Stolen Letters: VanVan

Non-Greek speakers, have fun with Babel Fish!

My dearest VanVan,

Σου 'χω υποσχεθεί νέα. Ετοιμάσου. Θα σου πω πως πέρασα τα τελευταία Σαββατοκυριακά μου.

Flashback - Παρασκευή 16 Οκτωβρίου, 2009:

Δειλά-δειλά έκανα ένα ανοιγματάκι προς φιλικές σχέσεις με τα παιδιά του μαθήματος. Έτσι βρέθηκα βράδυ Παρασκευής στο life. Ένα μπαράκι του κώλου ήταν κι όπως αποδείχτηκε και ψιλοκωλόμπαρο. Είχε ελάχιστο κόσμο κι η μουσική ξεκίνησε από Billie Jean. Έλεγα από μέσα μου: "Ωχ. Εδώ θα τ' αφήσω κι εγώ τα κοκαλάκια μου"...

Είχαμε βγει για τσιγάρο με έναν τύπο που δεν έλεγε να βάλει γλώσσα μέσα για την "καριέρα του" στη "φωτογραφία". Στα δεξιά μου μια κοντή, ντυμένη γάτα, ξέρναγε. Στα αριστερά μου μια στραβή νοσοκόμα έψαχνε τα γυαλιά της και μια άσχημη βαμπίρα κυλιότανε στο πάτωμα. Ρωτάω κι εγώ ο καψερός "γενικά, οι εμφανίσεις του Halloween, είναι πάντα τόσο ρισκέ;" Γάμπες και βυζιά παντού, μόνο τα κωλοφάροδουλα τους δε μας είχανε προτείνει οι σειρήνες.

Ο "φωτογράφος" χασκογέλασε. "Ναι" μου λέει, "κατά κανόνα" (πωπώ το'χω χάσει με αυτά " τα τετοιάααακια. Που τα βάζεις που δεν τα βάζεις;) "Ναι" μου λέει, τελος πάντων, και μου εξηγεί: η σύζυγος του ιδιοκτήτη του μαγαζιού ήτο πρώην Playboy Bunny . Έτσι και η πλειοψηφία των καλεσμένων -οι φίλες της- τύχαινε να είναι στριπτηζέζ. Στριπτηζέζ με τη βούλα! Πιθανώς στο φαρδοκάπουλο.

Έστι μου 'σκασε κι εμένα ότι οι Ασιάτισσες κοπελιές γύρω, που για να βρεις τη φάτσα τους κάτω από το makeup ήθελες βυθομέτρηση, με τις μπλούζες Hooters ... μάλλον δεν είχανε ντυθεί για τις Αποκριές. Απλά, ήρθανε στο life κατευθείαν από τη δουλειά.

How is she? No relation.

Όταν εμφανίστηκε δε ένας τύπος που άρχισε να λέει ότι ανησυχεί με τη γκόμενα που πηδάει -όχι ότι πάει να σοβαρέψει το πράμα ή κάτι τέτοιο- επειδή είναι Το Κορίτσι μικρομαφιόζου, ε... Δεν υπάρχουν αρκετά αποσιωπητικά στον κόσμο. Ό,τι ευχή και προσευχή είχα ξεχάσει τις έκανα εκεί και τότε. Λες και δεν έφτανε το ότι είχα βρεθεί με τους πιο άσχετους ανθρώπους που ήταν δυνατόν -όχι, πες μου ποιοι θα μου 'ταν πιο άσχετοι- τώρα μπλέκουμε και με το οργανωμένο (μικρο)έγκλημα;!

Για να μη στα πολυλέω, την κάναμε κατά τη μιάμιση. Αλλά τότε συνέβη κάτι απροσδόκητο. Φεύγοντας από το μπαρ, ο φλύαρος φωτογράφος, ο πηδέας της μαφιόζας, μια go-go dancer και η μόνη Κινέζα πάνω από ένα πενήντα (παίζει να 'ταν και ψηλότερη από 'μένα) μας κάλεσαν στο σπίτι τους. Να 'ταν οι τρεις Bud Light να 'ταν η ανάγκη, που μέχρι τότε ήμουν κλεισμένος μες στο σπίτι; Πήγαμε.

Μερικά σφηνάκια τεκίλα αργότερα, βλέπαμε όλοι παρέα το αριστούργημα Exit Wounds με το Steven Seagal. Ο άνθρωπός είναι μονίμως συνοφρυωμένος, το 'χεις προσέξει; I guess that's what happens when you have to kick so much ass. Δεν μπορεί να μην τον ξέρεις! Μεταξύ STAR και ΑΝΤ1, η Ελλάδα έχει χαρεί όλο του το oeuvre.

