This week in diverting packages.

(thanks, Casey).

Killing time between lectures, we wandered around the new discount store that opened in the village, pointing at the cheap Hallow’een costumes and the knock-off toys. Nothing was authentic. Barbie was called Belinda. Instead of My Little Pony, they had “Luckily Pony”. We laughed, and then I felt that rush of guilt and sadness. I ended up buying a Rubix’s Cube for €1.49 which was branded as a “Magic Cube”, and I toyed with it all day. It now rests on my desk, solid and colourful and somehow comforting, despite the fact that I know I will never solve it. A small pleasure.

walkwhilereading:

“…there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”

American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis

I have, in my (albeit short) life, only gotten rid of two books, both of which I gave to a second-hand bookstore. One was a copy of Heavier Than Heaven, the Kurt Cobain biography, of which I had ended up with two copies. The other was American Pyscho, because I genuinely didn’t like having in it my room while I slept at night. I figured my only other viable option was to Magic Marker “I GET YOUR POINT. I GET IT” over every page.

Last year’s highlight.

It’s one of my favourite months, mainly because it begins the transition into the colder, nerdier, more Catherine-friendly time of year, but also because it heralds the return of Strictly Come Dancing. It’s been my reality-tv staple since I began watching it around the time of Series 2 (in which Darren & Jill jived their way to success, in case you forgot) (how could you forget??) and my entire family now watch it religiously. Our autumnal conversations are now heavily sprinkled with phrases like “He needs to work on flexing his arms properly in those New Yorkers” and “Is this dance supposed to be syncopated?” and “Great line!”.

This time around, I was almost dreading it, however, because of the terrible decision to replace Arlene Phillips with Alesha Dixon as Token Female Judge. Terrible because although Arlene was nutty and seemed to hold a B.A. in Mixed Metaphors, she was also endearing and knew her dance technique inside out. Terrible because Alesha was one of my favourite past contestants on the show, but has no formal dance training and is therefore qualified to be a judge on this show how? Terrible because hello, flagrant BBC ageism, how are ya? Terrible because even this act of stooping to the Lowest Common Denominator won’t win you viewers away from X Factor, so don’t even try, Strictly, don’t even try.

The decision really annoyed me when I first heard about it a month or so ago, and I came into this new series expecting it to be unsalvagable. But hey, once those cheesy credits began to roll, I immediately dissolved into a puddle of joy. I. Love. This. Show!

Anyway, my opening week thoughts commence below:

• It’s way too early in the game to be picking favourites, especially since we’ve only seen half the contestants so far (and judging by the group dance last night, the best - and worst - is surely yet to come) but I think Chris could be one of those shortarse “cheeky-chappy” types who irritates me immensely in the first few weeks before becoming one of my favourites, I find Ricky very, very creepy in the same way I do with all pale, fair-haired and big-lipped men, Lynda is going to try my patience and I think Ali is sweet.
• The professional dancers are, as usual, the biggest draw for me. Brian! Christina! Matthew! Ola and her little piranha head! Darren and Lilia! A lot of the time during the individual dances, I find myself watching the pros instead of critiquing the celebrities, because they are so damn good.
• I’m afraid to write too much on this topic, because I worry about tripping the Vitriol switch, but Alesha Dixon, formerly a pet fave of mine, is such a waste of space. Anyone watching at home in their PJs could give comments as insightful as she is offering. “You looked really pretty,” “You gave it your best shot,” “Well done, I look forward to seeing you next week.” Zzzzzzz. Wake me up when they fire her.
• As for the traditional judges, I still think there’s a special place in purgatory for Len Goodman and Craig Revel-Horwood will have my heart for ever. I don’t care what anyone says, the public have got their roles mixed up. Len puts on this twinkly, kindly old gentleman air, but he’s often cruel, slightly misogynistic/homophobic and tends to hold grudges. He always does that irritating thing where he’ll feign praise in his comments and then dramatically underscore, but what people remember is him smiling and being patronising, rather than the 6 he subsequently gives. I know I’m alone on this, but I really, really, dislike Len Goodman. Craig, on the other hand, is totally honest. You pretty much know what kind of a score you’ll be getting after you listen to Craig’s comments. He’s sometimes a little OTT in the scathing department, but I think he’s always fair and more encouraging than people recognise. Plus, he’s the funniest of the judges. “Two words. Rigor. Mortis.”
• Not going to say anything about Bruce and Tess, only that I have accepted they’re something I have to put up with in order to watch a show I love. A necessary evil, if you will.
• I basically died with happiness watching the Sweet Charity medley, and to have it capped with a special appearance from Tom and Camilla doing their “If My Friends Could See Me Now” show dance from last season? Put a fork in me, I’m done.

Look how adorbs Barbara Stanwyck is here.

walkwhilereading:

“Love drains you, takes with it much of your blood sugar and water weight. You are like a house slowly losing its electricity, the fans slowing, the lights dimming and flickering; the clocks stop and go and stop.”

- Self-Help by Lorrie Moore [photo]

My heart just stopped, momentarily.

A signed copy of Self Help? Ys, plz.

Kevin and I, Guinness Staff Party, September 12th.

walkwhilereading:

David Sedaris is coming to my city on November 1st for the Vancouver International Writers & Readers Festival. This is a big deal. He actually makes my wife cackle when being read. When she was reading Naked I honestly thought she was going to pee her pants. She never did but it’s the hardest I’ve seen her laugh in years.

Cue the hate mail. I don’t think he’s all that funny. I tried reading Naked once, I didn’t get very far. I just didn’t find him believable I don’t know why.

Anyways, I had a point to this post. That point is this. I can’t get over the price to see him speak. Seats are between 40-60 bucks. Now I know he’s sold a ton of books. But he’s not the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s. Seriously. He’ll read from a book. A book that has been out forever. I’m sorry I just don’t understand.

One last thing to put this in perspective. To spend the evening with Margaret Atwood, Booker Prize winning novelist at the same festival will run you $17.00.

What gives.

That’s weird, because I saw him read last September (holy crap, is it a year already?!) and the tickets were 15 euro.