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handful_ofdustSo, the weekend. On Friday I acknowledged that I'd managed to re-addict myself to coffee (in that I had one cup on Tuesday, then realized by Friday that every day since, I'd started to get a migraine around 5:00 PM and staved it off by drinking "just one more" cup). Afterwards, I saw Joe Cornish's Attack the Block, which was frankly wonderful--lots of people including Steve have said they couldn't stomach the main character's transition from thug to leader/martyr, because when we first meet him he's robbing a nice young nurse who turns out to be one of his neighbours, but you know me: I'm quite into antiheroic redemption, as a concept. Also, dude first endangers but then potentially saves the world, which needs to count for something.
(Yes, the South London accents are pretty thick--it's like Misfits meets Aliens, basically--but no one walked out, at least not in the screening I attended. I also think I was probably the only person in the theatre who cheered for the British Film Fund logo: "This is what happens when you have a working film quota!" I exulted to Steve, afterwards; what can happen, anyways, providing you give your National Lottery money to the right people.)
On Saturday, meanwhile, I picked up DVDs of Stake Land (second film by the Mulberry St. production team, best described as either "The Road with vampires" or "Terrence Malick does [Decade] of the Living Dead") and The Abominable Doctor Phibes/Doctor Phibes Lives Again (hadn't seen the former since I was sixteen, and I don't think I've ever seen the latter). I then went off to CZP's first annual summer barbecue. Steve drove us there in his Dad's car, then took Cal home after an hour or so; I stuck around, and eventually ended up doing shots of straight Tanqueray. "This is awful," said the young intern whose 21st birthday we were celebrating. "But old-school," I told him, blithely. "This stuff is like the crack cocaine of the 18th century." Much revelry ensued, climaxing when cover artist Erik Mohr challenged poet Helen Marshall to spar in the backyard (they're both purple belts and she wasn't quite as drunk, so it evened out pretty well).
I knew I'd pay for it, but made sure to hydrate myself and ate food consistently throughout, which meant that I actually woke up in better shape than I expected--went off to yoga, sweated the bulk of it out, and moved on. The rest of Sunday was about doing chores, cooking, etc., though I did watch Stake Land, which is worth its own review; those guys are ambitious, and it mainly pays off. Also made some notes for A Tree of Bones, which I'm just about to input. But yeah, I think I'm not going to be repeating Saturday night anytime soon. Though I guess it gives me a bit more insight into what Oona's state of mind mainly was, in life...
All right. Back to it.
(Yes, the South London accents are pretty thick--it's like Misfits meets Aliens, basically--but no one walked out, at least not in the screening I attended. I also think I was probably the only person in the theatre who cheered for the British Film Fund logo: "This is what happens when you have a working film quota!" I exulted to Steve, afterwards; what can happen, anyways, providing you give your National Lottery money to the right people.)
On Saturday, meanwhile, I picked up DVDs of Stake Land (second film by the Mulberry St. production team, best described as either "The Road with vampires" or "Terrence Malick does [Decade] of the Living Dead") and The Abominable Doctor Phibes/Doctor Phibes Lives Again (hadn't seen the former since I was sixteen, and I don't think I've ever seen the latter). I then went off to CZP's first annual summer barbecue. Steve drove us there in his Dad's car, then took Cal home after an hour or so; I stuck around, and eventually ended up doing shots of straight Tanqueray. "This is awful," said the young intern whose 21st birthday we were celebrating. "But old-school," I told him, blithely. "This stuff is like the crack cocaine of the 18th century." Much revelry ensued, climaxing when cover artist Erik Mohr challenged poet Helen Marshall to spar in the backyard (they're both purple belts and she wasn't quite as drunk, so it evened out pretty well).
I knew I'd pay for it, but made sure to hydrate myself and ate food consistently throughout, which meant that I actually woke up in better shape than I expected--went off to yoga, sweated the bulk of it out, and moved on. The rest of Sunday was about doing chores, cooking, etc., though I did watch Stake Land, which is worth its own review; those guys are ambitious, and it mainly pays off. Also made some notes for A Tree of Bones, which I'm just about to input. But yeah, I think I'm not going to be repeating Saturday night anytime soon. Though I guess it gives me a bit more insight into what Oona's state of mind mainly was, in life...
All right. Back to it.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-08 04:06 pm (UTC)"This stuff is like the crack cocaine of the 18th century."
Y'know, I was just thinking that this very morning. Not that I've drunk gin of late, but I occasionally fantasize that I'm teaching an art-history course, and I particularly like to talk in my head about Gin Lane/Beer Street and Cupid as Linkboy/Mercury as Cutpurse.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-09 11:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-09 11:51 am (UTC)