Anger

This is as unsubstantiated as the existence of the Easter Bunny, but I credit the weather for the fact that we haven't started killing each other yet. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean in a civil war. I mean spontaneously, individually and randomly.
I, for one, definitely feel like hitting people at least once a day, be it out of personal, work related or socio-economic frustration. And I'm generally considered a calm and collected individual. A man on a moped beeped at me the other day because he thought I was going to cross the road and I felt like throwing him off his stupid vehicle and start kicking him ferociously in the stomach. That was at 11 in the morning.
I would like to think that I'm not going mad, that this is justified, long accumulated anger.

I remember when people got out on the streets in Egypt. I was in London at the time and I was thinking that it wouldn't be long, it couldn't be long, before we in Greece did he same. As the unrest spread from country to country and we stayed in front of our tvs, complaining about the corrupt politicians, worrying about every new economic measure that is imposed on us, I began to wonder what is the matter with us.
We are traditionally an unruly people. We go out and we break everything for much less than what is happening to us now. Yet everyone is numb. We've swallowed our pride and we go about our business thankful for whatever we've got left. We still bribe officials in all levels of government, we still watch the news and listen to every sold-out journalist's 'opinion', we still wonder how high the cost of petrol will go before we have to start selling our kidneys.
But now spring is upon us and the weather is sweet. And we are producing more Vitamin D, which I read somewhere, increases the libido. We might be having several undiagnosed nervous breakdowns a day, but at least we can have our cappuccino freddo in the sun and check each other out.
I guess rioting will have to wait.

Eat, pray, love and screw you, sexist dickhead.

It happens sometimes that a film feels more personal just because we are in a certain frame of mind when we watch it. When I was younger, I even thought the universe was guiding me through films. That sounds like a statement a schizophrenic might make, but here lies the beauty of blogs, you can write whatever you want and there won't be any people in white coats knocking on the door. I've been over my Coelhian phase for many years now. I've stopped looking for signs from the universe and started looking for guidance within. That's why a film that was given one star by athinorama and a rating of 4.8 by IMDB left me baffled. Is there something seriously wrong with my judgement or has the cinema-going world something against easily digestible stories of self-discovery?

The film I'm referring to is Eat, Pray, Love (2010). The title reminds me a little of my much earlier -and much too brief, thank God!- Buscaglian phase of Living, Loving and Learning. Although I can't stand the sappiness of that book and anyone who quotes from it, I found Eat, Pray, Love much more agreeable. Granted, when everything falls apart around us and we feel we don't know ourselves any more, when we don't understand the choices we've made and we realise something fundamental has to change, we don't all go to Rome to eat, India to meditate and Bali to fall in love. Most of us go to therapy, although, truth be told, travelling the world might work out cheaper.

The film is not a masterpiece, but the cast is good -who could have anything against Richard Jenkins?- and the photography, for us who like glare, was great and not surprisingly so since it was the work of Robert Richardson. The script has a number of satisfyingly clever lines and even though the direction won't make it into any books, it was more than decent.

So be honest, people. What is it? Why does even Runaway Bride (1999), which was a completely mindless film, have a better rating? Is it because Julia Roberts looks older? Because she doesn't have the figure she had twenty years ago? Is it because the film doesn't fit into our 'romantic comedy' expectations? Is it because the protagonist had a relationship with a much younger man? Or is it because it's preposterous for a woman to go through a crisis? To abandon a man who loves her because she has lost herself in the relationship?

Let me quote a man who kindly left his review on imbd: 'This woman should be the scourge of the Earth and should receive social contempt for her behavior. However, like most romcoms the female can hurt everyone she knows if it will aid her superficial quest for some kind of make believe fulfillment and then, like Stockholm Syndrome, all her victims will forgive her or tell her she is the most important thing in the world and her happiness comes before anybody or anything else. I can't believe men are still depicted as the heartless characters in films when every romcom depicts evil as good. This movie made me cringe. I was forced to see it with mom, sister and wife. I told them all that the film literally made me sick. They agreed. This sort of behavior that is being engendered into women is sickening. Women who believe such a film represents anything positive about anything need to have their head checked for borderline personality disorder. Men need to stop treating women like little precious pieces of glass when those same women are not pieces of glass, are not these cute little powerless creatures but are instead, like Liz in the movie, arrogant, snotty, pampered, privileged, rude, morally bankrupt, conniving, selfish dolts who believe that their superficial happiness is worth any emotional cost to other people.'

