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 |  My second blog. Enter at your own peril. |
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This is my second blog on writing.com and I thank my loyal legion of fans (thanks mom) for leading me to this. Enjoy the banter, join in when needed, and send all the people who need a little abnormal dose of reality my way. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
I guess I’ll start off this blog by telling you all my big news... I’ve just re-contracted to stay out here in Saudi Arabia for another 2 years. I submitted my list of wants (basically just more money) and received my counter offer a little over a month ago. I declined the original offer as I felt I deserved more, much more. I wrote a letter formally declining the offer, stating why I felt I was worth more, and waited. Of course I went high, knowing what I would actually take to stay here. With Kirsty being here, my figure to stay is less than it would have been. Anyways, they came back with an offer that was more than expected and I gladly signed on for another two years. The only trouble now though is that the new salary doesn’t start until the end of July. And I’m already busy spending it in my head. Lol. Also, and I’m probably more happy about this than the raise, Kirsty has decided to start her own portfolio on writing.com. Check out her port at Alrac Tabb   as she’ll need all the support and friendly advice from you guys as I do. She’s already got a couple of poems up there, a blog, and a short story. And I’m betting she becomes more popular than the Penguin is.Now, moving on to the blog part of the blog. You know what I hate? Apathy! I really can’t stand the little bitch they call Apathy. Even worse, I can’t tolerate the people who seem to thrive on Apathy. Apathy will always get a capital “A” with me! I hate that little bitch so much I have to put the right emphasis on it. Life is busy. Life is hectic. Hell, life can move so fast at times you swear you were a virgin one minute, and praying to God that no one will watch that video you made with the donkey, two Finnish midgets, and a girl they call the “gorilla” the next. I get it. Life happens. And it never happens the way you expect it to either. Something always seems to pop up and ruin a plan or two. I have no problem with that. In fact, I empathize because that’s the kind of guy I am. No, my problem is not with people who are forced to take what life throws them and can’t do something. Uh uh, not me. My problem is with the people who agree to do something, or want to do something, or didn’t do something, and then just go through the motions without putting an ounce of effort into making a difference. Yeah, you all know those people. Don’t you fucking hate them too? And if you think I’m being too strong in my vocal damnation of these people I implore you to come and spend a year or two where I am right now. To be fair, I’ve encountered this everywhere and not just here. You see; I’ve had a long running feud with that little bitch Apathy. Too many people in this world just accept what is happening and don’t do a thing about it. Fine, if that is the way you want to be. But if it is the way you want to be, keep your trap shut because you have might not have lost your right to say anything, but I certainly still have my right to not pay any damn attention to anything you want to complain about. Here’s a novel concept for you – instead of complaining like some thumb sucking pre-scholar, why don’t you get off your fat hairy overweight ass, and do something about it. Yeah, that’s right. Do something about it. Stop being part of the problem and try to be part of the solution. I hate to talk about politics but I’ll lay it out for you simply – you didn’t vote, you don’t have the right to complain about the government. If you voted and your man lost; complain all you want because at least you tried to have a say. But you didn’t vote, so didn’t try to change the way it is, so you should just put a cork in it and be glad that you’ve only got 4 years of this before you have to face that life altering decision about whether or not you stop reading porn and playing video games in your grandmother’s basement and get out and vote! Vote for the independent party if you want. This way you can at least hold your head up high and say you tried to make a difference. The thing that is really pissing me off these days, and I don’t care how many of my fellow actors read my blog, is the general malaise in which they are treating this group. We are all busy out here, and I would love another night at home to write, to catch up with people, to read more, but I made a commitment to people and I want to honor that commitment. If I see something wrong I will bring it up. We have planning on doing a dinner theater at the start of June and we are so far behind because too many people just don’t give a shit it offends me. If you don’t want to do if for yourself, fine. But other people are relying on you and that is what really irks me. We had a letter emailed to the group about voting to continue or to quit. We have 16 actors, only 7 have voted. That should tell us everything we need to know about the attitude towards this production. Fine. Let’s scrap it. But can someone stand up and show me they have hair on their nutsacks and just come out and say, “I don’t want to do this anymore!” Save me the time and effort of trying to write a script. Save someone else the hassle of worrying about what to wear. Save us all the time and effort it takes to get to the venue each week. I’m the only one that has to cab to either and I do so willingly. Deep breath. Phew. I told you I hated that little bitch Apathy. I’m only surprised I managed to stop when I did. Cheers, The Penguin |
