Expatriate Games

…     A snapshot of snapshots of our time in Bangor, Wales. (Entry to be continued…?)

I don’t have to remind everyone how many movies I’ve been watching recently. Some hits (The Kingdom, The Dark Knight, Suddenly Last Summer) and some misses (Dewey Cox, for one, aside from the fact that I liked his singing) and some I’m not sure about. Because a miss is generally something I’m not going to watch again. So there’s a gray area with movies like “Marie Antoinette”. It wasn’t a good movie by any means, but it was pretty or there was some moment that triumphed (if we use so strong a word) and therefore I may watch it again. That seems to be the theme for almost every Natalie Portman movie I’ve ever seen. That movie everyone thought was deep and raw but was really just rank and deplorable? “Closer”. Yeah, it managed to give me two moments (split seconds, really) where I felt something. The same can be said for “The Other Boleyn Girl”.

I initially had interest in seeing this movie. (It’s a period piece, for God’s sake.) I remember the trailer that changed my mind. Anne said something to the effect of sisters are natural competitors and I quickly turned off. No thank you. Well, I know I’d never get around to seeing it once the Netflix subscription runs out so I decided to watch it tonight. This morning. Whatever.

I have to say I was almost entirely disinterested from the beginning. Natalie was not only grating, but her attempt at a noble English accent actually gave her something of a lisp which was equally as annoying as the flatness of her Padme voice. I didn’t like anything about her and the only praise I could possibly give was that hers was one of the only actual characters as opposed to caricatures in the film. Eric’s King Henry was the stereotypical small man in a big hat picture we’ve come to expect from all stories of the man. It was also thin and one dimensional. Don’t believe me? One of the split seconds where the movie allowed me to remember I had a pulse was when he gives Anne her first….come uppance, we’ll say. Because his rage boiling into rape was pretty much the most dynamism in his whole performance. Though I’d assume much of that fault went to the script’s writer.  Basically it made all of England seem petty, irrational…. like their entire history is peopled with thieves and traitors and …. like you could have been killed at any time for any reason. Seriously. There had to be a good person in England before Seal.

I know I liked Natalie as an actress at some point. I simply can’t remember when it was. Ah yes. “The Professional”.

Also, I was quite disappointed by the costume design and the blaringly obvious synchronization of Anne and Henry’s color scheme during her seduction. It was not what I consider opulent for a period piece (which at least “Marie Antoinette” was in my recollection… the whole movie was like eye candy), it was more garrish and nearly tacky in material choice for her costumes. You know those homecoming dresses that are somewhat irridescent? The ones you wanted to douse in pig’s blood. Yeah, that’s what it looked like to me.

The end is only sad because innocent parties are in danger. Anne isn’t really one of them so…. yeah.

I did like Scarlet and her accent and her general performance, which isn’t horribly surprising because while I don’t watch a lot of her performances, I at least know she’s more than an overrated face by her turn in “Match Point”. And her raspy voice is obviously lovely.

So. That’s that.

With no regard for civility or victorian perceptions of right and wrong, I am about to post some older entries that I quite enjoyed upon reading tonight. Yes, you understand me. These links will take you to an entry that made me wet my pants. An entry already published and overlooked by you. This is what passes for originality these days. Thank you for asking.

In no particular order, I give you:

That Time At UC Davis Emergency Room

Bird Crapping On My Patio

A Rare Reference to Law and Order

…and finally, My Post-Wales Hair Adventure. (Since that’s from the days of my actual myspace-archiving, you’ll have to scroll down to the entry in question.)

See (“I’m washin’ lettuce!”) I’m even restraining myself! Only four! If I’ve failed to mention your favorite – I like to posit alternate realities wherein someone other than my three readers will have something to say or at least those three readers will have found some entry memorable – do set my straight.

Nothing compares to the sound of rain, especially thick, consistent rain. It’s impossible not to think of the color green, even when I don’t live in a forest/nature preserve. Moss. That’s what it looks like in my mind.

