The Incredible Journey: 19 - 20 February, 1994

  

  

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

20 February 1994

Surey, South of London

Fax

Mom,

Stupid mistake.  Forgot to bring photocopies of proof of my degree and diploma [for the recruitment agency].  In the boxes (I think in the one in the top left cupboard in my room) is a flipfile with old CV plus all documentation.  Could you please get copies of degree results and diploma results.    

Look for them now and I'll get you a fax No. to send them to.    

If you can't find that, a photocopy of my actual certificate from varsity is next choice.  Still in cardboard tube.  I think it's in the box above the mirror, or did I give it to you?   

Please try to get this stuff out for me.  Will contact you soon.  Letter already on it's way.   

Love you lots.

PS Settled in with Carrie.  Nice place.  

20 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

Hello!

Carrie [a teacher] on holiday (schools closed), so ran around today on errands.  All over the tube and trains plus took 1st ride in a London Taxi.  In such good condition.  By the way, city streets very clean.  

Insured camper van (law here) at "Down Under Insurance" who specialise in insurance for touring Kiwis, Aussies and us.  They gave us a sticker with a cartoon Springbok behind a steering wheel which says "South Africans On Tour."  Great!  We are going to stick it over the Aussie sticker which is on the van at the moment.  [I don't remember where we bought the camper van.  But is was a Ford, well used, and green.]  

Went shopping when we got back at Tesco's.  I absolutely COULD NOT BELIEVE the prices.  Some examples: 1 litre lemonade... 26p.  Huge bag of 6 packets of chips different flavours... £1.23.  The most amazing range of tinned and dessicated products - we are stocking the camper now.  

Carrie wants to go touring on 1 April, which came as a bit of a shock to me.  I suppose it would be best to go before peak summer season.  I don't know.  She has worked it all out... route, visas, etc.  Should cost £1,300.00.  I am undecided.  What work can I do for 1 month?  Should I go visiting and see England, tour, and then come back and work?  On the other hand, if I don't go with her then I have all the transport costs and the loneliness of doing it by myself.  I will sit down tonight and work the money out.

It's not easy being a smoker in this country.  It isn't a case of finding a no-smoking zone... it's the other way around!  I have become distinctly irritated.   

Public TV is marginally better than SABC.  There are 4 channels though so imagine 4 TV1s - you can generally find something entertaining.  There seem to be a lot of game shows.  Blind date, etc.  Carrie told me about a programme called Gladiators - a team of beefy men and women who are challenged by civilians - usually salespersons - and compete in silly things like knocking each other off a greased pole with pillows.  Unfortunately this house doesn't have Sky TV - no pay channels.  

The house set up is OK.  It's £30/week each for everything, and we can do our washing downstairs, which gets hung all over the radiators to dry.  The family downstairs consists of the mother and 2 daughters.  Boyfriend lives 3 roads away and has 2 small kids.  He used to be a concert pianist.  They are VERY untidy.  Like PIGS actually.  The flat only has one hob, so if buy oven stuff we cook it downstairs.  They seem not to mind our being here at all.  Brits must be used to close quarters.

 British transport service is amazing.

My ear is getting better but that medicine really knocks me for 6.  Felt very dazed all day.  BRIT AWARDS taking place as I write this.  Madonna here for them.  Big deal of course.  Wish she was doing a concert.

That's all for now.  Write soon as we will probably leave 1 April.  This house up for sale so prospects of accommodation uncertain.  Another reason to move on I suppose.

Miss you!

 

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 4 April, 1994

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

4 April 1994

Paris

Letter

Dear Family,

Dad - thanx so much for your letter!  It was a lovely surprise and I got it just as we were leaving.  We extended our trip by a day so it was real luck that I was there to receive it.  

The B's [friends of my parents, who let us stay with them in Paris] have been extremely kind and generous.  Unfortunately, we arrived very late - +/- 11pm.  We underestimated the distance from Calais, forgot about the time change (1 hr forward) and got lost 4 times.  We couldn't phone because every phone booth we fond was for phonecards only.  Anyway, we ate and went to bed.

On Saturday Mr B lent us his phonecard, guide of Paris, bought us train tickets, gave use more tickets, and walked us to the station.  Mrs B made us a picnic lunch, and we were dispatched to Paris.  We saw Tour Eiffel (mindblowing), then Place d'Etoiles to Louvre by foot.  Lunch in the Tuilleries, walked to Notre Dame, then home by RER [Paris trains].  

On Sunday we went cycling around the park of the Chateau [Versailles] and saw the Hameau, etc.  In the afternoon we went back and saw the 1st floor section.  Unfortunately the grounds and 2nd floor section were closed by the time we got out.

TONS OF TOURISTS!  (Les Japponais!)

On Monday we went to La Defense which was amazing.  Then Sacre Coeur, Cemetiere de Pere Lachaise and Beaubourg.  

At the cemetary we saw a large group of Italians searching for Jim Morrison's grave.  They walked into a central part, saw some young people and shouted "Ou est Jim?"  It seems that's what everyone goes there for.  I'm proud to say we also took the time to see Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust and Chopin.  The B's have never been there!

Beaubourg is a fascinating area but Centre Georges Pompidou is yukky.  

I bought sunglasses the same shape as my glasses (but bigger) which fit quite well over them so I can drive without getting headaches.

Today we gave a speech at Mrs B's English class about South Africa.  Only Carrie and I went - Varla packed the camper.

Just as we were about to head off for Bordeaux, Mrs B said the coast near Rennes is beautiful, so we are on our way there instead.  They think we are mad changing our minds at the last minute.  They are FAR too uptight.

Mrs B's daughter is studying for exams.  3000 take the exam for 600 places!  She has 4 months to prepare.  Much pressure.

We are approaching Rennes now, so I must navigate.  Excuse writing - bumpy road.

Oh yes, camper cost £702.50 plus £90.00 for spares [My father probably asked me the price in his letter.  Prices of things always fascinated him].  Next time, I CHOOSE the car to buy.