| I briefly touched on the subject of plagiarism yesterday and a couple of comments left in response mentioned something about how ideas aren’t protected. This isn’t going to be a blog about whether they are or not. Nope, not this blog. This blog is going to be about something else, slightly related, and not entirely not derived from what was left on my blog yesterday (as well as reading some forums about Stephanie Meyer). On an aside, people seem to be giving her a hard time lately and accusing her of having no merit, childlike fantasies and writing skills, and a lack of her own imagination. These aren’t my words – I haven’t read her yet. Let’s bring this to the comment about a lack of her own imagination, shall we? Thank you for concurring with my turn in this conversation. But it won’t be, specifically, about her lack of an imagination. I’m not here to pick on anyone, especially someone who has gone on to be so commercially successful. Even though she claims to never have liked vampires until she dreamt about them and thus started her series. Good thing her editors (who insisted on a whole re-write apparently) know a thing or two about them... but I’m moving on. I once read that there are no new ideas left. This point was also brought up by NOVAcatmando  as well in her comment left on yesterday’s blog. And is this an accurate reflection of things? I’m in two minds about this actually. I think on some topics, the chances of finding something completely unique is remarkable. Take vampires for instance. Vampires have been written about for centuries and are such a big part of culture these days, for some reason, that everybody seems to know something about them. It’s getting to the point where it would be hard to give a vampire a characteristic that hasn’t been mentioned before. But does doing so mean you are stealing someone else’s idea? Even if there are no new ideas left, there surely must be new ways of giving them to people. No one on this earth will tell a story exactly the same way I do. No one on earth will tell a story exactly the same way David McClain , Carolina Blue , or Alrac Tabb does. That is what makes writing so wonderful, so frustrating, and so accessible to people. No two people will view something the same. Every experience we have or can write about will have so many tiny little nuances that it would be impossible for everyone to see it the same. Life isn’t black and white, cut and dry, done and dusted. Well, not the one I live in anyway. And the books we read aren’t that closed either.I guess my point is, and yes, I do have one, is that there will always be things to write about even if the market is saturated with the same topic or subject matter. Case in point is the creative writing class I co-hosted last night. We had a simple writing exercise for the seven of us that were there – each person would write the first sentence to a story, fold over the paper, and the next person would write the next sentence. At the end of it, you’d have a story written by 7 people each writing what would have been there own story. Kirsty gave us the topic. Write a story involving Stan. And that was it. So, I wrote my first sentence, folded my piece of paper over and passed it along, waited for a slip to be passed to me, and wrote my second sentence on the new page. I folded that over and we continued the process. At the end, you read all the crafted works and see if any of them make sense. They don’t, but it is frequently possible to have sentences work with one another. We took the topic of Stan and went our 7 separate ways. One person wrote, “Stan was a tall man”. Another had Stan as a champion leek grower. Kirsty had Stan as a white haired Jack Russell terrier. My story started simply, “Stan didn’t know what to do with Judy’s shrunken head.” You know you’d keep reading a story that started out that way. I would. I wouldn’t care how bad the second sentence was either! Well, I might. So maybe all of the original ideas are gone, but there will always be original ways to tell them. And don’t worry if not everybody likes your original way of telling it either. So you have your vampires all sparkly in the sunlight and people think that is too corny, who cares? And it matters not that the hero of your tale, the one who has his finger chewed off instead of casting the ring into the fires of Mount Doom was a little pussy and wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without his trusted friend Sam, hogs most of the screen time when they film the movie. This is your vision remember. No one can take that from you. Cheers, The Penguin |
| The literary world, or at least the world of mass-market fiction is under scrutiny once again because of an impended kerfuffle with Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series, and her alleged plagiarism of ideas for the stories. Filming of the second movie in the series, New Moon has been put on hold because of it. But, this is not a blog on plagiarism or movie sequels. Nope, not this blog. A former student with Meyer, they roomed together at Brigham Young University, claims the ideas that Meyer is using were actually written by the former roommate as a short story back in their university days. Now, perhaps the timing of it all is coincidental, but coming forward and making such claims after the movie has made $380 million US and increased sales in the book is rather convenient. Again, this blog is not about timing of law suits, whether truthful or not. Nope, not this blog. Meyer has stated before, and not just for this purpose, that