Because I know I'm not the only one who ridiculously pours hot coffee over ice in order to have my coveted iced coffee. BEFORE I go telling everybody that the secret to great iced coffee is already in the kitchen, my friend Keller wants me to confess: I didn't know from iced coffee until he showed me the light. It's important to cop to this now, because not a summer goes by that he does not painstakingly remind me, a rabid iced-coffee drinker, that he's the one who introduced me to the wonders of cold-brewed iced coffee. The funny thing is, when the subject came up we were holed up in a summer rental with three friends off the coast of Puerto Rico, on a tiny island not exactly swimming in upmarket coffee houses. Our first morning there I brewed a blend from the local grocery in the coffeepot, laced it with a little half-and-half and sugar, then let it cool. Classy, I thought, carrying the pitcher to the table. ''I'll just take it hot,'' he mumbled, while I blinked in disbelief. Clearly, this boy didn't know any better. A drink has a time and place. Surely he didn't subscribe to drinking hot coffee in summer? ''No, I only drink iced coffee if it's cold-brewed,'' he said. For five days we watched him sullenly sip his hot coffee on a broiling Caribbean island in the dead of summer. We chided him for his pretensions, ridiculed him, tried valiantly to break him, but he patiently waited us out. Once we tried it we would understand, he explained. Like friends disputing a baseball stat in a bar with no access to Google, we had no way to settle the argument. Two weeks later, back in Brooklyn, I saw a sign: ''Cold-Brewed Iced Coffee Served Here.'' Fine, then. I threw down two bucks and took a sip. Though it pains me to admit, the difference was considerable. Without the bitterness produced by hot water, the cold-brewed coffee had hints of chocolate, even caramel. I dropped my sugar packet -- no need for it. The best brews hardly need cream. It really is the kind of thing a gentleman might spend five days in hot-coffee solitary confinement for. Most days I'm too lazy to hunt down the elusive cold-brewed cup. But recently I discovered an interesting little fact. Cold-brewed coffee is actually dirt simple to make at home. Online, you'll find a wealth of forums arguing for this bean or that, bottled water over tap, the 24-hour versus the 12-hour soak. You can even buy the Toddy cold-brew coffee system for about $30. But you can also bang it out with a Mason jar and a sieve. You just add water to coffee, stir, cover it and leave it out on the counter overnight. A quick two-step filtering the next day (strain the grounds through a sieve, and use a coffee filter to pick up silt), a dilution of the brew one-to-one with water, and you're done. Except for the time it sits on the kitchen counter, the whole process takes about five minutes. I was curious to see how it would taste without all the trappings. The answer is, Fantastic. My friend Carter, something of a cold-brewing savant, turned me onto another homegrown trick: freeze some of the concentrate into cubes. Matched with regular ice cubes, they melt into the same ratio as the final blend. Very fancy. Can't wait to tell Keller. Recipe: Cold-Brewed ICED COFFEE Time: 5 minutes, plus 12 hours' resting Time: 5 minutes, plus 12 hours' resting 1/3 cup ground coffee (medium-coarse grind is best) Milk (optional). 1. In a jar, stir together coffee and 1 1/2 cups water. Cover and let rest at room temperature overnight or 12 hours. 2. Strain twice through a coffee filter, a fine-mesh sieve or a sieve lined with cheesecloth. In a tall glass filled with ice, mix equal parts coffee concentrate and water, or to taste. If desired, add milk. NOTE: To make hot coffee, dilute concentrate one-to-one with water and heat in the microwave.
For the original article:
ICED COFFEE? NO SWEAT
By CINDY PRICE
Published: June 27, 2007
16 July 2008
from the New York Times: Iced Coffee? No Sweat
15 July 2008
useless productivity
"And why aren't you well-rested?"
Because I wanted to see the end of the Star Trek: TNG two-parter on Sci-Fi (in spite of the fact that I've seen the Spock-defects-to-Romulus episodes before). And because I was on the internets until midnight. And then messing around with my iPod for another half-hour for no good reason.
So I'm a walking wreck today.
On the other hand, I finally had a Lush day on Sunday, which was awesome. I put the sound-dock just inside the bathroom door, turned the volume up, and lounged and sang along to Coldplay for a good hour. Also kept thinking of Ford Prefect, shouting, "You're a load of useless bloody loonies!" Not a particularly kind bubble-bath reference, but it made me giggle.
Speaking of Coldplay, "Violet Hill" is getting an awful lot of play-time on my iPod lately. Considering breaking down and outright buying the entire Viva la Vida album, since I do like what I've heard of the rest of it ...
