from your window
God, today was torture.
I looked fab --- all red and black today, darlings, with a sparkly red Parisian ribbon tied around the head, half Victorian half rock chic --- and nearly got sent to court but turns out the hearing finished early so I was stuck in the office. Which on one hand was good cos I hadn't brought the journals and I only had Villette with me so it would have tried my patience severely to be stuck in court with nothing to write and only Lucy Snowe to read who is steadily eroding my good humour despite my determination to not be put off.
At least in the office I got to chat to various people and check my email on an actual computer and look at bracelets on etsy and read various Active Child interviews. And well, yeah, that was the torture bit. Cos god, all I wanted to be was home, lying flat on my bed with the daylight coming in through the sunbleached curtain, not doing anything at all but listening to the music filling every inch of air.
And I spent the entire damned day on this one fifty-five minute transcript because the asinine lawyer kept stumbling over his big words and running them together, so much so even the magistrate couldn't understand him. So not the sounds I wanted in my head. And it was only after lunch that my pagecount racked up enough for me to be somewhat mollified. At least I had something to show for the teeth-grinding frustration.
It was like withdrawals. I haven't felt like that about music for a while. Not because Patrick Grossi's so freaking marvellous, you understand --- I mean, he is but that's not why --- but because this is the first time in this job I've had a new musical interest. At least with monitoring, I could spend every adjournment drowning in my music. Here I only get an hour at lunchtime and christ, did I soak it up in that hour. Should have gone to Hyde Park though with my food but I thoughtlessly said "Eat here" rather than "Take away" to the girl when I was ordering my noodles so I ended up trapped in the foodcourt, struggling to hear him through the conversations around me and the goddamned stupid newscast on the televisions.
Tomorrow, park and Patrick and peace and nobody talking at me. Just a shame I'll be surrounded by so many damned people. *sigh* Oh, if the office was closer to the Botanic Gardens. I could lose myself there, find my special hideaway where I can lie on the grass and nobody can see me and all I see is sky through the twisted branches of the old Moreton Bay fig. *sighs*
You know how I said his high choirboy vocals hadn't pissed me off yet? It just occurred to me that rather the reverse has happened. Curious. I hadn't expected that. It's almost like those first few listens to Starsailor where I keep sort of bracing myself to recoil and then being quietly and constantly surprised that I don't, that I still like it and like it more and more.
*sigh* It's the melodies, the intricacy and deceptive simplicity of them, that certain melodic sensibility that hits all those notes I love and does those turns and lilts and rises that totally resonate with my own totally unmusical sensibility. Very similar to my love for Tim, yeah. And it made me grin today when in one interview, Patrick talks about his dad playing Peter Gabriel and Tears For Fears as he was growing up. I quite literally blinked and read that twice to make sure I hadn't just imagined it. *lol* Tick and tick.
Some of his references do make me laugh though, Enya and Sade and Annie Lennox ... just cos he seems so young compared to the musicians I'm usually into, so very much of the Eighties and Nineties. That's what you get for being into a musician who was born three years after you. Heh. And it quite possibly was Johnny Belinda, the Lew Ayres/Jane Wyman film. Films have also been inspirational for me. Sometimes, to write, I just throw an old movie on, put the TV on mute and start playing. It’s a good way to create a mood from the imagery and always helps stop writers block. Mmm.
The Spirited season finale just began. And I have to admit I'm a little bit glad that there will be some respite over the next few months. I've been getting too distracted by the fannish activity from work and the writing, as much as I enjoy the flail and the discussion. So yeah, quite a bit of guilty relief that this will be the last episode tonight for a good long while. Hopefully by the time season three begins --- if it does get the green light --- I'll have finished this novel and be free to indulge. Never mind the other novel. *flaps*
I should eat. I have jelly and chocolate mousse and naans and hummus, all sorts of yummy stuff. And I rented out When Harry Met Sally cos the fellow Aquarian who came to see Spiritualized with me posted a quote totally out of the blue and unattributed and I was the only one to immediately go: "I LOVE that movie, I LOVE that quote, that's one of my favourite quotes!" Why I don't own that film I don't know. Always meant to but never got around to it.
