What's left

I had a bunch of funny stuff to link to, but it was way easier (and sounder) to just dump it all into my Facebook feed, so... let's try to take a look back at 2011 instead.

I've done some logistical readjustments and they seem to be working out great. Took some work though.

I'm in a teeny tiny professional rut, but I think I know how to remedy that. We'll see.

I'm still single and I don't really have any prospects in that regard atm.

I remain on good terms with quite a lot of people, or at least that's the impression I'm getting.

I'm financially stable (though I've had some rocky months in autumn).

Family's doing really good - the best they've been in years, I think.

For once I'm actually looking forward to the New Year's Eve party I'm going to.

In other words: something of a mixed bag.

I'll top it off with a surprisingly dashing Dawson. I left him out of the Facebook feed dump, I don't need the abuse.

2012, here I stumble.

Joseph says

I got a bit drunk tonight while playing boardgames, and then watched too good and too touching a movie (50/50) to go to sleep straight away. So let's take stock, shall we?

Christmas is coming. I've absolutely nothing more to say about that.

I had a major health scare which turned out to be nothing at all. I want all my future health scares to follow this pattern.

I'm trying to figure out whether I should get in touch with my childhood friend via Facebook. I've been trying to figure out whether to get in touch with him since... late high school, I think. I barely remember what he looks like. I just looked him up and he doesn't seem to be an active user (doesn't even have a profile picture), so I guess I'll pass. Could be too weird.

There was a thing, and it went as well as could be expected, so that's cool.

This is turning out to be a very uninspiring blog entry, but I'm in no mood to write about the fluff, and the stuff I actually want to get off my chest I won't, because cmon that's private. Oh human condition, why you so convoluted.

50/50 is really good. Yellow Ledbetter on repeat good.

Not cool, Orphy

It seems sometimes the good dreams are worse than the bad ones.

It was so weirdly intense that after I woke up, I went into a whole new-agey "maybe dreams matter" thing, because otherwise coping could become an issue.

So weird. Hope it never happens again.

Collapse

So today that comic thing happened. Hopefully it remains comic. Hopefully I'll learn tomorrow.

Edit: Whew.

The Horse

Nosze to zdjecie w komorce od 2 lat. Sciana pokoju matki:


Detal:


Pointy nie bedzie.

Overflow

I had a bunch of stuff to write about, but it's more and more difficult for me to actually post here. Or rather: it's more and more out of the way. I dump all the trivia into my Facebook feed, and the other stuff just dissolves after a day or two anyway, so why bother.

I'd like to have some kind of record* though, especially about the good stuff.

My birthday was last week. I threw a huge party for way too many people (It got freaky, I figured at least half of them wouldn't be able to make it, so I overshot with the invites, but then most of them actually showed up.) I don't remember any single conversation I had, which is weird, since I'm told I wouldn't shut up for the entire evening, and my throat was sore the next day, but that always seems to be the case for the host. Anyway, people claim to have had fun, and I got some awesome gifts, including the first volume of Absolute Sandman (incidentally, it took my mother about 6 minutes today before she spilled wine all over it, so that was fun) and a very cool boardgame, and a new toilet seat (that's right, you heard me), and a Polish, personalized rendition of this song. Because my friends are awesome.

As I was cleaning up on the next day, I kept remembering funny stuff from the evening before. I had it listed in my head for that entry that never materialized, but now I just remember Waste doing a short presentation of nerdcore, completely out of the blue.

It felt really nice to know that people came. As base as that sounds.

Then I went to lunch with a friend who came over from Krakow. It was a very long ride, and the tram broke down two stops before my destination, so I had to leg it. The sun was shining, I had this playing...


Life felt very good.

On the next day I got a full-blown sinus infection.

Took me a week to get better, but I finally did (sort of), so today my parents came over, and took me out to lunch at a bar mleczny in Praga, and a coffee (also in Praga, at a surprisingly hip cafe that they claim is their favorite - apparently they really get around). Life was really, really good again. I hope it keeps doing that, as often as possible.

* and now Famous Blue Raincoat is playing in my head. Brains are silly.

Perspective

Either I am developing some sort of mild social anxiety disorder, or I am only now becoming aware of having had one all along.

A week ago I was invited to a birthday party. Every single thing screamed: go there. I liked the host, but felt I didn't have enough opportunities or platforms to socialize with them. I didn't know any of the other guests, so it constituted "putting yourself out there". And the guest list consisted almost exclusively of gay menfolk.

My reaction? A bout of anxiety. At some point (at around 3 days to D-Day) I had to tell myself I'm not going *wink wink*, so that I would stop stressing about it. And I didn't make up my mind literally until I had to go out this very second to buy a birthday cake, because they were closing the bakery in 25 minutes. And I only did that after calling a friend on a complete whim (safety blanket response) and learning that I couldn't come over to them instead and whine about being fucked up, because... they had a legitimate reason for me not to do that.

Eventually I did go, even though when I put on my "I am a viable sex object" shirt, one of the buttons fell off, which I took for a bad omen. And of course everything was OK, if a bit awkward at first. And of course the coolest people there (or rather: the people I clicked with most) were a straight couple, since I was built to die alone. No prospects materialized, but, you know, the sky didn't exactly come crashing down either, and I actually had fun and a few good laughs - particularly when I sat down to eat some cake and saw this to my left:


And yet I haven't had this much anxiety about anything in at least the last year or so. Shit really freaked me out. I hope it's a phase.

Tomorrow starts today

"Absynth features three main synthesis modules which can be customized to a particular synthesis type, such as Subtractive, Frequency Modulation, Amplitude Modulation, or Granular, as well as direct sampling of raw audio data. It has a single filter (12/24 dB LP, HP, BP, Notch, and Comb), as well as a distortion algorithm, and effects including three resonant filters, "pipe" reverb, and multi-tap Delay. A modulation matrix allows the user three LFOs.

Graphically-edited assignable envelopes may be assigned up to 68 breakpoints each. In newer versions, breakpoint times and amplitudes may be manipulated further via MIDI controllers, as well as by curvature of the envelope line between breakpoints.

Absynth relies on user-based waveforms; either drawn directly, by manipulation of a sound spectrum, or else extracted from a WAV or AIFF file. Each can be used as an LFO, or an oscillator."

Was looking up this one band on wikipedia. "Absynth" was listed in their instruments. Sounded like a funny name, so I clicked the hyperlink - and that's the definition of what it does. Substractive or granular synthesis and a modulation matrix. Cyberpunk arrived a while ago, except nobody was paying attention. Ok: I wasn't.

Other Women

Far from flawless, and hardly revelatory, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. If "enjoyed" is the proper term here.

Reference point #1 - this is how you do a jawline:

The illusion of effortlessness requires a great effort indeed

Reference point #2 - this is how you pronounce "Sarah the Dancer":

Harness

I have a confession: I believe in petty magic. Or rather - I believe that once it has produced some sort of effect, the nature of a cause is irrelevant. And that the entire human experience is completely dependent upon one's brain/consciousness - which is very fickle. You can have all the reasons to be happy, and still feel miserable if your head doesn't buy it. Therefore the subjective always trumps the objective. And the subjective isn't always rational.