Movie things--The Quiet American and The Air I Breathe arrived on Friday, and I took my time watching them. I might be on a Brendan Fraser kick right now. They were both good, but I liked The Air I Breathe more than I had expected (more than Netflix expected I would, certainly--if you're unfamiliar with this feature, based on your reviews of films, Netflix guesses how much you will or will not enjoy films you haven't seen). Air is similar to Crash in that it examines how several lives intertwine, looked at separately and where they cross--except that here they really do cross, whereas I felt a few of the "crashes" in Crash were more like gazes across a crowded room. Which is more realistic? Well, neither is particularly realistic to me, but they are movies; is realism the point?
I'm expecting Gotham Knight in today's mail--veering away from the Brendan Fraser bout of films, and prepping for The Dark Knight, which I'm seeing with
Books--Revenger's Tragedy. Still. Nearly done. Promise.
Next on the list? I should probably turn back to Anna Karenina. You can tell how excited I am about that, I suppose. Oh, well. I'll at least feel accomplished when it's over. Maybe.
14 July 2008
top 5's
Sob-fests and children's books ...
Today, from thewhyfive ...
Top 5 Sad Movies:
1. The Joy Luck Club - It's all about relationships, the generation gap, hopes and dreams fulfilled and dashed. The ending with the sisters' uniting always makes me cry.
2. Moulin Rouge - Not a "sad" movie, per se, but the ending is MISERABLE. Again with the crying.
3. Finding Neverland - The mother is dying from the moment the audience sees her. You know she's going to die, but the ending is still a bawl-fest when she "sees" Barrie's imaginary world come to life.
4. Pan's Labyrinth - Again, not exactly a sad movie, but Javier Navarrete's score pulls at the heart-strings.
5. The Last Samurai - Beautiful and sad, it's about the destruction of a terribly graceful way of life.
Honourable mention: The Fox and the Hound. This made me cry as a child. It probably still would.
Dishonourable mention: Atonement - Because it's sad, and did make me cry, but definitely went above and beyond the call of duty to wrench out the viewer's heart and stomp on it for good measure. Definitely a bitter "oh, fuck you, movie-makers" kind of cry.
Top 5 Favorite Children's Books:
1. Where the Sidewalk Ends and other Shel Silverstein books -- gently grim poetry for youngsters.
2. Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak -- You have to love monsters you can play with.
3. Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola -- because who doesn't want a Magic Pasta Pot?
4. The Woodland Folk in Dragonland by Tony Wolf -- I would spend hours looking at the illustrations in this book--beautiful and riddled with short episodes about the woodland folk's interactions with dragons (good and bad but mostly bad).
5. Anything by Dr. Seuss -- fun pictures and [usually] good messages (Hop On Pop was probably not a good message).
Honourable mention: Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling, as I was not a child when it was published.
10 July 2008
can't wait
Time's praises
I just wish it were coming out this week.
On a semi-related note, I watched The Man Who Laughs (1928) last night. It wasn't an arbitrary push to the head of the queue--
Conrad Veidt's performance as Gwynplaine--the man who was mutilated as a child, a permanent grin carved on his face as punishment for his father's rebellion against James II--served as inspiration for the original character design of Batman's Joker. It's all about physical appearance, mind you. Gwynplaine's psychology is nothing like The Joker's; in spite of the fact that Gwynplaine really has more reasons to be insane and vengeful (his disfigurement, his father's murder, the loss of his inheritance, and the fact that everyone considers him a sideshow), he's a very good person. Whereas, by Tim Burton's telling, Jack was a rather dull monster before his accident; the results of the surgeon's efforts just emphasise what we already know about him, and turn him into a more obvious monster.
In terms of genre, beyond the initial scenes of the Iron Lady and Conrad Veidt's grotesque expression, I'm not sure why this is classified as horror. Macabre, yes. Horror, no.
09 July 2008
lulling minds
Netflix sent me The Man Who Laughs, Persepolis, and disc two of Season One of Hustle (which was cracked along its radius, alas).
Within fifteen minutes of getting home, the Peapod truck arrived with my groceries, and then I spent the next hour and a half talking on the phone with the parents while making dinner.
The sweet potato rice idea came from a book of bento recipes (though I didn't use the prescribed sake and replaced the salt with a little soy). Asparagus came in the delivery, and the beef cubes were left around from the Market Basket shopping spree. I now have an abundance of sweet potato rice. It's good; but there's a lot of it.
