The past few weeks of my life have caught up with me in the form of a nasty throat and a floating exhausted feeling, and I suppose it's as well they caught up with me this weekend as next week I'm getting clobbered with 42 hours, half of them with kids. Wheeeee! Easter and all that - parents don't want the munchkins around and I suppose childhood education, like everything else in this country, is some sort of tax write-off.
The money will be good but the exhaustion won't, particularly as I have an interview coming up with The Office. And with some other schools, that won't make me work with children. Detesting brats aside, I'm just not ready for those sorts of liability issues; I've jusssst managed the fundamentals of blowing my own nose so I'm not ready for a classroom full of other people's snot, even if they are midgets.
My floating exhausted feeling has been exacerbated by the fact I've been rushing through Ishiguro's The Unconsoled. The young South African who leant it to me - I like him so I'll call him Shaggy, as in the cartoon, not the singer - gave it up after a hundred pages or so and I can see why. It's annoying, intensely annoying . . . makes my mood bad/floaty like Benjamin Biolay's Négatif, which I finally bought the other day, even though I forgot to give Mr. N's copy back. However, it's also a perfect rendition of one of those marathon dreams, a sort of feverish, circular dream that goes on and on, and so touching I cry a little in places. But I have to rush through it, hopefully finish it today, because as I wrote it puts me in a strange mood I have no time for right now.
sabato, marzo 31, 2007
giovedì, marzo 29, 2007
Soon I'll start putting up pictures
And while I'm in an area of great natural beauty and just spent the day in Brussels, which is as beautiful as you would expect any city built on the blood, bones, tears and gold of 20 million Congolese to be, the pictures I'm most excited about putting up are of my new Campers sandals. I had to throw the old ones out just before I left because they were stinky and coming apart after four years of nearly constant wear, and it broke my heart. My new "Helena Alta Bombay Negros" have mended my heart. Voilà.
I have seen some movies on planes recently, coincidentally all starting with "The," and would like to quickly produce mini-reviews before they all fade from my consciousness:
1. The Prestige. Well enough acted, though I remain unconvinced Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman aren't both made out of particularly attractive pieces of driftwood- the ladies, Michael Caine, and a David Bowie cameo made up for it. Great twists from Christopher Nolan, who did Memento and whose twists I enjoy.
2. The Departed. Not much good to say, outside of it being better than Gangs of New York and The Age of Innocence. A spectacularly well-cast bit of formulaic fluff that can only be explained as coming from the director of Mean Streets on the basis of cocaine's deleterious properties. And there wasn't nearly enough fucking Mark Wahlberg.
3. The Queen. I would have enjoyed it wholeheartedly if I didn't have an internal conviction it was a House of Blair/House of Windsor snowjob production timed to help us ignore all the Labour scandals and the fact Diana's brakes were greased. Helen Mirren was a treat.
I have seen some movies on planes recently, coincidentally all starting with "The," and would like to quickly produce mini-reviews before they all fade from my consciousness:
1. The Prestige. Well enough acted, though I remain unconvinced Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman aren't both made out of particularly attractive pieces of driftwood- the ladies, Michael Caine, and a David Bowie cameo made up for it. Great twists from Christopher Nolan, who did Memento and whose twists I enjoy.
2. The Departed. Not much good to say, outside of it being better than Gangs of New York and The Age of Innocence. A spectacularly well-cast bit of formulaic fluff that can only be explained as coming from the director of Mean Streets on the basis of cocaine's deleterious properties. And there wasn't nearly enough fucking Mark Wahlberg.
3. The Queen. I would have enjoyed it wholeheartedly if I didn't have an internal conviction it was a House of Blair/House of Windsor snowjob production timed to help us ignore all the Labour scandals and the fact Diana's brakes were greased. Helen Mirren was a treat.
martedì, marzo 27, 2007
Surprise surprise
Book swapping with other teachers. Got some fresh Ishiguro to keep me going. Forgot what all this horse trading was like - I've brought a gracious fuckload of books with me as I was anticipating being in the middle of nowhere, far from English language bookstores and all, and more are being shipped to me. But I guess I hadn't calculated on actually liking anyone here outside of the F-word, let alone go into book swapping. Silly. They all seem lovely so far and the loveliest one of all did me two Ishiguro for one Byatt - wheeeeee! Prepare yourself for a new slew of nicknames for the people here, anyways.
Besides all the sex there's something monastic about being here - possibly because the food is unpalatable and I'm far from all naughty temptation. F-word is chafing at the bit already but I like it very much so far. More decisions about priorities in the future, I suppose. In the meantime, we have a lovely big flat on campus, no expenditures, money coming in, and springtime, bitches.
Besides all the sex there's something monastic about being here - possibly because the food is unpalatable and I'm far from all naughty temptation. F-word is chafing at the bit already but I like it very much so far. More decisions about priorities in the future, I suppose. In the meantime, we have a lovely big flat on campus, no expenditures, money coming in, and springtime, bitches.
lunedì, marzo 26, 2007
Landed on feet
Very very nice here. Trip sucked. Hell hath a name and it is Shilpol aeroport, but it's lovely at the school. Pictures will follow shortly, and you'll jizz. Spring here. More later.
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