In The Park

At the cinema on Thursday night I spent a fair amount of time trying to recapture what I'd felt on going to watch the original Jurassic Park back in 1993. In fact, I took a bit of time to figure out the year in which I'd seen the film, not wanting to let Google or AI (or both together now, I suppose) do the calculating for me. The question in my mind was whether I really had invested myself completely in the world created by Spielberg. And the answer was yes. I was excited as to whether the kids would escape in the shop at the end (and, if I recall correctly, Noi was shouting at the screen at that point); I was disturbed by the image of the crate and its oddly active cargo; I was spellbound by the brontosaurus browsing on the plain.

Not sure what happened to my innocence as a viewer, and its accompanying receptiveness. Fortunately I seem to have retained this as a reader. 

A Mighty Thirst

It's rare indeed for me to experience what might be thought of as genuine thirst. I mean the kind of blistering thirst that it's genuinely difficult to tolerate. This is so even in the Fasting Month. I can't remember ever facing any emergency in terms of an overwhelming need to slake my thirst. Rather it presents itself as a dull, manageable ache, only feeling difficult to sustain further in the final seconds before being able to drink again. And even in the course of physical exercise it's rare for me to feel that I positively need to, have to, must drink.

So it was quite a surprise for me yesterday in the gym to realise, in the last 15 minutes on the trainer, that a bitingly intolerable need to imbibe refreshingly cool water was upon me and not to be pushed to one side. It simply grew in intensity over that quarter of an hour, resulting in me abandoning any attempt to work on some weights once I'd completed the full hour I assigned myself, and pretty much dashing down the stairs outside to the water cooler. And I was also conscious of the fact that I was sweating far more than usual such that my body was slick with perspiration as I greedily drank.

Which was also the case once I got back to the apartment. It felt great to gulp down glassfuls of water, but it felt necessary since the thirst had decided it was unquenchable. I thought that once we were at the play over at the amphitheatre  things would calm down, but I found myself relishing more than I should have done the little packet drink we were thoughtfully provided with on entry to the show. And it took an upside container of coke at McDonald's later to finally slake the thirst.

I suppose all this might be put down to the fact that yesterday was a particularly hot day and I may have been overdoing things with all the running around in a way I wasn't aware of. To be honest, since I spent longer gulping down the liquid stuff than actually experiencing the raw thirst, it was quite fun after a fashion. But not to be repeated too often, I hope. 

Feeling Full

An oddly packed day. A morning at West Coast Park for the Cross-Country; then to my desk to do a bit of pressing stuff; then to Friday Prayers, on the bus; then to the clinic for the check-up decreed by MOM; then to the x-ray place at Biopolis with Noi, who'd arrived home by this time, so no bus necessary; then to the gym, and a great thirst; then to a splendid performance of Medea - a nice blend of old-fashioned masks & costumes with a sometimes quite naturalistic feel in the acting; and then for a bit of nosh at the McDonald's at West Coast. And all very satisfactory.

Not Exactly Reborn

Just back from the cinema, having watched what is probably my one & only movie in a cinema for the year - if my track record for recent years is anything to go by. So here are some brief late night notes on Jurassic World Rebirth (which I think was the title.):

Quite a few good bits. Never got invested in the story. Got bored in the action sequences, especially the one on the ocean in the early sequence. Predictable, but well crafted. No stars in the cast, which I liked. CGI didn't work for me. Touched on serious themes with some intelligence, but felt manipulative. As part of a franchise worthy enough I suppose. But I don't like franchises. Too loud. Some striking visuals, especially on the island. But it never looked quite real. Script well-crafted enough, but felt like it was written by a committee. A talented one.

And so to bed.

A Cunning Plan

I've developed a new strategy in my on-going War Against Consumerism. Previously I just ignored on-line advertising. Now I actively note who's responsible for randomly interrupting the YouTube video I'm watching, or plastering their ad over a news item I'm deeply engaged in such that I can't read paragraphs essential to a full understanding, and vow never ever ever to buy one of their products. Now I know this doesn't disturb the reprehensible organisations in the slightest (I'm looking at you, HSBC, as a repeat offender on a grand scale) but it makes me feel a lot better.

Screwing Up

When I first watched Coppola's The Godfather Part III I struggled mightily to comprehend how the great director had gone so wrong in his casting of the part of Michael's daughter, Mary Corleone. I think I'm pretty good at casting for the stage and I knew that I just couldn't have made such a mistake, so how could an out-and-out genius like Francis Ford screw up so badly after the monumentally brilliant casting of the the first two films in the trilogy.

