tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39122094859881528842024-03-07T08:39:49.423+00:00a studio in covent gardenLife and dance in (and as seen from) London, UKUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger347125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-76935150784413301182017-03-22T20:38:00.000+00:002017-03-22T20:38:43.381+00:00C'est intéressant w/c 20 Mar 2017<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/28/world/europe/france-albi-french-towns-fading.html" target="_blank">As France's Towns Wither, Fears of a Decline in Frenchness (New York Times)</a><br />
This article is absolutely spot on. Using the provincial town of Albi (in South West France), the writer shows that French regional towns are losing their heart and soul. As shops close, life empties itself from them. It is the same in many places. There are still shops, but they are on the outskirts, in big malls - France has the highest density of malls in Europe (or even small ones: in my home village, a supermarket opened slightly outside the city centre, where footfall has now massively declined). People don't go to independent stores, they don't go to the boucherie, or the fromagerie, or the patisserie anymore: they drive to the hypermarket - sometimes only to go and collect their online shopping (it's called going to the "drive"). And even though they brought it on by changing their behaviour, they complain things have changed and the world is changing too fast. Depressing.<br />
<a href="http://www.42ndstreetmusical.co.uk/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.42ndstreetmusical.co.uk/" target="_blank">42nd Street at Theatre Royal Drury Lane</a><br />
Where are you ever gonna see a chorus line of 40 performers? Where? Nowhere else in the West End. So just go see this no-expenses-spared production of the musical 42nd Street.<br />Just the opening was enough to make my jaw drop. And when they brought out the stairs, the bright lights, the snazzy costumes, and the crazy tap dancing for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt8AGmbMatk" target="_blank">the iconic finale</a>, I was in another world. Absolutely top class.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-24979312112380493362017-03-05T15:20:00.001+00:002017-03-05T15:20:25.036+00:00C'est intéressant w/c 27 Feb 2017<a href="http://highline.huffingtonpost.com/articles/en/gay-loneliness/" target="_blank">Together, Alone: The Epidemic of Gay Loneliness (Highline)</a><br />
An article that resonated with many of my friends and tweeps this week. Society accepts us more, but do we accept ourselves? The self-inflicted trauma and judgement we grow up with is hard to shake off.<br />
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<a href="http://variety.com/2017/tv/features/mtv-daria-cartoon-20-year-anniversary-1202000114/" target="_blank">Daria 20 Years Later: Producers Behind MTV's Iconic Cartoon Look Back (Variety)</a><br />
Reading this took me on a bit of nostalgia trip. When I first explained what the show meant to me to my partner, I basically said exactly what most people interviewed in this article said: that it got me through high school, that it kept me sane and that her pride in not fitting in showed me I could survive and would find a way out (cause I always assumed she'd make it out!).<br />
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<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/03/arts/television/buffy-the-vampire-slayer-20-year-anniversary.html" target="_blank">A Buffy Family Tree: 'Bones', and Demons and Rabbid Fans (New York Times)</a><br />
Buffy The Vampire Slayer is also 20. Another show about the horrors of high school that I loved and shaped my teenage years. Yeah, I watched a lot of TV. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-31922880963331102542017-02-28T18:30:00.000+00:002017-02-28T18:37:40.122+00:00Hidden Figures - reviewThis is a review for the book by Margot Lee Shetterly that the recent film is based on.<br />
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What do you do when you have to wait 4h for your delayed flight? You go to WH Smith, of course! This book wasn't in their top 20 Business Bestsellers - but really it should have been. All the things that can be achieved with dedication, grace, talent and intelligence! Inspiring stuff.<br />
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But wait it's about more than those personal stories. There weren't just 3 black women working for NACA/NASA. There were hundreds. There were hundreds of bright women (of all races) who joined because all the men had left to war, basically. That was their break into their amazing careers (digression: interesting to think what would have happened for women's working life had WWII not occurred!)<br />
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So after having fought against an inadequate education system, against prejudice, against expectations - against the System, really, which despite their intelligence considered them only good enough to become teachers... suddenly that System needed them and their minds, a huge number of them, to become Computers (that used to be an actual job title!), Mathematicians, Engineers.<br />
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And, lo and behold, given that opportunity, those minds flourished!<br />
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<b>So this book is also about what can be achieved when governments give everyone the tools and opportunities to succeed. We have to fight to ensure everyone can live to the maximum of his/her abilities, otherwise we ALL lose out.</b><br />
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I was particularly struck by a passage where one of the ladies needs to attend a training course at a local, white, school, and is allowed to enter this long-forbidden space. Only to find it as rundown as schools for black children – <b>a perfect example of how pitting groups against one another, or making one group feel superior to the other, means they are too busy to think about what their common struggle actually is.</b><br />
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"If Mary Jacskon had applied for a job as a janitor, the doors to the school would swing wide open. As a professional engineer-in-training with a plan to occupy the building for the nefarious purpose of advancing her education, she needed to petition the city of Hampton for "special permission" to attend classes in the whites-only school. (...) The City granted Mary the dispensation. (...)</div>
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Her night school classmates were the same daytime colleagues she had known for five years, but it was only natural that she should be anxious at the thought of meeting them on the other side of the physical, emotional – and legal – threshold she was about to cross. Nothing, however, prepared her for the shcok that awaited her when she walked through the long-closed door.</div>
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Hampton High School was a dilapidated, musty old building.</div>