Of course this doesn't mean that I sacrifice goats or try to make sparks fly out of my fingertips, but I do allow myself some leeway when it comes to various trifles. For example, I've always really liked the Moon, for no particular reason. Whenever there's a full moon, I feel a little bit better - and happier. And so, I have made a conscious decision to avoid rationalizing it. To suspend my disbelief just enough so that something as random and easy to come by as the sight of a chunk of spaceborne rock continues to improve my well-being. It's a small price to pay, and I see no harm in it.

Which brings me to The Song of Ice and Fire. I've realized that I respond very favorably to stories that walk that fine line between my brand of "magic" and full-blown fantasy. I really like it when the choice is left up to you - when you're given enough loopholes and backdoors to reality to be able to stitch together a "it's all in their heads" explanation. It's why I loved The Prestige as much as I did (even if my very convoluted alternative reading of the film eventually collapsed under its own weight). And I think it's why I had such a negative response to the appearance of actual dragons at the end of the first book. There's no grey area here, it doesn't get any more high fantasy.

Well, I've almost finished reading book 2, and it only gets worse (or better, depending on your perspective), up to the point where my favorite background player got offed by supernatural means, and the Daenerys sections read like the 1001 Nights. And I have to say it spoils things a bit for me. I feel like this isn't exactly what I signed up for. Granted, Martin worked up a very nifty explanation for this shift, which I totally bought, so the book still gives me a lot of pleasure, but I can't help feeling that the political aspect suffered due to the slew of new dei ex machinae.

Downpour

We had a hardcore storm today. The sky just tore right open, and in through the hole poured a load of water. I barely made it to the tram stop before the first wave, and was safely in the tram by the time the main force arrived. The guy who got in several stops later was not as fortunate, as the deluge caught him on his way back from gym. Now, I know this because a) he was carrying a gym bag and b) he was wearing one of those thin white t-shirts, or as they're known in the context of freak rainstorms: nothing at all.

He was a good sport about it though. Almost as if sensing that it's the only sensible thing to do, he took a spot at the front of the tram, leaning back against the driver's booth, so that everyone could get a good look. You could almost hear the smattering of polite applause. "Well done, sir!"

Yeah

I was at my very funniest that year. This was not the Humor of Cure; it had nothing to do with the healing power of laughter. It was more of an airless, relentless kind of quippiness (...) Every time a complex human emotion threatened to break the surface of my consciousness, out would come some terrible cleverness.

I was Thanatos' rodeo clown. I still am. And Eros' as well, as it turns out. Years later, in a tender embrace in bed with my first real boyfriend, he said my name. "Oh, David." I stopped, sat up, and responded in my best Ed Wynn. "Yeeeesssssss???????" This kind of behavior more or less killed things between us.

David Rakoff, Fraud

Finished reading it. Waiting for the paperback version of Half Empty.

Chwila

Wlasnie zadzwonil Michal spytac, co robie, a ja bez glebszego zastanowienia odparlem, ze siedze w hotelu, gapie sie przez okno na deszcz i czekam, az w moim zyciu cos sie wydarzy.

Maly kneejerk, a cieszy. Mam do niego nawet obrazek.

Bubbles filled with smoke

I bought my tickets, and I'm ready to go. Wroclaw is ready for me to go as well, as it just started raining. Again. I shall not be defeated though, I'll have the reception SUMMON ME A TAXI CAB as I step out of the elevator in my non-existent shades. Much like the Jet Set do.

I think it's the longest I've ever stuck around. Full 10 days. It's been very mellow and low-key, with just one night of hectic drunken fun (the remaining nights being less hectic and somewhat less fun, but not necessarily less drunken. I'm all alcohol'd out.)

Yesterday, we had a back to basics kind of moment, when our food took so long to arrive that we actually missed our screenings... and didn't feel particularly bad about it, as the sun was shining, the food was good, and the beer kept flowing (not for me, obviously, but the others seemed to appreciate that aspect as well). We reminisced about the Cieszyn days. Apparently someone actually puked during a screening of Cremaster. Didn't know that story. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

We tried playing BSG last night, but we started at 1 a.m. so it didn't end well. Tonight it's Southland Tales (again) followed by farewell drinks at the festival club.

Next year I intend to mingle more. I feel I should be... well, maybe not networking, but at least making sure people know I actually exist. I'm pretty sure most of the festival people don't know who I am, or even that I do anything to make this thing happen. I'm also pretty sure I've already made this declaration at least once.

As usual, the city seemed to be filled with eminently fuckable people. Unfortunately, as usual I didn't get to know any of them. I can't say I'm particularly bummed out about it. Homesick, if anything.

Simply bubbles!

I really don't want to work at the moment, so here's a report from this year's NH festival. Or an attempt, at least.

One of the co-owners of the subtitling company just called another one of the co-owners and said: "Dress up nicely tonight, we'll be doing PR."

I haven't been doing PR at all, not yet at least, but it's been nice regardless. There's less work than last year, and I got put up at a nice hotel very close to the main cinema, so I haven't missed a single screening yet. Not that I've attended that many.

I arrived on Thursday, to torrential rain. Which was nice, since I brought two pairs of shorts and a ton of t-shirts. Wroclaw's main train station is being renovated, so you leave the platforms through this makeshift tunnel lined with aluminum siding. Which apparently gets flooded during the monsoon season. There was actually water streaming down through a crack in the (also aluminum) ceiling, like we were escaping Shawshank, or something. I lugged my ultra-heavy bag through half the city before I found a cab. And the rain lasted two days.

It's sunny now which means that we get to listen to a bad violin rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit 27 times a day. The office has windows facing the main square of the old town, so there's street performers aplenty. I like the fire dancers, and the ballerina/policeman mime, because they don't make noise. The violin lady is Satan, or at least so we thought until we were subjected to a boy with an acoustic guitar and his own amplifier. Dude wailed like there was no tomorrow, but he didn't return on the next day, so here's hoping in his case there really wasn't.

The food has been good for the most part, and the company - better. It was a bit hectic for the first few days, but things took a turn for the silly and mellow. The moment the braindead gigglefest commences keeps getting pushed earlier and earlier - I think we set a new record with Kasia today, as we simultaneously imploded around 1 p.m.

I saw Southland Tales on a huge screen, and it was hilarious, I'll probably go see it again on Saturday. This movie should not be watched alone.

Yesterday, I got an impromptu in equal parts pleasant, hilarious and disturbing shoulder massage from Rafal, and listened to one of the translators talk about his thesis, the title of which included the words transcendence and singularity. It was really interesting, but also the most challenging train of thought I ever had to follow while drunk. It was all I could do not to pop a blood vessel.

What else... there's lots of jokes, but most of them emerge from the hermetic cesspit of our subtitling coven. The technical guys' favorite pastime seems to be finding quotes from movies that sound like they are referring to us and posting them to Facebook, where they are completely ignored by everyone not currently synchronizing subtitles at this particular festival, and greatly appreciated by the few people who are. Most of whom are in the same room and have already heard/seen the humorous line in question.

