RFS doesn't live here anymore...

http://rockafellaskank.wordpress.com/

And see the last post.

Me

xx

Argh!

Early this year I started putting my name to some of the stuff I was writing... needless to say, that didn't include some of the introspective navel-gazing posts I had included on this site.

However, for most of the year I have doubled up on the new style of blogs I have been posting - fairly innocuous rants about whatever takes my fancy, rather than more personal accounts of my life and my feelings, to which you have been privy. This has meant that I have been double-blogging (akin to double dipping I suspect). As a result, recent inane blogs appear afresh on a parallel website sans the earlier and more angst-y work).

Having said all of that, I have to admit I have been WAY less diligent than I expected, in terms of my posting over this past year. One of the issues for me has been keeping up both this and my wordpress blog. Frankly I am tired of the constant cutting and pasting!

So, not exactly sure why, but because many suggested it earlier this year, I am going to stick with the other one....

Recent and future blogs can be obtained from: http://rockafellaskank.wordpress.com/

Same name, same time... just a different place I guess.

Cheers for now

Thomas and Jessica

I am home sick today. A terrible headache and aching neck and shoulders kept me in bed for most of the morning. When I woke at lunchtime I was pretty sure I could happily sleep away the afternoon, but decided I should get up lest I be completely unable to sleep tonight and am rendered inactive tomorrow as well.

After checking and dealing with work emails I settled myself in my comfortable armchair and flicked through television channels looking for something on daytime TV to keep me from my bed. Staving off head-spins I caught the end of a Judy Garland movie I can’t recall ever having seen before (I grew up in regional Queensland on a diet of Sunday afternoon Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, Fred Astaire and Doris Day movies.)

Feeling too light-headed to do much else after the movie finished I channel-surfed again before coming across Magnum PI. I can’t recall being a huge Thomas Magnum or Tom Selleck fan when the show actually aired back in the 1980s but, as I have always consumed large amounts of television and suffered through a deficiency of options in my home town, I have watched my share of the Hawaiian-based detective.

Watching it a decade and a half later remains a treat. Episodes were replayed on a Sunday morning (on and off) last year and I circled it in my TV Guide in an attempt to remember to watch (or tape) it. Despite the occasionally-wooden acting and (now) very-dated stunts and special effects I was surprised to see a number of familiar faces – including a young Ted Danson, Sharon Stone, Ernest Borgnine and Carol Burnett.

Today’s episode (shown on one of our new free-to-air digital television stations, 7mate) featured a young Miguel Ferrer. Again I was reminded how much I like and miss shows like this. I must also confess to be a Murder She Wrote fan. When the show was replayed on daytime television earlier this year, I set my video to tape it and watch at my leisure.

I think people either love or hate Angela Lansbury’s Jessica Fletcher. I personally think she morphed into a less-patronising and annoying character over the show’s life. Although I cringed at the sets’ and decor (I think I had blocked macrame hanging pot plant holders from my mind), I liked the lack of complexity in the storylines when comparing them to the murder/mysteries on our screens today.

I can think of few current shows which can offer the G-rated viewing of the likes of Murder She Wrote, Magnum PI (and their contemporaries, Hart to Hart, Moonlighting, Remington Steele, Jake and the Fatman etc…). Although I enjoy shows like Dexter, Law & Order (et al), The Mentalist etc, they are all far more macabre and not exactly easy-viewing. Hardly fun.

It makes me wonder where we are heading though. If in another 10 or 15 years the grisly corpses in Bones; serial killers of Criminal Minds; and mind-benders of Fringe will be passe? Perhaps I will be giggling at the special effects in Caprica. I guess only time will tell. Until then I will work out how to record my digital television channels and – when time permits – settle down with Magnum and giggle at the short shorts. And the hair. Not to mention the moustaches!

Deadwood - d'oh

As my holidays draw to a close, so too does my obsessive viewing of TV shows on DVD. So far, I have knocked off all three series of BBC's Robin Hood, two series of The Big Bang Theory, two series of Friday Night Lights and now I have just finished watching the third and final series of Deadwood.

I had to Google the latter today after watching the final episode in the wee hours of the morning. I thought perhaps I missed something as I felt somewhat dissatisfied at the way the show wrapped up. I didn't expect an out-of-place montage tying up loose ends a-la Pushing Daisies, but I thought there would be some sense of closure for us viewers.

However, it wasn't until this morning’s googling that I discovered two things. Firstly, a fourth season was initially expected, which I decided could account for the anti-climactic ending…. But more importantly I was confronted with my own ignorance (at least in terms of American folklore), upon learning that the entire show was significantly based on fact!!! D’oh!

While watching I had been surprised at some of the liberties taken, through the introduction of 'Calamity' Jane and 'Wild' Bill Hickok, not realising until today that most of the other characters and many of the events of the show were actually also based on - as quoted by Wikipedia - 'historical truths' with a few embellishments added for the purposes of entertainment.

