A Pilgrim’s Progress- Day 1

All weights being equal, I have decided to give Power World a shot. 

I noticed this particular one a while back, when driving by. So one day I popped in, had a quick chat about membership (less than 1/3 of what my last gym membership cost) and took a stroll around the facilities. They have 3 floors, with the cardio equipment on the ground floor, weight machines on the second and free weights on the third (I could be wrong about floors 2 and 3 since my memory is sketchy but we will find out soon. More on that later). 

So since my home workouts have now plateaued, last Friday I went in to get my membership and do my first workout. The session went about as expected. The trainer didn’t know me and seemed skeptical about the “full body workout” I said I was currently doing. He asked me to start with not one but two cardio warm ups. 15 minutes on the stationary bike and another 15 on the treadmill. The bike was set to “barely there” so that was an easy 15. And when I asked him what speed I should set the treadmill at he said “about 2.5”, looked at my jaw on the floor, and corrected it to “even 3 is okay” and then added “do a brisk walk, don’t run”.  And left me there wondering how one could run on a treadmill set to 3 mph. 

Once all that was done its was time to hit the weights! Much excitement on my end. Much “hehe heh little lady” energy from his. 

Now I’d seen some “ladies only” signage to the back and I assumed they led to changing rooms. Nope. They led to an area dedicated to “ladies” with two benches and an odd lot of dumbbells. And I mean odd- some in kilos some in pounds and one lone dumbbell seeking a partner, preferably chrome. These were all no doubt discarded by the men who ruled the floors above. Anyways, he hands me two 2 kg dumbbells and asks me to do front raises. I don’t want to argue about weight right off the bat so I did my allocated 12x3. Next up was a standing military press. He kindly said I could switch up the weights. So I gingerly picked up the 5kg dumbbells. Since he was making me do 12 reps per set I didn’t want to be too ambitious. For the bench press I firmly told him that I needed to up the weights. The next in line were marked in pounds not kilos. And he gave me the  15 lb ones. I did 3 sets of flat bench presses and 3 sets of incline presses.  Then he asked me to do 3 sets of curls and  by the time I was done the trainer  had morphed into a different one. (The day just started, what gives, trainer #1 why did you leave?). This second guy completely ignored my poor triceps and asked me to use what I can only imagine was an ab cruncher bought off Telseen marketing donated by a disillusioned housewife. It did nothing for me except cause me great amusement and embarrassment in equal measures. 

And then we were done! I asked him what was next and he said I would be doing a similar basic routine for 2 weeks and then they would give me a proper schedule. Apparently schedules needed to be earned. But on the plus side he said my next workout would be upstairs. In the holiest of holy man space - so maybe things will be better? One hopes. I’d better take a big towel to wipe up manly sweat off the benches for sure. 

Day 2 tomorrow. Await updates.

Epiphanous rambling

I went for a bit of a walk this morning. The silly cat wakes me up at 5.30 on the dot anyway, demanding food, so I thought might as well and headed out. Having recently watched and become besotted with Rocketman, I had been listening to the soundtrack on a loop. And it was when the first strains of The Bitch is Back started that I had my titular epiphany. I realised in that moment why I fixate on certain actors (the one exception being Kevin Smith) and start watching their films obsessively. Because these people make movies that, as Rocky would say, fills certain holes. And I get utterly lost in their art and their lives and I get different things out of each of them. Rocky gets me inspired and back in the gym. Kevin Smith makes me feel like anyone can do anything. Simon Pegg makes me happy because a nerd grew up and made movies he used to dream about. And Rocketman - gosh, Elton's music and his life was something we grew up with. I remember reading about his divorce and about him identifying as bisexual without even understanding what that was at the time, hearing about his hair transplants and discussing with my sister how exactly that would even work. No one in Sri Lanka knew about hair transplants back then! We loved Elton then, I love him now and that movie is just such a testament to who he is and I love it to bits. Ergo, it brings me joy.
And while I'm caught up in any of these bouts where I chase some person's life and their creativity I'm elevated. I can shut out the everyday and just get lost. It's a form of therapy I suppose. And since I don't seem to be able to stick with actual therapists (or afford them!) this'll have to do.

Can you feel the MEH

So, I was forced to watch the Lion King remake yesterday. I say forced because the offspring wanted to see it and I had to thus, sit through it. Given a choice I would have given this one a wide berth.

Having now seen the movie I rate it U for Unnecessary.

This one was completely and unabashedly a money grab for Disney. Lion King is already an amazing story. And unlike earlier remakes - like Jungle Book which I really enjoyed - this particular rehashing adds nothing new to the story. Why do we need a shot for shot remake of a movie that is already brilliant?  Where in the original we had the expressive, facially emotive cartoon characters we are now given photo realistic animals trying to talk and it just doesn't work. There's a moment in the movie where young Simba cries "Noooo" and it just ruins what should be the most poignant scene of the movie.