the ideas came to her in a dream back in 2003. Seriously, a dream? Mary Shelley claimed the dream motivation as well. If I used anything I got from a dream I’d have a blank page. Am I really supposed to believe that this is what really happened? On another side tangent, but still slightly related, a girl I went to school with many years ago now lived around the block from us. She was probably the first girl to ever show an interest in me and she was really pretty (we were teenagers at the time). I just didn’t have enough self-confidence at the time to do anything about it. Anyway, before I get too deep into my impact on girls even at such a tender age... she lived with her single-parent mother after the father had run out on them. Well, her mom won the lottery, some $9 million dollars, and claimed the numbers came to her in a dream. Should have dated the girl when I had the chance. I would have been the only 16-year old on our block with a Ferrari! Anyway... I don’t remember my dreams. I think in the history of my nap times, sleep times, and day dreams, I have only remembered about 5 or 6 dreams. And none of those are worthy of turning into a story, let alone a series of novels. I’m the unlucky bastard who can’t even remember any wet dreams he’s ever had. I know I blogged about a dream I had were I was playing poker with Robbie Williams and Anna Kournikova but I made that up. I think I stated that I made it up too so I don’t feel too bad about it. I don’t know if it is abnormal to not remember dreams. I just don’t remember them so I don’t even know if I dream or not. I can only assume that I do but have no room left in my brain to remember anything. Whether this means my brain is full of knowledge, useless and important, or about the size of a gnat’s penis, is another matter altogether. I guess I will never know for certain. Well, they could do a scan of my brain to see the size of it but there might just be a squidgy cover over all of the important stuff that makes the brain work. The actual working brain might still be miniscule. I guess I’m struggling with the concept that this series came to her in a dream. I struggle with that concept every time I hear someone say, “I had a dream about it”, or, “it came to me in a vision I had while sleeping”, or anything remotely close to that. Maybe I’m just upset that I don’t remember these visions I have. Maybe I’m just upset because as a teenager (and probably still do now) I woke up with a boner and no memory of what gave it to me. And maybe that is the worst thing about it. The fact I can’t remember dreams might not be so bad. The fact I can wake up with a boner when I don’t have to pee and have no recollection of the vivid fantasy that caused it is depressing. Yes, that is what this is about! Okay, it’s not, but that is depressing anyway. I have a very active imagination. In fact, the short story I’m working on is a prime example of that imagination. But, does my imagination shut off at night and go into hibernation like some grizzly bear, fat from a summer of berries and the occasional hiker, only to re-surface 6 hours later when I wake up? It is an interesting query isn’t it? I mean, is it possible? Can it just shut itself off like coordination does when you’ve had too much vodka? Can it disappear like your sense of what a good-looking woman is when you’ve had one tequila shot too many? You know I haven’t done research so I’m just going to say that mine does. But I just can’t believe that these things appear to people in dreams. And maybe that is the ultimate irony for a guy with such a good imagination. Maybe the fact my imagination won’t let me believe this can happen at all is just further proof that I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time when I sit down to write. Or maybe I must have some part of me grounded in realism – however unromantic it is. I mean, for example, I’m living in Saudi Arabia and have seen things here that if I were to tell you about you wouldn’t believe me – which is, again, a brilliant form of irony. The realism I get here is so unrealistic that the ability to remember dreams and base a whole series of novels around them is too much for me to take. Then again, maybe I’m just pissed off that I can’t have those visions. Cheers, The Penguin |
| We're starting our creative writing class, course, get together this Tuesday night and I'm very excited about it. I'm using this as my excuse, or my motivation to start writing more myself. So far, we have about 7 people wanting to show up the first day, a number I hope will grow as the weeks pass. Kirsty has been busy taking my initial itinerary and adding depth to it so we'll, or she'll, look organized when we start. I'm still going through the turmoil of re-contracting and there is still no word on what will become of me. They've requested to see examples of my work, so I have provided it, and now I wait while they scour through it and decide if I am good enough to do the job they are paying me to do. It's very interesting. They don't really know what I do, so having them judge me on what I do is a bit different. Add to the fact that no one in the retention office speaks English as a first language and the subtleties of what I do will be lost on them. Oh well, such is life when you work in a foreign country. What else can I tell you? I bought a doughnut today and no one stole it from me. And I got all my change back as well. In fact, I got extra change given to me at lunch time but I gave it back to the cashier. I'm a nice guy sometimes. I got whistled at today when I ran across to the mall to pay Kirsty's internet bill for her. The guy wasn't really my type but if it makes him feel good who I am to begrudge him his man-crush? This really is an odd place at times. Well, this was pretty much a waste of your time. Thanks for stopping by. Cheers, the Penguin |