This is just one review, but I have a feeling this guy is not the only one who feels this way. Why is a woman's quest for self-discovery so threatening? Why should women feel obliged to stay with men just because they are being loved? Or was it the fact that she was financially independent and therefore more able to leave her husband that bothered this guy? The feminist in me has the outline of a book all figured out as a response, but I won't go there. I'll go and have some wonderful food instead, just like any run-of-the-mill woman with a borderline personality disorder. I tell you, it's a tough life for us wackos!

My Athens in August

I am not a misanthropist, I just like my Athens in August. Despite the economic crisis, Athenians have fled. This means that the streets are empty, you get anywhere you want in no time, there are no queues in banks, nor the tax office, nor the hospitals, nor IKA, nor at the supermarkets.

Halandri, 16 Aug. 2010 at 18:19

It is an interesting time for observations. For example, even though you can park anywhere you like, you still see the occasional car parked on the pavement. There are those stickers you can get that read 'είμαι γάϊδαρος παρκάρω όπου γουστάρω' ('I'm an ass I park where I like') from streetpanthers, but I think that if someone parks like this in Athens in August they deserve a special version sticker with 'κάφρος', instead of 'ass'.

It is also almost bewildering how the very few people who have remained in Athens drive. It is as if there is a silent agreement that basic rules are obsolete this time of year. There is absolutely no need to indicate if you are turning or pulling over, red traffic lights are there for decoration purposes only and speeding like your behind is on fire is your god given right. Even pedestrians seem to have a death wish. Perhaps they are dizzy from the heat, but they too behave like they have an invisible shield around them to protect them from the lunatic drivers. They, too, ignore traffic lights and cross the road without even looking if there are any cars coming. They cross at their own speed, like strolling in a park and at dangerous points where speeding lunatics can't see them before it's too late. The funny thing is, that because all this is known and -I honestly believe- actually silently agreed upon, and as I haven't seen any accidents, this system appears to be working, although I must say I feel sorry for the tourists and the new drivers who just got their license and decided to stay behind in the city while it's still empty, to practise. They must think everyone got released from the madhouse and were given a car as a farewell present.

Leoforos Pentelis, 16 Aug. 2010 at 18:22

One of the most annoying things about Athens in August, especially for us who've stayed because we like the peace and quiet, is all the alarms that go off and no one is around to turn them off. It is mostly car alarms. This is something I never understood. Why have a car alarm if you're not there to be alarmed when you hear it, and if nobody else gives a toss? Car alarms keep sounding for what it feels like an eternity until I wish that there really was somebody trying to steal the car and that he would succeed before I go out with an axe and smash the damn thing. However, it's not just car alarms. It's houses, too. About a week ago our neighbour called from wherever he's gone on holiday to ask us to check on his house because the alarm had been set off. I don't know exactly what I was supposed to do had there been a burglar, as I am not a particularly scary or muscly person and I don't own a baseball bat, but I went there to have a look, anyway. Perhaps because it was the middle of the day, an unpopular time to break into houses and because there was another neighbour -a retired army general mentioned before as the villain responsible for the slaughtering of the neighbourhood's last sheep- on his balcony who would have probably shot any suspicious lurkers on sight, but mainly because I firmly believe that alarms go off for no reason other than to annoy me, that I went there totally convinced all was fine in the house and that I was just wasting my time. Was I right? Of course I was. After a while, the police also came to check. All this because of an attention seeking alarm system. The next day, the same thing happened with the house next door to where I work. Again in the middle of the day, again the police came, again false alarm. And it's not just houses. There is a shop on a main street that I drive past every day where the alarm is always sounding. How that is possible, I don't know but I swear it's true.

As I'm typing all this, the boats en route to Piraeus are overflowing with people coming back to Athens. With them they are bringing their cars, their children and their disrespect for the city. The national roads are also full with unhappy people returning to unpaid loans and bills and uncertain jobs. From tomorrow morning that special time when the city feels humane will be over.

Ode to Yellow

Got my washing out of the machine this morning and it was all yellow. All my white tops, including that historical halter neck from Stafford-upon-Avon, all my white underwear (although some might welcome the change), all an unusual shade of yellow. Fortunatelly, after some research, I found that yellow is 'in' this summer. In fact it's been 'in' since 2007. Silly me, I had been under the impression that green was the yellow of circa 2007. This is what happens when you don't follow fashion, so I guess I'm lucky that my washing machine does. What's more, it provides this service for free.

A component of a carefree life, is embracing mishaps such as these. Therefore, I am about to embrace yellow in all its manifestations.

