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 ...
23 June 2008
and kicking
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.
08 May 2008
a winning commute
My morning commute ground to a halt at Alston Street. The T driver announced: "There's been an accident at Babcock. We could be here for a while."
OK. Well, I was reading, so it didn't frazzle me too much. Then, after I'd finished my chapter, I looked around and we still weren't moving. So I got off and started walking. I had just reached Harvard Ave. when I saw the train that had been stopped in front of us begin to move. So I crossed the street again just in time to--right, get on my exact same train again.
It only made it as far as Packard's Corner though. "There will be shuttles," says the driver over the intercom. Great. Except that my office is at the next corner. So no, but thank you.
Firetrucks galore, police in squad cars, police on motorcycles, T personnel mulling to and fro, helicopters circling overhead.
Why? Manhole explosion, apparently. And a white SUV rammed into the corner building at Packard's Corner. But this isn't Babcock ... the hell's going on?
I continue walking down to Babcock to the sight of even more flashing blue lights and the sound of wailing sirens. Commonwealth Avenue is not having a good morning. A giant black pick-up truck was smashed into the T barrier and straddling the West-bound tracks with one of its sides bashed in. On the other side of the lanes and half-propped on the sidewalk, a small white sports car with its back end crushed and the myriad contents of its trunk scattered across all the lanes.
When I got upstairs, Sandy and Rich were standing in the waiting area beside the elevator watching the carnage from above. A few minutes later my boss also arrived. And now she and Rich have decided to walk down the block and see the other accident at Packard's. I took a picture from the office. Yay.
02 May 2008
skewed standards
I started watching Dexter this week on surfthechannel.com.
It's weird what becomes, well, fictionally acceptable after a point.
The pilot--especially the opening sequence--was downright disturbing; but it's the perfect introduction to Dexter Morgan. The voice-over tells us what he's about, explains what he's doing and why he's doing it, which is: stalking serial killers to satisfy his own need to kill people.
Because Dexter has a code ingrained in him by a terribly understanding step-father Harry--a police officer who discovered his adopted son's urges at a very young age. Oh, and we know that Harry rescued Dexter from a gruesome crime scene at the age of four, a crime that clearly has had its effects on Dexter's psyche. In order to quell these urges, Harry teaches Dexter to hunt and kill animals, to pretend emotions, and eventually how to spot other serial killers and how to cover his tracks when Dexter kills them.
It's important to note that Harry is the only person who knows what Dexter is. His foster mother and sister have no idea.
Flash forward to the present. Dexter and his step-sister work for the Miami Dade Police Department, Dexter specialising in forensic blood spatter. Wee.
He's really an excellent antihero. The first episode's opening is repellent and typical--Dexter hunts down, drugs, butchers, and disposes of a serial killer of young boys--but the remainder of the pilot is a steady inward reeling in which I just become very attached to Dexter.
Dexter does not consider himself capable of "love," as such, but he does have intense loyalty to the good people around him. He has a girlfriend, Rita, and her two children by an abusive ex-husband. In another voice-over, he admits that part of the draw to Rita is her alike damaged nature and their shared dream of normalcy. And he is, in his own words, "very fond of" his step-sister Deb. I think it's these few human connections, and the bewildering moments of emotional disconnect, that make Dexter the most endearing sociopath ever.
Oh, and he's always eating. All the time. Gorey crime scene--and--a sandwich!
I've also been turning over in my head the similarity between Dexter and Lestat circa Memnoch the Devil. Both hunt down and murder other murderers to satisfy something inside them--not really as an act of justice, though an outside observer could make that judgment call, but because they need to kill somebody, and it may as well be somebody wicked. And they both have personal connections that make them more human, give them a chance to show a better side.
It's another reason for being okay with Dexter--prior experience in being attached to characters that are, well, not exactly all wrong, but definitely not right.
28 April 2008
old now equals abused. apparently.
Whitey, the family cat, going on eighteen this summer, went loose yesterday when one of the parents left the garage door open.
Today, the neighbor discovered him in her back yard when he hissed at her stupidly curious dog, and said neighbor was scared of cat and called the pound to have him taken away. Neighbor apparently had the good sense to inform Mum about all this when she got home.
Ok. Fair enough. The cat is a fright. His fur is matted in bizarre places. He has cataracts in both of his eyes. He can't move with much grace beyond that of a folding chair. But the cat is old. I mean OLD. John McCain-style OLD.
