Hopscotch

Nov. 11th, 2010 09:35 pm
nirinia: (Default)
LJ has fallen by the wayside the past few weeks, I'm sorry. I've tried to write this post at least four times. We're celebrating Mother's birthday today, which means I've had enough wine and fireplace gazing to be sleepy and feel like posting. So I'm throwing together all the drafts I have laying around, into one giant catch-up post.

Carina invited a bunch of us along to the Lord of the Rings marathon at Colosseum. From 24:00 Friday, the three movies back to back, with half an hour's break in-between. The book was one of my first true loves of literature. I read if the first time the summer before I turned ten, and I remember being spectacularly spoiled by my uncle:

'How far in are you?' he asked.
'They're going through Moria now.'
'Have they met the Balrog yet?'
'What's a Balrog?'

I think I skipped most of the songs at my uncle and parent's behest. And I rediscovered them this summer. Re-reading books is not really something I do, it steals time from other books. Though I've rehashed some novels for university, and Disgrace on my own. Before I read Tolkien I sped through the Goosebumps series, Nancy Drew, loved and knew Narnia by heart, had no more Roald Dahl to read, and was spectacularly sick of anything 'young adult'. I re-read it this summer, and found that ten-year cycles is ideal: you forget enough to enjoy it. This time I even appreciated the appendices.

The marathon was exhausting and fun. 10 hours in a cinema chair makes for creative sitting: there were legs and arms everywhere, even on the stairs. We were armed with three breakfasts, fruit salad, chocolate, and coffee. People clapped randomly: whenever Aragorn appeared, when someone delivered an internet-famous one liner ('they're taking the hobbits to Isengard!'), we quoted 'Sagan om de Bannlysta' (a ridiculous Swedish voice-over of the films), when Boromir died, and we giggled through most of The Battle of Helm's Deep.

We cooked like mad for the annual birthday party (we celebrated 40 years between us this year). I've discovered that I love it, and am not bad at following good directions. Equip me with a good cookbook and I can create food. Two days' cooking culminated in a smorgasbord of nine dishes, not including desserts. I was so full of food I didn't know what to do with myself. It was all I could do not to topple in my ridiculous shoes (I wore the Ysl cage sandals). Though it may be the wine's fault.

And then actual birthday. Lovely day: Anette meeting me with two chai lattes in her hands – our favourite, from the tiny hole in the wall near her flat. Kristine met us, Anette left us. Kristine brought me a small cardboard box with a white bow. It contained a 'coffeeteapot' necklace. A small brass tea-/coffee pot with a pearl in the middle. I love it! (I'll take a picture of it with something better than Photo Booth later.)

It's now wintry enough that it smelt of frost when we left for the marathon on Friday. We tried to pin it down, rather than just call it 'frost'. It is a combination of snow, the sheets of ice on the asphalt, there is an aim of rotten leaves. We couldn't pinpoint it more than that, it just smells of frost. The always-scientific Kristine thinks it is the minerals in the water that smells. Double-distilled water has no noticeable smell, so she might well be right. But it does kill the mystique, doesn't it?

Father called from an Apple Store in Montreal, wondering if he ought to buy an iPad. I hadn't slept for a day, and just yelled that 'if you want one, just buy the damn thing!' So now we're thinking of ways he can use it. I secretly root for him not finding a use for it, so I can steal it. Bye, boring commute! You may pretend to be surprised that I've fallen head over heels for another Apple product.
nirinia: (snow white queen)
Mother and I are back from London, and I will update properly tomorrow. I just have to show you what I got: YSL cage sandals. No, I am not kidding. I saw them, I drooled over them, now I own a pair of gray ones. Ok, so they do not have the cage heel, but the rest is caged. And they are more wearable this way. Pictures of my pair are forthcoming.

I was the mad shoe girl sprinting through the shoe racks in Harrods: I skulked, elbowed, and hogged shoes. I ran around with Miu Mius, Pradas, YSLs, the famed Balmain zipper sandals, D&Gs and was in heaven. Had Mother carry some to make me it look like 'this is how everyone shops'. It all came crashing down when I had to decide which ones to buy.

Ended with putting them all back, wishing them happy lives with caring shoe fetishists and buying the caged YSLs. And a pair of light blue United Nude Lo Res.
nirinia: (snow white queen)
Mother and I are back from London, and I will update properly tomorrow. I just have to show you what I got: YSL cage sandals. No, I am not kidding. I saw them, I drooled over them, now I own a pair of gray ones. Ok, so they do not have the cage heel, but the rest is caged. And they are more wearable this way. Pictures of my pair are forthcoming.

I was the mad shoe girl sprinting through the shoe racks in Harrods: I skulked, elbowed, and hogged shoes. I ran around with Miu Mius, Pradas, YSLs, the famed Balmain zipper sandals, D&Gs and was in heaven. Had Mother carry some to make me it look like 'this is how everyone shops'. It all came crashing down when I had to decide which ones to buy.