Steven Seagal: The Raisins' girls approve!

Στο δρόμο για τ' αμάξι έγινε το ωραιότερο. Όλο το βράδυ σχολιάζαμε τα γύρω μας με τον -ας πούμε- Kappie, τον τύπο από το μάθημα. Αναπόφευκτα η συζήτηση πήγαινε στις διάφορες "γκόμενες" που κυκλοφορούσαν. Με ρώτησε αν είναι hot η συγκάτοικος μου (που παρεμπιπτόντως είναι Μoροκανή τελικά κι απλά ζει στη Γαλλία...), αν η φίλη που 'ρχεται τώρα είναι ωραία (ναι και ναι οι απαντήσεις, by the way).

Και κάθε φορά που απαντούσα και σχολίαζα -πάντα ειλικρινά- ένιωθα λίγο τύψεις ότι τον παραπλανώ, ότι του δίνω μια λανθασμένη εντύπωση για το ποιος είμαι χωρίς να το θέλω και χωρίς να είναι λανθασμένη η εντύπωση!

Βγάζει νόημα, δε βγάζει;

Στο δρόμο για τ' αμάξι, λοιπόν, μ' ενίσχυση τεκίλα και δυο τζούρες Smiley Face, πάρε σκηνή:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

GIO is practically skipping - he's a lightweight. KAPPIE's more subdued but in a pleasant relaxed way.

GIO
Dude. That was good stuff. I mean, I'm buzzed man!

KAPPIE
Really? I'm OK.

GIO
Yes! But not. In a good way! I'm easy. And you're driving.

ALEX
Truth.

A beat. Then:

GIO
You do realize I'm gay, right?

KAPPIE
Yes. I mean, yeah.

GIO
Oh good! 'Cause I wasn't sure.

And scene! Only not, because then came the real good part: με ρώτησε αν είχα την ανάγκη να το πω κι έτσι ανοίξαμε μια συζήτηση για:

1. τα καινούρια περιβάλλοντα και πως αλλάζουν οι κανόνες,
2. τη διαφορά μεταξύ της εμφανούς διαφορετικότητας με την αόρατη,
3. την ύπαρξη και των δύο κατηγοριών μέσα στο ουράνιο τόξο τον ομοφυλοφίλων,
4. το φάσμα της σεξουαλικότητας
   
5. τη θρησκευτική προκατάληψη και
   
6. την προκατάληψη ενάντια στη θρησκεία.

Ως Εβραίος -που δεν είχα πάρει χαμπάρι- he could relate, κι ως seemingly genuinely good guy he could talk about it. And it was awesome. Όχι, γιατί μου καίγεται καρφί για σπουδαίες συζητήσεις. Πάντα θα υπάρχουν και μπράβο τους. Αλλά εκείνη τη στιγμή, μετά από αυτήν την περίεργη νύχτα, ήμουν ιπτάμενος, σε μια τέτοια συζήτηση και ανοιχτός... κι ένιωσα ο εαυτός μου.

Ένιωσα σα να ήμασταν στην ταράτσα σου. Ξαπλωμένοι στον καναπέ. Πόδια-κεφάλι, κεφάλι-πόδια. Γύρω μας όλοι. Ήταν σαν κάποιος να μου εξηγούσε πως δουλεύουν όλα. That you can be happy, that time and space mean nothing. Ήταν σαν κάποιος να μου έφτιαχνε το δικό μου προσωπικό ρολόι, που θα τρέχει στο δικό μου ρυθμό. Σα να 'χα δεκατρείς ζωές ταυτόχρονα. Ήμουν ο Doctor Who!



Είχα σκοπό να γράψω κι άλλα, αρκετά. Αλλά κι ο χρόνος να μη σημαίνει τίποτα, η ώρα έχει πάει τέσσερις, κι αυτό έχει σημασία... Νομίζω, το 'χεις όμως, ε; Ό,τι άλλο πω θα 'ταν πολύ και περιττό. Σ' αρέσει η ρίμα μου; Την κάνω τέτοιες ώρες. Έχω κάτι επιφοιτήσεις που και που εδώ στα ξένα. Θα στα πω όλα. Eventually. Αλώστε τι είναι πιο εγώ από το να ξεκινάω να σου εξιστορήσω δυο Σαββατοκύριακα και να μένω στην Παρασκευή;

Rendez-vous στο Skype.

Gay Panic

"Aaaaargh!" I believe, goes the expression. I am so crap in front of crowds! We were called on to stand up in front of the roughly 80-person lecture class and pitch the scripts we are currently working on, in one logline. And, well... I kinda shit the bed on this one. (Hey, Greeks! Know that expression? Add it to your English vocabulary right now).

