Flaming Zinc

I came across this on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour website. Some interesting choices for the next 007, personally I would love to see either Adrian Lester or Dougray Scott slipping on the tuxedo. I think the role is a tad main stream for Owen, and it would be greedy if McGregor got it since he already bagged Obi Wan.

Another dilemma, nearly as important as the next Bond, off to the hairdressers on Thursday – should I go back to my brunette roots or get my blonde high lights touched up??? Decisions, decisions, decisions….

I am taking a break from fiction and reading Andrew Wilson’s excellent biography of Patricia Highsmith (author of Strangers on a Train and the Mr Ripley series). I keep meaning to read her novels, but as yet have not got around to them, something I must rectify in 2005. By learning about her life first, I feel that I am standing at the top of the mountain looking out at the vista and with a slow walk down to look forward to. Instead of having the awesome task of ascending the unknown.

After packing Alex off to work, I have briefly returned to bed to feel sorry for myself. It’s that time of the month where I feel that I am being hollowed out with a spoon. To cheer myself up I am iTuning some Joy Division and U2. Whilst I sing along, I can ponder on which box set should I purchase for Alex and I’s Thanks Giving entertainment extravaganza; StarWars, Indiana Jones or Die Hard? A tough call – any thoughts?

I am sitting here looking at The English Patient, now I don’t wish to mislead you. Heaven forbid anything on the internet did that. I have neither, Ralph Fiennes nor a slightly crispy and mysterious man in my flat, I have to finish the book in the next two hours before book group tonight. But, I need to get something out of my system first – a back log of musing on celluloid or should that be digital. I feel that I have to pay a slight penance for storing them up. So, with slight shades of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon I have decided to try and link from one to another with only a few additional chains being added:

The Forgotten, a psychological thriller with supernatural undertones. An excellent film, they skillfully handle the alien aspect so that it is not cheap or silly like Dreamcatcher. The leads and supporting cast are great especially Julianne Moore and Dominic West.

Dominic West was in Chicago with Renee Zellwegger who is Bridget Jones. I don’t care what the pooky faced critics say, it is a superb sequel and I didn’t want it to end! I was so absorbed, that I forgot where I was, as it transported me back to London. Jim Broadbent was excellent as Bridget’s Dad and made a very convincing beak in Vera Drake. For a Mike Leigh film, Vera Drake, is not as depressing as you might think considering the raw subject matter. Imelda Staunton is inspiring, so meek yet strong and misguided. Fifty years on abortion is still a red button issue, but I hope this film acts as a timely reminder that whether it is legal or not terminations will still happen. And, surely it is better to live in a society that is pro-choice rather than risking the lives of women and girls with the horrific back street alternatives.

On a lighter note, Ms Staunton did a marvelous turn in Shakespeare in Love, with the a cameo from Judi Dench. Who was in the so-so adaptation of The Shipping News with Jason Behr who can be seen in theaters starring along side Buffy Sarah Michelle Gellar in remake of Japanese film The Grudge. I don’t really do horror movies but I bought the hype that this was more psychological than blood ‘n’ guts. For me this movie was more an audio experience, as I had my scarf firmly over my eyes for the most part. What I was able to piece together from non scary moment to slightly less scary moment. Bad things happened in a house. No one lives in said house for a number of years, then estate agent able to off load dodgy house to naive American family. The neighbours obviously don’t give them a heads up, as bad things start happening to the new family and anyone who enters the house.

Bill Pullman seemed to be the catalyst for all the chaos, he was looking rather hagged in this film unlike his boyish turn as the president in Independence Day. If you can watch that movie again and you will see who Dubbya’s role model is. A red herring as the Pullman film I need to link to is Igby Goes Down with Claire Danes. Who played a wonderful teenager in the v under rated Home for The Holidays with Holly Hunter who is in The Incredibles. Like the horror genre, I don’t really do ‘cartoons’ but Alex and I had a few hours to kill between appointments and it was cold. So when I say it is smart and funny, I am not exaggerating. The premise, what would happen if superheros were not longer welcome, because of the litigious nature of society, and they are forced to live in their secret identities forever…….cut to a suburb near you!