Ended with putting them all back, wishing them happy lives with caring shoe fetishists and buying the caged YSLs. And a pair of light blue United Nude Lo Res.
nirinia: (Default)
I finished Coetzee's Elizabeth Costello a few days ago, and it has been bothering me ever since. It is part a collection of essays (written by Costello), part narrative of her travels by her son and herself, part resume of talks she has given. It ends rather confusingly with what I find the most interesting chapter, where Costello finds herself in some sort of limbo. She must write a statement to pass through the gates. But she is given no guidelines, and does not know what it is she will move on to. A board analyse her answers, and deems her claim of being excempt from belief faulty. Writing is not a legitimate profession, not the way she puts it to them.

Finally, a letter is quoted. From the wife of a nobelman whose name I've forgotten, discussing a letter her husband sent to a mutual friend. Google tells me this letter is authentic, and that the husband wrote of his inability to write. Which is a central theme in the book; Costello does not write, has not written for a long time. Except for a final confession of sorts, addressed to her sister. I wonder if she is dead, in the final chapter. I think she might be. Or perhaps it is simply her vision of what it would be like to be dead, her worst fears. I certainly prefer thinking that death is the end.

It is well written, not like Coetzee as I've encountered him in the other books I've read. It reads like Costello, not Coetzee. Which is a tremendous achievement. My uncle expressed something very interesting the last time we spoke: surprise at my judging a book by how it is written, as opposed to what is written about. I've never questioned it, it comes naturally to me.

Despite my conviction, I wonder what brought this book about. What inspired him to write this book? Some of the lectures reproduced in it have been published before, as pieces in their own rights. And I forgot to comment on the animal rights lecture, or part of the book. I found it longwinded and tiresome, and it seemed a bit rushed. That might owe to the fact that it was, Costello is not supposed to have thought her arguments through. It was at times very philosophical – unlike Coelho, he doesn't present common knowledge as groundbreaking philosophy, he puts thought into it.

Those YSL shoes I posted about will not become part of my wardrobe in the forseeable future, I'm sad to report. Vogue tells me they cost 1450 pounds, which I'm sure will translate to roughly 15000 NOK. Please, shoe deity, let there be good rip-offs. Or let them be on sale at Harrods next january. My D&G's originally cost somewhere along the lines of 6000 NOK, I got them for 2000.
nirinia: (Default)
I finished Coetzee's Elizabeth Costello a few days ago, and it has been bothering me ever since. It is part a collection of essays (written by Costello), part narrative of her travels by her son and herself, part resume of talks she has given. It ends rather confusingly with what I find the most interesting chapter, where Costello finds herself in some sort of limbo. She must write a statement to pass through the gates. But she is given no guidelines, and does not know what it is she will move on to. A board analyse her answers, and deems her claim of being excempt from belief faulty. Writing is not a legitimate profession, not the way she puts it to them.

Finally, a letter is quoted. From the wife of a nobelman whose name I've forgotten, discussing a letter her husband sent to a mutual friend. Google tells me this letter is authentic, and that the husband wrote of his inability to write. Which is a central theme in the book; Costello does not write, has not written for a long time. Except for a final confession of sorts, addressed to her sister. I wonder if she is dead, in the final chapter. I think she might be. Or perhaps it is simply her vision of what it would be like to be dead, her worst fears. I certainly prefer thinking that death is the end.

It is well written, not like Coetzee as I've encountered him in the other books I've read. It reads like Costello, not Coetzee. Which is a tremendous achievement. My uncle expressed something very interesting the last time we spoke: surprise at my judging a book by how it is written, as opposed to what is written about. I've never questioned it, it comes naturally to me.

Despite my conviction, I wonder what brought this book about. What inspired him to write this book? Some of the lectures reproduced in it have been published before, as pieces in their own rights. And I forgot to comment on the animal rights lecture, or part of the book. I found it longwinded and tiresome, and it seemed a bit rushed. That might owe to the fact that it was, Costello is not supposed to have thought her arguments through. It was at times very philosophical – unlike Coelho, he doesn't present common knowledge as groundbreaking philosophy, he puts thought into it.

Those YSL shoes I posted about will not become part of my wardrobe in the forseeable future, I'm sad to report. Vogue tells me they cost 1450 pounds, which I'm sure will translate to roughly 15000 NOK. Please, shoe deity, let there be good rip-offs. Or let them be on sale at Harrods next january. My D&G's originally cost somewhere along the lines of 6000 NOK, I got them for 2000.
nirinia: (Default)
Oh, to hell with serious blogging, and on with the shoes!

Have you seen the new YSL adds? With the superb wireframe shoes? I love them. Let me not count the ways. I can also think of endless uses for them. If you haven't seen them, here they are on the runway. Spring 2009 is turning into a very good shoe season. They would look out of this world with a pair of jeans, my new teal bag and a pair of big sunglasses. And well-pedicured feet. I like these Stella McCartney's as well. I'm not usually a huge fan of box heels, but these are fun. I want more shoes, and this ridiculous non-winter winter to begone.
nirinia: (Default)
Oh, to hell with serious blogging, and on with the shoes!

Have you seen the new YSL adds? With the superb wireframe shoes? I love them. Let me not count the ways. I can also think of endless uses for them. If you haven't seen them, here they are on the runway. Spring 2009 is turning into a very good shoe season. They would look out of this world with a pair of jeans, my new teal bag and a pair of big sunglasses. And well-pedicured feet. I like these Stella McCartney's as well. I'm not usually a huge fan of box heels, but these are fun. I want more shoes, and this ridiculous non-winter winter to begone.

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