On the food note, I think I might visit Super 88 during tomorrow's lunch break and see what I can find in dried mushrooms (or even their fresh mushrooms, since they might have a decent selection) and other dried food stuffs that would be easy to carry home.
Anyway, I didn't actually sit down to dinner-and-a-movie until eight o'clock. Movie choice? Persepolis. I really, really, really like this movie. It's funny and sad and amazing.
I think my favourite part might be when a young Marjane Satrapi is wandering through the purveyors of contraband goods (Western music, cosmetics, alcohol), and the dealers are muttering their wares as she passes by: "Bee Gees" - "ABBA" - "Pink Floyd" - "nail polish" - "Jichael Mackson" (yes, just like that).
After it was over, I was browsing through the special features and realised there was an English audio function. I'd been watching it in its original French audio with English subtitles. Oh, well. Nothing against Iggy (because I love Iggy), but the French Uncle Anoosh was probably better. Originals usually are.
Seeing the movie makes me want to read the graphic novels more than ever.
07 July 2008
G.I. Joe, resurrected
OK, due to a brief glance at an icon, I had to check up on this (because it could have been like the journal layout for the supposed Outlander movie that doesn't actually exist--though, whereas G.I. Joe has been done to death and is more inappropriate than ever, I could do with an actual Outlander movie).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G.I._Joe_%28film%29
So ... is Christopher Eccleston going to be bald (and shiny)? No? That's sad.
Also on the list--
Heroes: Brendan Fraser (is Gung Ho?), Dennis Quaid, Ray Park, Marlon Wayans, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje (Lost's Mr. Eko)
Heels: Christopher Eccleston (is supposed to look like this), Joseph Gordon-Levitt (remember the love-sick kid from 10 Things I Hate About You? no? well, he's Cobra Commander)
Jonathan Pryce is the President, which is great, him being Welsh and everything--and an interesting contrast to whomever may be holding the office at the time.
But, I have to say, while I enjoyed the 80's cartoon--because I was 4 or 5 and it didn't mean anything to me on more than an entertainment level, like Teddy Ruxpin or The Gummi Bears, one of many in a long line-up of cartoon distractions--and still think of it with fond nostalgic feelings, it seems incredibly inappropriate for the age.
"Real American Hero" ... uh, yeah, about that. Nobody likes us anymore. The America-to-the-rescue theme just doesn't fly. At all. And that makes me especially curious about the plot for this movie and how they will or won't reconcile that reality. Maybe they'll all go somewhere and do something that nobody actually wants them to do.
Or they could play up the classic kitsch and ignore reality. But what with Destro having a receding hairline and no shininess, I'm guessing they're avoiding the kitsch.
On the other hand, it's G.I.-freaking-Joe; there MUST be kitsch--like the Palindrome Twins. OK, that's not what they're called, but still. Kitsch. Character disappointment is inevitable with things like this--like the absence of Gambit in X-Men. Still disappointed.
06 July 2008
quiet time
Friday included cleaning, bank-visiting, mail-box-hunting, Essex-outdoor-stalls-perusing, and Batman-and-fireworks-watching (because, I was right, you can see the fireworks from the deck).
Saturday morning, I waited for my furniture to arrive.
The Jordan's delivery guys were a lot better at their job than my movers (and with a far more difficult piece of furniture).
The sofa felt a bit tall, so I unscrewed the 5" legs from the corners and stood back for another look. It's better this way, really. With the legs, my feet can't touch the floor, and I don't think that's good for circulation.
The counter stools in the kitchen ... I think it's the upholstery, but it smells odd. In a "eating here makes me feel queasy" kind of way. I'm hoping it just needs to air out; otherwise, I ought to get some fabric deodorant.
After lunch, I went to the Peabody Essex Museum, the ticket and special exhibits of which are free for Salem residents. Fine by me.
I had an absurd epiphany while I was there. It's been many a time that I've been walking down the street between Derby and Essex and wondered, What the hell were they thinking when they decided to imitate Chinese architecture for just that one building? And what is that? Somebody's house? A business? What? So yesterday I was excited to visit because the PEM has the Yin Yu Tang exhibit--a Chinese house. I thought this might be similar to the Japanese house exhibit at the Children's Museum by South Station, a life-size model of the real thing, but still just a model.
No. They moved a Chinese house from China to Salem, bit by bit over the past seven years, and reconstructed it in its original form and with original decorations from between 300 and 50 years ago. And now I know what I should have known before. Hooray for disconnect.
