I'm Alive*

Hi!

[waves]

I'm alive.

I still have the pink eye, but it is getting better.

I'm typing this with one eye shut though, so be warned.

I don't have a lot to say today.

iTunes is giving me the irrits because it won't sell the Plastic Jesus song in the Australian store. It also refuses to sell me Christina Aguilera's latest, but I suspect it has my best interests at heart with that refusal.

I had a minor song victory at company A the other day. They're rehearsing a Welsh play and I suggested to the designer that he include the Combine Harvester song** in one of the scenes. I was actually joking, because I was bored out of my skull, but he took me seriously, ran off with my iPod for ten minutes*** and its now a part of the show.

For entertainment at present, I am giving people annoying and obscure song lines (worked into everyday conversation) and seeing how long it takes them to start singing the song.

They get very annoyed when they suddenly find themselves singing songs like Don't Go Breaking My Heart for no apparent reason.

The census man delivered my form tonight. Just as Dr Who started. How. Rude. And it was the episode with Giles from Buffy/Prime Minister from Little Britain in it. I nearly slammed the door in his face. The census man's, not Anthony Head's. Speaking of all things census... those who are not in favour of any particular form of religion, please join me in putting Cult of Nadstown in the religion section of your form. More info can be found here.

Anyhoooo... I have nothing exciting to say and my eye is beginning to water so I am going to go and put the kettle on.

xox
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* Name that band. And the movie it came from. NO CHEATING.

** The Wurzels, who sang that glorious piece of scrumpy & western are actually from Somerset, not Wales, but most of the people working on this play wouldn't know Ruishton from Rhayader and I'm not about to enlighten them.

*** Yes, I actually own this song. Everyone should.

My Not-So-Super-But-I-Would-Still-Like-Him-As-A Boyfriend

Regular readers of my blog (and those who know me well), will be well aware of my devotion to the youngest (and cutest) of the Wilson Brothers. Imagine, if you will, the horror with which I read this article on the ninemsn website today...

http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=117025

In case you can't be bothered going to the link, I've copied the text below.

Actor Luke Wilson has told how he is too scared to dump girls — so he acts up until they leave him.

The star - who has dated screen beauties Drew Barrymore and Gwyneth Paltrow in the past - admits he is gutless.

But he says it often works out better that way.

He said: "Even if I want out, I don't have the guts to just leave.I just start acting really surly and cranky until they leave me. I don't think anything's over the line when you want out. You see the fence, and you just start running for it."

Asked how long he normally has to wait before the girl runs for it, the 34-year-old told US radio shock jock Howard Stern: "I'd say you need 90 days. It's almost like double time, though, because three months feels like six months because you're so horrible to be with."

Luke.

Oh, Luke.

I've loved and lusted after you for so long, and now you dump this on me.

Its enough to make a girl run in the opposite direction.

I'd still go out with you if you asked me though.

The Pink Eye

I got me a case of the pink eye... otherwise known as conjunctivitis.

I look like this:

Looking at things hurts. Especially things like computer screens, which is why this will be a short post. Even though I can touch type, so I don't necessarily have to look at the screen.

So I'm not at work today. I shouldn't have worked yesterday... 8 hours looking at a screen did nothing to help the redness and swelling.

However I'm pissed off because it hurts to go out in the sunlight, it hurts to read and it hurts to watch TV, so all I can do is get my paperwork sorted for my tax return.

I'll be back when the pink is gone.

* That photo isn't really of my eye. My eye is brown. And my lashes are longer and darker.

Ben Wise... isn't

This was Ben Wise's "expert" preview of today's Hawks vs Crows clash on afl.com.au:

World Cup referee Valentin Ivanov would need to show up at AAMI Stadium and somehow convince AFL Umpires Director Jeff Gieschen to enlist him as the game's officiator. Ivanov would then have to match the four red cards he dished out in the Portugal v Holland clash to Neil Craig's charges for Hawthorn to even have a chance in this one. No matter how you try to find a way that Hawthorn can win this game, the answer remains the same - they can't. A below-par Adelaide would still get over Hawthorn at its best, though in defence of the Hawks, that would apply to any team that played the Crows this week. Adelaide by 52 points.

How rude.

Apparently there are 37,446 people at AAMI Stadium today. Probably including my brother-in-law and at least one of my nieces, no doubt decked out in red, blue & gold. And I would hazard a guess, knowing the parochial Adelaide crowd as I do*, that about 98% of those people would NOT be barracking for the Hawks. In fact, they would probably be actively attempting to sledge the socks off them and hurling abuse at any poor soul wearing brown and gold.

I challenge any team to put up a good fight in those one-sided conditions.

But Ben Wise... let's take a look at the quarter time score:

Hawks: 2 - 3 - 15
Crows: 2 - 3 - 15

Go us! We're keeping up with the top team.

