Sunday, May 16, 2004
Inebriated rambles
Captain's blog.
Alcohol levels 90%, fatigue levels 99%, hull integrity fading. agh captain we cannae take much more o' this, th' brain, she is about tae blow!
(fizzle.)
Watching the Italian sommelier's gentle attempts to hit on my female dinner companion (for only the umpteenth time now) with bemused amusement (dulled just a little by the copious amounts of Muscato Asti being generously heaped upon us said wine waitor, which as I suspected would mysteriously vanish off our bill by the end of the night) I couldn't help but wonder... what IS it about women... or perople rather, that they simply can't See? That they can't see what's really there in front of them - only what they want to see? Second sight is easy... first sight isn't. Even when sobre. So the night ended with me making the obvious even more obvious, and egging said friend on. After all, this guy is nice, and cute, and funny. And sweet, and Italian for chrissakes.
******
Fifty First Dates
Watching Fifty First Dates, the voices begin to play up.
What could it be like to be her? To wake up every day, and have your world turned inside out by all these memories a stranger - you - has been living, every day, since... today?
(short term memory loss post car crash, memory wipe every 24 hours)
What if it all turned out to be a lie... and you never really loved this guy who's claiming to be your bloke? Or your husband?
What if some days you wake up, and you really don't love him - but you only have his word for it?
And how could you possibly fit it all in... day in, day out. Today -- happened a year ago. Two. Ten. Fifty?!
Then the other voice interjects :
What could it be like to be him?
To have her wake up and see you as a stranger every day... for the rest of your life? To have to learn to fall in love with you every day?
To never be able to share memories with her, to sit down and laugh about yesterday. To share... familiarity.
To always be... the intimate... stranger.
Could anyone really love anybody else that much?
Where is the significance?
Who are you loving her for -- her... or you?
******
When Harry met Sally
I suppose this one's for the stranger's friend SF. -ish. sorta.
I watched the stage adaptation of this movie "classic" today. A passable effort from "Willow", and a sterling performance by Luke Perry.
And it makes you wonder. Can blokes and birds really not be friends, because of the "sex part"?
Perhaps the get-out clause is honesty. Perhaps if a guy admits to a girl that she's probably attractive - just not to him... and she does the same. Perhaps they can be friends then. Friends yes, sex-partners no.
What about Americans? Friends AND sex partners. :| (See : "Friends")
Or perhaps the reality is that there are so many different kindsa guys and girls out there.
Some of them aren't built along those rules?
Or maybe it's all about ladder theory.
Or maybe it's true.
Looks dubiously at Y chromosome. Mmm. Kick. Doesn't seem to be operating properly...
Alcohol levels 90%, fatigue levels 99%, hull integrity fading. agh captain we cannae take much more o' this, th' brain, she is about tae blow!
(fizzle.)
Watching the Italian sommelier's gentle attempts to hit on my female dinner companion (for only the umpteenth time now) with bemused amusement (dulled just a little by the copious amounts of Muscato Asti being generously heaped upon us said wine waitor, which as I suspected would mysteriously vanish off our bill by the end of the night) I couldn't help but wonder... what IS it about women... or perople rather, that they simply can't See? That they can't see what's really there in front of them - only what they want to see? Second sight is easy... first sight isn't. Even when sobre. So the night ended with me making the obvious even more obvious, and egging said friend on. After all, this guy is nice, and cute, and funny. And sweet, and Italian for chrissakes.
******
Fifty First Dates
Watching Fifty First Dates, the voices begin to play up.
What could it be like to be her? To wake up every day, and have your world turned inside out by all these memories a stranger - you - has been living, every day, since... today?
(short term memory loss post car crash, memory wipe every 24 hours)
What if it all turned out to be a lie... and you never really loved this guy who's claiming to be your bloke? Or your husband?
What if some days you wake up, and you really don't love him - but you only have his word for it?
And how could you possibly fit it all in... day in, day out. Today -- happened a year ago. Two. Ten. Fifty?!
Then the other voice interjects :
What could it be like to be him?
To have her wake up and see you as a stranger every day... for the rest of your life? To have to learn to fall in love with you every day?
To never be able to share memories with her, to sit down and laugh about yesterday. To share... familiarity.
To always be... the intimate... stranger.
Could anyone really love anybody else that much?
Where is the significance?
Who are you loving her for -- her... or you?
******
When Harry met Sally
I suppose this one's for the stranger's friend SF. -ish. sorta.
I watched the stage adaptation of this movie "classic" today. A passable effort from "Willow", and a sterling performance by Luke Perry.
And it makes you wonder. Can blokes and birds really not be friends, because of the "sex part"?
Perhaps the get-out clause is honesty. Perhaps if a guy admits to a girl that she's probably attractive - just not to him... and she does the same. Perhaps they can be friends then. Friends yes, sex-partners no.
What about Americans? Friends AND sex partners. :| (See : "Friends")
Or perhaps the reality is that there are so many different kindsa guys and girls out there.
Some of them aren't built along those rules?
Or maybe it's all about ladder theory.
Or maybe it's true.
Looks dubiously at Y chromosome. Mmm. Kick. Doesn't seem to be operating properly...
