E@L's Do Nothing Saturday
As E@L's mojo is at an all-time low and he has no sex-life at all, what is there to blog about?
Sporting Life (the painful reminders of):
The carapace grows ineluctably over the metmorphosing body of E@L, awoken from a sleep of unquiet dreams, feels as stiff as an insect. All sort of birds had been fleeing at the approach of his limping, aching dream-body as he tries to toss (ow!), tries to turn (ouch!) in his sleep. Eagles , albatrosses, birdies of all sorts… He called for his long absent father - Pa! PA! One flies over, cuckoo, one over pa! Two over PAR! Three over PAR! Holy unsustainable metaphors, Iron Man, a double par! Even higher! Double figures! Twice! Par-par, where are you?
Golf scores don’t come in double figures do they? Twice? Ah, but they do at Marina Bay Golf Course…
There is a hell, and it is in the configuration of sand-bunkers...
In other words E@L played golf yesterday and carded his "best" (read "worst") score ever (15 years or more anyway), much better than his top cricket score! Highest score wins, right? And today, he is suffering for it.
Sorry to confuse you with those first paragraphs, but they sounded funny at the time, and besides it's true. I am stiffening over and crustaceaning (as they'd say if "to crustacean" was a verb, which it isn't) very rapidly. There's no delay in the DOMS here, it's hurting and it's hurting NOW!
I DID make a par on the horrendous and very thirsty island green (punches air! Yes!) but the rest of the game was a disaster. After taking three to get out one of the bombcrater-like bunkers on the fairway of the next, hole 14, I tried to make up distance and pushed myself too hard on the next shot. I speared my fairway wood three inches into the turf, duffing the shot horribly. That extra effort and the club's sudden deceleration seemed to rip several shards of the upper sections of my right latissimus dorsi free of their aponeurotic moorings. Oh my aching back! Bravely I shouldered, I mean soldiered on. I eventually holed out with a 10 for that one and then four consecutive 7s to return, after already wonky front nine, for a total of 108! Can you believe it! It was only 18 months ago, just before I did my Tiger Woods' type knee injury, that I was threatening every round to break into the 80's.
The ache and stiffness is actually from more than just that one game. I played last weekend as well, AND I went to the driving range twice for 100 balls as well. My ex-HK friend Matt is in now in town and he feels the need to improve his beginner's game to a level where he will not be so embarrassed by his lack--lustre drives at an upcoming golf/business trip. Lack-lustre (he just doesn't power through them like he should - confidence issue?) maybe, but he still whipped my arse yesterday with a stunning 107! He's only been playing two years, I've been playing 30 or so.
Must mention: the last hole was hilarious, despite the pain. I had to beat M by two to get ahead! It was a comedy of errors on my part and nothing to do with my sore back, so unfortunately no excuse - three duffed pitches, including one that ~just~ made through reeds and over a green-side burn to the edge of the green. A miracle recovery chip for M, through the trees from well behind the green, without even fluttering a leaf, to within six feet, and his two putts (or course), halved the hole and saved his winning margin. Bastard!
Anyway, point is I can hardly move today. Your classic case of a sore loser!
Cultural Life (1):
Meanwhile, in my quivering pain this afternoon post an inadequate and uncomfortable massage (I feel worse now, thank you), I sat though twenty-five minutes of trailers of movies I'm never going to see (except maybe Get Smart - though didn’t look that all funny) to watch the world's favorite trailer successfully turned into a movie - yep, E@L, your movie connoisseur, and snob, watched Iron Man.
E@L's rating? Two plasmo-ark-reactor-bionically powered thumbs up!
Robert Downey kicks Jr arse as Tony Stark, the egocentric smart-arse billionaire hedonist electronics and machine-shop genius with a heart-magnet of palladium and with schrapnel in his atrial septum! Really enjoyed it, top fun movie. Director Jon Favreau (wrote Swingers, co-produced Very Bad Things, directed Elf) cameos as the chauffer in the Rolls, btw. There were a few plot-holes, some you could fly a giant man of gold-titanium alloy through, but what the fuck (why was X trying to kill Y in the first place?), they didn’t even have a script when they started shooting… there's bound to be SOME continuity errors, like why ~The Fuck~ was X trying to have Y killed in the first place? Oops, no spoilers now!
The result? Think Lords Of War meets Ned Kelly meets Rocketman meets Robocop. Science fiction fans will also flashback to Joe Haldane's superb novel of a man-in-the-machine soldier, "The Forever War", as well.
Just one pair of things about Gwyneth Paltrow. Her mandibles. Huge! From the evidence of some scenes of this movies, she could have stunt-doubled the lead role in "Seabiscuit".
This is something I've been meaning to comment on since I first saw those confrontational ads at the Estee Lauder booths in the airport. Confrontational, you ask? They look like charity ads for people suffering with macrognathia due to hyper-functioning pituitary tumours.