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A stunned Mary Jackson wonders: was this what she and the rest of the black children in the city had been denied all these years? This rundown, antiquated place? She had just assumed that if whites had worked so hard to deny her admission to the school, it must have been a wonderland. But this? Why not combine the resources to build a beautiful school for both black and white students? (...) The cruelty of racial prejudice was so often accompanied by absurdity, a tangle of arbitrary rules and distinctions that subverted the shared interests of people who had been taught to see themselves as irreconcilably different".</div>
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Let's all learn from Mary Jackson and her fellow trailblazers.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-71873670985677332242017-02-18T10:06:00.000+00:002017-02-18T10:50:42.134+00:00C'est intéressant w/c 13 Feb 2017<a href="http://www.lemonde.fr/francaises-francais/visuel/2017/02/07/vous-allez-me-dire-que-je-parle-comme-un-patron-mais-je-ne-supporte-pas-l-assistanat_5075779_4999913.html" target="_blank">Francaises, Francais: et vous qu'est qui vous preocuppe? (Le Monde)</a><br />
As we gear for a presidential election, Le Monde is meeting and interviewing lots of regular French people across the country. Tellingly, the opening question is "What worries out at the moment?" - giving you a sense of the level of optimism filling up the country! What I also noticed in the interviews is that all the people who live in the countryside are talking about their villages emptying and businesses closing, with a feeling of powerlessness. What's to be done about that?<br />
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<a href="https://www.google.co.uk/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#safe=off&q=nazis+warning+from+history" target="_blank">Nazis: A Warning from History (BBC4)</a><br />
The 1997 documentary series is being shown again. It includes many interviews with eyewitnesses and people who lived through the 1920s, 30s and the rise of Hitler. "You swan with the tide", said one. "In 1933, it was impossible to predict 1945", said another. It seems insane now that France annexed Germany's most productive region, the Rhur, as reparation for WWI; that the Nazis had their own paramilitary troops (the brown shirts) and the army and police didn't try and quash them; that the two most popular parties in 1930s Germany (the Nazis and Communists) aimed to destroy democracy and each other (the documentary includes recordings of songs from both groups telling how they would fight to the death to defeat the other!). We would be utterly aghast at this today. Chilling stuff.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_c9IpI_pNGI" target="_blank">Film: Patriots Day</a><br />
I was fortunate enough to get an invite to a pre-screening of Patriots Day, the new film telling the story of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. It's tight, tense, with amazing set pieces (the actual explosion is shown as though you are in it, flying through the air and crashing to the ground). It's very American. It's very patriotic. But it's very well done.<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NJj12tJzqc" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NJj12tJzqc" target="_blank">Film: Moonlight</a><br />
What a special film this is. I don't really know how to do it justice in words. Incredible performances - so direct and moving, beautiful frames and editing - particularly the opening that made me dizzy, and the scene in the ocean. A friend thought the characters were cliches (the good-hearted drug dealer, the crackhead mom, the bully) but the original play is partly autobiographical: these are real African-American lives and experiences, and they can't be dismissed. I'm still processing them and reflecting on them. I think what touched me most was how lonely the main character has been all his life, always on guard - we are shown some moments of connections with others, but they seem so few and far between. I found it heartbreaking.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-42644132097689807672017-02-13T17:29:00.001+00:002017-02-13T17:29:50.434+00:00Pina Bausch - Masurca FogoA woman wearing lots of fur.<br />
Goodbye! Are you from London?<br />
How do you say leg in Portuguese? Perrrrna.<br />
A man launching himself onto a group of other dancers.<br />
Large video projections - of cows (the sertao?), Latin/Carribean ballroom dancers, the sea, blooming flowers.<br />
A woman wearing balloons and telling the story of her primary school teacher everyone hated ('how pretty am I today, she would ask'). She walks around the stage giving and lighting cigarettes to men. They burst her balloons.<br />
A couple pretending to pass dentures to one another so they can eat. Every time they chink their champagne glasses, the man's loses its bottom. They laugh.<br />
Hip.<br />
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Music used in Masurca Fogo<br />
Bau - Raquel<br />
K.D Lang - Smoke Rings<br />
Amalia Rodrigues - Naufragio<br />
Alfredo Marceneiro - Nos tempos em que eu cantavaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-13974013953430937522017-02-04T13:53:00.001+00:002017-02-04T13:53:49.164+00:00C'est intéressant w/c 30 Jan 2017Emel Mathlouthi: Kelmti Horra<br />
Kelmti Horra became one of the anthems of the Arab Spring, particularly in Tunisia, where protest singer Emel Mathlouthi is from. I just heard it this song yesterday doing some research at work. She has an incredible voice - its power reminds me of Mariza's, though hers is clearer.<br />
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I am those who are free and never fear<br />
I am the secrets that will never die<br />
I am the voice of those who would not give in<br />
I am free and my word is free<br />
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<a href="https://www.dissentmagazine.org/article/bargaining-silicon-valley-gig-economy-labor-standards" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.dissentmagazine.org/article/bargaining-silicon-valley-gig-economy-labor-standards" target="_blank">Bargaining with Silicon Valley (Dissent Magazine)</a><br />
Some choice quotes in here, to make you wonder what the rich dudes of Silicon Valley have in their heads:<br />
- certainly a sense of power: "[They] are preternaturally gifted with powers of prediction. (...) Of course, predicting the future is easier when you have the money and power to determine it."<br />
- a somehow disingenuous ignorance of what their ideas could bring about. Think about their lofty goals of transforming the future of work: "The defining feature of the gig economy isn’t really that workers accept jobs through an app on their phone: it’s that they work with no benefits, no job security, and no unions."<br />
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The article reminded me that actually this is not the future of work. It is what work used to be like, and still is for some people: "Designating employees as independent contractors is an old trick that tech companies have merely taken to new extremes. Long before Uber and company, this kind of misclassification was pervasive in the transportation industry, as well as construction, agricultural work, and many other sectors."<br />