What I need to buy next is without a doubt The Search cos I can't start reading Letters To Montgomery Clift without having seen it. And anyway, it'll prolly take me three weeks to get through Villette.
I came into work today to discover the Kooky American had left a James Ellroy book on my keyboard. When she came in late as usual, I asked with total bemusement: "But L, why?" And she was like "Because you're going to be published one day."
Whut?
I don't even know how she --- oh wait. You know what it was? I linked her to my review of the Bosworth bio and she was quite visibly impressed, told me it was very very good writing. Well, yeah, I'm kinda proud of it too but it was sort of unnerving to see her actually look at me with this whole new perspective. I registered it at the time but was too busy telling her she's got to read it too because she's into that whole seamy side of Hollywood. And that's why she brought me James Ellroy to read.
I don't know, just reading the blurb made me blench. I told her rather plaintively: "But L, he scares me." And she doubled over in silent laughter as she frequently does when I'm all disarming honesty with her. It's okay, he freaked her out too. And she said she wants to know what I think of him. Well, dude, like I can resist that stroke to my ego. *lol*
It's funny, though, how unequivocally she said that published thing. Every now and then people say that to me, like it's not even a hope or a dream or a thought, like it's total fact in their heads. And I find myself looking at them with slight wonder, half hoping that their version of reality will actually come true.
Then I remind myself it's not the point, anyway. Not for me. I mean, I love that other people have such faith and ambition for me. But at the end of the day, I only owe it to myself to be happy. *contented Buddha smile, wot?*
God, I hope I get to see Active Child perform sometime soon. I watched a couple of clips on YouTube the other night, the first of which pissed me off completely cos the camera kept bouncing all over the place and I was like "Dude, it's not fucking Cloverfield, all right? I get that you're enjoying the music but fucking HOLD STILL so I can SEE HIM!" Argh. And then the third one zoomed in so close that it missed Patrick every time he bent to the keyboards which hello, he's going to do cos he's playing and twiddling and singing and argh, pull BACK, you stupid camera person! Seriously, as much as I appreciate his body, I do not want to be looking at his midsection when he's singing. Eventually stupid camera person got a clue and pulled back so I could actually see both Patrick and Stratton which was quite cool cos I hadn't realised Strat did some of the vocals too. Live, at least.
*sigh* At least between Twitter and Facebook, I'm not likely to miss any gig announcements. Although I don't think a headline gig will be likely any time soon. If someone does bring him/them out here --- highly unlikely --- it'll prolly be in support capacity first. Better not fucking be like when Ade Fenton came out with Nooman and only did one DJ set in fucking Melbourne of all goddamned places. God, I still haven't forgiven the universe for that. The raw injustice of it!
And if I miss Patrick, I will --- well, I just won't, all right? I already missed out on the ridiculously expensive Janet Jackson at the Opera House gig this year and I am so not used to missing out on my favoured performers. It rankles very sour with me. It is just Not On. I can count them on one hand. The Dandys at the Metro way back when, the last Robbie Williams gig that was only available to MasterCard holders wtf, Smashing Pumpkins at the Enmore because it was the Aunt's birthday dinner that night and I have never let her forget it, and this Janet Jackson gig. Every other gig I've wanted I got. Because, well, the alternative is just unthinkable.
Just booked to have dinner next week with the Aunt and the Aquarian cuz-cuz and shaula82 at Spicy Sichuan in Glebe. It's going to be so wonderful, food as well as company, because the Aunt loves that place and we've been telling the other two separately about it for ages so they're both keen as because they're equally mad about ridiculously hot food. I will be the wuss at that table, heh. And yeah, they met at my birthday dinner this year and rather liked each other so it will be fab in that respect too. *beams* I am blessed with the people I love.
