Arabic Sweet

Learning to be more serene...

Friday, November 26, 2004

No, I am not mentioning the A-Team

Becuase they were not detectives. Ok, they might have been renegades, but they weren't working alone. They had a van, not a car. And I don't think a single one of them has a moustache or was that hairy... that's it.

Otherwise, my most faviourite one which I have newly discovered is played by the oh so charming and also Lebanese Tony Shalhoub. I am particularly fond of this man becuase he is funny (and dare I mention a colleague of another admired young chap by the name of Sanley Tucci) he is also Lebanese, as am I, but he is also very good as the hypercondriac and obsessive compulsive MONK. He was fired from the police department becuase his fear of germs hindered his abilities as an ace one class detective. He has a personal assistant called Shona who always gets involved with criminals becuase she is a single mother and no one in their right mind would want to get mixed up with her unless he were a criminal - is that what they're trying to say??? Is it? Is it, I ask you???

Here is a photograph to delight and amuse: click here for foto.

Strange Fruit

I have two clementines and a banana staring up at me in a strange googly eyed expression. They seem happy yet deranged. I know you're not supposed to play with your food, but its ever so entertaining. If I wasn't at work, i would probably go the extra length to animate them and amuse my colleagues or any small children who happen to be passing by.

Vive la resistance!

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

An insomniac's nightmare

And for that matter, what about 'RENEGADE' the story of a renegade policeman who decided to grow his hair and ride around on a Harley after being framed for the murder of his girlfriend by a dirty cop who now chases him accross the country. In the littlest hobo and Highway to Heaven style, he intervenes in local struggles he comes across, due to his passion for law and order, whilst trying to avoid capture by the law itself. A wanted fugitive with a good heart who again is a) hairy b) has dimples c) is scantily clad d) has a vehicle to let us know he is a man e) has police training.

Any themes emerging here?

Magnum is not an ice cream

He is a private investigator. I spent considerable amount of time trying to attach his photograph, but unfortunately Hello did not like anything that wasn't a jpeg. Needless to say, we can draw a fondly remembered outline of said scantily clad Hawaiian lothario. I seem to remember first and foremost, his 'tache, a fitting and essential item for any gentleman during the 1980s. Secondly, his glorious dimples, a quality which has a tendency to send me weak at the knees. And thirdly, that being quite scandily clad revealed the fact that he was quite hairy in general. This is alright if hairy men appeal to you. I'm not bothered either way, myself.

I can't remember much else, apart from the fact that he drove a red Ferrari, had a mate who flew a helicopter, spent a lot of time on the beach and had a butler who sometimes doubled as a Colombian drug dealer in a case of mistaken identity.

Actually, this sounds suspiciously like a show I used to catch at about 2 in the morning called 'Tropical Heat' I can still hear the theme tune in my head... 'anywhere the wind blows, blows right back to me-hee-hee...' where a ponytailed detective, Nick Slaughter (yes, that was what the character was called) (played by Rob Stewart) was a) quite hairy b) had dimples, c) ran around scantily clad on a beach and d) had a colleague called Spider (ties in with the car). mmmm. Methinks I smell a rodent.

And Sophie, hold your horses, I'm dealing with them one at a time, cheers!!!!

Monday, November 22, 2004

Detectives



I thought I would break with tradition and devote this week's adventures in blogging to the topic of 1980s Televisual detectives. So, for starters I thought we could reminisce about that quirky yet loveable chappy Colombo. Or just look at his picture. I remember his dodgy car, his hush puppy dog and his invisible wife, Mrs Colombo. At least we used to get to see Qunicy's girlfriends. Although technically, Quincy wasn't actually a detective, he was a coroner. He was the pre-cursor to CSI: Las Vegas. CSI I believe, owes alot to Quincy. Except thankfully they don't go on about civil rights issues, the legal system and education. They just deal with more perverse and televisually friendly obtuse crime.

There is a random googly eye on my desk.
Posted by Hello

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Potatoes, Poems and Pubs

I am currently attempting to dismantle a potato with a fork. Don't worry, its cooked. But I'm too lazy to go and get a knife.

I am wondering why I don't write poems any more and why the pace of my life seems to resemble an episode of 24 (except without the federal agents securing the perimeter). Even the quiet spells are full of activity. I am even amazed that I managed to get out of bed by 8am today. Usually I waste the entire morning if my shift starts in the afternoon. But I feel productive and peaceful.

I am also wondering whether friends spend all their spare time in the pub. I haven't been in a pub for ages, but am rather disenclined to these days since my tolerance for smoky atmospheres has decreased somewhat. Yay no smoking law in public places!!!

Am I the only one?

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Why does he not still look like this?

Sean Astin. When he was in The Goonies, he was really cute. When he was Sam in LOTR, he was chubby, but still really cute. But I've found this picture of him as a teenager, and cute would not be the way I would describe him. All I want to know is, what happened inbetween?

