So, after the marathon, J and I watched a lot of movies. He was exhausted, and I was sunburned, and it was Memorial Day weekend. What better way to remember our dear beloved departed than by sitting on the couch, drinking cold beers and letting the tv rot our brains? In fact, our brains were so rotted by the end of the mini film fest that I decided to move furniature, re-organize the house and swamp out the storage space. Hahahahaha, what was I thinking? Stupid tv, tricking me in to doing actual housework! Bah!
Anyway, here is a rundown of what we saw:
Angels and Demons:
We always see a particularly stupid movie right after the race. This fit the bill. I think the popcorn and the diet pepsi were more memorable than the movie. Blah blah blah, conspiracy theory mystery, blah blah blah, I guessed the villian half way through the movie, blah blah, beautiful renaissance artwork, lame riddles, ewan macgregor, blah blah.
Season One of Showtime's The Tudors:
I love fancy costumes and period pieces; I dislike gratuitous sex scenes, flat characters, and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers cast in a completely unsympathetic role. This is bad TV, yet it is strangely intriguing at the same time. It paints Catherine of Aragon in a very positive light, and it goes on beyond the 'Anne Years' to tell the stories of the other 4 wives, which is interesting and kind of unusual (in the US, we love to love QE 1, thus we love to love Anne Boylen). However, my mind rebells at the portrayal of Henry VIII as vain, insane and completely played by his courtiers. The historical Henry VIII couldn't possibly have been that stupid!
Marley and Me:
The puppy is naughty and cute; the people love him; the end is sad. You're supposed to cry a little, and I did. The main character is a non-alpha-personality, who doesn't go out on a limb, sort of envies the success of his friends, and surprises himself by finding happiness and success in a different way than he had once dreamed of. This movie was sweet, charming, and probably only rates a B-, but it was very, very thought-provoking in tandem with The Wrestler. If watched in tandem with The Wrestler, it probably gets an A-.
The Wrestler:
a man must choose between practing his art and dying (in glory) or abandoning his art and existing as an outsider in a world that does not value him. It just so happens that his art is professional wrestling. This film is unique, well-executed and has an honest vibe. The wrestling scenes are a little... um... grotesque (think staple guns), and if you are not really into huge displays of violence (like me), you may not find this film visually appealing, but you will fall in love with Randy 'The Ram', and your heart will break (in a very cool, sophisticated and ironic way) as he and his love interest Cassidy fail to navigate the frail division between reality and spectacular realm of fantasy.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
We Gotta Get Outta Cape Cod Tonight, and other random thoughts.
Vampire Weekend is so stuck in my head right now. They are sound like what the love child of Death Cab For Cutie and a steel drum calypso band would be, if said love child were to be cherished and loved and dressed in handmade clothes and given balloons, instead of being made to sleep in the fire grate and scrub the stairs. I love them.
J ran the marathon on Sunday. I followed him on my bike for a good part of the route. It was such a feeling of joyful anarchy to ride my bike on streets that are normally not bike-safe against the 'regular' flow of traffic. The marathon people provide water and gatorade at regular intervals, but we were unsure how hot the weather was going to get, so I had a couple of otter pops in a soft-sided cooler in my backpack to offer J in case he got overheated. He did not, but we certainly enjoyed the otter pops after the race. Friends met us at the finish line to congratulate J and make the requisite post-marathon visit to The World's Largest Brat Fest.
I enjoyed Brat Fest less well this year than I have in previous years. Now they have one of those transportable carnival midways set up, which makes things a lot more crowded and noisy. I hate carnivals. This probably makes me un-american and thus ineligible to be featured on a postage stamp some day, but I do not care. I hate them. Carnies are creepy, the games are always rigged, the prizes are made in sweat-shops in poor Asian countries, and I do not like rides. Rides at Disneyland and permanent amusement parks are ok, but I am always afraid of the traveling carnival rides. For one thing, you can see the rust. For another thing, who is to say that the carney who bolted it togeter this time wasn't drunk or high? At Disneyland, the rides stay in one piece the whole time, so you know that none of the bolts are poorly fastened. And they have safety inspectors. And if you die, you actually know the name of the actual company to sue in order to pay for your funeral.
Damn, I'm either a total chicken or a conservative grown-up.
J ran the marathon on Sunday. I followed him on my bike for a good part of the route. It was such a feeling of joyful anarchy to ride my bike on streets that are normally not bike-safe against the 'regular' flow of traffic. The marathon people provide water and gatorade at regular intervals, but we were unsure how hot the weather was going to get, so I had a couple of otter pops in a soft-sided cooler in my backpack to offer J in case he got overheated. He did not, but we certainly enjoyed the otter pops after the race. Friends met us at the finish line to congratulate J and make the requisite post-marathon visit to The World's Largest Brat Fest.
I enjoyed Brat Fest less well this year than I have in previous years. Now they have one of those transportable carnival midways set up, which makes things a lot more crowded and noisy. I hate carnivals. This probably makes me un-american and thus ineligible to be featured on a postage stamp some day, but I do not care. I hate them. Carnies are creepy, the games are always rigged, the prizes are made in sweat-shops in poor Asian countries, and I do not like rides. Rides at Disneyland and permanent amusement parks are ok, but I am always afraid of the traveling carnival rides. For one thing, you can see the rust. For another thing, who is to say that the carney who bolted it togeter this time wasn't drunk or high? At Disneyland, the rides stay in one piece the whole time, so you know that none of the bolts are poorly fastened. And they have safety inspectors. And if you die, you actually know the name of the actual company to sue in order to pay for your funeral.
Damn, I'm either a total chicken or a conservative grown-up.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
There and back again
County roads through the Wisconsin Driftless Area are windy and make me nauseous.
