Into the Wild

Two things have been driving me crazy since the weekend: the fact that I haven’t been able to run after twisting my ankle in a freak accident involving a very large dogbed, and my recent discovery of the addictive effects of Vampire Wars on Facebook. Today, I can report a triumph for the one (I’m finally able to return to the woods) and a bitter disappointment for the other (the site was down for maintenance this morning, just as I was getting ready to master two of my offensive skills!).

Tonight, it’s back into the wild!

 

I Sing, but I’d rather be Screaming

Today must be a Monday. Or the idiot weather is finally catching up with the idiot people. In any case, I’m counting to one billion, reminding myself how very fracking glad I am to only be here for two more months… It’s taken only two emails this morning from the most unhelpful bunch of nerds I’ve ever worked with to make my neck throb from the increase in blood pressure. So, what I’d really like to do is drive down south and tell them exactly what I think of them. My second favored option would be to sit here and scream very loudly for about five minutes. Sadly, I fear the men in the white uniforms would bring their giant butterfly net and carry me away into early retirement.

Instead, I’m singing ‘Henry VIII’. You know, “second verse, same as the first.” One billion and one, one billion and two…

 

Dinner with Friends

I nearly wrote this entry yesterday, but then I didn’t. I didn’t feel like it. Maybe I was lacking the energy provided by those crunchy, pecan-flavored carrots I just had for lunch. Quite tasty.

Anyway, on Sunday, there wasn’t an entry because there wasn’t time for one. Ok, I’ll admit it, most of the day I was really bumming around, but the fact is, whatever it was I was engaged in was more important than trying to come up with a post. That’s life, or as Forrest Gump would say: shit happens. The nice thing is, Sunday afternoon turned out to be a wonderfully off-the-cuff event. First, Mark bought the new grill. That thing is as big as Jamie Oliver’s kitchen! Then, Anke and Robi were going to pick up our old one which will now replace their baby Webber. Then I asked if they wanted to stick around for dinner, and they did. So, while the men put together the Barbecue Beast, Anke kindly took turns entertaining me and keeping an eye on Escape Kitty in the yard while I tossed some spaghetti in the pot, nearly successfully finished a nevertheless mighty tasty English orange cake, baked some garlic Texas toast and cut up veggies for the piggies and the salads. Sounds like a lot of work? Really wasn’t. Somehow, the timing just worked out.

I really miss having people around the house! One of the things I very much look forward to come October is cooking at home more often…

 

Take a Bite out of Vampire Crime

I don’t play online games. Usually. But I let myself be suckered into a vampire clan on Facebook, and now I’m dominating minions, sucking humans dry and collecting silly trophies. So, sorry, no entry today…

 

How Slow can You Go?

Hold on, gotta do something real quick… *boff! zoff! wham! crack!* Ok, I’m back. One of my colleagues had a brainfart last night and left their mobile in the office. It’s been ringing off the proverbial hook since I got here, with the most annoying ringtone imaginable. But Smackman took care of that, didn’t he. My hero!

Yesterday, Kelly said her hubby woke her up at 4.45 a.m. and asked her if she wanted to go running. Of course she answered like any sane person (*smack! whack! bam!*): shuthefrackupi’mtryingtosleephere… Yesterday, I laughed about that. Today, I did the same thing. I got up and went running at 4.45 in the morning. It was dark. It was damp. There was a partial moon out. I ran slowly, though not easily (imagine one of those movies where the protagonist has been slowed down so it looks as if they were fighting their way through molasses). Actually, I’m not sure if at this point, you can even call it running.

Anyway, I ambled along, my shoes making that splatpat sound that indicates that I’m not at all moving anatomically correctly (which might explain my current knee trouble); at this snail’s pace, I was able to make it all the way around the Rosental before I had to briefly break for a walking interval. Amazingly, after that I was able to pick up the pace. Still, it took me the same amount of time as last week, when I walked twice! So, yes, I’m a bit bummed this morning. It’s a problem: should I work on continually running the entire way first, which should take me about 30 minutes? Or should I pick up the pace, risking having to take more walking breaks again?

One could say, I’ve hit my first wall… Let’s see how the Sunday run goes.

 

I Cheated in Welsh

Well, not exactly cheated… I am currently taking the wonderful audio language course in Southern Welsh from Say Something in Welsh. Iestyn and Cat have been my coaches for the past two and a half weeks, and although I’m hardly fluent after only six lessons, I’m starting to recognize patterns (which is cool, if you’re a language nerd like me). The whole point to this course is, however, that there are absolutely no written materials for the entire duration. Nada. Zilch. Nix. Amazingly, it works rather well, except for those instances where I don’t take the time to listen to a lesson over in a more quiet environment (I practice in the car on the way to work). So, for example, for one day I was absolutely sure that Iestyn was telling me ‘why’ was ‘ham’. It’s not really. The correct word is ‘pam’. But you see the problem.

Last weekend in London, I purchased a Welsh dictionary for those sticky moments. After all, what better place to buy a Welsh language aid than in a country where people look upon Welsh speakers with a fair amount of disdain? ( ) Lesson 6b made me VERY glad I did! You see, Iestyn is trying to teach us how to start and control conversations now, but I have to admit that I had a lot more problems unravelling all the new sentences than before. So last night, I did some rustling in the pages, and lo and behold, figured out about half of the stuff within five minutes. Plus a couple of things from previous lessons where I had misheard the endings, like a ‘f’ instead of a ‘th’.