Technically speaking, the 2019 Lion King is a masterpiece. It's awe inspiring- from a visual and design point of view. Hands down some of the best computer generated imagery out there. Kudos to the team that worked on it in that aspect. But oh dear, it's so woefully inadequate in every other aspect.

One of these things is not like the other

"But what about the kids?" I hear you cry. "Surely it's nice for the kids to be able to have a new version to watch?". No, I reply. Let them watch the cartoon. That's the beauty of movies- it's not like theatre- as long as you have it on [insert medium of choice] you can keep watching them forever. And it's not like this story is one that would ever date. This new version bored me to death and the only refreshing thing was Timon and Pumba riffing new dialogue.

Before going in to watch this, the only thing I thought might be this movie's saving grace was John Favrau directing. Like I mentioned above I loved his version of the Jungle Book - which one would argue was more an actual 'live remake' in that the main character was a real live actor. Also it wasn't a take for take remake, and all the changes were for the better. In the 2019 Lion King the main change seems to be that the heart of the movie has been supplanted with a cash register. 

Rocketman - that fuse ain't burning down

Taron in one of his most Eltoniest get ups

Rocketman, coming pretty soon after Bohemian Rhapsody, makes a comparison between the two inevitable. Thank the gods that this one they got right. Bohemian Rhapsody played out like a standard biopic - very reminiscent of Dewey Cox in fact - as more than one reviewer mentioned. Rocketman is a fantastic musical which doesn't necessarily follow a standard this happened, and then this happened, format. It does follow Elton's life for about two decades in a somewhat linear fashion but the story unravels as moments rather than a sequence of events. And each of these moments is either lovingly cradled or exuberantly paraded using one of Elton's songs rather brilliantly sung by Taron.

Taron Egerton is the absolutely heart and soul of the movie. As the lead, I suppose that's expected but he so amazingly embodies Elton that it's beautiful to watch. It's not a mimicry - even when he sings Taron doesn't try to copy Elton's voice. He sings like himself (with Elton's blessings) giving each song the emotional drive it deserves to service that particular scene in the movie. So you will get a gentle, hesitant, loving rendition of Your Song and then you will get a snazzy jazzy let's get things rolling version of Honky Cat. The fact that Taron sings the songs in his own way is a good thing because his singing voice is different to Elton's - not as strong for one thing - and had he tried to ape Elton's voice it would have sounded forced. He sings in a way that's true to his own voice and that works really well.

Blatantly stolen (because look at that face) from Vogue, April 2019 (Photographed by Anton Corbijn)

As much as I admired Rami Malek's dedicated take on Freddie, it always felt very caricature-ish. The humongous teeth, the fact that he was so small, it just felt so jarring and kept lifting me out of the whole experience. The only saving grace the movie had was the music - and that was also a stage performance type of affair.

In Rocketman the whole rehab story telling device could have come off as hackneyed. But thankfully it works. Everything just gels. It's no secret that Dexter Fletcher took over at the tail end of BOhemian Rhapsody after Bryan Singer left. But given what he has done with Rocketman it's clear that he had very little creative leeway with Bohemian Rhapsody. It just goes to show what effect outside control has over the final outcome of a movie. It's evident that Queen and Elton must have had very different ideas about what they want said in their respective movie. Elton fought for the R rating and a near depiction of what his life really was back then (proper sex, drugs, rock and roll). And while Freddie's life must have been as way out there, very little is depicted in the film, which is more a vehicle for the music of Queen than an actual biopic. It's a pity, because I would love to see a proper Freddie Mercury story. Maybe Sacha Baron Cohen would have made it. We will never know.

Awwwwwwww. These two.

It's been a while since Elton was putting out new music all the time and you tend to forget what an absolute star he is. At 72 he is still a tour de force at the piano  - you only have to watch him in that now famous duet at Cannes when he and Taron sing Rocketman. Taron can sing but Elton, hoo boy, that's proper star power.
Roketman is one of those movies that I could have just kept on watching, and watching for as long as the music lasted.

F is for ...

I was happily binge watching Poldark cast interviews when the possibility of Aiden Turner being offered the role of James Bond was brought up by one interviewer. Aiden fielded it by saying that so many other actors were also rumouredly being considered for the role.  Then Eleanor Tomlinson jokingly said that in fact, she was going to be the next Bond. And that was when I thought, oh god, it's only  a matter of time before some studio exec says 'hey, what about Jane Bond?'. If it hasn't happened already that is (I'm scared to look). 

At the cost of repeating what better people before me have said ad nauseum- why have we stopped creating strong female characters in movies and television who are not based on (or are a rehashing of) male characters? Starting from the obvious Ripley and  Sarah Connor examples there have been, over the years, quite a few amazing female characters. Of course the numbers are probably less than we would like and that is what we need to fix. And the answer is not to  create female versions of every damn thing. So no. Don't do Jane Bond. Create an original story with a female lead  - do that instead. Don't do silly things like retelling an already amazing movie but now with an all female cast (you know who you are. and I don't want to call this version of you). Do what Ocean's 8 did  -  they didn't replace the men, they just made a different bad ass team in a world where the men also existed. 