Obviously it's great fun.

Unfortunately, now I kind of have to do some work. Asia is stripping in front of me. It's not her point, exactly, but the damage remains, so I'm relocating to the table.

Coordinator out.

Good morning!

I dreamt that I was being terrorized by someone/something monstrous, and that I had one last chance to try to kill it - before something horrible happened - by severing its spine at the base of the skull with a chisel. The horror of the climactic moment was such that I woke up, and felt my right hand still going through a slack, paraplegic version of the stabbing motion.

Out of sequence

I have ended up for the weekend at a spa that refuses to call itself a spa; an "institute" with a terror of the world so crippling as to have no newspapers. No surprise, really, had I but taken the time, prior to my arrival, to seriously parse the terms "self-help" and "retreat." The former unabashedly egocentric, the latter alluding to defeated flight.

(...)

The word I most overhear, flying from mouths like spittle, is "intense." But it usually seems to apply to a massage or a movement class. When I do chance to overhear of a true test of faith and character, one person telling another, "My father died last Christmas and it was fairly intense, so I went to a bereavement workshop, which helped a lot," the response she gets is "Yeah, when everyone in the room is facing the same direction and the energy is aligned, it can be a very powerful force."

(...)

The evening's concerts are held in the Lake Theater, a barn-like structure with a small stage. The overhead light is grimy and yellow and flickering as moths and June bugs ping against the bulbs like rice at a wedding. A young folksinger on guitar and piano is accompanied by her ponytailed husband on bass. The audience is sparse, mostly women, alone and in pairs, the demographic hinted at on the first day. They sit with the studied serenity, the composed posture, that broadcasts for all the world to see "I go to things all the time alone. I don't mind."
In Edith Wharton's House of Mirth, the heroine Lily Bart - no longer as young as she once was, the financial promises made to her failing to pan out, her prospects at marriage dwindling daily, has a friend named Gerty Farish. Gerty is also unmarried. Gerty has no annuity. Gerty takes her meals in public dining rooms with other single women. And she does so good-naturedly. Every time Lily sees Gerty, she experiences an interval of panic. Wharton writes: "...the restrictions of Gerty's life, which had once had the charm of contrast, now reminded [Lily] too painfully of the limits to which her own existence was shrinking."
After a day of angry, dismissive contempt, the blood beats behind my eyes with identification. I am uncoupled by this unexpected Gerty Farish moment in this crowd of women trying to make sense of a world that has ruled them out of hand for the cardinal sin of having dared to remain single past the age of thirty-five. I have sat alone in theaters, restaurants, parks, my back straight, a book, perhaps. I am acquainted with this good posture.
At one point the singer looks over at her husband and they give each other a smile of such amiable companionship, a look of such pleased and secure partnership, that it reaches all of us with the cold immediacy of a slap in the face. It turns out to be true: when everyone in the room is facing the same direction and the energy is aligned, it can be a very powerful force.

David Rakoff, Fraud

He's not always this good, but sometimes he is.

Clusterfuck!

I was just asked how I would translate "commotion [surrounding the treaty]" (except from Polish into English). My brain immediately sprang into action: Kerfuffle! Hubbub! Brouhaha!

None of which, obviously, can be used in a document about some treaty. For I am the master of correct, yet completely useless answers.

Unfailing

Sheila taught me a survival technique for getting through seemingly intolerable situations - boring lunches, stern lectures on attitude or time management, those necessary breakup conversations, and the like: maintaining eye contact, keep your face inscrutable and masklike, with the faintest hint at a Gioconda smile. Keep this up as long as you possibly can, and just as you feel you are about to crack and take a letter opener and plunge it into someone's neck, fold your hands in your lap, one nestled inside the other, like those of a supplicant in a priory. Now, with the index finger of your left hand, write on the palm of the other, very discreetly and undetectably, "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you..." over and over gain as you pretend to listen. You will find that this brings a spontaneous look of interested and pleased engagement to your countenance. Continue and repeat as necessary.

David Rakoff, Fraud

Huh

Several days ago, I suddenly remembered these kids I used to play with when I was little. They were mostly older than me, and I liked them all very much. I remembered this one boy in particular, whom I used to tease quite a bit. It was all good-natured (and still is, most of the time), and everyone would laugh at the jokes, but if I pushed it too far, he'd threaten to hit me. Laughing, as well, but also annoyed. And if I pushed it still - he would hit me. On the arm, usually. I remember knowing that, and still going in for the kill most of the time, if a proper setup emerged. And then laughing over the pain. I just couldn't help myself.

His older brother would often stop him from hitting me - sometimes because he enjoyed the jokes, other times because we were usually playing cards, or something, and this routine interrupted the gameplay. There were also times when I'd get hit even if I resisted the urge - when the leitmotif was already so strong that it only took me suddenly bursting into laughter for the other kids to figure out the new angle and start laughing themselves.

I have no idea why I remembered all that all of a sudden, but it's a very pleasant memory. And somewhat informative.

It has all happened before

I remember that when Game of Thrones was about to premiere on HBO, I resolved to finally read the book asap, so that the series wouldn't spoil it for me. Unfortunately, with my reading speed, that plan quickly fell through. But as the series got more interesting, I started trying to catch up, and after the last episode I got so hungry for more that I actually did. And now I find myself teetering on the brink, reluctant to read on for fear of the book spoiling the series. Funny symmetry. And a surprisingly faithful and well-executed adaptation. They hardly left anything out.

In the meantime, I did another historical piece for pajiba, and one of the commenters wrote that they should film it and run it as a double feature with the next series of Game of Thrones, which got me thinking that, well... yeah, it would be a good fit, since Song of Ice and Fire is pretty much history at its best. And then I got lost for like two hours, matching big European showdowns and succession crises with the current Game of Thrones chessboard, until I came up with this:

The 30 Years War (of Westeros)

featuring:

The Habsburgs as House Lannister
Bohemia as House Tully
Denmark as House Stark
The Palatinate (Evangelical Union) as House Baratheon
Transylvania as House Arryn
Poland as the Highland Tribes
England as House Greyjoy
The United Provinces as House Martell
France as House Tyrell
The Ottoman Empire as the Dothraki Horde
Sweden as The Others

Obviously, at this point I've yet no idea how the Greyjoys, Martells and Tyrells will actually play into the scheme of things, but I'm still delighted by how it all ALMOST matches up. You could even split up Habsburgs to account for the Austrian ones (Joffrey and Cersei), and Spain (Tywin and Jaime), with the latter bearing the brunt of the warfare, and providing the funding. If The Tyrells end up financing Renly, that will be very much like France aiding the Protestants, England makes sense as Greyjoys (what with the navy and stuff), and should Dorne get actively involved, it has Netherlands written all over it, grudge and all. The Ottomans in the east, not a direct threat yet, but a dangerous enigma, and of course no one expects Gustavus Adolphus sweeping down from beyond the Wall. The only thing I'm not quite happy with is the Poland/Transylvania dynamic - it would make more sense for Transylvania to be the highlanders, since it was Gabor who got sicked after Poland, not the other way around, but that would flip their loyalties, as Poland aided the Emperor. I mean Lannisters.

