When I was a kid, something like 25 years ago, I wore a long-sleeve Michael Jackson shirt to school that I bought at a flea market and loved to bits. J says she had a jacket and a glove. Oh, the things you discover about your soulmate.
I think my funnest memory is being woken up at 2:00 in the morning by my father to watch the premiere of the infamous "Thriller" music video, and I'm talking about the full-length version with hairy metamorphosis and uncut zombie dance sequence. It scared the living shit out of me and I'm sure I didn't sleep for days.
And who didn't try to copy some of his dance moves in order to impress a girl or to steal the spotlight at a dance, to garner even the briefest amount of attention?
Those were the days. Respect.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wimbledon
I feared extreme boredom at the prospect of sitting in the same seat for three tennis matches. But I was surprised to discover how fast the whole thing went and the measure of Wimbledon's fun factor.
Everything went smashingly. We opted to drive to the outskirts of Wimbledon and use the Park & Ride, which was a wise choice given the enormous swarms of people using the various other means of getting to and from the famous site. If we had taken public transport we would have been there possibly hours after the final match. We were also lucky to have to follow for many miles, a lorry with a fabulous titty poster displayed within its wide-open carriage, no doubt meant to brighten my day and frustrate J.
As I had also been worried about pregnant J sitting out in the rare English sun for so long, I was relieved to discover our seats were located under Court One's giant awning, protecting us from the nastier elements but providing us with a nice, cool breeze. We had also brought a large bag of our own food and drink which went down frugally. We prepped right.
At Court One, the second largest of the numerous courts, we were treated to some fun Round 2 matches, and the presence of a handful of the world's best, top-seeded tennis players. The coolest thing about it all was the feel of the place. It's hard to describe apart from saying it's so unlike watching it on television. It's brighter and crisper to the eyes, and so much louder. A bit like being drunk on Dayquil. It was fantastic.
Up first, none other than Venus Williams. Who easily defeated her opponent and got the crowd all revved up.
Our second match featured none other than top-seeded American, Andy Roddick, for whom a lot of people in the stands were obviously rooting. That slowly changed as the match went on and his Russian challenger, Igor Kunitsyn, proved underestimated by nearly everyone in attendance. He had some great moves and by the end of the match people were shouting out his name, proving that the crowds at Wimbledon do enjoy a good underdog. Roddick did win in the end. That's them in the first pic of this blog entry, and this is one of Roddick's serves (I kept trying to capture the players in ridiculous positions):
The third match, viewed after a trip to the loo and a run through the Wimbledon Shop for some swag, was the most exciting. Seeded 10th in the rankings, Chilean Fernando Gonzalez was the player I was most looking forward to seeing. And he didn't disappoint as he and his opponent, Argentina's Mayer, played fun and furious, with some incredibly fast ball-banter and a whole load of horsing around. There were a lot of awkward moments and Gonzalez loved abusing his racket and striking poses for the crowd.
Gonzalez did win the match. And funnily enough, J didn't notice Mayer brush past her outside the stadium on the way to our bus. She can be so darn cute.
We had a great time and look forward to going back in future years when our daughter is older and we're still living here. And J always has someone like Federer to stalk.
Everything went smashingly. We opted to drive to the outskirts of Wimbledon and use the Park & Ride, which was a wise choice given the enormous swarms of people using the various other means of getting to and from the famous site. If we had taken public transport we would have been there possibly hours after the final match. We were also lucky to have to follow for many miles, a lorry with a fabulous titty poster displayed within its wide-open carriage, no doubt meant to brighten my day and frustrate J.
As I had also been worried about pregnant J sitting out in the rare English sun for so long, I was relieved to discover our seats were located under Court One's giant awning, protecting us from the nastier elements but providing us with a nice, cool breeze. We had also brought a large bag of our own food and drink which went down frugally. We prepped right.
At Court One, the second largest of the numerous courts, we were treated to some fun Round 2 matches, and the presence of a handful of the world's best, top-seeded tennis players. The coolest thing about it all was the feel of the place. It's hard to describe apart from saying it's so unlike watching it on television. It's brighter and crisper to the eyes, and so much louder. A bit like being drunk on Dayquil. It was fantastic.
Up first, none other than Venus Williams. Who easily defeated her opponent and got the crowd all revved up.
