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.