Come to think of it, maybe that's my next pajiba piece.

Delayed grievances

I totally forgot to do the last 10 episodes of BSG, and now I don't really remember them that well, but i still have some highly cryptic notes so let's see what I can cook up:

1) "religious Baltar - wtf?" (that's what I jotted down, and I can't really elaborate on that, so I'll just transcribe it verbatim)

2) Roslin's escapist "I'm not getting pulled back into this" was pretty ridiculous. THEN RESIGN, LADY.

3) And then Gaeta's outrage "To let machines network our ship?!" Dude... you networked this ship yourself once, remember?

4) However, the Zarek/Gaeta dynamic was played out spectacularly. I was glued to the screen, watching as it evolves. Some really good writing there. Also: "You've done a very courageous thing." "We can fine-tune our rationalizations later." Awesome.

5) Except... how does Fat Baby have "people reporting to him"? What people? You're a civilian. What CLOUT can you possibly have. Oh Fat Baby, you so stupid.

6) "Roslin's speech - politics at its best" (no idea what this one's about either - see: religious Baltar)

7) Absolutely HILARIOUS (not sure, if it was intentional) scene when Roslin escapes Galactica aboard a raptor and gets shot at, but the missile hits the basestar instead. She charges onto the bridge, and the Cylons ask her "Why are we being attacked?" and she answers "You're not, they were shooting at me." And the first response we hear (quickly covered up by others) is Tory's exasperated "What did you do?!" as if she were saying "Bitch, please, what now?!" I watched it over and over again.

8) Roslin suddenly addressing the fleet despite the com jamming and saying "It worked! They couldn't jam it!" as the camera reveals Leoben holding some blinky box that we see for the first time EVER and going "I thought that would do the trick." Of course! I forgot about the Cylon blinky box technology! How silly of me.

9) behold this logic: Cylon FTL drives are awesome and we should install them everywhere. But cylon structural support is EVIL.

10) John Hodgman had no place being in that series, during the epic conclusion. It felt very awkward.

11) When the final 5 are voting whether to stay or leave, Fat Baby votes to leave. Why? No reason. Because the screenwriters needed a stalemate. Tory wanted to leave from the get-go, but Fat Baby? And everyone accepts it as if it's perfectly normal. No one even tries to talk him out of it. Or ask him WHY THE HELL HE WANTS TO LEAVE THE FLEET. God I hate everything about this character.

12) And on that subject: Fat Baby's arguments against putting Boomer on trial? He had four: "You can't!", "You can't!", "You can't!", and "YOU CAN'T!"

13) And then he let her escape. And steal Helo's baby. And kind of rape him. *sigh*

14) "Hera wrote the notes to a song..." Oh just kill me now

15) Apparently Fat Baby releasing Boomer and Adama's house painting meltdown took place in the same episode. Which means it was a very, very bad episode.

16) Also, the eternal cycle of violence between humans and Cylons will not be broken because of...? You've guessed it - FAT BABY.

17) "Last two eps - so bad, so boring, so pointless"

18) "chief is in the cylon cell. why? how? dunno, but let's have more adama-at-a-strip-joint"

19) "then chief is OUT of the cell and everything is fine and dandy - wha?"

20) The scene with various people laying out the final plan, as they were doing other stuff was... not that great. I get what they were aiming for, but they fell short

21) I kind of loved that they totally ran out of characters and so Hoshi became Admiral and Lampkin - President. Really? REALLY?

22) Oh great. They asked Sam where to jump - and there we go. Why not another deus ex machina.

23) "Now we'll learn everything about each other..." like that Chief released Boomer, who sorta raped helo and stole hera WHICH IS WHY WE ARE IN THIS FUCKING COLONY IN THE FIRST PLACE - but hey, tory killed the suicidal girl who wanted to kill her baby too, so...

24) "Spreading people out all over the planet with no technology... why... ah, never mind"

25) "'We can give the people the best we have to offer." Newsflash: it's not technology that is EVIL, Fat Baby doesn't need a nuclear device to be a raging asshole - in fact, he'll fuck you up with his bare hands or a wrench

26) "filled with bad speeches and truly bad writing"

27) The creator's cameo at the end of the final episode was kind of like saying "Here's the asshole you should blame for the deluge of shit you're about to be hit with"

28) the NYC scene was written so poorly not even Tricia Helfer was able to sell it to me

29) Oh, and by the way, technology-challenged remnants, the Cylons are still out there. You only destroyed the colony, the basestars are still floating around.

And that was that. Time to watch the last Game of Thrones ep.

Dents

I found myself craving a hug today, as stupid as that sounds. And not even in the metaphorical sense. I sat there, as whole vats of shit were dumped upon me, and the only thing I could think of was that I really wanted something warm, very close, right now.

That's all over now though, thankfully. At least for a time.

For over a week I've had this Word document open and sitting on my taskbar, so that I remember to actually work on it when I have the time. Unfortunatley I don't, but by virtue of my slow hard drive, insufficient RAM, or what have you, whenever i click the "show desktop" button or open a new document, all the minimized windows peel away until that bottom-most one - the script of a documentary on Bruce LaBruce - is revealed for just long enough to deliver its subliminal message:

By the way, you do suck a good cock.

Always gives me pause.

Gamut

This weekend, I had the full social experience. Boardgames and tightrope walking on Friday, a documentary on the Czech BDSM scene with Natalia and Filip followed by a night of drinking and dancing in the moonlight with Paulina et al on Saturday, and a dinner at Kaska and Piotr's followed by raiding on Sunday. Hitting all the notes.

It was nice, and let's leave it at that. Even I'm tired of my bullshit atm.

Concrete Jungle Wet Dream Tomato

For the past week I've been trying to write a cover letter. Today my physiological defenses went into overdrive, and just as I completely ran out of distractions and things to watch, my whole body simply shut down. I fell asleep at 5p.m. for no apparrent reason. And woke up at 8.

Finally, I started writing that goddamned cover letter.

Which naturally led to trolling Facebook. At around 9:30 I paused to reflect on how much I adore a certain person.

10 minutes later said person spontaneously wrote me saying they finish work at 10p.m.

At 11 I was at their place. Obviously.

And man, was it a great evening. The highlight was probably a very enthusiastic 20-minute, 2-person tirade on the benefits of cocaine, concluded with one of the most unusual compliments (I hope) I've ever heard: "So yeah, we'd love to do coke with you."

So would I, my friends. So would I.

De profundis

Dziwnie sie gada w kagancu.

Tyle mialem do powiedzenia.

Battlestar Craptastica

I just watched the finale last night, and OH GOD it was so bad. So bad. I had to actively remind myself that I had talked to people while I was watching the final season, and I was really into it, before the finale, because after the credits rolled, I was completely convinced that the entire season - if not series as a whole - was bad. That's how truly horrible the finale is.

