I’ve never been a diehard ‘Blair Witch Project’ fan, so I was iffy on Cloverfield after everyone started comparing the two. I knew the whole hand-held, shaky cam thing could be an effective tool (if you don’t believe me, just watch Irreversible), but there has to be more to it than just that.

Anyway, screw all of that, Cloverfield is excellent! It’s squealingly, heart-racingly, hide-your-eyes-behind-your-fingers but peek anyway… good. The premise for the film is pretty simple - yuppie guy from Manhattan gets job offer in Tokyo and friends gather for a final farewell, with his best pal filming it all for posterity. Suddenly there’s the sound of a large explosion and everyone piles on the roof to see what’s happened.

After this, my friends, the proverbial shit hits the fan. It’s not a terrorist attack… it’s not a natural gas explosion or some other act of god… nope, it’s a … well, it’s a… hmmm… it’s a great big… I say cricket-looking… Jim says dust mite-looking (really? dust mite? that’s the best he could do??) thing that likes to eat people and hatch tons & tons of pissed off babies.

I can not begin to tell you how much better this is than Blair Witch. The hand-held cam pumps you full of adrenaline and leaves you giggling with glee (if not a little motion sick). Awesome.

I highly recommend it for horror fans.

I’m not really sure why it’s taken me so long to read Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Perhaps the subject matter? I’m sure it didn’t help. Also I had a particularly obnoxious professor who felt it her duty to remind us weekly that Nabokov was the best thing since sliced bread. I couldn’t stand her and, I guess, by osmosis, I couldn’t stand poor, unsuspecting Lolita either. What a shame. It wasn’t until a few months ago, sitting in a restaurant in Vienna talking books with Pat from Euro Like Me, that I finally decided to take the plunge. He’d read Reading “Lolita” in Tehran and, never having read Nabakov’s novel either, couldn’t understand the lure of the original…

So here are the nuts & bolts: (taken from Library Journal) Nabokov’s classic story about a middle-aged, expatriate European man’s obsessive love for a 12-year-old girl is a beautifully produced novel that pushes the boundaries of the medium. While Lolita continues to raise the hackles of would-be censors even today, most readers will marvel at the restraint and playful humor with which Nabokov limns his tale. This doesn’t begin to cover it…

Some parts are incredibly uncomfortable to read: (on his preference of ‘nymphets’ between the ages of 9 & 14) The bud-stage of breast development appears early (10.7 years) in the sequence of somatic changes accompanying pubescence. And the next maturational item available is the first appearance of pigmented pubic hair (11.2 years). My little cup brims with tiddles.

Some are tragically sad: At the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.

Some highlight the aberration… the complete fucked-uppedness… of the pedophilic mind: I must confess that depending on the condition of my glands and ganglia, I could switch in the course of the same day from one poll of insanity to the other - from the thought that around 1950 I would have to get rid somehow of a difficult adolescent whose magic nymphage had evaporated - to the thought that with patience and luck I might have her produce eventually a nymphet with my blood in her exquisite veins, a Lolita the Second, who would be eight or nine around 1960, when I would still be dans la force de lage; indeed, the telescopy of my mind, or un-mind, was strong enough to distinguish in the remoteness of time a vieillard encore vert - or was it green rot? - bizarre, tender, salivating Dr. Humbert, practicing on supremely lovely Lolita the Third the art of being a granddad.

Others are poetic as all get-out: I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else. ~ On playgrounds and beaches, my sullen and stealthy eye, against my will, still sought out the flash of a nymphet’s limbs, the sly tokens of Lolita’s handmaids and rosegirls.

But it’s this passage that, for me, sums up the whole of Lolita so well: I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais! And there were times when I knew how you felt, and it was hell to know it, my little one. Lolita girl, brave Dolly Schiller. I recall certain moments, let us call them icebergs in paradise, when after having had my fill of her - after fabulous, insane exertions that left me limp and azure-barred - I would gather her in my arms with, at last, a mute moan of human tenderness. And the tenderness would deepen to shame and despair, and I would lull and rock my lone light Lolita in my marble arms, and moan in her warm hair, and caress her at random and mutely ask her blessing, and at the peak of this human agonized selfless tenderness (with my soul actually hanging around her naked body and ready to repent), all at once, ironically, horribly, lust would swell again - and “oh, no,” Lolita would say with a sigh to heaven, and the next moment the tenderness and the azure - all would be shattered.

