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May 30, 2006

:: of muumuus and lard ::

I’m now in a panic because I’m going to The Mansion this weekend which will presumably dictate the wearing of skimpy clothing and perhaps even a [gasp] bikini. And what with all the roast dinners I’ve been eating and the lager I was guzzling right up until the weekend, my belly has developed a style of movement all its own (a la Santa Clause) and I’m bulging out of all but my most elasticated clothing like a bountiful tub of top-quality lard. Or perhaps duck fat. I don’t suppose it’s possible to lose a stone in a week, is it? No, thought not.

So, plan B: spend the entire weekend in a voluminous silk Kaftan or Muumuu (what is the difference, really, anyway?), turban and ginormous shades, carrying a telescoping cigarette holder in one hand and a martini in the other, channelling Joan Crawford, Rosalind Russell or the 40s Hollywood Diva of your choice.

Does anyone know where I can get a muumuu, stat?

May 29, 2006

:: Warning: contains unsolicited cheerfulness ::

I have these moments every once in a while, when it feels like I'm there, wherever there is, and I get how it all works, at least enough for now. These often bring to mind cinematic moments that impressed me when I was a teenager - there's a very precise feeling about those scenes where a bunch of people are sitting around having a good chat and a good laugh that always made me think, "I want to be like them when I grow up." Why were these moments so compelling? (They still are, yes, in case you were wondering) It's not because everyone in them is usually pretty and they're well lit and they have lots of booze (although these things are generally helpful) - it's because everyone in them seems to be completely immersed in where they are. They're at ease with themselves and with each other, genuinely enjoying their moment without a thought of what came before or what's next or even what's immediately outside their cocoon of laughter. Which is of course why they're there - it makes the impending breakup or tragic death or murder-by-axe-wielding-maniac that much more powerful.

All of this is by way of saying that I've had a weekend brimming with those moments. I've spent big chunks of time with some of the people I love the best, I've met new folk and exchanged glances across shoulders and engaged in lively verbal sparring matches and resisted the urge to be mean to evil little actresses and had people round til 4 in the morning and laughed while we waited for the snogging new couple to come out of the bathroom and eaten more enormous delicious roast dinners than should really be allowed. And I've still got an afternoon/evening of cosy domesticity ahead of me, complete with fuzzy little joy-bundles to get in the way of my cleaning. I haven't made such good use of a bank holiday weekend in quite a long time.

What's best about all this is I feel like I'm getting it again - getting into a good rhythm, getting what it takes and what it means to be happy in the world and in my life, like I'm getting the balance right between new and known and what makes me comfortable and what makes me nervous, after a rather rocky bit.

It's hard to write about being happy without sounding like an idiot, isn't it?

So that's that.

On a totally unrelated note, I would like to mention how very much I have enjoyed the abundant and vicious criticism of The Da Vinci Code. I realise it hasn't hurt its box office performance but I don't care. There's something about reading cruel reviews with which one agrees completely that's deeply, deeply satisfying*. The only blip in this otherwise unbroken radar of joy is that some of my favourite critics seem to be struggling a bit with the subject matter. I get the sense that there was simply too much awfulness to attack all in one go, too much to tear into confetti, to fit in the usual space. I can only hope that somewhere David Foster Wallace is writing a nice long essay even now.

* This isn't entirely fair - I haven't seen the film (and intend to see it only once it's out on rentable DVD, and even then only to see Sir Ian and scoff at the rest). But I did read the book, and I have borne witness to the attendant hype and bloat, and it's all been really rather offensive so I'm happy to take this criticism and sort of extend it backward over the whole sordid experience.

May 22, 2006

:: british museum sells out in desperate attempt to cash in on overrated bestseller ::

Maybe this is my intellectual snobbery talking again, but is anyone else disturbed by the news that a DaVinci Code-inspired television game show is being shot in the British Museum? Particularly odious was the following quote from this article:

The show was devised by Justin Scroggie, who was behind Treasure Hunt and loves museums, but the idea came from the very different reactions of Roy Ackerman, the executive producer, who claims he hated museums. "I just felt these were the junk shops of the ancient world ... this series is trying to see if we can push the buttons of an audience who couldn't normally be dragged across the threshold of a museum."