Love you

Post Script

I have to add more detail to this letter.

First, my adult impressions of Paris are here.

Second, I'd like to tell you more about our trip to Pere Lachaise.  It was an amazing experience for me.

We came out of the tube and found ourselves at some minor side entrance.  There was no gate or staff or anything.  So we started to walk around the perimeter to find the main entrance.  Instead we stumbled on a small store which sold maps of the famous graves and assured it was OK to use the side entrance.

It's strange to be in a place that is a tourist attraction and yet also is a cemetery and should be respected as such.  I was therefore shocked and irritated by the Italian students running through the place, laughing, and yelling "Where's Jim?" in French to anyone they saw.

Some of the graves were very grand, and others quite modest.  A few were recent, but many were hundreds of years old and in awful, depressing disrepair.

I don't believe in cemeteries and this is part of the reason why.  If something is old enough, give money to keep it in good nick.  Otherwise, sell the lot again and bury someone on top.  Land is precious.  No new cemeteries should be built, anywhere.  When I die, get rid of me as environmentally consciously as possible.  My body is probably too full of chemicals to let me degrade into the earth, so just burn me.  No casket, no urn,  no bullshit.  Spend the money on getting drunk and telling stories about me.  No physical memorials.  My time is done.  Continuing to take up space is unethical and pure vanity.

But I digress.  Back to Pere Lachaise.

Jim Morrison's grave was very weird.  Firstly, I was annoyed that idiots had sprayed graffiti on graves around his and some of them had been broken.  There was a girl standing there crying, and some other fuckwit sitting on a neighboring gravestone smoking weed.  It was a very strange atmosphere and I couldn't help but feel that, if Jim could manifest, he'd tell them all to fuck off.

Jim Morrison's grave

Oscar Wilde's grave was a totally different experience.  It's a huge mausoleum/statue thing.  But that's not what was interesting about it.  

When we got there, there was a young man at the grave site, who was with a female friend.  He was asking her to take photos of him at the grave.  He looked really, really sick.  He was holding up a sign that said: "You can keep your Keats and Yeats... SUGAR!"

Being the year it was, I couldn't help but wonder if he had AIDS.  

He was crying, and it felt like we were intruding, so we took a quick picture of the grave and hurried on our way.  

Oscar Wilde's grave

Chopin's grave was unique, too.  Singularly beautiful, and obviously well looked after, it was surrounded by a small group of people who can only be described as cultured.  The visitors seemed to be wealthy, and were quietly paying their respects, whispering to each other.

I felt like his music should have been piped from the gravestone.  But maybe the cultured people would think that was tacky.

Chopin's grave

Because Carrie and Varla weren't particularly interested, I went by myself to find Piaf's and Proust's graves.

Again, each experience was unique.

At Piaf's gravesite were two sets of quite elderly people, who stood before it in utter reverence.  Piaf is an icon of French culture, one of those celebrities that an entire country claims as their own.  I felt a real respect and sorrow from the people there.

Proust's grave is hard to find because it is in a row of completely nondescript gravestones.  There was another man picking through the rows and we looked up at each other and smiled, knowing we were looking for the same thing.  

When I finally found the grave I wasn't sure if I felt respect or wanted to tell him that he put me through hell studying his books at University.  Still, you can't take anything away from the man who gave us an understanding of associative memory through a sweet biscuit (la Madeleine).

I felt strongly that the experience I had at each grave at Pere Lachaise said a lot about the celebrity in question:

• Jim's fans were a drug-fueled, disrespectful rabble who showed disproportionate displays of emotion (the girl who stood there crying was too damn young to have been born when the Doors were a hit)
• Chopin's fans were upper class, well dressed and well behaved
• Oscar Wilde inspired a gay man who was ill, and yet still had an amazing sense of humor
• Piaf still commanded a deep devotion, the amazing but tragic little bird who inspired and altered her country
• Proust's humble grave and scant visitors showed that he is, after all, an acquired taste.

Pere Lachaise cemetery was one of those amazing experiences that you sometimes have when you travel.  You go somewhere, thinking you'll just be there a little while, and that it won't be a big deal.  But in fact you end up being utterly drawn in and entertained while your perspective shifts and, in spite of yourself, you learn something.

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 16 - 18 February, 1994

  

  

  

    

  

  

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

  

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

   

  

  

16 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Hello!

 

Arrived safe and sound!  Cold and wet but not too bad (+/- 6 degrees centigrade).  Have already made friends.  It's fun here.  

   

We are right in the center of everything and, believe me, its true money goes like water.  Have already spent the equivalent of over R500.00 - Camera, cigs, biltong for Carrie, lunch.  Scary!!!  My problem is I keep converting prices to Rands in my head, so I scare myself into not spending.

  

Thank you Thank you Thankyou for giving me this opportunity.  Will never forget it or regret it.  

 

Love you all.  Miss you already.

 

Fax me on XXXX-XXX-XXX XXXX.  I'll be here until Sat.

  

Lots of Love

   

 

     

17 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Mom, 

 

Will post you stuff.  Please keep all in a box for me as souvenirs.  Thanx.

  

Hello from London!

  

Please fax this to BFF.  She is at fax XXX-XXX XXX.  Thank you.

  

We have done the following:  

  

Last night spent in London Explorer's Club Pub.  Pub food: Yuk!  Early night.  All exhausted.  Communal showers disgusting.

   
Today, went on our free sightseeing tour of London on the open deck bus.  Can hop off and on at stops 'cause buses every 15 min.  Time too short to take all in.

   

(By the way, carton of cigs stolen from my room - my first lesson.  5 of us sharing.  All my stuff locked now.)

  

We stopped at the National Gallery.  WOW!  Far too much to see.  Saw Van Gogh, Gaugin.  Took photo of the dome and got reprimanded by official.  Then St Paul's.  Also very beautiful.  Victoria Station absolutely confusing.  Trafalgar Square, Picadilly.  