Our campsite was isolated and overlooked a lake. Raccoons visited nightly and each time I was terrifically torn between the emotional desire to snorggle their cuteness and the knowledge that Wild Animals Are Not For Petting And Probably Have Rabies. (Raccoons are less scary than Possums.)
I couldn't find the sunscreen the first day, despite knowing that I'd packed it. My burn will fade to a tan, and that pleases me. When I think of myself in my mind-mirror, I am tan, and I like it. It's good when the mirror me and the me-mirror match. My shoulders feel a bit leathery and every time I get a new freckle-mole, I think thoughts about skin cancer. Much aloe vera is in order. Next time I'll pack my straw hat.
If it were not so cliche and hyperbolic, I'd say I have a sore gut muscle from laughing so hard. Instead I'll say the truth, which is that I laughed a lot, but that my sore gut muscle is probably from eating so much delicious food cooked over a fire.
I know I'm the overly emotive, touchy-feely one of the bunch, so please don't laugh when I say that I wish we had ended the long weekend with a group hug. I will try to convince myself that our round of beers at the Grumpy Troll was an equivalent in the parlance of the collective.
My apartment still seems oddly eerie and foreign. What is this thing called a ceiling, and why do I hear exhaust fans and not birdsong? My bed, however, is divine.
My coffee this morning was acrid and strong. I tempered it with cream leftover from the adventure. I'll probably cry a little when that bottle is empty.
Let's go camping again, and soon!
Our campsite was isolated and overlooked a lake. Raccoons visited nightly and each time I was terrifically torn between the emotional desire to snorggle their cuteness and the knowledge that Wild Animals Are Not For Petting And Probably Have Rabies. (Raccoons are less scary than Possums.)
I couldn't find the sunscreen the first day, despite knowing that I'd packed it. My burn will fade to a tan, and that pleases me. When I think of myself in my mind-mirror, I am tan, and I like it. It's good when the mirror me and the me-mirror match. My shoulders feel a bit leathery and every time I get a new freckle-mole, I think thoughts about skin cancer. Much aloe vera is in order. Next time I'll pack my straw hat.
If it were not so cliche and hyperbolic, I'd say I have a sore gut muscle from laughing so hard. Instead I'll say the truth, which is that I laughed a lot, but that my sore gut muscle is probably from eating so much delicious food cooked over a fire.
I know I'm the overly emotive, touchy-feely one of the bunch, so please don't laugh when I say that I wish we had ended the long weekend with a group hug. I will try to convince myself that our round of beers at the Grumpy Troll was an equivalent in the parlance of the collective.
My apartment still seems oddly eerie and foreign. What is this thing called a ceiling, and why do I hear exhaust fans and not birdsong? My bed, however, is divine.
My coffee this morning was acrid and strong. I tempered it with cream leftover from the adventure. I'll probably cry a little when that bottle is empty.
Let's go camping again, and soon!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Another List
Ok, so here are some things I have been wanting to blog about. I don't have time to discuss them today, because I have to go buy cookies and decent coffee beans for Kaffeestunde. (I don't know why I volunteered to organize the last "coffee and chit-chat in German for undergrads" session of the year - this one is 2 hours long instead of just one hour, and I am excruciatingly bad at making small talk... I always feel so awkward and stupid!)
(ok, to be honest, I was one item in to making this list, and then the power went out, so now it is several days later and I don't remember what it was that I was thinking about before).
Anyway, my list:
Stellit Licht - The Worst Movie I Have Ever Seen. Three hours of Mennonite marital angst interspersed with scenes of Pure Mennonite Porn. Plus an excitingly confusing plot twist at the end where the one lady we all thought was dead comes back to life, and the movie changes from a weird-and-boring drama to an utter farce. I want those three hours of my life back.
The Runner-up Worst Movie I Have Ever Seen: How Pancho Villa Invaded The US With A Mariachi Band. I swear this movie exists. I do not know what the actual title of it is, but we watched it in one of my high school history classes. The stereotypes and type-casting of the Latino/a characters is embarrassing and ridiculous. However, I think the movie was made in the 60s or 70s, so it is not completely surprising. The mariachi band is surprising and also ridiculous.
What is everyone else planning to bring for meals for camping? What should I plan to bring?
Why are possums so scary and gross? Who even knows? but I bet we could have an essay writing contest with everyone making up their best-guess answer. I get to be the judge, and the winner gets a dead possum, or maybe just some whiskey or hot cocoa.
(ok, to be honest, I was one item in to making this list, and then the power went out, so now it is several days later and I don't remember what it was that I was thinking about before).
Anyway, my list:
Stellit Licht - The Worst Movie I Have Ever Seen. Three hours of Mennonite marital angst interspersed with scenes of Pure Mennonite Porn. Plus an excitingly confusing plot twist at the end where the one lady we all thought was dead comes back to life, and the movie changes from a weird-and-boring drama to an utter farce. I want those three hours of my life back.
The Runner-up Worst Movie I Have Ever Seen: How Pancho Villa Invaded The US With A Mariachi Band. I swear this movie exists. I do not know what the actual title of it is, but we watched it in one of my high school history classes. The stereotypes and type-casting of the Latino/a characters is embarrassing and ridiculous. However, I think the movie was made in the 60s or 70s, so it is not completely surprising. The mariachi band is surprising and also ridiculous.
What is everyone else planning to bring for meals for camping? What should I plan to bring?
Why are possums so scary and gross? Who even knows? but I bet we could have an essay writing contest with everyone making up their best-guess answer. I get to be the judge, and the winner gets a dead possum, or maybe just some whiskey or hot cocoa.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Feeling bloggy, but not much to say.
I finally have a tan. I bought it at the Farmers' Market, along with ramps, spinach, arugula, asparagus, fresh pasta and breakfast.
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