I feel less like I was beat over the head with “indier-than-thou-ness” after watching Juno than I anticipated. But only because of Jennifer Garner. I have never been a “fan” in that I’ve never thought, “hmm, I’m glad she was in that” or could think of some reason her performance was noteworthy or even made mental note or acknowledgment of her presence on the screen. Hm. This. Doesn’t sound like a positive review. What I’m saying is that I have never thought or felt anything about her until now. Her performance is what gave this movie a heart. Otherwise it’d just be another wise-cracking-slightly-charming teenager who only verbally submits to not knowing who she is. If you take the movie for what it actually accomplishes, I get no sense that she’s in a quandary, rather that everyone who doesn’t cavalierly drink slurpies and wear layered clothing is a loser. Don’t get me wrong, she was believably a teenager. But nobody ever told her to shut up. And I guess that doesn’t sit well with me. The other savior of the movie is Michael Cera, of course. He really is boss.

Oh and if you’re wondering. Yes. The French Family Funpack of Netflix strikes again.

Can you get a tummy ache from too much Netflix?
I think I’m getting a tummy ache from too much Netflix.

The brother and sister French (which is to say, my brother and sister, not that they are brother and sister to each other….ew) gave the hubby a month subscription to Netflix for Christmas and while we’ve both been watching it – I am clearly the addicted party. Because watching the first season of 30Rock (was righteous) was only the latest in a long,weeklong line of sedentary computer-watching hours for me. First it was the entire British Office line-up, then movies I’ve always wanted to see (Persepolis, Suddenly Last Summer), then things I’ve seen a million times (the first season of Criminal Intent)… I’m. Dying. But happily.

My son is singing in his room right now. The way their voices go from being entirely baby-sing-song-like to something close to actual verbrato is hilarity. Especially because of four he uses equal parts English and gibberish. I wish I could do that! Seriously, he knows the English language but he’s still detached enough from social expectation to switch it up with some made-up verbage and nonsensical logic. I love it.

Beginning a list of phrases that amuse and (honestly) embarrass me: “Whatcha got!” Used frequently during play (he’s an only child, let’s remember). The invisible foe (which could be his dance competitor or his jousting opponent) is constantly asked this rhetorical question as Ezra throws himself around the room.

There were a million little things he did yesterday that I was going to blog about. But I was too busy watching 30Rock. And occasionally going potty. Man. …. (I should say that I did however find time yesterday to get my Death Knight through the battle sequence and off to the good team. That was only about fifteen minutes, though.) OH! He did however continue to ignore his entire corner of the living room that houses his many toys, he disregarded his easel, his playdoh…. to take the shoelace out of my right converse and play with it for an hour. Literally. He balled it up, he stood in a ridiculously Jack Black wide-leg stance and pretended to be a colorguard member with it… he asked it, “Whatcha got!” So.

Hey. ‘Member that story I talked about last time wherein a woman turned out to be Satan? (It’s…in my previous entry.) Well, this is just a natural progression from there. Lemme try not to ruin the story for you… Some tampon named their children Adolph Hilter, Aryan Nation and something else. Oh and then the kids gotten taken away.

I feel like I need to repost this picture:

But I realized – it’s important not only to my intended Fulbright project but to anyone who thinks I’m stupid enough to “run away” to any other country – the people need to know.

Canada is that fictitious place that’s never known slavery, discrimination or malintent. (Please do not overlook my sarcasm, as they practiced slavery for two hundred years.) As showcased on this past New Year’s revue, Bye Bye 2008! An annual tradition to ring in the new year, this time around the skeeziest of writers and producers got together to make racist jokes! Because, as we have seen and now hope won’t keep coming as an unexpected shock to white people – the electing of a Black man to the American presidency brings racism back to the overt. It’s now okay to make jokes about us because we’re all even now. More than 400 hundred years of oppression and dehumanization all done away with in one day of voting. Ha-ZAH! One Black man can make an institutionalized system disappear. Because we all know that statistics regarding education, incarceration and the like will be marked different the day after the inauguration. So what’s wrong with a Quebecois sketch wherein a pretend Obama is mistaken for someone else because “all Blacks look alike” – and I’m pretty sure my use of the word Black is a euphemism for what was actually said. There was also that colorful joke about assassination, which of course is totally not a frightening concept to the first Black president amid the wave of surprising “jokes” and “anecdotes” since his election. But it’s all in good fun ’cause we’re all bros now!!

