Skiing for dummies

So, in a moment of total insanity, I signed up at the last minute for a free ski trip being run for Hunter students - free lessons, rental, lift pass and transport, we just had to pay for lunch. It sounded like one of those experiences that you shouldn't pass up, and I guess because I don't currently have any broken limbs I still think that's true. It should be said though, that even after four consecutive days of racing (on the river that is) after a tough training period, I have never been so sore in my life as I am right now.

The day started with some... interesting lessons. The instructors were, in my view, pretty much crap. You put on your skis, they stick you at the top of a small slope and say, make a wedge shape with your feet, and then off you go. No, here's how you stop, or, if you're going to fall this is the safest way to do it. So after five 10 year olds have successfully completed the slope I'm up, thinking to myself that I'm a lot bigger than them, and am probably going to go faster and further. Sure enough, I'm picking up speed and heading straight for an instructor with no idea how to turn. I shout and he sort of looks at me quizzically before I crash into him, he drags me to my feet and walks off... I wasn't impressed. Me falling over spectacularly was certainly a theme for the day, I really couldn't figure out how to slow down and almost abandoned the whole deal at lunch, but my fellow graduates from training school Aster and Olivia persuaded me to brave the lifts, at least once. I fell down on the way to the lifts which was a great start.

I was whining about something or other... typical!

Training school graduates

On the way to the lift - that's me, on my arse.

Getting on to the lift was scary enough, it just sort of comes up behind you and knocks you over. Once safely on, it was actually very peaceful and comfortable up there, slowly going up the mountain. I even cracked a grin!


Which was, of course, before I knew what would happen at the top. You have to ski off the bloody thing... which I did not manage the first time, that's for sure. As Aster said, it was very similar to the scene from Bridget Jones 2, if you are indeed familiar with that work of cinematic genius. Anyway. I was at the top of the hill, suddenly realising that walking down wasn't really an option. And so down we went, me mostly on my bottom, getting snow into my jeans and other fun things. It was mostly terrifying, but for the odd few minutes I got the hang of it, incredibly exhilarating. I think we did a total of 5 runs, two of which I completed without a single fall, which is pretty damned good in my book. Unfortunately my last run I was knackered, and just kept falling over and laughing hysterically because I didn't have the energy to get back up, and finally skidded home exhausted.

Much steeper than it looks, I tell you!

Look, I'm wedging, weeeedgiiing!

All in all, it was a good day, I made a couple of new friends, but if I ever go again I will insist on learning how to slow down/stop without falling over. My bottom is bruised and partially skinless, and will not forgive me for a repeat offense. Also, I want ski somewhere without all the 5 year olds whizzing past you while you wobble around, terrified. Not funny. Skiing is perhaps best left to those with some co-ordination, but I have to say I'm impressed with my performance, and would like to point out once again that I have no broken limbs (which is not true for all the students on the trip, unfortunately).

In other news... despite massive soreness, I walked several miles through the city today - which was suddenly a very pleasant temperature, apparently spring has at last arrived! The conclusion to my trip was a visit to Barnes and Noble to hear Jhumpa Lahiri and Mira Nair talk about The Namesake in both its book and film incarnations.


I studied The Namesake last semester in my New York Writers class, and vaguely enjoyed it, so I thought I'd go along. I was more interested in hearing Lahiri as I haven't yet seen the film (coincidentally the very first trailer I saw in New York) but she didn't really have much to say, and looked completely miserable the whole time. Mira Nair was actually far more interesting and certainly something of a character. She told a number of great anecdotes about the making of the film, which made film making sound, not for the first time, like a very attractive idea. Maybe screen writing is the way forward. Or something. Anyway, I'm very sore and tired now, so I'm going to bugger off and do some homework. Tomorrow night is a three way poetry slam off between Urbana (the weekly slam I go to) the Nuyorican poets and Bar 13. It's going to be amazing, national level slam poets at their best - seriously I can't wait! Night x

The Big Freeze

In an illadvised attempt to save money and get into shape, I have begun walking the two and a half miles to school (and then back again) on a daily basis. My legs do hurt like crazy, but I have seen way more interesting New York type stuff than I usually do, and I will be taking my camera (plus new batteries) some time soon to give you an idea. Right now I would simply like to convey that I walked to school, in 45 minutes, in -9 degrees this afternoon. After class I caught the train downtown to the Bowery for the poetry slam (awesome as ever) and walked home. I have just checked a few sites, and I now understand why I thought I was going to die. The current temperature outside is -12, but with the windchill it is -19 C.

Seriously guys -19. (And thats -2 F for you American weirdos)

I am hardcore, and I wanted you to be aware of this fact. That is all. Oh that, and my short paper on my film adaptation of Jane Eyre was read as an example in class, so maybe I will be a director after all.

Seriously though, - 19.

Quo Vadimus?