Falling and being Useless

One of these days, I'm going to look back and say, 'WOW! Did I really make all those corsets and wedding dresses out of one tiny room which I also had to live in?' And its going to be an achievement. One of these days.

In the meantime, I'm doing my best to maximise the space that I've got, so I periodically move furniture around, chuck things out and take things back to my parents. My mate Tim was round yesterday, viewing a new drop leaf table that I had purchased and exclaimed, 'I love the way you just cram everything into here...' I'm not sure how to take it. Its not out of choice, believe me. Its out of necessity! I need a workroom and I need a bedroom and at the moment both are using the very same space. I feel very IKEA.

In fact, I had had a bit of an adventure whilst trying to dispense of an item of furniture at the local Civic Amenities site. I like that word, AMENITIES (aka the City Dump). Anway, fully besuited and in high heels, I was attempting to extract a bureau from the back of my car (kindly installed by some strapping young lads on prior occassion). Needless to say, I didn't want to go through the hassle and embarrasment of trying to figure out whether to tip anyone who helped me. Funny, the sorts of things that scare us.

Anyway, due to the fact that I now that I had several items off the bureau which lacked a home, I decided to put up some shelves. Easier said than done. I eventually capitulated and got a friend to help, although rather sheepishly had to defer to his expertise and additional 12 inches in height (I couldn't even see over the first shelf!) I came to the conclusion that
a) its ok to ask for help
b) being short has its advantages (not sure what - perhaps in getting tall men into your room?)
c) just becuase I wasn't able to put these particular shelves up, it doesn't mean I'm useless at DIY. I'm quite good with the flat-pack furniture.

The only thing was... I was re-homing the aforementioned homeless items on the newly put up shelves, and turned away to do a bit more organising, when all of a sudden, the bracket comes loose from the wall and the entire contents of the boxes that I have put up there fall out (nearly on my head)! This leaves countless of tiny grommets, spools of thread, ribbon, packets of beads and miscellaneous odds and ends all over the floor. Not only does this put a spanner in my plans to actually get some work done, but I end up staying up late to finish the said work, only to forget to bring it in this morning.... arg!

Bless the Lord its not a life and death situation. Just becuase I'm usless today, doesn't mean I'm not usually efficient, professional and astute. Even if I wasn't all these things every day, it doesn't mean I don't posess these qualitites. Its funny how your behaviour can adjust your concept of yourself. There must be so many people going around thinking, 'I'm useless' whereas that's simply not the case.

So, this is a call out to all those people who think that they're uselss: YOU"RE LOVELY! Don't be hard on yourself! You're not the sum of your behaviours! Remember, movie stars are only glamorous becuase they have thirty people ensuring that they stay that way (and they're paid millions too). You have only yourself, and possibly a spouse and several minors to look after...

or a spice and several miners...

Friday, November 12, 2004

Remaining childlike, yet growing up

You know that feeling you get when a film has just finished and the credits are just starting to roll? The first chord of the theme tune resounds and you are left staring blankly at the names of the cast scrolling before you. Its a hopeful feeling tinged with melancholy, yet you know that in a few minutes you will get up out of your seat, make your way down the popcorn strewn aisles, past the sweet counter and sometimes even without saying a word to your companions, get into the car and return to your actual life.

Do you think perhaps sometimes that reality is located in those moments? Those moments of longing and reflection? When something deeper calls to you; when you get a glimpse of a reality just beyond your reach; of that lesson you have yet to learn, of that key to your past that you have to surrender, to lose, to leave behind, to let go of...?

I wonder sometimes if this life I live is merely the dream, and the reality is to be found in the backstage adventures of the heart? The fairytales and fables, stories of heroes and sacrifices. What if you never returned to your actual life? What if you left that cinema changed forever?

I'm getting that restless feeling all over again, that I want my life to pick up momentum, to graduate to the next phase. And like Mary Poppins, I can feel the wind changing. Its time to grow up. Its time to be the hero. Its time to step into my own movie.

Perhaps every lesson we learn, every paradigm shift, every new phase of our lives that begins, every saying goodbye to one thing and moving on to another is one of a series of little movies that represents our lives? Sometimes you can't say exactly what you've lost, or what you've learned, but only acknowledge that you've changed. And I believe there is a romance to that.

I know I'm still going to live like I'm fighting dragons. There isn't another way to do it. I do believe in angels. I do believe in heroes. I do believe in holding on to your childhood dreams.

One day it will all work out. One day my dreams will come true. In many ways, they already have. Thank you, God.

Monday, November 08, 2004


My English Rose... missing you much, gorgeous. Posted by Hello

Do you remember the Amigo salute? Posted by Hello

Sniffles, Kiefer and intense emotions

Because we don't subscribe to telly, I've had to resort to DVDs to keep me company during the long hours of my incarceration (due to illness - I've had the sniffles, but usually this is to keep me company when working on a great sewing project). And this weekend I have been up to my eyeballs in espionage, military threats, and maverick federal agents. I keep wanting to shout 'SECURE THE PERIMETER!' alot in a hoarse and urgent manner. I think I know why people like paint-balling.

