This cover of Joni Mitchell's A case of you is astonishingly lovely and according to iTunes, I've listened to it fifty eight times. Sounds about right. Up until now, though, I'd never seen the video, featuring Rebecca Hall whom I have loved ever since the first time I saw Starter for Ten. She almost ruined it with Vicky Christina Barcelona which is bad. Really really bad. But this is great, so she's back in my good books. And James Blake never left them.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have deleted my Facebook account. I think I'll stick with it for the time being because already today, I have read an awful lot, and this has to be better for the little grey cells. No doubt I will return soon enough, but for now I feel fairly liberated.
Today, I was walking to the supermarket (I use the term lightly. Think Netto mixed with an Esso Garage and you'll get the right idea) down the street from me. I was not immodestly dressed, I wore a long sleeved t-shirt, a knee length skirt and a leather jacket. A middle aged woman stared at my bare legs in disbelief, and without even trying to disguise her abhorrence, tutted at me and mumbled "disgraceful". I would have been surprised were it not for the fact that I seem to be living in a country where they cannot tell hot from cold. Today was beautifully sunny and hit 21°C at midday which is when I ventured out. This is the equivalent of British summertime, and dammit I'll get my legs out if I bloody want to.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Saturday, 10 March 2012
our good fortune allowed us to feel a sadness our parents didn't have time for.
In general, I'm not really a film person. As I get older, my attention span seems to be getting shorter and my ability to will myself to do... well anything is lessening day by day. And I know that watching a film isn't exactly hard work, you just sit there and it unfolds before you, but anything over ninety minutes and I get bored. And then I start doing something else. And the film never gets finished, and it hangs over me like a credit card bill. I find film-watching an overall depressing pastime. I watched Beginners the other day, and all it did was make me sad. I watched The Rebound today, and all it did was make me sad, but in a very different way.
But yes, I really do need a pastime. I've started running again in a bid to spend all summer on the beach, but that is more a grueling necessity than something I find enjoyable. Perhaps I should devote myself entirely to learning the Italian language - I do really love learning grammar - but it's just so hard, and I find it difficult when the man from whom I buy coffee sniggers at my pronunciation, let alone when people I actually like are listening to me butcher their language.
I've started reading a lot more, and strive to do this outdoors now that it's getting warmer and I'm beginning to discover all the open spaces Rome has to offer that seemed to hibernate over the winter. Currently, I'm trawling through the Stieg Larsson books. I say trawling, I am absolutely loving them, and I just can't stop turning the pages (pressing the "next page" button on my Kindle). I am yet to see either version of the film, but I'd like to finish the trilogy first so I can make up my own mind about how everyone looks and sounds. It's a nerd thing.
I suppose cooking could be my pastime, but I don't really have any money, so buying fancy ingredients is a bit of a struggle, and I invariably end up making pasta. It's one of the side effects of living in Italy.
Drinking, shopping and museum-going also all fall into the not enough money category. Basically I need ideas for things to do that are free and require little or no effort. Let me know!
I've included this video, not because I like the song but because I think she has a funny singing manner and feel you should appreciate this. She has a similar demeanour to a nodding dog.
Labels:
beginners,
books,
ewan mcgregor,
films,
italian,
running,
the civil wars
Thursday, 8 March 2012
put ya cape on, you a super hoe...
Happy International Women's Day!
One of the greatest annoyances in my life is that often when the topic of feminism comes up, people say to me "Feminism is all very well and good, but I hate it when "they" think they are superior to men". And I tend to nod along. Sometimes I venture that this isn't really the idea of feminism, but I tend to wilt under the glower that greets me. I am a feminist, but I am also hideously shy, and sometimes I don't stick up for my gender as I perhaps should.
For my eighth birthday, my mum took me to see S Club 7. They were possibly the worst "band" who ever existed, but I loved them as loyally as I now love Radiohead or The Cure. And they were so innocent. They sang about love and summer and lovely things, and they weren't remotely sexual. I was brought up on The Spice Girls who were much more sexcentric (Two Become One) but advocated girl power and taught girls to think for themselves (in their own little way).
About three years ago, I helped at Brownies for a bit. I only did this to get my Duke of Edinburgh award, and there was nothing altruistic in it at all. However, I did it. I was a Guide. It made sense. I don't really like children, but some of them were not that bad. I still remember my heart breaking however, when at the "Christmas Concert" (glorified karaoke session), a group of the girls decided to do a dance to "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls. It was horrific. They were about nine years old.
This was a few years ago. Things have changed a bit, possibly for the better, but now there are The Saturdays who whinge on all the time about unrequited love. Everyone wears so much make up. There are Bratz instead of Sylvanian Families, and Nicky Minaj says the word "hoe" an awful lot.
