Offline

My poor mum has been offline for the best part of a week. A week! Virgin Media should hang its head in shame that it took seven days to get someone out to fix an issue with their junction box – next time she’ll be repairing it herself with a pair of pliers and some duct tape. Do they not know the importance of the daily missives that my mum and I trade? So many times over the last week I stumbled upon something that I thought would amuse her. So here you go mum – important things you need to be aware off before we skype tonight:

• Starbucks are introducing the trenta which holds more liquid than the human stomach – so I am guessing they are trying to turn the stomach into a TARDIS
• You were indeed correct and the intro to Big Bang Theory did use to be longer
• Caligula’s tomb has not been found
• Tiger mother has been de-clawed
• Blue Monday is rubbish
• New Amanda Palmer video: Map of Tasmania
• Corn dogs are amazing
• Brush up on your Roman emperors with Adrian Murdoch’s series of video podcasts.

Derailed, or rather slightly off balance

It is Monday night and Alex is off playing tennis; I can’t watch Prison Break because he is not here and I don’t have enough spare time to view it twice (but it did cross my mind). So after I finished myrequisite hours of study I settle down with Derailed which is conveniently being shown on cable. I say conveniently because I am trying to catch up on the all the films I missed last year when I wasn’t able to catch every single picture because I was too busy trying to better myself. In the end I read the book which I think removed much of the enjoyment from this evenings viewing. I’ll be honest I fast forwarded through sections and please could the powers that be stop making Clive Owen do American accents. He is crap at them and always slips back into his distinctive drawl. He is an excellent actor but this is no Gosford Park or Closer or Chidlren of Men (which I haven’t seen but am v excited about).

In the book the character’s actions and subsequent consquences are more brutal, particularly Charles’ fall from grace from his company and his family. I felt that they did Charles’ family a disservice by not allowing them to react and by thr truncation of Charles’ investigation into his blackmailers (I missed Lucinda’s back story). He is also a more manipulative character, and the crux of the book is not only the Lucinda twist but the huge transition that Charles and his family undergo in the name of revenge. The book is more cat and mouse, whilst the film is more guinepig and goldfish. Still it was an enjoyable mid-range thriller and kept me up whilst waiting for Alex.

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits

My Granny Moth taught me that these should be the first words uttered on the first of the month; to welcome it and bring good luck. Ideally it is best to say them in front of kin, for the simple reason that they are familar with the tradition and wont look at me strangley (or even stranger than usual). I should have chanted “rabbits” a zillion times as my courses start on Monday and I need the luck. Though it is the seminar schedule that I am most interested in as it will dictate my craziness levels and when Alex will have a wife or a just a housekeeper.

I spent my final free weekend catching up with movies and mooching about the flat. Saturday night I actually ended up watching Celluar which is one very silly film. Kim Bassenger is all confused and breathless as a 10th grade science teacher who is kidnapped. But because she is teacher she can rebuild a smashed phone, stab one of the HUGE kidnappers in an arterary so he bleeds to death and then strangle another with her handcuffs. But the most unbelievable thing is that Jason Stratham, with London accent, was an LA cop – yeah right! Today I took myself off to see Little Miss Sunshine which is one fantastic film. A dysfunctional family on the brink of falling apart go on a road trip so the daughter can take part in the Little Miss Sunshine pagant. From the get go it is obvious that the daughter is not pagant material (and when you see the other girls you realise that that is no bad thing). It is a wonderful ensemble cast and you end up falling for the family’s dynamic. I loved the the teenage son and his uncle, the former had taken a vow of silence and the latter was the foremost Proust scholar who had just attempted sucide. There are many lovely touches like the Grandfather snorting drugs and requesting porn at a petrol stop because he is spending his final years in a hedanistic haze. And finally this evening I got around to Proof, which I have been wanting to see for a while and it really is one of Gwynnie’s best outings.

Best made plans

I hauled my arse
to yoga last night even though I had forgotten my mat and yoga pants. I
needed to go to yoga that badly that I was willing to struggle through
90 mins
in my non-stretchy, fitted combats. It was not pretty and a few times I
was convinced that they were going to rip.  Things have been manic busy
for the past few days, I just needed to shut off and slip into yoga-zombie mode. You don’t have to think, just follow the instructions and allow the dippy hippy stuff to pass by without seriously effecting your materialistic attitude. Bliss.

After wards I was meant to hook up with Alex at the Paragon sports
store, where he was planning on buying the tennis racket to beat all
other tennis rackets and that will apparently fix his serve, before
heading home to tackle the imminently exploding DVR.
But, he got stuck at work bug fixing so I crashed his office, and ate
the Thai food his boss had kindly ordered for his team (which of course
I am an honorary member).  I think the reason Alex wanted me to come
over was that his boss would be more likely to send his team home
before 9pm if there was an innocent civilian hostage in the mix.

It's all Greek to me

Ooooh so true, so true.