If you think that toppling the patriarchy means literally shoving the patriarchy aside and standing there in its place saying 'Here, take me instead' - that's not what it should be. By any means. What you need to do is stand upto it and say 'Here, take me also. Take me also and attribute to me the same worth'.

"Oh, when you said we need guns you meant actual guns. Sorry I wrecked the bed man. 

 

Poldark

Ye gads. Why on earth did I delay getting round to this one. The better part of most episodes had me gripping my arm rest with one hand with the other on my heart. And not just because Aiden Turner habitually misplaces his shirts.

scythes before hoes

It's like Wuthering Heights had a love child with Jane Eyre and was raised by Far from the Madding Crowd. The sap in me is well pleased. 

I am a Zogwarg hear me roar

All hell breaks loose when you least expect it. Last night the kid and I were in a really good place. We made brownies in the evening (they came out really well) and then watched an episode of Good Omens over dinner (Broccoli and grilled chicken - an all time favourite). We had moved back to the bedroom where i was in the midst of changing the bed sheets when my mother walks into the room and berates the kid for being rude to her. Now the kid has been pretty standoffish with my mother for a while now. She's in that phase of her life where everything is being ruled by her hormones and even with me she's not her best self. My mother can't deal with this. She insists on taking it personally and I guess whatever the kid did last night must have pushed her over the edge.
So anyway, that happens.

I should have let it go, I really should have. But instead I decided to investigate.

Turns out (provide that the kid was telling the whole truth) that it was a minor incident.  I should have ended it there.

But I didn't.

I got into this whole spiel of how she needs to be kind to her grandmother. How she loves her and how the kid doesn't appreciate her yada yada - the whole works. So fine, lecture done, I should have ended it there.

But I didn't.

I wanted her to respond. Now this is where I always get frustrated. Because this kid has made an art-form of listening to a lecture with a poker face and not showing any emotion whatsoever. And this really gets my goat. So what did I do? I tried to get her to respond, and of course she didn't and I got increasingly frustrated. And then I said the words I promised myself I would never say again.

"You're just like your father"

(she is, when she behaves this way. but that's besides the point)

Then I walked out the room.

A little while later I went to my study to find, in place of an old drawing of hers that used to be up on the wall, the following written in green marker:
"I hate you.
Your not my mother
DROP DEAD"

and as an aside, in smaller print:
"being an orphan would be better than this"

I read this three times. then I took a red pen and added and apostrophe and an 'e' to the 'your' and I left it. She took herself to bed. Didn't say goodnight to me. I was determined to show that I wasn't rattled (and I was in shock so I couldn't react anyway) so I said a cheery goodnight which went unanswered.

This morning we spoke - about regular things - while on the way to school. Then by evening it was all back to normal.

If I said that this didn't rattle me, of course that wouldn't be true. I spent the whole day with the words "DROP DEAD" floating in front of my eyes. But, rather uncharacteristically for me, I didn't break. I think on some level, even as soon as I saw it, I decided not to react to something she clearly said (wrote) in anger.
I spent whatever free time I had during the day reading up on that kind of behaviour, and why kids say such things. Research says that it's mostly because that's the only way they can vent their frustration when they feel helpless. So they try to hurt us or make us feel helpless as well. my usual MO is to be hurt and show her that I'm hurt. But apparently you have to show your kids that you're strong - else they feel insecure. And if you retort with anger that's a bad idea. You'll just end up pushing them further away. Once you realise it you kind of feel stupid for not knowing this all along. but I'm so used to reacting to things instantaneously and thinking about things from my point of view I don't usually allow myself time to think my responses through. I'm glad I took a step back last night and decided to figure out what to do later. Something in my gut told me that I should not acknowledge what she wrote. I think it helped to go back to how I used to feel as a kid - I've done things in anger and then instantly regretted it and desperately hoped that no one would notice. So I did the kid a solid. I didn't respond or react to it. she will never know if i saw it or not. but I think she appreciated the way I handled it. When i got back to my study after her bedtime the drawing was back up on the wall. :)

(The author apologises for overusing the words 'response' and 'react' as she was under a significant amount of emotional turmoil and couldn't be bothered to find suitable synonyms.) 

CATHARSIS

catharsis

kəˈθɑːsɪs/

noun

noun: catharsis; plural noun: catharses

The process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

Death, or rather dealing with death usually lasts you your lifetime. So there's no actual moment of catharsis - just a series of catharses. (I wrote this sentence mere moments after wondering when anyone would even use the plural of catharsis. And now I know.)

