Better late than never...? I'm sorry, I really am. There probably isn't even a Faithful any more. I'm sure you must have given up on me by now and found other fun blogs that get updated hourly. And I wouldn't blame you, really I wouldn't.
The problem with blogging is that it's a habit. And I've got out of it. I'll try and become addicted again, honest guv'nor, but as I've said so many times before, my desire to blog is in direct proportion to my happiness. If I'm feeling miserable, if my life is a bit shit, I love to blog. It allows me to vent my frustrations and it makes me feel heard, even important, just for a few seconds. But when I'm happy, I don't need the reassurance that someone, somewhere, cares about my life. Because when I'm happy, I think my life is great. So really, with me, no news is good news. That said, I miss my blog when it's not there. On the (naturally rare) occasions that I'm feeling self-indulgent, I like to check back and see what I've been up to. And when I realise there's been no entry for days on end, I do share your miffedness. I will try and be better, starting today.
So, what is there to say, after all this time? New Year was hilarious. I was lunged at by a man in a Mr Incredible costume, who got caught leaning in to me by his girlfriend. I don't think their start to 2009 was too harmonious... My New Year's Resolution, for the third year running, is to do a parachute jump. I was going to write 'I'll get that sorted in 2009 if it kills me' but perhaps that's inappropriate. Of course, that phrase actually means 'If the effort of getting it sorted kills me' but it's easily misunderstood and I wouldn't want the Fates to get muddled and organise for me to die on the way down... Oh god. Maybe I'll leave it for a while.
I went to see Oedipus at the National and it was genuinely crap. Ralph Fiennes is more wooden than a densely packed, very tall, very large expanse of forestry land, surrounded by tightly-constructed oak fences and several full-scale replicas of the Ark. I simply cannot believe that he is considered to be such a good actor. He even made one of those long, gutteral groans that last about fifteen seconds to indicate some sort of internal turmoil. I got the giggles. And the actor playing Jocasta, his wife-mother, was no better - a grumpy, frumpy old fag-hag with bra bulges and a clompy walk whose inexplicable, unjustifiable denial of the situation as it unfurled was not made even remotely convincing. Crap. It was literally crap, I tell you.
At the cinema, I've seen Gomorrah, Burn After Reading and The Reader. Gomorrah was interesting - about the mafia in contemporary Italy cities. Compelling and enlightening, but not much fun, and quite long. Burn After Reading was massively disappointing and, I think, marks the end of my relationship with the Coens. I loved loved loved the two guys in the US secret service who were trying to make sense of what was going on, but everything else seemed hammy, self-aware, smug and irritating. I can't believe I'm criticising a movie that features Frances McDormand, but there it is. The Reader was good although a bit schmaltzy in places, and bloody Ralph Fiennes was in it (although a fraction more bearable in this role than in Oedipus) but it was good story, the young actor was fantastic and I'd recommend it. Can't WAIT to see Revolutionary Road. I almost cried in the trailer on Sunday, but then again, if you put Nina Simone in the soundtrack, it's pretty much a shoe-in. It's all go at the cinema at the moment.
In TV, I am currently obsessed with high-brow masterworks such as Celebrity Big Brother, Harry Hill's TV Burp and Celebrity Come Dine With Me. There has been quite a lot of giggling going on. You may scoff, but I defy anyone to watch Ulrika Johnnson and Verne Troyer dressed up as Lionel and Diana, singing a lens-shattering version of Endless Love, and not break into a giggle.
Outside the culture millieu, I've been eating less and exercising more, which has been good. I am feeling fitter and pretty perky. I've been on approximately a gazillion dates, all of which have been funny or hopeless or terrible or interesting in some way, but none of which have given me even the remotest hint of butterflies. But I am not really that bothered at the moment. No rush innit. Every time I see a baby I get the fear, I'm afraid. I love them, don't get me wrong. But I'm not ready to be a parent just yet. That said, I always say that when I'm single. As soon as I fall for someone, my biological clock seems to spring into action, brush the dust off itself briskly and start to tick with a volume that feels as though it must be audible to unsuspecting passers-by.
Right. That's enough from me for one day. No need to go into overdrive. And anyway, I need to guard my strength as I've just given blood. Aren't I a good girl?
No comments:
Post a Comment