Meanderings

Ok. Admission time. I watched The Chronicles of Riddick a couple of nights ago. I'm not proud, I'm a little humbled by the experience, but mostly I'm having trouble concentrating due to the extreme sexy of Mr Karl Urban in this movie. I thought it couldn't get any sexier than Eomer in LotR, but, as you can see, I was wrong.

Fnurgle.

Whimper.

Jxcxysqk.

That is all.

I'd just like to thank MetalGirl and TheLordofDarkness (and families) for xmas at their place, and the use of their computer to post the previous entries, and for all of their hospitality!!

I finally watched Fight Club, after having resisted doing so for a long time.

I think it's the Pitt thing (but not really). I have never bought into the whole 'Brad Pitt is a big hunk-o-spunk, oh my god he's so gorgeous' thing, and as such, have avoided all of his films.

Okay, when I say 'all' I am exaggerating more than a little. I have seen some of his movies, and I realised that those that I have seen are (bar one) the ones in which he's been a character actor rather than a leading man.

Let's list them, and the reasons for which I saw them, shall we? Because lists are fun!!

"I am Jack's OCD."

Kalifornia
I saw this at the height of my David Duchovny obsession, when it looked like he was going to make the leap to movie leading man in decent films. Oh woe for the rest of his career (Return to Me and Evolution, I'm looking in your direction.) The fact that Mr Pitt was in it didn't even register with me at the time.

12 Monkeys
Hooooo boy. It took me a loooooonnnnnggggg time to get around to this movie. The Terry Gilliam factor was almost entirely wiped out by the Bruce Willis factor. But saw it, loved it, no blip due to Mr Pitt's turn. Great movie, though. Terry Gilliam is as close to god as I think humanity is ever going to get.

Se7en
Gwyneth Paltrow's head in a box. Is the only reason I saw this movie.

I have yet to see Thelma and Louise all the way through. I have seen the beginning, the middle and the end at various disparate points, but never consecutively in one sitting. In addition, I have also managed to entirely miss the whole Brad Pitt breakthrough cowboy thing about which I still hear so much.

So, as you see, despite my prior claims, I have not so much assiduously avoided any Brad Pitt movies, as not sought them out.

(Can I just note at this point, entirely off topic, that I am having an Austen moment. I am writing this entry with pen in a notebook, whilst staying with a couple of my acquaintance, under a pagoda in their grounds [or, more precisely, their backyard.] Oh, Austen, how you have warped my brain. That's what I get for reading Persuasion in one sitting this morning.)

Aaaannnnyway, removing ourselves from my delusion.

Fight Club.

The reason it has taken me so long to see this movie was really a) disinterest in what I perceived to be an ode to male empowerment (dudes - just a note - you run the world. I think that's more than enough empowerment) and b) disinclination to buy into the 'Brad Pitt plays against type! He sings, he dances, he ACTS!!' hype.

Do I regret that it took so long to see this movie? Do I take back my preconceptions?

Oh indeedy yes (and to a certain extent, mostly).

Fight Club has become the film that I quote. I watched it at home with nary a break. I swear I didn't breathe through most of it. I was astounded and blown away by the concepts, the direction, Meatloaf's tits. I covered my eyes in horror during some of the scenes (thought I probably would have done better to cover my ears - squelchy, cracking skull sounds are really difficult to get out of one's inner soundtrack.) I hung on every moment, and even though I knew the twist, gasped when it was revealed. I know I have to watch it again, and it's now in my top ten film list (which I didn't realise I had until I saw it!!). Most of all, I want to read the novel on which it was based. I know I really love a film when I think that (I felt the same way about Mystery Men, but bugger me if it's nigh on impossible to find the sodding graphic novels anywhere.)

Does this amazing film alter my perception of Brad Pitt, and make me eager to seek out his films?

Well, no, sadly.

Troy, people.

Troy.

Not even the skirts can save that one for me.

What is the power of "The Kiss"?

We seem to invest "The Kiss" with everything we crave out of emotional attachment.

This ongoing fascination with "The Kiss" intrigues me. I guess it's on my mind because I have watched and read more classic romances in the last couple of months than I think I have in the previous decade.