The junk shops of the ancient world. How charming. Presumably, following this logic, if museums were more like Tesco Superstores or Wal-Mart, they'd be more popular. Popular with whom, I shudder to think.

May 19, 2006

:: local colour ::

Last year, when they moved us out to W12 from W1, my commute doubled. Or rather, I was now forced to get up early to make it in on time - I used to be able to walk to work in only 15 minutes more than it now takes me on public transport. As a result of many similar stories, the area in which I work is referred to by staff, around 90% of the time, as "Fucking White City". But then again, where else can one see the festive parade of humanity that one sees under the big top of the London Underground? There are certain people you see over and over again, so often you almost think it's weird you're not friends. Into this category falls the Fabulous Afro Lady, who's got (obviously) amazing hair and great fashion sense and is moreover very friendly. We smile at each other when we wind up on the same train, and though we've never spoken I still think maybe sometime we will. Extra 80s Girl doesn't inspire quite as much affection, though you've certainly got to respect her devotion and attention to detail. She looks to be about 18, and she's embraced the 80s resurgence with unparalleled zeal. One day she was sporting the pink pumps, the flashdance top, the asymmetrical skirt, the headband and the leg warmers. I was impressed.

Anyway, today I was treated to a new character. The coffee vendor outside the Bethnal Green tube station (he's told me his name, but I've forgotten it - he hasn't forgotten mine, though, which makes me feel a bit more guilty with each passing day - but what if I ask him again and then forget again? Oh, never mind) knows most of his regulars and their orders. He also knows a good many of the Local Colour, including one I'd never seen before. I think the guy has Cerebral Palsy, but that's not the point - he's also clearly nuts. I mean, I suppose plenty of people go around in full jungle camo as a matter of course, but they're mostly members of the Michigan Militia, right? Still, the real neon flashing crazy-person-indicator was the Vietnamese cone hat. After standing around nodding and laughing at the middle distance for a few minutes, off he went down into the station. By the time I got my coffee and went downstairs, he was gone.

On the platform, I spotted Fabulous Afro Lady, but was quickly sidetracked by a bizarre fashion choice. Now. I can understand the need to mix contemporary styles (hoodies, for instance) with traditional garments (say, saris). And I get (cognitively - God, I'm a snob) that there's an appeal in hoodies emblazoned with the names of cities and their sports teams or educational establishments, both real and imaginary. But what I don't get is the appeal of one emblazoned with CHICAGO SURF SCHOOL. Was it chosen for its colour? One hopes not: it was a lurid teal with purple lettering. Was it chosen for its irony? Lost on me. Chicago is, for the geographically challenged, exactly nowhere near any ocean. And though it is equipped with a large and lovely lake, I can assure you that the waves at the southern tip of Lake Michigan are never big enough to surf. And surely, surely no Chicago institution would choose those colours. I'm at a loss here, people. Maybe 80s girl could help me out.

That seems as good a place as any to stop blathering.

May 17, 2006

:: silver linings ::

Right, I can see how that quote might have seemed a little bleak, particularly in light of last Monday's entry. But really, no. Not bleak. Granted, last week was difficult and depressing and dreary and other words not beginning with D, but my indefatigable cheer is picking up again, dear readers, and I feel confident that it's all going to work out just fine.

So what's up with the quote, then? Well, I was pondering this the other day after talking to my mother - bless her, she's fabulous, but positive thinking is not in her core repertoire. She seems a bit out of sorts when there's nothing to worry about, and (perversely) most comfortable when there's the shadow of a catastrophe on the horizon. Give her a glass half full and she'll visualise how it'll look after it's been dropped and broken. Obviously, this is not the healthiest weltanschaung, and I've therefore been trying (for years, really) to teach her to at least try not to fixate quite so much on the possibility that everything's going to go horribly horribly wrong. Sometimes it even seems to be working. And all this time I've been more or less running with the unspoken assumption that this is how most people work - looking on the bright side at least most of the time, seeing the happy possibility in things.

