Speak easy.
Hello, fellow space-wanderers. It's been a while, and while there's a way-belated new-year's post percolating backstage, I want to take this time to just write and tell you about what's been up with me lately.
Ready? Let's start.
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At least, it's been that way until this coming Friday, if my learners all decide to be good students and show up. Which they usually are and do. Okay.
All that free time has allowed me to catch up on my viewing and reading. Swaparoos with friends for awesome shows and movies make ties that bind.
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BBC's Sherlock.
For those of you who still have to see it and are curious, it's a retelling of the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthus Conan Doyle where the mis-en-scene is modern-day London. Expect to see Sherlock deduce an alarming number of details about John Watson simply by observing the way he stands, and some details on his mobile phone. John keeps a blog (his psychiatrist says it's good for him), much to Sherlock's vexation, and Sherlock himself has a taste for texting. I could go on and on, or of course, you could just go watch the series and save yourself from spoilers from me.
I can never stress how mind-blowing this series is. It's sharp, smart, and very sexy, because as Miss Irene Adler puts it, Brainy is the new Sexy. Each season has three one-hour-long episodes, the pilot being an hour and a half. Each episode is mentally- and emotionally engaging, and will have viewers cheering and booing and wanting more.(And crying and broken-hearted by the third episode of the second season, but oh dear me, I shouldn't have said that.)
Moriarty is also one big magnificent bastard. Andrew Scott, you are one brilliant actor.
It was also nice to see another familiar yet uncommon face. Martin Freeman (John Watson) has also played Arthur Dent in A Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and will be starring in Peter Jackson's The Hobbit as Bilbo Baggins. The fans are having a field day over the fact that his best TV partner will be with him in the movie.
And speak of the devil...
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Sherlock Holmes is a proper genius, and Benedict Cumberbatch is an amazing actor, and a gorgeous, gorgeous man.
He has been both Victor Frankenstein and his creature, Stephen Hawking, Vincent Van Gogh, among many other gripping roles. He can make Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky sound like hot, frabjous sex and John Keat's Ode to a Nightingale like the solemn, tender morning-after.
He is also GQ's most recent Actor of the Year, and will be playing alongside Martin Freeman's Bilbo as Smaug the Dragon and a Necromancer. (voice and motion-capture, of course, but ye gods, that voice!)
Just one more time, with feeling.
There.
I believe all the alcohol has just left my system.
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Meanwhile, all the rustling, thumping, and galumphing upstairs tells me to tell you that we have a new kitten. He is four months old, has a fondness for sitting on keyboards, and is quite the charmer-cum-firecracker. His name is Butler (in hope he be a foil to Bandit), and has a very similar Holstein-cow-like pattern, with the exception of black paw pads and nose. James and I thank my colleague Olive and serendipity for bringing Butler to us. (Pictures to follow.)
I've decided I want to focus on writing again. Beg your pardon if you might not see as many sewing or cooking posts as before -- those won't go away, I promise you.
Just like crazy old me, here I come wanting to run headlong and attacking a million and one story ideas, and getting all worked up and scared stiff over which one to start, how to execute it, and if I'll even get to finish it. Just like what my writer friends and some veritable dead gentlemen like Ernest Hemingway and Kurt Vonnegut -- Write. Just damn bloody write. The only way to get better at it, something, anything, is to do it, and keep doing it.
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