Kinotag: The Boat that Rocked

When a good movie comes along, one you really enjoy, it would be a crime not to recommend it. That’s why we’re here today. On Saturday, I watched <em>”The Boat that Rocked”</em> at the wonderful foreign-language theater Corso in Stuttgart-Vaihingen. The story is simple: in the mid-Sixties, rock’n'roll was taking over the world. It was the music of the masses, the voice of the young, yet conservative BBC Radio dedicated only a tiny slot of its daily programming to the rock revolution. So, groups of DJs literally took to the high seas and began broadcasting from ships moored in the North Sea: pirate radio was born. As short-lived as the phenomenon was, it signaled the beginning of private radio and fulfilled a need by providing a 24-hour music channel to Great Britain.

Our group of musical outlaws faces a tough challenge in Minister Dormandy and his go-to man, Twatt (a wonderfully sinister Kenneth Branagh, supported by sexy Jack Davenport in his usual straight-man role), who do their very best to discover any and all legal loopholes they may use to disband Radio Rock. The cast is simply fabulous; one has to experience the mystery of Midnight Mark, marvel at the stupidity of Thick Kevin, wonder at Dr. Dave’s success with the ladies and suffer Simple Simon’s heartbreak when his wife of 17 hours leaves him for the foppish Gavin. “Boat” boasts three A-listers who complement each other so well, it is a joy to have one of them on screen all the time. Rhys Ifans as dandy Gavin is incredible, and Gavin’s rivalry with Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s American DJ “The Count” is over the top. But if Hoffman’s character is the Count of Cool in the music world, in real life this title clearly belongs to Bill Nighy (Quentin) whose humor is drier than the Sahara and who is a pleasure to watch every time.

Naturally, the music is (still) hip, all ends well despite the inevitable catastrophe, and at the end of the film, you’re ready to go for a second round.

Official Website

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

We’re back in Stuttgart, the pigs and I. They got to move into their new Swiss vivarium last Saturday and have finally figured out that, wow!, with that second floor, there’s a LOT of room! They have also taught the guest pigs when and why one should squeak (when I knock on the door, because usually that means FOOD). It’s too funny to get it in stereo!

Walking with the dogs hasn’t been too bad, although at least one of them manages to find some shit at least once a day. And yes, I do mean shit. As in, feces deposited by humans with defective digestive systems who cannot make it the extra 40 meters back to civilization and prefer wild crapping instead. Now, why my dogs prefer this poop over all other poops and will go the extra mile to find it, I have no idea. I would like to get me a BB gun, though, and if I ever catch someone wild crapping during our walk, that person will end up with an ass full of pellets. Then again, since Germans pay a dog tax (try to find something that’s not taxed here, I dare you), perhaps the city could, since no bags or trash receptacles are provided in the forest, hang little scoops on the trees so that those who must give in to the urge to kack can at least bury their deposits. Well, a girl can dream…

I am pleased to report that the cats are doing well. They get catered mushfood twice a day and have plenty of opportunity to cuddle, play and rest. In short, to do all those things I’d like to do but can’t because the cats are preventing me from doing them. Especially the rest bit is getting a little difficult to deal with. It’s one thing to prop your eyelids open and pretend to be awake at work (I can almost sleep type now), but getting through that hour-long commute is tricky…

Luckily, the weekend is now approaching fast. My exciting projects: do a morning hike with Anke, clean the bathroom, shop for hamster treats, and… take a nap!

First Class Snob

My friend Anne gave me two books on snobbery for my birthday. She made light of my concerns, telling me she felt this was “your kind of humor.” I’m not sure if I should be insulted or re-assured.

Recently, I was able to exchange some of my copious bonus points with the Deutsche Bahn for a reward, more tellingly, a free upgrade to First Class. If you’ve ever ridden second class, also known as economy, you know that it’s really not bad. Usually, there is more than enough legroom, on some routes, you still get offered coffee at your seat, and most times, you don’t need a reservation, except on holidays and during event season (e.g. September during Oktoberfest).

But First Class… why, it’s a different continent! Generally speaking, you ride all the way in front or all the way in back of the train. You’re always located near the bistro. There is no such things as a Grossraumwagen, so the most bother you’ll have is with a maximum of five other travelers in the compartment. The seats are wide, the headrests cushioned, and a nice Bahnmitarbeiter will come and take orders for drinks and snacks (I highly recommend the cherry cheesecake, fluffy and slightly warm!). And although I did not have a reservation -at the beginning of the Easter holidays, which means second class was packed- I was alone in my compartment, feeling rather like royalty, indeed! Should I, perhaps, upgrade my new Bahncard to First Class at renewal time in November? I cannot fathom going back to the rabble!

I can tell you, however, that riding first class on the S-Bahn is much less glamorous. I shared the small space with two DB-employees from Berlin, wearing the railway equivalent of construction worker vests and work pants, and the distinct stench of old vomit, not really an improvement over the smell of the unwashed bodies of two elderly people who grazed me on the journey down South.

Perhaps next time I’ll be lucky enough to catch a borrowed car from the Swiss railway again. There, even Second Class has the look and feel of First.

Apparently, Anne was dead on about my humor…