The Glass Menagerie at the Belvoir. It was so well done, proof that the Belvoir doesn't always have to be a draining experience of uncomfortable silences. Just for once a little inventiveness actually worked, not clever for the sake of being clever, but bring that proper MAGIC theatre moment that so rarely happens. Here they had a set with 30s props and curtains, but they also had cameras set up and two screens, and with a fan blowing the lace curtain past a tear streaked actor gazing heavenwards, the screen would show an image that was such a piece of perfect 30s film, it was just really place and time setting more than a complete set (which the Belvoir really can't do, by simple logistics of being an old factory space). So wonderful, so atmospheric. The gentleman sitting next to me and I swooned over the effect in the interval.
more: there was an ick factor )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
Well, at least that production of Macbeth was ticking all the boxes of my bad production bingo: bare black stage, a wooden chair, a fall of glitter. Check, check and check.

What a pity, and Hugo Weaving was so good, damn good, a magnificent Macbeth, full of sound and fury. If only we could have seen his Macbeth in a more tradtional production, and, hell, a traditional staging really would be radical in this town.

I can see now why our best actors go overseas. They have to. This was...woesome. It was like watching Gandalf bestride Ramsay Street, with glitter. (Yes, I know he played Elrond, but you get the idea, he was playing it big, the others, not so much).

Let down by the production. The whole putting the audience on the stage in the world's most awful plastic chairs just made us gaze yearningly at the comfy chairs that now formed the backdrop. The whole thing was a gimmick, and I've seen it done much better, at Traflagar's Macbeth, fer starters.
more: and then it got worse )
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
The biggest worry, for me, of course, was the extreme likihood of me flipping a feminine hygiene product out of my bag and into the lap of the King Slayer as I fumbled and flustered upon approach (I have form in this area, sad to say). Fortunately events conspired to make this scenario impossible. Ah, well.

So that was Sunday, all effed up, and I was so unwell, too. Should have stayed on the couch wrapped up in fluffy dressing gown, with a nice hot cup of tea and a Smash marathon on the telly. In my heart of hearts I knew it was the one true plan for Sunday. Everything else was stuff up city.

Still, it wasn't all bad. I did buy myself a replica leather flying helmet, just like I've always wanted. And I owned all of, what, ten seconds. Then Himself put it on, and it seems I'd bought Himself a replica leather flying helmet (and goggles), just like he's always wanted. Le sigh.

At least Friday was kinda cool. The usual departure lounge cake at work, then I took my time in lieu and bunked off early to the con (who does cons on a work day?) and queued up for ages, but I did see John Barrowman and Stan Lee, both very amusing.

I think the highlights were Stan Lee correcting everyone's grammar (in between being the coolest grandpa you never had) and John's shitty cat story (made perfect by Scott hovering nearby, thus I could turn to see his reaction to everything John said, much pained face palming, tee hee).

John was bouncing all over the place, and yes, Stan Lee's patter was well rehearesed and polished, but as I heard him answer the same question three times in the weekend, never once telling the person he'd already answered that, I can understand why he has his routine down. And yes, there aren't too many people around left to refute Stan's versions of events, but who cares. He was funny, the way old New York guys of a certain era were (we'll never see his like again) and he's body of work is massively impressive, so three cheers for Stan the man. He was sweet, joyful, excited and seemingly happy to tell the origin stories, and I did so love the bitchy asides at editorial or creative decisions by others he's still not happy about. Heh. (Holds a grudge, old Stan).

The queue for autographs was less fun, three very cold and crampy hours. Hey, I wonder if my unused tokens will ever be collector items? I doubt it, but I'm saving them in any case.

I also finally saw, and met, young Jamie Bamber (he of Hornblower fame) and he was really sweet when I told him I'd once seen him on stage in Liverpool, of all places.

Michael Rosenbaum, late of Smallville, and precious little else, was really fun, doing his own thing, wandering amongst the crowd, winding up the con organisers (I think I enjoyed that almost as much as young Rosenbaum did).
more: boys will be boys )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
Angry possums can move really fast. I had the territorial Ms Possum growling and hissing at me through the crawl space in the bathroom, and I told her to rack off. Later, still pitch black, I went out to fill the seed tray for the forever annoyed at me parrots when a very large and growling possum raced across the yard, up the macadamia tree, shaking it like a thing possed, leaping from that to the shed to the house to lean over the gutter and snarl at me, before flicking her furry tail and scuttling off over the laundry.

