You know what? Fuck you! How about that?

I think I have the beginnings of an ulcer (not as bad as it sounds, really) and why YES, YES that IS snow outside! Coming down like a motherfucker, now that you mention it!

To be filed under: FML and Boston, too.

Big big honey blues

Something I wrote for CNNGo, that might upset members of the ghastly misogynist failure community.

To shake the tattered arras

The charms of a Somerset village may be extinguished by the proposed building of a vast housing development, we are told. This would really only be a story of local interest – albeit one that exemplifies all sorts of deliciously English conundra about the competing claims of class and aspiration and ‘heritage’ and cold, hard cash – except that the village under threat is East Coker, which shares its name with a poem by TS Eliot. He first visited the place in 1937, when he discovered his ancestors had lived there in the 17th century, before emigrating to New England; his ashes are interred in the village church.

This connection is strong enough to have provoked the concern of the TS Eliot Society of America, which has added its voice to the usual hubbub of opponents to such change, from devotees of architectural history to people worried about the value of their own houses. (Only in Britain is the phrase ‘affordable housing’ a pejorative.) Now, I could understand the Elioteers’ concern if their man had actually lived and worked in East Coker, if its skies and fields and stone and timber had seeped into his poetic soul. But it was only really the idea of East Coker that prompted him to write the poem, its small role in his own heritage and identity, its place in the continuum of life. Had his family come from Nempnett Thrubwell or Huish Champflower or Wellington Without, who can say that the piece would have been radically different?

It’s interesting to consider what Eliot’s own reaction might have been. No doubt he was a frightful snob: apparently, when the first edition of ‘East Coker’ sold 12,000 copies, he declared that this proved what a bad poem it was. And I’m sure he would have been baffled by the success of Cats, and found the notion of Andrew Lloyd Webber getting a peerage as utterly wrong. But despite his High Tory, High Anglican instincts, he was also deeply impressed by the Vedic notion of impermanence: as he says in the poem, “Houses live and die.” Although, as if to admonish anyone who wants to read too much into his own lines, later on he also says “The poetry does not matter.”

And here he is in Notes Towards the Definition of Culture:

Neither a classless society, nor a society of strict and impenetrable social barriers is good; each class should have constant additions and defections; the classes, while remaining distinct, should be able to mix freely; and they should have a community of culture with each other which will give them something in common, more fundamental than the community which each class has with its counterpart in another society.

Eliot may have liked East Coker as it was in 1937, but he would have been aware that it had changed enormously since his forebears left it in the 1660’s; and that it would inevitably change again and keep changing. Also from the poem:

Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
Which is already flesh, fur and faeces...

Or, since I stopped writing poetry years ago: Shit Happens.

Hey. You guys made me ink.

So I only watched Limitless yesterday. I was hungry afterward, I couldn't help it. But it was a fun movie, I enjoyed it.



First of all, I don't think this is a very good film for the whole "just say no" drug campaign because I pretty much spent the next couple hours after the movie wanting that drug and being really jealous.

It's got a lot going on visually and for the most part, it's effective. There is one effect they do during the opening credits and then later in the movie that basically just made me want to punch someone, because it got old REAL. FAST. Shorter is (in this case, anyway) definitely sweeter, guys.

I also read a few reviews that said the visual effects and rapid pace seemed to be smoke and mirrors for the lack of structure. I disagree, but I do think the film occasionally buckled under the weight of trying to effectively tackle the book (which I have not read). I thought it did a pretty successful job, although I'm not sure about the ending. I typically love ambiguity, but I guess I just wasn't expecting it? But it was a fun movie with a couple squirm-worthy moments.

And I was glad to see that Bradley Cooper did a really great job carrying the movie.



This character, in the wrong hands, could have been really smarmy, weaselly or arrogant and unlikable, and BC kinda made it look effortless. He pulled off "charming motherfucker" quite well. I was getting a little tired of the smooth jerk type roles he kept landing (I guess The A-Team doesn't count, but I've tried to block that memory from my life), so hopefully variety is on the horizon.

Almighty Snow Demons, I Ask Thee, Make The Winter Return

And so here we are... the last day of winter. It didn't seem long enough. It never is.

I can't deny it anymore... spring is coming. Oh, sure, we can get snow in April and May. And even in June. And it's not that long before August comes, and the first chilly nights turn up...

I've seen the first shoots of garden plants coming through the soil, so when one sees them... the game is up. Old man winter is giving up the ghost and scampering off, waiting to come back with a full force in just a few months.

It really is my favourite season, by the way. The cold and the chill, and the wind so harsh that it feels like a knife cutting inside your throat... well, that's what's so good about it!

Now, now, before you go off and start calling for my head on a pike, think about it. Now you can tease me about the onset of spring, all you warm weather worshippers. Lord knows I've teased you about how wonderful the winter is. 

This past winter, we've seen big storms hit various areas. As I recall, Al Roker was stranded halfway across America at one point. Rumors of his survival based on eating his cameraman remain unsubstantiated.

A few weeks ago, after Toronto had been hit by a storm, a columnist wrote about the overreaction city and school officials made to the storm. He described real winters. His mother, as a Prairie girl, lived on a farm, where one winter day, she found herself caught in a white out. Only by following cowbells into a barn did she survive. That, my friends, is a real winter.

He went on to describe living on Baffin Island in Canada's far north for several years. During one storm, the temperature went down to -35C. Add to that wind gusts well over 100 kilometres an hour, you can imagine the wind chill. During the night, he heard this ungodly roar. In the morning, he noticed his neighbour's roof had been torn off by the wind. That, my friends, is a real winter.