Yes, I realise I probably need to get out more. However, as both Colin Firth and Clive Owen are married (and, incidentally, live on the other side of the world), going out seems a little pointless, when I can watch them at home. (Note to any film producers out there - if you could see your way to making a movie involving the following: Colin Firth, Clive Owen, Alan Rickman, Alan Cumming, Karl Urban, Sean Bean, Viggo Mortensen, Jonathon Rhys-Meyers, Ewan McGregor and Brendan Fraser [please also include his companions in this photo, John Hannah and Oded Fehr], set in a shower room, where they are reciting Shakespeare, I would be infinitely grateful. And quite probably dead.)

Okay. I'll leave the house directly after I've posted this. Stop nagging.

Where was I? Oh yes.

We sigh at the end of the film, when Protagonist A is swept up into the arms of Protagonist B and, enveloped thus, they seal their destiny with "The Kiss". (An obvious exception to this is Bridget Jones' Diary, where Darcy nuzzling Bridget Jones' neck is infinitely more knee trembly happy making than "The Kiss" cue-credits-with-snow.)

In real life, or as real as it gets, anyway, there are so many reasons to give kissing the kiss off. (*snork* I made a pune, or play on words. Did you notice?)

You want evidence, you say? Alrighty then.

In the case of the People versus Sucking Face, I present:

Exhibit A. Nomenclature.

'Kiss'
This is fine. Sounds lovely, and warm, despite the sibilance.

'Snog'
Sounds like something you produce when you have the flu.

'Sucking Face'
I mean, really. What are we saying here? For some reason, Braindead comes to mind here...

'Peck'
Is grandmother territory only.

'Pash'
Peculiarly Australian, and brings to mind mid teens, drinking passion pop and vomiting in the backyard. Ah, the wonder of youth.

'Liplock'
("Have you got a liplock for Wiploc?" Ah Jim Carrey. What happened to you?) Gives a real feeling of inescapability - locking one's fate with no chance of backing out.

'Tongues, Tonguies'
see 'Pash' (oh we Aussies are a romantic bunch, aren't we?)

'Smooch'
Is a small pooch trapped in a handbag. End of story.

Exhibit B. Is kind of slaggy and weird.

Kissing. It's kind of ridiculous really. When you think about it. All the saliva and teeth and someone else's tongue doing a lap of your mouth. I mean, euwww. Exchange of bodily fluids much? And don't get me started on the nose issue. Negotiating the height difference (for a lovely example of this, see the Tall Guy). Breathing. And if you've got tongue piercing(s), there's a whole added dimension of terror. And possible chipping of teeth.

Exhibit C. Style, and lack thereof.

This exhibit covers the whole icky issue of bad kissers, and associated kissing styles. The Face Eater (my nose does not need to be covered in saliva, thank you. No actually, that's my chin, please don't do...whatever it is you're doing, it's freaking me out.) The Tongue Wrestler (leave my tongue where it is. Seriously. It's attached to me, and frankly, I'm more attached to it than I am to you.) I'm sure we've all encountered these and other disturbing attacks on the sanctity of "The Kiss".

However, despite all of the above, and the glaring design flaws that require many workarounds, kissing, and "The Kiss", remain a favoured form of entertainment around the world. And why not? Even with all the possible pitfalls of pashing (alliteration, anyone?) it's, they, are way more fun than, oh I don't know, pretty much anything you care to name.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to establish the biannual Snog-o-Rama movie marathon...

I'm ba-ack!!

After almost a week's silence (gulp!), I've cogitated and concentrated and am happy to present you with not one, but two, slices of fried gold (thank you, Shaun of the Dead).

I discovered the joys of shopping at Kathmandu *coughproductplacementcough* recently, due to my upcoming (gulp) trip to Middle Earth. I'm sorry, did I say Middle Earth? I meant to say Middle Earth.

New Zealand. New Zealand.

I believe my Freudian slip is showing.

Hoom. Where was I? Little Orcs...

*shakes head to clear it of LotR references. Lone brain cell rattles gently against inside of brainpan*

Anyway, was discussing said love of Kathmandu with Nebuloid, and she produced this beautiful description of 60's camping equipment (specifically lamps), which I decreed would to be shared with all of you ZuckerBaby-ites out there. And here it is:

'So convenient! Petrol driven instead of messy paraffin! Use the same petrol as you use in your automobile! Only requires 40 minutes of preparation to light! Warning: You must be standing at least 10 feet way from the lamp while lighting. Has been known to explode with a light breeze coming from the NNW. So easy a 10 year old can light it.'

And the moral of this story is...erm...camping is funny.

Oh my god! Look over there!! *Points into the distance and then runs away*

It's been a weird week.