And half time:

Hawks: 4 - 5 -29
Crows: 5 - 6 - 36

Seven points. Not bad.

Even at three quarter time we hadn't given up the fight:

Hawks: 8 - 6 - 54
Crows: 10 - 9 - 69

Fifteen points. That's less than three goals. That's still an achieveable target.

We won't discuss the final quarter because its still in progress. I'll admit its not looking good, but never say never. We might still stage a bit of a comeback.

We'll give it a red-hot go anyhow.

Despite your kiss of death Ben Wise.

Tool.

Go shove a Balfours pie down your throat and don't be such a smart-arse.

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* As a third generation Hawks supporter who grew up in the southern suburbs of Adelaide, I know first hand how appalling Crows fans can be towards opposing teams and their supporters. I almost got my head smacked in once by a woman who didn't like me cheering a beautiful mark in front of goal by Gary Ayres... the irony was that he went on to become Crows coach.

Bless...

An actual conversation which just took place directly in front of the box office between two six(ish) year old girls:

Girl 1: "Did you see there was, like, a boy in the girls toilets? And he wasn't young. He wasn't, like, a man, but he was old, about 11 or something."

Girl 2: "11! That's too old. Boys shouldn't be allowed to do that."

Girl 1: "Yeah, I know. Cos boys, they, like, um, smell and stuff."

Girl 2: "Yeah. My brother's a boy and he smells."

I had to stick my head under the desk I was laughing so hard.

The Doctor Is In

I have to admit, I have never been a fan of Dr Who.

In fact, I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I have never, ever, seen a full episode of any of the Dr Who series over the years.

Until tonight.

Because the new series of Dr Who began on the ABC tonight.

And the new Dr Who is noneother than one of my favourite men...

David Tennant

Sexiest man alive.*

I could even deal with an hour of that little moppet Billie Piper, just to watch DT. I don't ever remember Dr Who being that witty and funny.... not that I've had much experience with the man.

But I think I shall be tuning in regularly... especially as next week's episode promises to feature my favourite Prime Minister.

As you were.

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* If you disagree with me you obviously didn't see the fabulous series Blackpool. Or maybe you did but just disagree with me anyway.

GR3

The lovely fluffy has pioneered the concept of the Guilt Ridden Three, which was born from la nadine's concept of the Guilt Free Three. I'm not going to go through the whole why's and wherefore's, because with a simple click of your mouse you can go to their blogs and get it from them far more articulately and humourously than I could explain it.

And since I am short on time but feel like I'm cheating some people by not posting (yes you Ems), today I present to you my Guilt Ridden Three. The first one of whom I share with ms cynic. I think she's rather fond of my third choice too.

Anyway, here he is... at his most unattractive, which I actually find a real turn on. The divine Alan Rickman.

I will point out I am well aware that he is:

a) in his 60's;
b) has horrible teeth;
c) has wrinkles you could park a car in; and
d) sneers a lot.

But he has a very sexy voice which is more than enough to make up for those and any other negatives.

I will happily go on the record in saying I. Would. Shag. Him. Anytime.

I would.

Second up, we have another British thespian (well, Irish but he's Northern Irish and moved to England as a kid and doesn't sound Northern Irish).

The lovely Kenneth Branagh.

I've always been a bit of a fan of a bloke who can rattle off Shakespeare at the drop of a hat (potential suitors take note) and I don't care what anyone says, I liked, nay LOVED his version of Hamlet. All four and bit hours of it.

I even fancied him in Much Ado About Nothing, where he was sporting a full beard, and as many a former boyfriend will attest, I am not a fan of facial hair.

The only thing I didn't really find him terribly attractive in, despite the lovely robes, was Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets. You know, when he looked like this:

Not his most attractive look. And they didn't really utilise him enough for my liking. But if you stayed right to the very very end of the credits, there was a lovely little snippet of Gilderoy gone loopy and in a straightjacket.

Yes. I was the only person left in the cinema at that stage. I didn't care. I think its rude not to stay for the credits. A lot of people put a lot of work into film making and for most of them this is their only shot at recognition.

Anyway.

Let's move on to number three. I feel quite wrong choosing this man, I don't know why. There's something so deliciously evil and nasty about him. He's probably ever so nice in real life, but his roles are always so... sleazy.

I present, number three:

James Spader.

I get the heebee geebees just typing his name. I've fancied him ever since I first saw him in Pretty in Pink. I'm addicted to Boston Legal just because he's in it. Secretary rates as of one of my favourite movies of the last decade.

Its wrong. Very, very, horribly, terribly wrong.

But oh so right.

So there you go. Or do you?

Now, I know this was meant to be a list of just three, but I have to add someone who only narrowly missed out. In fact, I had to flip a coin between him and James. He may not be terribly well known to the Aussies, but I'm betting that my Pommy mates will be pissing themselves when they see his face.