But he eats his food, and he drinks his water, and he still hobbles around and tolerates spending time with my parents.
So when my parents went to retrieve him from the pound, they were being accused of abusing Whitey, because, as previously noted, the poor thing looks like death warmed over. You probably will, too, when you are as relatively old in human terms as this cat is in his own way.
They brought him to the vet for mandatory blood work to find out how much has been done to him and how much is wrong with him ... Dehydration. Right, because he'd been away from his water for over a day and wouldn't eat or drink anything in the pound. Oh. AND. The pound didn't like the appearance of the matted fur--and sliced the cat's back while shaving it off.
ARGH.
The parents finally brought him home little more than an hour ago. He reportedly inhaled his food and settled down in his cat-nest for the evening.
I HATE their neighbors. The neighbors can die in a fire. I have been told it's bad for my soul to wish that people would die in fires. This is probably true.
16 April 2008
the why's
This is more to do with my livejournal blog (the journal I more faithfully update), Book of the Black Rabbit.
1. my username is________ because ________.
Masquedbunny -- My sororiname is Bunny, and I have a thing for (and collect) Venetian masks and masquerade dress.
2. my name is ________ because _______.
Maria -- My mother wanted to name me after the Holy Mother in such a way that was compatible with my German last name and her own Italian heritage.
3. my journal is titled ______ because __________.
"Book of the Black Rabbit" -- I respect Watership Down's version of Death, a shade-bunny, and have a tendency to address morbid subject matter.
4. my friends page is called ______ because ___________.
"meine merkwürdige Lieblinge" -- I studied German, and liked the idea of calling my friends "my freaky darlings" in another language. Let's face it, some of you are odd ducks, too; and I love you.
5. my default userpic is _______ because _________.
"Masqued" -- It's just another play on the masquerade theme and masks.
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde.
07 April 2008
1983 Top 100
A music meme, courtesy of Mel.
Go here ( http://www.musicoutfitters.com/topsongs/1983.htm ) and change the number in the URL to reflect the year you were born to get the top 100 songs of that year. Strike through the songs you hate(d). Bold the songs you love(d). Italics the songs you like(d). Leave blank those you don’t care about or don't recognize.