I am drinking in the aromas that are engulfing the flat – cinnamon, nutmeg, chocolate and fermenting apples. I am in full-on domestic goddess mode, whipping up a batch of dark chocolate and walnut brownies and mincemeat for Christmas. If the brownies are up to scratch then I shall split them between Alex’s work and my volunteering placement.

Cooking is a good way to placate myself, as I got a bit angry at the television, again. I sat down to watch a morning talk show, my poor man’s substitute for Richard and Judy, on TiVo whilst having my lunch. Unless they have guests on that interest me usually only watch the first 10 minutes or so as they do their spiel about their respective adventures of the previous day. It has been getting a tad monotonous of late, American football and Trump…yawn. Today the more mature male co-host had seen the new Bridget Jones flick and was confused as to why Hugh Grant and Colin Firth were fighting over someone who was very over weight and feisty. Hmmm, now Bridget is no stick insect, but she is not orca fat. She is ditsy, smokes, swears and drinks to much. It is especially because of those qualities the we should love Ms Jones and her wobbly bits.

I am often to be found lamenting on the failings of my general knowledge, today’s sore point – history (spurred on by this excellent Radio 4 program). I am becoming increasingly alarmed at how little I was taught/know and how I can’t fully understand current affairs without getting a better grasp of this subject. When I was at school, in London in the 1980s and 90s, a hot bed for wonky left wing thinking, the teaching of history (and many other subjects) was undergoing a metamorphism. It was considered old fashioned to teach Kings and Queens, events and dates, and the focus was solely on the world wars and women. It probably didn’t help that history, RE and geography were all lumped together as humanities and that we only studied one individual subject at a time for two hours per week, on a six week rotation. Cost cutting in education leads to polarised learning, which in turn produces stupid adults – but perhaps that’s what they want.

When I was a youngster I was in awe of the depth and range of my parents knowledge. Not all of it was taught to them at school, but there seemed to be more encouragement for personal learning, and to read around areas of interest. My father, though a businessman, would take us on long walks and identify the flora and fauna as we went. I am so ignorant that I don’t even know the trees on my road. I remember sitting with him on a bus, when I was about 6 or 7, and asking him about how this vehicle worked. He slowly explained the different parts and how they all worked together. My mother is definitely a renaissance women – art, history and literature being among her main strengths. A fun outlet for her talent, is to critique the costumes in films and theatre for their accuracy. I reckon she has read all of Shakespeare’s plays without being made to. As a little girl, I thought her part witch as she knew the endings to all the books we read before we finished them, or could explain the stories of plays we saw before getting to the theatre. For an up to date example, yesterday she talked me through taking my vacuum cleaner apart so I could figure out why it wasn’t working and smelt like it was going to burst into flames at any moment – the motor is busted so the fan belt wont turn.

So, I have resorted to the old fashion attitude of self education, as I sit in cafes about town forcing myself to read Hardy or Eliot (because like medicine it is good for me) people sometimes ask if I am a literature student – why else would I spend my time with Tess or Dorothea. They look bemused when I say, “No, just trying to, you know, better myself”. But, do today’s adults and parents need to be so well read and informed since there is the internet and the 30 second sound bites. Stuck on something google it. But, where is the magic in that.

I have spent a large part of this week over hauling my resume, and I have just applied for my first ‘proper’ job in quite a while. So we, or rather I, shall have to wait and see what happens. But, at least I am now in the right frame of mind and the enforced hiatus has ended. I am hoping that by starting early I should be able to have something in place by the end of January. That way I will be able to go back to the UK on my vacation smug and victorious.

But, I digress, and so early on such a short post this really does not bode well, in previous entries I have expressed concern that time is being stolen from me. I am simply not accomplishing all that I should be in a week – therefore it must be seeping out of the corners of my life. Being a pseudo scientist and spurred on by a chapter in one of my text books I have decided that just for a week I will log all my activities to get an idea about just what is going on (or not). I tried to get Alex to do it with me but, he gave one of his “death stares” so I think I will be going it alone!