So for me, it is useful to have a bit of written support, as well, even though I won’t use it yet to look up new words, which I wouldn’t remember anyway. But I cannot help but feel that I’m cheating here, just a teensy bit…

P.S. Diolch yn fawr or thanks very much to all those people who’ve come here looking for 4th Street Traffic. Now go find them on Facebook and join the club.

 

A Post a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Yeah, I don’t think that quite works… anyway, it’s National Blog Posting Month, and I’m here to tell you to participate. For the month of June, all you have to do is post once a day. The idea behind the event is to get people to blog more regularly. Considering all the Blogleichen out there, a notable notion. You can blog by theme, or just whatever the heck you want. Can you, dear readers, guess which road I’m traveling by? But don’t worry, there is plenty going on in my life that I haven’t told you about (besides my incredibly adorable guinea pigs being their usual, well, adorable selves).

So, off you go to sign up yourselves. After all, why should I not also get something new to read every day? Exactly.

 

There’s no such Thing as too much 4th Street Traffic

Back in February, I was in Cardiff, my very first trip to Wales ever. I was there to see Mike Peters of The Alarm, who -nice guy that he is- put on an acoustic birthday concert for himself and let about 200 fans attend, as well. The place was Clwb Ifor Bach, a happening place in an alley right across from the castle, easy to find and as divy as one would expect from a happening club anywhere. Opening for Mike was a Welsh band named 4th Street Traffic, billed as “and friends” on the announcement (as in, “Mike Peters and friends”). Four kids were not what I had expected, but I was up for anything, even though they had an oddly dressed, short, skinny guy for a lead singer. The band started to play. The short skinny guy opened his mouth. And I was blown away. I had not expected a big voice like that! They played for about an hour, and they were great! Unfortunately, there was no CD to be had, and even online, they didn’t really have much of a presence besides their MySpace site.

Fast forward to Saturday. I’m at the town festival in Ludwigsburg. Apparently, there are also a bunch of visitors from its various partner cities around the world. One turns out to be Caerphilly in Southern Wales. And on the program for the evening, who should I spy but four kids from Caerphilly called 4th Street Traffic?! What can I say, the audience was treated to a good hour and a half of solid rock, and this time, they were nice enough to bring copies of their brandnew CD, Kick the Habit.

Find them on Twitter.

Visit them on Facebook.

So, if you get a chance, listen in. And if you should be lucky enough to catch them live, jump in and enjoy.

 

Kinotag: Terminator Salvation

Sam Worthington is a Leo, Australian, and he cooks. That alone is enough to catch my interest. He also plays the sexiest killing machine since Robert Patrick took over as the Terminator in 1991’s T2: Judgement Day. So, really, in a nutshell, there’s everything I love about a good action flick: a hot baddie and scary robots.

In 2003, Marcus Wright is put to death in prison. Fifteen years later, the war is on between SkyNet and the human race, and poor Marcus is jolted back to life, with one thing on his mind: WTF?! Along he goes, trying to figure out what happened to him and the world he supposedly left for good. Soon, he hooks up with Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), future daddy to war hero John Connor (Christian Bale), who -at the same time- as his adult self, is attempting to foil a plot by SkyNet to kill off Reese, thereby preventing John’s existence. Confused yet? While in Star Trek, old Spock has good reason to avoid young Spock, Kyle Reese and his current and future offspring manage not only to coexist nicely in Terminator Salvation, but John gets to actually hand out a reward to his teenage papa before nearly dying. Send in the Terminator: while Marcus gets badly beaten by a much bigger, badder version of the early Arnie robot, John strikes a fatal blow to SkyNet headquarters, thereby deciding one more battle in favor of humans. In the scuffle, he is mortally wounded, and it is now that Marcus finally finds redemption for his previously unspecified misdeeds. I won’t tell you how, just go see the daggone movie already!

I actually enjoyed the action, the acting, and the little nods to the previous films, especially the fabulous first two. No, the gubernator himself did not participate in the making of this movie, as he was busy gubernating the hell out of the great state of California, but the digital cameo is nice and fitting. The only thing that does not return is the liquid metal man. I’m not sure if SkyNet simply hadn’t invented him yet, or if the technology had not performed up to expectations. We are most definitely left with a setup for more skull-crunching by metal maniacs, as not only John Connor gets to live, but his wife (Bryce Dallas Howard) is already carrying the seed of future additions to the franchise.

 

Kinotag: Star Trek

How do you write about a movie without revealing plot details? Should I just bank on the fact that by now, most interested parties have seen J.J. Abrams’ vision of Star Trek already, anyway? Nah. If you haven’t seen it, go see it! I consider myself a Trekkie, albeit a less nerdy one than those wannabe future engineers who know the Enterprise’s specs inside and out, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Plenty of action keeps you on the edge of your seat, so that the two hours fly by.

I would only like to remark on two points: 1) in a recent review, the reporter wrote that Uhura gets to smooch on Spock and Kirk. Unless he saw a different version than I did, I’m afraid the Uhura – Kirk canoodling will have to wait until further down the timeline. She is true green to her Vulcan mentor in this flick. 2) I’m not convinced that Simon Pegg with his detectably phony Scottish accent was the best choice for Scotty. Don’t get me wrong: I like Pegg. I also think that character-wise, he’s perfect. And yes, I know that James Doohan wasn’t a real Scot, either. Still: I would have thought an Englishman could have pulled this off better.

I briefly wondered whether Anton Yelchin, being an actual Russian, found it difficult to imitate the “Russian” accent cultivated by the original Chekhov, Walter Koenig. After all – as I found out many, many years after my crush on the Beatlesquely coiffed Koenig – real Russians don’t sound like that at all. Vell, I vas only wexed for a minute…

For more on the movie, visit the official website.