Well, I love DCI Jane Tennison, but it’s really all one, right?
Yesterday I worked only in the morning, and then headed home thinking I would lounge around a bit, before giving my house a very much needed deep clean.
I put on the fire, wrapped myself in a blanket, and then turned on Netflix, eager to watch a movie, or a couple episodes of a TV show before getting out the rubber gloves.
What I really wanted to put on was “Call the Midwife” but seeing as though that’s the show that Marc and I are currently watching together, I felt bad about skipping ahead without him by my side.
Surfing through the selection, I came across Prime Suspect, and paused.
I’d been seeing this show pop up now and then in our recommended feed, and I thought it best to finally give it a try.
Boy am I glad that I ever did – it’s SUCH a fantastic show.
What’s even more incredible, is that despite the fact that it was filmed in 1991, it really doesn’t feel at all dated.
Sure the haircuts, and fashion styles may be a little Duran Duran, but the writing, acting, and direction is so great that one can’t really care about such trivial things.
Plus, Helen Mirren.
Ack.
SO GOOD.
DCI Tennison is such an epic badass, in all areas for sure, but especially in how she deals with the ingrained, institutionalized sexism of the Metropolitan Police Force.
What makes this show so special is that it offers zero apologies for Tennison and why she is the way she is. Nothing fazes her, and every time we think that she’s going to capitulate to the male hegemony of her work force, she totally bucks our expectations (and in the process, forces us to examine why we even have those expectations in the first place.)
This, in my opinion is one of the best, and most important aspects of the show.
Further, so many other shows about a “strong solo female detective” would have caved and would have included the requisite “tough lady finally breaks down and cries to show her real femininity” or some other inane and disappointing scene, but instead, through it all, despite her ups and downs, and trials both inside and outside of work, Tennison just powers right through.
Just watch any scene with her Director Superintendent where she literally plows right through him, finishing her sentences when he tries to interrupt her, or talks over him when he tries to bully her (despite him knowing full well that she is, in fact, in the right, and he, in the wrong.)
It’s is just so, so awesome.
I cannot wait to quit my life and just spend the next little while watching all the other seasons and TV movies that spun off from the original series’ run.
(I might only be a little bit joking here. If you haven’t heard from me in a week, phone the police. PHONE DCI TENNISON AND TELL HER I WANT TO BE HER FRIEND.)
Well, it seems as though the Christmas season has officially arrived here on the West Coast of Canada.
Which means, it’s only a matter of time before I watch my three favourite holiday movies:
Muppets Christmas Carol
Home Alone
Love Actually
It’s actually the third film on this list that was the impetus for me writing this post.
I was thinking about when would be an appropriate time to sit down for our yearly viewing of this masterpiece, before asking myself (for maybe the millionth time) – DID ALAN RICKMAN REALLY CHEAT ON EMMA THOMPSON?
This questions has been plaguing me for the past ten years.
Common consensus would say, yes, Harry and Mia did in fact engage in coitus (hence why we see her putting the necklace on in her undies, with an unmade bed in the background – I HAVE SEEN THIS MOVIE MANY TIMES) but I have such a hard time accepting this reality.
But most likely this is because of my all-consuming, and always growing love for Ms. Thompson.
Ya know?
EXACTLY.
Anyway, even though to me, this movie is perfect (to paraphrase Rick Grimes and all), here are a few other problems that always arise upon every viewing.
*holds up sign of mummified human being*
Too much?
ONWARDS!
1. I don’t believe that Colin Firth’s (Jamie’s) wife would cheat on him with his brother. I mean, THAT GUY? Really? HIM? Could they not have cast some crazy, smoking hot dude (a real Carl if you will!) to play this part?
And why is everyone so disappointed that Uncle Jamie isn’t staying with the family for Christmas? HIS BROTHER WAS SEXING HIS WIFE BEHIND HIS BACK! The fact that his entire brood of blood relatives is willing to excuse that horrible behaviour, but is insanely upset that Jamie won’t carve the bloody turkey is WAY COLD. And I’m not buying it!
Although “I HATE Uncle Jamie!” has become one of Marc’s and my most favourite sayings to date, so – not all bad I suppose.
2. “Miss Dunkin’ Donuts 2003.”
COME ON RICHARD CURTIS. We all know Aurelia’s Portuguese Dad isn’t using that as his insult of choice when he’s fat-shaming his other daughter.
What the hell man? IF you’re going to go for the cheap weight-related joke, at the very least use your imagination and don’t just go for the lazy laugh!
3. That photo of Harry (Alan Rickman) and Bernard (his son), framed on Karen (Emma Thompson’s) dresser cracks me up every time I see it. Bernard just looks completely nuts, and is making the most bonkers face of life.
