Last night was MY premier to Sex and the City. I went with six girls, each representing one or more of the characters; Pregnant with kids, married with kids, and just getting married-- me. We were only missing the over the hill, outspoken, overly promiscuous, single woman known as Samantha.
SATC has always been (but not to some) an exaggerated and somewhat sought after version of real life. For years, women all over have been relating their lives to specific episodes of SATC and the characters saying: “I’m more like Charlotte or Carrie, or Miranda…” Not often do you hear someone compare themselves to Samantha. That’s what makes her such a lovable character; she brings the vicariousness to the shows and movies.
Walking into the theatre last night was like walking into a club where everyone sits and doesn’t talk for two hours; there was a noticeable division between the SATC2 viewers and everyone else. Girls there to see the movie were dressed up nicely, definitely in heels (except me), make-up done and hair did. It was comical: some of those same people, albeit a slightly different genre, would never dress up for the blockbusters Harry Potter or Twilight.
The girls I went with all had different opinions on which movie was better, but the majority of the consensus was that they were equally good in different ways.
The 1st SATC stayed true to the characters and their drama, finally forming who they are for the rest of their lives—finally grown up in a sense. It appealed to the audience because it was similar to a normal episode, not straying from the same story. I personally enjoyed the second movie more because it acknowledged that the characters are already established and despite trying to deal with their lives now: married with kids, or aging uncontrollably, it was time to have some fun with the characters and that’s exactly what they did. It was unanimously more humorous that the 1st that’s something everyone could agree on.
Since I spent a few months in Dubai, the cultural scenes like the ones in the souk tickled me. They represented the culture very well and there wasn’t a lot of false information portrayed—if any. I’m sure with enough money, or in their case: a bottomless one, you could have tents set up in the middle of the desert and changes of extravagant clothing on hand. Otherwise companies that offer Arabian dinners will have belly dancers and sheesha pipes set up in the tents when you return from a Dune Buggy excursion. And all you have to do is pay a small price to experience ‘true’ Arabia—Sans the change of clothing. I’m glad they touched on the life of Carrie’s Butler Guarau. It’s incredibly overlooked that the average worker in the Middle East is not in fact Arabic; they are usually from the Philippines, Japan or India. They work excruciating hours making less than minimum wage, which they send back to their families for support. Luckily, in India, minimum wage is quite luxurious. The families can usually keep a nice house, with a nanny and a decent lifestyle.
This movie despite the difference from the episodes was still relatable-- Mostly to married women with kids—but was tuned for over-all entertainment. The one thing I did find a little disappointing was that it was filmed in Morocco, not Abu Dhabi, or even Dubai. Still it could have fooled me—and it did.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The gift of a memory.
Memories are probably the first natural gift given to everyone (other than the obvious gift of life). If the memories are not happy ones to cheer you up, then they are given for the same reason Historians believe history is recorded to learn and grow from. Luckily most of my memories are great.
I remember my 1st bike: sitting pretty in pink in our living room. It was my birthday. My parents holding a video camera; filming me sliding down the stairs on my bum, using my small fist to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I was trying not to smile incase for some reason the bike wasn’t mine or it was just some cruel joke.
I remember how mom walked my bike to my school one day to pick me up. I rode it home as she kept pace with me. I might have been too little to express appreciativeness, but I remember feeling it: I was excited to see her waiting for me, and with my bike!
I remember learning to ride the bike without training wheels. Everyone tried to teach me, even grandpa. Finally the small hill in our front yard was the successor when I rolled down it and took off. But from then on, every time I would take off, it would have to be down a small hill. Very similar to push-starting a car.
I remember our garden. Like amateur farmers, we dabbled in carrots, rhubarb, peas and strawberries. All of which are the best I’ve had to this day.
With the garden came friendly, plump bumblebees. One was not so friendly when it attacked while I was defenseless, eating a hot dog.
I remember building the blue deck with lattice walls.
I remember the slip’n’slide on my birthday.
I remember frequently playing in the park that had the big red barn. That was the same place I lost the “kids’ Easter hat-making contest”. I suspect because my mom helped me make the hat—it was the best.
I remember my friends that lived on my block: Amy and Megan (sisters), Kelsey, Chelsea and ‘little’ Megan. Even at 5 I had acquaintances and ‘little’ Megan was it. One day we “ran away”. We walked through our alley (about ½ a block). It was a consensual decision. Every time we passed a family having a barbeque we would complain of hunger. We had been gone 5 minutes. When we rounded the corner back onto our street, Megan’s babysitter was frantic in the front yard with the massive white cordless phone in her hand. My parents rushed over to me. The sun was in the golden stages of setting and my mom told me I was grounded. “What’s ‘grounded’?” I asked.
I remember my brother ‘Mikey’ and the mullet he had for a year or 2. He was cool with that Mikey-Mullet combo. Even at 2 years old.