It's all good now ...
I looked fab --- all red and black today, darlings, with a sparkly red Parisian ribbon tied around the head, half Victorian half rock chic --- and nearly got sent to court but turns out the hearing finished early so I was stuck in the office. Which on one hand was good cos I hadn't brought the journals and I only had Villette with me so it would have tried my patience severely to be stuck in court with nothing to write and only Lucy Snowe to read who is steadily eroding my good humour despite my determination to not be put off.
At least in the office I got to chat to various people and check my email on an actual computer and look at bracelets on etsy and read various Active Child interviews. And well, yeah, that was the torture bit. Cos god, all I wanted to be was home, lying flat on my bed with the daylight coming in through the sunbleached curtain, not doing anything at all but listening to the music filling every inch of air.
And I spent the entire damned day on this one fifty-five minute transcript because the asinine lawyer kept stumbling over his big words and running them together, so much so even the magistrate couldn't understand him. So not the sounds I wanted in my head. And it was only after lunch that my pagecount racked up enough for me to be somewhat mollified. At least I had something to show for the teeth-grinding frustration.
It was like withdrawals. I haven't felt like that about music for a while. Not because Patrick Grossi's so freaking marvellous, you understand --- I mean, he is but that's not why --- but because this is the first time in this job I've had a new musical interest. At least with monitoring, I could spend every adjournment drowning in my music. Here I only get an hour at lunchtime and christ, did I soak it up in that hour. Should have gone to Hyde Park though with my food but I thoughtlessly said "Eat here" rather than "Take away" to the girl when I was ordering my noodles so I ended up trapped in the foodcourt, struggling to hear him through the conversations around me and the goddamned stupid newscast on the televisions.
Tomorrow, park and Patrick and peace and nobody talking at me. Just a shame I'll be surrounded by so many damned people. *sigh* Oh, if the office was closer to the Botanic Gardens. I could lose myself there, find my special hideaway where I can lie on the grass and nobody can see me and all I see is sky through the twisted branches of the old Moreton Bay fig. *sighs*
You know how I said his high choirboy vocals hadn't pissed me off yet? It just occurred to me that rather the reverse has happened. Curious. I hadn't expected that. It's almost like those first few listens to Starsailor where I keep sort of bracing myself to recoil and then being quietly and constantly surprised that I don't, that I still like it and like it more and more.
*sigh* It's the melodies, the intricacy and deceptive simplicity of them, that certain melodic sensibility that hits all those notes I love and does those turns and lilts and rises that totally resonate with my own totally unmusical sensibility. Very similar to my love for Tim, yeah. And it made me grin today when in one interview, Patrick talks about his dad playing Peter Gabriel and Tears For Fears as he was growing up. I quite literally blinked and read that twice to make sure I hadn't just imagined it. *lol* Tick and tick.
Some of his references do make me laugh though, Enya and Sade and Annie Lennox ... just cos he seems so young compared to the musicians I'm usually into, so very much of the Eighties and Nineties. That's what you get for being into a musician who was born three years after you. Heh. And it quite possibly was Johnny Belinda, the Lew Ayres/Jane Wyman film. Films have also been inspirational for me. Sometimes, to write, I just throw an old movie on, put the TV on mute and start playing. It’s a good way to create a mood from the imagery and always helps stop writers block. Mmm.
The Spirited season finale just began. And I have to admit I'm a little bit glad that there will be some respite over the next few months. I've been getting too distracted by the fannish activity from work and the writing, as much as I enjoy the flail and the discussion. So yeah, quite a bit of guilty relief that this will be the last episode tonight for a good long while. Hopefully by the time season three begins --- if it does get the green light --- I'll have finished this novel and be free to indulge. Never mind the other novel. *flaps*
I should eat. I have jelly and chocolate mousse and naans and hummus, all sorts of yummy stuff. And I rented out When Harry Met Sally cos the fellow Aquarian who came to see Spiritualized with me posted a quote totally out of the blue and unattributed and I was the only one to immediately go: "I LOVE that movie, I LOVE that quote, that's one of my favourite quotes!" Why I don't own that film I don't know. Always meant to but never got around to it.