Also very cool there right now--the Maori ta moko exhibit, a gallery of photos and quotes from tribe members who have received these tattoos since the government ban was lifted in the 1960s. And it was pretty awesome to read the anecdotes and see the variety of designs ... Except for the stupid people walking around and commenting (or mining for earwax and examining your findings in public--ARGH). I was furiously texting Rodney while I was in there, because it kept me from snapping at somebody. "What kind of jobs can they get?! Teeheehee!!" (And this, after passing directly by the photograph of the young businessman with facial ta moko.)
DiaF.
I also went to the gift shop (of course), and found an addition for my rice bowl collection:
Which inspired me to go home and make sticky rice for dinner (with broccoli, mushroom, and onion mixed in, to be healthy and stuff). And because I'm trying to use up the milk I have before it goes bad (because there were two gallons from the previous week), I also made clam chowder--which was poured over the rice in a very rice-casserole kind of deal. Surprisingly good, though veering from the original inspiration.
And then there was Doctor Who's finale. I enjoyed it, even though I didn't really enjoy the ending. I'm trying to think of it in a positive light though, like--"it's the journey that matters, not the destination," or something to that effect.
Blah. Time for a shower.
01 July 2008
BloodCopy
http://bloodcopy.com/
I enjoy this site immensely--especially the YouTube videos.
And Lamar is more than welcome to move in next door to me. He has a great voice.
I would also love to know what they're spending to create this kind of platform. That's not a criticism, as I think it's pretty cool that they're busy creating this alternate realty that the show and books reside in (the "vampires exist and everyone knows" versus "vampires exist but it's a big Scoobie-gang secret").
But really, this is extra material that will probably never see HBO--and why would it?--and will be lucky if it ends up being extras on a DVD release. So what does all this stuff cost?
True Blood - The Pilot
Due to BitTorrent's initial slowness, I tried to watch the pilot episode of True Blood on tudou.com yesterday evening.
For clarification, Tudou is one of the many Asian video-sharing sites out there. It one-ups YouTube by going mostly unnoticed by the lawyers responsible for pulling various materials from YouTube and GoogleVideo. The downside is that many of the videos you will find on Tudou or MegaVideo or Veoh will be titled with Chinese characters.
So the second part of the True Blood pilot was there and labeled 'B', but there was no part 'A' to be found. Thus, I watched the last half hour of the 90-minute pilot.
By the time I woke up this morning, BitTorrent was finished with the transfer. So I watched the first fifteen minutes with breakfast before I had to brush my teeth and leave to catch my train.
So I've seen forty-five minutes of the pilot--forty-five broken minutes with a major gap in between.
And, happily, I'm excited to see the rest of it when I get home.
Much like the books, I get the feeling I'm going to feel split between the guys and whom I want Sookie to end up with. The actors playing Bill and Sam are mostly spot-on. Sam's hair is meant to be a bit more ... well, more, but the rest of him seems right. The actor's name is Sam too--and I seem to recall him as one of Dexter's trophy serial killers. The actress playing Sookie's friend Tara was Whitney on Passions. Tara is much less polite, but, strangely, I get the idea that the character is a better person.
The theme music (well, it might be the theme music; occasionally what you hear in the pilot is cut or changed by the time the show actually airs) is fitting for the setting and the plot. If there could be a Dark-Country genre (ala Dark Wave and/or Death Metal), that's how I'd describe the sound and lyrics. Better similarity--Nick Cave's "Red Right Hand."
So far as pacing goes, it looks like they might be going two to three chapters per episode, but my memory of Dead Until Dark might be a fuzzy (it's been at least five years since I read it). Whatever the case, I think they could get a good cable-season out of each book, the events of which are fairly episodic anyway. Granted, the Writers Strike could land the show on the chopping block before it's had its day, since it was meant to be out in early Spring this year, and it was pushed back to September. Still, it suits the Fall season. They might be better off.
Likely to follow this up once I've actually finished watching the full episode.
30 June 2008
pilot leakage
I've been waiting for news about True Blood, because I really enjoy the book series upon which it is based.
And then today I read this on WordPress.
So I checked mininova for providers, and sure enough ... the search results.
I know what I'm doing when I get home.
I've quickly become a fan of the 57 bus. It's about ten minutes faster than the B line, which doesn't seem like very much, but can make the difference of a half hour of waiting at North Station.
Now watching the season finale of The Tudors. It's grim and kind of, well, anticlimactic. In spite of the fact that it's Jonathan Rhys-Meyers--I really hate Henry. But then, that's as it should be.
For the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, visit: masquedbunny.livejournal.com.