Φανταστείτε το: δεν έχω συνειδητοποιήσει ότι θα σηκωθούμε να μιλήσουμε μπροστά σε όλους. Φεύγωντας βιαστικά από το σπίτι, έχω βάλει κάτι που θα φόραγα για ΜαηΜπάρ. Κραυγαλέο, να το πω; Το θέμα είναι ότι λέει "καμ φακ μη", όχι "μπάη μάη σκριπτ". Ο λόγος που έφυγα βιαστικά; Ήθελα να προλάβω να φάω ένα σάντουιτς παγωτό από το Ντίντυ Ρης. Οπότε, είμαι γεμάτος βούτυρο και ζάχαρη, αγχώνομαι που θα σηκωθώ μπροστά στον καθηγητή και τους 80, όλο και περισσότερο... αλλά λέω "Έχω τουλάχιστο δυνατό κόνσεπτ". "Θα το απαγγείλω βροντοφωναχτά, θα πει 'Οκέη', θα τελειώσει εκεί το ζήτημα", λέω. ΛΕΩ.

So, called upon I was, and things went exactly like you'd think. I was the first person in the class whose concept was greeted with sheer incomprehension. If Hal didn't actually use the words "What the fuck are you talking about?" his face sure did. A leg-trembling, 5-minute interrogation session later, I was able to sit down - my seatmates taking out marshmallows on sticks to roast against my cheeks.

The contents of my brain when I was called on.
Also, the pattern of my shirt.

Το ψευτοτραγικό της υπόθεσης ήταν η αντίδραση μου. Το παίζω δασκαλάκος φοβερός και τρομερός, μαθημένος από 3 χρόνια σε εταιρεία παραγωγής (ονόματα δε λέμε, υπολήψεις δε θίγουμε - Γεια σου, Καγιαλίνα!). Έχω μάθει να κάνω εποικοδομητική κριτική με όσο το δυνατό μικρότερο πλήγμα στην ψυχική κατάσταση του συγγραφέως που κρίνεται. Έλα όμως που ακόμα δεν το 'χω να επεξεργάζομαι αντίστοιχα τα εισερχόμενα σχόλια και δη όταν γίνονται μπροστά σε πλήθος!

Naturally, it took until my blushing had cooled down -around 30 to 45 minutes depending on room temperature- for my thoughts to do the same. Of course I wasn't the first to get a strong negative reaction. That's just how it felt, especially since I'd done a spectacular job of psyching myself out while waiting for my turn to speak. It wasn't even negative per se. I had just been called out for not representing myself to the best of my ability and rightfully so.

Ας είμαστε δίκαιοι άλλωστε. Που δεν ξέρασα το παγωτό, για παράδειγμα, ήταν μια νίκη.

There followed the bout of obligatory, in-class "Feck, I don't think I can do this". We then went on to see the openings of Little Miss Sunshine, Fargo, Casino Royale (2006) and The Squid and The Whale. These were meant to prep us for the awesome assignment of the coming Monday and fully brought me back to my senses.

Μην αγχωθέι κανείς! Δε με χάνει το Χόλυγουντ.

If the list of Things I Have Done That Still Make Me Cringe had a scale to go with it, then the above events would rank about a three. The following float at around four. It was our first writing assignment and I thought I was being daring in choosing to write this story. But after completing it, I realised, the cringe factor is not in the present.

Ουουου. Τι λέει ο τυυυύποοοοοος.

What called to me was the, then unprecedented, intense feeling of shame. It reverberates to now from the past but, really, I'm over this. Much unlike I'm over That First Script. The eyerolls every time I think about writing it are epic in power and proportion. Every single time, I cringe retroactively with 5 years' worth of shame. But this one... this one has me feeling kinda proud!

Η υπόσχεση του να βρεθεί μια καλύτερη ισορροπία σε αυτό το μπλογκ προφανώς δεν έχει πραγματωθεί ακόμα αλλά ισχύει. Άσχετο μεν αλλά είπα να το υπενθυμίσω. Προς το παρόν έχετε να αντιμετωπίσετε την ανισορροπία ενόπιων σας. Τα συλλυπητήριά μου.

The only thing I'm changing from what I submitted to the course are other people's names. They might not be as pleased as I, with the particular story. So, while I go figure out how to reshape and salvage the broken pieces of my script's crushed hull, give this little tale a gander. And, hopefully, enjoy:

Pinocchia

In sixth grade, my best friend was Tom Haverford. He had a house in Ekali (a very lavish suburb of Athens) and an identical twin (with only a mole's difference)! Tom and I were on the basketball team together. He had gone steady with Leslie and I followed suit with her best friend.