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The final paragraph is a call to arms: "If there’s a cue that labor could take from Silicon Valley, it’s that it pays to envision a bolder future. Rather than genuflecting in hopes of being dealt a kinder fate, labor could focus on making its own destiny—one where all workers have collective bargaining rights and access to universal public benefits. That’s no more outlandish, after all, than the idea that a handful of tech magnates ought to decide what society will look like in years to come."<br />
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I joined a union this year.<br />
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<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/27/nyregion/love-and-black-lives-in-pictures-found-on-a-brooklyn-street.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/27/nyregion/love-and-black-lives-in-pictures-found-on-a-brooklyn-street.html" target="_blank">Love and Black Lives, in Pictures found on a Brooklyn St (New York Times)</a><br />
A beautiful dive into the life of a black couple through their photo album, from pre-WWII to the 1970s. The writer found the photo album next to a pile of rubbish on a Crown Heights street, and slowly pieced their life together by talking to neighbours, finding family members, going through archives. From the Great Migration to segregation in the armed forces, to the jitterbug and social clubs, and community life, it's a moving account of a life of great changes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-68570200752486637342017-01-24T22:39:00.000+00:002017-01-24T22:39:00.151+00:00Book: Widow Basquiat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A major exhibition of works by Jean-Michel Basquiat is coming to London later this year (at the Barbican), and I thought I ought to learn more about this artist, because frankly I knew very little beyond the Andy Warhol association and tragic death.<br />
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In a bookstore, my eyes stopped on this memoir and, reading its jacket, I thought, who best to learn about Basquiat than from his muse (and on-and-off girlfriend), Suzanne Mallouk? The book is a mix of Suzanne's stories (told by herself), and writer Jennifer Clements's poetic prose, and is an incredible insight into the life of Basquiat, into the club scene and art world of 1980s NYC, and into his paintings.<br />
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The below are highlights, written in Jennifer Clements's style. This is a great book - art history, really, told beautifully.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Suzanne heads to New York after selling all her stuff at a yard sale, advertised with the sign "FEEL GRAY, MUST EXIT" [note - the power of these words just floor me!]<br />
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Jean comes to the bar she works at every day for 2 months, without talking to her. In the end she calls him Jean. He calls her Venus.<br />
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She works as a cigarette girl or a waitress here and there so they can buy drugs she hides in her beehive.<br />
They stay up for days. They sleep for days. He disappears for days. Some days he only speaks Spanish.<br />
She tenderly gives him baths.<br />
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He paints the letter S on some paintings, for her. He paints words particularly meaningful to him (eg: TAR, because "I sometimes feel as black as tar"). He doodles all over her fridge (she ends up selling it for $5,000). They listen to Charlie Parker.<br />
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Once he has a bit of cash, they go to expensive restaurants. "He always left enormous tips. He loved to shock, even shock with generosity. It was like punching someone." They hire limousines to drive them around anywhere.<br />
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They take more drugs, harder drugs. They break up. She fights Madonna over him, in a bar. He laughs. She burns some of the paintings she inspired. She can't help going back to Jean, though.<br />
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When a sort-of boyfriend, Michael Stewart, dies from being beaten up by the police, she takes on that pain and fights the police, demanding an inquiry, and winning a civil suit for wrongful death.<br />
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There's Andy Warhol. There's Keith Haring. There's Julian Schnabel. There's Debbie Harry, and so many more.<br />
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Suzanne makes her own paintings, becomes a singer, calls herself Ruby Desire, tours Europe then gives it all up. Jean asks her why she left him: she gives him a bath.<br />
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What drove him? Fighting racism. When they visit MOMA in 1982, he says "there are no black men in museums, try counting" and secretly sprinkles water around, like a Voodoo priest. When critics write about his ghetto childhood, he gets furious: "they don't invent a childhood for white artists". Visiting European museums, he exclaims: "That is why I paint. To get black men into museums."<br />
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Suzanne is still alive, now an addiction psychotherapist, still the keeper of Basquiat's flame. "Still after all these years people are looking for me. Dealers, collectors and biographers call me up. They all want to know what it was like to be with Jean. Sometimes I tell them. But they never get it right. I walk the places he has been".<br />
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I'd say this book got it right.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-32296148442330365562017-01-19T15:55:00.000+00:002017-01-21T23:50:50.851+00:00C'est intéressant w/c 16 Jan 2017They are back - my weekly highlights. I am not sure why I stopped this list of stuff that grabbed my attention, but I know I found it useful to reflect upon and share the media/art that I consumed. So, in 2017, I aim to carry on (if only for my own record!)<br />
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<a href="https://www.netflix.com/title/80133335" target="_blank">TV show: Call My Agent (Netflix)</a><br />
Me and my partner were not sure a TV series set in the world of Parisian elites would appeal, but this production is really entertaining. The dialogues are especially strong, full of wit and finesse. For a touch of glamour, each episode features a plot involving a famous French actress or actor, always in a knowing fashion but done very cleverly. The rivalry between two ageing legends, Line Renaud and Francoise Fabian, is hilariously played, and the angry exchanges between Nathalie Baye and her daughter Laurent Smet can only be described as "so French". A deguster!<br />
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Film: Star Wars Rogue One<br />
I massively enjoyed that film. It is very straightforward: the heroine must go on her quest and help save her world, and she does, helped with many a character along the way. It all moves at a great pace, the CGI is fantastic. Superb escapism during these depressing times.<br />
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<a href="https://t.co/A7uPOGTJkp" target="_blank">Article: We Are Not the World (Washington Post)</a><br />
On the new political faultine: globalism vs patriotism. What's right, what's wrong? What to believe? Something to set your thoughts on fire.