 

I now know why low class Poms emigrate.  The educated ones appreciate the wonder and history and can't leave.  

  

Tonight, went to Planet Hollywood for dinner.  Played 2 virtual reality games.  This place is WONDERFUL.

  

Phoned Carrie.  Will go to her Sunday.  She says I can work too.  Will try Select agency.  GBP80/day.

   

Tomorrow Harrods.  

   

Love you all.  Ciao.

  

  

  

18 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

  

Hello Family!

  

I am now at Carrie's flat in Surrey.  I decided to come early because I got sick of the London Explorer's Club.  Once we did our London tour during the day and the Planet Hollywood visit, they were suddenly at a loss.  There were 12 of us, just come out of Planet Hollywood in the middle of London (Picadilly Circus), and we're all standing around in the street going "What do we do now?"  And whenever anyone suggested anything there was this vague silence.  Then we decided to go to Soho so we're all following this guy who knows the way, and they all lag behind and decide to go up a different street.  "Oh, we'll meet you around the corner" they say.  But this is LONDON.  This is Picadilly Circus.  This is Friday night.  This is thousands of people bustling around.  Needless to say the stupid little fools didn't manage to find us around any corner and - even worse - even though it was only 2 streets up, they didn't manage to find Soho either.

  

Then I wanted to go to a club and they were saying "But it's 5 to 11 and the tubes stop running soon!"  To try to explain that we have hit civilisation now which means a) clubs only open at 11 and b) welcome to the concept of the taxi, was futile.  By this stage I was completely irritated and, returning to cramped 5 in a room accommodation with plumbing from hell clinched it: I had had enough.

  

So I phoned Carrie this morning and said "I want out of here.  It's time to do my own thing."  So she came to London and met R and I (he's a guy in our group who I suppose I got on with the best.  It's probably 'cause we're older that the others.  He's 26 and been to London and Europe before).  

  

We went to Harrods first.  Ho hum.  Been there, done that.  Just a glorified Woolworths.  Selection and size impressive, otherwise no great shakes.  If you can afford to shop there... [rest of letter is lost]

  

  

  

 

Harrods

  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post. 

Dear Diary - GOOD RIDDANCE!

 

Dear Diary,

No, I don't mean good riddance to YOU!  Don't be silly!  What would I do without you?

What I mean is: Good riddance to the bad rubbish of 2010!

Good riddance to:

1. Being the fat girl
2. Back pain
3. Ineffectual anti-depressants
4. Not knowing how to play politics at work
5. "Friends" who drain me
6. Debt
7. Having to cut back, cut down, cut out because we have no money
8. Unnecessary drama
9. Bad hair
10. Lack of motivation to exercise
11. Seeing the glass as half empty
12. Speaking before thinking
13. Not being paid what I'm worth
14. Letting other people take credit (and win awards) for my work
15. Playing Office Agony Aunt
16. Hayfever
17. Asthma
18. Feeling disconnected from far away family
19. Dressing like a slob
20. Comfort eating.

Like the New Yorkers and their Good Riddance Day, I am going to print this list and SHRED IT.

GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD RUBBISH!

OUT WITH THE OLD AND IN WITH THE NEW!

Woooooooooooooooo hooooooooooooo!

He Said She Said - Ruining Christmas Carols

 

It was New Year's Day.  They had spent the night before in their PJ's, on the couch, watching DVDs and eating pizza and ice cream.  

It was 11:30 when she brushed her teeth and joined him in the living room.

"Do you think the little drummer boy was offering to masturbate for the baby Jesus?" she said.

"WHAT?" he said.

"The little drummer boy.  You know..." She began to sing.  

"Shall I play for you, parapa-pum-pum.... Oh-ohn my drummmmmmm.

"You are sick" he said.

"All right all right, let's get into the real spirit of the season."  She took a deep breath and started to sing again, close to the right key, but not quite there.

"Good king Wenceslas looked down.... On the feast of Stephen.... Then they brought the pizza round.... Deep pan, crisp and even..."

"But the cheese was kinda lean..." he joined in, "Which was quite annoying..."

"Oh, I definitely want to see you find a way to rhyme 'annoying'!" she said.

"I-hi wanted much more cheese, even though it'd be cloyyyyy-iiiiing!"

"Very good!" she laughed, clapping.

"Happy New Year," he grinned.

"Happy New Year, my love," she smiled back, and kissed him.

"So, what's for breakfast?" she asked.

"Well, there is a bagel left," he replied.

"Yes, but we have no cream cheese or peanut butter left."

"Well, you can use the roule," he suggested, as she walked to the kitchen

"Ah, yes, one of three," she said, opening the fridge.  

As she opened the box, which had two creamy cheeses independently packaged, she asked:  "Why did you buy three of these?  I don't get it.  There are only two of us.  Did we need three?"

"It was the same price as buying one at the supermarket.  That's how Costco does it, you know that."

"Yes, but did we NEED three?"

"It was the same price as buying ONE at the supermarket!"

She pressed the toaster button and came back through to the living room, hands on hips, and said:  "OK, Honey, maybe I get this.  It's sort of like when I see a pair of boots for 60% off and, even though I don't need boots right at that moment, I buy them because they are on sale."

"It's not the same at ALL!" he said.  "You don't NEED the boots, and you SHOULDN'T buy the boots.  We both get to eat the cheese."

"OK, number one:  You get to see me in nice boots, so we both benefit.  Number two:  The boots last WAAAAY longer than the cheese!"

"It's not the same at all!"

"Yes it is.  We didn't need three of the same cheese."

"You don't need more pairs of boots!"

"See? It's the same."

"Boots cost way more than cheese!" he said, trying a different tack.

"Boots LAST way more time than cheese.  AND they don't make you fat!"

"Yes, but if you get fat they won't fit you."

"Your shoe size doesn't change!" she snapped.  "Everyone is skinny when it comes to shoes!"

"Well, every one of the three roules will be tasty."