The office fish, Ferdinand, died. This was actually more distressing than I had thought it would be. And just how, you are obviously wondering, did I end up that attached to an office fish, and also, why did your office have a fish?

It's a looooonnnnng story *Looks up at the ceiling and thinks: does anyone remember Wayne's World? You know that bit when Wayne and Garth are doing all of the different endings? Okay, insert that "doodledoodoodledoo" noise that they did here*

About six months ago, someone in the office got a goldfish. Which they kept in a large wine glass (?!) The goldfish kept trying to commit suicide. No, really. It would leap out of said wine glass and flop about in a disturbing manner on the carpet until someone could grab it and put it back into the wine glass.

So, one day, when the someone was not in the office, several of my workmates did a snatch and grab of the goldfish, got him a new tank, with a bubbler and actual room to swim in and pebbles down the bottom and bits of green weedy stuff and, after all of that, christened him Jebediah. And he was happy as happy could be. We had all hoped that this rather pointed "You are not qualified to look after fish" exercise would stop the someone from putting any other fish through the same horror, but what do you know? About a week later there was a siamese fighting fish swimming desperately around in the wine glass.

Let me pause for a moment to relieve my feelings. AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!

Okay, I'm good. Where were we?

So, soon after the appearance of the new fish, said someone got a job elsewhere and was obviously not going to take the fish with them. See above for my reaction to this.

So, after the someone was gone, we got the fish a humungous vase like tank, with colourful pebbles down the bottom, and some swirly weedy stuff to play in, and named him Ferdinand. And he seemed okay, and definitely more cheerful than when he was in the wine glass, but due to utter craposity of the office's air conditioning system, was generally too cold or too warm and remained fairly bleh about the whole situation. Also, he was perched on a bookshelf, surrounded by people who held the mistaken concept that fish of any type do not form attachments, do not have memories and above all should not be communicated with and in fact should be relieved of their life in all instances!

So I brought Ferdinand downstairs to my office, and put him next to my desk, and got him some groovy new weed to hide amongst, and he seemed really happy. Every morning I would come into the office and he would press his little non existent fish nose against the glass and flap his fins excitedly at me, and I would form my hands into fin approximations and flap my fins at him, and we'd do the little happy fin dance of greeting. Every morning. People walking by must have thought I was insane. And yeah, you know, I probably am.

Anyway, he wasn't looking well for the last couple of weeks, and on Monday morning I walked in and couldn't see him in the tank. Finally, with the help of TheAmerican, I found him wedged down low, between the pebbles and the glass. And I surprised myself by feeling this thrill of shock and sadness go through me, and my eyes filled up with tears, and I realised that I was really upset that he was dead.

I think the thing that got to me more than anything else was the reaction of my coworkers. Mostly it was "Cool, dead thing next to ZuckerBaby's desk! Check it out!!" But thankfully, Nebuloid came to my rescue. She fished Ferdinand out of the tank and took me downstairs and found a spot in the gardens that are out the back of work and buried him. I did the traditional funeral thing and held the large black umbrella above her to protect her from the threatening skies.

We've still got the tank, and it's still full of the last lot of vegetation I got for Ferdinand, because it's pretty and brings some colour to the office. But I'm looking forward to getting rid of it all later this afternoon, and saying goodbye for the last time to that little fin flashing guy.

Oh yeah. I'm so there with the Mr Darcy love. Sigh. And whimper.

So, ended up watching every single episode of Pride and Prejudice. My brain is now so full of Regency drama and comedy and Mr Darcy that I am not sure my poor nerves will ever recover. Oh my smelling salts, I need my smelling salts!!

*clears throat, shuffles feet*

Well, anyway, it's not that I'm easily drawn into other worlds, fantasy worlds, okay? It's just that I am able to suspend my disbelief effectively enough to enjoy a world not of my own making.

Obviously, for Mr Darcy, I'd be happy to suspend anything ;)

*clears throat, shuffles feet*

I think the best part of last night was watching it with my friends. There was a lot of female bonding going on, what with the sighing and whimpering and claiming Mr Darcy for our own and laughing heartily...lots of fun.

However, my favourite moment was before we had even started watching. I was in the video store, picking up the dvd, and the woman behind the counter said "Ah, Pride and Prejudice. Is that the BBC version?" Yup, I replied. She smiled, a little sadly and wistfully, sighed and nodded, and conducted the rest of the transaction with her eyes glazed over and emitting occasional additional sighs.

And now I understand why.

