Ha ha, I am the best wife ever

I was talking to Mister Monkey on the phone the other night and he asked me what I wanted for my birthday.
"I don't really want anything," I said, "honestly, I have all the books and films and music I need."
Then yesterday I bought two new albums off the Internet, and today I was in HMV's 3 DVDs for €30 sale, and I got The Wind That Shakes the Barley, a Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers set that has four films in it, and yes, I know it's sad, but a copy of Wimbledon also.

So I guess there was stuff I wanted after all. Ha ha.

Oscars 2007

Or, who cares anymore?

Maybe that's not fair. I'm glad that Martin Scorsese finally got a best director Oscar, even if it's for a film I haven't seen, but I'm of the opinion that the Oscars started to matter less when

• they stopped saying "and the winner is..." and started saying "and the Oscar goes to..."
• all the men stopped dressing in formal wear and started looking like they were going to one of those soap opera funerals
• I stopped recognising half the people there
• I stopped fancying anyone there

Although my trusty People magazine feed did provide me with this great exchange between Joan Rivers and Michael Sheen, who plays Tony Blair in The Queen.

Rivers: What do you think about Tony Blair? Cause you're English
Sheen: Well, Welsh.
Rivers: I know, but Wales IS in England.
Sheen: Well, over here it is.

Got a birthday coming up?

I know I have.

What do you get for the pet owner with everything? One of these.

Don't believe the impact it can have? See it on the cover of the Portland Mercury.

Set Up, Joke, Set Up, Joke

In possibly the least catchily-titled book ever, Rob Long brings us another volume of What It's Really Like to Write for Television. Apparently what it's really like is a lot of sitting around, either worrying or thinking of stuff to write, or listening to other people's problems, or listening to network people give you notes, or trying to interpret fruit baskets that have come from the network. If you read his very funny Conversations With My Agent, you will already know what this book is about, more or less.

This time, however, it seems a little different. Everyone in his cohort is a little older and they're starting to get pushed out by younger people, even the writers. Everyone has a little less job security than they used to. The shows get lower ratings, they have less of a chance to make it before they get pulled, and everyone just seems to have a narrower window of opportunity and a greater air of desperation as a result.

It's interesting that this is his perception of things, because he is, essentially, a bit of an outsider who, if IMDB is correct, hasn't had a show on the air since 2001. So of course he would feel out of touch and wary. I'd be interested to read something from the point of view of someone who is actually working, but of course, they don't have time to write about what they're doing, they just have time to write.

30 Rock

Please. Do yourself a favour. Find it somewhere and watch it. It is the best thing on television. Really. And there isn't even anyone in it I fancy, so you know that must be a strong recommendation.

American Buffalo

Currently running at the Gate, this is a beautifully designed and excellently acted production of a slightly bewildering David Mamet play. Slightly bewildering in that, unlike other David Mamet plays, you're kind of not really sure what exactly has happened by the end of it, but you know it's something really bad. Or maybe nothing at all has happened and you kind of imagined the whole thing like when you look at something out of the corner of your eye and it looks weird and out of place, but then when you look back it's completely normal again and nothing has changed.

The play concerns Don, played to perfection by Sean McGinley, who runs a shop that sells, you know, stuff. Bits and bobs. Whatever he can get his hands on. He just kind of opens his door and lets things collect inside on the shelves, and they do. People also collect inside on the shelves, and Don gives house room not only to Bob, the slacker idiot man-child guy, played by Domhnall Gleeson (who steals the show right out from under the other two, doing a great impersonation of a very laid-back David Thewlis) but also to Teach, the twitchy, angry, well, David Mamet character, played by Aidan Gillen. Between the three of them they plan to do a thing to or with a guy, concerning a coin. The coin may or may not have been stolen and may or may not be stolen again. There's no way to really tell. Okay, I'll confess that maybe there is some way to tell, but when you're just trying very hard not to cough and that's all you're concentrating on, it can be easy to miss things.

I remember seeing the film of this some years ago and thinking it was very boring. The play, however, is excellent. The three actors play off each other so well, and the whole thing is fast-paced and funny, as well as completely bewildering. I recommend it, if you like Mamet already. If you don't, this isn't going to help you any. But things are... what they are.

Warp Spasm! part 2

There is a bit in an episode of Friends where Ross, having stayed up all night reading Rachel's letter detailing how he is to blame for everything that went wrong in their relationship, flies into his standard "we were on a break" rage. The funny thing about this is when he says "oh, and by the way, Y-O-U-apostrophe-R-E spells YOU ARE. Y-O-U-R spells YOUR!"

If you are a warp spasm person, you understand how this feels.

Today's warp spasm is brought to you by the good people at some stupid Irish advertising agency, who currently have an ad running about how you should buy glasses if you can't see (no, really?). The ad goes like this:

JULIET: Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

ROMEO: Eh, I'm right in front of you. In fact, you're standing on my foot.