"I think you need to spend time thinking about whether the Little Drummer Boy is pornographic!" she said, turning to head back to the kitchen.  "I'm going to make my bagel!"

"No!" he yelled after her.  "Not fair!  You can't win this by distracting me by ruining a Christmas Carol!"

"Too late!" she yelled back, taking the hot bagel out of the toaster.  She leaned sideways to stick her head around the corner of the kitchen door.

"PARAPA-PUM-PUM!" she yelled.

To read more in the He Said She Said series, click the category link on the left.

Workplace Personalities - The Tank

 

The Tank is a lot like The Arsonist, just more visible.  

Did I say visible?  That's an understatement.  The Tank can't be missed, can't be ignored, can't be escaped.  Just like on the battlefield, the Tank is utterly petrifying.

The Tank may or may not be physically imposing, but often is.  Tall, or wide, or both.  The Tank can barge through anything in it's way.  God help you if you are between the Tank and the elevator doors when it's late for a meeting.  You'll be squished to a pulp.

But the physical threat is not the worst of it.

The Tank can only see through his point of view.  All it sees is where it's going, its target.  If you are in the way, and smaller than it is (and let's face it most of us are), it is going to roll right over your career with its caterpillar tracks.

The Tank isn't as important as it thinks it is - after all, it's just one piece of artillery in the company arsenal - but it's all-terrain, it comes fully loaded, and it bloody well knows it.

The Tank has always been there.  Leonardo Da Vinci drew one.  H. G. Wells wrote about one.  Joseph Hawker patented one in 1872.

The Tank has fought and come through all the major wars.  Sure, they can come up with stealth bombers, nuclear submarines... so what?  When it comes to the battlefield, when we are one on one with the enemy, they always bring in the fucking Tank.

It's outer shell is impenetrable, it's progress is assured, and nothing can stand in it's way.

The Tank.

The fucking, shitty, unstoppable Tank.

That cannon on the front.  You know it's there to make up for a deficiency in the wiener department, but that doesn't change the fact that it can blow your head off.  So laugh and mock it all you want - in your head.  

Because just try and say anything out loud, to one of your colleagues (even in jest) against the Tank and you'll find out that everyone is terrified of it, and they'll tell you, furtively stealing glances to make sure they aren't being watched, that the Tank may be a little rough and ready, it might knock over a few promising things as it bumbles along, but that we need the Tank, really, really we do.  

Why the fear?

Surely the rest of us outnumber the Tank.  We could swarm it, overtake it.  Right?  Right?

Sadly, no.

Because, you see, the Tank has always been here, and it knows.  The Tank knows the terrain.  The Tank can climb hills, cross dales, ford streams.  The Tank has been called upon by the generals and, time and time again, the Tank has won battles for them.  Sure, there was collateral damage, but the Tank got the brass what they wanted, and it knows where the bodies are buried.  

So it's no use complaining to the higher ups.  They'll defend the Tank.

There always has been, and there always will be, the Tank.

So what to do?

You can't make friends with a Tank.  Impenetrable exterior, remember?  

I mean, come on!  Have you ever seen anyone petting a tank?  

Nope.

You can't outrun the Tank.  Sure, it's slow.  Yes, it kinda lumbers along.  But it always gets there, doesn't it?  It always gets there in the end.

And when it catches up to you, you're going down, baby.

You can't face it down, either.  Good luck trying.  

I think we all know what happened to this guy:

And so all you can do is stay the hell out of it's way.

The tank only has those little slats to see through, so if you duck low enough, and dive to the right or left, it might just roll on by without noticing you.  Try to fight in a different part of the battlefield, a part where you have the chance to seek glory, to get the gold star.  

Let the Tank lumber on.  Let it crush.  Let it mame.  There's nothing you could've done for those people anyway.

Save yourself.

Key signs:

• Relentless progress  
• Strategic advances, always gaining political ground
• Ruthless
• Crushing

Catch phrase: There isn't one.  That'd mean you'd see him coming.

Your strategy:  Hide.

Their comeuppance: 

 They won't have a comeuppance as such but, in a workplace that is moving more towards collaboration, they will become obsolete in the end.

For more in the Workplace Personalities series, click here.  The others are funnier, I promise.  I'm just not in a happy mood right now.  I got squished by a Tank.

You might like:

• The Driveby
• The Urban Warrior

Couch Potato - Tron 2010

  

   

   

   

   

   

   

Tron: Legacy (2010)

    

  

[SPOILER ALERT!]

  

   

We saw Tron last night.

 

I have a very vague memory of the original Tron.  It wasn't, like it was for many pre-teen boys, a seminal moment in my life.  I recall being impressed by the digital landscape, but I didn't know enough about the science of movies back then to realize that it was ground breaking.  I also wasn't into video games much.  Even as a child I preferred movies about people, relationships, psychology.  Give me The Breakfast Club over Tron any day.

  

But it was a big deal for Fluffy Bear.  He has always been fascinated by the possibilities and alternatives presented by science fiction and how, by presenting a view of how things could be, it challenges your acceptance of how things are.  He also knew exactly how difficult it must have been to create the effects presented in the 1982 film with the technology available at that time.

  

But, back to me.  

   

Just so you know, I went into this film with very little memory of the original and no sense of wonder to prejudice me.

   

I have to start by saying that the 3D in the preview for the new Cars movie seemed far more compelling to me than the 3D in Tron itself.  Does 3D work better with animation?  I don't know.

    

The 3D in Tron seemed to me like one 2D person is standing closer to me than another 2D person.  The CGI shots of the grid's landscape and the games had a wonderful sense of perspective, but not the scenes with close ups of the actors.

 

I did like the idea of the real world being 2D and the Grid being 3D.  Nice touch, which raises ideas of the Grid looking more real to us than a representation of our actual world, and what that says about what we want to believe about the digital reality.  You could write an entire thesis on that topic.

 

Don't worry.  I'm not going to.  