Our second match featured none other than top-seeded American, Andy Roddick, for whom a lot of people in the stands were obviously rooting. That slowly changed as the match went on and his Russian challenger, Igor Kunitsyn, proved underestimated by nearly everyone in attendance. He had some great moves and by the end of the match people were shouting out his name, proving that the crowds at Wimbledon do enjoy a good underdog. Roddick did win in the end. That's them in the first pic of this blog entry, and this is one of Roddick's serves (I kept trying to capture the players in ridiculous positions):
The third match, viewed after a trip to the loo and a run through the Wimbledon Shop for some swag, was the most exciting. Seeded 10th in the rankings, Chilean Fernando Gonzalez was the player I was most looking forward to seeing. And he didn't disappoint as he and his opponent, Argentina's Mayer, played fun and furious, with some incredibly fast ball-banter and a whole load of horsing around. There were a lot of awkward moments and Gonzalez loved abusing his racket and striking poses for the crowd.
Gonzalez did win the match. And funnily enough, J didn't notice Mayer brush past her outside the stadium on the way to our bus. She can be so darn cute.
We had a great time and look forward to going back in future years when our daughter is older and we're still living here. And J always has someone like Federer to stalk.
Friday, June 26, 2009
The Literary Pilgrimages Continue
First it was Byron, then Lawrence. This past weekend it was Wordsworth's turn.
The usual gang got in the car and drove from Manchester to the Lake District, and in particular, the setting for William Wordsworth's most famous works including his "Daffodils" poem. (Both J and I had to recite it back in grade school, on our respective sides of the planet. Fancy that.) The town of Grasmere is also where he and his family are buried, and while it took some time to figure out whose headstone belonged to whom, I couldn't help feeling discomfort alongside the fanboy glee. I had that chill you get. You know the one.
Here are a few pics of the day which also included a long trek around the lake, through the trees and scarecrow-dappled grass. Ominous British clouds and fuzzy bunnies included. As well as a brief tour through Wordsworth's Dove Cottage and its adjoining literary museum. I was also treated to an amazing lunch at a local riverside bistro and then a palm-scrape into a hunk of birdshit along a bridge's railing. Nothing a little free verse couldn't fix.
The usual gang got in the car and drove from Manchester to the Lake District, and in particular, the setting for William Wordsworth's most famous works including his "Daffodils" poem. (Both J and I had to recite it back in grade school, on our respective sides of the planet. Fancy that.) The town of Grasmere is also where he and his family are buried, and while it took some time to figure out whose headstone belonged to whom, I couldn't help feeling discomfort alongside the fanboy glee. I had that chill you get. You know the one.
Here are a few pics of the day which also included a long trek around the lake, through the trees and scarecrow-dappled grass. Ominous British clouds and fuzzy bunnies included. As well as a brief tour through Wordsworth's Dove Cottage and its adjoining literary museum. I was also treated to an amazing lunch at a local riverside bistro and then a palm-scrape into a hunk of birdshit along a bridge's railing. Nothing a little free verse couldn't fix.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thank Woo Very Much
So, to reiterate. Screw the shape-changing robots.
Instead, watch John Woo's ancient war epic, Red Cliff. It's exactly the adventure I was looking for. And it's supported by a great cast and some very memorable moments, one of them captured in this pic:
In some countries it's being shown in two parts and in others, such as the UK, it's been edited into one long, breathless film that I already want to watch again.
This may be my favourite film so far this summer. It's high calibre stuff compared to all the other "blockbusters".
Instead, watch John Woo's ancient war epic, Red Cliff. It's exactly the adventure I was looking for. And it's supported by a great cast and some very memorable moments, one of them captured in this pic:
In some countries it's being shown in two parts and in others, such as the UK, it's been edited into one long, breathless film that I already want to watch again.
This may be my favourite film so far this summer. It's high calibre stuff compared to all the other "blockbusters".
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Them 'Bots Should Have Stayed Fallen
The best example of sequelitis I've ever seen is the new Transformers movie. I finished watching it earlier this afternoon and I am still stunned by its gross, overwrought crappiness.
While there are a couple of scenes that had me nostalgically wide-eyed, and even a handful of images worth noting, the filmmakers managed to do the unthinkable. They ignored all criticism offered to them regarding the first installment and then -- perhaps out of spite -- took all the things people (including yours truly) hated about that film and presented them again in the follow-up to an exponential degree.
How can you turn something so inherently cool into something so god-damned dumb? I'd like to know, 'cause it has to take a lot of effort. And I guess that's where it becomes so mind-boggling to me.
A 10-year-old could have written a better movie, and they certainly wouldn't have let so much error in continuity take place.
Don't even get me started on the cheap gags. Leg-humping robots? Decepticon testicles? An elderly robot with a beard and cane? Autobots with buckteeth? Holy. Shit.
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is shameful. And I hope audiences let the filmmakers know it. Especially by not letting the studios misconstrue the number of tickets being sold with the number of people leaving the theatres satiated. The numbers will be vastly different.
This has been the worst summer for film since I've really started appreciating film. I'm really not sure what to look forward to anymore.
When does the new Park Chan-wook film get released over here? Some erotic horror story about a vampire priest? That should cure me.