| An interesting thing happened on my brief sojourn over to the mall yesterday. Kirsty was over, and we had just feasted on the homemade lasagne she made us and she got a craving for some doughnuts. Now, this is a society where there is a doughnut store on every street corner, and the mall across the street has no less than 5 stores that sell them; including two Krispy Kremes! And it just so happens that Krispy Kreme has 3 new doughnuts on trial so I had to go over and get some. The first incident was a rare one; and it made it pretty special to see. It is rare in this culture, and maybe it is just Saudi Arabia and not Arabs in general, to see any kind of affection to loved ones; wives, sons and daughters, anyone. So, as I'm riding the escalator thing up, a Saudi man was riding up with his son, maybe about 10 years old, right in front of me. The boy was looking down into the foyer section, scanning the crowd, when all of a sudden his father, with the boy not watching, tapped him on the shoulder, almost from behind. Before the boy could turn around the father had moved to the side the boy turned and all he could see was me. I just smiled. The boy went back to looking at the crowd and his dad stifled a laugh, and did it again. Again, the boy turned to look at me and all I did was smile. Finally, dad can't contain himself any longer and lets out a laugh and throws his arms around his son. It was quite nice actually. Of course, since it doesn't happen that often it makes it all the more special. I venture on to the Krispy Kreme and place my order for a dozen doughnuts (that Kirsty is still making her way through as we speak). I get 8 of the new ones, and four of the original doughnuts for a little variety. I'm glad I got some of the old ones because the new ones, filled with caramel or chocolate are even too sickly sweet for me. Anyway, I'm at the counter and the gentleman tells me I owe him 45 Riyals. I hand him over a 100 Riyal note and wait for my order to be done. They bring over the box of doughnuts and my change and this Saudi woman steps in, grabs the doughnuts and my change, and walks off. Me and the guy behind the counter stood there stunned for a moment, not really sure if what just happened really just happened. Believe me, it did. As the lady sashayed off with my doughnuts and my money, I turned to the guy behind the counter and we just stared at each other. I finally got my doughnuts, and my change, but we never did get either of them back from the Saudi lady who waddled off with both of them. How crazy is that? Cheers, The Penguin |
| I was going to write a very funny blog today about the timing of music but my older sister Susan seems to be turning into a prude in her old age and commented yesterday, via email, that my blogs are getting too x-rated for her and she doesn’t want images of her little brother floating around in her head. While I can appreciate that thought, I had to live with the notion that she once had sex in my bed before I was even thinking about sex! How wrong is that? Nope, too bad, the music story is funny and I’m in the mood for funny. So, without further ado, may I present the Original Bathtub Incident... I don’t bathe. I shower. I have never seen the point of a bath once I was old enough to not have my mom run the water for me and sit my scrawny ass in a tub. I always thought taking a bath was like sitting in a stew of your own dirt. Sure, the bubbles could be fun but you’re still just sitting in a pool of dirty water. However, a bath with another person is not to be trifled with. A bath with another person isn’t about bathing at all. Not much gets washed. I don’t mind a bath like this. Kirsty and I watch a lot of movies together, but for the most part when we’re eating or writing we’ve got my computer on and iTunes going through all my music that I have. Thankfully we share a lot of the same tastes in music so it hasn’t really been an issue yet. Naturally, we’ve had moments when a song will come on and it just seems to define us, or at least that moment. The Original Bathtub Incident is one of those moments. And I say original because I doubt it will happen again for various reasons. I must preface this by saying that years ago, back when I was in my early 20s, my grandmother told me and a girl I was seeing at the time that the best place to have sex was the bathtub. Now, she had 11 kids, so this was a topic she probably knew very well. I hadn’t forgotten this little nugget of wisdom from dear old grandma. We all know, or you’re about to know because I’m telling you, that there is nothing sexier on this earth than the Literary Penguin naked in a bathtub. Man, it’s hard to be humble sometimes. Lol. Anyway, the tub has been filled, the music is on and turned up so we can hear it, and I’ve got fresh towels at the ready. Yup, it’s going to be a romantic time in the Penguin apartment. The first hiccup, unfortunately, is not having a tub with the taps on the side so each person can lie facing each other end to end. Sometimes that is nice because you can just look at each other and talk (setting the mood I like to call it). Nope, we can’t do that in my tub so I leaned back against the end of the tub and Kirsty sat leaning against me. I don’t mind this either, as it is quite comfortable. So, we’re just laying there, bodies intertwined as they are wont to do in such a situation when Kirsty finds me too desirable to just lay with and she turns around and starts kissing me. Now, I play