mockturle06 | cinders goes to drawing class (Reply)

Freeman described the show as a "love story" between Holmes and Watson. "Not just a love story – these two people who love and need each other in a slightly dysfunctional relationship, but in a relationship that works," he said. - The Guardian

Well, at least one of my shows isn't afraid to mention the friendship that dare not speak its name.

And lookit, my favourite tv grifter, getting some respect:

In 1957, he got a call for a humorous new TV western called “Maverick.” Garner’s job was to play a no-better-than-he-had-to-be gambler, a likeable rogue whose charm — and creative approach to the law — always saw him through.

That slippery character would be one that Garner returned to, but with a twinkle that set him apart from other, more anguished anti-heroes.

Garner’s guys were slick (which, not surprisingly, had been his high-school nickname) but they weren’t wounded, or wounding. Yes, they always snagged the best table, the prettiest girl — but they were so upfront about their schemes, you somehow didn’t mind.

I love Maverick, as you might have guessed by now. I was watching a Bart/Doc episode on Sunday during a break and it was so funny. No, really, it was snapping along as though it were written by a blacklisted screwball comedy writer, and, even more hilariously, it was all about banks and credit and bad loans and mortgages and it's pretty much Maverick Explains the GFC, only done Girl Friday style (Bart was the girl friday, in case you were wondering). I'm still chuckling over lines like (paraphrased from memory): 'Cheer up, Doc, at least we know there are some things you won't do for money'.

Tues: Ooh, I almost joined the 21stC this morning. Got a tweet that the Bomer, who hasn't been getting as much press as he used to (hmmm), was gonna be on some US chat show, while peeking at my wee beastie with bleary eyes at an ungodly hour in the am.

Ever the optimist, I searched the Foxtel guide app and found it. Whoo hoo! Now, to be truly 21stC I would have hit the app record button at that point but as Himself has the IQ all full up again (even though I spent ALL Sunday archiving and deleting) that was a no go so I had to set it manually on the old box in my room, but, hey, near enough, right? I would have totally missed that, had it not been for the tech. Okay, there's always YouTube, though the trick is to get it before it's deleted, if it's not IP locked (USA network, you c**ts).

Speaking of Himself, aka Mr Grumpy, I only did half my drawing class last night, even though I was in the groove, going quite well and it was my favourite model, all because he was grumpy at my sidelines, so I came home early, and then I had to wash up during Supernatural (super harumph) and then I was still in the poo books for keeping him up late. Can't win. It's a bit rich, just because he's working a full week for the first time in his life. I used to do that with four nights and Saturdays at Uni and housework all Sunday. For half my adult life. Harumph.

I'm trying not to pout but it really is unfair that just when I've decided I want to have a life and do courses that everyone suddenly expects me to do XY and Z for them, at home and at work. Clearly, I am having too much fun. Sourpusses.

I'd make some crack here about the only support I'm getting is from my bra, but even that would be a lie. Et tu, brassiere? Next week, and there will be a next week because I don't take being told 'no' lightly, I'll just go shopping for necessaries, because I should know by now there's nowhere that serves drinkable coffee in my home town. Oh, goodness me no. Last night's coffee was worse than last week's, and I never thought that possible. By Odin's beard, that was some vile coffee. Cafe culture is clearly a work in progress.

Oh, and they've taken Maverick off telly. This is clearly not going to be my week.

Wed: And I'm not wrong. To give you just a taste, last night, still only about two third the way home on my mighty intercity commute, the bus driver just pulls over, for no reason, just waving his hands and muttering like a homeless guy and pushes us off the bus, leaving us stranded, by the side of the road, in the dark, in the cold rain, with no shelter. If he wanted to chuck us off he could have at least dumped us at the interchange a few miles back, or the one several miles on, but no. So, having already waited for ages in the rain to catch said bus, and having only just got a seat after 90 or so minutes, I had to wait and wait about another 40 minutes or so in the rain for the next bus, and crowd onto that, no seat.

So not happy. Not even a nice hot shower, a nice hot cup of tea, a chocolate biscuit (big, small or Irish was the offer, though I settled for something small and Italian) and Doctor Who, with Matt Smith, and River and Angels, no less, failed to cheer me up as they usually do, even though I said they did. I blame the complete lack of Maverick in my life. Sigh. Not that I would have made it home for Maverick, but, still.

And Burn Notice, on W, just isn't the same. Close, but no cigar. Very close, though, at times, the way Fiona acts up (the women always won on Maverick, to my continued bemusement).

So I sat up and typed and typed (or tried to, all thumbs and no fingers last night) and then worked up some photos for class (I'm rubbish but digital cameras and photoshop are a crap photographer's little helpers, especially when competing against classmates, and, I hasten to add, only my class photos are digitally retouched, the rest are as the camera - not I - took them), waiting for wee Bomer to pop up on that American chat show. Just for once we had the chat show while he was actually on it (chat shows come and go in the schedules here and usually the guests I want to see are only on it while the show is between contracts, shall we say).

So, Bomer. Very cute, though still with the stories I didn't really want to hear (he'd much be so much fun at dinner parties, I'll pass on the oysters, thanks), and seemingly very chipper and a lot, I mean a lot, more relaxed than I've seen him on shows previously, though he was still spreading his hands nervously on the chair arms (I know someone who does that when stressed so I picked up on it as a nervous tic). But yeah, there was the boy. Pretty, pretty boy. Worth staying up that late? I dunno, but since I had stuff to do and I was so late getting in, thank you mr grumpy f-wit bus driver, and it sort of reminded me of the good/bad old days when I used to stay up for chat shows, pre YouTube. But it was something to do, and since I had "Matt Bomer" listed in my Foxtel guide, I figured I should at least try and make an effort to eyeball the lad, you know?

As for White Collar, an intriguing and dark little Peter/Neal scene they chose to tease us with. Yes, Peter is furious with Neal's betrayal, real or otherwise, and Neal is furious at Peter's lack of trust (though, seriously, Neal, big ask there, oh pretty boy who lies through his perfect white teeth). It's a lot, oh my god, so much like scenes I've already written, so I might post some more ficcy bits later, just before they get thoroughly spoiled, if you know what I mean. So snap on the trust issues but there is no enforced GF in my fic, unless you want to count the nameless tart Peter chases out of Neal's rooms in the midst of the trust issue explosion in ze fic of forlone hope.

Being a wet Wednesday, there was to be no lolling about in the park amongst the autumn leaves, writing ze gay porn. No, it was the the nearby cafe I must retire, with a prim and proper Penguin paperback in hand.

And the wee beastie, and I fear I might have given away my location by bigging up the cafe's bunny chow on Twitter, but it is to die for, and anyways, a disgruntled government worker in a nearby tower block? Good luck narrowing down that profile (though YouTube does quite well, as I had to log in on the work account I'd set up and it's all White Collar recs. Eeeep!). Anyways, it's funny because I mentioned the other week that time I had the soup in the hollowed out sourdough bun in Seattle (still very fondly remembered). Guess what they now have on the menu? If this becomes a local trend, we can look to my Seattle pal in thanks - grin. So it was a very Seattle-y lunch.

I miss the park, though. It's free and non fattening.

Anyway, that was fun, got me away from the fumes for a bit, and you'd think me wearing a medical mask would be a clue to tone it down a touch, but no. Dear me, no. Anyone would think we didn't have indoor plumbing and it was still the done thing to reek like an 18thC tart, but there you go. Perhaps I could leave a gift soap on the desk. No?

Oh, and my photography tutor liked two out of four of the photos I submitted, so I'll take that as a pass. It was hard to choose, and I suck at film photography, but I'm pleased.