Off to the seaside. Don’t forget to pack the fur coat!
I don’t remember how many years have been since my accident, but it was this time of the year. My never mailed postcard should’ve read: “I blamed a horse for my wreckless speeding”. My advice for the kids, sleep before you drive not during, and don’t speed and turn right.
Nobody was hurt during the production, but my radiator and the surrounding area. But that is just a coincidence. The no hurt, that is.
OK, I bet you thought I forgot all about this Sziget thing I had promised.
Today’s story is about the French connection. Yes, the French have been the most irritating island nation. With the notable exceptions, mostly visible on stage. I am talking about the theater stage and the dance stage. I have already mentioned the brilliant performances by Transe Express/Les rois faignants and Accrorap/Les corps etrangers. Today I am going to focus on Emilie Simon, and her Vegetal concert. Hardly any greenery on stage, but it was so refreshing nevertheless. I mean check her videos on youtube, in particular this one, brought to my attention by T sometime ago.
Emilie is this “little girl with a big personality”. She kept the audience on the hill for her one hour and a half, plus two real encores, very rare for the festival, where everything has to fit the time table. Not only that the people weren’t going anywhere in spite of the drizzle, but I could hear numerous love declarations and marriage proposals being shouted from the fan cohorts in between the songs. To which Emilie shyly replied only “I love you too”, thus provoking emotional havoc.
She was joined on stage by Mr Magic Man and Mr Give Me Anything I’ll Give You Rhythm (yes, even water!). Their real names are Markus Dravst and Simon Edwards , but much to my annoyance, I have no clue as to who is who. Help needed and appreciated.
Happily reporting from Otopeni, on my way to the island of music. It’s been quite a hectic endeavor so far. managed to do pretty much everything on my to do list, the rest will be fixed by a couple of calls later. I don’t have Vava’s cam, I have Mazi’s. I don’t have batteries, so we’ll see about the pictures. Last time the camera played tricks on me because of the batteries.
So, I woke up, not feeling rested nor 100% up to it, missing a piece of luggage, now I have a monster one. It contains my tent, mattress and sleeping bag, among other personal items under the same “roof”. So I started to score and check one thing after the other on my list, and one moment I was thinking I cannot possibly make it, the other, oh yeah sure I will. I included here the daily internet procrastination, no coffee mug this time.
The house was left devastated… not a nice place to return as such, but I will have to do something about that as I am due another interview on Sunday. At home this time, the other was in the office.
A last word of warning, never say never. Just when I was releasing a sigh “Finally I am on my way to the airport, and I should make it in time”, somebody’s car had a minor explosion. For a couple of seconds I saw myself running to railway station… Again, not really up to it.
Low cost is low cost, a check-in was a min-nightmare, but I am really on my way to the departure gate, so what can stop me now? I don’t remember where my anti-fever pills are, so maybe a sneaky virus. Hope not.
Finally, within the entire madness, T has sent the sweetest sms “Drive carefully”. Well, I didn’t have to. I miss you, and maybe my flight too if I linger long enough.
Zbyes!
No, I have not left for work, where thrilling accounting and reporting awaits. Instead, following my phone conversation with T, I tried to squeeze an orange without the blades on. It was not working too well and all I could think was why is it so reluctant? Luckily the juice, yes there was some juice, did not get into the electric part of the squeezer. Next, after mounting the blades, I invented a method to squeeze sour cherries, or mere cherries for that matter, without the prior removing of their core. No doubt, should I persevere in these practices, I will need a new squeezer shortly.
You think it’s the three little piggies? Nope! I thought they were the three monkeys, you know,
the see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil monkeys. But no. It’s a football player in a suit, a devastated crack addict singer and everyman. I laughed and laughed. This was at
CND.
Then we went to Underlondon. Mazi’s got the VIP passes, again, and I am always ready for a piggyback ride. (By the way, according to Wikipedia, it does come from pick a back)
LATER EDIT: the piggy pic is from CND’s site and not mine. T has got the working permit.
Yeah, that is one thing of many forms. Like I have been to
Rokolectiv last weekend, but only managed my devices now. So, you have a picture. Like I I have been to the movies last night. And I didn’t get to tell you what T and
Mazi have in common: they would both mercilessly drag me to see Hugh Grant and or Sandra Bullock. No, not last night. We saw
something which made us use our tired little brains. Like today, when instead of doing you know what, I atteptempted to put some order in the blogroll. Still, it looks like my house, where everything is on the floor. By comparison, the advantage, by far: this blog does not gather dust. Like, literally.
As I am re-writing this, I am overwhelmed with frustration. My new wireless connection caused my computer to freeze and I have lost a very very long post. And some of last’s weeks scribbles. Let me try to recompose myself from loss, being late, unable “to win” and the constant feeling I am living “on hold”.
As it would be appropriate, this comes in parts.
PART ONE - Things I have been told, your quota of quotes
Show me that you care and call me more often. Like at least once a week. (long distance relation)
You are gorgeous, you are gorgeous. Keep on repeating that. (new best friend)
I don’t want to loose you for good. (Can you guess? T…)
I didn’t want to lie to you. I hope we can still be friends. (ha-ha! what next?)