Luckily, I had notes, so I can say that the first 16-17 episodes of the final season are actually good, at least where they don't concern Starbuck or Fat Baby. Let's go:

1) The Cylon Civil War: awesome. Boomer voting against Eights: awesomer. Removing the Centurions' inhibitor: awesomest.

2) Then Apollo left the service and donned a v-neck... blouse for his farewell. Bad image.

3) When they let Jane Espenson do something with Baltar, she mines him for comedy, and the actor actually has pretty decent timing, but the character is so aimless and deplorable at this point that it just doesn't click for me.

4) When Adama sends Starbuck on her random quest, he gives her a crew that includes Gaeta, who is his best FTL specialist, and Helo, who is his executive officer, except suddenly demoted. I get it that they ran out of people we care about, but it was just hilariously unreasonable.

5) Tory killing Cally - obviously a high point. One of the more satisfying deaths on the show in terms of execution (pun intended).

6) The next ep after Cally's death, Escape Velocity, was penned by Jane Espenson, and stuffed with unintentional hilarity where Chief/Cally were concerned, and otherwise all-around awesomeness:
a) I don't know if Mary McDonnell had a twitch, an off day, or what, but during Cally's funeral she looks bemused/politely interested. I'm pretty sure it wasn't intentional.
b) Fat Baby reminiscing about Cally in the requisite memory montage: remember when I SMASHED YOUR FACE IN AAARGH! - they actually used that footage. I died laughing.
c) This conversation, between Baltar and Roslin: "Are you threatening me?" "No, i'm saying have a quiet life, and I'll die a quiet little death, and everyone will be happy. It's just that I'm not in the mood any longer to indulge you."
d) Caprica Six smashing Tigh's face in with an angelic smile. I actually made a clip of that.

7) The scene where they are aboard the baseship, and one Six loses it and kills a human pilot, and then is put down by another Six for the sake of the alliance - jesus fuck. Compare and contrast with Fat Baby in the finale.

8) The Eights' appeal to Athena to lead them in mutiny against the Sixes - fantastic. That's probably where I finally kind of grasped the nature of the generic Eights (as opposed to Boomer or Athena). Good stuff.

9) On the other hand, Athena killing the rebel Cylon leader was a major WTF moment. I mean, sort of good storytelling, but crappy, crappy logic. That was some Fat Baby shit right there.

10) Sine Qua Non was I thought the worst episode of the season, untilI watched the final ones that is. Either way, it's very bad. Basically 45 minutes of bad speeches and delaying the "obvious" "conclusion", a completely random gunpoint moment, shitting all over the Lampkin character... The man who wrote it is called Michael Taylor, and he also wrote the boxing episode from Season Three. He is, in other words, responsible for a lot of what is wrong with BSG.

11) But in the next episode we return to Jane Espenson who has Roslin saying to Helo with barely masked exasperation: "Captain, you are not married to the entire production line."

12) ...and D'Anna telling Roslin she's one of the Final Five only to burst into giggles a moment after with an: "Oh, the look on your face... ridiculous!" Yes, made a clip of this one too. Rock on, Espenson.

13) However, the resolution of the standoff? Ridiculous. A basestar has nukes trained on the civilian fleet, which needs sseveral minutes to spool up their FTL drives, and the Admiral himself states that the moment they start doing that, the basestar will fire. And then the humans' gesture of good will is "sharing the way to Earth, even though they could have jumped away with it." No, dumbas, you just said you couldn't have. This is possibly the first time where the show didn't make any sense in regard to a major plot point. A whole plot arc was resolved because the writers said it was resolved, as opposed to presenting an actual solution within the narrative.

14) But the last few minutes of the 10th ep, when they land on Earth - awesome.

Final 10 eps in the next post.

BSG: the ionian nebula

Let's wrap up season 3, shall we?

1) It's official - all Starbuck-centered episodes in the entire series are lame. All of them.

2) Romo Lampkin seems more cartoonish the second time around. He's still a good character at this point, but he does veer dangerously into being gimmicky.

3) Even more gimmicky: hybrid talk. I have absolutely no interest in trying to decipher poorly written obfuspeak. I'm sure you're all very happy with how it all actually makes sense when you're the one writing it, but no. Most of the time it doesn't flow at all, instead it screams "hey look, see how we made it sound seemingly random?"

4) Baltar's trial itself was pretty entertaining. What I think I like most about it is the fact that Baltar himself is more or less a pawn in the proceedings - we never really see the action from his point of view. And that makes perfect sense, because the trial itself is not about him either, it's just the arena in which more universal issues are being resolved. If the writers intended this parallel to play out that way - kudos to them.

5) Apollo's testimony from the witness stand was really well written. I was completely over that character by then (not that he was ever a favorite of mine) and yet I did not cringe, and was even momentarly convinced.

6) Colonel Tigh has added a new weapon to his acting arsenal - in addition to the bug-eye he now also goes slack-jawed. To express anything. Good for him.

7) Finally - the use of Bob Dylan in the finale. Much as I like the BSG version of All Along the Watchtower, I find it grating that they featured a real-life song as a plot device in a sci fi show, and had fictional characters actually recite the lyrics. I understand that they wouldn't have been able to write anything better, but I still think they should have tried.

And that was the 3rd season. By far the worst of them all. Basically the only episode of note, from what I recall, was the escape from New Caprica, and parts of the finale. Not much.

BSG: the downhill years

This one covers more territory, from post-Pegasus to post-New Caprica. Most of it not that great, unfortunately.

1) Twice in a row, the Apollo-centered episodes resorted to the teaser + "X hours earlier" trick. As if they were trying to say "Look! We know it's Apollo, but something interesting WILL happen at the end. Just bear with us!" Unfortunately, neither episode was that great. And Black Market - aka "Lee suddenly has a hooker!" - was up there with the worst of them.

2) Starbuck-centered episodes still suck. The exception: Starbuck and Leoben on New Caprica.

3) What is it with the fucking flashbacks. Whenever they use one, they repeat it over and over again, like 10 times within one episode. Starbuck was strobeflashed with "Oh Anders my Anders", and Lee with "That random lady on Caprica whose name we never even learned". Ok, ok, we get it.

4) Baltar's political coup (suddenly running for President) was pretty nifty, but unfortunately delivered the first unconvincing Head Six moment of the series - her slow clap for looked ridiculously staged and not even amplifying the sound for dramatic effect helped. I've no idea what didn't work, but it looked rather silly.

5) From some point on, the actor playing Baltar has decided that the only sure way of conveying emotion was trying to eject his eyeballs from their sockets. He just goes bug-eyed, and that covers surprise, fear, shock, anger, pain, sadness... Great. Also, it becomes painfully obvious just how subpar he is, craft-wise, when he has to play Caprica Six's Head Baltar. It's just embarassing. And when compared to Tricia Helfer's Head Six - downright cringeworthy.

