November 2005 Archives
On Metafilter, Pat 'Wax on, wax off' Norita's death announcement gets more posts than George Best's. I'm not sure what that means, if anything.
I have been at home and in bed with a really bad cold for the past few days, so reading MeFi and watching West Wing episodes is about all I've been up to. The worst thing about colds is not being able to taste food, taking the pleasure out of surely the greatest pleasure.
Winter is not my favourite season.
In which I try to prove part of my theory that pop culture, music and television aren't taken seriously (enough) in my country:
On Dutch broadcaster RTL's site, the quality tv series such as the West Wing and CSI:New York are placed in the 'soaps' directory.
My cousin rang me late in the evening asking me if I knew anything about the field. I knew nothing. Nothing but the stories I heard as a kid, stories of mythic proportions. 'Your grandmother owns land', 'It's a rubber plantation', 'Part of it is yours'. My grandparents always told me not to worry about money, I'd be well looked after. Good stories to hear, when you're a kid.
I only half believed them then and when my grandparents died and nothing materialised, I shrugged and filed 'em them in the box labelled 'childhood dreams / urban myths', along with Santa Claus and the baby Jesus.
It appears the field does exist. And now I wish it didn't, for the rift it's brought.
But hey, it's kind of funny to think that legally, I own part of a piece of land on Sulawesi, even if through circumstances, I'll probably never really have it.
But when it soothes, you don't want it to end.
Perfect. That's how I'd describe our little visit to Dublin last week. So perfect that coming home - normally a thing of beauty - pales in comparison and I'm having a hard time getting back into my groove.
Mr Hg and I flew in just before noon on Thursday. We checked into the Central Hotel on Exchequer Street. We grabbed excellent pub lunch (roast chicken & chips) at Davy Byrne's and tried a new stout (Guinness Brew 39. Our verdict: watery, bland.). Got caffeined up at the Avoca café. Then saw Hazel O'Connor belt out a few old ones and a few new ones at Tower Records, hooked up with a friend on the spot, chatted with Ms O'Connor about mutual acquaintances and then sauntered down to the O'Reilly Theatre for Consigliere Friday's outing with the Crash Ensemble and Gavin Bryars. Which was very, very good. Except for Bryars' Jesus Blood Never Failed Me, which I've always detested. Die, tramp, die.
- Been obsessed with new Neil Diamond album 12 songs, 'Captain of a shipwreck' and 'Evermore' in particular. If Diamond hadn't gone so Vegas in the 70s, he'd probably have near-Dylan status. He's got the G-d issues that go with the honour. And the ego. 'Evermore' is Bonoesque in its grandiosity. Also check out 'Hell yes', a fabulous 'My way' for old folkies.
- I'm listening to the new Madonna album. Disco = Punk? C'mon, that's an Iggy Pop riff in 'I love New York', ain't it? I don't drive, but this album sounds like the sound track to a great road trip.
- Thank heavens I'll be in Dublin this Thursday and Friday.
- Traipsing around with Mr Hg, natch.
- To see Mr G at the O'Reilly Theatre...
- ... and other Mr G at the Solomon Gallery...
- ... and have swanky lunch.
- So, I really want to go back to New York and am also keen to see Rome or Florence.
- I should tell you all about the funeral, but don't know how without being irreverent. Maybe later.
I was starting to wonder if things would ever go back to normal and ding, HRM livens up the morning with a typical 'I'm back and in a moody'. And just like that, things ARE back to normal in a 'jump'/'how high?' way. And I'm texting the entire lyrics to a song (just the verses, natch) till my thumbs ache and my dinner goes cold.
Loving it.
And if you get all that, then you know too much and I have to kill you.