In music. Obviously, Yellow by Coldplay, as old as my previously white halter neck. Yellow River by Tony Christie apparently, who knew. Lemon, by U2 could be argued to be a yellow song, same as Lemon Tree by Fool's Garden. Yellow Submarine, the Beattles. Η Μαγιονέζα, από την Λιλιπούπολη. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, by Elton John whose music I'm not particularly fond of but that's a beautiful song and all the more for being in the soundtrack of Breaking the Waves (1996). Yellow Moon, by the Neville Brothers. Also two greek classics, Μαρία με τα Κίτρινα, Δήμητρα Γαλάνη, and Άσπρα Κόκκινα Κίτρινα Μπλε, Βίκυ Μοσχολιού which in fact has most of the colours covered. And finally, Don't Eat the Yellow Snow, by Frank Zappa, a very useful advice.

In diseases. Yellow Fever, a virus for which there is treatment but no cure and which is responsible for 30.000 deaths yearly even in our time. Cirrhosis. It actually makes you yellow.

In mental associations. Taxis. New York. Never been. The Orient. Never been. Yellow pages. Such a waste of paper but not everyone has access to the internet. Lemons, melons (oh my, an anagram!), stains, tablecloths, they will never come out, a puffy jacket that got stolen from the back of a car in Bristol, hatred, but why? Canaries, they are very sensitive, they die and you think it's all your fault and you're only a child. Yellow teeth, yellow nails, yellow press, Τριανταφυλλόπουλος, Yellow River, Kate Hudson's dress in film with very long title, Dimitra's walls in Birmingham, bananas, Woody Allen, pine apple slices.

I really liked my white halter neck from Principles in Stafford-upon-Avon.

Damn you, washing machine!

Whole New Thing (2005)

I watched a very interesting film last night that I had never heard of before: Whole New Thing, 2005, Canadian. It was directed by Amnon Buchbinder, who hasn't done any directing work since, unless he works under a different name, for which I don't think anyone could blame him. Apparently, it has won several awards. Plus the soundtrack, featuring three songs by The Hidden Cameras, a band previously unknown to me and I'm sure, to most of the world, is quite interesting (We Oh We, I Believe in the Good Life, Builds the Bone).

The main theme of the film is the relationship of 13-year-old Emerson with this new English teacher, Mr Grant, followed by the relationship of Emerson with his parents, followed by the relationship of Emerson's parents to each other, followed by Emerson's sexual awakening, followed by the relationship of Emerson with his new fellow students.

Emerson had an unconventional upbringing. He's an only child, home schooled by his mother. The house they live in was designed by his mother and built by his father, who is now working on inventing a system that will turn human excrement into fertilizer and energy. When Emerson, who is very clever and has already written a book, shows a lack of interest in math, his mother decides to send him to the local middle school. There, Emerson who not only is different, but also looks it, gets bullied by the boys in his class who label him 'queer'. Luckily, he finds support in Mr Grant, a lonely individual who regularly picks up men in public toilets. Emerson challenges Mr Grant's choice of teaching Snowboard Snowjob (which I have no proof it actually exists but kudos to whoever came up with the title) and urges him to switch to Shakespeare and inspires him to be a better teacher. As his parents are going through a rough patch that leads to Kaya, the mother, start an affair, Emerson develops a crush on Mr Grant which he very forwardly expresses. Mr Grant is trying to discourage him without hurting his feelings but Emerson doesn't take rejection very well and follows Mr Grant to the infamous public toilets. Furious and hurt at what he sees, when Mr Grant comes out of the public toilets, Emerson confronts him and in the height of emotion jumps into the car of a stranger who mistakes him for a rentboy. They end up in the office of the stranger, who has a routine he likes to keep when picking up boys. Emerson goes along with it until he is asked to take his pants off. He freaks out and locks himself in the bathroom. The stranger is getting really impatient and finally Emerson explains to him that he hasn't done this before, that he is 13 and that he wants to leave. By now night has fallen and Mr Grant is still outside the public toilets waiting for Emerson to come back. Finally Emerson returns and as soon as he's in the car, breaks into tears. Together, they drive to Mr Grant's former lover's, Claude, where Emerson's parents (who have sorted out their marital issues by now) are waiting for them. Emerson falls asleep in his parents' arms and Mr Grant seems to be getting back with Claude.

This is the type of film that I suspect dear old José Arroyo would sneak into his curriculum. It's Canadian, it qualifies as a 'gay interest' film and could generate many a discussion about gender representation and sexuality. But don't let that deter you from watching it. It's a good film, thoroughly enjoyable and funny; it's different, well shot, well acted and it definitely deserves to be seen.

corfu guide, corfu rhyme

(Let's see... How do we link this to the blog? I went to Corfu. Was it because of the crisis? No, I would have gone anyway. I took the car with a friend and shared the cost. Would I have driven alone if my financial situation had been better? No, would much rather do it with a friend. Would I have flown? Perhaps, but it was much better with the car.)