  

The key area where the 3D was stunning was, of course, the game and battle scenes.  The idea of the slipstream from a vehicle being a solid object that can destroy your opponent is still amazing, and was used to full effect.

   

The designers deserve full credit for the world they created.  Every aspect of the design - sets, costumes, makeup, hairstyling, down to every accessory in a living room or bedroom - was absolutely beautiful and perfectly placed.  Color, form, combination... all stunning.

 

The execution deserves a mention too.  The skin tight costumes the women wore did not cause camel toe.  Well done, wardrobe department!!!

  

The acting was pretty good, with Michael Sheen stealing the show.  (Maybe now IMDB will put a more flattering picture of him on his profile.)

    

But I could've told you he'd be a baddie the minute he opened his mouth.  It's a sad cliche that anyone with an English accent is a baddie in an American TV show or film, and it gets REALLY boring.

       

The plot was reasonable, and linked nicely to the original, but the writing seemed to me to be a little obvious.  I have a friend who is a Hollywood writer, and I know that these things are often not the writer's choice, or fault.  Directors, network officials, marketing officials, even actors - everyone packages and massages and chips away at what might have once been a wonderful script.  So who knows who's responsible, but the analogies, references, metaphors and even product placements... no subtlety.  No grace.  All were delivered with a sledgehammer.

  

See?  Clu is also Kevin Flynn's son!  BONK!!!

See?  Ducati make the best bikes!  BONK!!!

See?  Everything should be Open Source!  BONK!!!

See?  Perfection is right in front of you!  BONK!!!

See?  Being a total hippy doesn't work, but being a warmongering fuckwit doesn't either!  BONK!!!

    

Oh, one small thing... the main actor wasn't buff enough.  He barely had pecs, and had a layer of flab on his tummy.  On the other hand, every female in the Grid is, of course, utterly perfect.   Come to think about it, even the women in the real world scenes are perfectly proportioned.  

    

DOUBLE STANDARD ALERT!

   

I have to admit, there were many moments when I was bored stupid.  Sometimes because things weren't moving along, sometimes because the sentimentality was nauseatingly cloying and sometimes because the plot was so fucking obvious I was trying not to take out my iPhone and play my turn on Words with Friends.  

  

Yeap.  I know what's coming so I'll just check what the latest ridiculous non-word is that Ted has come up with by randomly combining his letters...

    

But there were also moments where I was just awed at what I was seeing.  There was a real beauty on the screen, and I don't mean a pretty woman.  Aerial flights over the main city in Grid, details of the flying machines used to arrest programs, the freight train... I could watch parts of this movie with the sound turned off and some rousing classical music blaring to set the mood.

  

       

Final verdict:

  

Go see it on the big screen, because even your ridiculous impulse-bought, debt-inducing 56" 3D HD TV won't do the design genius justice.  But make sure you don't sit next to a bony-elbowed teenage twitgirl who you would cheerfully choke with her popcorn, so you can spread out and nap briefly in the crappy parts.  

    

To see more in the Couch Potato series, click the category link on the left.   

   

    

  

Dear Diary - WHEN SNACKS ATTACK!

 

 Dear Diary,

 A chip attacked me yesterday.

Yes, a potato chip.

Yes, yes, I'll explain.  Just let me start at the beginning.

I have a new job.  Same company, same department, different team.  Same salary, same title, a LOT more to learn.  

I have a project to run.  That's nothing new to me, but delivering a physical IT project in this company is not something I have done there before, and it's a big deal to them.  "You don't get it till you've done it" is a mantra here, so I have to do it, and I have to do it well.

I have a new boss to impress.  Well, not impress, as such.  I've done that already, or he wouldn't have hired me.  What I have to do is earn credibility with him and the team.  And this team makes you earn it.  Holy shit, I can't stress that enough.  I get no quarter with these people.

So I'm holding a meeting.  

A meeting for my project, with about half of my team, and a vendor who has flown up from California to see us.  Lunch is arranged and it's one of those make-your-own-sandwich deals.  I'm nervous so I slip into my old psychological trap: eat.  

I make a big sandwich and I take chips.  They are those horrible kettle chip things. They are oily and not salty enough and have no flavor and yet I take about twenty of them.  

My little voice says "Don't have the chips!"  It says it loud and clear, just like Magnum's little voice.  But I tell myself it's close to Christmas and I would like something crunchy with my sandwich and who cares about the calories and everyone else took chips and...

Because I went to the bathroom and talked to a colleague, by the time I get back into the meeting, my colleagues have mostly finished their sandwiches and are talking business with the vendors again.  I am sitting right next to my boss and he's asking the vendor questions and I am trying to chew these nasty, noisy chips.

So I am chewing slowly, and I am not chewing enough.

About two bites before the end of my sandwich, I feel that I have food stuck in my throat, on the right side under my ear.  But it's one of those sensations where you aren't choking, it's just that something hasn't moved quite right and the natural slime in your system is going to get it back on track in a minute, and so you just keep chewing.  

But it doesn't move.

And then it starts to hurt.

And I have to leave very quickly and head for the bathroom.

My eyes and nose are streaming.  My body is trying to clear the obstruction from my throat with mucus.  But it's not in my throat.

I start heaving.  My body is trying to clear the obstruction from my esophagus.  But it's not in my esophagus.

So I am heaving and gargling and blowing my nose and wiping my eyes and drinking water from the bathroom taps and trying my best to move whatever the fuck this thing is.  

And I'm spitting up blood.

Eventually a projectile clump of food hits the bathroom basin, but it feels like I have half the obstruction still in there.  

And it fucking hurts.  The pain is directly below my right ear, on the right side of my throat.  

I call Fluffy Bear and ask him to see if we can get an appointment with the doctor later that afternoon.  I tell him what is going on and he says we have to go to ER.  Surely, I think to myself, it isn't bad enough for THAT.  And ER is vile and they make you wait and then they charge you a frickin' fortune and we can't afford that.