When I stayed over at his, we would go to a far away kiosk, using the excuse of walking the Haverfords' dogs. There, I would distract the owner by buying gum or Kinder chocolate. Meanwhile, Tom stole porno magazines from off the stands, behind the kiosk guy's back.

He would stash the magazines under his shirt, held steady by his boxers and, acting cool, we would walk back to the house in a secret rush of excitement. The dogs were none the wiser.

A large coat closet housed our hidden hours. We would go there with the magazines and leaf through them and laugh. We laughed more than you'd think, while looking at naked women and touching our weiners (each his own) inside our sweatpants. We also made prank calls.

But there were some things that Tom wouldn't understand. Like how I felt uncomfortable pulling the pranks, or how I might like to steal a different kind of porno. In fact, I had taken a shine to a magazine I saw at the kiosk closest to my house: Pinocchia.

Pinocchia was a puppet. A life-size woman puppet that came alive when her creator/father fucked her. She sat poised on the comic's cover, kneeling on top of a work bench, her back straight. She was surrounded by toy trains, tools and tiny soldiers that peered at her nakedness; her full breasts, a shade lighter than the rest of her. And, when she'd tell a lie, those breasts would become bigger!

I was determined to have her. I vacillated for a long time, I was scared. I must have walked by that kiosk, back and forth, a hundred times. Looking back on it, that's probably what tipped the guy off. Because, of course, when I did dare to nick Pinocchia and stuff her in my pants, I felt a burly arm grab mine. Shouting came at me like a gust of moist hot air, dishwasher-like, and that was it.

The next thing I remember, I was in my mother's bed, crying. I have a recollection of running away from the kiosk in tears, but how I got away I have no clue. My mother found me there. She coaxed me into telling her what had happened, and I, embellishing how awful and violent the kiosk guy had been, eventually did tell her the whole story. I'm sure at the time I believed it.

She listened to me bawl and sob and stutter and when I was done with my piece, my mother asked: “Agapi mou, why didn't you just buy it?” I broke into a new round of histrionics. The reasons were plentiful: What would the kiosk guy think if I bought porn from him? And Pinocchia?! He was so close to home! “DREPOMOUNA”.

In Greek, there's only one word that stands for both “embarrassed” and “ashamed”. I was embarrassed for being caught, I was ashamed beyond belief that I wanted Pinocchia: drepomouna. My mother left the room without another word. I sat sprawled on the bed, dripping snot – perturbed but waiting. Ten minutes later mum was back, and in her hands, she had Pinocchia.

I went on to become more daring in my stealing ways, but also more strategic. I scoped places out, I calculated customer traffic. I had a special, discreet backpack in which I could slip things, at the right moments. And then I'd go ahead and a buy a pop or ice cream from the very same kiosk.

I never bought straight porn. I only ever stole it. Which I kept doing when I went on to naked men (rationalising back then that I was just excited at the idea of the sexual act, no matter that there were no such depictions in these magazines). But at some point, I did dare to buy gay. Eyes downcast, trembling from head to tippy-toe, making sure only the back cover of the magazine was visible to kiosk guys. But I did buy it.

The guilt didn't go away. But the magazines did. Every now and then, I would go into a shame spiral and throw them out the bathroom window. They'd land somewhere in our apartment building's boiler room with a wet “floop” sound. And though I did try to find out where they ended up, I didn't manage to, and never saw any of the departed porn ever again. Not even the VHS tapes.

Still, I think Pinocchia must have made an impact. I feel a pang when I think she managed to become a real girl, only to be thrown out a window on one of my, many, manic bouts of guilt...

When I told my mother about me, it came spontaneously, while I was breaking down about something else entirely. Mothers know - you know they know. And the time before I had it said, when I had waited and waited, I knew even then -she has made sure I knew- that it was not for her. It wasn't mum who wasn't ready.



Want a Pinocchia of your own?

Smokin' TV: Sunday

I've almost quit smoking. It's come to the point when a cigarette, lack of food and a well-timed beer have me flying high in the skies of dizziness. A pack a week is relatively close to having quit, is it not? "No" you say? "Deluded hypocrite" you shout? You would not trust me as far you could throw me? Feh and tough titties ladies and gents, because I am here to share my opinion on what you should watch Northern-American-TV-wise. And, conversely to my unwise decision-making when it comes to smoking, drinking and most of my sexual partners, I actually know my shit when it comes to television.



Brilliant segue, right? I know. Let's jump right in!