"Little unites the new nationalists other than their shared antipathy toward globalism. Mr. Trump’s economic program is as far to the right as Ms. Le Pen’s is to the left. Nor do they have credible plans for replacing the institutions of globalization that they want to tear down, as Britain’s confused exit from the EU demonstrates.
But globalists would be wise to face their own shortcomings. They have underestimated the collateral damage that breakneck globalization has inflicted on ordinary workers, placed too much weight on the strategic advantages of trade and dismissed too readily the value that many ordinary citizens still attach to national borders and cultural cohesion."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-6336249373164534052017-01-15T17:11:00.000+00:002017-01-21T17:12:14.998+00:00What a lovely weekend...<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #fff; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.5) , 0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: 99.375%;">
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A photo posted by b (@benjaminlalala) on <time datetime="2016-11-16T20:58:27+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Nov 16, 2016 at 12:58pm PST</time></div>
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What a lovely, lovely weekend where the beautiful present reminded me of the past in a happy way, not with sadness.<br />
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Friday was like the first episode of Queer As Folk - when I was a twink, I was way too scared to meet people in gay bars, so I never got to be Nathan, and I never thought of myself as a Stuart, but that night I was Stuart and that was fun! The Nathan I met blinded me with his smile, bravery and attitude to life: he will go far I am sure.<br />
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Saturday was like a Sex And The City episode, extended food edition, catching up with true friends and eating starters in one place, mains in another, and dessert elsewhere, cause we can do it now and that felt awesome.<br />
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On Sunday we sang briefly in memory and celebration of little people: overfed, we lounged and kept saying 'we are going to go now', only we didnt cause it was too nice to pet the dog or chit chat for a bit longer. On the bookshelves I spotted Asterix, which took me back to Sundays with a similar feel, reading them all and playing with numerous cousins and telling my mum 'no we can't leave now we've just started to have fun' - when we'd obviously started 4h earlier.<br />
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Gracias a la vida!
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-51850063292371952582016-12-31T22:22:00.000+00:002017-01-22T22:25:49.493+00:00Thank you, 2016!I guess the overwhelming sensation of 2016 will be that of one's stomach dropping - when you realise you wont make that flight, and then you do; when you see the guy who is trying to steal your phone pull out a long blade; when you face the fact that you have to say goodbye; when you hear that Brexit got through; when you hear about a bloody Bastille day; when you read about the death of Prince; when you hear those horrible stories from war-torn countries; when you wake up at 5am to look at the US election results.<br />
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Thinking again, I'd like the overwhelming sensation of this year to be utter joy, the type so strong that you just want to hug everyone - when you first see Brazilian star Ivete Sangalo in the flesh, up there on her bus, singing in the heat to thousands of revellers (you waited so long for that moment!); when you spot good friends across a Brooklyn street and then dance your jetlag away; when Faufau beams her 1-year-old smile at you whatever face you pull at her; when you dine with old colleagues or see old friends in unexpected places and think back on the journey you've all travelled; when the show you've worked hard on is a huge success; when you get an awesome new job; when you visit Venice again, after 18 years, and with your love, at that.<br />
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Feeling grateful.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-39482464578110014352016-10-09T18:30:00.001+01:002016-10-09T18:31:15.932+01:00Ballet de Lorraine - Unknown PleasuresRambling thoughts about Ballet de Lorraine's Unknown Pleasures (part of Dance Umbrella), a performance of five new works by anonymous choreographers (the music, lighting design and costumes designs are also listed as anonymous).<br />
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Is choreography that is a copy of someone else's good enough? And if a famous choreographer just does what we know him/her for, is it interesting?<br />
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I loved the 2nd piece, where 17 dancers constantly turn and step into different formations. I instantly thought of Lucinda Childs' work. If it is by her: yeah, I saw a new world premiere by this legend! If it is by someone else: hum nice but not original, since Childs did it all before.<br />
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So, wait, am I saying that the work is suddenly less good? I still saw the same performance. It shouldn't be actually: regardless of who choreographed it (Childs included), what we saw was not original. It could be someone copying her style, or herself churning out what we admire in her work.<br />
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It shouldn't matter. What matters was the impact we felt, the experience of the moment: those bodies, that music, those steps,<br />
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What makes choreography effective, then? What do we value in new choreography? How much does a choreographer's name impact on my appreciation and enjoyment of the work?<br />
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Questions I can't answer right now, but boy it was invigorating to go into a theatre not expecting anything, apart from the intuition that it would be good (actually it could have been a total disaster).<br />
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Can I ever again lose all my dance baggage when going to see a new work?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-41897362660930562532016-04-26T15:38:00.000+01:002016-04-26T15:38:00.156+01:00Son of Saul - review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Son of Saul is finally here. I first heard about the film during last year's Cannes Film Festival, when I came across <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/may/15/son-of-saul-review-an-outstanding-excoriating-look-at-evil-in-auchwitz" target="_blank">this five-star review</a> on the Guardian website.<br />
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The plot is beyond horrific and made me think 'that will be a film for the guts': Saul is a sonderkommando in the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp, meaning his job is to get his fellow prisoners ready for the gas chamber (without panicking them - "there will be coffee after!", someone yells, "and we need carpenters!"), their bodies out of the chamber and to the crematorium, and finally their ashes dumped in a nearby pond. A boy barely survives the gas chamber, only to die minutes later: Saul recognises him as his son and decides to give him, against good reason and in the face of the surrounding hell, a proper Jewish burial. This leads to an attempt to hide the body, find a rabbi etc.<br />