So, nobody's ever been killed by a possum, right? She really does not like me, especially this week. Been home with the wotsits for a couple of days, real bad, and she's been snarling at me through the bookcase, even when I didn't have the tv on. Does not like me at all (adores Himself though, the coquette).
warning: contains dairy products and traces of nuts )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
Even cranky one eyed parrots get the blues. Or maybe he was all sooky and wanting to snuggle because I had the blues. Big time. It's work. I know I'm not meant to talk about it, but to end up with the stuff I was trained at and liked to do given to others, and back with the deadening filing and errand running I used to do when I was 17, it's just destroying. Utterly destroying.

That said, wasn't Ripper Street a treat last night?
more: enterprises that were service for all mankind )
mockturle06: (Dean)
Still with the allergies in extremis, and hacking away at all the weeds and scrubbing away at the mould is supposed to help but in action is really, really not. Didn't get to the scanning as planned because the weather report said apocalyptic storms At Any Minute! What we got was a sprinkle of rain that would have struggled to dampen a tissue.

Instead I'd settled down to the classic old Hitchcock version of 39 Steps and a wicked box of chocs, achieved because I'd idly bet a box of chocs on a completely predictable outcome to the Newsroom finale (yay) and Himself thought he'd better pay up after my rant about other people welching on a bet made fairly and squarely and even written down. I reserve the right to use this further example of lowdown dirty behavour as irrefutable proof that the sods are indeed villainous scum deserving of my scorn and contempt. Fair enough, right? I mean, what would Nucky do?

So, after some frantic drudge work, me, couch, chocs and the wonderful Robert Donat. Hey, a gal's gotta have some happy time. It is the best version of the tale ever filmed, I really love it, and so ripped off some scenes were they were almost unfairly comical in a 'that old trope' kind of way, even though this was the original, or near enough. There were two scenes seemingly straight out of Bond flicks that had me thinking 'hmmmm'.

Okay, so I wasn't watching it properly (I blame the boxset of Rifftrax I was sent on Friday) but it was all 'Richard Hannay, confirmed bachelor' after that sculpture in his hallway, and the scene where he and Mrs Scottish Farmer stare at the page of the newspaper in horror, the page advertising HP Sauce, which got us onto HP Sauce speakeasys and Nucky standing on the beach while squarish bottles tumble ashore. Like I said, not watching it properly. Being very silly. And loving it.
more: I think you're experiencing Captain envy )
mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
So I saw someone rocking the full Chrissie Hynde this morning, and I did think for a minute, in my bleary, sleep deprived state, that maybe that dvd boxset had hit me harder than I thought last night and I'd ended up in 1978.

No such luck. Just another dreary weekday. Oh well.
more: epic fail )
mockturle06: (Lewis)
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.
the joy of cowboys )
mockturle06: (Dean)
So many crazy deadlines, and only a few of them self inflicted, and I'm up to my eyeballs in disposal schedules (clearing out room and desk). Oh well, at least I'm not as bad as Diddums, who had his first month of working a five day week, like, ever, and forgot to make tea with teabags. Okay, yeah, I did the same the other week, but I hadn't slept in six weeks then (and I work F/T and go out lots). Had my first weekend home since mid Jan and I figure I got some stuff done. More to do, but I figure if I get anything done, I'm doing well.

It was my turn to do the shopping and cooking last night, and despite a broken shoe and several heavy textbooks in my bag, I reckon I did okay, and tea made me so happy I slept like a baby. I bet Diddums wasn't happy because it was so heavy on the dairy, but this is what happens when you make a mad hormonal woman do the shopping. I made fettuccine with smoked salmon, mascarpone and cracked pepper. So wrong and so right. I liked it.

There was fruit to follow, too, and more dairy, with a dollop of King Island yoghurt. Heh. Well, I slept the soundest sleep I've had in a year, so I was very happy.

Yeah, I know, I'm going to have to work it off, but all this packing of groceries/books/stuff across town and back again sans automobile should do it, and if it doesn't, what's the point of it? It's not like I don't go through several pairs of shoes a month. Either the Chinese are making really shoddy shoes these days, or we must admit that I do actually wear through quite a bit of rubber, despite appearances to the contrary.
more: American tv, American theater (sic) )
mockturle06: (matt)
That was fun. Once again Melbourne has proved itself to be the most magical city on earth.

By happy accident rather than good planning, it so happened that my trip to Melbourne coincided with White Night, and I'm so glad it did. Best night ever. So much to see and do, and I never even made it to dawn (I blame the twelve hour day I was flogged through on Friday). But it was so delightful, so magical, so wonderful.
more: a night to remember )
mockturle06: (Fassbender)
Bless the Google doodle. They've had some beauts lately, and it is so often one of the few things to raise a smile these days, which is terrible, but the world is a much meaner place these days.