He is:

Michael Ball.

The musical theatre darling of the West End. The original Marius in Les Miserables, the original Alex in Aspects of Love, Eurovision Song Contest entrant 1992 (with the tacky yet catchy One Step Out of Time) and possibly the naffest singer to come out of Britain since Sir Cliff Richard.

I've seen him in concert at the Royal Albert Hall (two gay blokes sitting to my left, a nana & grandpop from Essex to my right - we had a wonderful time) and even right here in Sydders at Star City (where else?!).

He's tubby, jowly and possibly gay, but I still fancy him.

So STOP LAUGHING EMS. And you too Kate.

Rude.

Anyway, that's all from me. The boss returns next week (hurrah!) so my life may be a bit more manageable. A bit.

Love to all.

x

A Day In The Life

I read the news today, oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackburn Lancashire

7.00am - Alarm goes off.

7.00am - Snooze button is hit.

7.09am - Alarm goes off again.

7.09am - Snooze button is hit again.

7.18am - Alarm goes off a third time.

7.18am - Snooze button is hit a third time.

7.27am - Alarm goes off a fourth time.

7.28am - Stumble into bathroom, turn on bathroom radio so can hear 7.30am news while having shower.

Let's skip a bit.

8.30am - Leave house and walk to work B (you'll see my reasoning shortly).

9.00am - Arrive work B.

Work, work, boring, boring, same old, same old, only highlight this past week being the presence of the next installment of Australian Idol contestants*.

5.30pm - Leave work B and jump on bus into city.

6.00pm- Arrive work A.

6.35pm - Have a meeting with fellow work A-er's.

7.00pm - Prepare for evening's performance (I'm not in the play, I'm just working the bar).

8.00pm - Performance commences.

10.00pm - Performance ends, commence pack up.

11.00pm - Finish packing up, head to train station, wait for train.

11.30pm - Board train for home.

11.45pm - Arrive home, make a cuppa and head upstairs.

11.55pm - Remove makeup**, brush teeth, remove contact lenses***

12.00am - Get undressed, crawl into bed, read one chapter of current book****

12.15am - Set alarm, turn off light and go to sleep.


And that's how it is. At least for another two weeks. Sorry Ems... I promise I'll get back to posting properly after that.

I have a cracker post about how I saw the cavalcade that was Nickers on her way to marry Kurban, just itching to be written. Cheeky cow had the nerve to wave at me as I was walking along New South Head Road last Sunday.*****

There's also a post in my head about the fun that was Australian Idol filming at my workplace.

But they have to stay in my head for the time being. I've been charged with the task of finding an Australian play for work A to produce at the end of the year. Christ there's some rubbish out there. I've never read so many dud scripts in my life.

Anything decent which has an older male character (50's), two other male characters (20s-30s) and a female character (20s-30s) which is not gobshite or talking heads and preferably gets the actors to act rather than just talk, should be sent my way asap, if not sooner.

And though the holes were very small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall

Be back soon.

xoxo

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* Yes, the callbacks of Australian Idol were held at my workplace last week. Tuesday morning started with 130 of the little songbirds and by lunchtime it was down to 100. By Tuesday evening there were 70. Wednesday afternoon saw that cut cruelly down to 40 and on Thursday evening they were sent back to the hotel in the knowledge that by Friday morning there would be just 25 of them who would be thrust into the spotlight and the judging of the public. It was great. I shall be sharing lots of gossip when the show hits the airwaves and I will be looking forward to see who makes the top ten. As long as its not a blonde bitch named Melanie... they were all a nice bunch apart from her.

** If I'm wearing any. Some days its just far too difficult to even curl my eyelashes, let alone slap on a bit of blush.

*** I'm being very good about removing my contact lenses of late. I used to just leave them in when I was too tired, but a stern lecture from my optometrist a few months ago on how I was a prime candidate for eye disease and potential blindness has frightened me into taking more care, no matter how exhausted I am.

**** Ranikins gave me a book on Katharine Hepburn for my birthday called Kate: Remembered, by A. Scott Berg. If you like biographies to be more than biographies, then this is a cracker. I'm loving it. The chapter on dinner with Michael Jackson in particular is hilarious.

***** I was innocently walking up New South Head Road last Sunday after having coffee in Rushcutters Bay park with some friends when the police escorted procession of Rolls Royces drove past. Naturally, I turned to look (police sirens always make me jumpy) and young Lucia Hawley, obviously excited by all the pomp and ceremony, waved enthusiastically to me. Being the nice, friendly person I am, I waved back to her. My hand was still up when Nickers' car went past and she must have thought I was waving to her, which of course I wasn't. I rather suspect its karma for my recent "sharing-a-birthday" rant.