I really don't want to be too quick to condemn this new generation as doomed, and I'm sure that people thought the same about us when Blue (Dabadee) came out in 1998. I was seven. But the thing is, shitty Europop is inoffensive, and Nicole Sherzinger is anything but.
Happy Women's day everyone.
Labels:
women
Monday, 13 February 2012
amser darogan y sgor.
This weekend has been a long one, and frankly, I am zonked.
My darling mother came to visit, which would have been nice, but she brought half of Lye with her. I'm not sure how many of you have been to Lye, but it does not churn out the best house guests. Luckily, they were all ushered away into a nearby hotel which meant I could come and go at my leisure rather than being stuck with them. I am stuck however with my rediscovered Black Country accent. I'm sure it will be diluted in time.
Yesterday, we went to watch the England vs Italy Six Nations match at the Stadio Olympico, which was a lot of fun, though Clare and I ended up freezing our faces off, even though I was wearing nine layers. And a hat. It was nice to watch rugby with someone who didn't take it too seriously, and we had a lot of fun trying (and failing) to rival the Italians in terms of volume. It was a lucky victory. The reason I am no good at being a sports fan (not that I try all that hard) is because I always feel too sorry for the losing team. So much so that I forget to celebrate when my team wins. I've also never quite got round to mastering hooliganism.
My mum brought me an England shirt to wear for the match. Though I felt a bit like I was betraying my beloved Wales, I wore it anyway, figuring that in a crowd where Brits were massively outnumbered, the men in white needed all the help they could get. Besides, I can support two teams, right? I'm still backing Wales to win, and that's what matters at the end of the day. Probably. My pick of the tournament (from my very scientific analysis) is the lovely Leigh Halfpenny who is just so Welsh and has quite nice twinkly eyes.
I quite like it when people come to stay, because it means I get to show off the city a bit, and fall back in love with it myself. I've been feeling really homesick, and it's been good to remind myself that I have a very cushy deal in life at the moment. I'm still really looking forward to popping home in just over a week though, and when I get back, spring will have sprung. This is what I keep telling myself, because I swear it is not supposed to be this snowy in the Mediterranean. They reckon seasonal variation is good for the soul, but I am sick of winter now, and ready for the sun to come back.
This is probably my favourite eighties song. And that is saying a lot. Good night everyone, I hope you have a nice week.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
never really had a doubt.
I love Beyoncé. I have loved her since Destiny's Child released 'Survivor' and I decided I was a feminist. I also think she's probably the most beautiful woman in the whole world. And considering she's a supermegastar, she doesn't seem to be too much of a dick, unlike the Gagas and Minajes of this world (not that they don't have their place too). I know I can be a bit of a ponce about music, but I love pop just as much as I love all the obscure stuff, and Beyoncé will always have a place in my heart. Also, when the charts are still filled with bikini-clad girls, Beyoncé shows young women everywhere that confidence and power (and thighs) are infinitely sexier than stripping off.
So in celebration of her brilliance, here are my top ten Beyoncé songs, in no particular order.
- 1 - Crazy in Love. The ultimate power couple. What did we do before them? It must have been an empty existence.
- 2 - Listen - The best break-up song ever? Possibly. I loved this song, so I watched the film 'Dreamgirls', which seemed like exactly my cup of tea, but it was terrible. Really really terrible. Nonetheless, every broken-hearted girl will feel better if she stands in front of a mirror, miming this into a hairbrush. Cliché? Me?
- 3 - Irreplaceable - "I can have another you in a minute, and in fact he'll be here in a minute." This one's for that other sort of breakup - the one where your friends admit that they never liked him anyway and you sort of always knew that he was a bit of a nonce. The solution? Parade around in your underwear and rollers to show the bastard what he's missing.
- 4 - Halo - About the one that sticks. This was Eilish and Bob's first dance at their wedding, and I don't think there was a dry eye in the room. D'aww.
- 5 - Sweet dreams - Just. So. Good. And that dance she does at 2:20 would not be cool if anyone else in the world did it. But I dare you to try...
- 6 - Love on Top - Because with the release of this song, Beyoncé can pretend 'Telephone' never happened, and get back to doing what she does best - belting out fun songs and dancing in an un-mimicable sort of way.
- 7 - Single Ladies - Like it or loathe it, it's impossible to ignore. In the words of Kanye West, it's the best music video of all time, and though we are all thoroughly sick of it, and groan when it comes on, it's pretty much iconic, and I couldn't bring myself to leave it out. It's another one that is a lot of fun to dance to alone in your room on a Tuesday night. Not that I ever do that.