It hurts, but it's tolerable.

I can breathe.

It's my meeting.

I tell Fluffy Bear I'm OK and I head back into the conference room.

I grab the water jug and try to look inconspicuous as I drink three glasses of water in a row.  I try to concentrate on what people are saying.

Then I have a question and I hear my own voice.  I sounds like George Burns with laryngitis, gargling with salt water, asking for a cigar.

OK, time to go to ER.

I explain what's going on, gather up my stuff, and start to leave.  I exit a room where 8 people are staring at me with stricken looks.  

I try a joke about emulating George Bush.  

Nobody laughs.

Bizarrely, we got seen at the hospital right away.  I was still signing the we-can-bankrupt-you-for-the-bill form when the nurse ushered me into the pre-screen area.  

A disgusting Maalox-Lidocaine cocktail and an X-ray later, the conclusion was that I have scratched the area behind the tonsil cavity, that injuries in that area feel very acute, but that they heal quickly on their own.  

The doctor took my question about alcohol without even blinking and, presumably thinking I could do with a stiff drink, reassured me that I can imbibe both painkillers and a cocktail.  

Drama over.

And now we wait for the bill, watch Fluffy Bear enjoy the fact that I can't speak, and look forward to my team taking the living piss out of me when I get to the office on Monday.

Couch Potato - Missing scenes: Friday Night Lights

 

 

 

 

 

 

Background:

  

Friday Night Lights is a show about a high school football coach in the small town of Dillon, Texas, his family and the kids that orbit around him.  It is loosely based on a book "Friday Night Lights: a Town, a Team, and a Dream"  by H. G. Bissinger.

Context:

 

The East Dillon High football players initiate their new rally girls at a party, making them chug beer.  One girl gets so drunk she is half way passed out.  One of the players grabs her from behind and is holding her arms, making her flail around like he's a puppeteer.  Someone films this and puts the video on the net.  Parents call the school asking for all the football players in the video (there are many) to be expelled.

 

What I believe is the missing scene:

 

FADE IN: 

 

INT. SCHOOL HALL - EVENING.  

 

Various parents are gathered, seated facing a table where Coach Taylor and the school principal sit.  There is a buzz of conversation in the room, with an angry overtone.

 

Mr Donahue, an angry parent, stands up and points at the principal.

 

 

MR DONAHUE

 

I want those boys expelled!

 

 

Close up of Coach Taylor's face.  It is impassive.

 

 

COACH TAYLOR

 

Mr Donahue, have I ever slept with your wife?

 

  

Mr Donahue looks down at his wife, seated next to him.  Mrs Donahue has a shocked expression on her face.

 

 

MR DONAHUE

 

What?

 

 

Coach Taylor turns to look at another parent.  As she notices him focus on her, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

COACH TAYLOR

  

Mrs Foster, have I ever slept with you?

  

I think we all know the answer is No.  So there is no way that I am the father of either of your sons.

  

I'm also not the father of those girls who were at the party, where not one of them helped that poor girl who was being ridiculed.  Not one boy, or girl, tried to stop what was going on.

  

See, here's the thing, folks.  These kids are y'alls kids.  You are their parents.  We have them for 7 or 8 or even 9 hours 6 days a week, and we do the best that we can to instill the right values in these young boys and girls, but y'all have a job to do too.  

  

Now if these kids should be expelled from school, should I be calling up Social Services to remove them from y'all's homes?  

  

That behavior on the video was disgusting.  I don't deny that.  But we all - all of us in this room - have a part to play in making sure these kids have the right Christian values and behave in the right way.  

  

So how about we stop making threats and try to find a way to work together to help these kids see that there is a right and wrong way to behave, that we should all treat each other with respect, that what they did is not acceptable behavior and that there are going to be consequences and that the consequences are going to fit the crime?

 

FADE TO BLACK.

 

To see more in the "Couch Potato" series, click the category link on the left.

 

Hell is other people - Scary hair

 

I woke up in a really shitty mood today.  It doesn't matter why.  I just did.

So I wore all black, straightened my hair and put on very dark lipstick.  When I got to work, all I got was compliments.

"Did you get your hair cut?  It looks great!"  

"No, I just used my hair straighteners."

"It looks great!"

"Thanks."

"Wow, I really like your hair!"

"Thanks."

"You should do that more often!"

"It takes ages to do.  I could never do this every day."

"Well, it looks great!"

"Thanks."

"Hey, great hair!"

Sigh.

"You look cute!"

"LISTEN!  THIS IS MY FUCK OFF LOOK!  I'M SCOWLING!  I'M WEARING ALL BLACK!  MY LIPSTICK IS ALMOST BLACK!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?  CAN'T YOU TAKE A HINT?  LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

OK, I didn't say that.  Not out loud.

But I did go back to my desk and eat a whole bar of dark chocolate.

Stupid fuckers.

To see more in the "Hell is other people" series, click the category link on the left.

Quote Unquote - Mama mia

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 "She'd say: Hey, Superstar!  Take out the trash!"

    

 Alice Cooper, describing his mother's attitude to his fame

  

    

  

"Are you one of those Beatles?"

   

Alice Cooper's mother, answering the phone when Paul McCartney called

  

  

  

To hear the interview, click here.

  

To read more in the Quote Unquote series, click the category link on the left.

   

   

Puppy Talk - Domination games

 

Puppy Dog:   New hairless apes are coming into the pack.

Puppy Girl:   Really?  Wow!  How do you know?

Puppy Dog:   Mama's making the bed in that part of the den that's for other hairless apes.  

Puppy Girl:   Yay! I love it when new hairless apes come into the pack!

Puppy Dog:   I don't.

Puppy Girl:   Why not?

Puppy Dog:   I like my position in the pack.  I don't like to have it challenged.

Puppy Girl:   Well, I don't care.  I think new hairless apes are fun!  They stroke me and play with me!

Puppy Dog:   It's not like they have any choice, when you throw the ball into their laps again and again.

