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Sunday mini-update
Aug. 14th, 2005 08:04 pmI'm glad Big Brother is over; now I can get back to salvaging some kind of life. Nightime won't be ruled by TV anymore, but by a careful combination of books, radio, food and baths. The weekend went by too fast, as usual, with nothing too life-shattering. Kevin and I got caught by the rain yesterday (at Regent's Park) and today (on High Street Kilburn, while buying an inflatable mattress for my brasilian friend Henrique, who arrives on Thursday.)
I wish there was a coffee shop in London that I could call home, that I could go all the time and sit for hours with a book, a notepad, or just my thoughts. I had a place like that in Montreal, the Croissanterie, on St-Catherine Street. London's lack of proper cafe culture saddens me a little bit. I'm not into hanging out in pubs every day. I don't know of any cafe where you are invited to stay as long as possible, with good music and comfortable couches, with old books lying around and coffee refills.
I haven't read any novels or books for a week now; I'm concentrating on getting through the pile of magazines I collected since Brasil. Once that's done, I'll start London, the Biography or maybe another novella by Truman Capote. Ever since reading Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse a month ago I feel like reading more stuff by her. I might also read one of the brasilian novels I have on my shelf, get my rusty portuguese back to sparkling form.
I've been debating a ban on American movies for a whole month. I saw a trailer for a foreign film the other day and the subtitles jarred me; I realized how much I know about America, and how little about everywhere else. I'm even betraying Brasilian culture right now by writing this in English instead of Portuguese (though I always felt like an outsider when I lived there... I don't think I've ever felt like I belonged in any of the cultures I've lived in.) I'm like an Alien pod, stuck inside a country's tummy, waiting to blow out and spawn millions of eggs. Oh, and yes, Alien 3 is on TV tonight.
I wish there was a coffee shop in London that I could call home, that I could go all the time and sit for hours with a book, a notepad, or just my thoughts. I had a place like that in Montreal, the Croissanterie, on St-Catherine Street. London's lack of proper cafe culture saddens me a little bit. I'm not into hanging out in pubs every day. I don't know of any cafe where you are invited to stay as long as possible, with good music and comfortable couches, with old books lying around and coffee refills.
I haven't read any novels or books for a week now; I'm concentrating on getting through the pile of magazines I collected since Brasil. Once that's done, I'll start London, the Biography or maybe another novella by Truman Capote. Ever since reading Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse a month ago I feel like reading more stuff by her. I might also read one of the brasilian novels I have on my shelf, get my rusty portuguese back to sparkling form.
I've been debating a ban on American movies for a whole month. I saw a trailer for a foreign film the other day and the subtitles jarred me; I realized how much I know about America, and how little about everywhere else. I'm even betraying Brasilian culture right now by writing this in English instead of Portuguese (though I always felt like an outsider when I lived there... I don't think I've ever felt like I belonged in any of the cultures I've lived in.) I'm like an Alien pod, stuck inside a country's tummy, waiting to blow out and spawn millions of eggs. Oh, and yes, Alien 3 is on TV tonight.
