Something that may be significant.

Michael Palin and John Cleese are on this episode of Saturday Night Live. (Yes, they are the funniest thing going, they're Palin and Cleese.)

What sketch do they get put to do, on SNL, with the top writers of SNL available?

The Parrot Sketch.

The Monty Python one.

Though I don't remember, did the original end with Michael Palin inviting John Cleese back to his place?

So, the best the writers of SNL can do with star comedic material like John Cleese and Michael Palin is resurrecting Monty Python. (But then again, what's funnier than an ex-parrot? Whose metabolic functions are of interest only to historians? And who has ceased to be?)

Dude.

I'm in favour. (Mind you, I shouldn't say that while I'm in the country, I'll get deported.)

There's an ad showing for a really quite sick reality series, at the moment.

Joe Millionaire.

An ordinary fella just inherited fifty million dollars, and now he's looking for true love. Bunch of girls being wooed, or something.

Only thing is?

The multimillionaire thing is a lie, he's a workin' class man, and they ask: Can true love survive a fifty million dollar lie?

My answer would be hell no. Forget the fifty million dollars, it's the "so, you've been lying to me constantly the entire time I've known you" aspect that would be something of a dealbreaker.

I already know far too much about Saturday Night Live. I have only myself to blame, for watching the SNL Christmas Marathon. I have a crush on Tina Fey. I think Jimmy Fallon is adorable. I sulk when they show pre-Jimmy-and-Tina-on-Weekend-Update episodes.

The episode I'm watching right now is back when they still had Adam Sandler, Mike Myers and David Spade.

Watched one yesterday with Winona Ryder - I have to say, it's good she can make fun of herself with the whole shoplifting thing.

My overall judgement on SNL is that it's good - of course, considering it's a marathon thingy, I'm probably watching the cream of the crop of SNL episodes. They do have some bad sketches, and the problem is when a sketch is bad, it keeps on being bad for far too long.

And in this episode in particular: Adam Sandler is annoying as hell. He's been annoying as hell in every movie he's done (sub-section on The Wedding Singer: that one was kind of good, but for once he wasn't playing a moron and he had Drew Barrymore to raise the tone no end).

Still. It passes the time when it's Christmas and I'm too sleepy for anything else. Even with a two pound jar of Swedish Fish.

I've been watching Comedy Central (all Saturday Night Live, all the time). Episode that's currently on is actually cool, because it features Ian McKellen hosting, and Kylie Minogue as a guest.

Ian McKellen RULES.

And he dragged up as Maggie Smith, too. And said, as "Mags", that Ian McKellen would get an Oscar because "they have to toss that old queen a bone". And kissed Jimmy Fallon onna mouth.

He also clearly loves Kylie Minogue, which amuses me no end. When she was singing he was in view in one shot up against a side wall of the stage she was on, bopping happily.

He's funny.

And she walks and talks, and never shows she's frozen hard inside...

My eyes sting from crying earlier. I hate crying - it doesn't suit me at all, because it makes me headachey and whimpery and it makes my eyes sting for hours. Though I feel better for a shower.

C called earlier, apparently shocked and horrified that I'm electing to spend Christmas Eve alone. But, really, I am in no shape to be company to anyone but a dog that just drowses on a chair and growls at me, tonight. I'm not so much depressed as just solemn, and quiet, and content to curl up with orange juice, a blanket, and a French and Saunders DVD, because...

... Well, because I love my family, even when I don't think I do, and even though I hate the commercialisation of Christmas it genuinely means something to be with Mum, Dad and Arwen at Christmas, and I'm not. And I just want to curl up inside and be elsewhere. Just make believe that it's not Christmas, tonight, and do laundry, and watch TV, and drink orange juice and eat Ben and Jerry's out of the carton.

Mum, Dad, Arwen - I love you. Merry Christmas. I'm sure you'll all be driving me nuts just as soon as I get home, but right now, I miss you all so very, very badly.

I have decided that my parents suck.

No, hear me out, including you, Mum and Dad.

I am, right now, incredibly, stupidly homesick. Because right now, it's Christmas morning in Perth, and my family are probably up, and doing family things, and probably are ridiculously happy doing things without me.

And my parents suck for not clinging to the tail of my planes with their teeth so they could camp out in the wilderness waiting to be around so they could hug me at Christmas when I'm missing them and my sister and my friends so much it is actual, physical pain.

A conversation.

Martha: Do you want to go home?
Rae: Huh?
Martha: Do you want to go home? You know you can leave early, if you want.
Rae: No. It still wouldn't get me home by Christmas, and when it's not Christmas I'll be okay.

But it's so good of her to offer, I think. Prompted, natch, by the fact that I've been crying my eyes out for the last half hour. I've decided I'm now opposed to "family holiday"s such as Christmas because for those of us who are, like me, twelve million miles from their families, it provides a motive for a rapid transition from "well, yeah, I do miss them, but I'm having a great time and I'll see them in a few weeks so I'm okay with that" to "oh, god, I miss them, what am I doing spending Christmas in America of all places, I want my mummy and my daddy and my sister and my friends and I'm going to cry and cry and cry because they're far away".

Tonight is dinner with some of Martha's friends, again, but I've elected not to go - I'm going to be too teary-eyed to be pretty, and too depressed to be good company, so I'm staying home and phoning Australia again, timed to be Christmas Day. I'm probably going to watch French and Saunders DVDs (because anything heavy would kill me) and put up with getting my face licked in exchange for hugs from the dog.

Everyone I love sucks for not coming to California with me.

Sir Paul McCartney finally has a coat of arms.

I am watching Martha Stewart.

She is lame.

She has bad hair.

I don't get what the big deal is at all...

I've been reading Bruce Campbell's autobiography, If Chins Could Kill.

Bruce Campbell puzzles me. He's a good actor. Let me emphasise that - he's a good actor, because the man can act, and one gets the impression he's good to work with - not a prima donna and he's done enough off-screen work that he doesn't make trouble for the crew.

So why the hell is almost every movie he's in crap? Why doesn't he get cast in good movies? He's got to be one of the most famous and most popular actors who never starred in a major film. Usually, he's the guy you're looking at going "wow!" for the miracles he can perform upon godawful material.

Anyway. Martha has Evil Dead 2 *and* Army of Darkness on DVD. We must watch these at some point, haven't seen 'em in ages.

(I would kill for some of Martha's DVD/video collection. I just wouldn't kill her for it, so I shan't be bringing it back with me. Shame, really, we could have one hell of a marathon at UniSFA.)