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I just found out we saw the Forsythe Saga before the US and Wire In The Blood before the UK. Well then. Ioan's character is run over by a carriage in episode 3 after shagging Soames' wife, and the serial killer is a tranny in the Robson show. Heh heh heh. Revenge is a dish best served online.
Why this sudden burst of malicious mischief in posting spoilers? Probably because after spending 5 days - two of them my days off - on creating whoo hoo navigation toys as requested they ask if they're compatible with old browsers and text readers. Well of course not, which is why we're going back to the simple nav menu I first proposed. Excuse me while I go gnaw on some furniture. This is after me waking up screaming in the middle of the night for several days running. It's not that I hate writing my own applications - yeah, actually, it is.
I would have spent all Sunday working on them too had I not been the victim of the same vicious blackouts that have so cripppled/fried the network at work these last few days. You can see why I didn't dare turn on ye olde pootie or ye olde dvd considering how badly everything else is toast. All the clocks had to be reset and the Foxtel box is most unhappy. Would have been a good day for musing out of doors had it not been so cold and windy - like tempest windy, and winter cold.
Of course, having weeks of work junked is SOP, but you know, I could have spent the time more constructively, like fooling around with that fic peoples is nagging me to finish.
I forgot to mention how much I'm enjoying Arena's encore presentation of Homicide, uncut, in order and at a civilised hour (though I tape it and watch it later anyway). It was the only thing I watched Monday night, aside from MASH and Rodders. And Roswell. 24 and Band of Brothers are on the menu tonight, as EvilCh9 has designated Tuesday night as a Lex free zone. Whimper. Pout.
Happily Cartoon Network have deigned to return Time Squad to Saturday mornings, much to my relief. Life without Buck and Larry just isn't worth living, imho. It's so very, very subversive. It surely can't be made by Americans, they just don't have the taking the piss gene, I thought. I mean, mocking former presidents - isn't that like a treasonable offence these days?
Buffy: Lie to Me. The episode where Max is a vampire wannabe. Double my Max this week. Buffy is being so the whiney, bitchy jealous girlfriend. So much so it makes me wonder if Angel saw dating her as part of his penance. Buffy as hair shirt. Heh.
Band of Brothers: You know you've watched too much Goodies as a child when the German lines breaks into Xmas carols and you expect them to leap up and start playing soccer. To make maters more inappropriately giggleworthy in the very next scene one of the guys starts handing around photos. Stop that, put those away! Don't you know what happens to soldiers who start showing snapshots around?
Fed the birds left over noodles. That was ten minutes of fun, watching them kill the noodles. When I lived with my grandparents we used to feed the kookaburras tinned spaghetti from the very 60s patio and watched them try and kill the spag by whacking it against the branch of the nearest gum tree. Of course these days they say it's cruel because the birds could break their beaks, but those kookaburras never seemed to mind. They'd always line up for their treat.
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Thought I'd post a few more bird photos, seeing as how I'm a crazy old bird lady these days. Well, at least it's better than owning a cat. Not that I have anything against cats per se, though watching the bastards run off with fluffy fledglings doesn't endear. No, it's cat owners who tend rub me the wrong way. I don't know why, but more often than not, they just raise my hackles to a ridiculous degree. If you had to make potential friends fill out a visa waiver form then the question 'have you ever owned a cat?' would come way above 'have you ever committed an act of genocide?'. Mass murderers I can deal with. Uber cat owners - they just freak me out. Dunno why, just is. All the people who have ever taken enormous chunks out of me, the people who have me screaming in my sleep at 2 am, they were all seriously devout cat owners. Guess I'm just a dog person. Only I'm not allowed to have a dog, so I make do. At least they're not cats.
A change of toilet paper signals the end of an era, or rather the end of a phase I was probably just going through, at least. You see, when I had friends coming over we bought the expensive stuff so as to not offend their delicate middle class bottoms with our coarse working class ply. Never let it be said I don't realise how squalid and scruffy my house is. I aspire to the Watts slums they had on Starsky and Hutch the other day. Of course, no friends = no fancy TP. Just used the last fluffy roll. Oh well. Another seven or so years in the wilderness for me, at least. Mind you, the last seven years weren't that bad, disasters aside. I hung out with cool people in America, Canada, Britain and France, I made pages and met new, cool people that way. I saw castles, great works of art, Elizabethan doublets, Roman columns, Loch Ness. I met my never before seen relatives. I finished my degree and got promoted, at last. I travelled, I read, I took courses, I broadeneed my horizons. It was fun. It can be fun again. If I must insist on marching to the beat of my own drummer I must accept that I will walk alone. I actually kind of like it that way - it's just the cruel comments of spectators that make me feel bad. Hmmm, yes, must go to galleries more. I miss working in the city. I feel out of the loop re exhibitions of interest.
A lot of people assume a lot of things on account of my DMs. Hey, I only wear them because I can't afford a car and I live in a slum. As the song goes: "Broken glass everywhere, people pissing on the streets 'cause they just don't care." Yesterday somebody had demolished the bus stop, probably with the usual weapon of choice, a car, and there were huge drifts of broken glass everywhere. It was like walking on crunchy snow. The closest I'm ever going to get to a white Xmas. Try walking through that in girly strappy sandals? I don't bloody think so.
Today there was another wash of broken glass. This time it appears a car had gone into a telegraph pole. Must have been one of those new plastic jobs because the telgraph pole was still standing, albeit covered in shiny purple paint, broken glass, rubber, a bit of chrome and some plastic shards of former car. This is where I walk. Further up the street is the flattened steel fence and squashed azalea hedge of somebody's front lawn, right next to the school. The school, mind, with the very same steel fence that has been flattened like so much wet cardboard. How on earth do you spin out on a straight stretch of road? Yet I've seen it done, I've seen cars slam into yards right in front of me, throwing splinters and palings everywhere. Sometimes I worry that walking home will be the death of me.
To top off my morning, screaming guy was at the station again. Thanks for closing the hospitals round here. It's really much more humane to have these guys running around loose now, a danger to themselves and others. You ever heard a chimpanzee scream before it goes in for the kill on the National Geographic channel? That's exactly, exactly what he sounds like, and so loud I could still hear him screaming in the lobby at work. It's kinda fun to watch people's faces when they hear him though, to see that primitive recognition of danger suddenly flash in their eyes. He's one scary dude, running up and down and screaming like that: raw, animal and deadly. And everyone else reacts like a frightned monkey in the forest. It's kinda cool, to watch, to see people suddenly confronted with the law of the jungle, to realise how thin a veneer these invented manners that they call civilisation truly are. Wish somebody would bag the poor guy with tranq guns and nets though, before he pushes somebody in front of a train.