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A sub-plot sees his fellow sonderkommandos and some kappos (both groups received better treatment) attempting to photograph the horror and get the photographs out of the camp, as well as planning an uprising.<br />
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So, the story itself is intense. Director Lazlo Nemes gives it even more power by always focusing his camera on Saul. We face him head on as he watches new victims arrive, we follow him closely as he walks across the changing room emptying the pockets of the clothes left behind by the people we can hear screaming and banging in the gas chamber next door. His face is rather impassible. We are deep inside horror.<br />
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As audience members, there is no escape: you have to watch and feel your stomach tie itself up in knot. We hope he will achieve his goal, even though we are unsure why he is pursuing it (at one point one of his mates tells him "you have no son!"). We also hope the film will go all Hollywood on us, give us some distance from the action, but there is none of that. We are focused on Saul 90% of the time, and at the edges of the screen, we can see bodies and scared women, we can hear shouting German Nazis and bullet shots.<br />
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Nemes shows us what happened, and how it happened - the truth of it all.<br />
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But he does not look to explain why. So what does it bring to the table? My husband refused to watch the film, saying he felt it was exploitative. "I don't need to know how massacres happened. Families were decimated and some people go off and get funding and make money out of their stories. The Holocaust is the worst period of humanity: how can they make it watchable like that?"<br />
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It did make me think how working on this film must have felt (a choreographer is listed in the end credit) but still my conscience tells me this is a profound film, effective and powerful.<br />
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The next day, I watched the Storyville documentary <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/nov/19/my-nazi-legacy-review-the-poison-of-the-past-lives-on" target="_blank">My Nazi Legacy</a> on BBC iplayer. It is sort of completely opposite of Son of Saul. Human rights laywer Philippe Sands follows two German men whose fathers were high profile Nazis, and says himself at the beginning that he wants to understand why and how it all happened.<br />
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He talks with them at length about their families, how they deal with this heritage, how they feel about the atrocities their fathers committed or helped commit, and takes them on the locations of some of those atrocities. Sands takes us and them back 70 years, and tries to understand: one man simply says "my dad loved Hitler and would have done anything for him", while the other refuses to believe his was guilty of any part in the Holocaust, despite evidence unearthed by Sands. Another great watch.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-2054017567038336312016-04-05T17:30:00.000+01:002016-05-15T19:07:10.572+01:00C'est intéressant w/c 4 Apr 2016<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/agnes-de-milles-artistic-justice" target="_blank">Agnes de Mille's Artistic Justice (The New Yorker)</a><br />
I was doing some research on female choreographers for work, and found this really interesting article about Agnes de Mille - arguably the most successful of them all. She was very critical of herself, very opinionated, full of ideas and a great writer, which makes for a great read.<br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/29/magazine/theres-only-love-and-fear-on-chers-twitter.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/29/magazine/theres-only-love-and-fear-on-chers-twitter.html" target="_blank">New York Times series: Social Capital</a><br />
Analysing the tweets of a celebrity.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b075pm41" target="_blank">A Dancer Dies Twice (BBC Radio 4)</a><br />
A documentary on dancing, and letting go, and moving on.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/03/arts/dance/living-and-breathing-martha-graham.html" target="_blank">Living and Breathing Martha Graham (New York Times)</a><br />
Current dancers with Martha Graham Dance Company tell us why they love her work, her technique, and why it got under their skin. Enlightening.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-71280104770929586812016-03-24T22:10:00.000+00:002016-03-24T22:10:00.883+00:00I don't really know what really kept me up until 2.30am...<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I don't really know what really kept me up until 2.30am. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was hot. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"> was cold. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was thinking about the last moments of Harvey Milk (am finishing his biography - the moment he saw Dan White with a gun and must have thought 'oh no!"). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"> was thinking of the last moments of OJ Simpson's ex-wife and her friend (am watching American Crime Story - what terror). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was reliving the emotions of our Brazil trip. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was excited about doing pecs at the gym in the morning. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was si</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">nging Shirley Bassey's After The Rain to myself again and again ('after the rain has gone something inside me is dying for you'). </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was thinking about the intense one-man theatre show I'd seen with Dan and Michael earlier that evening, and one of its monologues: who are we afraid of disappointing in life? Ourselves? Others? (who are they and why?). </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I was worried my phone battery was going to die (it did the night before, I couldn't explain it, no alarm that morning, it made me late for work). </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">M thought I was asleep as I was very still, but in my mind thoughts and melodies were racing through, one taking over the next; in my body my senses on high alert. There seemed to be no end to it, but sleep did win over, without me being conscious of it. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Normally I realise it's coming because I get a spinning sensation (like my bed is flying through a space tunnel) or I start having work ideas (which I have to jot down quickly) or I start thinking ridiculous thoughts (could I get Chaka Khan to sing at my 10th wedding anniversary, wouldn't that be a nice surprise if she just rocked up in the pub we've hired and sang us our song?).