Weather forecasters seem to overreact, I think. These people (who incidentally get paid to be wrong 90%  of the time) have in the last few years developed a habit of calling storms Snowmaggedon or Snowzilla or Dear God, We're All Going To Die! Eat Your Children! As to the storm itself? Well, it might dump 25 centimetres of snow on the ground, but it's nothing to get worked up about.

Not all of them do that, mind you. The forecasters here in the nation's capital tend to take things in stride. They might say, "We're getting twenty centimetres out of this system, so take care driving in tomorrow morning." Very calm, reasonable, and reassuring.

Contrast that with the spineless cowards at Global Television in Toronto (more on that in a future blog, tenatively called Why Canadians Hate Toronto), who, at the sign of ten centimetres of snow, proclaim it as a major snow emergency, and for thirty centimetres tell the audience they must consider taking a page from the Donner Party.

Goodbye, winter. I still love you. Hurry back just in time for the end of August.

That was a pre-emptive “sh!” Now, I have a whole bag of “sh!” with your name on it.

So last Thursday through this past Monday, I took the fantastic Megabus ($9 down, $13 back!) to NYC to catch up with my best friends, D & L in Manhattan and E in Brooklyn. I was especially glad to see E because she and her hubby are moving to LA this June (for his job). Apparently they were at the tail end of finally buying a condo when this offer came in. What a difficult decision that must have been. (Really, no sarcasm!) Personally I don't think I could ever live in LA, and I really love Brooklyn (at least the part they live in!) but on the other hand, we'd all just been through a pretty brutal winter, so that memory was still pretty fresh.

We really didn't do anything taxing (although I am counting all those stairs in the back of my mind...jesus, didn't I used to live in Tokyo?! What happened?) or pricey, mostly just hanging out, relaxing and eating/drinking (mostly at home). I also knocked out Carrie Fisher's autobiography, Wishful Drinking, in my downtime (L's copy I plucked off his shelf). It's something you could easily read in a single sitting, a nice light read, despite being about her struggle with addiction (haha, I accidentally left out the "c" at first, which would have been a far duller book) and being bipolar.



Anyway, I completely forgot she was married to Paul Simon for so long! And I never knew certain songs were about her (She Moves On) or at least heavily referenced her (Hearts and Bones, Graceland, Allergies, in fact a lot of the whole Graceland album). Anyway, it was an interesting read. (And she also turned it into a one-woman show.)

I also commented on L's copy of Alex & Me, which I really love. The first thing he said was the first thing that always comes to my mind when I hear about Alex--how absolutely gutting his last words to Dr. Pepperberg were. Man, I don't think I could read that book again. But I wouldn't mind owning it, just in case...

So I also mentioned Peter Gethers' The Cat Who Went to Paris. The first one is probably the best, but it's part of a trilogy. I own all three but if you want to talk about impossible-to-read-without-crying books, that third one is a bitch. Because despite the title of the third book and probably needless to say, Norton doesn't live forever (at least not literally). And I don't know if purebreeds have a shorter lifespan, but it wouldn't surprise me, and Norton I believe was 11 or so? I could be wrong. Anyway, LONG story short, L had never heard of these books. His birthday is just around the corner, so a copy is already on the way!

We mostly ate at home, delicious home cooked meals and lots of red wine, followed by trying to top each other with the worst things we've seen on the internet or really inappropriate jokes. There is one website I simply cannot bring myself to post here. It is not quite as bad as "Two Girls One Cup" infamy, but it definitely belongs in that category. This was also just incredible:



And I learned that Manhattan public access TV shows hardcore porn after midnight! I had no idea who Robin Byrd was, but oh I do now. And apparently before Comcast came to town, there were no restrictions whatsoever! (Now they can't show actual penetration (though apparently this does not mean you can't show fucking), nor can they show, um, you know. The finale, shall we say.) But holy crap!

But most of the time, it's just the Robin Byrd show from the late 80s, early 90s, and I swear to god this is filmed in someone's garage or something. And porn stars come on and do a little show and then all get interviewed at the end. Time (or more likely drugs and alcohol) has not been kind to this woman and she is slightly spazzy, to say the least. (There's nothing explicit in the video, it's just a train wreck.)



I love how she never actually explains wtf a "dental dam" is. Not that I wanted her to show us, on the other hand.

So I mostly just relaxed in NYC, but I also got to try on my bridesmaid dress for next June for D & L's wedding in D.C., and it was not horrible at all! It is also a forgiving thing, though I still plan on weighing less by that time, something in which bar review will no doubt play a large role. It is a black dress and I get a purple rose. I also have to give a speech. Yay. And my dress has pockets for my flask. Just kidding. Sort of.

And Sunday was spent in Brooklyn at a giant flea market (neat stuff but really pricey!) with brunch beforehand. Btw, guava mimosas? A VERY GOOD IDEA. And we wrapped up at Beer Table, which I think I've mentioned before. The guy who owns it is from Carrollton, TX, and they have yummy beers and snackies. We went through two bowls of "roasted almonds with cocoa nibs" nom nom nom.

Being back sucks. It means I have to get back to work now. :(

Vince, there is no cure for a bullet in the brain. It is very fatal.

It is very pretty out, I think I will go see a movie!

In my defense (ha ha), I found out I'm just witnessing on Sunday instead of advocating (that will be the following Sunday). So make it two movies, wouldja? Limitless and The Lincoln Lawyer, here I come. I read that the former is unexpectedly funny (in a good way) so I'm looking forward to it.

Kinda sucks that it IS so pretty out, but oh well. I choose movies!