1. Every Breath You Take, Police
2. Billie Jean, Michael Jackson
3. Flashdance... What A Feelin, Irene Cara
4. Down Under, Men At Work
5. Beat It, Michael Jackson
6. Total Eclipse Of The Heart, Bonnie Tyler
7. Maneater, Daryl Hall and John Oates
8. Baby Come To Me, Patti Austin and James Ingram
9. Maniac, Michael Sembello
10. Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This), Eurythmics
11. Do You Really Want To Hurt Me, Culture Club
12. You And I, Eddie Rabbitt and Crystal Gayle
13. Come On Eileen, Dexy's Midnight Runners
14. Shame On The Moon, Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band
15. She Works Hard For The Money, Donna Summer
16. Never Gonna Let You Go, Sergio Mendes
17. Hungry Like The Wolf, Duran Duran
18. Let's Dance, David Bowie
19. Twilight Zone, Golden Earring
20. I Know There's Something Going On, Frida
21. Jeopardy, Greg Kihn Band
22. Electric Avenue, Eddy Grant
23. She Blinded Me With Science, Thomas Dolby -- odd, but sometimes I like this and sometimes I hate it
24. Africa, Toto
25. Little Red Corvette, Prince
26. Back On The Chain Gang, Pretenders
27. Up Where We Belong, Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
28. Mr. Roboto, Styx -- another like/loathe
29. You Are, Lionel Richie
30. Der Kommissar, After The Fire -- I can't remember what this sounds like.
31. Puttin' On The Ritz, Taco
32. Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye -- a WTF song
33. (Keep Feeling) Fascination, Human League
34. Time (Clock Of The Heart), Culture Club
35. The Safety Dance, Men Without Hats
36. Mickey, Toni Basil -- awful and typically 80s, but kind of retro-charming
37. You Can't Hurry Love, Phil Collins
38. Separate Ways, Journey
39. One On One, Daryl Hall and John Oates
40. We've Got Tonight, Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton
41. 1999, Prince
42. Stray Cat Strut, Stray Cats
43. Allentown, Billy Joel
44. Stand Back, Stevie Nicks
45. Tell Her About It, Billy Joel
46. Always Something There To Remind Me, Naked Eyes
47. Truly, Lionel Richie
48. Dirty Laundry, Don Henley
49. The Girl Is Mine, Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney
50. Too Shy, Kajagoogoo
51. Goody Two Shoes, Adam Ant
52. Rock The Casbah, Clash
53. Our House, Madness
54. Overkill, Men At Work
55. Is There Something I Should Know, Duran Duran
56. Gloria, Laura Branigan
57. Affair Of The Heart, Rick Springfield
58. She's A Beauty, Tubes
59. Solitaire, Laura Branigan
60. Don't Let It End, Styx
61. How Am I Supposed To Live Without You, Laura Branigan
62. China Girl, David Bowie
63. Come Dancing, Kinks
64. Promises, Promises, Naked Eyes
65. The Other Guy, Little River Band
66. Making Love Out Of Nothing At All, Air Supply
67. Family Man, Daryl Hall and John Oates
68. Wanna Be Startin' Somethin', Michael Jackson
69. I Won't Hold You Back, Toto
70. All Right, Christopher Cross
71. Straight From The Heart, Bryan Adams -- I have a soft spot for Bryan Adams
72. Heart To Heart, Kenny Loggins
73. My Love, Lionel Richie
74. I'm Still Standing, Elton John
75. Hot Girls In Love, Loverboy
76. It's A Mistake, Men At Work
77. I'll Tumble 4 Ya, Culture Club
78. All This Love, Debarge
79. Your Love Is Driving Me Crazy, Sammy Hagar
80. Heartbreaker, Dionne Warwick
81. Faithfully, Journey
82. Steppin' Out, Joe Jackson
83. Take Me To Heart, Quarterflash
84. (She's) Sexy + 17, Stray Cats
85. Try Again, Champaign
86. Dead Giveaway, Shalamar
87. Lawyers In Love, Jackson Browne
88. What About Me, Moving Pictures
89. Human Nature, Michael Jackson
90. Photograph, Def Leppard
91. Pass The Dutchie, Musical Youth
92. True, Spandau Ballet
93. Far From Over, Frank Stallone
94. I've Got A Rock 'N' Roll Heart, Eric Clapton
95. It Might Be You, Stephen Bishop
96. Tonight I Celebrate My Love, Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack
97. You Got Lucky, Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers -- Soft spot for Tom Petty too.
98. Don't Cry, Asia
99. Breaking Us In Two, Joe Jackson
100. Fall In Love With Me, Earth, Wind and Fire
You know, I don't even recognise 75% of them ...
31 March 2008
of unchaperoned teenagers
On Saturday night my parents were asking me what I wanted to do, but I didn't know and instead of lounging around their hotel room, my dad suggested that we go to the movies.
OK. The closest cinema to their place was the Common, and we left at a time that could've seen us sitting in practically any movie showing there. There are a handful of features out right now that I wouldn't mind seeing. My parents both really enjoyed Horton Hears a Who, but I didn't want to make them see a repeat, so it came down to 21, Mrs. Pettigrew, In Bruges, and The Other Boleyn Girl.
We went to see In Bruges. It has some wickedly funny moments of caustic humour and some pretty grim moments of violence.
And then, three minutes from the end of the movie, a group of teenagers staggered in from the hallway, talking and laughing and standing in front of the screen. Colin Farrell was saying something, but it couldn't really be heard between the kids loudly looking for seats, people in the audience telling them to shut it, and the kids reacting in cackles of laughter and threats about punching or kicking people for telling them to shut it. Somebody in the back chimed out, "You're perpetuating a stereotype." Yes, they are; but they're not going to know what you're talking about; and you're only perpetuating a cycle. Yelling at them only makes them worse.
The movie ended, the police came in, and those who requested it received a ticket of re-admittance to any show they want. My parents and I took those, and then my mum and dad handed the tickets off to me and told me to go back and see some movies on my own time. Nice of them.
30 March 2008
morning thought
The pianist at The Natick Collection is unexpectedly cool (or geeky, depending on your point of view). We were sitting and listening outside one of the department stores in the oddly comfortable sofas that they have peppered throughout the mall, and at one point he was definitely playing a somewhat embellished version of "There's a Fine, Fine Line" from the Avenue Q soundtrack. And if you had never heard the lyrics, it fit in with his repertoire just fine.
