Picos Gemeos

Via thefridayfive:

1) Pick one of your favorite movies: what is the title?
It's Groundhog Daaaaaaay!

2) When and where and with whom did you first see it?
Saw it when it first came out, back in 1993, in a cinema in Hong Kong with close friends from high school. I was 18 years old and I laughed pretty much the whole way through.

3) What about the movie makes it one of your favorites?
I can't think of anything that doesn't work with it, and it's aged pretty well. I love the humour, the chemistry between the cast, the concept, the story, the ending. It's perfect from start to finish. It's one of the few movies I go to when I feel like a mood boost (the others being "A Room with a View" and the BBC's "Pride and Prejudice" with Colin Firth).

4) If you've watched this movie since the pandemic quarantine started, how did it make you feel?
I watched it last week during one night when one of my cats - Paçoca - had disappeared and we were more and more sure he was poisoned (from biting a poisoned rat.) I was feeling pretty hopeless and sad so I put it on to escape a little bit and help me sleep, and it did the trick. In the morning, we found Paçoca in front of the house, nearly dead, but we rushed him to the vet and managed to save him just in time. I'd like to believe some Groundhog Day magic had a part to play in his saving.

5) If this movie was remade, who would you cast for the five main characters and why?
Tough, tough call. I can't think of anyone who could take on Bill Murray. Andie MacDowell... hmm, how about Anya Taylor-Joy? Larry to be played by Woody Harrelson; Ned played by Jason Statham (giving him a break here from his action movies); and Doris the Waitress played by Amanda Plummer.

Fear plays tricks on the brain.

Sends you rushing to the supermarket to stock up, even though there’s plenty for everyone.

Makes you go online and accuse the Chinese/Russians/Illuminati/insert evil “Other” of causing the COVID-19 pandemic to destroy the world.

Keeps you glued to the evening news, to social media, to rumours, to your own fertile imagination.

Keeps you worried for loved ones, especially if they are elderly and in your care.

Holds you in bed for longer, dazed at the day ahead.

Keeps you away from your breath, from your stillness, from the Now.

Keeps you wondering: “What next?”

Origami birds covered one of the walls of the Free Word Centre’s lecture theatre.

The judges stood on stage, calling us one by one to receive a copy of the anthology Impossible Things and a congratulatory plaque. We smiled at hired photographers.

The poet Lemn Sissay hosted the evening with support from writer Maggie Gee. We were disarmed. One finalist, Brummie Tina Freeth, had studied in university with an old friend of mine from Hong Kong. One poet confided to me that they had been drinking since 11am.

Tall ones like myself stood at the back for the group photo.

A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers by Xiaolu Guo

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Z, a young woman from a small village in China, is offered a trip to England by her parents so she can learn English and improve her prospects in life. She arrives in London during a typical grim winter in the mid-noughties, oblivious as to how to behave and comprehend this Western capital. Her hostel is dire and the students in her English course label her a pariah because of her inability to behave in a "Western" way.

Z spends most of her time trying to decode this new world with a Chinese-English dictionary - and the novel itself is also divided this way, with each chapter starting with a word and its dictionary definition (relevant to the chapter in question) that sheds light onto Z's uncovering of this world. Often, Z's misunderstandings are meant to be humorous, but because Z is such a nutter - and a slightly unsympathetic one - the humour is a misfire.

One evening, she strikes conversation with a much older man in a cinema and very soon she's his lover. He's a van driver and part-time artist based in Hackney. They fall madly in love, things get kinky, summer arrives, she travels across Europe under his suggestion (to improve her understanding of the West)... then things get complicated.

The novel is based on Xiaolu Guo's own experience of moving to London in 2002 and keeping a journal. There are some pleasures to be found in its description of Hackney, and an interesting twist relating to the older lover. The cover is deceptively chick lit - this novel is anything but.

View all my reviews

I discovered all the music I love in the early 90s through this music channel in Hong Kong called Channel V. They had a show in the early evening called Alternative Nation which re-introduced[1] me to Morrissey, Sinead O'Connor, Siouxsie and The Cure as well as helped me discover The Lemonheads, Suede, Cocteau Twins and Blur. I'd record my favourite videos on VHS tapes then play them late at night after smoking joints on my balcony.

Galaxie 500 got played too, but only their video "Blue Thunder". Over and over. I remember liking the photo negative feel of the video and the footage of burning cars. I never tried though to discover the rest of their music; they fell behind with so much other music around me that time. (Juliana *cough* Hatfield *cough*)

Until last week, that is. king_prawn  invited me to see Damon and Naomi (2/3 of Galaxie 500) play their material at Café Oto, which is just a bus ride away from me. There were a lot of Japanese fans there, thanks to their current collaboration with Japanese guitarist Michio Kurihara. We sat at a table right by the stage and I got drunk after three pints. King Prawn had said it was unlikely they'd play anything from Galaxie 500 because they were promoting new material, but then the encore came with "Blue Thunder" and King Prawn mouthed "Oh My God" to me.