Before/after the mullet, when he was learning to walk, I remember out of boredom, lifting him by the head and putting him back down. If I wasn’t doing that, I was pushing my fist through the bottom of his bottle forcing the bag of milk to squirt in his face. The result was similar to blowing air into a dogs face: a lot of head shaking and mouth opening. He didn’t know what was going on. I do feel terrible about that. It pangs me with regret every time I think of it. He got me back at a young age when he hit me on the arm with a wooden spoon. He didn’t know what he was doing then either, but it made me cry.
I remember winters in Calgary, learning to skate. I had lots of trouble. One day dad took me to an outdoor rink. It was nighttime and there had just been a snowfall and there was snow on the rink. I had been struggling to learn for a while. I thought “I don’t see why I cant just skate like Wayne Gretsky!” and off I went. I could skate ever since. However, skating is not like riding a bike and I’m not so good at it anymore. Or never was really.
I remember our yearly trips to Mara lake with friends, family and fresh peaches from the Okanogan B.C. Jet Ski’s, swimming, and getting a fat lip from fold-out bed when my dad didn’t realize I was inspecting the mechanics of how it worked.
I remember the annual stop at the Enchanted Forest and castle-- Always on the way home. It was something to look forward to when leaving our beloved summer vacation.
I remember Saturday morning cartoons and on Christmas day waking up too soon. Christmas will always be one of my fondest memories and the one that effects my emotions more than any other. Thinking of past Christmases pulls at my heart strings the hardest.
I remember our 1st dog Tex and how I married her to my stuffed bear I called Barney.
I remember listening to vinyl records and doing the ‘chicken dance’ to ‘La Bamba.
I remember being able to tell the difference between Nirvana and Rolling stones. And how my dad would show his friends like it was a neat trick. I was proud.
I used to remember all the words to most of the Beach Boys’ songs
I remember listening to my dad play guitar—still one of my favorite things.
I remember roast beef sandwiches for school and sometimes tuna too.
I remember going to the Stampede as a little one and begging my dad for $5.00 to make my own (multi-colored) sand filled bottle. After much-ado, I got it and I think to this day I still have it—somewhere—refusing to throw it out because I know how much I went through to get it.
I remember things, so many things, some of which people probably didn’t think I would, like driving in my uncle’s jeep without the doors or the top on. We were discussing the different consistencies of boogers.Then I gave him a visual of one of the ‘types’. Sometimes I wonder if HE remembers. I was 5.
I remember getting presents like cabbage patch dolls, a Ghostbuster’s cassette, and many more when my dad came back from business trips.
I remember a green velvet outfit I had for a Christmas concert in elementary. And how I wished I played the bells instead of singing.
I remember when my aunt came to town it meant we got to see a movie together and I would sometimes get a new ring. It was ritual.
Each memory has a specific impact on my emotions as if I’m going through it all over again. About harassing my brother, I think about how that could have affected our future relationship. I still feel bad about bothering my dad about the little sand bottle. Every memory has a weight on my heart and equally reminds me that I will no longer be receiving memories as great, but rather giving them and making my own. Not to say the memories I’m receiving now aren’t as good. They are just different; more analyzed. I can only hope I can give memories like gifts just how they were given to me.
And remember: that little kid you’re influencing may remember too. It’s amazing what they won’t forget.
I remember my 1st bike: sitting pretty in pink in our living room. It was my birthday. My parents holding a video camera; filming me sliding down the stairs on my bum, using my small fist to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I was trying not to smile incase for some reason the bike wasn’t mine or it was just some cruel joke.
I remember how mom walked my bike to my school one day to pick me up. I rode it home as she kept pace with me. I might have been too little to express appreciativeness, but I remember feeling it: I was excited to see her waiting for me, and with my bike!
I remember learning to ride the bike without training wheels. Everyone tried to teach me, even grandpa. Finally the small hill in our front yard was the successor when I rolled down it and took off. But from then on, every time I would take off, it would have to be down a small hill. Very similar to push-starting a car.
I remember our garden. Like amateur farmers, we dabbled in carrots, rhubarb, peas and strawberries. All of which are the best I’ve had to this day.
With the garden came friendly, plump bumblebees. One was not so friendly when it attacked while I was defenseless, eating a hot dog.
I remember building the blue deck with lattice walls.
I remember the slip’n’slide on my birthday.
I remember frequently playing in the park that had the big red barn. That was the same place I lost the “kids’ Easter hat-making contest”. I suspect because my mom helped me make the hat—it was the best.