The second I finished Lolita I started right back at the beginning. I was excited… really excited (ok, maybe excited is a poorly chosen word in this case) about what I’d just read, still, I didn’t want to hastily declare it one of my favorite novels. So I went back… read it again… re-read my notes and highlighted text, and added even more notes and highlights.

I started driving Jim crazy by stalking him through the flat reading excerpts that made him cringe and wonder how on earth I could insist this was one of the best books ever written. He’d finally had enough when I pulled back his curtain mid-shower and read: ‘And I also knew that the child, my child, knew he was looking, enjoyed the lechery of his look and was putting on a show of gambol and glee, the vile and beloved slut‘. “That’s it,” he said, “Can’t you find somebody else to talk to about this? I mean, surely there’s a support group? Message board? Therapist? Something?”

Thus began my fascination with what others thought of Lolita. And here’s where it all gets a little disjointed. But I want to fit in some of my thoughts… and, hey, it’s my blog…

• It seems to be predominately women who love Lolita. I’m thinking this is half because women, by nature, are more likely to romanticize the situation and overlook the pedophiliac angle… and because I imagine very few men are comfortable in any way identifying with the subject matter.
• I agree 100% that Humbert loved Lolita, but I balk at some of the reviews claiming this to be the best love story ever written. Unrequited love? Sure. But reciprocal, healthy and mutual love… what are these people smoking??
• I find it fascinating that a small but vocal faction of women who loved the book feel the need to vilify Lolita (Dolly… Delores… Carmencita) for her cruelty to Humbert. It’s almost as if - in order to love & approve of Humbert, Lolita must be the persecutor and not the victim. No consideration is given to the possibility that Lolita’s circumstances formed her as a person.
• Nabokov is an extremely gifted writer. His long, complicated sentences unfold like exotic hothouse flowers. And kudos to him for taking no prisoners in the telling of a difficult tale. I mean, it took balls to write a story like this. He had to anticipate the backlash. Still, he didn’t shy away or give his readers an easy out - a good reason to forgive Humbert. Yet they still did/do. That alone I admire beyond belief.

So Pat, without a doubt, one of the best books I’ve ever read. It’s warm and funny and scary and confusing and (at times) an outright assault on everything polite society brought you up to expect…

Anyone who’s read my blog very long knows there are certain American foods I still crave. Rice-A-Roni being chief among them. So, when I decided to preoccupy myself by learning how to cook during this normally depressing downtime, the first thing I did was look into adapting recipes to mimic lost favorites. What follows is a chicken-flavored rice-a-roni recipe using ingredients easily found in Deutschland:

INGREDIENTS:

• 6 Tablespoons chicken bouillon
• 6 Tablespoons dried parsley flakes
• 2 Tablespoon sugar
• 3 cubes of Maggi zwiebel - crushed (onion powder)
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder (can use celery flakes if you’re not a garlic fan)
• 1 cup uncooked long grain rice (I keep forgetting to look for vermicelli at the market, but if they have it I plan to add some next time I make it)
• 2 tablespoons of butter
• 2 cups water

DIRECTIONS:

Combine the first 5 ingredients in an airtight container (I quadrupled mine so I’d have lots left over) - shake until well mixed and store up to 6 months. This makes the seasoning mix. To prepare, saute uncooked rice and butter until rice is golden brown. Add water and 1/4 - 1/3 cup of seasoning mix. Bring to a boil - reduce heat, cover & simmer for 20 minutes or until rice is tender.

Anyway, it’s been so long since I’ve had the real deal that I may be way off base saying this is close, but I’m pretty sure it is. And it’s yummy - and quick. So all you expats out there - enjoy. Oh, and thanks to a freak burner/cord homemade strawberry jam mishap I’m now the proud owner of a new toaster… isn’t it cute:

(I really do heart toast…)

Ok, I took a look at your favorite movies thinking I could glean a little something about each you based on them. Sadly I didn’t make much headway. I do have a better idea who all I’d invite over for a movie night though…

Anyway, in my search for deeper meaning I came across this (what your favorite movie says about you: the book). The authors of the book also have a website promising to analyze you based on a top-10 list of movies you provide. I quickly plucked 10 amazing fims from memory and came up with:

You are the Existential Savior

These philosophical heroes have beautiful minds and like to use them. They question reality and search for a deeper meaning in life.

