November 16, 2005
Boom boom boom
Do you know the Eastenders drums? They only come in at pivotal moments, albeit at the end of every show. Your father who you thought was killed fourteen years ago walks into the room and says, “Hello Princess.” (boom boom boom) You’re just about to announce to the entire pub that you’re in love with your sister-in-law when your estranged wife returns after six months away (boom boom boom). You announce to that same pub that the father of the baby you miscarried was said Princess’s dead father, an icky icky old man. “You whot??” gasps your sister/mother (boom boom boom). Peggy Mitchell is getting strangled in the square when a range rover pulls in, and out jumps Billy, and then the long lost Grant (back from Rio) and Phil (freed from the nick). Boom boom boom indeed. We got another installment yesterday, and when the Mitchell brothers rolled back into Walford, I screamed at the fabulousness of it all.
But I want my own Eastenders drums. I want to carry them around with me, and bang them at all the appropriate times. “Kerry, I heard you’ve been talking about me behind my back”. (Boom boom boom). “Your analytical skills are virtually nil you little dunce you.” (Boom boom boom). Pricechopper cashier gives me my grocery total, and we’ve shopped twenty dollars over budget. (Boom boom boom boom boom). Eastenders drums would be every drama queen’s favourite accessory.
We woke up at six this morning, wide awake with furious winds rattling the house and it was like a typhoon. Of course when the clock went off at seven, we were barely conscious.
I am a bit fascinated with the Dictionary of National Celebrity though I don’t imagine Leslie Stephen would make much of it. It would be interesting to find out how much it really has in common with the original Dictionary of National Biography. The new GG fiction winner wrote 17 drafts of his novel.
Onto further toiling.
November 15, 2005
Of late
50-Cent launches a line of novels. I’m sure they’re very good. Pete Waterman isn’t dead yet. Because she hasn’t died of CJD, Lionel Shriver’s not buying the bird flu. PENGUINS! (My third favourite animal). Things writers steal from Joan Didion.
Work work work rain rain rain candlelight dinners tea parties bicycles teapots work work work rain rain rain.
November 10, 2005
Post Perfect Day
In terms of lovely days, yesterday was a work of art. Stuart came home unexpectedly early, and we stayed indoors for the remainder of the day while wind and rain pelted our house. We spent the afternoon horizontally, napping and so laidback we were barely breathing. I took things down a notch with a hot bath. I cooked a delicious peanut chicken stirfry for dinner, and then we watched TV for a while. I find television newscasts hilariously awful, no matter what they are reporting. We watched coverage of a tornado in Hamilton, where a flabby woman without a bra flapped by the camera five times. I began to knit Stuart’s Christmas stocking, which was grand. I haven’t knit anything in ages, and it’s turning out beautifully. And then we really did watch about five hours of Eastenders, loving every minute of it. Johnny Allen has just slammed Peggy’s fingers in a door, and we’re on edge waiting to see how things unfold. We also want to head-up the Toronto branch of the Stacey Slater fanclub.
The first Penguin Podcast can be had here. How booklovers can help save the trees. Fun at McSweeneys.
Yesterday, thunder crashed and the sky broke in two, it opened up and rain fell through.
For my bibliography class, I have to find a book published before 1860. I got “Lives of Celebrated Women” by SG Goodrich, published in Boston in 1843. From the preface, “Will any one pretend that these persons would have better fulfilled their destiny, if confined to the quiet precincts of the fireside? If woman is only to be housewife, why are gifts bestowed upon her, that make her often the rival and sometimes the master of the other sex, even in the higher walks of ambition?” I wonder if Virginia ever read this book.
November 8, 2005
And I….
I really enjoyed this article about the task of translating “Alligator Pie” into French, where it had to become a crocodile. Recent highlights have included filling five bags of yard waste from out front- which was kind of fun as autumn fell down around us, eating mochi, a gross man apparently leering at my underpants while Stuart did our laundry, listening to pop Christmas carols and missing Julie G., and doing so much homework there wasn’t time for much else. And now a reprieve, for a little while. Current projects include christmas stockings to-be-knit, and “Looking for Osama: A Love Story in Rhyming Couplets.” And of course, more homework.
November 4, 2005
It's been a bad day for the Mitchell Boys
My, it’s been a hilarious day for domestic assaults. This morning Eastenders Thug Ross Kemp was assaulted by his wife who is editor of The Sun (see link below). And then Steven McFadden who plays Kemp’s equally thuggish brother Phil was smacked around by his ex-girlfriend. We’ll be following this story closely here at Pickle Me This.
Update: So is Zoe Williams.
November 3, 2005
Read More
It is strange how well the Koreans and Japanese in Toronto manage to get along on Bloor Street. I mention this because Stuart explored Korea Town the other day, and his precious spoil was a box of Japanese curry. Not quite CoCoIchiban, but we sat down to such a delightful meal tonight and it was pretty close. Oishi. It managed to pull me out of a two day funk. The legacy of my despair will be a busy next few days as I make up for time spent staring at the wall and bemoaning my meagre existence. I’ve been naughty.
Timothy Garton Ash on Europe. I’ve been thinking a lot about Europe lately. I just started reading Snow by Orhan Pamuk, which is wonderful. Also a current assignment requires I read multiple issues of Atlantic Monthly from 1938 seeking articles about European politics at that time, and how little things ever change is painfully obvious.
The Guardian revisits Fear of Flying. Apparently, internet users read more! And Nancy Drew is 70.
Now I am going to be provocative. It’s National Novel Writing Month, which is ridiculous. You can’t write a decent novel in a month, and if you could you would have written one anyway. A quote I came across a few months ago: “Write less. Read More”. I’m all for (Inter)National Novel Reading Month, which would make us smarter and the world a better place. NaNoWriMo just makes the world weightier with crappy writing and people more self-absorbed. Further in provocation, I don’t think I am going to buy a poppy this year. I haven’t thought this through entirely, and whatever conclusion I come to, I won’t be completely comfortable with it. It just seems a bit hypocritical, but I have to admit I’ve only thought this since I read “Three Guineas”. We’ll see. Perhaps I’m too impressionable.
Have I mention I’ve been Drabbling? “The Peppered Moth”. It was good, but still not of her Golden Age. Anyhow, I’m finished it now.
Back to marking.
October 30, 2005
The crowds roar
There is something poignant about someone else’s radio sounds flowing through the open window alongside the breeze and the sunshine, late on a gorgeous autumn afternoon.
I think it’s a soccer game in Portuguese.