Sunday

The Simpsons / The Cleveland Show / Family Guy / American Dad: Taking a cue from the The A.V. Club, I've blocked FOX's "Animation Domination" into one entry. The quick and short of it is this: The Simpsons has been tired for years now - if you haven't been watching there's no reason to start. The Cleveland Show is better than a Season 8 (9? 24?) Family Guy spinoff has any right to be. If you're a fan of the latter feel free to spend 20-something minutes of your Sunday on the former. And if you roll during Cleveland you'll be all nice & stoned and set for Family Guy. But the one show to which you must give an extra chance -and I know many of you have not- is American Dad. Smart, timely and with its own spin on the cutaway gag format, that keeps them attached to the story even in their most absurd expressions. Plus, the most well-formed characters in animation this side of Daria.

Desperate Housewives: Jumping to ABC and the DH / B&S block, this show has so far been on a streak not seen since the heyday of Season 1. While Susan has become a full-on despicable character (losing whatever redeeming qualities she may have had) Teri Hatcher is playing the shit out of the part. Likewise, Huffman, Longoria and Cross are all getting equal and equally fertile material to play, as Lynnette, Gabrielle and Bree. Even Dana Delany's role in the show has taken a turn. While Katherine's life is more pathetic than any housewife we've seen before, Delany's thrown herself into the part with mesmerising abandon, rounding up the makes of a most interesting season. Plus? Drea de Matteo.

She was Joey's sister, you guys!

Brothers and Sisters: Do you like crying at late hours of the night? Do you enjoy tears streaming down your face and blurring up your glasses? Then this season of Brothers and Sisters is exactly what you need. Due to a specific development ZOMG! KITTY HAS CANCER! Calista Flockhart's getting to use her pout to its best snivelling advantage. Meanwhile, the ramifications this has on the rest of the family are a wonder to watch. Sally Field (Nora) is heartbreaking to a degree that only she or a real mother could be, Matthew Rhys (Kevin) has put his big Welsh blues to their best wet use, while Rob Lowe (Senator Orange) is proving that he's more than Alec Baldwin's mancrush (2:49). And we haven't even gotten to see Rachel Griffiths interact with the whole situation since Sara just got back from Paris bringing this back with her. Use all the Ojai scenes to replenish the tissue supply and this is the show for you.

Nora can't handle all these spoilers.

Dexter: I was really sad to realise that Dexter had been cancelled. Fortunately, a spinoff has taken its timeslot on Showtime. While it may not be the original, it is interesting enough in its own right. John Lightgow is magnificently creepy as the new serial killer in town, while Keith Carradine is back with more great work as agent Lundy. The principal actors are, of course, excellent as always and there's a lot of good character work being done on all fronts. It's just a bit jarring that there's room for that, when the original series has so excellently kept Dexter as the center of the narrative, thus shading his conventional Procedural surroundings with some added interest-- What? Dexter hasn't been cancelled?! When the best part of your show are the guest stars, you may wanna recalibrate is all I'm saying.

Mad Men: This show is too smart for me to analyse in any way that would do it justice. Nor can I get it new viewers by convincing you, you oughta be watchin' it. What I can do is appeal to your baser instincts, thusly:

January Jones is Betty Draper.

John Hamm is Don Draper.

Christina Hendricks is the hottest woman of all time.

Bam! Appealed.

And also, sometimes, this guy is around:


Oh, ass. I think I'm sober, now.

This feature will continue whenever I am drunk and until all days of the week are covered. For the time being, it's just the shows I watch and can talk about (duh) but if I get drunk enough I may jump onto others. If you don't wanna read this self-indulgent blog you don't have to - there are always alternatives.

Whining and Dining (pt. 2)

Starting this at 02:10 a.m. as I am -and unless any astrophysicists have an objection- I am for the first and only time, exactly 24 years old. I was born in Oakland, CA on the 11th of October 1985 at, you guessed it, ten past two in the morning. Bravo monkey, you can read! 24 years later, I find myself in the same timezone as the one I was born, for the first time since my 1st birthday...

Τα γενέθλια στην Αμερική είναι μεγάλο ντήλι. Δεν είχα ποτέ πλήρη αίσθηση όσο ήμουν στην Ελλάδα του πόσο ασήμαντα είναι για εμάς. Τους Έλληνες λέω. Εμείς δίνουμε περισσότερη βάση στις ονομαστικές εορτές; Κάτι τέτοιο έχω ακουστά. Μη με ρωτάτε, δεν ξέρω. Εγώ πήγαινα δουλειά αμέριμνος -δίχως γλυκά- 25 Απριλίου κι υπόλοιποι με ενημέρωναν, κοιτώντας με με στραβό μάτι...