Nobody has time for meandering eccentrics these days, it's A Type arseholes, and isn't it grand. Just look at all those bankers and hedge fund managers, all those disgraced and/or arrested so called sporting heroes. Those so called sportsmen make this cynic smile bitterly, as recent press would seem to prove that this type are the same poisonous violent bullies they always were in the schoolyard.

With all these bullies roaming about, it's no wonder it's so difficult for those who don't fit the narrow deinition of acceptable these days. Sigh. Sometimes I think Wllie Loman in Death of a Salesman isn't the isolated incident of a loser who couldn't cut it, but the canary in the coalmine.

There should be more to life than screwing over the other guy. There should be.

Oh, apparently it's not just my imagination. It's in the water: Anti-anxiety drug in water makes fish fearless.

Anyways, went off to Canberra to see the TOULOUSE-LAUTREC: PARIS AND THE MOULIN ROUGE exhibition at the NGA, as part of my running away from home thing.
more: decadence for art's sake )
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
It's not often, but not as uncommon as one might suspect, to find old Dirty Dick, Richard III, in the news. I must admit, I've been following the posthumous adventures of the fellow with a keen interest, ever since my visit to the Richard III museum in York, where keen but interesting folk regaled me on all matters RIII, but they were kind, I was lonely, they wanted to talk, I was happy to listen, and so, ever since, every mention has attracted my attention, and well, the return of the king - who would have expected that!

History, live. Archaelogists, Richard apologists, rejoicing. Arguments over where to re-bury him, the war of the roses stirring up again. Fabulous stuff. My history buffy self has been well satisfied.
more: men with tennis rackets, hats, rubber ducks, mountains and car parks )
mockturle06: (Dean)
I'm having Russian caravan tea again because I had a craving. The Twinings version is my least fave but the easiest to get, and I'm having it with honey, instead of jam like you're supposed to, 'cause I have honey in my desk drawer, but no jam (dreadful oversight, I know, but I do have to keep the odd paperclip and pen in there beside all my teas - grin).

At least, I was told that one should properly have it with jam down at that cafe in Canberra, the one I like, and I figure they'd know, Canberra being much more of a cold war hotspot than I was ever led to believe, the official version as I was taught being that it is a remote rural backater were nothing ever happens, but I feel local prejudices may be at play. Certainly recently declassified files point to a far more entertaining level of spy vs spy shenanigans going on, so, I figure I'll accept Canberra cafes as an authority on things Russian.
more: law and disorder )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
The big yellow rubby ducky has gone from Darling Harbour. Weep. I'm quite and surprisingly verklempt about it, the vanishing of a rather large and foolish yellow duck, but the sight of its big round yellow head every morning gave me a smile, especially this week, when I've had little to smile about.

Monday was a disaster from start to finish, especially when I realised, several hours into my morning commute, that I'd hadn't zipped the back of my dress all the way up. I've finally failed dressing myself in the morning. In my defence, it was cracking early and I was desperately unwell, but still, as I've learnt from bitter experience, there's no excuse.
more: ducks and demons )
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
What have I been up to? Not much. There was the Cary Grant course at Sydney Uni that I thought, as it was being given by Mr David Stratton, would be a critical examination of the man and his motives, but no, it was just sitting there watching clips and the odd film. As I'm a big time fan, it's hard to be churlish, I enjoyed the opportunity to watch Cary Grant films uninterrupted under the cover of academic study, but still. Some discussion would have been nice. I fear the, um, vigourous discourse, in my philosophy classes has perhaps spoiled me a bit, expectations wise.

So that was a touch on the meh side, as if watching North By Northwest could ever be meh. Come on, you know I'm a fan, did you see what I got up to on my last trip (still can't get out to Mt Rushmore, though)?


more: music, with a side of bacon )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
Precious little to report as theatre was cancelled and I bunked off my usual philosophy course. I was tired, it was wettish, and decided to wallow with my box set of The Hour instead. Good choice, imho. I love The Hour. Think State of Play in meticulous 50s drag. Except it's grim London 50s, not sparkling LA 50s. Makes it better, as far as I'm concerned. Also, crushing big time on Mr Whishaw.

It was all about the rain. Stood in the rain for about forty minutes or so outside the old State Theatre just to catch the most fleeting of glimpses of James Bond. Well, it was the dismal end of a miserable week and it was on the way to the bus stop, anyway, which is on the other side of town (scruffy reprobates from my zone need not bother coming into the city proper, they are neither welcome nor required, apparently those photocopiers fill themselves).