26 June 2008
telling me a story
My parents picked me up at the train station yesterday afternoon (the first sunny and non-torrentially-raining day in the week is the day they're there to give me a ride--of course). They're back from the Berkshires for a bit, as A Prairie Home Companion isn't until Saturday. Due to the thunderstorms that have been rolling through, they've been doing outlet shopping and scouting for furniture, and picked up a safe beige curtain for the door to the deck. The room is no longer on display--huzzah!
We went out to dinner at the Lyceum Bar and Grill, which was excellent and in walking distance of the apartment. Did an after-dinner walk around the Common, and then went back home again.
It was an afternoon for people telling me stories, by the way. My dad, who, on the way home, confessed to removing the door to the deck and hanging up a shower curtain to keep the rain out ... NO. And then the host at the restaurant. Big ol' story-tellers.
On a television note, The Riches can be embarrassing to watch with one's parents. I don't recommend it.
Commuting is coming easily. I always manage to get a seat, and I'm starting to recognise the usual suspects who share my schedule.
There is something weird though. Standing in North Station, one might suddenly see a herd of people rush out to a platform that hasn't been announced. I can't figure out how they know it's their train. Because the rest of us stand and watch the line-up for the track announcement, and by the time we get out there, there are already a hundred people on board. And there's no apparent rhyme or reason to the thing, as the track is almost never the same one as the day before.
Is there a secret society with a decoder watch that announces the track number ten minutes before it appears on the board?
Chalk it up on the list of things to find out, I suppose.
Hooray! My internet is being installed tomorrow! Time to get a wireless router.
For the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, visit: masquedbunny.livejournal.com.
23 June 2008
and kicking
My downstairs neighbors (at least, I think it was my downstairs neighbors, since I don't imagine anybody else could've come in the front door, and wandered upstairs) left me a welcoming present from their favourite neighborhood bakery--croissants and danishes and bread. I think they must have dropped it off some time on Sunday, but I didn't notice until I walked out the door this morning. I feel kind of bad about that for a few reasons. One, I don't know how well the goodies will be now when they're not fresh. Two, I still haven't seen my neighbors. And now three, I really ought to thank them, and wish I had done yesterday ...
Anyway, I put the box of baked goods in the fridge before I left, so I hope I didn't spoil them by letting them sit out there on the landing overnight. I'm putting my faith in the preservative properties of sugar.
Damn it. I'm already a bad neighbor, and I haven't even talked to anybody yet.
I was trying to get everything out of the cardboard boxes, and didn't leave the house at all. On one hand, good for productivity. On the other hand, it would've been nice to wander my new stomping grounds. Oh, well. There will certainly be time for that.
Saturday night discovery--the cable is still hooked up. On a whim, I plugged in the television just to see, and now I'm wishing I already owned a modem. Still... That will be installed on Friday.
Turned on AMC for a background--The Last Samurai and Alexander being heralded as "Future Classics," with which I take some umbrage--while unpacking and then having dinner.
I had intended to sleep in yesterday, and I had left my iPod in the Sound Dock overnight for a sense of familiarity. And then, at around 0830, I awoke to a strange blend of Lunasa coming from the speakers, and swinging big band music--coming from outside. Think more casual New Orleans big band, rather than rigid marching band, and you'll have a good idea of the sound. And it would've been irritating, except that it was actually quite good. So I opened more of the windows and the deck door to let the music breeze in and through the house.
Timed the walk from my door to the station. It's a little under ten minutes at a very leisurely pace. I left about fifteen minutes sooner than necessary for my 0627 train. I think I'm going to pick up a 12-trip pass for the remainder of the month this afternoon, just to save time.
It's raining now. I hope my leaving the windows open a few inches wasn't a mistake. Guess I'll find out when I get home ...
19 June 2008
12 June 2008
meme [in bed]
Tagged by Mel ...
List 10 fictional characters you wouldn't kick out of bed (in no particular order) and tag five people to do the same.
1. Jack Harkness -- John Barrowman might be gay, but his character is omni, and reported to be fabulous in bed.
2. The Tenth Doctor -- can come along with Jack (but we'll need a bigger bed).
3. James "Sawyer" Ford -- and yes ...
4. Strife -- bound to be kinky
5. Geoffrey Chaucer (ala A Knight's Tale, though technically a real--and very dead--person)
6. Mr. Darcy (the 1995 BBC version, please), though probably too proper to randomly show up in one's bed uninvited (or unmarried) *sigh*
7. George Emerson (of the 1985 film adaptation)
8. Don Juan DeMarco
9. Cupid (or practically any other Karl Urban character) -- I imagine the wings take up a lot of room, but hell if I care
10. Spike -- to finish with another borrow from Mel's list
No tagging from me. If you want to do the meme, do ...