What are you looking at? What d'you wanna know? What have I been doing the past 23 years? It's been eventful, I'll be honest. Which is also why I can't say that this is the best story that will ever be told. But it is a good one. There's sex and intrigue and drugs and backstabbing. So far no murders. But we're working on that. The world keeps trying to piss me off on a daily basis.

Και πως είναι που τώρα, εδώ που 'ναι μπιγκ ντήαλ, δεν είμαι εγώ; Πως είναι που δεν είσαστε εδώ εσείς; Που δεν πρόκειται ούτε να βγω, ούτε να πιω, ούτε και να μεθύσω; Θα 'θελα να μπω στην πρίζα και να τα κάνω κομμάτια, δεν μπορώ να πω. Αν έπεφταν μερικά μαδερφάκερ δε θα ήταν άσχημο. Κι αν πάλι τύχαινε να καθόμουν απ 'έξω από μια εκκλησία -σαν παπάς με το αγαπημένο του θυμιατό- μαζί με όλη μου την ενορία, δε θα με πείραζε.

Nobody walks in L.A., they say, but I do. And I see others walking. There are people in the streets! Honest. I don't think they're going anywhere, just on strolls. You'd be mad to want to walk to somewhere in this town. But I do. And I'm not mad. Not crazy/mad. Yes, the angry kind, some times and often. But I won't pretend to be mad-mad. There's only sanity here and too much of it. Too much thought and gravitas. Like a LiveJournalist that forgot to do his whining in his teens.

Πόσες φορές έχουμε πει να σταματήσουμε να γκρινιάζουμε; Και πόσες φορές έχουμε πει πώς έιναι αναγκαίο; "Μη σταματάς να γκρινιάζεις, σταμάτα να γκρινιάζεις που γκρινιάζεις." Το βλέπω σαν μπροστά μου: ένα παράπονο που ξεκινάει ένρινο και μελαγχολικό. Με κάθε τζιν που ανοίγει, γλυκαίνει από την πίκρα. Ξημερώματα περνάμε από τα Μακ.

At 24, I have these weird huge pores at the end of my nose that threaten to engulf it. My body hair is sneakily spreading its way across new terrain. A decade of unruly strings rests on each shoulder, mocking me with their slim but distinct presence. I got a haircut today. The for the head kind. I'm disappointed.

Δεν έχει να φάω μαστέλο με μέλι. Ή, και να'χει, έρχεται σε διπλή μερίδα - που να το βάλω τόσο σουσάμι; Μη μιλήσεις! Μην πεις τίποτα! Και πάνω απ' όλα μη με γαργαλήσεις, θα σε γαμήσω.

I'm fuckless and friendless. My body is preemptively decomposing -gotta catch up on death, always in a rush. And I don't have the hair that I do want!

Θέλω ένα ακόμα μεσημέρι, απ' έξω από το Μπενάκη. Θα αργήσεις, θα καεί ο κώλος μου στο μέταλλο, να σε περιμένω κάτω από εκείνο το τετοιακί που 'ναι σα φανάρι και γυρίζει, ξέρεις.

I spent today with my 15-year-old cousin. We went to the cinema, we ate concession stand and frozen and microwave foods, we played video games and watched TV all day. Whoop-de-doo, I hear you say?

Πως μύριζε η ανάσα σου όταν ερχόσουν ξημερώματα στο δωμάτιο...

Well, I liked it! The Invention of Lying was a little stroke of brilliance. Pretzels and Mac & Cheese and chocolate brownie ice cream bonbons, Castle Crashers and Alien Hominid are an astounding accompaniment. And if you don't understand this, if you don't get this at all, you don't have to. I do. (But, really, how can you deny Spaced)?

Αυτό το καλοκαίρι μπορεί να μην άφησε Έλλη Κοκκίνου (αγάπη μου) ως σάουντρακ αλλά έφερε κάτι καλύτερο. Όχι, δε λέω το Δεσποινάκι και ΥΠΑΡΧΕΙ ΖΩΗ (ΤΟΥΡΟΥ ΡΟΥ ΡΟΥ) στη διαπασών, προς Αλλού Φαν Παρκ και Επίδαυρο εξίσου. Κατάλαβα τα πάντα.

At 24, I have no shame. None in playing the games, none in burning in them, none whining and dining to my heart's gluttonous content. I'm single and, for the first time in my adult life, I don't feel the crippling need to not be. I've left my home again -this time we're going for "for good"- and behind people that I wouldn't call friends but family. And you can start laughing now, because, I'm not taking it back. Because the most important thing I learnt all summer (and these 24 years) was this feeling. That thing I ridiculed before, this earnestness, the belief in some sort of magic.