I remember my friends that lived on my block: Amy and Megan (sisters), Kelsey, Chelsea and ‘little’ Megan. Even at 5 I had acquaintances and ‘little’ Megan was it. One day we “ran away”. We walked through our alley (about ½ a block). It was a consensual decision. Every time we passed a family having a barbeque we would complain of hunger. We had been gone 5 minutes. When we rounded the corner back onto our street, Megan’s babysitter was frantic in the front yard with the massive white cordless phone in her hand. My parents rushed over to me. The sun was in the golden stages of setting and my mom told me I was grounded. “What’s ‘grounded’?” I asked.
I remember my brother ‘Mikey’ and the mullet he had for a year or 2. He was cool with that Mikey-Mullet combo. Even at 2 years old.
Before/after the mullet, when he was learning to walk, I remember out of boredom, lifting him by the head and putting him back down. If I wasn’t doing that, I was pushing my fist through the bottom of his bottle forcing the bag of milk to squirt in his face. The result was similar to blowing air into a dogs face: a lot of head shaking and mouth opening. He didn’t know what was going on. I do feel terrible about that. It pangs me with regret every time I think of it. He got me back at a young age when he hit me on the arm with a wooden spoon. He didn’t know what he was doing then either, but it made me cry.
I remember winters in Calgary, learning to skate. I had lots of trouble. One day dad took me to an outdoor rink. It was nighttime and there had just been a snowfall and there was snow on the rink. I had been struggling to learn for a while. I thought “I don’t see why I cant just skate like Wayne Gretsky!” and off I went. I could skate ever since. However, skating is not like riding a bike and I’m not so good at it anymore. Or never was really.
I remember our yearly trips to Mara lake with friends, family and fresh peaches from the Okanogan B.C. Jet Ski’s, swimming, and getting a fat lip from fold-out bed when my dad didn’t realize I was inspecting the mechanics of how it worked.
I remember the annual stop at the Enchanted Forest and castle-- Always on the way home. It was something to look forward to when leaving our beloved summer vacation.
I remember Saturday morning cartoons and on Christmas day waking up too soon. Christmas will always be one of my fondest memories and the one that effects my emotions more than any other. Thinking of past Christmases pulls at my heart strings the hardest.
I remember our 1st dog Tex and how I married her to my stuffed bear I called Barney.
I remember listening to vinyl records and doing the ‘chicken dance’ to ‘La Bamba.
I remember being able to tell the difference between Nirvana and Rolling stones. And how my dad would show his friends like it was a neat trick. I was proud.
I used to remember all the words to most of the Beach Boys’ songs
I remember listening to my dad play guitar—still one of my favorite things.
I remember roast beef sandwiches for school and sometimes tuna too.
I remember going to the Stampede as a little one and begging my dad for $5.00 to make my own (multi-colored) sand filled bottle. After much-ado, I got it and I think to this day I still have it—somewhere—refusing to throw it out because I know how much I went through to get it.
I remember things, so many things, some of which people probably didn’t think I would, like driving in my uncle’s jeep without the doors or the top on. We were discussing the different consistencies of boogers.Then I gave him a visual of one of the ‘types’. Sometimes I wonder if HE remembers. I was 5.
I remember getting presents like cabbage patch dolls, a Ghostbuster’s cassette, and many more when my dad came back from business trips.
I remember a green velvet outfit I had for a Christmas concert in elementary. And how I wished I played the bells instead of singing.
I remember when my aunt came to town it meant we got to see a movie together and I would sometimes get a new ring. It was ritual.
Each memory has a specific impact on my emotions as if I’m going through it all over again. About harassing my brother, I think about how that could have affected our future relationship. I still feel bad about bothering my dad about the little sand bottle. Every memory has a weight on my heart and equally reminds me that I will no longer be receiving memories as great, but rather giving them and making my own. Not to say the memories I’m receiving now aren’t as good. They are just different; more analyzed. I can only hope I can give memories like gifts just how they were given to me.
And remember: that little kid you’re influencing may remember too. It’s amazing what they won’t forget.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Random boat living.
It's 5pm. I've got a glass of wine, my iPod, My journal (and a pen), and a magazine: Women's Health. Which honestly, despite the health information, I wonder why I read anymore. I don't exercise and even Yoga has become a challenge on this boat we call home. Any bending poses are fine, but as soon as I have to do mountain pose with hands reaching to the sky, I have to do flat palms with a slight back-bend so I don't hit the ceiling. Improvisation. The other day I printed off a running program from Women's Health and went on my way. I walked until I was out of sight, then went into jog mode. Only to take 2 running steps before my right-foot caught the flare of my left pant leg, thrusting me towards the pavement face-first. My knees skidded along first before my hands hit the ground, breaking my stone ring and scraping up my engagement ring then rolling onto my back (so, don't wear nice jewelery while running). A guy in a truck stopped, rolled down his window and asked if I was OK. I gave him the thumbs up, my palms burning. I turned around and started runnning until I was FOR-SURE out of sight and could assess my hands and knees. Hands: OK, Knees: bleeding-- even through my pants. Thanks Lulu Lemon. Smart choice on the flared pants. So we're avoiding running until at least tomorrow... or until my knee stops pussing from under the scab. ;-)
But for this moment, the cushioned settee, and a nice day; aka. no wind and an clear California sunset equals a relaxing moment on this Moody 64', Breeze.
That is if you don't count the broken freezer we discovered last night when I was trying to convince Adam to eat OUR pre-paid hamburgers instead of In'n'Out burgers. Now he has to eat them all in a week. That'll show him Bwa ha ha ha. I suppose if I really wanted to complain, having (temporary non-HD-TV) TV in the bedroom only (since we switched out Direct TV box) kind of sucks. But I'll be thankful we have TV at all! At least I have something to do when I'm not doing yoga. I keep reminding myself: "this could all still happen if we were not living on a boat".
1 Glass of wine is all I'm allowed tonight. Not because I'm restricting myself, but because that's all that was left in the bottle. The sunset could have been a lot more interesting... But, I'm extending my glass of wine with the slow-melting hunk of ice I jammed in the glass after I saved it from it's watery-doom at the bottom of the "freezer".
I think once we have the space, we will have a micro wine cellar. There's nothing wrong with that right? Grapes are good for you, they have heart-disease-fighting antioxidants. I learned THAT in Women's Health.
Behind me, slowly, silently and rather stealth-like, my new hobby: plants are sprouting and growing. All but the chives. I still have faith in them though.
Okra was my first to sprout, followed closely by Basil and not without a scare of impotence: Dill, who just sprouted through the soil yesterday. You would never guess it's only a day old by the height of the healthy green, grass-like sprouts.
Is it weird that they're like my little babies, my pride and joy? People get pets before children, I get plants before pets before children!
I practically attacked Adam yesterday morning when I saw Dill had come out of it's shell: "Guess what popped up?!" I think he was probably scared at that moment. "DILL" I shouted and jumped into bed. Adam had very little faith in Dill, so I think he was pleasantly surprised. His "REALLY?" showed it.
I do take pride in their growth, knowing that it was me who waters them, puts them in the sun all day and brings them inside at night so they don't get cold. If it's windy outside I shelter them behind the "dash" windows so the UV rays can still ravish them. When I first planted them, I told them: I love you little herbs, now grow, grow, GROW! I send them positive vibes, holding their little pots. Soon I'll have to move them into a big pot with each other. Oh the day.
But my wine is done and I must go watch non-HD "Tori and Dean" before yoga'ing it up!
~K
But for this moment, the cushioned settee, and a nice day; aka. no wind and an clear California sunset equals a relaxing moment on this Moody 64', Breeze.
That is if you don't count the broken freezer we discovered last night when I was trying to convince Adam to eat OUR pre-paid hamburgers instead of In'n'Out burgers. Now he has to eat them all in a week. That'll show him Bwa ha ha ha. I suppose if I really wanted to complain, having (temporary non-HD-TV) TV in the bedroom only (since we switched out Direct TV box) kind of sucks. But I'll be thankful we have TV at all! At least I have something to do when I'm not doing yoga. I keep reminding myself: "this could all still happen if we were not living on a boat".
1 Glass of wine is all I'm allowed tonight. Not because I'm restricting myself, but because that's all that was left in the bottle. The sunset could have been a lot more interesting... But, I'm extending my glass of wine with the slow-melting hunk of ice I jammed in the glass after I saved it from it's watery-doom at the bottom of the "freezer".
I think once we have the space, we will have a micro wine cellar. There's nothing wrong with that right? Grapes are good for you, they have heart-disease-fighting antioxidants. I learned THAT in Women's Health.
Behind me, slowly, silently and rather stealth-like, my new hobby: plants are sprouting and growing. All but the chives. I still have faith in them though.
Okra was my first to sprout, followed closely by Basil and not without a scare of impotence: Dill, who just sprouted through the soil yesterday. You would never guess it's only a day old by the height of the healthy green, grass-like sprouts.
Is it weird that they're like my little babies, my pride and joy? People get pets before children, I get plants before pets before children!
I practically attacked Adam yesterday morning when I saw Dill had come out of it's shell: "Guess what popped up?!" I think he was probably scared at that moment. "DILL" I shouted and jumped into bed. Adam had very little faith in Dill, so I think he was pleasantly surprised. His "REALLY?" showed it.
I do take pride in their growth, knowing that it was me who waters them, puts them in the sun all day and brings them inside at night so they don't get cold. If it's windy outside I shelter them behind the "dash" windows so the UV rays can still ravish them. When I first planted them, I told them: I love you little herbs, now grow, grow, GROW! I send them positive vibes, holding their little pots. Soon I'll have to move them into a big pot with each other. Oh the day.
But my wine is done and I must go watch non-HD "Tori and Dean" before yoga'ing it up!
~K
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