To be honest, it was better than the original version. The lyrics were brought forward, plus Damon and Naomi are better singers than Dean (the lead in G500). You know one of those days that are filled with stress and you just need to unwind and take your mind somewhere else? It was like that, hands down my fave gig so far this year.

In two weeks, I'm seeing Low play the Barbican, this time with wink_martindale  as well as King Prawn. Now that I've (re)discovered Galaxie 500 and I'm listening to them obsessively (thanks alot King Prawn!) I can see how much they influenced Low and other musicians since then.

Damon and Naomi's material is also good and worth checking out. I was surprised and happy to find out that they also have a publishing company, Exact Change, that specialises in re-issues of Surrealist and Dada books that are out of print. How cool is that?! Now you know what to get me for my birthday.

[1] I say re-introduce because this music was around me on Top 40 radio in Brasil. I think brasilians didn't know what the lyrics meant but they liked the melodies, so they pushed singles to the top that didn't fare so well back in the UK. Propaganda's "Duel", for example, was a staple on adult contemporary radios!

The busker in Waterloo station was playing The La's "There She Goes" this morning. I should have gone up to him and dropped a pound coin in his hat.

Memories of my friend Sue in high school, Hong Kong, So I Married an Axe Murderer, summer, sunshine, youth...

One of the reasons I stopped taking ecstasy was an article in The Face magazine, in 1998, that said ecstasy caused long-term brain damage plus depression (they claimed a drop in serotonin production over time for ecstasy users.) Even Pulp recorded a song around then, "Sorted for Eez and Whizz", which echoed that fear of "leaving your brain behind in a field".

But according to the last Horizon show, a group of scientists who have been studying the drug for over ten years have come to the conclusion that it's one of the most harmless out there - more so than marijuana, alcohol or cigarettes, for example, and just slightly more dangerous than poppers (you can only die from it if you dehydrate). All those past media claims turned out to be urban legends.

This calls for a celebration! :-)

Ecstasy has always been my favourite drug (especially when in its pure MDMA form - not mixed with speed, etc.) My best memories from Hong Kong and Sao Paulo's clubs were the ecstasy fuelled nights I shared with my friends. Sometimes, the party never left our own apartments. It may have affected negatively our taste in music (I seem to have a Renaissance compilation at home which I bought purely for getting high). We are all still alive today, blissfully free of Prozac or its derivatives.

The documentary had some damning evidence on alcohol and cigarettes (which everyone already knows), but it especially burst the marijuana bubble. Studies have already been published linking pot to gum and lung disease, but these scientists claim that new research shows a link between the appearance of psychosis and long-term cannabis use. I'm the first one to admit that I enjoy a joint once in a while, but to me it has always been a drug that should be used with other people - like sharing a bottle of wine - instead of smoking/ingesting it by yourself every day. A treat for the weekend, for that special get together, rather than a daily escape from reality. I was a pothead for a while in university - the wake & bake kind - and I experienced all the negative side-effects even when I wasn't smoking: paranoia, loss of memory, loss of concentration. In the end, I realized I was psychologically addicted to it and it wasn't fun any more.

This is not to say I'll be showing up tonight at Camden, looking for a bag of pills; but it makes me feel more excited about the possibilities in the future if I get the chance to purchase some MDMA (apparently, a pill goes for £1-5?!?!)

Meet me on the dancefloor.

I'm sitting in Bethnal Green's McDonald's. £3.59 for a Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries and medium Coke. For someone with only £9 in his bank account, that's a deal. I've got a table for myself, in the corner, by the windows. Market stalls are set up on the sidewalk, up and down Bethnal Green Road. One dress costs £8; two go for £15. The seller puts his cigarette on the ledge of McDonald's window when a customer shows interest, then picks the cigarette again when they are gone. Not even radiation can kill him.

My table is circular, faux black marble. The chairs are covered with pumpkin-coloured leather. R&B is the radio's choice. Generic, godawful paintings cover the walls. Two elderly women sit to my left; they drink coffee and share a portion of fries. I can see them using this McDonald's as a meeting point, once a week. The guy to my right sits alone, plugged into his iPod. Could be on his lunch break.

I'd been craving grease and cheap food, so I broke my McDonald's ban. I hadn't been inside one for years. I used to eat every weekend in McDonald's when I lived in Hong Kong. Whenever you placed an order, the person behind the till would say "and then?" They would keep asking you "and then?" until you had ordered all their burgers, fries, cokes, milk shakes and sundaes. I loved smoking a Marlboro Lights after my meal.

Cross-posted to mcdonalds_talk

* Once in a while, the usual rumour ran the school's cafeteria: a new ship was in town. Sometimes you outstripped the rumour by seeing the sailors wander down the city's packed streets before anyone else, their "plain" clothes making them look so alike: tight jeans, buzz cuts, fitted shirts or T-shirts tucked in, pristine sneakers. At night, they descended upon Wan Chai, looking for Cantonese hookers and alcohol. To their surprise they would find themselves sharing clubs and bars with us, teenage gweilos who also liked a bit of cheap booze and a good time wherever ecstasy tabs were easily found.

