I can still see Christmas in my rear view mirror, and already the Big Ugly Commerce Machine is ramping up for Easter. I keep seeing posters for Cadbury’s Crème Eggs everywhere. It’s a conspiracy to kill us all with unidentifiable gooey fondant fillings.
Also: At the end of my road I spotted a small notice that read: “It is an offence to drink alcohol in public. Maximum penalty £500”. Just below it was an almost identical notice that read as follows: “It is an offence to urinate or defecate in public. Maximum penalty £300”.
Now that’s a messed up value system right there. If I pop a tab on a beer, I will probably be fined less than if I cop a squat under a lamppost to alleviate pressure on my bowels…2006 is shaping up to be a strange one alright…
I’m still in a fine, fine mood though. Insane bureaucracy and rampant commerce can’t dampen my excellent spirits. I can’t keep my hands off Mrs. AKA, and Buttercup screeches with joy when she sees us huddled together cuddling on the sofa. She raises her arms in the air and lumbers across the room with her diminutive Frankenstein gait to hurl herself in our collective laps to join the family love-in. Fantastic.
And as the New Year’s Pop Culture Info-Dump continues:
SEEN: Stander – Gotta love Thomas Jane. The man who finally banished tortuous memories of Dolph Lundgren as The Punisher. The man who has the most glorious sideburns that rival even mine in the classic Boogie Nights. And now comes Stander, the true story of the Chief of Police in Johannesburg who spent his lunchbreaks committing bank robberies, and went on to bust out of jail to catch his second wind on another rampage of delirious larceny. Has the feel of the great American crime movies of the Seventies, conjuring up memories of everything from Slither to The Hot Rock. A brilliant, virtually-unknown diamond-hard gem of a movie.
READ: Brokeback Mountain – Annie Proulx’s short story that forms the basis of Ang Lee’s surprise-success movie that gives new meaning to the word “cowpoke”. (And Ang has a lot to make up for after the atrocity that was Hulk. But I digress…). Proulx’s lyrical, vivid, raw prose creates a rich story that belies its brevity. Beautiful.
(For those wondering how I can feed my mind so much so quickly, bear the following in mind: I have a long commute that’s conducive to reading. And when the AKA clan are tucked up in bed and I’m over-caffeinated, I unwind by slipping a DVD in the player. So there.)