Tag: The Traitors-UK

Every Day

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. The weekend was lovely, if not particularly productive in terms of getting things done, but I do need to rest from time to time. Yesterday I had to do some work for Paul–nothing really, just didn’t want to do it, you know how that goes. I slept later than I’d wanted, but it rained overnight and was still raining in the early morning, which is why I was so asleep and didn’t want to get up. The rest of the day was damp and chill, if humid and gray, but I did manage to get some things done. I didn’t find the time change particularly grueling this year; I just went to bed early on Saturday and slept in a bit. I did have some trouble sleeping last night, and got up to yet another boil water advisory and low water pressure. Heavy sigh. I hope I can shower and have a normal Monday this week–but the fates do seem to be conspiring against me. Oh, well; there are always worse things.

Yesterday was restful which was very nice. I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked on the house yesterday, but that’s okay. I spent time icing my calves to try to help the Achilles tendons stop being sore–they are very much better than they were, it’s barely noticeable now–and made dinner and did do some things before we watched LSU Gymnastics at Florida, and then went to The Traitors-UK again. (I’m hoping there’s enough of it to get me through the Festivals, at any rate. Overall, I had a lovely, relaxing and restful weekend, which was necessary and lovely. I got all errands done that were necessary, did some clean up around here, and got the rest I needed in order to face down this week. I think we’re busy in the clinic this week, too–and I’m a bit behind on my work, so I need to use today to get everything caught up before I am back in the clinic tomorrow (Monday is my administrative day where I try to get everything caught up from the week before). No pressure there, right? I’ll manage somehow. I always do.

I’m dreading looking at the news; over the weekend I don’t pay attention much because I can only take so much, so I limit my exposure to it as much as I can. It isn’t that I don’t want to be informed or know what’s going on in the world around me, but the reality is “24 news” doesn’t mean reporting on news for twenty-four hours, it means regurgitating the same news over and over again while everyone you can get on camera to discuss, argue and debate the same news until you really want to throw something sharp and hard through the television screen. Who have we bombed and/or invaded today? What rights are being curtailed by either Congress, executive order, or the most corrupt and lawless Supreme Court since the Dred Scott decision (which hounded Roger B. Taney for the rest of his life, as it should have)? What other allies are now refusing to share intelligence with us because our president and his court are all Russian assets? (I remember the days when not a single Republican dared support anything Russian; their entire party was grounded in anti-Russia sentiment, only to do a complete 180? The North remembers.) I remember still all the Vietnam news reports when I was a child…

As I mentioned, I didn’t sleep that great last night; I had a fever during the night and woke up to a damp pillow and a damp spot in the bed where I’d sweated. Obviously, I flipped the pillow over and rearranged things so there was a layer of blanket between me and the damp spot in the sheets, and I didn’t feel that great. I woke up several more times during the night–love waking up to a boil water advisory, but at least there was enough pressure for a shower this morning, praise Jesus. I have something going on with my stomach again, but I am hoping it’s not a relapse, and not entirely sure what I would have to do to ward that off. I think maybe I ate too much yesterday–always a possibility–and that’s what the issue is this morning (and was overnight). I also forgot to take my pills yesterday, which also could be a part of this stomach annoyance.

And on that pleasant note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

The Colossi of Memnon, during the Nile flood

Trouble in Shangri-La

Ah, Shangri-La. That name used to be very much in the zeitgeist when I was growing up; it’s a mythical place, a utopian paradise, a warm, fertile valley hidden in the Himalayas where no one ages, from a book (and two film adaptations) by James Hilton titled Lost Horizon. (In Tibetan Buddhism, I believe it’s called “Shambhala”–also the title of a hit song by the band Three Dog Night1 in the early 1970s.) I saw the original 1937 film version on the late movies when I was a kid, and became fascinated by the story. I read the book (Hilton also wrote Good-bye Mr. Chips) and really liked it, but you also had to suspend some serious belief because there were definitely holes in the story that didn’t make sense that both Hilton and the film’s director simply glossed over and ignored. The movie was remade as a musical in 1973, I think–it bombed and is considered one of the worst movies ever made; I’ve never seen it because I’d heard it was terrible (although I am now thinking it might be fun to do a project watching major Hollywood bombs). Shangri-La used to be a part of the zeitgeist, but it has faded as I’ve gotten older–funny how that happens; like how no one ever talks about the gold in Fort Knox anymore, or quicksand (Hanna-Barbera have a lot to answer for when it comes to the threat of quicksand).

Here we are on Sunday morning and the time changed, which I always hate. Can’t we just do away with Daylight Saving Time? The extra hour in the fall, while appreciated, never makes up for the lost hour in the spring. I had planned to get up early to offset the lost hour, but that didn’t happen and I stayed in bed until nine (eight, really); the bed was comfortable and Sparky was warm and purring, okay? I could have easily stayed in bed a few more hours, but Sparky eventually got hungry so I went ahead and left the comfort of the pile of blankets and made coffee and fed him and here we are, you know? I am about to get another cup of coffee and put some bread in the toaster. I bought a “gourmet” jar of strawberry preserves yesterday, just to see if it really is better than the Smucker’s brand I usually get; I love preserves so much more than jams or jellies, which I think is the result of my parents being from the country, and us bringing home jars of preserves back home with us when we visited Alabama; my grandmothers were queens of canning–the memory of their blackberry preserves makes my mouth water a bit. I do miss that about going to Alabama in the summer–the fresh fruit and vegetables right off the field.

The gourmet preserves are delicious, by the way.

After my late start yesterday, I managed to run my errands and make groceries, and had some things delivered later on once I was home. Paul saw his trainer and rode the bike for a few hours yesterday afternoon, which gave me a chance to do some chores around here (more of them to do today, too). Once the chores were taken care of and I felt a bit tired, I sat down in my chair to finish off season 2 of The Traitors-UK, and I am noticing a pattern with the different casts–your chances of winning are exponentially higher if you’re an attractive younger man; that was Season 2 from beginning to end, with handsome and sweet and young charmer Harry getting rid of at five other traitors (UK’s season 2 is very traitor heavy; they start with three and recruit several times; there were three of them going into the final six! Today I am going to start season three of the UK version; it’s absolutely delightful to get sucked into the show and vested in the players. I also love the challenges, almost more than the game of Faithful v. Traitor, to be completely honest. I really cannot wait to write my essay about the show.

For the record, I am not as familiar with opera as I am with ballet–and even ballet I am not that familiar with, other than I know it’s an incredibly strict discipline that requires years of training and conditioning and rehearsal. What ballet dancers can do with their bodies is astonishing; it’s like figure skating in the way that it’s actually an incredibly difficult and grueling sport made to look like art. Opera is much the same, only it’s vocal and breathing training, and again–the ability to hit and hold those insane notes requires dedication and devotion and hours and hours of training. Dismissing these art forms as whatever it was the clown prince of the Kardashians called them this week, which was pretty ballsy for someone making a career in the arts and coming from a dance family. It was very tone-deaf for someone who likes to paint himself as some sort of renaissance man, but I also think he’s kind of been reading his own notices and his current mistress comes from the most narcissistic family that has ever lived–so we also can’t rule out the negative influence of the plastic she-thing he sleeps with. I’ve no desire to see his latest movie, and I sincerely doubt he gave a performance as excellent and layered as the dual role Michael B. Jordan played in Sinners.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Hope you have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow as I make my way into the spice mines!

  1. They dropped the “h,” though, calling it “Shambala.” ↩︎