This morning I watched the sun rising over the East river (which isn't a river) having not slept all night. These are not pictures from this morning, which was rather unspectacular other than being a sunrise, which is in inself pretty special. Another day we managed not to blow our selves up completely. Rather these are pictures from another morning, many months ago, when I was busy waking people up so I had someone to share the sunrise with, and then forgot to share the photos (or at least I think I did, sorry if you've seen these already).
I know I write a lot of painfully self-conscious rubbish in this blog, and I'm sure I'll look back on some of it and wince, but it's a pretty good place for me to keep coming back and reinterpreting everything, coming to new realisations and a new understanding of it all. I stayed up all night talking to people and thinking, not to mention drinking, and came to the revolutionary conclusion that other people need not be miserable for me to be happy - and more importantly, that I need not be miserable because other people are happy. And maybe I am living at the end of a particularly violent emotional yoyo, but at least I'm not numb, and I am slowly getting some perspective.
2 years ago, I was living in Oxford with no idea how I was going to survive the next 18 months, and an increasing sense of desperation. I could never have foreseen where I would be, and I have to assume that the same is true now, and in there is no imagining where I will be in the future, but I might as well assume something just as good will happen. I can't possibly know where I'm going, but I'm happy to be here, raw and stinging and blinded by the sun as I am.

It might be awful, but this track has been on repeat incessantly this morning, and if it's stuck in my head, it should also be stuck in yours.

http://www.burninthespotlight.com/index.php/2006/listen-all-good-things-must-come-to-an-end-ft-chris-martin-unreleased-track/

Anyway, now that I've decided where I'm going isn't as important as where I am, I think I'm going to bed. Night.

Hawrrible Movies

After watching the abysmal Saw III last week, I thought my love of horror films must surely be coming to an end. There was absolutely nothing good about the film; the "plot twist" was predictable and uninteresting and the gore was all unnecessary and not even particularly convincing. The scariest thing about the movie was undoubtedly the acting. I found myself wondering why, given all the horror and nastiness the real world has to offer, I was wasting my time watching people being horribly tortured to no end other than the film makers squeezing out the last few bucks from this initially promising series. The original Saw was, as I remember, pretty good, with a balance between the ingenious and gruesome traps it has become famous for and the intense psychological drama of the two men stuck in a room, with the prospect of having to saw off their own feet. It's is certainly no cinematic masterpiece that would change anyone's life, but it's pretty good entertainment, and that's the best justification I could come up with for watching any horror film.
After watching The Descent, I had my faith in horror films completely restored. It's bloody scary, and most of that has nothing to do with the very creepy, gollumesque predators who really don't do anything until well into the film. It has all the really scary stuff; people trapped, in the dark, in very confined spaces, with a lot of long drops, running around frantically. That was more than enough to get my palms sweating pretty early on, without any need for bizarre puppets pedalling tricycles and wanting to "play games" with people. Whatever. And it's really well done, with beautiful lighting and interesting shots, there was actually some quality to be enjoyed here. The weird flesh eating, wall climbing monsters, are nothing next to a bunch of tomb raider type women - not one of them your horror genre helpless damsel - slowly going nuts. These are some pretty strong women, prepared not only to go into places that I wouldn't even want to venture near, but also dealing the best they can with all the really scary stuff, like losing a child or having your best friend betray you. If these girls are losing it, I'd be dead in seconds. But they face their fears, encourage one another, and fight and keep fighting. And (now this is a spoiler, if the rest wasn't already) it's not enough. They all die horribly, in the dark, alone - and that's the kind of ending that I like. Things do not always end well, there is not always a "right" thing to do, and doing it will not necessarily get you saved. Even more interesting is the notion of the "unreliable narrator" - which I'm pretty sure transfers from literature to film, though perhaps not as clearly. The main character is shown from the very beginning of the film to be deeply affected by the death of her child and husband, and her hallucinations and brutal attack in the caves on the woman with whom her husband had an affair leaves you wondering about her state of mind. Are the monsters - more scary because they appear to be deformed humans - representations the demons that she is unsuccessfully fighting? Does she in fact, kill all her friends? I feel like figuring out the "truth" is perhaps not as important as having different possibilities - the film leaves space for ambiguity.
It ends with the heroine escaping the caves, running screaming into the forest and making a victorious getaway in her truck. Or at least so it does for the Americans who saw in the cinema. The uncut - and original British version - returns to the caves where the heroine awakes, having dreamt her escape, and hallucinates that she is with her dead daughter. I love that the Americans couldn't deal with the hopelessness of the actual ending, they have to have the heroine survive at all costs. This alternate ending completely destroys the ambiguity of the film and limits its impact, and I think it’s a real shame it was shown in that restricted form. What's the point if you don't wonder about it afterwards. Is it really all a big metaphor? Would women all kill each other if trapped in a confined space? What is it that has driven humans to explore tiny, confined spaces for thousands of years? I loved it.

I'm currently taking a class called "Victorian novel into film", which is undoubtedly the most boring of all my classes. It's been incredibly tedious, right up to last week's homework, when we had to describe how we would shoot a scene from Jane Eyre. I loved trying to shape the author's intentions into something that would work on screen, and realising just how much every intricate detail reveals about the characters. Not for the first time, I decided that working creatively in the film industry would probably be my dream job. I don't think I'm cut out for directing, but designing props and sets or even editing looks like a lot of fun. I think, however, it may be a bit late to change my degree. Again. Maybe I can just be a really bad film critic.

Oh, and that's what they call them in Brooklyn. Hawrrible...