<br />Tonight, will you sing me lullabies?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-67480234456322605182016-03-21T22:12:00.000+00:002016-04-05T17:33:03.891+01:00Brazil trip #6<span style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>I did sleep a good 4-5th of our flight but still I feel well tired</b> here on this couch next to a power socket by gate 43 of Lisbon airport. It makes me so emotional: I look wistfully at a beach volley competition TV broadcast (we played beach volley during our trip, it was hilarious), I cry at a Guardian video about an Iraqi cat reunited with his family now refugees in Norway ("Kundush! My life!" sobs the mother when he is returned to them - I can't wait for the cat's biopic to come out at the cinema), I friggin' go all "that-is-so-sad" reading that Umberto Eco has died (question: has anyone every finished one of his novels?), and I react passionately to the lack of available choice in fruit juices at the cafe (haven't they heard of acerola in this country??!). Time for a nap.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-90567745811083871712016-03-20T22:07:00.000+00:002016-04-05T17:32:45.087+01:00Brazil trip #5<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b>So in the end there was nothing to fear about today</b> (Sunday), because we said our goodbyes last night instead.</div>
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After a stunning day of hiking and swimming in 3 waterfalls and 4 water holes, and stressfully making dinner (gazpacho, Brazilian chicken), we went to dance forró in a bar. Why oh why did I decide to have a caipirinha with cachaca? (I blame my friend A) </div>
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I started welling up as the singer/accordeonist was asking "meu baião... coração... arranca essa dor do meu peito pra e<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">u não chorar" - I didn't get all the words but I understood the words for pain, chest and not crying. (Can you see where this is going?)</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">So in the end I just had to cut it short ("Shall we go, M? I am tired") even if I didn't want to say goodbye.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">So in the end I actually don't look down to hide my tears, I look up into the sky, as though gasping for air, my throat is too tight and my chest feels too heavy. I sob in V's neck, I cry on G's shoulder, J, A and T join them to make a circle around me and jump and sing and jump and flood me with their joy for living.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">Here's to you, beautiful ones!</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-82152431772362565512016-03-17T22:01:00.000+00:002016-04-05T17:32:30.454+01:00Brazil trip #4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>This morning Thamires, sat in the back of the VW Gol we had rented for the day to go around this gorgeous national park, told me</b> <b>how much she enjoyed reading my posts about the trip.</b> "Even if I'm there anyway. They are so nice! They take you there!" (I paraphrase).</div>
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At the end of the day, as we hike down from the top of the Moro de Inacio peak (it takes 10 mins + Valmir did it in flipflops - we are not that adventurous), giddy with the breathtaking views we just enjoyed, and after having been to a waterfall deep in <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">a canyon and swam in a lovely river creek, she says "Ben I can't wait to read your latest chronicle tonight!".</span></div>
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"Oh I don't know if I can write about today, there is too much to say", I reply, thinking that it would be hard to describe how beautiful the landscapes are here, how magical it is to see hundreds of butterflies flying across the dirt road and by the water, and all the flowers, insects, birds all around.</div>
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But also I thought I couldn't write because I am feeling quite anxious: on Sunday we say goodbye to our merry gang of friends, old (the ones we came to see on this trip to Brazil) and new (the ones we made during the recent intense days), and it breaks my heart already. </div>
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I am dreading it so much. You know that sensation before hugging someone you don't want to part from... I tend to sort of clear my throat while looking down on the floor (as if the courage to face the moments ahead could be found on the floor!). Also I tend to hope the other person will cry too, and first, so I can say it is their fault I am crying now. Well it was always their fault, but not in that way.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-43373881641976952842016-03-14T21:55:00.000+00:002016-04-05T17:32:08.220+01:00Brazil trip #3<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><b>It's 6pm and the beach hut we stop at to have dinner has actually closed its kitchen. </b>(Cause it's a Wednesday night I guess?) But the live band is still playing, and the small crowd of people is loving it so we decide to hang about. At first we watch from the side, then we start swaying our hips, then we get into the groove. Behind us the beach is long, sandy with waves perfect for the handful of surfers still in the water. We face towards many tall palm trees: at their root </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">the sky is that light orange (the color of the fruit juice Valmir made us try yesterday - fruit name unremembed, am pretty sure it ends with a 'va' sound?), at their top the sky is the purple/dark blue of the coming night. People are dancing all around us. A little girl (7 years old or so, big afro with a bright yellow ribbon) makes a choreography (right arm round on 1 beat/left arm round on the other/both arms together slowly on 2 beats) and everyone starts copying her. </span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Are we on the set for an advert for Havaianas, Coca-Cola, or the Partido de Trabalhadores?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-69794813626995914242016-03-12T21:54:00.000+00:002016-04-05T17:31:42.981+01:00Brazil trip #2<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><b>So Sunday started scarily with that mugging (see previous post), but it also ended magically</b> - with a visit to our friend Victor's grandma. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Raised to be a lady, she was a natural hostess. She chatted and chatted and chatted (and Michael and I just nodded, understanding 1 word in 5...), asked questions and told us about her love for the local football team (she has written a story whose main character is the club's mascot, a canary bird).