Here’s the thing that should have sent one producer directly to the guillotine and I am. Not. Joking. People love talking crap about America – ‘member, we’re the ones who don’t omit slavery from our history – but um, here it’s illegal to reveal the identity of a rape victim and probably a really hot civil case at the least when one is slandered. By the daughter of their offender. Yeah. Read the 7th little paragraph. This chic’s dad is in jail for raping the woman she slammed on the NEW YEARS EVE SHOW. HEIN!? Are you effing serious, you’re trying to convince someone that the idea to lampoon your dad’s victim came from a roundtable brainstorm?! Who in that room aside from you was even THINKING about it and/or raised their hand and was like, “You know who’s due for a good ribbing? That chic your dad’s in jail for sexually abusing!” That woman needs to lose her job and then be forced into bankruptcy before finally settling into a degrading life as Amy Winehouse’s coke mule and, should the need arise, tick remover. I am completely vomiting in my mouth over that one.

But, yes. People were pissed. Thank God.

You know what’s as annoying as people pretending that Black President means racial equality? People not-so-discreetly wondering if my son will aspire to the Presidency. Because he’s mixed race, I’m sure. A) Last time I checked, Obama wasn’t the first Black man to aspire to the Presidency. B) Plenty of things have been done ONE TIME that didn’t mark a cataclysmic change in the world. Call me back at least once the Presidency has STARTED. God. You guys really like to get ahead of yourselves. Just been waiting to dance around and proclaim any underprivileged minority an official whiner because not ONLY did we get the right to vote, but we got a President that looks like us. All of us, apparently. (I’m totally making myself laugh right now.)

It was inevitable in a covertly racist society that ONE member of the group would be championed to the top. Dude, did Alexander the Great teach you nothing? Of course you take ONE bride of the country you’re desecrating. Any tyrant can tell you that. Little spoken fact: If it’s love, there’ll be more. No, I’m not raining on the parade of the Baby Boomer generation who worried such a thing would never happen (or…in my Dad’s case… the generation right before that); but they’re the generation that gave up on the Civil Rights Movement. Let’s be the generation who doesn’t get distracted by shiny tin foil, yeah? All I’m saying is victory doesn’t come from scoring one goal. If racism is dying, Obama’ll be the first in a long line of diverse Presidents. More importantly, the socio-economic divide between Americans won’t be so married to their race.

….I have to collect myself. Because I’m sure everybody thinks music is just as big a deal to them as it is to everyone else. But that does not satsify me. I cannot assume we are all operating on the same wavelength and continue. How can I say this… if you cut me open, where blood should be would run ink and sound. I remember playing the last movement of Bachanale with the district mass recital band and being pretty sure that my chest was going to explode. I had never been that aroused in my entire life. And no I can’t think of another word for that. I cannot write without music. Can. Not. And it’s not indiscriminate. The music has to inspire the idea I already have. Every book of mine has a soundtrack with about three very poignant songs. Usually Thomas Newman or Hans Zimmer, or both.

And even being morbidly dependent on music and the trance it allows me… there has only been one composition that has given me the feeling I have right now. I’ve been trying to figure out the name of this song for literally years. And it’s simply, “Adagio For Strings” by Pulitzer Prize winning composer, Samuel Barber. And it’s free. On iTunes. IT’S. FREE.                  BUT NOT. IN THE US. EVEN THOUGH HE’S AN AMERICAN COMPOSER AND I DON’T CARE IF THAT SOUNDS IRRELEVANT, I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW.