Having watched most of the excellent documentary Sofia Coppola and The Godfather Part III Disaster I think I know a lot of the answer now. And I think, in a curious way, it wasn't anyone's fault. Least of all the highly talented-but-no-real-actress Sofia. Happily it looks like the disaster didn't leave any of those involved with any lasting trauma.

Maybe monumental mistakes can be good for us? Hope so, especially since I've made my fair share; but happily not quite on this scale; and, very happily indeed, not so publicly. 

Checking Up

We spent a fair few months in 2023 wondering whether I'd be granted some kind of work pass enabling me to continue working in this Far Place in 2024. My status was 'under review' from late July to early November. Luckily we were granted the necessary, which came as more than a bit of relief at the time. 

Now the process appears to be sort of repeating itself as the granting of a pass allowing me further employment in 2026 is similarly under review. This time round though I'm hoping for an earlier resolution as I've just been told I'm required to complete a medical by the ministry conducting the review - this being on top of the medical my immediate employers require of me for continued employment. In some ways it's consoling to have so many folk concerned about one's health; in other ways it's a bit disconcerting to know that no one takes the reasonable health of an elderly bloke like myself for granted. Including the bloke himself, of course.

Anyway, the Missus and I are now figuring out when we can pop along to the clinic and convince all and sundry that all is tickety-boo and I'm as rude health-wise as ever I was. The mild irony is that I'm so busy at work it's tricky to figure out exactly when I can carve out the time to do the necessary in as robust a manner as possible.

On Screen

I acquired the movie version on Blu-Ray of Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead quite some time back but failed to sit down and watch the film all the way through until today. I think my failure to watch it upon purchase was down to the fact that I was uncomfortable with the opening sequences which seemed to me to lack something of the power of the stage version. Not that I've ever seen it on stage, to be honest; I'm referring to the imagined version I play in the the theatre of my mind when reading it.

Funnily enough, I don't think I realised that Stoppard himself directed the movie on my first failed viewing, even though his name is prominent enough in the credits at the outset. That may have made a bit of difference in terms of my readiness to give the whole enterprise the benefit of the doubt today and watch the full two hours, given the sense of some kind of creative authenticity. And I did enjoy the experience, though it's quite different from the original play and, in my opinion, doesn't work so well - despite the fact that Tim Roth and Gary Oldham are excellent as Guil & Ros respectively.

Stoppard rightly makes full use of the vocabulary of film in the screen version and this adds a sort of alternative layer of both meaning & comedy, with lots of emphasis on the physical presence of the players, for example. Actually the costumes alone make the viewing experience rich & captivating. And the various locations add considerably to the visual pleasure. But it all comes, understandably, I guess, at the expense of a fair amount of text being cut. So, yes it's good, but different, and given a choice I'd vote for the unadorned theatrical experience. 

In Conversation

Somewhat unexpectedly I found myself chatting away on the phone for what seemed like hours this afternoon to my old chum Anthony Green. He and his wife are over here in this Far Place, escaping from their usual base in Christchurch, for a family wedding. Unfortunately he's too busy for us to meet up in person, but he was able to spare the time for a relaxed confab, as was I, having got my work stuff out of the way by the early afternoon. 

It transpires that Tony's latest project involves a podcast entitled Christchurch Conversations, deriving from his role as the spokesperson (in English, I think) for one of the mosques in which the dreadful massacre took place back in 2019. Some light out of the deepest darkness. Good work, in the deepest sense.

We also shared, as old men do, our most recent health scares. I reckon my sojourn in ICU with alarmingly low oxygen levels plus brain seizures and their attendant psychosis had the edge over his triple-bypass in terms of bragging rights. But, then, I would think that, wouldn't I?

Of Some Worth

My reading of Sedgwick's Traditionalism is on-going, and I feel a little more charitable towards the text than the last time I posted on the text earlier in the month. I remain unconvinced that there's any unified coherence to the idea of a Traditionalist 'project', but the references to the specific notions of specific individuals hold a genuine interest for me, especially in the chapters related to gender, art and the environment. 

Indeed, the references to Seyyed Hossein Nasr have convinced me to reread the two works on my shelves by that redoubtable Islamic thinker. So that's next year's reading for Fasting Month sorted, insha'Allah.   

A Moment In Time

On an unreasonably tough working day, when the time, and most things, seemed generally out of joint, a warmly comforting four minutes listening to Blur's Out Of Time served as a happy reminder of what's real in the world. I've never seen the accompanying video before, or heard the extended intro to the song, and both added to the sweetness of it all.

Footsore

As I noted yesterday, I will suffer manfully and not complain here about the three sore toes on my left foot. So disturbed was I yesterday by them that I foolishly ascribed them to the wrong foot; hence today's pointless clarification. But I promise not to refer to the topic again, at least up to the time I can no longer actually walk. Then I'll moan like crazy.