26 March 2008
24 March 2008
For Saturday, I had written an entry that was a rather cryptic return from my ten-day hiatus. My mind is in a [somewhat] better place now, so maybe I can get through a rational explanation of the weekend's events.
Easter. Yeah. Great.
... Or maybe not. I just explained the situation to Lindsay--or ranted about it--Michelle and Ian have also sort of heard about it.
My mother's family is certifiable, I'm convinced.
My grandmother had an aneurysm on Thursday.
My mother has six siblings, and none of them knows the value of leaving a message on an answering machine apparently. My parents said they had a dozen calls on Thursday night, all of them resulting in dead air on the answering machine--after which they unplugged the phone because they thought it was over-zealous marketers or kids pulling pranks--because, surely, if the matter were that important, the caller might leave even a sparse message. No.
Since the robbery, my parents have had one dinosaur of a computer in their home. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. And for this reason, it's not very useful for checking email. My father finally received his new desk-top in the mail on Thursday, but he hadn't set it up yet, because he gets home late most nights and is too tired to mess with it.
On Friday night, my mother had managed to make "the dinosaur" log on to the internet. In her inbox, there's an email from my uncle J asking her to get in touch with one of them. Uncle F is angry at my parents for not responding sooner--he doesn't quite believe they were robbed and have one old computer that doesn't quite work all the time. Aunt J is convinced that she could have done something to prevent Nana's aneurysm. Uncle C is now living by himself, but occasionally being looked in on by my uncle S. Aunt K is ... well, she's a bossy bitch.
The family is imploding, basically, and nobody is communicating very well; and my mother can't get a straight story about Nana's condition from any of them. So she messages me on AIM on Friday night (when I'm out at the Publick House with Lindsay, Ahmer, Bob, Kathy, and a silent young man whose name I couldn't catch in the din). When I get home at midnight, this is the message:
"Nana had an aneurysm. She's at Beth Israel, and maybe you can visit for us. Call me."
Midnight seemed an inappropriate time to respond to this message, so I went to bed.
I called in the morning, trying to find out where exactly Nana is at Beth Israel (it's a sprawling hospital), but Mum didn't know that. She knew when visiting hours began, but that was about it. It didn't help that my phone was uncharged, because she wanted me to go there, find out Nana's condition, and call them back immediately. So I let the phone charge for a while, got ready, and walked down to the D line.
My first guess at the buildings was wrong. I went into the East Campus building, because that's the official address for the whole hospital, and was informed that Nana was actually in the West Campus building. And when I got there, the front desk person told me that she was in room 675--but there really isn't a room 675, at least not labeled as such. I wouldn't have known where to go at all if aunt J hadn't spotted me first.
A (aunt J's husband) had taken C to get food, so we were the only ones there to begin with. We stood outside the ICU for a while, because they were in the process of doing something with Nana, and I tried to get J to say something of her condition so that I'd know what to expect. But J doesn't really know what's what.
J: "Well, an aneurysm is like a stroke that happens in the brain."
Me: "Really? I thought that strokes also happened in the brain."
J: "No, strokes happen in the heart... blahblahblah... "
Uhhhh ... I didn't have the patience to argue with her on that front. And I really wanted to hear something from an actual doctor.
Talking to J [inappropriately] reminds me of this commercial:
I really wasn't prepared to see Nana this way. There's a tube that goes through her groin, all the way up into her skull and out to drain the excess fluid from the aneurysm. An orderly--or maybe she was a nurse--came in and re-adjusted the oxygen tube to her nose. She was in an out of consciousness during the time that Jean and I were in the room. For thirty seconds at the most her eyes would be open, and then she'd go back into fitful rest. She talks, but sometimes there's no sound, and when there is sound, it's a gruff lower version of her voice.
She didn't know me at first. J said she recognises people, but she didn't seem to know me. I told her who I was. She smiled and asked me, "What do you have on the docket today?" I had to get her to repeat it before I understood what she'd asked. And then I felt guilty for making her repeat anything. And guilty for feeling and allowing myself to look upset, because I didn't want to upset her. She lapsed back into what J referred to as "her restful state," and I stood there for a while and watched her breathe. J told me to keep talking to her, but I had no idea what to say, and I was fully engrossed in trying to hear anything that she might say in her sleep. "I'm tired" and "it's not working." And I think hypoglycemia was kicking in, because my vision was getting spotty.