When I was in high school, I would play the Braveheart soundtrack by James Horner to fall asleep. James Horner was my first love. I have since seemingly chosen Thomas Newman, Hans Zimmer and Yann Tiersen over him. But never. When I was little, I used to wonder why I was so haunted by The Land Before Time – a cartoon! But of course, it was the score, the maturity of which was largely unmatched by the compositions of most animated movies (I’d seen at the time – since Disney and Pixar long ago learned the value of having Thomas Newman and Hans Zimmer compose for animated film… and anyone who has seen The Lion King on broadway can attest to the engrossing darkness of Zimmer’s score).

I seriously wonder why books don’t come with the soundtracks necessary for their creation. A book I wrote in high school had a song list at the back. Haha.

But not since James Horner and a short movement written by Thomas Newman for Corrina, Corrina called simply “Home Movies” have I felt this way. I can’t overcome this song. I can’t listen to it enough. I can’t wear myself out on it. I can’t overuse it in my writing trances. There can’t be more than a few moments like this in your life. Where you find something that you need so much that you want to rewrite everything you’ve ever written so that it will be a part of all of them. Le sigh doesn’t quite express it. [Insert SOMETHING] I can’t articulate how even after the song has ended, I sit in the silence it leaves and just breathe. I’m not even thinking. The only thing as moving as the song itself is the silence it leaves when it’s done.

Don’t worry.

I will probably never have cause to write another post like this.

And maybe nobody but Jennifer and I will care about this, but WTF! A Bronx Tale changed my life. In that I started dreaming about marrying Lillo and simultaneously wondering if I could reteach him how to run. I…can’t help but think this is kinda where the moral of that movie coulda come in handy, son. But maybe that’s what Lilly What’sherbuttwhoapparentlysingsorsomething was talking about when she wisely pontificated how, there’s nothing wrong with drugs…. just that some people don’t know how to use them “right”. Hmm.

Other than that, I am very proud of myself. Usually, I am a diehard loyalist when it comes to brands, particularly when the chosen one has done little to let me down. But that was before. I have promised half my heart to Macs. The half that uses Pages, iMovie and iDVD. 09. Which is going to make my head explode, it’s so yummy. Now, little has compared with getting my PC laptop the morning of my college graduation. Seriously. I don’t even think giving birth to Ezra….nevermind. ANYWAY. I cannot give up Microsoft Office on a PC… but I refuse to give up the aforementioned applications either. So despite the whole not understanding the backspace or insert keys, I am anxiously awaiting rekindling my Mac love affair.

Josh’s applications to Concordia and McGill are in the mail. I effing love making to-do lists and then completing the tasks listed on said lists. *closed eyes shudder* Ooooo. That feels delicious. I also sent out more of our Ezra movies. PEOPLE BETTER TELL ME WHEN THEY GET THEM. People. I’m looking at you two.

So, we got home about three hours ago, I think. Isn’t it weird that no matter how long you’re away from home (one month in this case), it doesn’t take any time to be “normal” again? I thought I’d be uber bored and lonely since we’ve been surrounded by people for the holidays but, nope. Feels just like it did before we left. Home really is three people.

So now that the Hubs has two quarters left of his undergraduate career and is finished with his major and other requirements (minus the minor he just took on to fill said final quarters) – my brain is entirely gone from this chapter of our lives. I know that on the surface it can look like your average bout of senioritis… but I never had that. I’m just the neurotic type who gets a dopamine releasing, pleasure sensation from planning, formatting, we’ve talked about this before, no? So I spent the entire two-and-a-half-hour drive updating our lists and those visual aids I heart so much. Which…is not what I was planning to blog about.

Another of my neuroses involves historical documentation. I have every journal I’ve ever written in and as blogged about before, I love scrapbooking (not in the conventional sense, mind you – technology makes it fun and less middle-aged) as well. WELL… tonight I was looking for something and came across the trove of journals. Opened one and read. God. I hate teenagers. Hahaha. No seriously. I wasn’t bad for the reasons I dislike modern teens. But playing a role even on paper? Even when the preceding page tells the brutal truth… um. Why so dedicated? Hahaha. Anyway. If only it were within my power to get rid of them. I’m not a pack-rat but certain things cannot be disposed of! Le sigh.

So, I just ate the last of the most tasty crab. Luckily, my husband hates the process of eating them.