6) When Chief went Neanderthal again, this time on Cally, I got this huge neon sign in my head saying FAT BABY ANGRY. And now I can't shake it off. When he suddenly went off to find himself a temple (wtf?!) I got FAT BABY EXPLORE. When he then couldn't blow up the temple and almost went fetal, cuddling the detonator: FAT BABY CONSTIPATED. It's my personal lolcat. He also continues to be the most annoying character around, and that's no easy feat with Baltar, Starbuck and Apollo around.

7) New Caprica meant that Helo got a terrible haircut, and Adama grew a moustache which made him look like Paco the friendly plumber.

8) Starbuck is a terrible asshole and there's really nothing redeeming about her anymore. My favorite part was when she was all traumatized post-New Caprica, and acting like a major jerk, and then had some sort of epiphany, and cut her hair, which was very very meaningful... and proceeded to be the same gigantic asshole as before. Another crowning achievement: literally driving Cat to suicide by heroism for no apparent reason, and then visiting her on her deathbed and giving her sleeping pills, so she can finish herself off. And then we get 3 minutes of Starbuck not-quite-crying (cuz she's tough, y'all) while putting up Cat's picture in the memorial hall. Say... Wh... You gotta... Huh?

9) Dualla is nearing Stockholm Syndrome in her relationship with Lee. Anders I kind of get, he outright said that he knows she's fucking around, and he's accepted that, and he won't leave her anyway. I can respect that: you relinquish any semblance of self-respect, don't ask the tough questions, and just take whatever you get. Dualla though... She's aiming for moral highground, she's disgusted with the whole situation, she knows the best solution is to extract herself completely from this mess... and yet she allows herself to get sucked in again. I refuse to see the parallels and instead choose to treat her with utter disdain. I said shut up!

10) Helo has become something of a safety valve for the viewers' frustration with various characters. Whenever one of them gets too annoying, he punches them in the face. So far, he's done Apollo and Tigh. I'm hoping he'll do Starbuck next, but from what I recall that never happens :(

11) The Threes' suicide obsession - amazing. Love that idea. Sad to see Lucy go.

12) Gina's last appearance was heartbreaking and kind of awesome, I have to admit. And the escape from New Caprica was cool. But aside from those two eps - no real highlights so far. It's really sad to see how much better plotted the first 2 seasons were.

13) Unfortunately, I also got to the point where the series started contradicting itself or being just downright ridiculous:
* Caprica Six killing D'Anna as "the first act of Cylon on Cylon violence". Because Athena killing those Cylons on Caprica was just vocational training.
* When that pilot comes back in a stolen Raider after 3 years, they determine he's not a Cylon because "his blood matches the sample from his military records". Huh? And Boomer's doesn't? How does that prove anything?
* Wrapping up the Cylon-killing virus storyline as a one-off (so that people won't expect it to ever pop up anymore) by Gaeta saying that it matches a virus reported 3000 years ago, when the 13 tribes were departing Kobol. Let me reiterate: they have precise records of a virus from Biblical times. They have to get all the other information about that period from their religious texts, but they're fully stocked on biological samples from that era. Maybe their Corinthians is a medical database or something.

Stop flaring your nostrils

I didn't give a crap about James Marsden and Chelsea Handler isn't funny more often than she is, but I literally can't stop watching this interview (I've tried embedding it, no dice). I've seen it close to 15 times already, and it still amuses me. The barbecue bit is priceless. I also think this is probably what it would look like if I were asked to do an interview with someone I knew well and really liked.

I might actually like James Marsden now. He gets really cute when he's being obliterated.

Marlowe

Ditto.

Yet more BSG!

Quite possibly my favorite image out of the series so far (maybe with the exception of the vista of Pegasus and Galactica tearing into two basestars, but that's all CGI):

Six gone casual

The scene was hilarious. Conversely, here's the perfect image to demonstrate why I hate the Chief:

Me smash you argh!

It really doesn't get more Neanderthal than that. Additional points for going apeman on a guy who did not want to fight and refused the urge to kick his ass twice in a row. Go, grease monkey, go! I realize that not all characters need to be smart and have their shit together, and that you need this type of people for narrative purposes as well, but it doesn't mean that I have to like them.

Back to bulletpoints now (are they still bulletpoints when they're numbered? What do you call that?):

1) As a general rule, all planetside scenes in this series are boring. New Caprica may be the exception - but I'll only be able to verify that once I get to those episodes. The resistance bits on Caprica and most stuff on Kobol are fast-forward material for me (except fast-forwarding is wrong and I never do it).

2) Helo post-impregnation is actually a pretty nifty character, and an integral part of the whole equation. He's not a gamechanger, but he has his own agenda and makes a good pawn (or even knight) to Sharon's rook. His presence alone alters the power dynamics - and in my book, the more factors the better, so I'm on board. That being said, his "rehabilitation" in the eyes of the crew was completely unconvincing. One second he's a Cylon-lover and they won't even shake his hand, but the moment he goes "hey, let's use a different kind of colored paper for this arts and crafts project!" he's one of the crew? Huh?

3) Apollo is already being moved towards the "whiny asshole" end of the character spectrum, so I guess the middle of the 2nd season is where the change begins to occur. Too bad. He wasn't the most captivating of people, but he had his moments and you could actually empathise with him.

4) There's a very nice scene after half of the fleet jumps away with Roslin, in which Adama is assembling his ship in a bottle, or doing something along those lines, and absent-mindedly airs his various grievances to an unseen interlocutor. After a while it is revealed that he is actually talking to Dualla - quite possibly the last character you'd expect to see in this scene (or any scene for that matter). And she calls him on his bullshit saying: "I think you called me in here to talk to me, because you don't think I have anything to say. But I do." Not only was it a good - and perceptive - line in and of itself, but it also worked nicely on the meta level. I actually found myself thinking: "Oh right, Dualla, what's her deal anyway?"

5) I was convinced that the Pegasus arc lasted around 10 episodes, that it constituted the latter half of the 2nd series. Turns out, it's just 3 eps. The actual PEGASUS part I mean, before it' was reduced to being "that ship we can sacrifice". Also, a funny thing happened: I'm devouring BSG at a very rapid pace atm, but when I got to the Pegasus part, I almost started watching something else instead - not because I was bored (it's my favorite part after all), but because I remembered how intense and upsetting it was, and didn't feel like coping with that stress. Which I think means it's the first moment in the series where I was (and am - it was the same way this time) actually invested in the plot to the point of being unable to switch off kneejerk reactions.

6) There's a scene between Baltar and the captured Six in which he recalls a memory that Head Six had told him about, and claims it is his own, quoting it to to her word for word, as Head Six watches, mortified. I remember I was really impressed with it (I can't really say I "liked" it because it was very unpleasant to watch), but I don't think I understood it the first time around. I figured it was either a cynical attempt to establish some sort of rapport with the captured Six, or his revenge on Head Six for her various mind games. This time it struck me that he might actually be in love with this woman, and is making a choice: picking the tangible, if broken, version over the ghost in his head. Which, too, seems a bit cynical on some level, but also very... human? I don't know. Less deplorable, Head Six's pain notwithstanding.