11 June 2008
name play
I rented Revengers Tragedy. This is the kind of thing they should make teenagers read if they want them to be at all interested in 17th Century literature. Granted, the kids will probably still go out and rent the movie if it's available to them; but at least they might find the story interesting.
The story begins as our protagonist Vindici returns home to finally take his revenge on the powerful Duke who poisoned Vindici's bride (and all the other guests) on their wedding day, because she would not give in to his lecherous advances. His first stop home is the catacombs, where he talks to his dead girl's skull, puppets around a bit, and shrieks at passing little old ladies. Beautifully begun ...
Here we have vengeance; lust, chastity, and loss of honour; keeping promises, whatever the cost; the game of ambition and succession; and incest.
The allegorical names put me in mind of Volpone, because almost all of the names are chosen specifically for their characters' primary nature.
Our hero Vindici (sometimes spelled Vendici) hellbent on vengeance.
The Duke's eldest son Lussurioso, primarly driven by his lustful nature. And for whom?
Castiza, Vindici's sister. Chastity is not her middle name--it's her first. And, surprise, she despises Lussurioso.
Vindici and Castiza's mother Gratiana wants to ingratiate herself and her daughter with Lussurioso for his future Dukedom.
The other sons of the Duke:
Spurio - He's a big liar.
Ambitioso should not require an explanation.
Supervacuo - Not just vacant--SUPERvacant.
and Junior - It's also fitting, because he follows after his father's habits.
I do recommend the film, so long as you don't mind 17th Century dialogue in a post-apocalyptic Liverpool setting. Christopher Eccleston, Eddie Izzard, and Derek Jacobi star.
06 June 2008
dishing Dracula
Dracula and The White River Kid were waiting for me when I got home yesterday. After calling to check on my dad's progress with returning from D.C., I grabbed my Chinese leftovers and popped in Dracula.
I can appreciate what Masterpiece Theatre was trying to do, mostly. They're trying to mix in some real medical concerns to explain why Harker would ever go to Transylvania. Vampires and syphilis. Ummm ... wow. Okay, so Lord Holmwood is engaged to Lucy Westerna, but he finds out his father is dying of syphilis, and that his mother committed suicide when she found out that she had caught it from the father and that Lord Holmwood was infected at birth. So, good fiance that he is, he tells Lucy and calls off their engagement, right?
Right?
Um, no. Let's contact this London blood cult and see if they can cure Lord Holmwood's terrible affliction. Ah, yes, we can do that--the the help of this guy in the Carpathian Mountains--and some money and property would be nice as well.
Well the cult can't contract a very large firm to deal with these matters. No, much too easy to track. So they contact a two-man operation, and this mini-firm sends the younger partner, Jonathan Harker (engaged to Lucy's friend Mina, by the way), to Transylvania to talk to their employer. And just after he leaves, the blood cult murders the other fifty percent of the firm.
This is where this version actually begins to resemble the Gary Oldman version. Harker arrives in the dark and magnificently damp and muddy Castle Dracula. Count Dracula appears to be a sick old man with very dirty fingernails. The fingernails never improve, actually; they're pretty gross for the full extent of the movie. He asks after England and its fade of religious belief, becomes enamored of Harker's folding picture-frame of Mina with a lock of her hair attached to the interior, and--after Harker discovers Dracula in his coffin covered in every kind of insect the crew could get their hands on--drains the trepid young lawyer.
Meanwhile, Holmwood and Lucy marry, but Holmwood won't consummate the relationship until he's cured, so they've gone north to live in a lonely castle on the edge of the ocean. Mina, ever more concerned about Harker from whom she's heard nothing since his arrival in Transylvania, goes to stay with them.
The blood cult, keeping tabs on Dracula's scheduled passage, hears that the ship by-passes London and continues up the coast toward Holmwood's estate. Not to seek out Holmwood, but because Dracula is on Mina's scent thanks to the lock of hair that Harker kept with him. The ship beaches itself below Holmwood's estate, but the crew has disappeared, and there's no sign of Dracula besides an inexplicable crate full of dirt.
Mina is wandering through the graveyard when she thinks she sees her Jonathan, and runs to him only to find--Count Dracula, who is looking much better after some steady and proper vamp nutrition. The sexually frustrated Lucy also appears, and, after her invitation (vampires and invitations), the Count accompanies them back to the estate for wine and sexy brooding.