Boxed sets are marvellous. The only problem is that you want to watch all twenty four 40 minute episodes RIGHT NOW, I just HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! I believe it is a testament to the high production quality and spending millions per episode. But its not exactly relaxing viewing. Shouldn't I be up to my eyeballs in romantic comedy? That must be more relaxing. I mean, every damn episode is edge of your seat stuff. I almost have never felt so frustrated in my life. Its like watching one of those films when two people are trying to find each other and keep crossing paths but never do (until the end of the film, except this one is 16 hours long! ARG!) Its a bit like Dungeons and Dragons: every effort bringing them closer to home is thwarted by the end of the episode.

So there I am, sitting all cosied up with me lemsip, watching Kiefer getting sliced up, thinking he's all heroic and why isn't he dead yet? And then four minutes after he flatlines he's shot three people, extracted information, got dressed, called his contact at the CTU and is happily driving around downtown Los Angeles without a trace of pain, sweat, blood nor tears, especially given that some bloke has just electrocuted him to death and resucutated him with more electrical charges and epinephrine only to give him some other chemical that will kill him to death again by slowly and torturously restricting his diaphram and collapsing his lungs. Clearly its too early in the morning to worry about spelling. The oddest thing about it all is that I'm starting to feel comforted and attracted to the man. This can NOT go on.

One point I must make about the terrorist threat. In the first series, the baddies were Serbian, in this series, that baddies are Arabic. Not really good news for my housemate or I since we (by blood) represent both classifications. I'm not sure this is altogether on. Can someone direct Keifer to bypass Cumberland Road on his next mission? Otherwise, thoroughly gripping stuff, but no antidote to feeling sniffly.

'SECURE THE PERIMETER!!!'

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Kane, Bee Gee and J

London

The Garage

Last Night

I felt like I had walked into a Sci-Fi Geek convention, let alone a Sci-Fi convention. Talk about loads of provincial overweight bespectacled female goths. And some freaky americans. Do you ever get the feeling that you've walked into the twilight zone? There was this one guy hanging about the bar who had a hairdo like a BeeGee. It wasn't until later that we realised he was one of the musicians in the band!!! hee hee!

Anyway, we pitched our tent at the back on the side of the bar with an view of the entire venue. Its nice for what it is. And I was on top form as far as star spotting was concerned. The support act was some dumpy bloke from S Club 7 who has grown his hair, dyed it black and decided to go all punk rock. Go figure. But a little into us settling down, I dug Sarah in the ribs and said, 'That bloke in the stripey shirt is the guitarist in KANE!!!' so she's like, u-huh? And not long after, we spotted two other members of afore-mentioned teeny bopper band. The blonde one and the other blonde one. They are dinky sized. And their entourage.

Anyway, kicking music, with a complimentary "Me and Steve have been drunk for four days...' routine.

Then, half way through the evening, I am standing on a chair waving my arms about, and I look over to the right to see a cute guy buying drinks. And then it hits me... its J August Richards. At this point I totally flip and shake my mate violently, pointing him out in the process, 'I hope he sings too!' I say. Before I know it, he's on stage for a final rendition of 'Sweet Home Alabama' and I'm juts in awe that I've laid eyes on, and been in the same room as some hunky men from the cast of Angel. DAMN, that was a good evening.

One point of contention. I hate men who are 6'8 and decide to stand about 6' away from the stage, thus blocking everyone's view. This is the most inconsiderate behaviour EVER.

Well, a good night and worth the lack of sleep.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Wedded Bliss

Weddings, weddings, weddings.... One wedding actually, several stereotypes: babies crying, bangles jingling, people crying, all at inappropriate moments. Its a shame there was no scandal to speak of.

But, on the plus side, I got chatted up by:
a) someone with a girlfriend
b) someone who was already married
c) someone who was fifteen
Depending on the way you look at it, I was either quite successful, or failed miserably.

On a plus, the bride looked GORGEOUS, in an outfit that I had made for her, thank you, and the compliments were flowing all evening! So, all in all, a great success.



Let the Blood Run Freeeeeeeee!!!

I was reminded of a television show that caught my attention in the early 90s. A spoof of every corny soap opera, set in a hospital, its heroine Nurse Pam Sandwich and hero Dr Ray Good running about in a completely insane manner. I remember Dr Ray frequently having to perform surgery on himself, nurse Pam and her elastic plastic rubber gloves (pulled frequently at tense moments of excitement), the bloody handprint on the back wall, mad scientists experimenting, the drooling mad 'Igor' porter, it was BRILLIANT! Its a shame no one else knows what I'm talking about.

Nurse Pam a beautiful heroine to be sure.