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I'm over here now. This one will still be here (for archival reasons, such as the fact that I can transfer the entries from LiveJournal to WordPress but the comments don't go with them), but from now on I'll only be updating the new one.
Reset your links and bookmarks…NOW!
The room is small and dimly lit. The men sit in plastic chairs. A young woman, who is not naked, enters and explains to them how to smear the four different coloured muds on various parts of their (own) bodies. She leaves the room. The lights dim, leaving the room illuminated only by myriad tiny points of light in the domed ceiling, simulating a night sky. The room slowly fills with steam, until the men, sat facing each other across a distance of a couple of meters, can no longer see each other's faces. They absorb the cream and steam for twenty minutes. The steam evaporates. Then it starts to rain. Sprinklers hidden in the ceiling discharge warm water which the men use to wash off the cream. Then they rub oil into their (own) bodies. They leave the room, feeling soft, smooth, hydrated, and more than a little amused.
One of the four treatments I received during a weekend at Mondorf. For the record I hate saunas (you sit in a room and sweat – why?), and massages do nothing for me. But this little package was wacky fun.
Me, on the phone to a customer service agent, reading out a product code on a faulty item I'd bought:
"B as in Belgium, D as in…Denmark, K as in…uh…Kazakhstan?"
I need to learn the NATO phonetic alphabet.
One of the advantages of living in Brussels is that the cable TV suppliers provide you with a range of channels from all across Europe (and beyond). This can be especially revealing when it comes to news and current affairs, as you can see the same major stories covered (or not) in different ways by different national broadcasters.
One channel in particular sticks out in my mind, however, and that is Italy's RAI Uno. Now I'm sure that there are other Italian channels which provide a decent, intelligent news service (I've heard good things about RAI Tre and La 7), but over here we only see RAI Uno, and it's not good. What annoys me more than anything is not so much their coverage of the real news, as the way they include so many non-stories into the programme. Is it "news" that an ageing singer-songwriter has a new album out? Is it "news" that RAI Uno has just signed a big star to present their new variety show which, incidentally is showing right after this programme, so don't touch that dial?
And then there are the public service announcement "news" items. For example, every summer the news feels the need to tell Italians that, hey! It's summer! And you know what happens in summer? It gets hot! So, you know, maybe you should put on some suntan lotion, stay in the shade and drink lots of water. Then every autumn, the news has to notify us that, ooh! It's getting a bit chilly, isn't it? Maybe you should wrap up warm. And if you get a cold, you should probably go to your local pharmacist and maybe think about getting a 'flu jab.
Thanks, RAI! Whatever would we do without you?
Plus, at Easter and Christmas they feel the need to tell us that it's Easter/Christmas again, and broadcast interminable vox pops wherein the Italian in the street admits that, yes, they spend too much on food and gifts, and yes, they've bought a chocolate egg for their child. Just like they did last year. And the year before that.
Add to this the fact that the actual news items are an unvarying mix of crimes of passion and political wranglings of byzantine complexity, and you could safely say that if you've seen one Italian news broadcast, you've seen them all.
I remember reading an interview with Jeremy Irons a while ago discussing his role in the film Kafka (claim to fame – I know (and worked with) the camera assistant who worked on the shoot in Prague). When asked whether or not he'd read much of Kafka's oeuvre, he said no, and that he didn't read much at all because whenever he was reading he felt like he should be doing something else instead.(Ironic, then, that he's since recorded several audio books).
This struck me because I feel almost exactly the opposite: I'm always trying to find time to read, and plan to use the odd moments here and there during the day to catch up on books and magazines. One of the things I miss about taking the metro to work, as opposed to driving, is the twenty minutes each way where I could sit down and read a chapter/article or two. On the two lunchtimes a week when I don't have a language class, life drawing group or badminton, I read while I eat. I read in the gents. I try to read while eating breakfast, although that's not very practical as I usually have to supervise one or more of our daughters as they eat theirs.
And yet it's still not enough. The magazines and books pile up.
Short of quitting my job in order to have the day free for reading, I don't have many options other than resigning myself to that fact that I can't read everything I want to, and trying to make sure that I don't waste precious reading time on rubbish.
Tomorrow, as I'm sure you all know, is European Day of Languages. In order to raise awareness, the management of our office building has put up these posters in the elevators (you might want to click through to the bigger version on flickr in order to be able to read it).
A few thoughts:
What's it like to see your hometown on the cinema screen? It would be weird for me, as Exeter has never, as far as I know, been seen in any major modern film or TV series. It's historic quay area was used for some sequences in the TV series The Onedin Line, but I've never really seen a place with which I'm intimately familiar on the big screen. This applies to pretty much everywhere I've lived - Exeter, Norwich, London, Dublin, Genova and Brussels. Even though some of those are capital cities, London is the only one you ever see with any regularity (and even then it's just a token shot of the Houses of Parliament or the London Eye before they cut to a studio interior). It has to be said that this is partly because the local authorities make it so much more difficult for film crews over here than they do on the other side of the Atlantic
But for some people this must be normal. How does it feel if you live in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Washington D. C.? Does it make the movie feel closer to you, like it's part of your world, or does it make you feel like your world is part of a movie set, filled with recognisable views, streets, buildings?
Michael Winterbottom is currently shooting a film called "Genova", and, as far as I know, this is the first time such a high profile (it stars Colin Firth! Swoon!) international production has been made (and set) there. It'll be interesting to see it when it comes out next year, but I worry that it'll take me out of the story a little. When I watch a film and they go somewhere I know, it breaks the spell, like they've stepped out of "movieland" and into the "real world", à la Last Action Hero.
There are advantages to your town never being in a famous film. New Zealanders must by now be sick of hordes of Tolkein fans trampling over their landscape saying "Look! The Fields of Pelennor!"