hard to get for as long as I can (I think I made it to 1/1000 of a second) and it’s on. Soon, the second hiccup is confronted – my bathtub is an inch or two too narrow for proper usage for two people. It takes us a little while; I’m talking a couple of songs here, to get comfortable, to find out how to best make the use of such a small space. As the water is splashing around us, and things are getting a little heated, the music is turning over and over, and I can wait no longer. Just as things are about to get really heated, and no points for guessing what exactly that means, and Kirsty and I, after about half an hour of heavy petting and teasing, burst out laughing and the mood is completely ruined. The song that came blasting from my computer completely stopped us in our midst, the bath ended, and it took us a whole 10 minutes to rekindle what we had begun. Who would have thought the song, Who Fucking Tonight by Fat Man Scoop could not be a precursor to people actually doing what the title says? Crazy huh? Cheers, The Penguin |
| Just how comfortable are you with your loved one? And I don’t mean your mom and dad and siblings. I’m talking about how you are in front of your spouse, lover, boyfriend/girlfriend or any combination of the aforementioned people. Obviously, with some of the topics I have discussed on these pages knowing that my entire family reads it I am pretty comfortable around my people. Now, I wouldn’t walk around naked in front of them anymore (I was like 36 the last time I did that) but I do get pretty personal on here at times. So, I know what I’m about to say isn’t going to come as too much of a shock to them. Kirsty and I are pretty damn comfortable around each other. Granted, I haven’t held her down and broke wind in her face yet, or really passed gas in front of her for that matter, but we are at ease with each other. It has gotten to the point where we can share the sink when we’re getting ready to go out. I can even shop for feminine products for her without being embarrassed. Okay, so I’ve actually gone to the bathroom with her in the bathroom with me but who’s judging. Last Tuesday night I was coming back from football with my mate and his wife and Kirsty and another girl were shopping at the mall. We decided to meet them there so Simon and I could grab a bite to eat and then all go home. When they dropped me off first (they all live on the same compound miles away from me) I guess the conversation turned to how comfortable they were in front of each other. Kirsty and I have known each other for 3 months so it came as a shock to them that we have absolutely reservations about nudity. I’ll change in front of her; she’ll change in front of me. We’ve laid side by side completely naked with each other for what seemed like hours without once reaching for covers or rushing to turn off a light. And yes, we have showered together. It saves time and water people! We’re only thinking about the environment here. We have married friends here that aren’t as comfortable as we are. One couple, both in their 30s and pretty fit, have an odd relationship. He’s free with his flaunting, she asks him to turn around when she’s getting undressed. And the lights better be off as well. If they aren’t, she’ll go into the bathroom to change. He’ll sleep naked, she won’t. I’ve only been told this. I’ve never slept with either of them so I’m only going by their word and I have no reason to doubt them. If I’m alone I’ll sleep in boxer shorts but sometimes the boxer shorts come off when I’m not alone (Kirsty says it is all just accidental. She might not be a sleepwalker but I think her hands sleep walk). The other girl is part of a couple here. They’ve been together for well over 3 years now and they are much the same as the married couple. And neither of them are what I would call unattractive either. The man is physically fit (he’s off climbing a mountain right now) and she is, according to Kirsty, one of the most gorgeous girls she’s ever seen. And yet, they can’t get changed in front of each other. It all just makes me wonder... What is it that separates Kirsty and I from these couples? Are Kirsty and I the norm or are we the exception? I think we are two pretty good-looking people but others might not. I happen to think Kirsty is gorgeous, way too good for me, but I’m still comfortable enough to get my scrawny little ass out in front of her. She complains about having squidgy bits (and we all have squidgy bits) but I don’t care; and she doesn’t either. Maybe we are the freaks in all of this. Maybe we aren’t normal and we’re living some kind of alternate relationship life compared to other people. I’m not saying we parade around the house naked; but I have been known to go from one room to the other sans clothes when she’s around. Part of that might be excessive flirting. A big part of that is me not being bothered by her presence and feeling nothing but comfortable around her. If anything, the sight of all the fur growing from my legs, my arms, my chest, and my head should frighten the living daylights out of her. Somehow though... it doesn’t. No hair on my back though people! So, are we freaks? I guess it just boils down to being comfortable enough with who we are to know that our partner will be comfortable with who we are. Or something like that. Cheers, The Literary Exhibitionistic Penguin |