I just came back from Corfu. Stayed with a friend who has a gorgeous flat in the old town. Nothing fancy, but very white and airy, with lots of windows and a wonderful feeling to it. While I was there I read Life of Pi, I ate souvlaki at Ninos twice, I had tsipouro with saffron, went through two hairy parking situations and bought a bottle of kumquat liqueur (the clear kind, my gateway to new cocktails). Apart from food, drink, a movie and petrol, the kumquat liqueur is the only thing I spent money on. I did see some nice shoes, but I resisted until we had to rush to catch our ferry back. Now I'm in Athens and the shoes are safely in Corfu. I'm clearly not the kind of tourist the island wants. And I don't think I'm the only one. I could never, ever, imagine that finding a parking space in the town centre, in the middle of summer, could be so easy. Wherever we ate, the place was half empty. The beaches were absolutely tolerable (apart from the weekend when the locals come out to play). I counted at least six shops within the old town that have shut down (I wish this didn't rhyme and I wish I could focus on the dozens of shops that are still doing well, but are they? I feel I rant coming on).  And why shouldn't they shut down? Why do we need all this crap anyway? (Deep breath.)

One time, as I opened one of the windows of the flat to take in the view, I noticed two men on the rooftop of a building opposite us. One was sitting on a chair, the other cutting his hair (chair, hair, you have to be kidding me). I got so excited, I must have taken more than ten pictures of this scene. It was such a contrast. On the street, people walking around, tourists taking photographs, cars parking and un-parking, mopeds making everyone's lives difficult and above it all, a guy in his underwear, cutting his bare chested friend's hair. I don't know why, but there was something wonderfully reassuring about that.

Ανέξοδες έξοδοι, ημερίδες, μεγάλες μερίδες κι ο Γεώργιος Φραγκούδης

Μόλις ανακάλυψα ότι οι -δωρεάν- ημερίδες είναι ένας φανταστικός τρόπος για να διασκεδάσει κανείς, έστω και για λίγο, την ψευδαίσθηση ότι ανήκει σε μια ομάδα με κοινά ενδιαφέροντα, να περάσει κάποιες ώρες από τη ζωή του αποκομίζοντας γνώσεις που μπορεί να του φανούν χρήσιμες σε κάποια μελλοντική κουβέντα (όπου μπορεί να ξεκινήσει λέγοντας κάτι όπως 'Όταν είχα πάει στην ημερίδα με θέμα....' για έξτρα στόμφο), αλλά κυρίως για να φάει και να πιει όσο θέλει. (Εδώ θέλει λίγη έρευνα, καθώς είμαι καινούρια στις ημερίδες και ίσως να μην σερβίρονται σε όλες τόσο πλουσιοπάροχα γεύματα όσο σε αυτήν που πήγα.)

Τουλάχιστον δύο άτομα στην ημερίδα για τον Γεώργιο Φραγκούδη είχαν έρθει, αν όχι για σκοπούς κοινωνικοποίησης και τη συγκομηδή πόντων κουβέντας, σίγουρα για το φαγητό. Ήταν ένας νεαρός και μια μεγαλύτερης ηλικίας γυναίκα, ντυμένοι και οι δύο καλά αλλά με ντεμοντέ α λα salvation army ρούχα, οι οποίοι τίμησαν δεόντως τον πλούσιο μπουφέ, τρώγοντας ταχύτατα αλλά με μια γνήσια αξιοπρέπεια που, για ανθρώπους σαν εμένα που θεωρούν ότι δεν υπάρχει κομψός τρόπος για να βάλεις κάτι στο στόμα σου και να το μασίσεις, έχει εντυπωθεί στο μυαλό μου σαν απεικόνηση της αρχοντιάς. Επίσης ήταν οι μόνοι που έδειξαν γνήσιο ενδιαφέρον για τον άνθρωπο προς τιμήν του οποίου οργανώθηκε η βραδιά. Θα πρέπει να έχουν εμπειρία στο να εντοπίζουν τέτοιου είδους σχεδόν μυστικές εκδηλώσεις -σύμφωνα με τα κουσομπολιά, άνθρωποι που τους ενδιέφερε η ζωή και το έργο του Φραγκούδη δεν είχαν ενημερωθεί, προσκλήσεις στάλθηκαν τελευταία ώρα, στην ιστοσελίδα της Παντείου η σχετική ανακοίνωση αναρτήθηκε την προηγούμενη μέρα- αλλά έχω την εντύπωση ότι από όλους μας εκεί, οι δυο αυτοί άνθρωποι εκτίμησαν την εκδήλωση περισσότερο και ήπιαν κι ένα κρασάκι στη μνήμη του Φραγκούδη.