I heard a man's voice asking for room 675, and when I turned around uncle J and his girlfriend G were talking to one of the staff--a woman informing them that only two people could see Nana at one time. I vacated, and aunt J was close behind me. F was in the hallway outside the ICU doors, and he asked J if we'd been to see Nana and who was there now? The two of them made faces about uncle J's girlfriend being there, and then aunt J led the way back to the waiting room. F and N had brought their sons, though F didn't seem very happy about it. They asked me about the robbery, where I'm living, and then seemed to be done with me. So I plugged my cell phone into an outlet and called my mother.
I told her who was there, and what I knew, which wasn't--and still isn't--much. C and A came back into the room, but didn't notice me for a while. Then C did, and I motioned that I was still on the phone with my mother--and, regardless, I didn't want to talk to him anyway. And when I was done talking to her, I slipped away to the bathroom. From the bathroom, I made a beeline for the elevators, and out to the Longwood food-court to assuage my hunger and avoid my relatives.
Something completely different: some things that make me laugh ...
"The Return of Mr. Gosh" - I was inspired to look this up by an LJ friend's recent post.
"Magic Muffin" - whenever I see muffins, I think of the comic, and the following animated version ...
11 March 2008
in which I am become a human pin cushion
I've been mostly dead since yesterday. I woke up feeling awful all over--and I'm still not sure if it was food poisoning or something more serious. I still felt terrible this morning, but decided to shower before making any kind of call about it. Weighing it over in my mind, and the fact that I had a doctor's appointment this afternoon anyway, I was leaning toward staying home. When the water turned cold and I started getting the shakes, that pushed the lean to a full decision.
Back to bed.
My appointment was for 1600, but I decided to leave here at 1400, because I wasn't sure I'd find the office right away, as I'd never been there before. As a normal and reasonable person might've guessed, I arrived way too early.
And when I finally got in, the doctor pretty much signed me up for everything after I told her that it had been over three years since I'd had a physical. Read on for things that fall into the TMI category ...
Pap smear--UGH, and no more need be said; the first in three doses of the HPV vaccine in the right shoulder; the Diphtheria, Tetanus, and Pertussis vaccines in the left shoulder; and three vials of blood for lab work from the inside of my left elbow.
After it was all over, I walked home, because fresh air seemed to be the order of the day. The sun was out, the temperature was comfortable.
And now I'm watching General Hospital and will probably spend the evening watching Grey's Anatomy and No Country for Old Men.
29 February 2008
unstuck in time
Michelle drove me to St. E's last night, and now my stitches are out.
Between going there and coming back, the whole process took about an hour, and by the time we got home, Lost was halfway through. So, rather than starting in the middle and rewinding later, I took a shower and waited for the whole episode to finish recording.
I really enjoyed "The Constant"--yes, sappy tearful ending and all (in fact, I did cry when Desmond finally got Penny on the phone). I took the whole as tribute to Kurt Vonnegut--Slaughterhouse Five particularly--except that the result (at present, anyway) seems much happier for Desmond Hume than for Billy Pilgrim. And I want Desmond's part of the story to have a good ending, though it doesn't appear that he's one of "the Oceanic 6"; I'm so sick of losing the characters that I actually like.
And then my VCR clipped off the ending (because ABC's schedule always seems to run a little off whenever they run two episodes of Lost back-to-back). So today I went in search of the last sixty seconds of the episode to find out what Daniel was reading in his journal.
"If anything goes wrong, Desmond Hume will be my constant."
The character Daniel Faraday is sort of adorable in a grown-up-stoner kind of way. The episode trailers always make whatever he says seem mysterious and vaguely threatening; but when I hear the lines again in the episodes' contexts, he just sounds dazed and confused all the time.
Also watched Torchwood's "A Day in the Death" before going to the hospital. I want to care about Owen, but ... meh? Next week's episode looks exciting.
On another topic, a realty agent sent me an email last weekend (I think my parents have been submitting my name and email), to which I responded at my leisure--with the full story of "taking my time, seeing what's out there, p.s. have a snowboard injury and indisposed for a bit." She's now sent me a list of properties and wants to know when I'd be free to see some of them.
This all feels far too grown up for me.
But I wonder if my aunt still wants me to visit this weekend; because, if not ... a few open-houses could be fun.
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