7) Michelle Forbes is just so very, very good. And I appreciate the fact that they didn't make her go full-on monster, and that some of the characters actually got Admiral Cain's rationale (see Starbuck's eulogy).

8) Finally, those 3 episodes apparently also contain my favorite musical cue from the entire soundtrack:

BSG continued

More randomness:

1) Baltar's conversation with Boomer as she is trying to kill herself - wow. Really, wow. It's hard to imagine an exchange more densely packed with layers of meaning. And when you inject Six's reaction to it... again, wow. Basically, when they play the Baltar/Six dynamic right, it's just stellar narrative work, and here they literally flipped it on its head. Watching the usually dominant Six listen to him and watching her condescension turn into confusion, alarm, and then this sort of suspicious not-quite-respect was such a pleasure. And Tricia Helfer delivered once again

2) Leoben is another great character. More Cylons plox.

3) The Cylon refinery ep - another solid one

4) The series one finale/series two premiere - overall decent, but the Kobol planetside scenes were just horribly dull. They killed off 2 characters we hardly knew anything about, and then spent a ridiculous amount of time on "mourning" them. I might be biased, because most of the mourning was done by the Chief, and I still loathe him, but I'm almost certain it was objectively dull. At least there's some Crashdown in the mix. Too bad they paint him as an incompetent asshole.

5) A little bit of cryptic and spooky awesomeness, courtesy of Six. When the Kobol party bury those two anonymous dudes, she states that "nothing awaits them here - no afterlife, no damnation. Only oblivion." And when Baltar, still trying to find his footing religion-wise asks "Because they haven't seen the face of God?" she replies with surprising and creepy clarity: "Because they died here. On Kobol." This is later echoed in an even more menacing manner, when Baltar deflects her warning by asserting that he can't die yet, because he's an instrument of God, and she replies: "God turned his back on Kobol. What happens on Kobol is not his will." I don't get why yet, but I love me some fine print.

6) Saul Tigh flashbacks. I don't care. I really don't.

7) The crib, the opera house, and the baby have all made their first appearance. I'm already fatigued.

8) I had a short discussion with Janek about the differences between Six's zealotry and Leoben's, but it's too chaotic to copy and paste, and I'm too tired to parse it. Either way, conclusions were reached. Take my word for it.

9) I can't help but see the events in the series through the lens of the boardgame mechanics. Autojump executed, but heavy raiders were activated first, ergo: Centurions on board. Boomer gets an executive order and nukes a basestar with her first action, and then reveals she's a Cylon with the second one (effect: send a character to Sickbay). And the Admiral just sent the President to the Brig (failed to strip her of her title though)

BSG revisited

Lately I've been playing the Battlestar Galactica boardgame a lot - it's ridiculously good and very, very addictive. So much so in fact, that I've decided to re-watch the series which, from what I recall, I was never that wild about. It was more of a love/hate thing.

Anyway, I'm after the first 8 episodes or so, and wanted to jot down some general impressions:

1) the first episode (33 - the one where the Cylons catch up with the fleet every 33 minutes, and they have to keep jumping) is just fantastic. It should get an Emmy, or something. A perfectly paced, oppressive mini-movie.

2) the next one, Water, is really good too, actually, and establishes the "enemy within" problem almost as well as the previous one laid out the constant pursuit factor.

3) come to think of it, almost all the episodes I've seen so far have been good, with with the exception of two, both of which were Starbuck-centered. Number 4 (Act of Contrition) kept hammering home the whole Starbuck "killed" the Admiral's son motif over and over again, and number five (You Can't Go Home Again) is the one where she finds a dead Raider and miraculously learns to pilot it in several hours, or something. After ripping out its brain. It made about as much sense as if she had found a dead cow, ripped out its brain, crawled into it, and galloped home. Except that cow was now once again magically airtight and spaceworthy. Oh, and produced oxygen, even though it was dead.

4) the guy playing Baltar is a horrible actor. And I find I can't suspend my disbelief enough to see how anyone would treat him with even a sliver of respect, seeing as he spends half the time talking to air in public, fidgeting, and at one point even fucking an empty table. I'm not completely on board with the character psychologically either, and so I couldn't understand why he would hide the fact that Boomer was a Cylon from the rest of the fleet, but in the last episode it was hinted that he kind of did the same for Ellen, so now it seems he has simply disassociated himself from the human race. If they keep pushing the assumption that he's basically only interested in his own survival and believes in this "God's plan" Six has been brainwashing him with - I'll bite. That actually seems plausible.

5) Adama is a pretty shitty Admiral. I hope they didn't try to sell him as some sort of military genius anywhere down the road, since he already risked the entire fleet for Starbuck, and said outright that if it had been his son who crash-landed, they'd keep looking until the Cylons killed them all. Horrible military leader. Also, Adama/Apollo bonding scenes are excruciating. I think they have their own musical cue too - it involves bagpipes and induces vomit.

6) Apollo is very pretty though. He has those insane cheekbones that actually result in concave cheeks. Pretty, not handsome, but pretty works for me.

7) On that subject, there was a sex scene with Helo on New Caprica and they didn't show even a bit of skin. That's what I call wasting your actor's major (only?) asset. Made absolutely no sense.

8) Final bit of eye-candy roundup: Crashdown. I didn't remember this character at all, but he's there, kind of hulking and sickly pale, like a sexy sexy cadaver.

9) Tricia Helfer is spectacular as Six. Sensuous and menacing and fragile and pious and zealous. She does it all.

10) Cylons in general are fascinating and - at least so far - very well-written. I was surprised to find that certain characteristics I had learned to associate with various models were hinted at from the very beginning of the series, which means that they actually knew where they were going with it all, or at least were mindful not to contradict themselves as they made things up on the go.

That's it for now.

So elegant and sleek

Ok, this one's been haunting me for 3 days in a row, to the exclusion of all other music:

It works on so many levels that it landed squarely in obsession territory.

Firstly, ever since bumping into Flesh Tone, I've had a weird thing for Kelis. Intro notwithstanding, the music took a backseat to the look and the person(a): I just found myself being fascinated with her, in that iconic capacity reserved for things unapproachable and unrelatable. So I had that going, and then this performance happened, and took it to another level. I know it's completely subjective, but I find her absolutely awestriking in this video - at least in those fleeting moments when you can actually make her out from behind the craptastic visualizations courtesy of David Lynch.

Secondly, the song is great, obviously. Grand and darkly romantic with a touch of menace - it's right up my alley.

Finally, the lyrics. Take a moment to read them:

Do you know where we are?
I'm longing for the dark
Of our nocturnal life
It begins and ends with you
Don't spill my secret

You were once running wild, hiding in the morning mist
Game demands I make you mine
I thought that I could resist, but the leopard in you
Silently preyed on me.