I can never NOT see it now.
4. What is UP with the Prime Minister’s Press Secretary (Is that her title?) who likes to make fun of Natalie? Is she in love with the Prime Minister? Why the hell would she make such a crappy comment about the size of Natalie’s bum? I mean, isn’t that crazy unprofessional? I DON’T GET IT.
5. Daniel (Liam Neeson) and his step-son get over his wife’s death way too quickly. Also, no one learns to play the drums in a week. TAKE THAT YA WEE MONGREL!
6. Do we really think that backpack is chock-a-block filled with condoms?
7. What is UP with girls from Wisconsin? Is Christmas Eve and Budweiser some kind of lethal sex combination for these young ladies OR WHAT?
8. Look man, I think Kiera Knightley is as lovely as the next gal, but what the heck is up with that wedding dress? Midriff baring? In the middle of winter? And is she wearing feathers in her hair? I mean, look how effortlessly amazing Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is in his suit. Could we not have at least tried to match this?
9. Also, am I the only one who thought that Mark (Peter’s best friend) was in love with Peter? I still kind of wish that this was, in fact, the case. And that he really did hate Juliet, because she had taken away not only his best friend, but the love of his life.
10. LAURA LINNEY. What are you doing friend!? TAKE CARL AND RAVISH HIM. We all die, over and over again, every time we watch you waste such a magical chance to bed Carl the enigmatic chief designer-cum-underwear model!
So there you have it dudes. My (small!) beefs with one of the best holiday movies of all time.
Do you agree?
Disagree?
Let me know.
But in the meantime, I’ll let Joanna have the last word:
I must confess that I keep hearing Selena Gomez songs.
And I keep liking them.
ACK.
HOW DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME!?
Good gravy…
This latest realization came tonight when I was working out. We have this insane little “amenities room” here in our complex (a supposed stand-in for a gym whenever anyone is selling their place!) and it’s where Marc and I go to work out when the days turn frigid, and the daylight has all but vanished by 4:17pm.
(Aka November – February of every year.)
Anyways, whilst in this room, I like to pump up the crappy pop tunes and just go at it.
Tonight, while getting through my push-up/jumping lunge super-sets, I found myself dancing like a silly thing during my one minute rest period.
You can imagine my chagrin when the DJ announced at the end of the song, that my latest jam was in fact the newest release from one S. Gomez, former belle of DA BIEBZ, and overall auto-tune queen du jour.
I feel like I really must get my music palette looked out, and stat.
And yet, at the same time, I know that as long as I don’t listen to that stuff all the time (such as I don’t just eat candy all of the live long day, despite how much I enjoy it,) I’ll be fine.
We are family.
There are times in my life when I realize just how quickly time is speeding by.
This realization is sometimes correlated to specific milestones: graduations, marriages, mortgages, or child births. It may come after running into someone I haven’t seen in a long time, only to knocked over by how much they have aged, changed or matured.
Sometimes, I start thinking about it for no reason at all.
However, if you are a part of my family, there is a very good chance that this will happen to you, and at a regular basis at that.
With fourteen grandkids, there are always something new to celebrate: a job, a child, a wedding, a degree.
Often times I have a hard time remembering that we are no longer twelve years old, on the hunt for five cent candies and slurpees, to quench our summer-sunshine driven thirst.
So you have to understand how discombobulating it can be, when my now twenty-four year old cousin (who in my mind, I still eight) makes me look like a little girl:
What an absolute trip!
Tough it out
Well, it’s official.
Next summer I’ll be back in Whistler, running Tough Mudder for the second time in my life.
I am on a team “Armed and Dangerous” (aka – DA GUNS) with three fabulous friends of mine, and as the only girl I am going to be repping hard for all my BAMF ladies out there.
(Tell me – can you tell it’s a team of mostly dudes with a name like that?)
But mostly, I am just the most excited.
I had such an amazing time completing the course in 2012 with Marc, and I know that next year too will be a tremendous adventure. (I just need to find a way to 1. Cure my husband of his chronic ankle injuries so that he can 2. compete as a member of our team.)
We’ve all got to have goals, don’t we?
Because if we don’t, what’s propelling us through all this cosmic cat food in the first place?
Well folks, another day, another early morning hangout at Toronto Pearson Airport.
Early morning hot chocolate. Also, my nails really are the worst.
I am seriously starting to think that I know this place better than I do some of my friends.
I am seriously staring to think that I like this place better than I do some of my friends.
JUST KIDDING!
Although said friends don’t have a sweet twenty-four hours David’s Tea, nor do they have sexy fluorescent lighting that give myself, and all of my fellow travellers that all-too sought after “it may be consumption” pallor.
We should all be so lucky!
But back to what I was saying – AIRPORTS.
