mockturle06: (mr flibble)
So I did the whole Hugo A Go Go thing on the weekend. We were studying Les Misérables in philosophy class as part of our examination of what is a 'good man' and I heard about the exhibition, so, ticking the 'educational' box, off I went.

I think it's really cool, these cities that tie together exhibitions, in this case, Les Misérables, the musical, was playing down in Melbs, so the library down there is hosting an exhibition on the man, the manuscript and the musical.

Yes, the actual manuscript of Les Misérables (gosh and golly!) with scribbles, and the inky quills used to write it, and photos of the man bent over his desk. Wow (though my favourite photo was of M. Hugo straddling a chair ala Christine Keeler, it bemused).

There were also old maps of Paris, photos taken by the Hugo family, books of like minded contemporaries (Dickens, Dumas, etc.), posters of film and theatre versions (the drawing of the 1920s Japanese actor as Jean Valjean will be haunting my nightmares for days to come), copies of international editions, a really cute mashup of all the various film versions to make a ten minute movie in the theatrette, costumes from the film and stage productions, videos, music, props, more posters. Yep, everything you ever wanted to know about Les Mis and then some.

I thought I'd have to elbow people out of the way to get a glimpse of the cabinets, but no. How sad. People, they have the frickin manuscript there. The Actual Book.
more: elementary )
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: (Sherlock)
I'm wearing my boots today, the ones I cursed and cursed myself for impulse buying and having to awkwardly lug all the way back from Canberra. I love them so, and they've hardly been off my feet since. I know what I like. Deep down, I do.

Had to go re-buy a book I'd reluctantly been made to relinquish earlier (why is it always my stuff that has to go in the skip), which I'm re-aquainting myself with (it's From Hell by Mr Alan Moore, if you're curious, a rather topical read for me right now, while I'm carrying Poe on the bus/train). I miss my older (more valuable) copy though.
more: the speckled spinster )
mockturle06: (mr flibble)
Not a lot to say since I'm not allowed to talk about what I did, what's bothering me greatly, the terrible setbacks and small triumphs of a tiny speck in this crushing mill wheel of life. Nor do you want to hear about the massive piles of magazines to be scanned, shirts to be ironed, etc that are glaring at me daily (and can keep glaring as I'm having a rough week, hot water bottle wise, this week and am not in the mood).

There were snacks, though.

And cake. Surprise cake on Tuesday. I was off sick from ---, and even though I had --- and --- it wasn't happening because, oooh, not good. Spent most of day trying to sleep, and when I finally staggered as far as the couch I found I'd slept through cake being baked (I didn't think I was asleep but I slept through that). Apparently the lemons I'd aquired were gettin' on, so lemon iced tea cake it was. That was nice.

TV? Hardly anything this week, except Hell on Wheels, which I find strangely compelling. Oh, and the Newsroom. It's been absolutely wretched this season, and it has caused me great pain and distress to see a formerly beloved show flopping about limply like a dying fish, crushed under the weight of mandated retooling. And then Jane Fonda showed up. And saved the day. That was...magnificent.

Now, if only Leona/Jane could show up on some other shows I watch and kick some annoying little weasels to the curb, life would be so much better.
more: the mirror crack'd )
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 )

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