Λυπάμαι αν σε πλήγωσα. Ιδιαίτερα επειδή ξέσπασα πάνω σου, επειδή έβλεπες τα πράματα αντίθετα από 'μενα, επειδή με θύμωνες, επειδή μου θύμιζες πως δεν είναι ο κόσμος.

Let's not get retarded. Any kind of magic I believe in is strictly metaphorical. But it is real. The fact that this is my voice, doesn't bother me. It's treacly sentimental still but I'm getting better. I'm learning and I'm growing and I change. The haircut will never be an ICON haircut but I'll go back and tell them better what I want. Hairy situations? Wax on / wax off. Bad puns? My bread and butter! As for the pores? Eh. Can't have everything. It's not that I couldn't be happier, but I am perfectly happy.

Σκεφτόμουν μήπως ήρθε η ώρα να κάνω κι εγώ δέυτερο τατού. Θέλω να σημαίνει κάτι που, κι όταν κρεμάσουν τα πάντα- θα κρατήσει, όπως σου 'λεγα. Έλα όμως που Κυψέλη-Καρύτση-Καλλιθέα κάνουν ένα επικύνδυνα ΚΚΚ σχέδιο. Μην ξεχνάμε και που είμαι. Είπαμε, δεν μπορείς να τα έχεις όλα.

Finishing this at 04:59 a.m. as I am -and unless any astrophysicists still have objections- I am for the first and only time, exactly 24 years, 2 hours and 49 minutes old. I'm back in the States for the first time since I was born. I'm finally studying screenwriting and at UCLA, at that. I am, for all intents and purposes, a Greek bumpkin, seeing this world for the first time. On the flipside -Remember the flipside? This is the flipside!- I'm also an American coming home. It's a new day, either way.

Aν θεωρήσουμε ότι κάθε χρόνος είναι μία ώρα από 24ωρο, μόλις ξεκίνησε η επόμενη μέρα. Κουίζ! Ποιός το 'πε αυτό το ωραίο; Μις Μπήβερχαουζεν; Κερ του γκες;

To move forward one must look back. That's a thing too. Someone's said something like it, at least... I think. Well, welcome to my train-of-thought regression therapy. This blog, where most the contents of my brain spill out for everyone to see and no one to care about. (Twitter is not enough). Join me as I figure out the States, and look back on the fun and fucked up shit that brought me here. There will be lots of writing and I can only promise it will get better from here.

Με άλλα λόγια:

Welcome to the rest of your life, enjoy every minute of it. My ma said that one. And, really guys, that's quite a cool thing for a mom to say.

Dogs and Academia (pt. 1)

Talking about love is like dancing about architecture. Have you seen that film? It was meant to be called Dancing About Architecture but who'd really know what that was about? So they called it Playing By Heart, instead. And they just had a 23-year-old, red-headed Angelina Jolie spout the thesis line right at the beginning. Which, as plans, go is not half bad.

Anyway. In Playing By Heart. Red-headed Angelina Jolie falls for blue-haired Ryan Phillippe (who btw, is Ryan PHIL-ee-pee, apparently. Thanks, youtube, for answering a life-long query). Despite blue-haired Ryan Phillippe's bad case of the gay-face, there's also another teeny thing stopping their love from blossoming: HIV.

[Spoiler Alert].

The above spoiler (highlight to view) is near the only thing missing from the cramazing trailer which just about gives you the entire film in 2'29". Angelina Jolie, Ryan Phillippe, Sean Connery, Gena Rowlands, Gillian Anderson, Jon Stewart, Madeleine Stowe, Dennis Quaid and Anthony Edwards are the so-called star-studded cast. Along with Ellen Burstyn and Jay Mohr, whose storyline (of a mother saying goodbye to her dying son) is the other, conspicuously absent, thing.

The sum comes across as a guilty pleasure of alternately quippy, depressing, charming, HOTT and overwritten parts. I mean, when your synopsis starts: "Eleven articulate people work through affairs of the heart in L.A." you gots problemz.

hott[hɒtt]: adjective, hot⋅ter, hot⋅test, adverb, verb, hot⋅ted, hot⋅ting, noun
–adjective
1. see above.