| I was watching the movie Twilight yesterday and I had to listen to Kirsty chatter all the way through it about how they got this wrong from the book, how that was done right, or how the actor or actress they chose to play a specific part wasn’t quite right. I have not read the book (yet – it’s next up on my pile) so I couldn’t agree or disagree with her. Now, before I go on, I just have to say that Kirsty did give me free reign to tell her to “shut up” if she was talking too much during the movie. But I didn’t feel the need to. I could tell she was very passionate about the whole thing because she loved the books and had her own vision to each character, how they should behave, and which scenes should be in the movie. And this got me thinking... Since most people will read the book before the movie is made (normally the book has to prove a success before they fork out the millions to film a movie), most people leave the theater disappointed because the film didn’t measure up to the book. This is normally very true in science fiction and fantasy, but I doubt it is uncommon in other genres as well. I loved the Lord of the Rings movies and thought they were very well done. I thought Elijah Wood was totally miscast as Frodo Baggins, the story’s hero, but I could live with it. I could also live with the parts of the books they left out, and some of the liberties they took to make it more filmable. But this isn’t really what this blog is about. If you had written a book and it had been picked up for a cinematic version, how much input would you want in the making of the movie? Would you want complete control of the process, only complete control of the script, minimal control of the script, or nothing at all? I’m torn on how much I would like to be involved in the making of the movie version of a project of mine. I would think that going into the whole thing you would know that you’d never be able to completely capture the essence of the book in the film. Having said that, and with that knowledge tucked firmly away beside the image of the first time you saw your first child laugh and the image of the first time you saw breasts and weren’t peering through a window, you would want to have a say as to which scenes were omitted and which ones were included. You know your novel inside and out and would know the key scenes to include. But could you separate yourself away from the story enough to see it through the eyes of a camera’s lens? Something might sounds great on paper, but on the screen, it might not translate as well. It might also be physically impossible to shoot, or perhaps, in this day and age where budgetary restraints might have actors taking a pay cut from $25 million per film to $22 million per film, be too expensive to capture on film. And this might be the scene to define the whole story. Would you be comfortable having to re-write it for the script so it becomes part of the movie? Would you be comfortable knowing that it is nothing how you envisioned it when you wrote it? As much as I want to say that I’d be like, “it’s my baby and I’m in control damnit”, I have a feeling when it came down to it I’d be on the sidelines sipping random beverages, enjoying cucumber and prawn sandwiches with the crusts cut off, talking to Natalie Portman about how I think she is perfect for the role she’s playing. And that leads me to another point – I’d want to pick the cast. And that is stupid because I’d pick actors and actresses I like and they might not even be the best choice for the roles I’d have to cast them in. I think Alan Rickman is fantastic in every role he plays but, let’s just say Aaric here, there isn’t really a role that I could see him playing in that. But I’d want him in the movie nonetheless. And that would make the movie less of a spectacle. So, based on my obvious bias towards actors I should have nothing to do with casting the movie. I could still oversee the script though although my nature to “not want to kill my babies” would make it hard for me to cut scenes from the book for the screen. Okay, I guess I would need to have limited or no access whatsoever. Maybe that is best. I watch a lot of movies, can quote a lot of movies, but I don’t know much about making them. I’m sure there is more to it than turning on a camera, getting the spritzer to spray water on her supple skin to make it look like she’s sweaty, and then waiting in anxious delirium for the doorbell to ring on the set and the pizza man to show up with a special delivery order of extra spicy pepperoni. And don’t get me started on different camera angles and guerilla photography! But perhaps the most important reason to not get involved in the making of the movie in any capacity is the fact that if the movie sucks, doesn’t live up to the book, or too many of your fan base criticize the movie because of this, that, or the other, you won’t have the excuse that you had nothing to do with it. Maybe this isn’t important to you, but to a Penguin with a very slight ego and an admission that he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, this is a very hyper-critical thing. I don’t want people to think I’ve ruined something. Okay, so I’m a proud, maybe too proud individual. But, am I the only one? How involved would you get in the turning of your book into a movie? Cheers, The Penguin |