I lost my father when I was 21. My daughter lost her father when she was 6. I thought at the time that she wouldn't miss him too much - he had been unwell for a long time and so he couldn't do most of the typical dad stuff. But I hadn't counted on how much she would miss the idea of him. Last week we were talking about him, because a couple of his close friends were due in Sri Lanka and they wanted to visit his grave and pay their respects. We talked about this on the car ride home. She was exceptionally silent, studiously looking out the window, so I suspected she was crying. When we got home I stopped the car and turned to her;

"Are you crying?"

turns. nods. sniffles.

"Oh, baby I'm sorry." she folds herself into my arms. No longer the small person that bundled up neatly into my hug. Now it's all arms and legs. 

"I miss him."

"Do you remember him?"

"Not much. But I remember that though he couldn't do much, he did what he could"

That. That gutted me. 

Yesterday she and I met up with his friends. It was a wonderful afternoon. They reminded me so much of him. It was the sort of conversation I was part of back in the day when I would hang out with him and his friends. And I hated the fact that he wasn't there. Because he would have enjoyed that day. 

That's what gets me. The stuff he misses out on. He doesn't know what his kids look like now. He doesn't get to watch all those movies that came since - I know exactly which ones he'd like, which ones he'd love and which ones we'd disagree on. Sometimes when I'm watching something I know exactly how and when he would laugh out loud. And I hate it. I hate the fact that he's not here - listening, speaking, feeling. I don't miss him for myself. I don't like that the world is missing him.

Squad Goals

Suicide Squad! The movie that I fervently hoped would inject some much needed life, humour and a whole lotta bad bad into the DC cinematic universe.  As is my usual practice I had avoided all trailers, and anything else to do with the movie. Going in, I didn’t know the premise, and I barely knew anything about the casting other than the unavoidable few.

It starts with some promise – I liked the opening credits. Sadly, this was when the movie peaked.  

I initially meant to write a proper recap. But I didn’t take notes the first time and I just can’t bring myself to watch it again. So instead, here’s a brief list of observation.

1. Viola Davis reprises her role from How to Get Away With Murder as woman with less and less fucks to give each day who gathers together a bunch of unruly kids to help her solve her problems.
2. The first twenty minutes of the movie is spent on exposition as we are introduced to each of the villains she plans to recruit.
3. As any sane person would expect, the whole ‘death squad of super villains to combat threats from super villains’ plan goes awry even before it gets off the ground when one of its members goes rogue and starts being the threat.
4. After being bombarded for what feels like forever with teasers of Jared’s Leto’s Joker, we find that
   a) he has very little screen time
   b) we wish he had even less
5. Viola Davis as Amanda Waller wouldn’t have been my first choice. But then, they never get Waller right in the live action shows. TVs Arrow gave us an absurdly hot version and here, we have a way too serious version.  You know who would have made a good Waller? The lady who plays Ethal Peobody in Gotham. 
6. What the hell was going on with the soundtrack? Was the director so lazy that he tried to let the music do half the work for him? If that was the case, he failed spectacularly. The soundrack is a bigger mess than Killer Croc's genetic composition. Eminem’s Without Me? Really? That song is just about Eminem! It can’t possibly be used by or for anyone else!
7. The done to death trope of getting the main villain (who has the power to destroy cities - or in this case a satellite in space- from a distance) to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the main band of opposers, thus allowing themselves to be defeated? Sheesh.  

I wanted so much to like this movie. So many amazing characters, so many awesome stories to tap, and this is what they decided to go with? What a waste.

Giniyam Rae – a painfull recap

(if you want to watch the video behind the recap - and I assure you, you  don't - click here.) 

Our story starts with a flash sequence of images, including, but not limited to; the sunrise, various flora (but surprisingly no fauna), a jungle trail, a guy alone in tent looking rather woebegone, the same guy attired in questionable hiking gear following the aforementioned trail,  and a woman clad in a purple swathing thing writhing near a stream. 

Okay, Purple Woman just started singing. I can’t make out all the words – nor do I want to – I just wish it would stop. 

Hiking Guy meanwhile, is consulting a map (or a printout that was dipped in tea) and stumbling through the forest. 

Plot twist! There appears to be another irrationally clad explorer in the vicinity. She is also consulting a map, which looks suspiciously similar to the one hiking guy was holding. Maybe they were selling them at the hotel gift shop. 

Meanwhile, Purple Woman is still singing. There are many exclamations of ‘oh-oh, oh-oh-oh’. And at one point I swear she said ‘shin guard-ta haadu deela’; which sounds like an extremely unhygienic thing to do. 

Hiking Man looks up – does he hear her? Nope. He’s just blundering about, pausing at moments to look wistfully upwards and doing his best not to drive the plot forward.  

Purple Woman now claims that ‘nethwal amunala’. This sounds like a painful medical condition and perhaps she should make her way back into civilization and consult a doctor. 

Iraj pops in at this point in a cloud of smoke to inform us, that it’s (a ) a giniyam rae -  although everything that preceded his appearance occurred in broad daylight and (b) nima wen nae – which sounds rather improbable. 