Puppy Girl:   Well it's better than you humping their leg!

Puppy Dog:   I have to show them who's boss.  I've been in this pack the longest, thank you very much!

Puppy Girl:   Is that what Dada was doing last night?

Puppy Dog:   What?

Puppy Girl:   Showing Mama who's boss?  You know, when they were up on the bed and they made me get off and go to my own bed?

Puppy Dog:   Um....

Puppy Girl:   Mama is very hard to dominate!  It took Dada ages to get her to submit!  And she really didn't like it!  She kept screaming!

Puppy Dog:   Um...

Puppy Girl:   Well I don't care about your all your domination games.  I'm happy as the bottom of the pack.  I'm the baby and you gotta love me!

Puppy Dog:   Yes, well.  AHEM!  Where's your ball?

Puppy Girl:   BALL!  BALL!  WHERE'S MY BALL?

Puppy Dog:   Whew!  Bullet dodged.

Puppy Girl:   What?

Puppy Dog:   Nothing

Puppy Girl:   THERE'S MY BALL!  YAY!

To see more in the Puppy Talk series, click the category link on the left.

AWE. SOME. - All I want for Christmas

   

   

   

   

   

   

 

I don't want this for myself.  I want to buy it for Fluffy Bear.

 

But I can't.

 

For one thing, I've already bought him 4 Christmas presents and I am up to the budget we set for Christmas.

  

DAMMIT!

  

  

http://www.onepiece.co.uk/store.php?cPath=136

Did I say that out loud? - Thanksgiving

 

Today was the first day back at work after the Thanksgiving holiday.

As is always the case with these things, everyone I saw asked the same question: 

"How was your Thanksgiving?"

Eventually, I began to get a bit sick of it.  My tolerance of the question went through four phases:

1) Participation - acknowledge and share some tidbit of your life.

"My Thanksgiving was great, Thanks!  We had a fun day with amazing pumpkin pie and cherry pie!"

2) Deflection - make it about them.

"My Thanksgiving was great, Thanks!  How was yours?"

3) Attrition  - create some friction.

"Thanksgiving was fascinating.  I am amazed at how you Americans can take an innocent vegetable and turn it into a killer by turning it into a dish that can cause a heart attack."

4) Aggression!

"Well I was thankful that y'all didn't kill of all the native Americans, so at least we can have casinos."

To read more of the Did I Say That Out Loud? series, click the category link on the left.

Quote Unquote - Fran Liebowitz

 

 

Audience member: "What's the best source for unbiased news?"

 

Anne: "Here's the problem.  Here's what news used to be: information.  That's what news is.

 

Now every article in the New York Times - no matter what it is - it starts with, like: 'On a rocky road in Afghanistan...'  

It's, like, three paragraphs till you get to 'a bomb blew up in Afghanistan.'  The bomb is the news.  The beginning is the writing. 

 

Facts are what's important in news.  But no-one's interested in facts anymore.  People are interested - and this I find astonishing - they're interested in other people's opinions.  

 

So, unbiased news, I don't think we'll have [it] anymore, because no-one seems to know what news is.

 

They turn on the news and they watch people give their opinions.  That's what they see on the news, that's what they see on the TV, that's what they see on the internet, that's what they participate in.

 

Here's how I feel when someone on CNN says 'And here's our twitter number' or whatever - I'm not really up on technology - 'We wanna hear what you think.'

 

And I think: Really?  I don't."

 

 

 

"The media has replaced every institution.  It's the only authority.  I mean, it seems to be an authority.  It's replaced all other institutions.

 

When they first invented TV, people thought TV would be a failure.  They thought that, if people could see around they screen, they wouldn't be absorbed by it, because they would be distracted.  

 

They would see, like, the lamp and the sofa and they wouldn't be absorbed by it.

 

...

 

But no-one could have imagined what really happened, which is that the world went inside the television and became the world."

 

   

From: Public Speaking (2010) Documentary about Fran Liebowitz made by Martin Scorsese.

   

  

  

To read more in the Quote Unquote series, click the category link on the left.

  

  

 

Update on Sunday, November 28, 2010 at 5:34PM by Ittybittycrazy

ABC World News Sunday, November 28th topics:

• Wikileaks scandal
  • Interview with the reporters about the topic
• US and South Korea starting war games
• Voting in Haiti
• Bomb attempt in Portland, Oregon
• President Obama going to sit down with Republican's this week + current Lame Duck session
  • Interview with Snr Washington Editor about the Lame Duck session who told us how the Republicans and Democrats "feel" right now
• American Holiday sales
• Struggling US home owners scammed
• Alcohol in whipped cream - Whipped Lightning
• Couple in Pennsylvania hid the existence of their 5 children
• Dr Jim treating the homeless in Pittsburgh

So ABC World News has exactly three items of news to do with outside the US.

BBC News website front page:

• Wikileaks
• Irish bailout agreed
• China calls for Korean talks
• Brazil forces take over Rio slum
• US Mosque ablaze after bomb plot
• Candidates denounce Haiti voting fraud
• Swiss pass foreign convict vote
• Egypt votes
• Ivory Coast votes
• Arrests before Bangladesh strike
• Cosmos has pre-Big Bang marks
• Train wreck in Colorado

He Said She Said - Dog Day Afternoon

  

  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

"How was your day?" she asked, getting into the car.

 

"Good," he replied.  "I got some stuff done."

 

"How are the babies?" she asked.

 

"They're fine," he said.  "I walked Puppy Dog to the coffee shop and I walked Puppy Girl into town to take back the DVDs."

 

"Awesome!" she said.  "What did they do the rest of the day?"

 

"Honey," he said, "you worked from home this week, you saw what they're like.  They did some lounging, some loafing and then some slobbing about.  

 

"Puppy Dog moved from his cushion in my office to his cushion in front of the TV, and then he sat at the front door for a bit and growled at anyone who had the cheek to be out on our block.  