Eventually Holmwood shows up in a temper, because Dracula isn't much interested in helping him with his condition, and is much more interested in, in his words, "enjoying" the ladies of the house. Holmwood becomes violent. Dracula is more violent--and informs Holmwood that he's going to take everything he loves.
As per the original, the sickness of blood loss visits Lucy while she sleeps. Difference--Masterpiece Theatre actually gets some brownie points, by the way--Lucy and Dracula both become less frustrated in the process. It's a lot more believably sensual than Oldman's bouffanted version, and a lot more sensual than I expect from Masterpiece Theatre. Good for them!
Lucy dies, of course, and the story and characters return to London. Mina is lonely. Her best friend is dead, and her fiance is presumed dead. Who else should show up to be a shoulder of comfort but our good Count Dracula?
I think my primary complaint is that the film spends a lot of time leading up to all of this with a reasonable explanation, but very little time is actually devoted to Holmwood, Seward, and Van Helsing hunting down Dracula. It all happens too quickly. Good lead-in, but it could've stood another half-hour of running time with more advantage taken of Marc Warren's youthful version of Dracula. But then I felt the same way about Gary Oldman's performance.
I did enjoy it. I think I'll keep the DVD until tomorrow. I think I'm also adding the first three series of Hustle to my Netflix queue. Hustle weirdness: Robert Vaughn. He does commercials for various law firms around the country, and definitely one here in Massachusetts. He was also Napoleon Solo and General Stockwell, but that was kind of a long time ago ...
04 June 2008
02 June 2008
Happy June!
We seem to have skipped Spring, as per the usual for Boston weather. Cold, cold, rain, cold--muggy and unbearable! Really, there ought to at least be two or three weeks where I can leave the windows open in the morning and come home to a pleasantly cool room. No such luck.
New-home stuff moves along. I need more boxes.
No, Turbo, I'm not still holding my breath ... but I'm not jumping for joy yet either. Because I'm afraid of jinxing myself.
Finished reading Part II of Anna Karenina. Anna and Alexei's marriage is going down the drain, so that Anna can pursue her relationship with the other Alexei--Vronsky. Kitty isn't depressed about Vronsky anymore, but latching on to a kind of Born-Again-ness inspired by her trip to Germany. Aaaannnnd ... Levin is being a surly farmer.
I know it's epic and fabulous, and I really was drawn in by Tolstoy's description of Vronsky's doomed race horse. But ... well, I'm bored. The only reason I even bothered to tear through Part II was because I knew I'd be reading Funke and Pratchett when I was done. And now I'm reading Inkspell.
Speaking of Pratchett ... I have [ashamedly] been reading Teatime fan-fic. I blame Marc Warren and that neurotic part of me that falls for creepy men who probably smell nice.
Netflix delivered Tron and Turtles Can Fly. Tron was broken, so I've notified Netflix, and am mailing that back today. I still haven't sat down to watch Turtles Can Fly. It's not a movie you can watch while doing something else, because it's a Middle Eastern film with subtitles; and, yes, I could half-heartedly read every other subtitle while doing something else, but that kind of inattention will probably only lead to confusion and much rewinding.
Watched most of Season One of The Sopranos over the weekend on surfthechannel.com. Except that the second part of the season finale wouldn't load, so I'm left hanging. Maybe I can get it to work for me today. Tony's mannerism remind me much of my grandfather (who actually looked more like Paulie, but ...), except that Tony is actually more socially evolved than my grandfather ever was. Fear and distrust of psychiatry is spot-on, except that Tony moves beyond that and has a psychiatrist. My grandfather never got beyond that distrust--which was unfortunate for his kids, because more than a few of them have serious unresolved issues. Also, Junior looks a lot like my Great Uncle Pat.
It's fun to compare pronunciation of Mid-Atlantic Italian with actual Italian. Everything is a little mutated.
29 May 2008
distractions
I lied. I finished Twilight yesterday morning before leaving for work, and I'm not reading Anna Karenina. I picked up The Good Fairies of New York again. It's still fairly flat, but I'll finish with it tonight or tomorrow.
It's not even the story that I find flat. The plot is good, the character ideas are good. But the execution is wrong. It sometimes reads like a daily comic, minus graphics. Very choppy and not enough imagery by far. The characters' manners of speaking are also awkward and not very naturalistic. I feel like I know what Millar is trying to do with it--minimalism akin to the telling of classic fairy tales--but I just don't think it works, not when your characters are not recognisable archetypes.