I made my way back home (Did you follow her?)
I handled her with care (Were you in control?)
So elegant and sleek (Were you not afraid?)
I need her to be near (Does she belong to you?)
Don't spill my secret

You were once running wild, hiding in the morning mist
Game demands I make you mine
I thought that I could resist, but the leopard in you
Silently preyed on me

Deserted by my friends (Don't they understand?)
She's so much more than them (How could they compare?)
So now she's just for me (No one else can see)
I watch her while she sleeps (Be sure she dreams of you)
Don't spill my secret

(It's been quite a while) Since we were last outside
(And do you miss the chase) Now that we've both been tamed
(Inside this gilded cage) Prisoners of our thoughts
(You saved me from myself)
Don't spill my secret

Today a man was taken from his apartment at the New Jersey Shore, and arrested under suspicion of entrapment of a wild animal. Police from forced entry discovered a caged leopard in the building. The fully grown feline was said to be surprisingly domesticated, by zoological experts who gave her a thorough examination before preparing her for relocation. A large crowd has gathered outside to watch the beautiful creature, and the giant cage was lowered slowly onto the street by a crane. From here, the leopard was transferred into the back of a truck for it's journey ahead. A startled onlooker said, it's extraordinary to think that any human being could have lived in such close quarters with such a dangerous animal. Police are saying that the captive was simply besotted with the creature, and barely left her side. It's alleged that he hunted her in the wild and expertly forged documents to facilitate her illegal export to the United States of America. The incident has already created much controversy, and is now likely to lead to a major international investigation into the life of the man who stole a leopard.

So yeah, it starts out pretty generic - at times even cringeworthy - only to turn into a psychotic ode to bestiality. And a superbly crafted one at that. I like the call and response structure of the verses. I like that they picked a female vocalist for the counterpart, which makes the number sound like a bona fide - if a bit dark - love song until the final reveal. And I absolutely love that she doesn't sing from the leopard's point of view, which would be tacky, exploitative, and put the animal on equal footing lyrically, implying that it could have ever been anything more than a passive/unwilling object of obsession (I'm trying to use neutral wording here).

In fact, I think the song is a really kickass depiction of someone's descent into madness. The male vocals are initially focused on the tangible; they're pretty straightforward. But as the song progresses, they become increasingly warped by the second, more twisted vocal line, until they are eventually overtaken by it.

If you follow Kelis' lines, you'll see that the second voice starts out very disassociated - inquiring and doubtful, as if it were voicing concerns which the protagonist doesn't want to address. By the next verse, it has become more integrated, echoing and complimenting the still relatively pragmatic male narrative, though with darker and more abstract undertones ("Be sure she dreams of you"). In the ultimate verse, the second voice finally takes over: the female vocals assume the lead, and the twin narratives reach perfect cohesion, becoming one. The psychosis is complete.

Pretty nifty for a little pop number, huh?

Bellringer

People get compartmentalized, you get labelled, and I thought: "I don't want anyone to label me as anything other than the Funny One." Because if they say: "She's the Funny One" they haven't then got to say: "She's the Ginger One" or "She's the Speccy One". "She's the Funny One" and that's it. I wanted "funny" to define who I was (...) I suppose it is a survival instinct, and it is one I think I still use now. I would still rather... I just think if people think that I'm funny, they are not going to look any further. They're not going to delve any deeper. "I'm funny, don't look at me! Look at me with your eyes closed, look at me with your ears."

- Catherine Tate, Girls Who Do: Comedy

Red Dot

I think I've finally triangulated the exact position of my "let's write another blog entry" button. The formula is: if I'm at least a little bit drunk, and too tired to log into WoW, but not yet incapacitated enough to just lie down and watch something before going to sleep, AND if Ana is not online for me to dump whatever happens to be leaking out of my brain at the time... on.

As you can see it's a tiny spot indeed. And I'm already talking to Ana...

And now I've updated the borgs, and I'm completely out of steam again. Until next time.

I felt like I was cheating, so I figured I'd at least throw in a song. It's one of those bands that popped up on too many websites and was advertised by too many of my music-savvy friends for me to ever properly check out, but it played in the background on our last evening in Bham - the only one, I think, during which we flirted with some sort of collective nostalgia - and got inset into that snapshot. I've since listened to the whole album a bunch of times and now know that I only like 2 songs from it, so it wasn't exactly a miraculous conversion, but still. This one's really good.

Previously on...

Hello, dear diary. It's been ages, as usual. But I'm tipsy and retrospective, so let's try to rehash the last month or so.

For a long while I've been convinced that if I ever was to have a piece of music that got played whenever I entered a room (you know, my personal intro), then it would be the guitar part from Hazy Shade of Winter. Because obviously.

Now I'm listening to Hazy Shade of Winter on YouTube.

Anyway, there's another contender. I think it's an intro for those precious moments when I feel totally in touch with my mindblowing sexhualitay:



Seriously though, it's pretty haunting.

We went to Birmingham for about a week. It was yet another one of those low-intensity episodes, and I couldn't shake off the thought that it's weird to fly all the way to Britain to play WoW in the evenings and go to movies and stuff... but when I was able shove aside this nagging and somewhat abstract preconception of a "foreign adventure", it felt great. We went to a really fun poetry event, which incidentally is a phrase I have just retired, as I doubt I'll ever use it again. We saw Stratford-upon-Avon, and don't. And we went to Jamie Oliver's restaurant, which for some reason became my most vivid memory of the batch. I think it's a case of retroactive retouching, but I really loved the place, as a space to sit around in and feel vaguely jubilant (the food itself was ok, but so not the focal point). In hindsight it seems so warm and golden-bronze. I'd get into details, but i don't think I can do it justice, and I'm not even sure there's any justice to be done. It's just one of those subjective time capsules, and I've already dwelled on it more than enough.

If I have one regret it's probably that Karolina was so overworked and tired from the baby's antics, that we hardly had a chance to have any "moments" (I'd say "talk to each other" but it's sort of a different animal).

Ok, I was certain I had enough fuel for a huge sprawling tirade, but I'm literally falling asleep at the desk, so that's it for now. Hope to continue at a more convenient date.

Sun pokes through my lashes

I have a new wallpaper. It brightens my day:

I firmly believe that blond stubble can cure cancer.

I'm also much better, although I did puke unexpectedly at 8a.m. Didn't see that one coming.

For 29 years

I had a mild, extended anxiety attack today. That was fun. A kind of dull, barely palpable pain in my chest and a slight shortness of breath I've learned to associate with either pre-exam stress or a distant aftershock of heartbreak, suddenly emergent. I identified the immediate basis, but the feeling lasted - lapsing when I had company - until midnight, at least. Even though I was utterly certain I had nothing to feel anxious about. It dissolved only after some mental gymnastics which finally revealed other, underlying causes. All the necessary buttons got pressed and I'm fine and dandy now, but that was a fucked-up episode. I hate not knowing where my emotional responses come from.

I'm closing up. As if something kicked in, a latch fell into place, and I've begun nesting. Except I'm plugging the holes up with just me inside.

The observer worries, the glacial drift continues unaware and unabated.

Ana sent me this a short while ago, saying she heard it first when she was 29.

Out of words now.

5:25

I'd much rather be sleepless in Seattle.