Of course I have to decide how detailed or not I get. Being of the anal persuasion it could get rather tricky and I am quite excited about the prospect of having a nice pie chart or graph to display my results. So please just fain interest, like Alex is doing at the moment and humour me.

Question: When is a reality television show not a reality television show?

Even though it contains a number of contestants, trapped in a hostile environment, governed by rules not of their own choosing and trying to find their ’soul mate’.

Answer: When it is on PBS and they are transported back to the 19th Century for a Regency House Party.

I can’t describe how excited I got whilst watching it. Absorbing anthropological television. It even caught Alex’s attention – but, who can resist heaving bosoms, rigid social etiquette, pretty frocks and that’s just the chaps. Will the young bucks manage to outwit the moral watchdogs and get some ‘alone time’ with the pretty ladies? Is the hermit the best catch? Makes you wonder what your social position would have been a few hundred years ago……

Recently, I have been very good about the amount of television I have been watching. No trashy filler t.v. for me or endless carbon copies of Law & Order (just the Criminal Intent version on Sunday’s). Last night, however, after a tough day down pit I was drawn to Richard Branson’s Rebel Billionaire – a cross between Fear Factor and The Apprentice. Trump he is not, the complete antithesis and there are no minions. I like Branson, he has keep his charismatic flare and cheeky school boy persona whilst managing to take on the heavy weights in previously closed off industries. Showing us all how far you can go on charm, brains and guts. Virgin Atlantic is Alex and I’s preferred airline. I spent the whole section of the NYLON part of our relationship, solely, commuting on their planes.

I wasn’t disappointed with the show or Branson but the contestants. I had hoped the might be a mix from around the world rather than just being US based. There first proper challenge was to spend $500 on something to improve Upper Class travel on the flights to Hong Kong. I was shocked by their pedestrian obsession to build on either the in-flight or post flight goodie bag. ‘Ditch water’ and ‘dull’ sprung to mind. Think outside the box. Why not a barber or makeup artist to spruce you up before landing, a therapist for those stressed out business professionals, in-flight computer assistance or training or perhaps a language and culture assistant (think the young one from Queer Eye). Some one on one tutoring of common phrases and some of the finer points of local customs. Doesn’t that sound rather more impressive than a red pillow from a HK market stall or fortune cookies….. Of course Alex started turning the colour of a beet root when one contenstant expressed surprise at finding it difficult to source the aforementioned cookies in HK. They are after all a Western invention just like Charlie Chan.

Will I watch it next week? Maybe, if NCIS is previously enjoyed or if they start repeating it at the weekends. I’ll TiVo it to by-pass the contestant and just to tune into Richard. Another positive about the show was being able to watch promos for House, MD. The new medical, Sherlock Homes, style program staring the devilishly handsome Hugh Laurie. I believe there maybe other people in the show but I wasn’t concentrating on them.

I want to take a moment to share. I am going through a rare period of having consistently good hair days. Two weeks on the trot and I even have the photographic evidence (the generally v unflattering passport pic) to support my claim, which I may get Alex to try and attach later.

For the past fourteen years I have had a sadomasochistic relationship with my locks. I have abused them with agents biological and chemical. It has been cropped, bobbed, layered, bleached, past through the full spectrum of reds and browns, not to mention the more exotic hues usually restricted to tropical fish and fowl, but for some reason never permed. If it could, my hair would have divorced me, or at the very least got a restraining or a cease and desist order. Why am I not bald? I do not know, perhaps it is just trying to prove that it is more stubborn than its owner.

A few weeks ago, in an attempt to start re-adjusting to the real world that is beckoning to me, I hacked off my heliotrope hair extensions. Since then it has been behaving. Alex reckons it is because they were synthetic and causing an excess amount of static electricity, there speaks a physicist. Well, I am offering my hair an amnesty. I shall just accent you with a few, professional administered high lights on the T section and leave the rest. If a tree can grow in Brooklyn, then maybe my tresses can in Jersey.