This knowledge would have informed my viewing and – more importantly - my expectations considerably had it been conferred on me previously. Had I realised that there was some need to adhere to factual accounts; it would have lessened the aforementioned disappointment that the storyline didn’t reflect the kind of TV-land ending that allows viewers to sleep contentedly at night.

A friend had tried to convince me to watch Deadwood for years but I had refrained, having little interest in the 'western' as a genre. However, as it happened I discovered it in the same way I discovered some recent passions, Big Bang Theory and Entourage - through re-runs on television.

Although I sped through the three seasons of the show and often refused to delay gratification, watching episode after episode, I didn't LOVE love it, ie. It isn't something I would watch again and again - my definition of a show I love.

There is no doubting, however, that the show was made by clever people and that is something I appreciate (hence my love of West Wing, Pushing Daisies, Buffy etc). The scripts and dialogue were amazing and it wasn't until the second or third season that I became conscious that each line from a character's mouth was akin to Shakespearean prose (albeit slightly more colourful!), with the quality of the vernacular and use of soliloquies and monologues growing each episode.

I have to admit to being a bit gobsmacked while watching the first episode. No one had warned me about the language. Don't get me wrong, I swear like a trooper, dropping the F-bomb far too much and I must admit that the c-word doesn't even worry me much nowadays.... but I wasn't prepared for it on my free-to-air-TV viewing. Wikipedia quotes that 'fuck' was used 43 times during the first hour of the show, setting the tone for the rest of the seasons, with the word used 1.56 times every minute of footage. I expect the word 'cocksucker' featured as a pronoun almost as much. Of course once inured to the language you realise that being called a (language alert!!!) loopy fuckin' c_nt is in fact a term of endearment. At least in the characters' eyes.

However, watching all three seasons in such quick succession allowed me to ponder a bit on my perceptions and my own reactions to them. The first episodes introduce us to the two main characters, Seth Bullock (former Montana Sheriff and wannabe Hardware store owner in the lawless Deadwood) and Al Swearengen, owner of the local pub and whorehouse. As I had seen half a dozen episodes on TV before borrowing the DVDs, I felt I already had a sense of the two protagonists: Bullock was a controlled and 'just' man with a sense of right and wrong; while Swearengen ruthlessly murders (by this own hand and others) for his own gain, treating all of those around him (liked and disliked) with disdain.

So... it didn't really occur to me sometime until late in the second season that - in some respects - their roles (on the TV show at least) had reversed. Swearengen had become the smarter 'player' weighing up the politics of the situations before him and demonstrating acts of kindness; and Bullock, faced with personal problems and complications was prone to 'flying off the handle' and acting irrationally. Bullock was now the wildcard, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. Those (like me) prone to online trawling for information would know there are entire Forums devoted to the ‘evolution’ of Swearengen throughout the show.

Of course, I realise that my early viewing was coloured by a lack of character development and the more dimensions to which we are privy, the more the characters change. But it was a useful lesson to me. I made my mind up too quickly. I jumped in and judged who the baddies and goodies were without much thought. And then I found it hard to change my allegiances. Bullock was the hero for God’s sake! As the seasons progressed, I found myself becoming more and more disappointed in him; as if he was letting me (personally) down through his increasingly-uncontrolled actions.

I gather (again, via Wikipedia) that the real-life Swearengen didn't demonstrate the same human touches as his screen character, and similarly, Bullock seems to have done well for himself in politics and in business - his real-life perhaps not fraught with the same complications as his Deadwood character.

When Season 4 didn’t progress, creator David Milch was to have wrapped the show up via a series of TV movies, but four years later these have not eventuated. A shame really, because while I can learn what happened to their real-life namesakes... I would kinda like to have known what would have happened to the Deadwood characters I'd known on-screen.

The X Factor

A few weeks ago, I was about to pull the plug on my anti-climactic Saturday night TV viewing when I came across a TV documentary about East Timorese leader, and current Prime Minister, Xanana Gusmão.

I was in East Timor between 1999 and 2001 and met Xanana a few times. I saw him speak, often in Tetum the local language, but although my comprehension was minimal I didn’t need to understand the words to know that he could certainly command a room.

At that time, he had the respect and admiration of a whole generation of East Timorese. His oratory skills and impassioned performances were amazing and he had the ability to quell angry masses frustrated with everything from the world’s inaction to the United Nation’s plodding progress in his country.

He had something that many others do not. Charisma. Presence… a certain something.

But it got me thinking about that X Factor. That ‘something’ which separates Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke, from John Howard or Kevin Rudd; and Bill Clinton from others who came before and after.