Following Twilight with this is making me feel like a very fussy reader. I think I'll try to get through Part Two of Anna when I'm done with Good Fairies. But Anna is a lot like a soap opera, without the satisfaction of steamy sex or over the top violent and melodramatic moments. I think the suspicion of this very thing is why I've been avoiding Tolstoy all these years.
I also added Dickens' The Pickwick Papers to my Summer Reading List. I might regret that decision eventually too.
My book-per-week plan should be back on track by the end of June if I keep tossing a couple of shorter novels between Parts of Anna Karenina. I think Funke's Inkspell and Pratchett's Sourcery are two good candidates for my next Anna-break.
Netflix sent me Stage Beauty, largely to do with English theatre in the late seventeenth century and focusing particularly on Edward Kynaston, one of the last male leading ladies before Charles II outlawed men in women's parts. I enjoyed it very much. Billy Crudup has a remarkably angular face, and, yes, is a very pretty man--though, in my opinion, much better-looking as a man than, as the movie seems to suggest at times, a woman. The half-hour long behind-the-scenes bonus feature was interesting. Tom Hollander's good-natured griping about Billy Crudup--excellent.
I was also supposed to get Stealing Beauty, but that didn't arrive. And they emailed me last night to say that Tron is being sent from New Brunswick, so there's no knowing how long that will take to get here.
The Lost finale is this evening, but I don't know whether to be excited or wary. I don't see how this season can end well.
27 May 2008
safe to say
Or maybe 'third time's a charm' is more apt?
I suppose it's not safe to say anything until the actual closing ... but I've done the home inspection, and a list of needed fixes was proposed--upon which there was general agreement, so ...
Things are moving forward nicely. Knock on wood.
Closing is set for 20. June.
Can I breathe yet, or should I hold my breath for another four weeks? Ugh.
I packed away my winter clothes this weekend. It did two things. First, it de-cluttered my room in a big way. Second, it made me feel like I was packing, which I really don't want to put off until 16. June or something. So that sort of feeling of productivity was a bonus. Let's keep doing a bit of that every weekend.
Probably need to get in touch with a mover. Granted, it won't be a huge move (for distance or belongings), but I can't ask my friends to move me again and I can't lug this stuff up a flight of stairs (or two) on my own. Done with that. I should ask Tom for a recommended mover.
Watched Hogfather on Sunday while cleaning/packing. That was unexpectedly brilliant--well, unexpected to me, just because I lack faith in made-for-TV movies. But I suppose I should have more faith when it's Terry Pratchett. I really like what Marc Warren did with the assassin Mr. Teatime (te-ah-TIM-eh ... :-P). His voice was very much like Johnny Depp's rendition of Willy Wonka, only intentionally creepy (though I have my suspicions that that's what Depp was going for anyway). On the whole, it reminded me a lot of Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas, what with a skeleton man taking on the role of Father Christmas and everything. It does make me wonder which story existed first--Pratchett's novel or Burton's film?
Put down Anna Karenina and picked up The Good Fairies of New York, which was reading a little flat in my current mood, so I put it down and picked up Twilight. It's kind of a 500-page Mary Sue (our heroine's name is Bella Swan--really, now), and many of the characters are annoying, and many of the situations are contrived, and I keep waiting for the Hurt/Comfort plot device to enter into it (it's really the best way to endear your readership to a potentially dangerous or unlikeable character--make him/her do something selfless or comforting for your wounded protagonist). I'm so cynical. Still, it's proving to be a quick read, and I'll probably finish it this evening. Maybe it's the whole 'Young Adult' fiction thing, but they don't do anything. Too much angst and no action--and not much hope of any either. I will see the movie when it comes out in December, even if it's bound to be painfully over the top. Robert Pattinson already won me over in Goblet of Fire.
Went to see Indiana Jones on Saturday morning, which was wonderful, because nobody else comes to the cinema at 10 o'clock in the morning. It was over the top, but I loved it. And I loved the brief nods to the other Indy adventures. Yesterday I went to an early showing of Prince Caspian, which I enjoyed more than the previous film--but why are the bad humans Spaniards? I don't understand that. I enjoyed Eddie Izzard's voice work as Reepicheep, and Mr. Caspian (Ben Barnes) made for excellent eye-candy even if his acting was a little flat. Peter Dinklage's acerbic remarks gave a decent balance to the more saccharine moments.
... I'll read Part Two of Anna Karenina when I'm done with Twilight. Honest.
Also, the completely opaque blinds were just installed in my office a few minutes ago. I *heart* my cave.
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