I’m going to ignore the lyrics from this point onwards because it’s clear that they don’t follow a cohesive pattern. We now take a break from Iraj and Purple Woman to check up on Hiking Guy. Hiking Guy has clearly not watched Nat Geo or Discovery or even Sesame Street, since he has no idea how to drink water from a stream. Instead of cupping it in his hands like a normal person, he bends down and drinks like an animal. Even Mowgli, who was raised by wolves for heaven’s sake, had a better system in place to stay hydrated. For shame Hiking Guy, for shame. 

He walks on, consulting his map and comes to another stream. Or a different part of the same stream. I don’t know. Do you even care? This time he takes off his shoes and wades in. he reaches into the water and bring out a  - is it a fish? Is it a fish? Please tell me it’s a fish! Nope. It’s a tiny box shaped like a miniature treasure chest. A wooden one, that’s been in water and is not even waterlogged. In fact, it looks freshly varnished. Also, please note there are no markings or anything in the surrounding area that he could have followed to get to it. The box appears to be filled with gemstones. Cringe. 

Iraj is back, with his foretelling of the never-ending flaming night. He’s joined this time by someone in a floral shirt. Floral Shirt Guy is just bouncing round, not really contributing at this point.

Now we get back to focusing big time on Irrationally Clad Explorer Girl. She’s tied a strip of cloth round her thigh and stuck her map in it. Which is probably the best place for it because her clothing doesn’t offer much room to stash anything in. she’s really very poorly equipped for a foray into the jungle - she isn’t even carrying a bottle of water. But with the number of streams and water holes littering this place I guess it won’t really be a problem. 

A quick flashy-flashy sequence of Iraj, Camofluaged Hiking Guy, Purple Woman and we switch back to Irrationally Clad Explorer Girl, now in a bikini, jumping into some sort of deep pool of water.

Cut to Hiking Guy, who turns, probably at the sound of the splash. He makes his way towards the noise. Wait, what’s this! A new entrant to the story! A red haired woman clad in a pink bikini, is diving into the same pool of water Irrationally Clad Explorer Girl is floundering round in. Where did she come from? It’s definitely not singing purple woman – she was blond. 

Guy In Floral Shirt appears, rapping now. Did he just say “dan full happening magey apaaya?”. Surely not. 

Irrationally Clad Explorer Girl and Pink Bikini are getting all friendly like now. They proceed to take their tops off and check each other for leeches, or engage in some mutual back scratching, I can’t really tell. Hiking Guy, who witnesses this episode of female camaraderie, is pleased. 

And now we cut to what seems to be a beach party. This surely is an area overrun with bodies of water. Everyone from our story is here, plus some extras (or Iraj’s drinking buddies). This appears to be the Giniyam Rae that Iraj so jubilantly foretold. 

Hiking Guy is not waiting round any longer. He quickly gets both Irrationally Clad Explorer Girl and Pink Bikini to join him in his tent (the same tent he was moping in at the beginning of the story – now granted a starring role in our narrative). There’s some hazy backlit shadowy making out in the confines of that tiny tent. Seriously, it’s a very small tent. Like those tents people sell on the pavement. I don’t know how they all fit in there. 

And now it’s morning. Clearly, Iraj was just having us on with the ‘nima wen nae’ part of his prophecy. Hiking Man wakes up shirtless and opens his ‘treasure chest’ to find it empty.  Overcome, (by shame and embarrassment I guess, for appearing in this video) he grimaces and claps his hand to his forehead, adopting the classic ‘ayyo’ stance. 

And thus, the story comes to an end. If there is a moral to the story it would be: upon finding rare gemstones in an unmarked location, proceed immediately to the Sri Lanka Gem & Jewellery Exchange instead of mucking about at beach parties and such.

Those Left Behind

Walking into work was hard today. Funny thing is, I didn't expect it to be - I didn't arrive at work thinking this is going to be hard. You wouldn't expect a particular day to have such a tangible effect. But turns out it does. Walking up the path to HQ, all I could think of was the first day he brought me in for my interview. Walked up the same frickin' path didn't we. Then the elevators and his comment about the traffic lights (the elevator doors in our building are coloured green, yellow and red on the three floors). We used to steal a kiss in the elevator sometimes; not the glass one, obviously, but the one leading up from the creche, on our way after dropping off sproglet.
I realised that I had unconsciously started a ritual; both this year and the last, around this time, I started reading his blog. I remember the night he died, desperate searching for it online, scared to death that it would be missing because he hadn't been active for some time. But it was all there and still is. I have mirrored it though, just to be safe. There's a note to the kiddo that she has to see someday  - I don't know whether she's ready yet. Or perhaps I'm not. Her tears about her dad are the ones that sear me the most.

This was a good year, you would have liked it.

You're missing the world bunny, and it breaks my heart.