Do the world a favour Gwyn daahhhling, get yourself an MRI and have them check that ballooning gland out. (If she does have acromegaly, I suppose they had to use a hand double for that scene where she sticks her fingers deep into Robert Downey's... Oops, no spoilers, now!)
I know what's happened - it looks like when they went to smooth out all her wrinkles in Photoshop, they forgot to turn off the "liquefy - bloat" morphing add-in!
Guess which is the untouched (by me) Estee ad?
Also, Gwyn baby, puhlease sue those coiffurists in Iron Man - that scene with the soft curls and the backless dress? What WAS that? Result : E@L was conflicted - hair matronly, dress sexy. Made you look like an semi-naked, skinny, Mrs Doubtfire. Make a note of this, Gwyn honey - go straight, every time.
But then after enjoying the end, holy shit, after waiting in vain for Jeff Bridges to say "Dude" just once, I left during the credits - apparently there was an after-credits scene with Samuel L Jackson which presages the sequel(s).
Motherfucker! as Sam would say!
Cultural Life (2):
I have been lost in something of a dark wood lately, in the middle of the journey of my musical life, wondering where my actual taste in music lies. My collection has become so eclectic - muddled is another word - I oft wonder I am just listening to music that I anticipate might please my guests (if I ever had any), or that I genuinely enjoy. This peaked out recently, firstly when Milos said he thought my Rammstein DVD selection was rather gay (he hasn’t seen the Dominatrix show at Anglewitch, obviously!), and secondly when I bought Spike's old iPhone (in a pub in Hong Kong at the 7s - perfect setting to buy a phone) which he had preloaded with an amazing collection of about a thousand songs, absolute classic rock, starting from the acid-rock in the 60's, stuff I hadn't heard for over 30 years, exemplary selections right on through, with great stuff from right up to this minute.
Today, the soundtrack of Iron Man reminded of my roots, though. Black Sabbath, AC-DC. It really rocks.
I have Audioslave: Out Of Exile, on high rotation on the mp3 at the moment. Stand out track for me - Doesn’t Remind Me, because it does remind me of Soundgarden.
Staying home on Saturday night means I get to eat well. That was the best eye-fillet steak you could wish for, and I cooked it myself. $15 for two thick medallions of NZ beef (the Aussie beef was cut too large for a single serving), plus my own blue-cheese cream sauce thickened in the pan juices… oh, you've no idea. It was firm (held it's shape) and juicy while incredibly tender, plus it was warm straight off the griddle-plate and as TRUE medium-rare (the juice is NOT blood you squeamish souls) as you could ever hope to write a lyrical blog about. (Sides: pesto linguine, baby carrots and broccoli topped with caramelized garlic and onion cracklings.) Better than any steak I have EVER had out, including $100 of grain-fed wagyu at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, let alone Woolloomoolloo.
And because I shouldn’t be drinking while on these tablets, washed down with a recent vintage Diet Coke.
...Oops it's tomorrow already. Sleeps beckons, who knows what dreams may come?
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
Poor Expat, sound like you really do need a girlfriend! Not just for the sex and company but to install the spring back into you new feet (read, step).
You are a man after my own heart, I took my date to Squires Loft in Melbourne last night, in my view the best steak place in town, and we both had Porterhouse with green pepper sauce. I find a sophisticated woman of Beijing origin who loves her steak to be near the top of the heap in sex appeal!
Everyone keeps saying that I need a girlfriend, but with my mojo this flawed, I wouldn't know what to do with her. I've just given up.
I very rarely (no pun intended) order steak when I am out because they are so rarely well done (again NPI). Medium rare comes back medium, medium comes back well-done, rare comes back blue... I've just given up.
Golf is causing me to fall apart, but I CAN break 90! I've NOT given up on that!
Music: I've added Doesn't Remind Me to the Radioblog on the left of my mainpage.
Robert Downey Jr.What a hotsome bloke. Not too crazy about the whole Tony Stark persona thing, it just felt a tad too much like "try-hard" sarcasm/humour. Or maybe that's just me being consciously aware during the whole movie that I'm watching a movie.If you get my drift. Whatever. He was hot. I was creaming my knickers just staring at him.
VPS: I thought he rather restrained actually. He does do the serious bits sensationally well too, of course. And, as far as watchability of superhero movies goes, you're not always half-hearing that lisp of Batman's Christian Bale.
I do so enjoy these confessionals from E@L. They make me feel normal. And you are the third person to recommend Iron Man in 24 hours. I'll be going right after the Beatles Tribute.
Have you tried fishing? I highly recommend it.
Dick: you ARE normal, and don't let those nasty psychiatrists tell you otherwise.
Creepy: as soon as you get 30 yards from Singaporean shores you get strafed by either Indonesian or Malaysian military or raped and pillaged by Mallaca Straits pirates... Fishing as a sport/recreation is something the locals don't understand. And rightly so...
Everyone seems to like Iron Man, perhaps I should be a conformist for a change and go see it?