Funny the things that command our attention even when we're trying to manifest the wisdom of age. Or, at least, the illusion of such.

Definitely Awesome

I'm sure you'll agree that simply referencing the detection of ripples in space-time is a sure way of putting the remainder of our petty concerns into perspective. With that in mind I'll forego complaining about the soreness of three of my toes on my right foot, which I'd originally intended to post about. And the next time you're thinking about referring to someone or something as awesome, please bear in mind black holes colliding violently. Definitely WOW! eh?

With Intention

Recently I've found myself mulling over a lifetime of listening to recorded music and how I've developed particular interests in genres at different times without quite ever casting off any of these completely. Also how I've listened in different ways through what might be termed different platforms at different periods of my life. I've got a feeling that I won't be buying any more CDs in the future, this being tied to how I've been accessing 'new' music of late, and how the means of access has affected the nature of my listening.

Of late I've found it necessary to listen full on, with intensity, for the experience to be worth anything to me at all. The days of casual listening to something in the background appear to be at an end. Which sounds sensible in its way. But leaves me with a sense of something lost that I can't quite articulate for myself.

I suppose what used to be easy just isn't anymore.

Easing Up

Decided to take a bit of a risk yesterday evening and went to the gym. I've been struggling with a very iffy left leg all week and avoided exacerbating what I assumed was a muscle strain by fore-going any midweek exercise. My avoidance strategy seemed reasonably successful as the discomfort had considerably reduced by Friday morning. But enough lingered to make it a fifty-fifty decision later in the day.

It turned out to be the right decision, I assume, because my sixty minutes on the trainer have not resulted in any kind of further pangs today. Indeed, the discomfort has gone completely. And I'm particularly congratulating myself on having the wherewithal to reduce the resistance on the machine and deliberately ease up for the session. An earlier version of myself would have been very reluctant to make any such concession - and probably would have knackered himself completely. This older version appears to be wiser. You learn a lot from impending decrepitude.

Not So Jolly

In the local news today, a story about the Jollibean franchise being in financial trouble, it seems. Some employees haven't been paid their salaries for some months, and outlets are suddenly closing without warning, leaving the staff involved high and dry. Sadly looks like there is some possibility the workers are not going to get remunerated for their recent labour. Reminded me of Ted Heath's long-ago and faraway comments regarding 'the ugly face of capitalism'. All this in stark contrast to the fact that Jollibean always seemed to me to be doing well, with no shortage of customers.

I'm afraid this sort of thing is by no means unknown in this part of the world. One of Noi's family in Melaka was suddenly 'terminated' by his employers (a school) a year or so ago without receiving payment for the final months he worked for them. Unfortunately the bad guys were lawyered up and he wasn't and isn't. What to do? as they say.

Made me realise my own good fortune in never having had to deal with this kind of rip-off from any of my many employers since I was fifteen. Even when working weekends for Manchester Contract Cleaners, not exactly the most reputable company in the north of England, I got the cash without question.

Genius

Encountering excellence - and beyond excellence, actual genius - in creative work is a great way of dealing with the trials of life. 

I was reminded of this truth today when I chanced upon an excellent video essay on the crafting of the music for the soundtrack of Kubrick's The Shining. It's only in recent years that I've become aware of just how much the music adds to the visceral horror of the movie, but now I've heard it I, happily, can't unhear its brilliance. And the video makes us aware of a magical truth: the synchronisation of music and image and the rest of the soundtrack wasn't planned in the conventional sense. It just sort of happened, I suppose because bona fide geniuses were at work.

And to think that when I first saw the film I wasn't really impressed by it. (Evidence, if necessary, that I'm certainly no genius.)

Exercising Patience

I found myself needing to exercise patience on several occasions today. As a teacher this comes with the territory. But several decades into the job I still need occasionally to force myself to do so. Over time it gets easier. But, in my case, it's rarely easy. Hence the need for 'exercise'. Those who think of patience as a kind of passive virtue are massively missing the point. (Or maybe they're naturally good at it? I know I'm not.)

No Happy Ending

Got home latish & decided to watch a bit of Sky News. This featured much coverage of on-going events concerning the Post Office Scandal in the UK, which I referenced here back in January in relation to the excellent series Mr Bates vs The Post Office, which was the best thing we saw on the telly back in the land of my birth last December.

Despite the obviously urgent need to do something to resolve the suffering of those sub-postmasters caught up in the terrible events, it turns out that many victims are still seeking compensation and a significant number either took their own lives or came desperately close. This makes for difficult viewing, part of the difficulty being trying to imagine the extremes of stress that must have been involved.