ACCENTMONKEY (not actually in the ad as such): OHMYGOD! Wherefore means why, you fucking morons, not where! Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name or, if thou wouldst not (wilt not? I can't remember), be but sworn to me, my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet. WHY! Not WHERE!

Exeunt, pursued by a bear.

You are completely surrounded by armed BASTARDS!

Life on Mars is back. Okay, it's lost a tiny bit of the shine of the first series, but it's still great.

Antony and Cleopatra

While we were in London recently, we went to the RSC's production of this, which starred Patrick Stewart and Harriet Walter, two marvellous actors. As usual, it is funny to see how much of the chat in the play deals with Cleopatra's advanced years and how much she is knocking on, when Walter is in fact ten years younger than Stewart. But never mind. The play itself is quite strange. There are not many familiar lines in it, apart from the bit about age not withering her nor custom staling her infinite variety, and I'm not really sure what it's trying to say about anything, other than it's nice when your bloke loves you enough to top himself when he thinks you're dead, and it's a pity women are a bit mental (familiar Shakespeare themes, some might say). It does have the feel of a late play to it, and I believe (which means I've just looked it up) that Shakespeare wrote it just after Macbeth, which is interesting, because I was just remarking to Mister Monkey how, for all that Cleopatra comes over as a bit flighty in it, she is nevertheless supportive and does not interfere in his work at all, making her the exact opposite of Lady Macbeth, who was somewhat ambitious. Everyone in the play seems kind of tired of fighting, and the battle scenes don't have the same vim and vigour as they do in other plays. Perhaps Shakespeare was tired.

That said, it's a fun play, with plenty of "my lord, some important action has just taken place offstage!" moments, and it seems much easier to follow than other Shakespeare plays, but that could be because I actually know who most of the characters are already, and don't need the members of different factions colour-coded in order to help me out, though they were anyway. Thanks, RSC, for admitting that Shakespeare can be a bitch to follow sometimes.

Even apart from the colour-coding, this production had several of the strengths and weaknesses I have noted in RSC productions (I R CULTUR) over the years: amazing leading performances that actually manage to make Shakespearean dialogue seem almost conversational and naturalistic, combined with some slightly ropey and earnest supporting characters (including one particularly bad messenger, who got a great write-up on the billboard outside, for reasons that escape me) and a basic set. It's all about the stars. Of course, for Antony and Cleopatra, that was the case anyhow.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

First can I say how amusing it is to me that my husband FORBADE me to buy a copy of this book in case it frightened me, and so I borrowed it from a friend, in true underground style. I have now left that copy with another friend to loan around his circle, and will buy first friend a new copy to cherish and loan out to more people. So it goes with truly classic books that don't have an enormous marketing push behind them.

So, to the book itself. Well, you're either the kind of person who reads and loves zombie books and watches zombie films, or you're not. I can't really explain the joy of having the shit scared out of me by zombies, although the friend who loaned me the book did liken it to the creepy experience you get from watching a load of old Protect and Survive films, and it is a similar feeling. It induces, in me at any rate, a genuinely thrilling and almost paralyzing fear of the dark, of walking on the beach alone, and of being in a house in the country that has a ground floor seemingly composed entirely of flimsy glass (burglars take note), such as my brother's. The result is a satisfactory period of about a week of sleepless nights, and possibly many more nightmares to come, depending on how often I think about the book.

There's a lot to think about. Max Brooks has considered almost every possible aspect of a global zombie outbreak which results in boggling figures, such as the idea of the continental U.S. playing host to some 220 million zombies, and chilling stories, such as the one about the family that flees north above the snow line only to find itself in the midst of brawling, starving families and a bleak future. The little touches are amazing. The big sweep is incredibly detailed and beautifully faithful to current political and topographical regions. And, like all the best horror or science fiction, the zombies can stand for any major threat you care to name. Eurabia, greenhouse gases, the suffocating crush of an uninsured aging population, dumbing down of society, they can stand for anything.

This is one of the most frightening, most inventive, most fun books I have ever read. Just please don't ask me to read it next to a darkened window.

Is this the greatest news story EVAH?

See it here.

Thanks, as usual, to the greatest news aggregator site EVAH!

The Russian Debutante's Handbook

Not a lot of reading has got done round these parts since the trip to Paris in November. I blame novel comedown for this, although I could just as easily blame this book, because I've got to conclude (sorry Eoghan, who bought it for me, back at Christmas 2004) that I just didn't really like it. I'm very hard to please with comic novels, and this one just outstayed its welcome, had too much detail, a lead character I didn't really care about, and a bunch of secondary characters who just don't really do anything. It also commits the greatest sin that a comic novel can, which is that it is not only not very funny, it's nothing like as funny as it thinks it is.