Kidhood

The kiddo had a pretty bad experience in school a few days ago. It was one of those things that I couldn't fix for her; all I could do was hug her tight, talk it through, and to her and tell her to soldier on. And I know that there will be many more instances where she will have to face a situation where she has to deal with it on her own. I will be a helpless bystander, able to offer sympathy and support and not much else. For a mother, who's natural instinct is to go into fiercely protective mummy bear mode if she's hurt, that's hard to accept.

Life can be very cruel to a child if they make the wrong choices or pick the wrong friends. But what do kids know about choices? From what I remember, we mostly blindly follow our peers or try to emulate those that stand out. My parents never interfered much when it came to school stuff. At the time I was grateful for it, but I wish now that I had had a better understanding of how the rest of your life can be shaped by one event, one decision. Those days we had no one to tell us these things. No one acknowleged feelings back then. Oh we were loved, we knew that with certainity, but it was in a practical, absolutely intangible way. If someone had told me back then even half the things I tell my kid now, I might have turned out to be a completely different person. I probably wouldn't have stumbled around for a good portion of my early years enveloped in self doubt and insecurity.

Mind you, in a way I'm glad things went the way they did - because everything is pretty spiffy in the now. 

Quit Pro Quo

Four years. Man, that's something to be proud of, right? If I could do this, I can do anything. Dealing with an addiction is about the hardest thing  - they can overshadow real life because you prioritize everything else around it. Some people laugh at the fact that smoking is considered an addiction - but that's because they don't know how far smokers (addicts - not social smokers) would go for a hit. It's not that obvious  as with other, more lethal addictions, but trust me, every smoker has a story to tell.

When I quit smoking, i did it cold cold turkey, and I did it alone. But that doesn't mean I didn't have to get some sort of help and I went out, did the research and made sure I got what I needed. i joined an online forum, started a diary to track my progress - went the whole hog. 

Just to get an idea of what the day to day was like, here are some excerpts from my diary: from back then: 

January 17, 2012

So here I am, third attempt at quitting smoking. I’m almost afraid to type out the words, afraid that I will jinx it. but from past experience I know that what I do is based solely on my will and goddammit this time I will not cave. My first attempt was about four years ago. I had recently gotten married, my husband decided to quit so I though I’d join him. I’d been a loner for most of life and I think I first started smoking because it was something to do, it was like a bad boy that kept me company. But now, I thought I wasn’t alone so maybe I could do it. Well, attempt one lasted a day. No more.

Attempt two was a few months back. I was dating a non-smoker and he was trying to convince me to stop. I knew he hated when I smelt of smoke, and he actually asked me to not smoke on the days I was to meet him. And so once I started doing that it became quite a nuisance. When the first thought you have on waking is "oh, today I can’t smoke"  - that isn’t the most relaxing thought. So after a few weeks of pent up frustration I thought to hell with this, smoked my last cigarette before bed, hid my ashtray and lighter and went to sleep. I stayed quit for a week and a half. Then my boyfriend had to go out of the country for four days, my insecurities kicked in, and two days after he left, I was smoking again. But I came away from the experience with one important thing ; my smoke free time was the best one and a half weeks I have had in a long long time. I felt confident, I didn’t feel embarrassed to be around people, I felt clean and most of all was busting with pride. I want that feeling back. Hence attempt number three.

I smoked my last cigarette this morning. (I was hoping to get a clean start by finishing them last night but I had too many). I suppose I could have not smoked it, but that was asking for too much. My one fear is the supermarket. It is the hardest thing ever to walk out of a supermarket without asking for a pack of smokes at the checkout. That’s where I usually cave. So for the next few weeks I shall studiously be avoiding supermarkets. I wish I had someone to support me in this, someone who would do a supermarket run for me, but I don’t. And somehow doing it alone has always worked for me. Sharing this makes the pressure greater so I will keep mum till I at least make it two weeks this time.

 Here’s hoping…

Friday 20th January 2012- Day 3
Made it from Tuesday to Friday without mishap. I came upon a couple of blogs that helped me along. Somehow reading up on someone else's experiences, reading about their slip ups and most of all the way that they understand exactly what you're going through was enlightening. I also downloaded Allen Carr's The Easy Way to Stop Smoking and read it in one day. It's all very illuminating, this reading other people's stories thing. It makes you realise exactly what it was in cigarettes that kept you hooked, what exactly it is that you don't need and how to stay quit. One of the most important insights I got from the book is that quitting smoking shouldn't be referred to as "giving up" smoking. because essentially, you're really not giving up anything. There's nothing that you're losing or "giving up". Think of it as stopping. Stopping something that's holding you back, slowly turning you into a social pariah, making you sick, making you nervous and edgy and stressed, making the lives of everyone around you miserable because all you can think of is how to engineer your next smoke break; all that stops. So you're not giving up anything, you're actually getting something back by stopping smoking. So I thought I'd make a list of everything I've got back over the last three days.

