Sunday, 16 February 2014

Little Musings Tonight

Sitting all aquiver with anticipation as I await the second instalment of 'Never Tear Us Apart'.  I'm trying to think of my favourite INXS song.  I don't think I have one, although 'The One Thing' is top of the list just at the moment.  Hutchence seems to be a text book example of what can be achieved by an 'average' singer with a motza of stage presence and charisma.  The only number related to INXS that I'm not loving is their cover of 'Good Times', and it's not really 'theirs'; it's a collaboration of Hutchence and Jimmy Barnes, and the reason I don't particularly like it is the Barnes connection.  Although fond of Cold Chisel, just about any solo number of Jimmy Barnes makes my ears vibrate unpleasantly, like a tuning fork in pain.  And what's with the godawful screaming? ('Call WIRES, there's a scalded cockatoo out there!  Oh, wait....').  I thought one of the most annoying concert performances I'd ever seen was at the closing ceremony of the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games when Colin Hay was singing 'Down Under', and Jimmy Barnes joined in on the chorus.  Why?  WHYYYYY? There was an arrogance to this that blew my mind, and a horrific noise that blew my ear drums.


But some people are just arrogant.  It's like this woman who was strutting around at a party last night, shoving past people, almost knocking them over as her hips (the span of which was comparable to a bridge over a small river crossing) swayed from side to side.  And I think she was eyeing off my husband at one stage.  No chance there, m'dear, if you're reading this.  I was almost tempted to say, 'Give me me gold, Cap'n Ahab; I've spotted your whale!'  But that would be bitchy and inviting trouble, which is something I do not want.  The trip home was not a joy, but only because hubby was tempted to try a different route (the party was not in our home town), and we got kind of lost, which is not fun at all when it's dark and you're tired.  Less fun is seeing a fucking kangaroo hopping alongside your car and almost crapping yourself in fear and shock. 


I have this to do list, and can't be arsed about any of it at the moment.  I have to email some notifications to schools in the Upper Hunter Valley about the creative writing section of the Eisteddfod (I'm the convenor).  I have to do two subjects on disabled care.  I will have a book launch to organise (now this does have me excited, I must admit).  It seems I've had no spare time these past few weeks.  My days off have entailed family business, some of which was tragically the funeral of my cousin's wife, and on my next spare day I had to get my father fitted up with his hearing aids.  


Anyway, time to get motivated for the TV show.  Will I find it as 'sexy' as last week's ep?  Time will tell.  This has me thinking about my favourite movie sex scene.  It's not a Hollywood swelling-violin-music-as-metaphor-for-swelling-penis-and-orgasm accompaniment type thing.  It's in a not so well known  (and criminally underrated) movie called 'p.s.'.  It stars Laura Linney as an older woman who has a torrid (aren't they all 'torrid'?) affair with a younger student played by Topher Grace (upon whom I harbour some silly cougar crush).  They start to grope each other on a couch, she asks if he has 'anything', and he awkwardly retrieves a condom from his wallet, and they have this session which is best described as a 'fumble'.  But I liked it.  There was a realism to it.  Other people have spoken of the realism of the sex scene, which has led to an apocryphal story that they had actual sex.  They did not have actual sex with each other, people.  That would be PORN.  Hell, the Laura Linney character doesn't even remove her dress.  Not that you can't have sex with a dress on. 

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