I automatically distrust assessments where everyone sounds great. I mean, what a wonderful world it would be if everyone was a philanthropic deep-thinker with zen leanings and a heart of gold. But let’s face it - babies are left in dumpsters and wars happen and unworthy people like Paris Hilton thrive… the world is far from perfect. Still, as I looked at the profiles of other ‘existential saviors’ I couldn’t help noticing they listed some great movies (it actually made me wish I’d put a little more thought into my selections - not that my movies aren’t great, they are).

Anyway, let me know what you are if you end up taking the test. My profile is here. And now I’ll respond to all of your movie comments below…

Tessa: I’m pretty sure I saw Paper Moon long ago but I don’t really remember it. I need to to check it out…
Mud: Office Space is definitely a popular film. I liked it but wasn’t madly in love - although any movie that pays tribute to sitting at home watching Kung Fu is a-ok with me.
Rositta: Chocolat is the first time I really got the whole Johnny Depp hotness thing. He makes one hell of gorgeous gypsy.
Disenchanted: Loved, loved, LOVED Pan’s Labyrinth! I agree, it’s one of the best films I’ve seen in years…
James: Ouch… loathed?? Say it ain’t so! I can’t knock your taste though: Ghost Dog is excellent (it almost made my top 10) and Big Lebowski is a perennial favorite around here.
Adam: Back To The Future? I see it as a like, but not a favorite. I need to have you over for a movie weekend at some point. There’s bound to be something we can find that you’ll love more…
CN: Dr. Strangelove is a classic… love it! Pretty much anything with Peter Sellers I love.
Lulu: Wow, your movie stumped me. I had to look it up- I’ve never even heard of it… but now that I know, I need to check it out.
Blythe: Truly, Madly, Deeply is another one I haven’t seen (but at least I’ve heard of it)… and I have fond memories of Usual Suspects because it’s back when Kevin Spacey didn’t suck. Go Keyser Soze!
Lisa: Aw, you’re a hopeless romantic! You’re right about the Julia Roberts thing, but there are more people who like her than hate her… I’m the one in the minority.
Sarah: I’ve never seen The Commitments, but Once was good. Hot Fuzz was great, too… have you guys seen Shaun Of The Dead? If you like Hot Fuzz you should love SOTD (which made my top 10 favorites list, by the way).
Remus: Between Tootsie and Little Big Man, it pretty much proves there’s nothing Dustin Hoffman can’t do. Very good film.
More Cowbell: Yep, Chocolat was great… classy Juliette Binoche and yummy Johnny Depp, with Dame Judi Dench thrown in for fun.
Caffinated Cowgirl: An elegant choice…Audrey Hepburn rules.
Katie: Ok, I can’t get behind the whole Bull Durham thing (although I did like the long slow, wet deep kisses line), but Life Is Beautiful was a great movie. And no - we haven’t made it to Auschwitz yet although I really, really want to go.

Today the girls are finally back in school after Easter break and now Jim is home sick. He spent all of yesterday moaning and groaning like a bad porno, and then begged me to drive him to the doctor this morning because he was “too sick” to drive himself. After sitting in the dr’s waiting room for 2+ hours with him, I have no doubt I’ll soon be too sick to drive too. I did feel kinda bad when he came out with a diagnosis of flu, a note excusing him from work for the rest of the week, and a temp of 40.5 - wow, I have no idea what that is in fahrenheit anymore. I guess somewhere along the line I quit doing the mental conversions…

It was really weird in the waiting room… some mouth-breather to my left kept staring at my book (Lolita). I couldn’t figure out if he had pedophilic leanings or if he thought I did. It wasn’t even the creepy old penguin classic cover either, so I have no idea what the fascination was. Had I known I’d have an audience I would’ve picked something really interesting to read.

That’s the question I was asked last week and it’s taken me almost 6 days to come up with an answer. Seriously, can most people just shoot this information off automatically? Can you?

Personally I dread these kinds of questions… they’re so finite. I couldn’t instantly tell you my favorite book (although I could narrow it down pretty quickly) or band or song either. And yet they’re probably pretty important answers to pretty important questions. I mean, if I were to meet you for the first time and you told me your favorite movie starred Will Ferrell and your favorite book was written by Jennifer Weiner and your favorite band was the Backstreet Boys… well, I’d politely excuse myself and try really hard never to be alone with you again.