Το 'χα πρωτοδεί στον ΑΝΤ1 τις τελευταίες μέρες πριν φύγω για Αγγλία. (Ναι, Ελληνικά! Δε θα το γυρίσω τελείως). Οπότε πρέπει να 'ταν 2003. Έτοιμος να την κάνω για σπουδές, πρώτη φορά που αποχωρίζομαι το σπίτι και το φάμιλυ, ξημερώματα... Κλάαααααααμα. Κλάμα με το Τζέη Μορ και την Έλλεν τη Μπέρστιιιιιν. Σπουδαία ηθοποιός. Να δέιτε το Άλις Ντάζν'τ Λιβ Χήαρ Ένημορ - αριστούργημα. Για να 'μαστε ξεκάθαροι, πριν απο αυτό είχα να κλάψω σε ταινία χρόνια. Κυριολεκτικά, χρόνια. Και μ' αυτήν τη μετριότητα το Πλέηνγκ Μπάη Χάρτ, σα ν' άνοιξε ένα φράγμα.

Βάλε κάτι η Αντζελίνα με το Φιλι-ΠΥ κι ο τραγικός τους έρως, βάλε ο αποχαιρετισμός Μορ/Μπέρστην, βάλε και την τρελή ταύτιση του δικού μου του αποχωρισμού με τα πάντα. Κι από τότε ό,τι αρρώστια και χτικιό -αν έχει μέσα γιο και μάνα- εγώ γίνομαι Το Κράηνγκ Πούσυ. Είναι έγκυρη η έκφραση, έχει τη σφραγίδα των Βρυξελλών...

What the fuck was my point? Oh! Right. I love Playing By Heart but for the wrong reasons. It got to me because I was willing -and due to my circumstances so very prone- to take the necessary step. The film doesn't manage to go all the way. It sets a scene, it introduces characters and their situations, exhibits their issues and-- stops. It doesn't reach out to you, pick you up and cradle you in loving arms.

Despite, playing some pretty big, visceral cards (see above SPOILER) Playing By Heart remains clinical in its approach of them. The one exception is obviously the Mohr/Burstyn storyline, which gives the movie the distinct honor of being middling but with moments of magic. Cutting to the chase, that's how my life is at the moment.

Pretty/Dull

Πάρτε για παράδειγμα αυτό εδώ το έν'τρυ. Ξεκίνησα με σκοπό να αποστομώσω αυτούς από εσάς που μου έχετε παραπονεθεί ότι δε στέλνω νέα μου. Ποιοι νομίζετε ότι είστε, κυρίες και κύριοι, να μου ζητάτε -δικαίως- το λόγο, επειδή -πράγματι- εξαφανίζομαι;! ΠΟΙΟΙ; ΕΡΩΤΩ!

Θεωρείστε αυτό το έν'τρυ "Ρόδο" κι απ' ευθείας ακολουθεί το "πήδημα". Όπως λέει κι ο Τζαστ Τζακ στα ακουστικά μου, αη αμ αφρέητν αη σαλ "μπορ γιου του τήερς" (Ωλ Νάητ Σίνεμα, το τραγούδι και το ομώνυμο άλμπουμ). Δεν έχω νέα. Δεν έχω γνωρίσει κανέναν. Είμαι στην προσπάθεια, δηλαδή. Πήρα απόψε μετά τη διάλεξη την Πουλχερία και τον Ιωσήφ. Υποτίθεται ότι θα δω εκείνην την Τετάρτη κι αυτόν την Πέμπτη. Όχι δεν είναι οι φανταστικοί μου φίλοι. Είναι πιθανοί - τους έχω δει μια φορά τον καθένα. Απλά άλλαξα τα ονόματα για λόγους που αυτή τη στιγμή δεν μπορώ να θυμηθώ.

I'm in a fugue state. An attempt to write down my news turns into a review of a decade-old film. And not a very good one. My weekends are filled with calm and placid things. No going out until all hours of the night, no seeing the morning from the wrong side 'round. There's family, there's food and all is kinda limpid. To lead a life of dogs and academia - never would I have guessed, I'd be the one to do it. I had always envied those who had a well-drawn rote, a calm existence. Things are clear, things are working; there is a path. For lack of a better term, it turns out, I am being bo-ring!

Θυμάστε το Φέρμπυ;! Είχατε; Έτσι το 'λεγε: "Μπό-ρινγκ!". Φρικτός ήτανε.

Creepy, mo-lo. YO.

And if it wasn't obvious before, I think it's time for me to go to bed. Something happens during the full moon (night before, night of, night after). I'm already hairy, that doesn't change. But my primal instincts do simmer to the surface. And in my case where "primal" read "whiny" and "also, overly-analytical and bombastic". And "procrastination-y".

Του Σάγκυ το Μπομπάστικ το θυμάστε; Άλλη φρίκη.

PS. Seriously, do an image search for Furby and try not to spend 36 minutes being amazed and horrified. Here, I'll get you started.

Catch you on the flip side, with a more coherent part two.