Flaming Zinc

I am saving for a new computer and I have my eye on a desktop, an iMac. I don’t really move about enough to warrant upgrading to a fancy new wide screen laptop, and my mini-me is only two and a bit years old. But, what I really desire is a larger screen because 12″ doesn’t cut it and I am sure my grades will increase along side monitor size. I am fed up with being restricted to only looking at one application at a time, and long for the day when I can have my browser AND a word document open side by side. My notes will be that much better than before, and I wont use the extra inches to have my browser and iTunes open next to one another. Given that my PowerBook is holding strong I should really just buy a monitor. But where’s the fun in that and Alex is planning on upgrading later this year and I wont be left behind!!!

So all that I am left with is having to choose between the 17, 20 or 24 inch models. I went down to the Apple store in SoHo and tested out the different screens: 17″ is still too small, 20″ should be just right and 24″ scared me. I felt like a digital Goldilocks flitting between Macs.

What Alex really means by "resident entertainment director"
is despotic dictator.  For the past 11 years Alex has been held hostage
by viewing tastes; I had hoped that Stockholm syndrome would have
kicked in by now but I haven’t been able to convert him to the wonder
of British mysteries, Sharpe or Doctor Who.  Because we record all our
shows on DVR we are not tied to the schedule, but because we record everything in HD and since we have 16 or so shows set up for season passes we have to keep on top of things otherwise the DVR
will implode. I add this to the ever growing list of things I stress
about: mildew in the bathroom, insects, my course, skin cancer,
identity theft, not being able to read everything book that interests
me, the umpteen films that are currently released that I haven’t made
it to the cinema to watch, and eating too much sugar (is there such a
thing as too much sugar in ones diet?).

The shows that I am most looking forward to are obviously Battlestar
Galactica, then House and 24 (starting in December and featuring Eddie
Izzard). BSG is so good that even the 90 second webisodes are more
satisfying that a lot of other shows and I think that there is a good
chance that we might cull some of the stuff we only watch out of habit.

Old favourites on borrowed time: ER, CSI, L&O:CI (already voted off the island), Without a Trace and Bones.
I don’t like the Grisolm/Sara clunky relationship hints ("I brought you
a veggie burger") and the sickening potential for long looks over the
mass spectrometer.  I was under whelmed with the season premier
involving Cirque du Soleil and then disappointed with the execution of
Catherine’s drugged/dated rape because she doesn’t report the crime.
She gathers her own evidence – that wont be admissible in court – that
will probably lead to street justice involving her father. I just wish
they had her calling it into the police because  it sets an example. I
still remember the scene from the British soap Eastenders where one of
the main characters is raped and Michele Fowler takes control of the
situation and wont allow her to take a bath as it will destroy the
evidence (and this was back in the late 80s/early 90s) for the police. 

Current favourites: BSG, Prison Break, NCIS, The Unit, House, MI5 and Supernatural.

New shows that have tickled my fancy: Kidnapped, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Smith and Dexter.
Out of the four Kidnapped (I can even overlook naming the ex-FBI bod
who specialises in kidnapping – Knapp) and Showtime’s gory Dexter are
the most intriguing. Studio 60 is Aaron Sorkin’s return to television
but it is not as clever as it think’s it is. Just because the
characters talk fast doesn’t mean they are smart, and it is not like
West Wing dialogue where you have to listen closely for all the
cultural, political, historical, biblical and literary references.
Last night’s show for instance centred around trying to figure out a
cold opener for the show (which is an SNL style comedy sketch show),
and they ended up doing a version of Gilbert & Sullivan’s Modern
Major General. Maybe I am jaded and old, watched and listen to too much
(predominently British) comedy because whilst it was funny it was
hardly revolutionary and something that I have seen before (several
times as G&S style is easily reformatable) and was it just me or
did they not mention G&S? It also doesn’t help that I am deeply
prejudice against SNL.  However, it is still refreshing to have Sorkin
back writing for television but since he has been gone the bar has been
raised with David Mamet’s The Unit, House or BSG.   

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

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

Ooooh so true, so true.

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

I’ve been having an informal, solitary Sharpe fest. Saturday night I got through 3 hours of Sharpe’s Revenge and Justice, and since I was so close to finishing the Napoleonic chapter I got up at 6:30am on Sunday for Sharpe’s Waterloo (I had to make sure that Richard’s silly second wife got her comeuppance). I enjoyed Paul Bettany as William of Orange (or Silly Billy), even if he did keep getting confused between forming lines and squares.

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

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

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

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

(Why does tomorrow have to be Monday?)

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