- 8 - Beautiful Liar - This came out five whole years ago. I was fifteen and boys everywhere thought this video was the best thing since sliced bread. Beyoncé and Shakira on one screen, gyrating. A little bit obvious, yes, but they have hips so it doesn't incense me. I'm not saying it's not hypocritical. It's also pretty catchy...
- 9 - If I were a boy - I'm not sure anyone really understands what this song or the video are about, but I think she's basically saying that she would make a better man than her man. Maybe.
- 10 - Survivor - For old time's sake.
Sunday, 5 February 2012
who's that girl?
It is a well known fact that every hipster girl would like to be a little bit more like Zooey Deschanel and every hipster guy would like to make her breakfast. Probably. She's just cool, isn't she? She managed to make the film 'Elf' cool, even though she was blonde and very un-Summer, and she can pull off those glasses better than anyone...
Because I spend most of my time at my computer (comforted by the fact that I am still technically in Rome and could do loads of super-cool things if I wanted to), I have of course watched all of 'New Girl' about three times. I quite like it. It's funny though how it manages to irritate, bore and enchant me all at once. 'Jess' is a little bit ditsy and a little bit too kitsch, but while I'm not sure she's all that credible as a High School teacher, she's difficult to hate. Put aside for one moment the fact that nothing really happens, and consider instead just how stylish she is. Just look at her, look! Besides, perhaps t.v. doesn't have enough superficial, plotless programmes and is in need of a few more. Oh, wait... Also, when I came to my bi-monthly viewing of '500 Days of Summer', I was shocked at how much of a cow she was in comparison. I hope my enjoyment hasn't permanently been dented.
It's very snowy here and I have heard enough sirens in the last three days to last me a lifetime. It's odd, there's nobody around at all. Everyone is hibernating. The shops are closed, the shelves long-cleared of anything fresh or worth eating. Yesterday, we went to the Colosseum which was buzzing with Italians, with only a smattering of tourists. It was lovely to see people making the effort to go and see their city at its prettiest. It was a bad time however, to realise that I don't have any sensible shoes. Not a single pair. And by 'sensible', I mean not from New Look.
I hope Italy is a bit more mobile tomorrow (though there is another transport strike, so my hopes are not high) and most importantly that there is a supermarket within 5km which has managed to restock so I don't get stuck eating old bread and get scurvy. Again, I'm not hopeful.
I can't wait for Spring.
Labels:
new girl,
rome,
the walkmen,
winter,
zooey deschanel
Friday, 27 January 2012
don't fear the reaper.
This is a murder-themed blog post. I thought I'd tell you upfront in case you think I'm an oddball and want to leave it at that. I didn't want you to get half way through and realise that there was a recurring theme running through it, and that the theme in question was just a little bit strange. It also contains 'Sherlock' spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.
They have Midsomer Murders here in Italy. It's called 'L'ispettore Barnaby' and is dubbed rather than subtitled. This may seem irrelevant, but it actually makes a lot of difference to some programmes. For example, Grey's Anatomy dubbed into Italian is just as enjoyable, whereas MTV's 'Disaster Date' when dubbed has all the fun sucked out of it. Inspector Barnaby's adventures seem to gain something in the Italian language, and everything seems a little bit more dramatic. I would imagine those living in big Italian cities however, find it somewhat difficult to relate to the lives of those living in quaint British countryside.
Sherlock was incredible. The last series was definitely good television, but this was just exceptional. I started watching it at home with Tom, Cait and Cindy, and finished it sitting alone in my bedroom in Rome, but both times, I was equally hooked. Anybody who doesn't find both Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch supremely attractive is maybe a little bit deranged (or likes men who are slightly less angular of face). And now the internet is buzzing with theories of how the great man faked his own death. I have to say, I was a little bit angry that he wasn't dead. I feel the BBC cheated some tears out of me (who wouldn't well up a little at the sight of a very forlorn John Watson unashamedly grieving the death of his best friend) and felt silly for getting so worked up! My anger is not enough to prevent me from really really looking forward to the next series though. I'm sure I will be just as enthralled.
This interesting collection of pictures appeared on the Guardian website the other day. I scrolled through with morbid fascination. I hope you will do the same.
The thing is, I love detective programmes, Agatha Christie novels and that Roald Dahl story where the old lady ran a B&B and stuffed all the guests. I guess what I'm asking is your opinion on whether this is really weird, or if I might indeed turn out normal rather than some vengeful, leg of lamb-wielding housewife. Comment is welcome.
I'll leave you with a pointless gif of Benedict Cumberbatch taking his scarf off. You are welcome!
Labels:
agatha christie,
benedict cumberbatch,
books,
home,
italy,
martin freeman,
roald dahl,
sherlock,
the guardian
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