I suppose in ways stuff like this could end up being a prescreener for future friendships. Not that it would always work… I might still end up liking you even if you claim that the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy is the best thing you’ve ever seen. Likewise, I may instantly appreciate you if you say you love Lars Von Trier; only to figure out down the road that you’re snobby…

What I do know, though, is this: my favorite film of all time… after much deliberation and soul searching… is The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou - a movie people either love or hate. It’s funny and sad and unpretentious and blunt in surprising & delightful ways. In other words, it’s just about perfect. And who knows- maybe this favorite of mine says loads about me as a person? Feel free to either embrace the information or view it as a reason to approach with extreme caution. Or both… heh

So now it’s your turn. What’s your favorite film? Think it over and let me know. Then I’ll see if I can figure out what it says about you…

In the past week antisocial little ol me has had two highly entertaining encounters with fellow expats. First we met with Lee & Mark in Hamburg last Friday.  They’re not bloggers but they somehow managed to find my blog anyway, and I’m glad they did.  It really was the highlight of our trip to Hamburg (which was otherwise marred by bad weather and a broken camera).

And last night we met the Regenbloggers - Cliff & Sarah, who are exploring Dresden as I type. Again we had great time.  I even almost impulsively asked them if they wanted to get together again before they left town (practically unheard of from me).  But I figured between sightseeing and the enormous, sexy tub in their kidless hotel room, they were probably, er, busy… heh

So thanks to all for a great time.  My faith in mankind is slowly being restored… one meetup at a time.

Oh wow.  I have no idea how the ’site unavailable’ thingy got turned on.  I’d love to say I’ve been busy behind the scenes working on some sexy new features for Eurotrippen, but I’d be lying.

For now I’ve got to run - as I type Sydney’s giving me a makeover, and I’ve learned the hard way never to piss her off while she’s wielding a curling iron…

Now that we’re back from Hamburg it’s officially the worst part of the year for me. From April to mid-June there’s a loooong stretch of nothingness. No breaks for the kiddos means no traveling for us. Nothing exciting happening. No big plans being made; just long days of more of the same. I hate it.

That said, I’m determined to put the time to good use this year. Lose the weight I’ve gained over the past six weeks (went on a Kinder ‘Happy Hippo’ bender), organize my cellar storage units, learn how to cook healthy & delicious meals from scratch, clear out the backlog of movies I still need to see, answer all my unanswered email, write the great american (living in germany) novel…

No sense getting bored or anything.

It’s probably telling that I look on inaction with so much unease. Why I’m so afraid to slow down I’ll never know. I just seem to function best in a perpetual state of chaos- lists and appointments and pda’s reminding me that it’s time to have my teeth cleaned be damned… they’re all for normal people who like to do things like garden or scrapbook and throw potluck get-togethers.

Me? I get juiced on my own variant of kinetic energy, and live in fear of any downtime. Maybe I just think too much? Still, I have no idea what am I running from, or why I have to keep spinning like a human centrifuge. I mean, who’s to say if I don’t stop (or at very least slow way down) I won’t eventually burn out?

Oh well, these are clearly questions for someone far smarter than me. For now I’ve got cellars to clean and stories to write. Self-examination will have to wait for another day…

Tomorrow late-afternoon we leave for Hamburg. I haven’t packed yet. All our clothes are dirty, and Robyn just stormed out of the room after yelling that if we loved her we’d never make her go on ’stupid’ vacations again.  Apparently her life is, like, nothing when she’s not with her friends.

Jesus.

Please, someone with a grown daughter tell me this phase ends at fifteen & a half, because I’m not sure I can make it to her 18th birthday without wanting to wring her angsty little neck.

Then there’s the weather. Today I watched out my window as it rained, sleeted, snowed like crazy, was menacing and dark before turning sunny, and then pattern repeated again. I’m just waiting for frogs to fall from the sky… this is some seriously end-of-days, armageddon shit.

But, come what may, we’re leaving tomorrow. And Robbie is too, despite her dire warning that she’ll ‘make us miserable’ if we force her to go. Two can play at that game…