"It's always bothered me that if you're a geek about certain acceptable things it's different - if you're into wine you're not a geek, you're a connoisseur. If you're into food you're a gourmet, if you're into cigars you're an aficionado. When you think about cigars it has to be just as esoteric and unimportant as Star Trek, but the cigar guys get laid more".
(For the record, I was never that much into Star Trek, but spent a couple of decades being a fairly major Star Wars geek. The prequels cooled my ardour somewhat, although I still cried a single, manly tear at the end of "Revenge of the Sith".)
Besides, geeks can do stuff like this, so don't piss them off.
Both found here.
My blog is one year old today. Yay me.
Blogging itself is (debatably) ten years old.
Will I still be here in ten years? If I'm not, will my blog continue to exist on a server somewhere after I've gone? Not the kind of thing I usually think about. Like many bloggers, I'm writing for now, not for posterity.
Best thing about this blog, from my perspective - the people with whom I've made contact, and who've shown some interest in what I've scribbled, e.g. Jane, John, Tina, Andrea, Erik, Veronica, and the occasional anonymous well-wisher.
Thanks for reading.
After my life drawing class the other day I received comments, not for the first time, to the effect that my drawing was accurate, but rather severe and unflattering. I realised that this is because, unlike some of my fellow sketchers, I draw lines (which means, in the cases of faces, wrinkles, creases, folds, spots, and other unsightly aspects), rather than building up an image by shading.
This is not from any desire to draw in a particular style, but it's a product of how I see things. Apart from the fact that I have perfect eyesight, I don't necessarily see the same things, or see the same things in the same way, as other people. Compared to my wife, for example, I tend to focus on details and the way light reflects and bounces around between surfaces. She is much more aware of colour. She used to use various different coloured highlighter pens to mark pages in books and documents she was studying, knowing that she would remember specific sections later based on the colour she'd used and its position on the page.
Colour in general is not so important to me, and yet I still prefer colour to B/W photography because my photos are essentially a reflection of how I see the world around me (rather than an act of creativity), and I see the world in colour.
If you only see one French black and white animation about the Iranian revolution this year, make sure it's Persepolis.
Original, visually sophisticated, moving, humane, and, perhaps surprisingly, laugh-out-loud funny.
Walking on Dartmoor a few weeks ago for the first time in years brought back memories. Not only of the regular weekend walks with my father, exploring every tor, valley, abandoned church and mossy copse, but one of the activities we took part in while up there: letterboxing. The aforementioned site has an explanation of the basic concept. We only became aware of it one day while walking near Hound Tor and noticed someone stumbling around with a piece of paper in one hand and a compass in the other. Finally he found what he was looking for - a small metal box hidden in a rocky crevice. Once we realised what it was all about we became hooked. From then on pretty much every trip involved detours to find one or two boxes, honing both our navigational skills and the knowledge of the moors and their history needed to solve the clues. We made our own stamp, and eventually put out our own box, the Steeperton Strongbox – a monster wood and metal construction made by my dad. It stayed out for over a year until someone failed to put the lid back on properly and the rain got in, completely soaking the visitors' book until all the ink ran. Another box, "50-50" was placed in a new location for a short period – the two months that separated my mother and father's 50th birthdays. We still have the guest book from that one, filled with stamps and comments from fellow ramblers.
Apparently the idea has spread to other parts of the world too, including the USA, but for me it will always be associated with the rugged national park half an hour's drive west of my parents' house.
My wife's English is very good. Nevertheless, on our last trip to the UK I found myself having to translate and explain a little more than usual, words like "grockel" (tourist), "twappy" (soft or floppy) and "vake" (sulk) being new to her. This is not surprising, however, as they'd be unfamiliar to most native speakers too. They're all Devonshire dialect.
Growing up in Exeter I was familiar with these (and many other) terms, and had a vague awareness that people in other parts of the country didn't use them, but it wasn't until I visited Genoa that I got a sense of how strong regional differences could be, not only in linguistic but also cultural terms. Genoese, like most Italian regional dialects, is incomprehensible to anyone from another region, and has a rich heritage of jokes, poetry and song. Renowned singer-songwriter Fabrizio De André wrote a whole album in Genoese, yet it's hard to imagine anyone doing this with West Country dialect.
Regional accents have become much more publicly acceptable (even a source of pride) in recent years, as can be seen by their increasing audibility in the mass media. I can remember a time when all the voices I heard on the BBC spoke RP. Nowadays newsreaders use their native their Welsh, Scots, Newcastle or Yorkshire accents with no shame or fear of mockery. However it's interesting to note that some accents will probably never be considered "cool". These tend to be accents associated with farmers and rural communities (i.e. East Anglia and the South West). Devonshire "yokels" are seen as the British equivalent of "hillbillies".
My own accent softened while I was at school, and can now only be heard occasionally in certain sounds (a more audible 'r' at the end of words, for example) when I'm back in Exeter with my family. I love to hear it (although some regional UK accents, like those found in the North East, are extremely difficult for me to understand), as it adds colour and regional specificity - I know exactly where I am when someone calls me "my luvver"...
Another list, but I promise not to make a habit of this. I wasn't tagged this time, but if anyone else feels like joining in, go ahead.
Last 5 films I saw at the cinema
I wasn't tagged this time, but, as suggested, I felt free to "play along at home". I can't be bothered to put in a separate link for each title - just go look them up on Amazon if you're interested.
Five most recent books you've bought for yourself:
Five books you've most recently given other people:
Five most recent books you've loaned other people, and their status:
I tend not to lend books, for fear of not getting them back. Besides, if I do want someone to have something specific, I'll buy it for them.
Last time I lent a book to someone (and got it back, eventually) it was Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.
Top five books on your "to read" pile:
