Memoirs of a Geisha
Last night we went to see Memoirs of a Geisha. I was a little reluctant initially because I wanted to see Walk the Line instead, but it turned out to be another decision which worked out really well in spite of all my plans.
I have been interested in different cultures for a long time, especially the Japanese. When I was a child, my dad was mugged, so he decided to learn Karate, so there was always a bit of counting in Japanese going on in the traditional washing-up discussions we had and a bit of Dad explaining the complicated names of the moves he was learning. Dad was also really into the Shogun books, something which I may now go away and read.
All of this resurfaced in my life in my second year at Edinburgh university, when I did Japanese as an outside subject for a year. I found it hard at first, being a Classical fish in an Oriental pond, but I did really get to grips with it in the end, in spite of losing lots of time because I was directing Aristophanes Lysistrata and then was really ill for a month. Actually being ill helped in some ways because I really had to fight to catch up and that gave me lots of momentum with my learning, perhaps more than if I had just studied evenly all the way through.
So the thing I learned from the film was about the nature and the ideal of beauty. We both felt that
Hatsumomo was the most attractive geisha there precisely because she looked dishevelled and not made up. The other geisha each had a beautiful kimono and were heavily made up, which led me to realise that the Japanese ideal of beauty is pale skin because it is unusual. I then thought that the same was probably true of English girls dying their hair red or blond and how this puts the ideal of beauty above the individual. Should it be this way? Perhaps people would find it easier to be comfortable with themselves if these ideals of beauty were not being sold in every advert you see.
I wasn't expecting Memoirs of a Geisha to take me on such a journey. I am glad it did.
The Legion are sick
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. I am so pissed off. I organised a Classics day for our prep school to show the kids there the wonders of Classics. There was going to be a presentation on Roman domestic life, involving people being dressed up in roman clothes and make-up. There was going to be a session on the Roman army in which the kids were given orders for drill in Latin and there would have been a demonstration of Roman artillery on the field. I had seen the group do a Classics day in Birkenhead before and knew they were good. We spent ages organising when it would be and who would do what. I even brought the digital camera into school so I could take a load of pictures of it. Then, having not spoken to them for a while, I thought I'd better give them a call. It was hard getting through but it turns out that they all have flu, had got part of the way up the motorway and turned back. When were they going to let me know? I know it's not their fault but I hope we are not going to lose kids for Classics next year because they were all excited about the Classics day and now they will be disappointed. I feel like such a twat.
BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD!
Four
Four jobs that I've had
Classics teacher in Taunton, Bexley and Birkenhead. My job rules! I am so glad I chose Greek in the Third form. Where would I be now without it?
EFL teaching in Bratislava for two years. I loved that place. Would have stayed if I could. Exchange rates and student debts, eh?
Drone in a factory bakery in Trafford Park. Very close to the Theatre of Dreams in distance yet so very far away in reality. 8 hours a day stacking trays of sausage rolls or putting clean trays onto the line. People at school said it was a sausage factory. I felt like I was dying in there. I was so desperate for something to do that I wrote quotes from Greek lyric poetry in the dirt on old trays between production bouts. Grim-ola!
Two weeks' work experience with the guy who built my Mum's extension. I helped him put a new roof on a house in Davyhulme. I still find myself thinking "I built that" as I go past.
Four movies I can watch over and over
Star Wars, any one of the six films, I just don't buy the so-called unbiased media backlash against Lucas.
Lord of The Rings - I never thought I would see a film which did it justice. All hail Peter Jackson!
Peter's Friends. I loved the ambience of post University what happens next-ness and the eighties soundtrack.
Pulp fiction. There's no particular reason why I have chosen this one. I love films. I like to step out of my world and into someone else's.
Four places I have lived
Flixton, Manchester. Half way to Warrington. It worked for me.
Edinburgh. A top city!
Bratislava. It all happened by accident in October of 1996. I didn't know what I was doing. It was great!
Taunton.
Four TV shows I like to watch
My name is Earl - I love the Karma thing.
X-Files - it seems a long time ago. I suppose it is a sign of my genuine love of any kind of mystery, though I did get frustrated when we never got any proper answers.
Twin Peaks - David Lynch is a genius but I hated the ending.
Farscape
Four foods that I like
Everything, everything, everything and everything, especially all at the same time.
Or:
Takeaways, especially fish and chips, chinese, especially with prawns, and curry, especially with lamb or prawns, but not too hot.
Anything Witho cooks but especially Leek and Bacon pasta.
Fry-ups, especially with black pudding!
Smoothies - I am prepared to give any form of fruit, and some things which aren't, a go.
Four websites I visit on a regular basis
Either of my fantasy football teams, Guardian or Telegraph
Gmail
This one - only from home, though
Football 365 and/or Cricinfo, depending what is on.
Four things I want to do before I die
Go to Old Trafford again.
Go to some nice places.
Get over the fact that our neighbours are evil, selfish, money-grubbing bastards to the point that I can see or hear them without wanting to implode in an mushroom cloud of righteous indignation.
Get another cat and a house which will allow us to have one.
Four places I would rather be right now
On holiday, which I see as a state of mind, rather than necessarily a place.
In the garden
With friends anywhere
On a beach
I am not going to tag people. Do you want to have a go at this?
Gorgeous George
Once there was a ginger cat. He was very silly. He used to enjoy snuggling with anyone warm who would sit still long enough. He had odd tastes in food. Chocolate, water from an empty plant pot, nothing was beyond him. He got confused when his evil owners moved house to the house next door. He surprised the people who bought the house where he used to live by climbing in through an open window in the middle of the night. He did not like staying out at night and would often sit outside, crying at night, hoping to be let into somewhere warm. Sometimes he would even climb onto his neighbours' extension and further onto their window sill. He was even known to force his way in through a part-open window by pulling himself up with his paws.
We loved George. We think he died yesterday. We are sad.