1. Free time - since I'm not engineering those around me and my own schedule around my smoking habit, I have more free time.
2. Exercise - I've been going to gym after dropping of Abby at school since yesterday. I feel fit, happy and hungry  - or at least one of those things at a given time.
3. Taste - everything tastes better. I thought that was just one of those things people said but it's actually true.
4. Waking up blues - I no longer wake up feeling sludgy. my eyes don't need to be pried open and I actually wake up feeling weirdly cheerful. Probably because I'm not stressing about my early morning smoke.
5. Snacks - unlimited snacks. I realise I might gain weight but I AM regularly going to the gym and also, I don't have huge meals - just tiny snacks throughout.
6. Ice cream - chocolates and ice cream were two loves I didn't need when i smoked. Somehow that ashy taste in your mouth doesn't make you crave sweet stuff. But now, bring em on!

I'm sure I can add to the list as I progress. I'm not saying I'm not tempted to smoke, I am. Many many times throughout the day. But when the urge hits and my brain says "c'mon just one. what's the harm?" I tell myself "rubbish, you don't need cigarettes" and I have a drink of water and dive into a book. Keeping myself occupied is a must. There are moments - especially after a hot curry when the craving for a cigarette is intense. But so far I have persevered. I have even made it through TWO supermarket runs without succumbing!

24th January - Day 7
Day seven and counting. I'm not going to say it's been a breeze, but at the same time it hasn't been hard either. The only "difficult" thing to do is to nudge away that nagging voice that says "c'mon, what harm can one cigarette do?". The one thing that bothers me (if that's the word I'm looking for) is the feeling of "what do I do now?". Especially after a meal I am overcome by this feeling of aimlessness. I have been tempted so many times during the course of a day to just throw in the towel and grab me a cigarette. but then i remind myself that it's only that first puff that I crave. and in truth that first puff will make me smile, will make me feel happy and will make me think 'this is what life's all about'. but then the second, third puff isn't so great. By the sixth you're wishing the damn cigarette was shorter. I remind myself of this, and then I make it through the craving. This time, I'm not doing it for anyone but myself. so I guess that makes it easier to stay on track. Every extra minute that I spend playing with Abby, every extra smile that I can give her, every time I hold her without wondering whether I smell bad to her, bliss.

25th January 2012 - Day 8
So yesterday I made the mistake of telling my best friend that I'd been smoke free for 7 days. I had actually been debating whether to tell her or not. Even last time, I never told anyone till I was about 5 days into it. This time there's more pressure if I tell people because they know I failed last time. So anyway, her response was along the lines of 'oh yeah? didn't we get here before?" and for a while I was totally disheartened. But then I picked myself back up, used that as fuel for my motivation.
So the downside to quitting smoking seems to be weight gain. The first few days I ate anything and everything I could get my hands on, and now it shows! I've gotten extremely rotund in the midsection and it's not a pleasant feeling. So from today I'm hitting a new eating regiment. More salads and protein and less sweets and fatty stuff. Also, I finally started getting my lazy ass off to the gym in the mornings after dropping Abby off at school. It's actually working out great because I get in to work an hour before anyone else so I have time to hit the gym and shower just in time to meet everyone else at breakfast.

23rd January 2014 - 2 years
Two years. Didn't ever think I'd make it a month let alone make it this far. I guess the real secret to quitting anything is to do it for yourself. A good friend told me that the anniversary of the day I quit smoking is more important than my birthday and I think he was right.

 So there it is. Looking back I seems to have stopped writing by day 8. I guess that first week was the biggest hurdle i needed to get over.

Magic Mike XXL (or how to use a nail gun in seven different ways)

so this gust of wind suddenly blew our shirts off...

I rarely write movie recaps or reviews. But what Channing Tatum does with basic household furniture should be documented for posterity.
The predecessor to Magic Mike XXL - simply titled Magic Mike  - actually had the semblance of a story. At the very base of it was your standard boy-meets-girl, they fight, they make up, rom-com formula - albeit with a lot of stripping thrown in. This time around, XXL throws off any pretenses and simply focuses on what we came here for in the first place - a hoard of finely tuned bodies getting their groove on and their clothes off.
The plot, if it can be called that, is simple. there's a strippers convention and the boys have gathered together to go on a road trip to the convention for one last hurrah. Along the way, there are the obligatory altercations, accidents and what-have-yous. But fortunately, there's nothing that can't be resolved with a little bit of, you guessed it, stripping!
The final part of the movie focuses on the act they put together for the convention. If the movie has any sort of 'this is what we're learning today kids' aspect to it it's that we should be true to ourselves. Something that Mike teaches the rest of the boys by way of getting them to ditch the old routines and come up with acts that are more personalised. This plan works out better for some (Dick) than others (Tito).
If you know Magic Mike, you already know what you're in for. XXL actually is bigger  - bigger cast, bigger acts and bigger damage to women's spinal cords (seriously, these women get thrown about a lot).  All I know is, after watching it, I'll never look at a chair the same way again.