I remember when I was at school watching a young Sigrid Thornton in the TV mini-series All the Rivers Run and movie Man from Snowy River. In the late 1970s and early 1980s she was Australia’s sweetheart, eventually departing for the USA where she scored the lead in a (fairly-ordinary) TV western which ran for a couple of years. I recall reading a quote about her in a magazine at that time where someone described her allure, saying that the camera loved her; that it ‘ate her up’. And it did. We saw it years later when she graced Australian small screens again in the late 1990s in Sea Change. She had a ‘certain something’ that she continues to bring to our screens, even today.

I was reminded of this notion of charisma as I breezed through BBC’s Robin Hood recently. I have already confessed my lust for Richard Armitage’s Sir Guy of Gisbourne, but what surprised me was how engaging I found Robin himself. Slim and (I suspect) not-universally-attractive, Jonas Armstrong brought something to the screen which surprised me. In trying to describe him (in the role) to someone, I said he ‘twinkled’. An unlikely candidate for the X Factor, Armstrong gave us a cheeky loveable larrikin who drew us in and before long (for me, anyway) he embodied Robin Hood.

I’m not always as enamoured with TV characters and wonder if it is all about the X Factor. I watch the TV show Castle for example, because I am a Nathan Fillion fan (from way back). But I cannot - I repeat - I CANNOT, stand Stana Katic’s smug Kate Beckett. She is certainly pretty and Hollywood-skinny so I find it hard to articulate why I haven’t ‘taken’ to her character, other than a certain coldness or lack of depth? I suspect it is an issue of charisma. And when a character is uninspiring, unsurprisingly I can’t engage with them or the show. It is the reason, I suspect, that I used to love Law & Order – Criminal Intent, but never watched the original Law & Order; and perhaps the same reason I skip Law & Order – SVU if Mariska Hargitay isn’t featuring.

It isn’t just about acting, although it does help. I will watch almost anything with Aussie TV actor, Claudia Karvan in it because she just brings ‘something’ to the screen every time. Similarly I am enjoying our new television offering, Offspring, starring Asher Keddie who is remarkably engaging as the self-deprecating Nina.

It’s why we want the good guys to win. Or the bad guys to prosper. It’s why we forgive Bill Clinton’s indiscretions or ignore Bob Hawke’s oafishness. It’s why certain actors or shows appeal to us and others don’t. It’s how some people can command a room or a show, and others can’t… the X Factor which has nothing to do with singing and dancing.

Bad boys, whatcha gonna do?

Let me start by prefacing this post with the statement that I do not, in real life, have a thing for ‘bad boys’. As a natural cynic I have never aspired to find someone I can save, or change, or mould in any way. This is because the man of my dreams will (of course) be a perfect specimen, not requiring any tweaking or shaping. Hmmm… on further consideration this may well be why I am single!

On screen however, it seems that my taste is far more seditious.

I have just commenced a long holiday and after two laps of my local video store, I settled on the TV show Robin Hood (2006-2009). I hadn’t ever watched it but recalled it being moderately popular and decided I was desperate enough to check it out for myself. Given that there were only three Seasons made and all available, I also figured it would give me enough to do for a few days while not requiring me to wait (im)patiently for a new season to be released.

As I am not a fan of the ‘action’ genre, I expected that I might watch a few episodes before returning Season 1 mostly-unwatched. However, to my surprise I literally inhaled two Seasons in less than three days and would have watched the final Season if some other pesky customer hadn’t kept it from me.

Although Jonas Armstrong is surprisingly bewitching as Robin Hood, hero of the masses, it is the enigmatic and (frankly) bloody sexy Richard Armitage, who played Sir Guy of Gisborne who captured my heart. Delivering on the Sheriff of Nottingham’s carnage does nothing to stymie my bad-boy adoration and (well, let’s face it)… lust. Dark, brooding, sexy and sardonic, he is night to Robin’s day. He is my Mr Darcy, leaving Mr Bingham in his scathing wake.

It has made me wonder how much of the on-screen bad boy thing is expert casting rather than girl’s natural instinct to ‘turn-around’ a man who surely wants to be saved even though they may not actually know it. In Robin Hood, Armstrong as its namesake is young and lanky and portrayed as a bit of a larrikin, whereas (be-still-my-beating-heart) Armitage is buff, stubbled and clad in black leather. And in the first two Seasons (at least) we are privy to glimpses of humanity, leading us to believe he is not completely beyond redemption (and therefore worthy of our lust).

Although it dates me, I recall similarly finding Luke Perry’s Dylan far more attractive than Jason Priestley’s Brandon on (the original) Beverly Hills 90210. I preferred Chris Noth’s Big to John Corbett’s Aidan in Sex and the City. And for a more timely pop culture reference I have to admit to a slight lustful interest in Glee’s Puck as opposed to, well…whatever the other guy’s name is… you know, the tall lanky blander-than-white-bread guy.