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"> She also told us she loved playing the</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"> piano ('adoro tocar o piano!' - this I understood clearly), and then invited us to listen to her. I was a little late in the parlour, as I was admiring the several paintings she had made and were on display in the living room (some were naive collages, others on plates, many bouquets of flowers, and fishes on glass). And then I heard she had started to play. The instrument was really out of tune, but wow she could play it! </span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">What made it even more magical is the coincidence that she played Autumn Leaves (one of Michael's favourite songs), and then went into playing a fado she had composed herself for her parents (her dad was Portuguese, from Madeira). And I love fado! What were the chances? This holiday is an emotional overload.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-1806434543408656192016-03-11T21:45:00.005+00:002016-03-11T21:51:46.517+00:00Brazil trip #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><b>Things I said I would do if I ever got mugged</b> (you know, the things one says while watching a stressful movie scene): 1. Scream loudly "I am being mugged!". 2. Scream loudlly "Police!" 3. Kick him in the balls. 4. Punch him in the face while holding my set of keys. 5. Throw what he is after across the street. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Things I did not do when I got mugged by a crackhead with a very large knife: all of the above. In the typical post-trauma, guilt-trip way of thinking of my family, I would </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">spend lots of time thinking about what I could have done: kick his knee? pretend to fall so he would stop holding my tee-shirt so tightly? Only later did it cross my mind that maybe he had another weapon, actually, so what I did do was the only right answer.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br />Things I did do when I got mugged: 1. Said "oh not my phone there are all my holidays photos in it!! Por favor!!" (our friend got his phone taken from him at Carnaval the night before so at this rate we aint gonna have many photos of the event to show you!). hahaha I tried to plead a poor crackhead for the mercy of my first-world digital memories! hahaha 2. I refused to take it out of my pocket, but then he started counting "one.... two...". </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br />Which made me realise I was, actually, one second away from disaster. (If not the big one, at least something very painful!). I thought about my partner, helplessly watching from the side, about my family, about our Brazilian friends. I gave him my phone and the little bit of money I had in my porta-dollar.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br />In the picturesque cobbled streets of this old Salvador neighbourhood, as the sunrise bathed the crumbling, colourful houses and the stray cats slowly walked in the middle of the deserted road, the likelihood of disaster striking was actually higher than I thought.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-37456808156407274182016-01-30T18:24:00.002+00:002016-01-30T18:24:56.741+00:00You've been kidnapped. You can call on the characters from one television show to make your rescue attempt. Which show do you pick?This question has been circulating on social media, and thinking about an answer got me to remember all the TV shows I used to watch as a teenager/young adult. Surely the best rescuers would be there...<br />
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- Buffy and the gang is an obvious choice. Kick ass strength, sass and magic. I'd be free before dawn, for sure.<br />
- the girls from Charmed! I can't even remember what all their magic powers could do... the actress from Who's The Boss could see the future, and the actress from Beverly Hills 90210 could make things move. The third sister, Piper... I have no idea. Also they had this pretty guardian angel friend, and I remember their grandmother being pretty ace.<br />
- if they could get along, I'd give the characters from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0115320/" target="_blank">The Pretender </a>a try. Jarod can do anything, really. They may take a bit of a while to come up and execute a plan though. But I would have all the patience in the world if I knew I'd end up in the arms of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0919117/mediaindex?page=2&ref_=nmmi_mi_sm" target="_blank">Michael T. Weiss</a> by the end.<br />
- I was obsessed with The X Files (even joining the French fan club and having an article published in the monthly magazine!) but Murder and Scully wouldn't be my first port of call. Only if the three groups above were busy on another mission would I contact them.<br />
- Closer to 2016, I think the police team of Brooklyn Nine Nine would kill it. See their Halloween heist episodes for a reminder how they are a great team and can take on any challenge.<br />
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And, for a laugh... the geeks of Dawson's Creek, the jolly crew of The Nanny, the foursome of Will & Grace! Those would be hilarious.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-24867694380134861832016-01-16T19:12:00.005+00:002016-01-16T19:13:28.066+00:00Lord of the Dance: vom vom vomIn life, what I like best is finding myself in a situation I would not have anticipated at all only a few weeks before, doing something not ordinary or that I thought I would never do.<br />
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This week, such a moment took place. I went to see Lord of the Dance at the Playhouse Theatre in the West End. People look to me for good shows, so all of them were very surprised when I told them I was going. It's a long story, but basically I befriended one of the performers and wanted to see him/her in action. His/her backstory was fascinating, s/he was living her/his dream on that stage, so I thought it was pretty cool.<br />
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Plus I found £10 tickets.<br />
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And I knew that, on some levels, the show would be terrible, so bad it would be hilarious. So the idea of being a bit drunk in the final row of the balcony (so steep! I had a bit of a headache at the beginning) watching my friend dance really appealed.<br />
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Now, my friend was great - all the dancing cast was great. So much talent on that stage, light leaps, heavy and amazingly fast footwork from the dancers, and also a really strong female singer. Sadly they were all lumbered with the least tasteful production I've ever seen on stage.<br />
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I can only list the affronts to beauty, which had me gasping throughout:<br />
<a name='more'></a>colour-saturated videos of unicorns calmly eating grass in a lush forest by a waterfall, blonde virgin-type girl versus brunette seductress plotl ine, actually a non-existing story for most the show, short sparkly dresses I saw on sale at the local street market today, a really annoying gymnast with the stage presence of a worm, bad robots, good robots.<br />