I saw you and I thought it’s so refreshing to know for a fact that somebody on the set is gay. (fan text messages)
ha-ha hmmmm my own private celebrity… (keep on dreaming! And, yeah, I have been on TV. Twice)
Please don’t go to that TV show. He has not even introduced you properly. (I, cannot do that, mum! I’ll make sure next time he knows my name or say it myself, but it was quite a surprise, I wasn’t really going to say anything on that particular occasion)
Write something! […] I want to see some two or three posts when I return. And be more explicit, so my mum can understand it. (new best friend upon departure to the seaside)
Write something! […] you can even be cryptic if you will. (new best friend, exasperated, upon return from the seaside)
PART TWO - Simon’s sayings and me getting the blues
You are tall and lean and ambitious. You can win a crowd with your smile. You can walk the walk with your pointed shoes that match your confidence. But I know you are afraid of being alone, as you confided in me. Yes, I think it’s a crappy excuse for your action. No, I am not going to make your life easier. We’ll see. You didn’t do so good on our last conversation.
PART THREE - Joke
I stitched the “Run CD First” on the inside of the toilet lid. Get it?
PART FOUR - Some movies
Seen:
Casanova,
Paris, je t’aime,
The Interpreter,
Gia,
The Sweetest Thing,
The Illusionist
Not seen:
Marie Antoinette,
Decameron
PART FIVE - Dimitri who?
Thanks to Mazi, I got blessed with a VIP pass slash invitation to Dimitri from Paris, which was great, both getting the invite and the mix. Very groovy eighty. I kept jumping until four in the morning, fell asleep with radio and lights on and lingered in a hangover the size of China the next day. Everything matched only by the amount of running nose, lack of voice and presence of nausea the next day.
PART SIX - No sex
The amazing chit chat I am occasionally entertaining makes for chapters in the opera magna to follow. So, here it is, a conversation with the guy who’s been eyeing me the whole night smilingly. After I asked and got his number, it went like this:
Me, redundantly: “So, can I call you?”
Him: “But I am not gay.”
Me: “I have not asked if you were gay, I asked if I can call you.”
Had no intention to call anyway.
OK, this is pretty much it. Satisfied? Leave a comment. Not satisfied? Email in confidence at wereaditall@monsoux.blogspot.com
Oh, my current music wish list includes:
Citizen Cope - Brother Lee
Mark Ronson - Toxic (cover)
Sophie Hellen Bextor - Catch you
and Gwen Stefani’s latest album
As the architect puts it, “You are too commercial!”
Well, not that kind of dream, not an ideal not met, but a dream that seemed so real I have not even questioned its oddcityness (I could not resist paying tribute to
R!’s last two comments). It’s all about my house, how I went to sleep last night and everything was alright and I woke up (this is part of the dream) to find my LDC screen (which I don’t have) face down on the floor under the desk. As I saw this I was trying to check if there was an earthquake, one of T’s obsessions, but the desk tipped and fell on the computer (which is no longer there) and the other huge monitor went off. And after a while it went on. I looked at the computer. It looked back at me, pretty much like a rabbit getting ready to go into the oven, guts half out. I remember thinking how T is going to kill me. The dream also featured me moving the massive furniture around the apartment (not much success, though), an earthquake, a curved window frame to my bedroom that wouldn’t close, a baby pigeon (inside the house! - I hate pigeons, they are flying rats, and I hate them for their persistent shitting on everything) and a rush from eating strawberries. Then I went to the bathroom which was magnificent but dark and a flood liability. And that’s about it. For a smooth transition, I have also dreamt a beginning for the chapter I am working on my thesis. I kinda do that when I am stressed. Have I told you how I have dreamed a 20 seconds Excel formula on a loop to the end of my dream while in real life I was preparing the annual report?
A partial de-freezing is everything my mother has taught me not to do. Armed with a knife one nervously attacks the ice, making sure one doesn’t hurt oneself too bad. One will stop when the freezer’s door fits right back in place when closed.
So T has left, it’s been two days. I haven’t cried (too much), and definitely not in public. But it happens at the movies when I think it really should not be the case. Like Billy Eliot. But I make it a rule not too cry like a girlie. So I rush to the bathroom, where I cry like the bearded girlie I am.
I am dreaming episodes of a sitcom. Every new episode takes you to the next floor, where they are installing yet another computer facility in lobby. You see, the hotel is new and not yet done. The manager is played by this actress, very defensive, whatever you might want when you approach her it’s always cause for some sort of hysterical excuse that doesn’t have to do with what you’re saying.
Also my Sony is dying. The condolence book is open.
Dear English speaking reader, I apologise for the untranslatable title of today. As my boyfriend is adding a continent to our relation, I am ransacking the house trying to put some order in my life. It’s, of course, taking more time than expected. The only standing parallel is a crossbreed between J.D.Salinger’s “Catcher in the rye” and Proust’s little cookie. Well, my apartment is a field of cookies and I am telling you: some will go away! Don’t fret, anybody, I am still married.
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