Apparently this is not the case. Apparently (so I'm told) I'm borderline Pollyannaish at times - though my ability to beat myself up at the slightest provocation does even things out considerably. And I've begun to see that my reaction to my own unhappiness, when it comes along, is odd too. When I've got something to work through or turn over and over in my head hoping for a solution to appear, or just something to worry the edges of until I drive myself halfway round the bend, I do a lot of brooding, but I do it in written form (though not often here). And in pictures. And in long walks observing the neighbourhood, which invariably cheer me - if there's not a delicious-smelling flowering tree, there's at least a good bit of graffiti somewhere. In fact, I enjoy all of those things. My best writing, almost without exception, has been done when I'm upset about something, and many of my favourite photos were taken on those walks. So, it occurs to me, even when I'm unhappy I'm kind of... well, not exactly happy, obviously, but sort of OK about it anyway. And the Davies quote got me to articulate that, mentally at least, for the first time. Which I thought was pretty cool.

May 14, 2006

:: quote of the day ::

Courtesy of Google:

Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.

- Robertson Davies

May 11, 2006

:: dear geoffrey... ::

At long last, something has come along to rival my beloved Savage Love. Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog, yea verily, and he giveth advice as well. Hie thee to thy email client and tell him of thy woes.

May 9, 2006

:: accidental wisdom ::

I've had an evening (wise or not) that I'll be revisiting for some time, I suspect, and sitting here now this piece came to mind. It wasn't written for this moment, or even this kind of moment, but there's a truth to it that I find comforting just now.

how many people
he said
that we see every day
walking down the street
doing their shopping
are just trying to hold it together
because most people
he said
i reckon are trying
to get over one thing or other

10.april 2006
[quoting mark caswell]

May 7, 2006

:: and now for the cheesy part ::

You know those quizzes you get in your inbox that you nine times out of ten ignore completely? Yeah, me too. But I hadn't seen this particular one before, and it seemed more interesting than most, and I had some procrastinating to do. So I'll follow Mr. Atrocity's lead and post the damned thing.

1. My uncle once: After hearing the latest news on his brother's hospitalisation, nodded sagely and said, "Yep. My lawn's goin' to hell." He was a strange and singularly tactless man.
2. Never in my life have I: Broken a bone - mine or anyone else's.
3. The one person who can drive me nuts, but then can always manage to make me smile is: Many of my nearest and dearest. Which is of course why they are so near and dear.
4. School is: A complicated memory.
5. When I'm nervous: I pretend not to be. And talk rubbish. And, formerly, smoke a lot.
6. The last time I cried was: Let's not talk about that.
7. If I were to get married right now my bridesmaids/groomsmen would be: Wearing whatever the hell they like.
10. When I was 5: I noticed everything.
11. Last Christmas I: Realised Chicago really isn't home anymore.
12. When I turn my head left, I see: (work) Shrigleys, a pig in a hat, obscene candy, a shot glass with feet, commemorative soap, and several rather disorderly piles of paper. (home) My kitchen.
13. When I turn my head right, I see: (work) My thinking cap. (home) 5 beautiful black and white photographs of Chicago by 2 friends.
14. When I look down I see: (work) My sunglasses, my diary, 4 different colours of post-it notes, a pencil, a water bottle, and assorted input devices. (home) A glass of wine, lip balm, a newsprint sketch pad, assorted desktop detritus.
15. The craziest recent event was: When I went diving with Tom Waits and then we split a bottle of kiwi-strawberry MD 20/20. Or maybe I just dreamt that.
16. If I was a character on Friends I'd be: Throwing someone off the balcony. Probably myself.
17. By this time next year: I will have learned a lot and laughed a lot, and probably cried some too.
18. My favorite Aunt is: Not with us anymore. But trust me, she rocked.
19. I have a hard time understanding: People who aren't interested in the world around them.
20. One time at a family gathering: My Dad let us eat without taking so many pictures of us around the table with the food on it that it was all cold before our first bite. But only the once.
21. You know I "like" you if: I'm nervous (see above). And I'm smiling an awful lot.
22. If I won an award, the first person I'd thank is: the lovely suggestible fool who gave it to me.
23. Take my advice: When joy comes your way, soak it up like a sponge. It'll get you through a lot of rainy days. Also: love. Take the chance. No matter what happens, it's worth it.
24. My ideal breakfast is: A cheese and mushroom omelette, crispy bacon, a mimosa and cafe au lait. Or, alternatively, a Road Rage Bloody Mary and a cuppa joe at the Spoke.
25. If you visit my hometown: You'll love it, it's fabulous. And if you call me I'll give you some good places to go, including my favourite bar. Tell them I say hi.
26. Where do you plan to visit anytime soon: Cornwall, New York and Chicago, the Red Sea, Paris and Aveyron, Thailand and Cambodia.
27. If you spend the night at my house: You'd better not be allergic to kittens. And I'll lend you my spare dressing gown in the morning.
28. I'd stop my wedding: erm.. yes?
29. The world could do without: Civilian vehicles made by Hummer, and the assholes people who drive them.
30. I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: [shudder] This reminds me of a quote from somewhere or other about how extremes are wasted on humans because after a certain level of discomfort or pain (or in this case disgust) we can no longer distinguish between bad and worse.
31. Most recent thing you've bought yourself: KITTENS!
32. Most recent thing someone else bought for you: Fabulous, thoughtful, lovely birthday loot and lots of it.
33. My favorite blonde is: God, I don't know. David Bowie?
34. My favorite brunette is: a terrible film.
35. And by the way: Gotta go with Atrocity on this. Life is beautiful.
36. The last time I was high: I had a long and rambling discussion with a friend over a few bottles of wine and a good dinner, on a farm in France.
37. The animals I would like to see flying besides birds are: Unicorns. Duh.
38. I shouldn't have: Pretended it was ok.
39. Once, at a bar: I saw a Ron Jeremy lookalike doing the best karaoke impression of Tom Jones I've ever seen.
40. Last night: (OK, 2 nights ago really but I think I've said enough about kittens) Was a perfect night for a few friends to have a few pints outdoors. So we did.
41. There's this girl I know who: Makes every room she's in a little shinier. I know a few of them actually, which makes me a very lucky girl.
42. This guy I know: Always comes through at the most unexpected times.
43. A better name for me would be: No idea. I'm OK with the one I've got.
44. If I ever go back to school I'll: Be a lot better equipped to enjoy it.
45. How many days until my birthday?: Less than 365 but too many to count just now.