* She called my phone to tell me she wasn't waiting by the bookshop but by the longbar. When I saw her, she was sitting beside a mother and her child, waving at the baby. In the crowded supermarket, I confessed that I was reading a trashy novel called "Labyrinth". Kevin and I made her watch Twin Peaks' pilot episode that night because she'd never seen it. I wanted to take her to Elbow's Cafe, just on the other side of Victoria Park, but the weekend was far too fast for us.

* We spent the turn of the millenium pushing a car up Saint Domingo's mountain, our feet caked with cow shit, cold rain running down our backs, the night so dark that the only thing we could see were the pine trees caught by the headlights. Then, once we had reached the top, we crammed inside the car and opened the bottle of champagne. we smoked some pot and laughed at our miserable new year's as the rain showed no sign of abating.

* Friday night and everyone from school has plans. Even my brother has gone out with his skateboard friends. I sit in my bedroom, surrounded by cheap paperbacks, computer games and a good-for-nothing TV. I have a million hours to kill and the worst company of all: myself. I haven't discovered The Smiths yet. My parents sit in the living room with my brother Nicholas and his nurse, watching television. I don't wish to join them, but I give breaks to my solitude by walking past them on my way to the kitchen.

* It's my birthday and all my friends have been asked to dress as superheroes. I am Superman and my brother is Spiderman. Another Superman arrives, taller and stronger than me, then a couple of Spideys too -- costumes from the same supermarket I'm sure. When Bianca arrives, wearing a red polka dot dress, I rush to explain away her embarrassment at having forgotten the theme, how she didn't fuck up, how there is a heroine out there, printed on a comic page, wearing the same dress and saving the world.

* The first apartment I lived on my own. A semi-basement beneath Mechtilde, the landlady with a large collection of books on Hitler. When the ice storm hit Montreal, the stairs leading to my door became a slide. I broke one of my suitcase's wheels sliding to my door after arriving from the airport. The city had been in darkness for weeks, with people sharing apartments in order to generate heat (the year of Montreal's baby boom). Mechtilde gave me boxes of chocolate in exchange for shoveling the snow off her entrance. And I, in turn, got Holly once to help me do the job. I told her it would be fun and she believed it. Then it was too late to back out when the shovel was already in her hands.

- inspired by rag_and_bone.

I went yesterday to my first (and only?) Christmas party this year. It took place in London's Southeast, supposedly near a maximum security prison, where the government has permission to shoot down any flying objects above it. The house in question stood quietly near a park, not too far from Plumstead Station. When I got off the train, I bumped into The Gay American. We walked together to the house, past Nee Naws and desolate subway paths.

There was enough food in the party to feed a troop of monkeys (or of escaped prisoners.) The hosts, Rosie and Steve, had mellow Christmas songs going, malt beer boiling and plenty of Pound Stretcher gifts to make everyone happy. More guests arrived after me, games were played, an entire bottle of screwtop red wine was drunk (by yours truly), and many many slices of carrots chewed. I managed to win a set of candles, which is fortunate since I think Suzi had planned all along for me to have them.

Suddenly, like all goth parties go, people had dropped their manners and were singing along to *Heart* at the top of their lungs. Suzi and I retired to the sofa underneath the stairs and gossiped, which seems like something we always do in parties nowadays. Paper hats were worn, pictures snapped, but thankfully everyone kept Christmas' spirit in mind and didn't expose their genitals to the room (at least while I was there). Bedrooms remained safely off limits for Lesbian shenanigans, windows remained locked against daredevils and nobody tried to crash the party despite the front door being left open for some fresh air.

Around 11:45, Suzi, myself and Aden left the party and caught a bus to Greenwich North tube. Plans were made for a future goth excursion to Brasil, where I'll be able to take everyone to Sao Paulo's one and only goth club Madame Sata, as well as the beach and my mom's farm (where the goths will be able to pet my mom's cows and horses, and breathe some good Brasilian fresh air.)

I gave my quick goodbyes to Aden and Suzi and ran to catch the last Jubilee train heading west. To my drunken shock, as I walked into the carriage I spotted Doris sitting down with some people. Doris was the first girl I became friends with when I was 17 years old and had just moved to Hong Kong. During my first weeks in high school, she sat with me in the canteen, as well as in homeroom, and was basically that friend we all have before we naturally find the crowd who will turn out to be our real friends. I did the shitty thing and dumped Doris, though we always remained in good terms -- even after she moved away to London, to a private school, but came back to Hong Kong on holidays and dated sailors. I remember going to a football match with Doris and one of her sailors -- a guy whose dream was to be a hairdresser (!?) -- and having a really good time. Years went by and I lost touch with her... so yeah, she was in the Tube last night... and I completely avoided her. I was tired, drunk, and she looked different, with her hair long and dyed blonde. But it was her. She got off at Green Park station and walked away without looking back.