How do you spell euphemism?

This is an extremely angry time of the month for me, and I've channelled some of that anger into finding better FUCKING euphemisms for menses than 'Auntie Flo's visit', 'on the rag', and the EXECRABLE 'curse'. All this in the new-found belief that giving inevitable but perturbing things funny euphemisms will make them somehow better (examples 'Bitchface Cockbrain's coffee break fund' for 'taxes', 'taking the one-man night bus to Cleveland' for 'erectile dysfunction', and 'kicking the giving-a-fuck-about-cha habit' for 'menopause').

1. Riding the red dragon (My favourite so far and Monsieur F's contribution)
2. Flying the crimson skies
3. Tripping the red fantastic
4. Living the cock-block
5. Commie panties

Seriously though, if I hear someone say 'curse' once more while I'm on it they're getting slapped upside the head. Even if it's Jacques fucking Chirac and a bunch of coked up French rangers jump me for it. Fucking Jacques Chirac.

Fuck.

Hair

is cut. Lovely light-headed feeling. I think it's even more of a mullet than it used to be, which I'm okay with, since that sick mullet fad seems to have died down and Genius Alex left me long bits in the front to stop me looking like a country music star.

Indications at the moment are that I've hit menopause, and part of me is pretty happy with that idea. Another part - well. Wants to go back to the boy's dormitory, shall we say. Sunrise, sunset. Silly, really. After you get what you want you don't want it. If I got the moon I'd grow tired of it soon.

You're like a baby,

You want what you want when you want it.

But after you are presented with what you want you're discontented!

You're always wishing and wanting for something

When you get what you want you don't want what you get

And though I sit upon your knee you'll grow tired of me

'Cuz after you get what you want you don't want what you wanted at all.

Changeable, you got a changeable nature

Always, always changing your mind

There's a longing in your eye hard to satisfy

And here's the reason why...

'Cuz after you get what you want you don't want it

If I gave you the moon you'd grow tired of it soon

You're like a baby, you want what you want when you want it

But after you are presented with what you want you're discontented

You're always wishing and wanting for something

When you get what you want you don't want what you get

And though I sit upon your knee you'll grow tired of me

'Cuz after you get what you want you don't want what you wanted at all

Baby I don't mean to make you blue but you need a talking to

'Cuz after you get what you want you don't want what you wanted at all.

I know you.

You surely do, Mme. Monroe, or whoever you got to write that song.

This Entry Spoils Prime

- which is an achievement, considering it's as processed as Cheez Wiz. Somewhere between formula and mess is good storytelling; while Prime (another Client gratuity/advance screening last night) had a formula and was messy, it came nowhere close to good storytelling. Starred Uma Thurman, Meryl Streep, and some generic hot guy whose name escapes me – let’s call him Jewish Colin Farrell since he’s the spit-image. Some nice pratfall humour, some bark-with-laughter-even-though-I’m-not-snaked moments.

The bugger of it all: the director and writer of this film seemed to feel no sense of duty to develop or really show the characters. The Meryl Streep character and the crazy-pie-throwing-best-friend felt even more stock-characterish than the already stocky two leads; Meryl Streep and Uma Thurman could pull it off, the JCF and crazy-friend couldn’t. Outside of the funny moments the dialogue was rote-ish and television-y.

Since the characters were so underdeveloped, it put more attention onto the storyline, which was fatal. Not practical when whole scenes, including the ending, felt tacked on last minute. Don’t know how to end a movie about the ups and downs in the relationship of a 23 year old man and a 37 year old woman when they’ve already broken up and got back together twice without the audience really understanding how or why? Just have her dump him definitively in 15 seconds while he’s trying to impregnate her, cut to a melancholy wordless winter scene, play a break-up jazz vocal, roll credits. I wonder if it was time, money, or words they ran out of.

What bugs me about these sorts of movies is characters don’t matter, as they do in a film like Jackie Brown, and the story doesn’t matter, as it does in a film like Kill Bill. What matters is a resolution – a cheap catharsis, an emotional manipulation, an ‘educative’ experience ham-handedly illustrating the importance of one single basic yet subjective idea. I always leave films like that feeling like the morning after ovulation-casuals – distracted, barely satisfied, and wondering if the way I spent the last few hours was a waste of time or not. I’ve given up ovulation-casuals – looks like I’ll have to give up New York comedies too.

Serendipity Galore

Good mood today due to one of those 'free' pay cheques. You know the ones; not directly earmarked for a bill, rent, reefer or other normal expenses, so you can buy the little things you've wanted for so long they feel necessary. This good mood was enhanced by a bird just missing shitting on me and my black corduroy coat as I walked to work. The feeling of luck that brought on reminded me of a game French surrealists used to play, wherein they made up new superstitions and proverbs when events in daily life seemed to have some extra-ordinary significance.

In that spirit, here are some new good-luck superstitions (let's stick to good-natured mind-fucks, shall we?) inspired by this morning's events to start spreading around:

1. Serendipity galore if birdshit just misses you while you're wearing corduroy,
2. Good health if an old Chinese woman on a bicycle horks onto the street while riding past you,
3. Good fortune with money if red wine leaks into your orange-y suede leather bag, smelling it up all nice,
4. Good luck in love if a colleague wet-coughs without covering her mouth.

Miss H., if you're out there, please bear in mind that Mr. S. is exceedingly superstitious, and would therefore be an excellent candidate for infection with such new rubbish.

Food food food music

The Red Hot Chili Peppers must have at least two decent tours left in them and whoever can get me tickets to one of the shows - well - my terms are best negotiated in a less public forum, but I can tell you now they'd be generous. Last night, after a little cooking demonstration with a friend who wants to learn, I saw a DVD of a performance they pulled off in 2003 at Slane Castle.

Maybe it was the wine, or the beautiful meal we had just put together (angel hair pasta in a mushroom roquefort sauce, sole stuffed with spinach and asiago cheese, asparagus salad with this lovely blueberry tart for dessert, which of course I didn't cook because baking is for chicks), but I was enthralled. Considering they've been doing it since 1980 something, I don't even think it's drugs. I think they're honestly that wonderful.

It's all the more remarkable because generally I hate watching pop music DVDs. However, Miss H gave Mr. S the Elvis Comeback Special DVD for his birthday, and I can't wait to see it. Speaking of, my birthday is in exactly one month. Or something. Start saving now! I would like a peaceful resolution of tensions in and around Lebanon and a pony. My chances of getting either this year are slim, but surely it doesn't hurt to ask.

I made an appointment on Thursday with Alex, the most wonderful hairdresser in the world. I wonder what he will do!

Underwhelmed

Last night I finally saw Corpse Bride, which I found lame, probably because I wasn't snaked and don't care for animation that isn't funny cartoons. Still, if stop action and lousy musical numbers float your little man in the boat, go see it. I remember being similarly underwhelmed by Nightmare Before Christmas - and picking up mad flack from rabid fans who adored it - so if you liked that you'll probably like this too. And get on my ass because I didn't like it. Here's a pre-emptive 'leave my ass ALONE!' There we are.

Revisions on the thesis are creeping like a dying spider, so who knows when I'm getting to Europe to defend. No four day weekends coming up, so the odds of a little jaunt to Montréal, New York or even Ottawa seem low. But what really drives me nuts is that the world is so frigging huge, and how much of it have I seen? Dribs and drabs; Canada, France, Italy, England, and a bunch of sidetrips to places with the same Indo-European background. I have to think through a plan to see everything in the world.