May 6, 2006

:: of kittens and displaced pants ::

The boys have arrived. They are roly-poly and playful and curious and affectionate and fabulous and lovely, and they are beginning the long slow process of killing off the moths who keep destroying all my nice wool and cashmere things. Bless their kitteny little hearts. They are called Rufus and Titus (Rufus Aloysius and Titus Nelson to be exact).

And that's all I'm going to say about them right now.

Over the past few days, I keep seeing random articles of clothing strewn in the road wherever I go. Is this one of the less-publicized rites of spring that I missed out on during my time in the states? Or is it the season of intensely acrimonious breakups, where people keep throwing one another's clothes out of windows? I know I should be photographing this, but yesterday (woman's slinky little nightie/ underthing, child's striped long sleeve top) I was on my way to pick up the kittens and today (one pair black socks, some sort of looks-like-denim-but-isn't trousers with too many pockets) I wasn't fully awake yet, so you'll just have to take my word for it. What I'm wondering is, is anyone else seeing more clothing in the roads than usual, or is it just me?

I've also been reading the new(ish) David Foster Wallace collection, Consider the Lobster. I can't quite seem to push myself through all 1088 pages of Infinite Jest, but I devour his essays like delicious brain candy. The thing about Wallace is that he's not just clever (though he is really quite incredibly clever) and funny and vicious in a just-on-the-outside-edge-of-playful way, but he somehow manages to be all of these things without being a condescending bastard, which I find truly remarkable. So when I read his stuff and I'm thinking, jesus, why haven't I been reading more about this, why haven't I been doing those little etymological explorations I used to do, why haven't I been writing more, I'm not getting the sinking horrible guilty feeling I sometimes get when reading more pedantic smart people. Wallace makes you (or at least me) want to call him up and go down to the pub and have a nice long drunken argument and then go home and write until you pass out. I love that. Go get you some of that. Me, I'm going to curl up on the sofa with the boys and watch me some Simpsons.

May 3, 2006

:: very very wrong. with fish. ::

So I was flipping through my Google Reader, which I haven't had time to do all that often lately and am therefore more prone to reading the entries that seem amusing than those that might prove, oh, useful. Anyway, a link from plasticbag sent me to this Flickr set. I looked at it for about a minute and then called over a colleague for a second opinion.

me: Is it just me or is this very very wrong?
he: [grimaces] I don't like the internet anymore.

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