Sep. 9th, 2004 03:27 pm
Bits and drabs
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muckefuckI'VE come to the conclusion that I either have to acquire a digital camera or get a whole lot better at painting word-pictures. Since I'm naturally more verbal than visual, writing seems the surer route, but mine needs to improve a great deal before I'll feel up to describe such things as the goldenrod in full bloom against the sky blue of the lagoon water or the dawn light shining through the locust branches outside my bedroom window.
THE wind continues to blow from the northeast, which always leaves me a little disoriented; I'm used to watching the clouds plod from west to east, not speed southward in a path paralleling the lakeshore. Still, I'm not going to complain about the cool, dry, autumnal air that this odd weather pattern is bringing us. Some of the trees have already begun to turn, but I fear this is more a response to dry spells and stress than the natural attentuation of sunlight.
WHEN I first starting watching King of the Hill, I thought Bill's last name, based on the pronunciation of the Hill family, was "Doughtree". It was only after the episode in which they visit his Francophone relatives in Louisiana that I realised I was wrong and began to suspect it was actually "Dauterive", a common Cajun name meaning "of the high bank". Fan sites ultimately confirmed that suspicion.
THERE haven't been many summer films that have gotten my juices flowing--Hero is the only one I've bothered to see--but the Sky Capitan and the World of Tomorrow ad I saw last night excited me to the point of calling up![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bunj and burbling. At first, I thought someone might have filmed Dan Dare! Also, I watched the online trailer for Shaun of the Dead, which I was mildly surprised to see is a British production, and I don't think I would mind seeing it, even if I saw no evidence of the zombies on fire! magdalene1 is so fond of.
MONDAY night, will flipping channels in search of something not too insulting to watch (in that primitive way we pre-TIVO people have),monshu and I came across the oddest programmes on BBCAmerica. Usually, Monday is mystery night, but the oddly-familiar protagonist seemed to be walking around in parody of a 1920s serial, complete with eccentric, wheelchair-bound, millionaire researcher and his stealthy Indian companion. I'd barely gotten over recognising Derek Jacoby when suddenly there was a hallucinatory scene of Tom Baker in pure-white vestments talking to a human teapot. We were baffled. After the commercial break, we discovered that the teapot was really Vic Reeves, making the oddly-familiar actor Bob Mortimer, and that this British comedy team had resurfaced as a half-supernatural pair of freelance crime-solvers linked across the abyss of death. Quite unexpected.
ALREADY I've finished reading Pérez-Reverte's Queen of the South and I'm planning a post on the undigested bits of Spanish left for colour in the English-language translation. I was preparing to seek out the works of the Sinaloese novelist Elmer Mendoza, which are singled out for praise in the acknowledgements (as is Mendoza himself), but my previous post has prompted me to pick up One hundred years of solitude again. I'd forgotten just how enjoyable a read it is and even though I've been awash in magical realism since I last read it, Gabo's text hasn't lost its ability to delightfully surprise me. This time, I will make it to the end! (And next time, I'll read it in Spanish!)
THE wind continues to blow from the northeast, which always leaves me a little disoriented; I'm used to watching the clouds plod from west to east, not speed southward in a path paralleling the lakeshore. Still, I'm not going to complain about the cool, dry, autumnal air that this odd weather pattern is bringing us. Some of the trees have already begun to turn, but I fear this is more a response to dry spells and stress than the natural attentuation of sunlight.
WHEN I first starting watching King of the Hill, I thought Bill's last name, based on the pronunciation of the Hill family, was "Doughtree". It was only after the episode in which they visit his Francophone relatives in Louisiana that I realised I was wrong and began to suspect it was actually "Dauterive", a common Cajun name meaning "of the high bank". Fan sites ultimately confirmed that suspicion.
THERE haven't been many summer films that have gotten my juices flowing--Hero is the only one I've bothered to see--but the Sky Capitan and the World of Tomorrow ad I saw last night excited me to the point of calling up
bunj and burbling. At first, I thought someone might have filmed Dan Dare! Also, I watched the online trailer for Shaun of the Dead, which I was mildly surprised to see is a British production, and I don't think I would mind seeing it, even if I saw no evidence of the zombies on fire! magdalene1 is so fond of.MONDAY night, will flipping channels in search of something not too insulting to watch (in that primitive way we pre-TIVO people have),
monshu and I came across the oddest programmes on BBCAmerica. Usually, Monday is mystery night, but the oddly-familiar protagonist seemed to be walking around in parody of a 1920s serial, complete with eccentric, wheelchair-bound, millionaire researcher and his stealthy Indian companion. I'd barely gotten over recognising Derek Jacoby when suddenly there was a hallucinatory scene of Tom Baker in pure-white vestments talking to a human teapot. We were baffled. After the commercial break, we discovered that the teapot was really Vic Reeves, making the oddly-familiar actor Bob Mortimer, and that this British comedy team had resurfaced as a half-supernatural pair of freelance crime-solvers linked across the abyss of death. Quite unexpected.ALREADY I've finished reading Pérez-Reverte's Queen of the South and I'm planning a post on the undigested bits of Spanish left for colour in the English-language translation. I was preparing to seek out the works of the Sinaloese novelist Elmer Mendoza, which are singled out for praise in the acknowledgements (as is Mendoza himself), but my previous post has prompted me to pick up One hundred years of solitude again. I'd forgotten just how enjoyable a read it is and even though I've been awash in magical realism since I last read it, Gabo's text hasn't lost its ability to delightfully surprise me. This time, I will make it to the end! (And next time, I'll read it in Spanish!)