Sigh.

I decided recently that I had not read enough of the classics of literature, and that, before my brain atrophied completely from lack of stimulation, I would give some of those identified classics a good Aussie go.

Don't get me wrong - I've read a number of the classics. I've read Shakespeare, and gothic novels (Castle of Otranto, anyone?) and Shelley (Mary, not Percy Bysshe), and Stoker, and Conan Doyle, and Orwell, and Dostoevsky...

But I've never read Jane Austen.

I'm not completely sure why. I was just never exposed to it, I guess. And I'm not really sure where the impulse to read

every.
bloody.
Austen.
book.

I could find came from, but here I am.

In the last six weeks I have read Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice. I'm now reading Mansfield Park, and am going to find Emma and Persuasion to read next.

All of which has lead me to a couple of new discoveries.

1. Jane Austen is one of the bravest and funniest authors I have ever read. Whether it's the obvious parody that is Northanger Abbey, or the subtleties within Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, I haven't laughed so much in years. Wonderful.

2. Colin Firth.

Yup. I appreciate the satire, and the social commentary - the only option ever made available to women to ensure their social standing and acceptance is to be "well married", and every move and conversation and moment of thought is geared to achieving that end - and I admire the beautiful way that you can read the books either as pure romance or read between the lines and analyse them to your heart's content, but right now? Well. It's all about the romantic lead. What, me, a feminist? Nah, I think you're looking for someone else...

I'd really missed the whole Mr Darcy thing, due to having never watched the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. I have this whole thing about not watching something I haven't read. But now, I've read it, and I can join the legions of women around the world with an unnatural obsession with Colin Firth.

I'm quite looking forward to that, really. In this upcoming week, most days after work, a friend and I will be watching the BBC series on a giant telly and sighing whenever Mr Darcy smoulders.

And that whole "emerging in wet shirt from pond" thing better live up to the hype, or I'm going to be one disappointed little neophyte Firth-ite.

A friend sent me an email today, reminding me that I had a blog to...erm...blog (?) (okay, "update" would be correct, but not so much with the funny).

I went and checked when my last post was, thinking "It hasn't been that long, I blog all the time, blog blog blogedy blog I go, and...oh, it's been almost a week. Oops." So here I am, slaving over a hot keyboard and desperately trying to think of something fabulous and erudite to share with all of you eager young things.

*cue chirruping of night insects to indicate silence and lack of ideas*

Next year is going to be sooooo exciting. I can't wait!

First I heard about this. Neil Gaiman and Poppy Z Brite in the one place? All my happies have come at once, I thought.

But now there's this. Yes, I know they're old, and fat, and still doing the same old routines. But they're the freaking Goodies!

Oh yeah. Melbourne is going to be getting my tourist dollars in 2005!!

so I'm going to New Zealand.

Which, as we all know, is really Australia, just in a bit of a disguise.

A fairly impressive disguise, one might add, what with the different currency, a seperate government, a certain amount of respect and honouring of the indigenous peoples, and a pumping, vibrant and successful film industry.

Yeah. Absolutely the same place.

I've never been outside of Australia, so this is a big leap for me. I'm terribly excited, but mostly suffering from a certain amount of...PANICPANICPANICPANICPANIC *runs around room waving arms in the air going eek eek eek eek*

This panic has slowly increased over time, as each step has taken me just a little bit closer to actually travelling.

Step 1. Telling people I'm going to go to New Zealand: mild panic. (Captain Paranoia sitting in the back of my head and smugly assuring me that there is no way I'm going to do this.)

Step 2. Quitting my job: mild to tepid panic. (Captain Paranoia feeding the "You'll be unemployed forever and end up a bag lady and by the way you're being really silly if you think you're going to travel" doggies whilst they pant excitedly and lick his hands).

Step 3. Applying for a loan: tepid to moderate panic. (Captain Paranoia and the doggies and my self confidence go for a walk, and of course, self confidence ends up with dogshit all over its' shoes).

Step 4. Getting the loan: moderate to persistent panic. (Captain Paranoia has gone on holidays this day, but leaves an answering machine message which outlines all of the ways that I am going to fail, and that we should get together soon, maybe for some sushi, ciao!!)

Step 5. Spending frenzy at Kathmandu. Panic overturned by consumerist lust.

Step 6. Applying for passport: roaring, cyclonic, houses being blown away panic. (Captain Paranoia is still holidaying in Florida, but has updated his blog to include a couple of links to pictures of my cowering psyche clutching desperately at the door of my wellbeing, perpendicular to the ground, with legs flapping amusingly in the wind.)