 

"Puppy Girl lay on the couch and, when she got sick of that, she went and lay on our bed and, when she got sick of that, she moved back to the couch again.

 

"They had a very busy day," he finished, as her giggles burst into full blown laughter.

 

To see more in the He Said She Said series, click the categories link on the left.

 

 

I am Woman - Hear me Whine

 

I haven't been blogging much lately.  I haven't felt like it.  I haven't felt like much of anything.  It's time to say it - I'm middle aged.  

And... HORROR OF HORRORS!  I think I might be going through THE CHANGE.

It's early, and it's not full-on, which makes me think I am peri-menopausal rather than menopausal.  Apparently you can get lower grade menopause symptoms for years before you actually have the climb the big mountain.

Oh, joy.

Some nights I sweat, I am horribly moody and, worst of all, my skin is exploding with deep, sore, scarring pimples.  It's like being 14 again, except nobody's given me my virginity back, I'm not surrounded by tight-butted teenage boys and I don't have my whole life ahead of me.

So what's good or funny or noteworthy about this?  Why am I blogging about it?

I have no fucking idea.

Having conversations with female colleagues about where to buy cheap, breathable pillows isn't fun.  Constantly having to wash my PJs isn't fun.  Slathering foundation with a trowel on my face to hide yet another angry, red protrusion isn't fun.  

I think I'd feel better if I was rich.  If I was rich I could say "Fuck you, 22 year olds!  You can barely afford to eat baked beans on toast.  I raise my toast smothered in pate, my glass of Bollinger and I say... Fuck you!"

But, sadly, I have yet to win the lottery, so there is no Bolly, although we do occasionally have pate.

Go see a doctor?  Sure, I'll go see a doctor.  If you pay for it.

The last time I ordered a 90 day supply of three of my regular medicines, it cost me $268, so adding more pills to the bill sounds like a fine idea.  Oh, and did I mention there's cancer in my family?  I don't want to jump on the good ship HRT quite yet.

Naturopath?  I'd love to.  I'll just not put gas in the car this month, and then we'll be able to afford that, too.  And don't get all huffy with me about the car, vegan hippies!  Public transport isn't free either!

No.

What I really need is for you to start a fight with me.

Let me thrown an uppercut to bonk you under the chin, a sideswipe to connect with your left eye and a swift kick to crush your left testicle.  Let me watch you slowly go down, roll you on your side with my left foot and then kick you repeatedly in the kidneys with my right.  I want to hear the air expelled from your lungs at force, softening your screams to a barely audible moan.  I want to lift your head up by your hair and smash your nose into the tarmac.  I want to lift your head again and spit in your face.  I want to steeple my fingers, bringing my hands together, swing my arms above my head and, grunting with pleasure, slam my double fist into your ribs and smile as I hear one crack.  I want to grab a baseball bat and swing it round in the air three times before, completing a perfect arc, I let it crash into your shin.  As you double over and reach to grab your knee, drawing your injured leg up, I want to slowly place my shoe on your toes, increasing the pressure and twisting your foot, then transfer my weight forward all at once, forever destroying your ankle.

I want to hear you cry, hear you beg, hear you finally stop making any sound at all because you simply can't.

And then I want to walk away leaving you there, broken.

And this is when your real job starts.  

You have to get away, you have to magically heal, and you have to come back tomorrow and let me do it all over again.

You heard me, Life.

Bring it!

To read more in the I am Woman series, click the category link on the left.

He Said She Said - Dog TV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you coming?" he called, from halfway down the block.

 

"Hang on," she called back.  "He's sniffing.  I think that, for dogs, this is their TV!"

 

"TV?" he asked, after she had caught up.  "That makes sense."

 

"Yup," she said, as they reached a fire hydrant and the dogs sniffed it thoroughly, "TV.  What do you think this episode is?" 

  

"It's a soap opera," he said.

 

"Aaah.  Right.  It has a big cast.  There's the Chihuahua-cross-Alsatian, product of forbidden love, repeating her mother's mistakes by laying down her scent for the dogs of the neighborhood."

 

"Then there's the old dog," he said, looking down at Puppy Dog lifting his leg to leave his mark on the hydrant.  "He was powerful once, but there's room for some young consigliere to rise up and control the gang now."

 

"Ooooh!" she said.  "There'll be snarling and growling when that happens!"

 

"Yeah," he said.  "And that poodle?  He's gonna make her his bitch!"

 

"I think we may need help," she laughed.

 

"That ship has sailed, Honey," he said, and they set off for home again.

 

To see more in the He Said She Said series, click the category link on the left.

  

  

Being a Doggy Mama - Sing Song

Here is a song I sing to my dog, to the tune of Sunrise, Sunset.

Where is the little pup I carried?
Where is the little pup at play?
Why do you keep on getting bigger
Day by day?

Where is your little pinky tummy?
Where are your sweet pirahna teeth?
Why do you suddenly weigh sixty
pounds good grief?

Where's my
Pup-py
Where's my
Pup-py
All that's left is soft ears
Somebody bring me back my puppy
Bring back my little baby girl

To see more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

He Said She Said - Snippets

 

Arabiatta sauce

"I tried to make an Arabiatta sauce," he said, "but I may have put in too much chili."

"Is it an OW-rabiatta sauce?" she asked.

"Oh HA HA HA." he said.

Kitchen duty

"Can you finish up cleaning the kitchen?" she asked, walking through the dining room with an armful of clean washing.

"I put the dishwasher on this morning, you know," he said, looking up from his iPad in his comfortable spot on the couch.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I'm currently out of gold medals but, as soon as my new stock comes in, I'll be sure to award you one."

"Was that sarcasm?" he asked.

"SARCASM?  WHERE?  WHERE?" she yelled, as she looked behind her in an exaggerated fashion, threw all the washing onto the dining room table, and then ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

"Let me know when it's safe to come out!" she called.

"Oh, very funny," he said, getting up to go and clean the kitchen.

To see more in the He Said She Said series, click here.