| A few weeks back I mentioned that I was nesting and had people over for dinner for the first time since I got to Saudi Arabia. All told, I think it was about 560 odd days before it happened. Not sure if that is some kind of reclusive record. Anyways, that date kind of marks a departure for me in a sense. I have mentioned before that I live right across the street from one of the largest malls in Saudi Arabia. Naturally this mall provides the people of Al-Khobar an abundance of choices when it comes to fast food. It appears to me that there is a fast food restaurant or donut shop on every corner in this country. And seeing as exercise is at a minimum... you see some pretty large thobes and abayas around town. I will admit this quite freely to you all – most of my meals were purchased from the mall across the street my first year here. The next few months I supplemented my food court addiction with a twice-weekly patronage in the restaurant at the foot of my building. But lately, I have re-discovered my passion for cooking. Now, don’t take that the wrong way. You will never find me on one of those cooking shows where they take regular people who want to be chefs and have them create something from scratch, but give me a recipe and some time to improvise and I’m alright. Ever since Kirsty got here I’ve been dedicated to cooking more. I hate cooking for one, and on nights that she doesn’t stop over I’ll often just cook myself some soup or make a frozen pizza or something like it. Hey, it is better than a trip to the food court though. But seeing as though Kirsty and I usually spend 4 nights a week at my apartment (I can’t visit hers as she lives on a girls only compound) I have been allowed to cook more. And some of the results have been awesome. The meal for the first dinner party went well beyond what I expected. Originally, it was just supposed to be a meal for Kirsty and I, but she invited over Andrea (who kind of set us up). When our friend Kerrie found out I was cooking lamb chops she had to be invited as well. I couldn’t invite Kerrie and not her husband Simon so he came along too. The first problem that presented itself was that Simon doesn’t eat lamb. I was making lamb chops on fresh spinach and butter beans so would have to supplement his lamb for something else. I found a couple of nice pieces of tenderloin and served those to him instead. The meal was a hit; but the coup de grace was the dessert. Everyone likes chocolate so I thought I would make chocolate pots, a creamy blend of creme fraiche, plain yoghurt, and melted chocolate topped with cream. I made a homemade double boiler to melt the chocolate, folded in the creme, added some orange extract for flavoring, and spooned equal amounts into 6 dessert cups (some lucky guest would get 2). I was still preparing dinner when my guests arrived and Andrea later told me that when she peeked into the kitchen and saw me with all 4 hobs on the stove going, and I was busy grating solid chocolate to make sprinkles for dessert, she had never been more impressed with a man in her life. It’s a shame for her she can’t have me. Lol. I think the success of that night may have spoilt me though. I haven’t really gone out and done anything more adventurous than that since I cooked for them but I am started to build a pretty impressive arsenal of dishes that Kirsty is finding hard to choose between. I cook a helping of Chicken Italiano that even Pavarotti would be proud of. I tried cooking Moroccan chicken one night for Chris and Kirsty and it turned out okay. It could have been a bit spicier but I was warned that the harissa was super hot so I only put in half the desired amount. On reflection I should have used at least the required amount. Back home, I had a dish that became my signature dish but I have yet to make it here. I can’t find halibut here, so there is no way I can cook Sicilian halibut without the halibut. I have a great recipe for Moroccan snap peas and carrots but I can’t find snap peas out here either. So, the only two dishes I could make back home to impress people were rendered useless out here because of produce and lack there of. But like any good Penguin I found ways to adapt and overcome. And it started in the bookstore. I bought three cookbooks and finally tried to cook something out of them when Kirsty got here. It pains me to see some great recipes for pork that I won’t get to use until I move away from the Middle East, but I am going to try to get to cooking most of them. And I have learned that I can actually share my kitchen with Kirsty as well. Latley, whenever I cook my world famous lamb chops, Kirsty is in charge of making her nearly world famous mashed potatoes. Okay, her potatoes usually turn out better than my lamb chops, but I can’t let her get a head as large as mine now. We’d never be able to fit in my apartment together if that happened. Her scrambled eggs are better than mine (although my pancakes rock people), and she cooked me a stir-fry early on in our relationship that left me wanting more. And last week, on Friday (which is our Sunday out here and has now officially become “Comfort Food Day” for us, she cooked a whole roast chicken, roast potatoes, and carrots and peas. Oh my God. Between the two of us we ate the whole damn thing and still wanted more. She had been holding out on me. She told me she couldn’t really cook. And then she hits me with that. Just days before I thought I had outdone myself when Kerrie and Simon came by for dinner yet again. Again, I had prepared a menu that only one of them would eat so I had to cook a second option for the other one. How they ever got married when they don’t eat the same foods is beyond me. I bought two huge pieces of salmon, wrapped them in foil, put in a pat of butter, some fresh lemon juice, and fresh dill (fresh dill has to be the best smelling substance on earth) and baked it in the oven. We probably had enough fish to feed 6 people but Kirsty, Simon, and I finished it all off. I served it with baby potatoes and fresh green beans too. Not a drop was left (Kerrie had the previously mentioned world famous lamb chops). I made brownies for dessert but the girls wouldn’t wait for them to cool and got to them before they had time to settle properly so it was like eating gooey chunks of fudge in places. And then Kirsty goes and outdoes me with the chicken. She’s cooking a cottage pie for us on Friday as our trend of comfort food continues. She says she’s really good at making it. I think if it’s half as good as her chicken, I’ll have died and gone to Heaven. The only problem will be finding something else to cook that might take me back to the top of the culinary ladder. Cheers, The Literary “Gordon Ramsey” Penguin |