Anyway, I stood, I got soaked, I did but see him passing by. For a second, under an umbrella. Still, it wasn't that bad. The crowd where I was standing seemed to be made up almost entirely of British ladies of a certain age, and their withering comments, be it the weather or the fashions of minor soapie stars, was entertainment itself (British moaning does get on one's tits in the long term, but in short term exposures it's hilarious).



The monorail also provided a unique bonding experience, as we were standing right under the track in the rain and I tried to warn the tourists what would happen, but they pshawed (I wasn't wearing the grey cardigan of trustworthiness), until it did come around the corner and swept all the water from the track before it down onto our heads. After that their were cries of 'monorail!' every time it hoved into view. Well, I did try to warn 'em.

Never mind, good crowd of the very damp and the very faithful, and very British, and therefore very vocal. It was kind of fun. Reminds me of why I do the stage door thing there, but never here.
more: the mad, the bad and the dangerous )
mockturle06: (matt)
So it was off to another session in the Philosophical Concepts in Film series at Sydney Uni. I enjoy these so much, and yes, it is becoming a bit like a bookclub, but at least, just for once, I had a ready answer for what I'd been up to since last time, and folks actually wanting to hear about my adventures across America (yes the train trip was cheating as I took it right through, but I would have only really been tempted to get off at Flagstaff or Albuquerque) so that was fun, for me, at least.
more: rakes and thieves )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
I shall tell you about the philosophy class I went to on Saturday. They're held every so often and I usually don't disciuss them as they're a bit of private fun for me but as I had to give up my ticket event due to extreme ooginess, philosophy it is. I love these classes. I really do. I love the tutor, who has something of a cult following, but he's reallt good, and I love the way we discuss the text before having to read it, which is so much easier than the other way around. I love that,because these are only like community college courses, we only have to read selected extracts and not whole books, because, personally, I don't have the time (would that I could) so while I only get a surface view of the issues, at least I've been made aware of their existence.

I love the use of film to illustrate points, because it really helps clarify obscure ideas, and it also flips films I've seen before and makes me look at them in entirely new and thoughtful ways. There's a reason why I chose these instead of any writing courses. I couldn't do both (the tyranny of time and money) but I think these help more, they remind me of or introduce me to grand themes and concepts that run through so many media forms these days (films, books, comics, tv, etc).

I also love the films he picks, introducing me to films I've never seen before, but should have, especially the older films, which I often only recognise through later shameless ripoffs and homages. It's certainly made my Amazon purchases and recommends list more able to be seen in public - grin (yes, I buy the dvds, still no broadband, sigh).

I also enjoy meeting smart people and having conversations that don't involve the latest cricket scores (kill me now). I am so lonely and starved of good conversation that these courses are like a feast or fix for me. I feel like I've taken my poor, shrunken brain out for a run, even if it does return panting like my old dog.
more: game of thrones, game of remotes )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)
Is that a banana in my pocket? Why yes, it is, indeed. Finally, I can afford a banana. Rejoice.

Sorry, needed to lead off with a lame joke. Some people had said some very cutting remarks which utterly destroyed my sense of worth, and, which were also measurably, empirically and factually untrue, so I was seething and outraged as well as distressed beyond measure or description and it's been a long, grinding wait for a bit of karma, but when it came, it was break out the popcorn time. Oh yes, that'll do nicely. Thank you, universe. I feel much better now, so much better it's almost a struggle to stay seemly. I might have been more sympathetic to the blow to their pride had they not so mortified mine. Ah, screw that. In your face! Mwahaha!

Mind you, they've been taking it out on me ever since, ow, ow, ow, thump, sock, kapow.

Meanwhile, related to the events of last week, I'm having to lodge a development application to prune the trees with the council, in person, and pay cash. They don't even do faxes, let alone have an app for that. It's all so excruciatingly mediaeval I shall be very disappointed if they're not sitting there in their big cloaks and puffy hats and wielding quills and parchment. Get with the 21stC, mutter, mutter, mutter.
more: Oh, carrots! )
mockturle06: (lom tea)
Every time I go out into the office lobby, this enormous and bulging black bin bag has moved to somewhere else in the lobby and is skulking in a different corner or leaning against a different wall. I'm afraid I'm too much of a child of cheap and creepy British telly not to raise an eyebrow at this sort of behaviour, you know, from watching the sort of shows where they'd imbue a bin bag with dread and menance, because that's all the FX budget ran to.

Nevertheless, I'd have to declare their efforts most effective because I still can't but help find that independently mobile black plastic bin bag of unusual size rather unsettling.

Okay, yes, maybe that old wowser Mary Whitehouse had a point, but life would be so dull if there weren't any creepy deserted lobby wandering bin bags.
more: a surfeit of Sherlocks )

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