In a way, though, it does make an interesting companion piece to Of Human Bondage, which I am ashamed to say was the last book I read (back in November!), because it is also about a young, feckless man making his way in the world without much in the way of guidance. He also gets in over his head because of a woman, and ends up travelling to other countries and living on not very much money. But there the similarities end. I'm not sure I'd recommend this to anyone, but I suppose it could just have been me and the mood I was in when I read it.

Have you read it? What did you think? (I keep forgetting to put these little questions in. Not that it matters, noone answers them.)

Red setters

I had a dream last night that we owned three huge red setters. They were enormous, much bigger than real dogs. Any time we tried to make food in the kitchen, they would circle around and wag their tails and the wagging would sweep all the food to the floor, and the floor of our kitchen was covered in broken crockery and we didn't care because we had these beautiful dogs.

I've always loved red setters. I love the red and white ones too and, yes, even teh setters of teh oppressor. I don't know what it is, but they've always been the dog I've wanted to own. Some day I will have one, but they seem to have completely fallen out of fashion (maybe the breeders are more responsible than other breeders, or maybe it's just because they have such a reputation for being kind of crazy and destructive, although very sweet) and they don't even show up in rescue. Which is good in one way, but in another way, it means I would have to buy one in order to fulfil my dream of owning one, and I just am not someone who buys dogs.

Perhaps, as usual, I am overthinking this.

Let's post drunk!

I've had a large measure of sippin' tequila and a couple of beers and I'm pleasantly drunk. What shall we talk about? I've been talking about the horrors of Celebrity Big Brother all day with my internet pals, and I'm bored doing that now. I'm only still watching it because I am fascinated by older Dirk Benedict. I haven't seen him, even a picture of him, since about, what, 1985 or something? It's so strange to look at him now. I feel like I went to school with him or something. He looks so much the same, but older. And more right-wing. It's so strange.

Celebrity Big Brother would be greatly improved by less bullying and racism, and more Dirk Benedict face down in the mud scrambling under a net with Jermaine Jackson and H from Steps singing the music from the A-Team out of the back of a limousine at him. I mean, how could any Sopranos dream sequence compete with something like that?

You know what? I feel down. And why? Because I haven't finished reading a book since the middle of November, and I kind of miss writing my book.

And I miss Jack and Stephen.

Feel warm though. Yum yum. Sleeps.

ATP countdown starts NOW!

Mister Monkey got tickets to ATP for Christmas. Okay, he didn't actually get the physical tickets, because that would be against the law or something, but he got to look at the charge for them on the credit card. We were talking about it today, and we are kind of excited about the fact that we seem to be the only people we know who are going. This would be bad if we had booked a four-person chalet, but there will just be us in our hotel-like room.

It turns out that loads of people we like are playing, such as Joanna Newsom, and Papa M, and some interesting acoustic thing which may or may not be members of Spiritualized and Spacemen 3, and of course Low and Dirty Three. Oh, and various Nick Cave/Dirty Three side projects.

Cat Power is also playing. She is someone I have not been well disposed towards in the past, but People say that her album from 2006 is amazing, so maybe I will have to try and hear it and reevaluate her and become a huge Cat Power fan.

No comet

Mister Monkey and I got up at 7.30 both yesterday morning and this morning to see Comet McNaught (or McNaught's Comet, in the old money ). Clear skies above us for miles around, but a nice line of clouds all along the horizon. What is the point, I ask you, of having a completely clear view of the eastern horizon if you cannot use it to look at comets heralding the end of the world or somesuch.

Oh well. At least there was a knifing wind.

You could say our expedition was FOR NAUGHT!

I thank you.

Insert joke about having started and finished here

Magnus Magnusson has died. This is very sad. He was an excellent host of a very hard quiz, a solid historian, and an avuncular all round good bloke who remains one of the TV icons of my childhood.

Not looking well

Step up to the plate, my first Dead Pool candidate for 2007. You are Hosni Mubarak. Apparently little Hosni is not very well. So he is number one. Number two is Fidel Castro, of course.

Now I only need to worry about the other eight. And some sort of retribution for wishing harm on Mubarak and Castro.

Things you learn on a Friday night

Number one: Jade Goody is rubbish, but friendly.
Number two: Not even David Tennant can make the Friday Night Project watchable.

Dead Pool 2007

Well, I was rightly arsed over in my 2006 Dead Pool. Only one of them died, and he was what, 81? So that gives me 19 points.

RUBBISH!

Frankly, Team Monkey is going to have to come up with something better this year. I will be doing my research, I can tell you. The Economist will help me, I'm sure.

Who do you suggest?

Actually, three questions in and the question thing is already really annoying me, so I'll stop.