Ever since James Dean graced the screens in the 1950s and studio bosses recognized our lust for the bad boy, casting directors have given us a choice. Squeaky clean and cute, or sexy and broody.

And in the parallel universe of film and television, I know which I am buying….

Far Eastern Odysseys and Emergency Sex

A few things have transpired in the last few weeks which have me thinking. Thinking and pondering.

I have been quite unhappy at work for some time. This isn’t necessarily a new thing as I get bored very easily and tend to change jobs with regularity. At the moment however, although I contemplate alternatives, I find myself at a loss to identify what my options might be. This had led me to reconsider a former career in aid and development - a previous life in which I worked and managed projects in developing countries.

Then, a couple of Tuesdays ago, I was channel surfing free-to-air TV and came across Rick Stein’s Far Eastern Odyssey. It was the first show in the series and featured Cambodia.

I lived in Cambodia (aka Kampuchea; aka Cambodge) as a volunteer for about 7 months (until a coup d’etat) in 1997. I returned for a month or so the following year as an election observer - part of a 20-person Australian / New Zealand contingent.

Generally I cannot watch shows or read about places I have lived or worked. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I feel the shows do not do the places and people justice, or that they objectify or patronise them. Perhaps I have figuratively washed my hands of the places and people, moved on (literally) and don’t want to be reminded of them. Or perhaps it is just the opposite and I find it painful to be reminded of previous lives and past regrets. I don’t know.

But as it happened, I enjoyed watching Rick and his guides eating and cooking their way across Cambodia. And, though over a decade since I was there, I felt a sense of familiarity and déjà vu.

Then….only a few days later I had a conversation with a fellow commuter, the way one does when they see the same strangers day after day. Our smiles had become hellos and our hellos had become conversations.

This day – without knowing any of my history - she (for I still don’t know her name and keep meaning to ask!) told me how she would like to work in a developing country one day. In the course of our conversation she talked about a book called, Emergency Sex and Other Desperate Measures: A True Story of Hell on Earth and offered to lend it to me. And surprisingly she - my nameless fellow-commuter - appeared the following day with the book.

I, however, wasn’t sure I would want to read the book for the same reason I don’t watch stuff about places I have lived and worked. So before receiving the book I was coming up with plausible platitudes which could fool her into thinking I had read the damned thing so as not to offend her generous gesture.

Surprisingly, although not particularly enamoured with two of the three authors (and protagonists), I demolished the book in two late-night reading sessions.

The book itself was written by three United Nations (UN) workers: Andrew, a NZ doctor, started out working for the Red Cross in Cambodia before the UN arrived en-masse to secure peace and democracy; Heidi, a disenfranchised recently divorced and broke social worker snared the UN gig to make some money; and Ken, a law graduate with an interest in human rights and no interest in actually practicing law. The three cross paths in Cambodia in 1993 and continue to do so until the end of that decade and the book tracks them through the UN hotspots of Cambodia, Haiti, Somalia, Rwanda, Liberia and Bosnia.

I met some of these characters in my overseas exploits, particularly while living in Mozambique, Cambodia and East Timor. Adrenaline junkies who move from emergency to emergency; UN Mission to UN Mission, many with little regard or thought for the people whose homeland they are inhabiting (albeit briefly). Some good work is done but the motivations of many can be disheartening.

But even as I read this book and grimaced at some of the characters and happenings, I found myself feeling the familiar tinge of adrenaline and reminding myself of the good, rather than the bad.

Emergency Sex returned to its commuter-owner, I am left pondering. After my last overseas gig a decade ago: two years in East Timor then some time in the private sector involving a lot of travel in the Pacific, I yearned for normalcy. I left the industry for what-I-hoped-would-be a more settled existence. Indeed I have had absolutely no interest in traveling (anywhere or at all) since my return. So why now am I surfing the internet for development jobs? Am I like Heidi in Emergency Sex (who I quite disliked) - disenfranchised and looking for something new? Or is my current lack of fulfillment because I have no sense that what I am (currently) doing makes a difference. To anyone.

I tried to explain my lack of fulfillment to a boss a few years ago. While living in developing countries the conditions are difficult. You may not have access to regular electricity or running water. Security may be an issue and you may be quite socially isolated. So everyday life is hard. A challenge. As a result it doesn’t matter if work is maniacally busy or less-than-fulfilling because you don’t have the luxury of considering self-actualisation or pausing to ponder the meaning of life. But in a world (here) where life is (mostly) easy, I find myself expecting more from my work. More from people around me. Often neither measure up. And this isn’t always their fault.

So, if I am honest, my desire to return to my previous life is as much about my dissatisfaction with the rest of my life as it is about work even though I realise my previous escapades did little to stave off the disenfranchisement. So, I wonder why I think this time would be any different….