This afternoon, tearing myself away from the television, I went to see the National Theatre of Greece‘s production of The Persians. It was performed in modern Greek with subtitles. I was a bit worried about keeping up as I am not familiar with this play. But, it was easy to read and absorb the action as most of dialogue is in the form of monologues. Modern Greek has a lyrical quality and the stylised movement of the chorus gave the production a very musical feel (not in an Andrew Lloyd-Webber way). The costumes of the chorus were exceptional: beige tunics, with chain-mail tunics over the top and then a mixture of beige/aquamarine sashes (a la Thunderbirds) and Issey Miyake-style coats… and a few turbans for good measure. I really enjoyed it and I am glad I went to see it as it is one of the lesser staged tragedies.

Nighty Night

The Muse escapes me at the moment, I am floundering with bloggers block and Darkly Dreaming Dexter has left me with a bad case of alliteration (I sent out a meeting request today with the title ‘Power Point Presentation for Possible Perusable Projects’). I’ve just taken a fluorescent pink antihistamine in an attempt to stop the sneezing that has blighted me for the past week and a half. I am at the point where I don’t know if I have I am run down with a cold, or run down with allergies – cos I just can’t stop with the sneezing.

Hey ho, let’s talk telly. This weeks Prison Break and House were much more satisfying. Prison Break is a guilty pleasure and when you tune in you have to check reality at the door (e.g. can I get driving directions to Utah, can I get a ticket to Utah – hello people, Utah is a state not a city). The dialogue and plot aren’t so tight this season, I miss the banter between the cons and the claustrophobic setting of the prison. There are more limp plots to follow as the boys are spread out, and each of them have their own agenda. The strongest element to this season is the introduction of FBI agent Mahone, a suitable foe for Scofield and I think he has an illness of some kind. My TV honed skills reckon that it could be vision related (perhaps tunnel vision) hence the pills, staring at birdbaths and hallucinating. I think Lincoln is confused and thinks that he is Matthew Fox’s character from Lost, because he is wandering around with his shirt half opened and a bemused look on his face. Monday night’s episode had more of the Holly Valance character Nika. She is one tricky customer flip flopping between the goodies and the baddies (who have already reversed roles in this show). What is intriguing is how the good druggy doctor has the key to make things all right for her in her possession and who will figure it out first “Lance” or Sara.

Onto House, does it make me a sadist that I am more of a happy viewer now that he is in pain again? I have a very low tolerance for joggers. TPTB appear to be beefing up Chase’s part and using him more as a comic foil. I nearly fell of his seat with his eager acceptance of the analysis of the metal as not being of this earth. Classic! I must admit that I diagnosed the patient before House and his team, hopefully that is just down to too much CSI I on my part and not enough Vicaden on House’s.

Navy

Yesterday I walked out of the apartment with blue knees. After deliberating over my sock draw for a good few minutes I grabbed a pair of tights that of course, in the cold light of day, turned out to be navy. I am turning into my mother. On shopping trips and at home she would always rely on me to answer the age old conundrum of “Is this black or navy?”, and I have always thought it would make a suitable epitaph for her.

Sunday night sorrow

(Why does tomorrow have to be Monday?)

My nose hurts, my eyes hurt and I’ve got a headache. My nose hurts because I’m full of cold. My eyes hurt because I spent this morning in bed reading The Time Traveler’s Wife and the last 60 pages were so sad that I cried all the way through them. I started the book eons ago, got 40 odd pages into it and put it down. It had been languishing on my nightstand ever since till Saturday morning when I took it with me to the Open (Men’s semi finals most excellent and pictures over at Alex’s). Once you get into it it is the equivilent of literary crack with an intreging time travelling premise (a complex courtship spanning decades) nicely executed.

Queen of Queens

In the past week  have spent that much time shuttling between Penn Station and Flushing Meadows that I might as well move to the outer borough.

I went to my first baseball game on Monday night, the New York Mets versus a team that was a little bit better than them. We had excellent box seats, courtesy of our friend’s boss, between home and first (I got the lingo down pat). It wasn’t a terribly exciting game, low scoring (the Mets lost 0 – 5) but there were patches of excitement. A couple of times all the bases were loaded, once a base got stolen, there was some bunting action and we saw someone propelling themselves along the ground to second. I was caught off guard by the bunting and even more so by the term. When my friend said "that’s bunting", I scanned the field for colourful flags decorating the Women’s Institute tent instead I see the ball being tapped towards the infielders. To the untrained eye a bunt looks like girly move, my friends reassure me that it is strategically manly move.

Last night we went to the evening session at the US Open to see Sharapova/Golovin and Roddick/Hewitt. I love going to the Open, our seats this year were a little better (we weren’t so high up that we could see clouds forming) and their appeared to be more food options (smoothies, crepes, curry, salads, etc) than the usual junk offerings. I still can’t quite get my head around eating a hot dog at the tennis and I even saw a middle aged gentleman alternating between bites of extra long hotdog, salted pretzel covered in mustard and potato chips. It is just wrong, you are meant to choose one of those snack options not all three!   Typically we opted for curry as our pre-game dinner and then a crepe as our between match snack. It looks as if our time in Queens is not quite over as we might be going to see more tennis on Saturday – excellent!

Boot dominance