While there are a couple of scenes that had me nostalgically wide-eyed, and even a handful of images worth noting, the filmmakers managed to do the unthinkable. They ignored all criticism offered to them regarding the first installment and then -- perhaps out of spite -- took all the things people (including yours truly) hated about that film and presented them again in the follow-up to an exponential degree.
How can you turn something so inherently cool into something so god-damned dumb? I'd like to know, 'cause it has to take a lot of effort. And I guess that's where it becomes so mind-boggling to me.
A 10-year-old could have written a better movie, and they certainly wouldn't have let so much error in continuity take place.
Don't even get me started on the cheap gags. Leg-humping robots? Decepticon testicles? An elderly robot with a beard and cane? Autobots with buckteeth? Holy. Shit.
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is shameful. And I hope audiences let the filmmakers know it. Especially by not letting the studios misconstrue the number of tickets being sold with the number of people leaving the theatres satiated. The numbers will be vastly different.
This has been the worst summer for film since I've really started appreciating film. I'm really not sure what to look forward to anymore.
When does the new Park Chan-wook film get released over here? Some erotic horror story about a vampire priest? That should cure me.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Terminate
What's wrong with Terminator Salvation?
1) The title. It'd be bad even with a colon. But the absence of a colon as it stands, turns the franchise into an adjective. Awful.
2) Absolutely no character development. Zero. Unless you count the journey undertaken by a new protagonist who they decide to kill off.
3) While lots of action exists and is very, very loud, there's very, very little tension before the explosions. Remember all the thick tension coursing through the first two installments? Makes one really miss James Cameron.
4) The writer must not give a whiff about women. The female characters in this flick are dreadfully written. Makes one really miss Sarah Connor.
5) Judgment Day apparently spared all the dentists in the world. Everyone has perfect, immaculately white teeth.
6) The distraction of too many inconsistencies (ie. Arnie's hair, Marcus' "punched" heart, the radius of a nuclear blast, etc.)
To see how to reboot a franchise successfully, watch the new Star Trek. That's some fun, fun shit.
1) The title. It'd be bad even with a colon. But the absence of a colon as it stands, turns the franchise into an adjective. Awful.
2) Absolutely no character development. Zero. Unless you count the journey undertaken by a new protagonist who they decide to kill off.
3) While lots of action exists and is very, very loud, there's very, very little tension before the explosions. Remember all the thick tension coursing through the first two installments? Makes one really miss James Cameron.
4) The writer must not give a whiff about women. The female characters in this flick are dreadfully written. Makes one really miss Sarah Connor.
5) Judgment Day apparently spared all the dentists in the world. Everyone has perfect, immaculately white teeth.
6) The distraction of too many inconsistencies (ie. Arnie's hair, Marcus' "punched" heart, the radius of a nuclear blast, etc.)
To see how to reboot a franchise successfully, watch the new Star Trek. That's some fun, fun shit.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Papa Bear
Funny how, as he gets older and takes on new and much grander responsibilities, a guy will take notice of certain ideas and perceive things with his senses that he never has before. Case in point: I've been reading a lot lately -- authors handling a wide range of disciplines and books of as many genres as I can handle -- and I find myself pausing more and more to reflect on things that I never cared about before knowing I was going to be a father.
I read and made note of this while immersed in Ian McEwan's novel, Saturday, and normally I would've just passed right over it:
It's a commonplace of parenting and modern genetics that parents have little or no influence on the characters of their children. You never know who you are going to get. Opportunities, health, prospects, accent, table manners -- these might lie within your power to shape. But what really determines the sort of person who's coming to live with you is which sperm finds which egg, how the cards in two packs are chosen, then how they are shuffled, halved, and spliced at the moment of recombination. Cheerful or neurotic, kind or greedy, curious or dull, expansive or shy and anywhere in between; it can be quite an affront to parental self-regard, just how much of the work has already been done.
Personally, I think this sounds defeatist, self-deprecating, and at the very least, lazy.
Daddy-issues? Bring 'em on.
I read and made note of this while immersed in Ian McEwan's novel, Saturday, and normally I would've just passed right over it:
It's a commonplace of parenting and modern genetics that parents have little or no influence on the characters of their children. You never know who you are going to get. Opportunities, health, prospects, accent, table manners -- these might lie within your power to shape. But what really determines the sort of person who's coming to live with you is which sperm finds which egg, how the cards in two packs are chosen, then how they are shuffled, halved, and spliced at the moment of recombination. Cheerful or neurotic, kind or greedy, curious or dull, expansive or shy and anywhere in between; it can be quite an affront to parental self-regard, just how much of the work has already been done.
Personally, I think this sounds defeatist, self-deprecating, and at the very least, lazy.
Daddy-issues? Bring 'em on.
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