What I need to buy next is without a doubt The Search cos I can't start reading Letters To Montgomery Clift without having seen it. And anyway, it'll prolly take me three weeks to get through Villette.
I came into work today to discover the Kooky American had left a James Ellroy book on my keyboard. When she came in late as usual, I asked with total bemusement: "But L, why?" And she was like "Because you're going to be published one day."
Whut?
I don't even know how she --- oh wait. You know what it was? I linked her to my review of the Bosworth bio and she was quite visibly impressed, told me it was very very good writing. Well, yeah, I'm kinda proud of it too but it was sort of unnerving to see her actually look at me with this whole new perspective. I registered it at the time but was too busy telling her she's got to read it too because she's into that whole seamy side of Hollywood. And that's why she brought me James Ellroy to read.
I don't know, just reading the blurb made me blench. I told her rather plaintively: "But L, he scares me." And she doubled over in silent laughter as she frequently does when I'm all disarming honesty with her. It's okay, he freaked her out too. And she said she wants to know what I think of him. Well, dude, like I can resist that stroke to my ego. *lol*
It's funny, though, how unequivocally she said that published thing. Every now and then people say that to me, like it's not even a hope or a dream or a thought, like it's total fact in their heads. And I find myself looking at them with slight wonder, half hoping that their version of reality will actually come true.
Then I remind myself it's not the point, anyway. Not for me. I mean, I love that other people have such faith and ambition for me. But at the end of the day, I only owe it to myself to be happy. *contented Buddha smile, wot?*
God, I hope I get to see Active Child perform sometime soon. I watched a couple of clips on YouTube the other night, the first of which pissed me off completely cos the camera kept bouncing all over the place and I was like "Dude, it's not fucking Cloverfield, all right? I get that you're enjoying the music but fucking HOLD STILL so I can SEE HIM!" Argh. And then the third one zoomed in so close that it missed Patrick every time he bent to the keyboards which hello, he's going to do cos he's playing and twiddling and singing and argh, pull BACK, you stupid camera person! Seriously, as much as I appreciate his body, I do not want to be looking at his midsection when he's singing. Eventually stupid camera person got a clue and pulled back so I could actually see both Patrick and Stratton which was quite cool cos I hadn't realised Strat did some of the vocals too. Live, at least.
*sigh* At least between Twitter and Facebook, I'm not likely to miss any gig announcements. Although I don't think a headline gig will be likely any time soon. If someone does bring him/them out here --- highly unlikely --- it'll prolly be in support capacity first. Better not fucking be like when Ade Fenton came out with Nooman and only did one DJ set in fucking Melbourne of all goddamned places. God, I still haven't forgiven the universe for that. The raw injustice of it!
And if I miss Patrick, I will --- well, I just won't, all right? I already missed out on the ridiculously expensive Janet Jackson at the Opera House gig this year and I am so not used to missing out on my favoured performers. It rankles very sour with me. It is just Not On. I can count them on one hand. The Dandys at the Metro way back when, the last Robbie Williams gig that was only available to MasterCard holders wtf, Smashing Pumpkins at the Enmore because it was the Aunt's birthday dinner that night and I have never let her forget it, and this Janet Jackson gig. Every other gig I've wanted I got. Because, well, the alternative is just unthinkable.
Just booked to have dinner next week with the Aunt and the Aquarian cuz-cuz and shaula82 at Spicy Sichuan in Glebe. It's going to be so wonderful, food as well as company, because the Aunt loves that place and we've been telling the other two separately about it for ages so they're both keen as because they're equally mad about ridiculously hot food. I will be the wuss at that table, heh. And yeah, they met at my birthday dinner this year and rather liked each other so it will be fab in that respect too. *beams* I am blessed with the people I love.
It's all good now ...