Mortality Combat

No matter how it happens, whether it's sudden or long drawn out, expected or unexpected, death just fucking sucks. It just does. For the person who is dead as well as the people left behind. You can't say 'oh but he's better off now'. Like fuck he is. He’s dead. How can he be better off? He’s missing out on everything. He’s ashes. He's dust. That can't be fun. Oh sure, living the way he was wasn’t much good, so if that's what you're comparing death to then hell yes, this ending is better. But why did any of it have to happen anyway. All of it just blows. 

'Time will heal' is something you're bound to hear, many many times. Time doesn't motherfucking heal anything. Time, if at all, accentuates your loss because every single day you come across another new thing that isn't the same because this person died. What does happen is - you get used to doing without his presence. You get used to managing with other people. You manage. You never heal. You just learn to go on as if this gaping wound in your side doesn't bother you anymore. A bit like Henry VIII - without the serial marriages and spousicide. 

Next up we have 'the good die young'. Really? They do? Does kindness kill? How does that make any sense? Not everyone who has an untimely death is inherently good - this theory is hogwash.

Death, or rather, the post-death phase directly affects those left behind. And there are myriad ways in which people handle these situations. For me, personally, it’s the thought of the dead missing out on the rest of their lives and the lives they cared about that really gets to me. The fact that everything that comes after, they couldn’t experience. And these thoughts come unbidden, at the strangest moments. Anything can trigger them; from milestones in your child’s life to that moment where Stan Lee makes a cameo appearance on Eureka (which you started watching now because you remembered that he used to watch it on TV but you never got into it at the time).

Death sucks. Life after death sucks harder.

Potter not

When talking about books and kids and what our kids are reading, something that usually comes up is whether my particular offspring likes/reads Harry Potter. My answer is always 'she hasn't read them yet' - an answer that is usually met with surprise. The reason is pretty simple; I don't want to let Harry Potter into her life before she has had the chance to read better books. I have written about my issues with the series before  and  more able writers than me have explained why the books aren't the bees knees despite what most Potter-heads would have you believe.
It's not that I would ever stop her from reading them - I'd just rather delay it as much as I can. Just as I would put off getting a root canal for as long as I possibly could. (how can you compare reading Harry Potter to a root canal, you ask? They both cause me twinges of pain and go on for far longer than they should.)
I don't have anything against JKR - I just think that the blessed woman can't write very well and I think the hype surrounding her books is a tad undeserved. (That's not her fault, it's the fault of the people who lined up to buy them.) For me, her books are simply 'just okay'. I read the first book when a friend of mine started going on and on about it. A few pages into the book I was thinking  "well this isn't all that great, but now that I started it I may as well finish it'. And this was before pottermania was well on the way - so I had no preconceived notions about the book. If you had grown up reading fantasy and mind you, I'm adding Enid Blyton to the mix here (anyone who has read the Faraway Tree series would be going 'hey now, that sounds familiar' when reading about the magical sweets those Weasley twins conjure up) I don't think the Harry Potter series would offer up anything as amazing as Potter-heads would have you believe. More than the story itself, the writing - that's what really got to me. The sentences are poorly structured, nothing happens for chapters on end just because each book has to be longer than the one preceding - I'm surprised that at least one of the books weren't titled Harry Potter and the Unnecessary Sequel.

Then there is this villain - the poor sod is called He Who Must Not Be Named. That's quite a mouthful isn't it? (You can't help feeling that at some point someone meekly asked "wouldn't it be easier to call him Bob?"). It's not like the name itself has any power - like Beetlejuice. And that's the essence of what gets to me about all these books. they're all so needlessly convoluted. Stuff just happens sometimes just because JKR wants it to happen - when she killed off Sirius Black (oh, sorry, spoiler alert)  - what the heck was that? Even the red wedding, as ghastly as it was, made sense. You don't just kill off a main character just because 'oh wait, so I need this to happen on the next book so ...bye bye then'. Oh and the woman really knows how to ride a deus ex machina, bless her soul.
Another thing that bugs me is when I tell people that I don't like HP, their immediate response is "oh, so you probably like Lord of the Rings then". Well, no, Those are not the only fantasy series in existence. Besides, as much as I love them, the LOTR books are not what I would choose if I wanted an easy read. There are more books in the world people. A LOT more.
If I wanted to introduce a child to a world of magic - honestly, I'd start with Enid Blyton. Okay so she tends to get a bit repetitive, but if you wrote that many books you'd be wont to reuse a plot element here and there I bet. For slightly slightly older kids you have C S Lewis, Lloyd Alexander, Philip Pullman, look I can't list them all here. Suffice to say that there's a fairly large supply of easy to read fantasy books with a strong story, and excellent worlds and characters.
The point of my whole rant is - pretty much what I said before. When it comes to reading, I'd rather any child of mine start off by knowing what good writing is. After that, a little bit of gunk here and there can't mess up the cogs.