| Are you superstitious? Is there anything in this world that makes you sit up and say, “I will not be doing that”, or, “She did that and got a raise so I’ll have to do it to”? Well, is there? I don’t know if I am to be honest. I have my quirks that most people from my background do (want to be athletes) but I wouldn’t exactly call me superstitious. Case in point, my Thursday football (soccer) league out here in Saudi Arabia. Before the first match, I took off my chain with my Welsh pendant on it and my coach put it around his neck. We won the game 3-0 and yours truly scored 2 goals. Now, before every game I have to give him my chain and he’ll wear it luck. Is this a superstition? And if it is, is it his or mine? I’m not allowed to wear jewellery when I play so I have to take off the necklace anyway. I just assumed he would put it in his pocket, his Scottish pride being too strong to wear the three weathers of Wales. I guess I was wrong. Even if I could wear the chain on the field I wouldn’t. Back in Canada I nearly lost the pendant on 4 different occasions when it snapped away from the link that held it to the chain. I figured it would just be easier to take it off. I know, it only took me 4 failed attempts at wearing it in games too. Yup, I am slow sometimes. Now, I have never been one of those athletes to follow a set routine on game day if we’ve won. I’ve never purposely left the house at the same time, drove the exact same way to the field, did the same warm-up routine, or anything daft like that. I washed my kit after every game because there is nothing worse than opening up your sports bag and smelling the remains of a couple of months of sweat seeping out and attacking your nostrils like Navy Seals on Somali pirates. I didn’t have lucky socks, a lucky shirt, or lucky underwear (although I do have a type I will wear when I think I’m going to get lucky). In short, I just did what was possible on the day of the game to get there on time and be prepared for it. I tried to eat the same thing if I had an afternoon game but that wasn’t because I was superstitious. I had heard beans on toast was the perfect breakfast for a football player so I duly obliged. But today I had two moments that made me pause and I’m wondering if I am becoming superstitious in my old age. The first one is so silly you’ll probably all want to slap me upside of the head and beat some sense into me. One of the people we work with is leaving, his contract not being renewed and as a gift they bought him a big picture book of Saudi Arabia. Now, as per custom, people are writing their well-wishes on the inside jacket cover of the book. I have a problem with this. Whenever we have given people in our department a book we have given them a card as well so we’d all just sign there. I have no qualms with people writing in the book because it will damage it or lessen its value. Nope, that’s not it at all. My problem is that I’ve convinced myself, somehow, that if I sign the inside jacket of someone else’s book, I will never again sign the inside jacket cover of a new book of mine. And how daft, stupid, or completely fucking mental is that attitude? As I have intimated at; I have no idea where I got this notion from. Does anyone out there know? The next thing that made me pause was truly weird indeed. My department has gone from 6 writers to 2 writers in the course of a couple of weeks. The first one to leave had given Leona, the lady who sat next to me, a teddy bear from Ireland that has scrawled across its belly, “rub here for good luck”. Leona had this bear at her desk for about a week when she got the word that her services were no longer required with the company. I could get into the politics but I won’t. The boat is too dangerous to rock when you’re still sitting in it. So, Leona was in work today to pick up her final pay packet, have some cake with us, collect the gifts and cards we got for her, and finish cleaning out her desk. She passed on the bear to me with a smile because she has been my neighbour since I arrived and she and her family (husband and two great kids) helped me settle my first few months here. I didn’t think anything of it at first and took the bear and put him on top of my computer right next to my stuffed Tigger. Leona said “that although it wasn’t hers to begin with, she didn’t think Jane would mind her passing it on”. I worked with Jane and she wouldn’t mind. I then sat there, watching this bear sit next to Tigger and it dawned on me – this bear had just gone through the hands of two people who had lost their jobs in my department. I tried to rescind taking it from her but it was too late. She laughed at my suggestion, although secretly I think she was worried as well. The bear still sits there, getting snuggles from Tigger, but I could feel him eyeing me up all day. You all know that superstition about things happening in threes don’t you? I spent the afternoon thinking of ways that Jane got it from someone who had lost their job so Leona was the third. And I’m not even superstitious. So, do I rub his belly or is the belly the bringer of bad luck? Cheers, The Penguin |
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We've all had a moments like that...oh, and variations on the other one you mentioned! 