All very depressing. But, then, so much of the news is these days. 

In Good Order

It's always good to have a holiday early in a term, and even better to spend the free morning wandering around a well-maintained park, of which there's an abundance in this Far Place, I'm happy to say. Noi and I took ourselves off to West Coast Park, which is just around the corner, and enjoyed randomly wandering its lanes and clocking up our steps for the day. We're very familiar with its nooks and crannies, of course, but delighted to discover a new area that those who look after these things have recently developed in the form of a little urban farm. All very jolly and very worthy.

Indeed, I'd venture to say that the development of the parks on the island in the decades I've been here is powerful evidence in itself for good government. I suppose some folk would say these common spaces are over-regulated, but I for one am happy with the orderliness of it all. And I suspect the trees & flowers & plants & birds & assorted wildlife don't mind it at all.  

Remedial Action

I hadn't intended to spend time today cleaning CDs and the shelves they are on and attempting to prevent the shelves from becoming even more tottery than they are. But that's what I found myself doing in the middle of the day, partly on a whim, but, more importantly, because it really needed doing. We've been lucky over the years that the shelves for books and CDs we bought a long time back when we lived on Still Road have lasted reasonably well, but it's starting to look like their days are done and today's remedial action was somewhat overdue.

Noi and I agreed that a lot of this furniture will need to be discarded once we make the big move to Malaysia, but in the meantime we need to make do with what we have, which means making it work for a few months more. I'm not entirely sure that the most tottery of the CD cases will last that long, but it's worth trying for.

Not unlike going to the gym, I suppose; trying to eke out a few more years of bodily function at a passable level. Though, I must say, tonight's session made me feel as tottery as the shelves we were trying to bang into shape earlier in the day.

Not Worth It

When I picked up Mark Sedgwick's Traditionalism: The Radical Project for Restoring Sacred Order I thought I was in for a quick and rewarding read. But it was not to be. I spied the Pelican edition on the shelves at Wardah Books on my recent foray there, recognising the name of the writer from a website I chanced upon some months back that dealt with thinkers like Rene Guenon and Frithjof Schuon, names that frequently cropped up in the works of Islamically related writers I enjoy. I've never really pursued the work of these guys in any serious sense and assumed that Sedgwick's book was going to give me the direct introduction I needed to their exciting ideas. But the problem is that I've not found the ideas themselves, as summarised in the tome in question, at all exciting. Or convincing.

To be honest, their notions come across as over-generalised with little foundation in the complex details of the cultures with which they deal. It's all been more than a bit 'pie in the sky' - fine sounding, but of limited substance. But how exactly do you know all this?, I've found myself asking, page after page.

Funnily enough, the best and most convincing thing I've read so far concerns the work of Jordan Peterson of all people, in the form of a neat summary of the Prof against Political Correctness's understanding of hierarchies of competence and critique of the notion of white privilege. I'm not exactly a fan of Peterson, but if he gets anything right (and I think he often does) this is top of the list and important to appreciate, especially for wooly-minded leftist activists who are overly in love with their own righteousness. 

Anyway, I'm still a way off finishing Sedgwick's book and hoping to find a few more insights that will make reading it worthwhile.

Replete

Noi conjured up her patented salmon dinner this evening. Difficult to think of a better way to finish the working week, so I'm not bothering to think at all.

Worth Forgetting

Somehow in my dotage I managed to completely forget that we have a school holiday next week, on Monday, to celebrate the Youth Day decreed for this Far Place. Must say, the pleasure of remembering was worth the minor inconvenience of forgetting the occasion.

A Lost Cause

Got involved in a genuinely interesting meeting this morning throwing around terms like 'AI Slop'. Realised I had a better understanding of the perils of misinformation in the media than any of my colleagues, which is particularly ironic since they are the ones who are facing years of dealing with this in the classroom (if schools don't turn a blind eye to the phenomenon and try and find ways of educating against it) and I'll soon be observing the war on ignorance from the sidelines.

I like to think that people of goodwill will find some way of dealing with the challenges ahead. But deep down I can't see any way of avoiding catastrophic defeat in the conflict.

More Pieces

Back to the gym this evening, my usual gym, that is. I didn't particularly enjoy working out at the hotel in KL, though I was pleased to be able to get something genuinely physical done. To be honest, I can't say I enjoyed myself this evening, but being back on a machine and working with weights that I understood lent me a greater sense of focus and, I suppose, purpose.

In the end though it boils down to putting the pieces together, each step forward, each lift adding something to one's sense of well-being, even when that piece hurts; overall seeking to cultivate a feeling of unhurried but purposefully active patience.