Thankfully, there are really only three steps left. I foresee these levels of panic:

Step 7. Receipt of passport: panic subsiding slightly in the face of the bloody awful photo, and then reasserting itself at warp factor nine (Captain Paranoia says "Make it so.")

Step 8. Purchasing tickets: "Oh my god Buffy is dead" panic. (Captain Paranoia has brought popcorn.)

Step 9. Entering International Airport and boarding plane: blind panic morphing slowly into acceptance and only mild panic. Until the plane lands. (Captain Paranois is in the shower, and asks me to leave a message after the scream of a shattered soul.)

Travel. It's something everyone should do.

Eep.

This is fucking ridiculous. (via Neil Gaiman's journal)

I...

I just hate these people.

And skirts. And mascara. And fishnet stockings. And false breasts. And lippy.

Ah, crossdressing men. What is it about you that makes me love you so much?

Point of clarification - I'm talking boys in skirts here, not drag queens. Drag queens are pretty damn fabulous, of course, but I don't want to shag them.

Boys in skirts. Oh yeah.

Thankfully, Hollywood has seen fit to bring us films in recent times to feed this fetish. I didn't make it past the first third of Troy, but I wanted to watch it because of all the boys in skirts. And that last still is just funny.

Started watching King Arthur tonight, purely from the boys in skirts point of view.

Okay, I'll concede that they're not so much in skirts, as in armour. Fine. But, and I'll say this once only, Clive Owen.

But it's not even the skirts and swords combo I look for. Oh no. Give me the full cross dressing experience and I'm a happy woman. Let's trawl through some of my favourites, shall we?

1. Dr Frank-n-Furter (Tim Curry, Rocky Horror Picture Show). Please. Just beautiful. Sigh.

2. BrianSlade/Maxwell Demon (Jonathon Rhys Meyers, Velvet Goldmine)

3. Eddie Izzard.
Funny and beautiful and very very smart.

4. David Walliams' characters in Little Britain - Miss Grace and Emily Howard ("the crap transvestite")

I hope you have enjoyed this journey through my twisted psyche. I'll be here all week. Enjoy your meal and please tip your waitress.

As all of you eager followers of ZuckerBaby's fine work can tell, there's been some changes 'round here.

I chose to forgo the groovy black and fabbo colours of my previous template for the sheer joy of being able to put up links to those sites that I enjoy all of the damn time, and that others should enjoy ("Share and Enjoy!...Go stick your head in a pig!").

I am hoping that with the help of ThePenguin that I will be able to make some colour changes, because, frankly, the default font colours really aren't me. But that is work for another day, and I must away to the sleeping place.

Yesterday was a grand day for me, as I received my first ever bunch-of-things from Amazon. Yes, I know, that's quite sad, but I take my happy where I can get it, okay?

I know you're all fascinated to find out what it is that it is that I got, so...

Spaced - Definitive Collector's Edition

I saw a couple of episodes of Spaced when they were shown on the ABC, and that was the main reason I went all spazzy about Shaun of the Dead. I am really looking forward to seeing all of Spaced, and playing "Spot the other comedians who I know about" (I know David Walliams is in an episode, and am really really looking forward to that!!)

Dylan Moran - Monster Live

The man is a genius. I watched this last night and almost injured myself from the laughing and the cackling and giggling. I loved Black Books, and this is right up there adding to the love.

Bill Bailey - Bewilderness

I got this a)because I've read heaps of good reviews of Bill Bailey in the past and b) Manny.

Bill Bailey - Part Troll

See above. Also watched this last night, and again with laughing and the rolling around and the kicking my little legs in the air.

Bill Hicks - One Night Stand
Bill Hicks - Totally

I have been obsessed with Bill Hicks since I caught a glimpse of him on a pseudo documentary called "A Question of Taste". Then I found out he'd died the same year as I discovered him and was depressed and disgruntled. And also discovered that it was almost impossible to find anything by him in Australia. I now have most of his cds, and these dvds are just the icing on the cake. Sadly, the "more popular and understood outside of his native country America" thing still seems to be happening - I found these through the UK Amazon. There is nary a mention of Bill Hicks on the US site. I am a little scared to watch these, due to said obsession, but am treasuring them nonetheless.

And that's it. I'm off to have some vegan vietnamese dinner. Mmmmm.