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And worst of all, two female violinists who were not playing live. In the first half, an entire number was just for them two to prance around the stage, pretending to play a catchy tune. Except they were faking it. What's the point of that? We hardly needed any more eye-candy: the girl dancers provided plenty already. It really made me question the integrity of the creative team behind the show - and of the performers themselves. How can you live with yourself when you say "I am in Lord of the Dance, I pretend to play the fiddle for 5 minutes in each half of the show".<br />
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It made me so angry. It made me irate to think audience members thought this was a good show. They had been massively short changed. Five minutes from the Playhouse, you have the stunning-looking and funny Kinky Boots, you have English National Ballet dancing to a full orchestra, you have the high production values of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. How can this Lord of the Dance, this phenomenon - as the opening video made clear - be compared to them?<br />
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Sadly, this show is to be avoided at all cost. Even the high ironic laughter factor is not enough for it to deserve support. Better to go watch an Irish Dance competition.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-82323081859546609132016-01-06T20:26:00.000+00:002016-01-09T20:27:50.212+00:00Getting out of bed this morningI've noticed that in the morning I need to think of something to get me out of the warmth under my duvet. I don't get out of bed for the sheer joy of living my life. I need something concrete, and often immediate.<br />
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Today though, what got me out of bed was not the thought of having a latte at Gail's Bakery on the way to work (so silky), the urge to look at overnight sales for my shows currently running in town (I know, it's sad), the anticipation of the post-gym adrenaline rush (I know, it's sad) or my plan to break my work day with lunch out of the office with a friend.<br />
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Today what made me jump out of bed and still feel its warmth as I was getting ready was the realisation that in one month I will be in Brazil! And this gave me enough strength to face the day ahead. B-A-H-I-A!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-29756199232372285362016-01-02T14:17:00.000+00:002016-01-02T14:17:42.906+00:00Christmas holidays cultural dietLots of reading and discovering done over the Christmas holidays. Many of these come from the <a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/features/2015-jealousy-list/" target="_blank">Bloomberg Jealousy list</a> (a list of long form articles from other publishers that Bloomberg writers wish they had written) and the Best of Books 2015 lists that are ubiquitous at this time of the year.<br />
<a href="http://highline.huffingtonpost.com/articles/en/the-myth-of-the-ethical-shopper/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://highline.huffingtonpost.com/articles/en/the-myth-of-the-ethical-shopper/" target="_blank">The Myth of the Ethical Shopper</a>, by Michael Hobbes (Huffington Post)<br />
We can never really know exactly where that cheap tee-shirt we bought came from: on the maze of the world's production and logistics machine. It made me think that the only way out is to, quite simply, consume less.<br />
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<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/08/10/learning-to-speak-lingerie" target="_blank">Learning to speak lingerie</a>, by Peter Hessler (New Yorker)<br />
A fascinating article looking at recent Chinese immigrants to Egypt, who somehow end up setting up lingerie shops. Along the way, it covers cultural differences in making business, women's liberation and expectations, language barrier, local marriage customs and more.<br />
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mckaycoppins/36-hours-on-the-fake-campaign-trail-with-donald-trump#.guVoD36v1" target="_blank">36 hours on the fake campaign trail with Donald Trump</a>, by McKay Coppins (Buzzfeed)<br />
Revealing portrait of the man who was thinking, maybe, of running for governor of New York. Now we are not laughing quite so much.<br />
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<a href="http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/12/06/magazine/the-last-dalai-lama.html" target="_blank">The last Daily Lama</a>, by Pankaj Mishra (New York Times)<br />
What will happen when the current Dalai Lama, who is 80, dies? I learnt a lot: about the history of the Tibet-Communist China relationship, that the protesters banging drums outside his talks are actually not Chinese communist plants but part of a Buddhist sect worshipping a different deity, that he is hilarious (to the question "what is the key to happiness?", he replies "Sex! Money!") and that he is obsessed with his bowel movements. A great read.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/35297c3a-6414-11e4-8ade-00144feabdc0.html" target="_blank">A brief stop on the road from Auschwitz</a>, by Goran Rosenberg<br />
The son of two Auschwitz survivors tells their story, from a Polish ghetto to a new life in Sweden. I found their destiny completely gripping and extraordinary. Like the writer, I kept wondering how they had been able to carry on, to cope with the losses and the residual fear and grief. I wasn't completely sold on the format of the writer writing to his dad ("you stopped... you taught yourself...") – I found it a little over the top and grating after a while.<br />But... did you know that the inhabitants of the Lodz jewish ghetto had to give up (in a weird 'voluntary way') 10,000 of their children under 10, sick and old, against the promise that nothing else would happen to them (a lie, of course). Did you know that West Germany offered reparation to victims of the Holocaust, but the form-filling was so crazy and denigrating it was really a terrible affront to their suffering? Did you know some Jewish people who tried to get to Palestine by boat after the war were turned away by the British, and sent back to camps in... Germany?<br />
Now I understand my grandad's bitterness (he was a POW for 4 years in a German farm) a bit more.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3912209485988152884.post-72696652603616586382015-12-31T14:19:00.000+00:002016-01-02T14:21:36.758+00:00Thank you 2015! <blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="6" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">For ringing you in with an old friend, for Laos, for Rome, for Valmir & Victor, for Charlotte's baccalaureat, for vintage Michael joy, for Sintra, for getting to know Andy & Jon & Dan better, for long-awaited and surprise babies, for the fitness push, for Bristol, for the summer cycle rides, for the validation from people i shouldnt realy care about, for that meal at Bao with Nicolas, for learning to draw a little bit with my little neighbours, for Faustine's blue eyes, for singing with friends and family, for stolen kisses on empty sidewalks late at night, for Netflix, for the freedom from a certain type of worries, and for work and life plans that make me look forward to 2016!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0