While I’m not the biggest fan of air flight (particularly takeoffs and landings – talk about hair-raising central!) I do have a perverse like for these giant atriums of travel.
They are the perfect mish-mash of random: Tim Horton’s restaurants (restaurants, hah!), nail salons, the obligatory Hudson Bay Store (we’re talking domestic Canadian airports here, otherwise, please substitute in Duty-Free and some fancy, chain, over-priced wine bar), sit-up massage chairs, totally random shoe shine stations, and store, after store chock-a-block of Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clark, magazines, expensive candy, and those head-rest pillows everyone (and yet no one?) seems to buy.
I am currently heading down to Halifax for a family visit, culminating in my cousin Andrew’s wedding taking place this Saturday.
I am the queen of carry-on, and managed to cram three dresses, two pairs of pants, two skirts, six shirts, three sweaters, two pairs of shoes, two winter running outfits, my pajamas, my computer, and all other manner of lady detritus in this here bag:
One day I’m going to get an award for this stuff!
Anyways, in completely different news, Canadian politics is totally nutters at the moment.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Toronto mayor Rob Ford finally admitted to smoking crack cocaine, and yet somehow still refuses to resign from his position.
The man plans on running again next year for re-election!
WHAT THE WHAT.
His exact words:
“Exactly. Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine. I’ve made mistakes… all I can do is apologize and move on.”
“But, no, do I? Am I an addict? No.”
“Have I tried it? Probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately about a year ago.
How is this man even a real human being!?
I feel like we are living in bizarre world.
If I was a journalist in Toronto right now I’d go around telling everyone that I was “one heck of a crack reporter!”
(Too much, I apologize. But it had to be said.)
Meanwhile, our national political stage is riddled with just as much madness.
Our Prime Minister doesn’t seem to have any knowledge of what has been going on with his Conservative senators, and is likely fuming over the fact that no one gives two cares about his free trade agreement with the European Union, when all anyone wants to do is talk about Mike Duffy’s cheque requisition program.
I am just waiting for Nigel Wright to show up at Question Time and pull a full-fledged Banquo.
IS THIS A DAGGER I SEE BEFORE ME?
I am mixing my Shakespeare all over the place, but I CANNOT HELP IT.
These situations mix me up!
And here in BC (or I suppose I should say “back in BC”, what with this being written in Toronto, or “The Big Smoke” if you will….there is another crack joke there, I’m sure) our premier Christy Clark has reneged on her promise not to go forward with plans to construct an oil pipeline from Alberta, and has instead met with Alison Redford (Alberta’s premier) and put together a set of points on how to go forward.
This decision just kills me.
We are going to be swimming in environmental damage, just you wait.
What drives me crazy here is that Clark keeps talking about how when she was re-elected, the electorate backed her plans to expand BC’s natural resource sector, when 1.) No one wanted this expansion to include a pipeline, and 2.) This woman wasn’t even re-elected in our last election! She lost her riding! She had to re-run in a jurisdiction where she was guaranteed to win, after the MLA-elect gave up his seat!
(Meanwhile, it’s just been revealed that he has been giving a plush position as an economic ambassador to BC’s Asian trading markets. But of course he has!)
But seriously folks, how are we supposed to have any faith in the democratic process, when so many of those involved display the utmost contempt for the entire system?
It drives me batty.
Marc has a theory that politicians should be paid very little money, in an effort to keep out those who are not invested in making the country/province/city a better place, and attract those who don’t care about bilking their travel expense claims for all that their worth.
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I do know that whatever we have going on right now, it really isn’t working.
Much like Mike Duffy, Patrick Brazeau, and Pamela Wallin.
ZING!
(See what I did there?)
And now I’m off to find some overpriced food to eat with my four dollar water bottle.
I realized I had a problem when I began reading Battlestar Gallactica fan-fiction on the internet.
I suppose this wouldn’t have been so bad if I had either been a) a fan of the show or b) someone who regularly enjoyed world-wide ready smut, but as I was neither, warning bells were quick to sound.
(The worse of it? I actually had to SIGN UP to gain access to the website.)
OKAY FINE.
I always had a thing for Adama and Roslin. I understand that this makes me very weird. But I am okay with that.
It was a Tuesday at two in the morning, and I was mashed into a kitchen chair with my knees pressed up against my chest and my slippers half slid off my feet, feeling kind of turned on, but mostly horrified. Dressed in my husband’s boxers and an old tank top, I felt chills run the length of my spine – the kind that makes you feel completely clammy, as though your entire body is blushing.
I stumbled to my feet.
The need to get away from the computer, and its mocking stare was overpowering; I felt nauseous. As I stepped backwards I tripped over my cat’s overturned scratching post. Cracking my knee against the desk, I toppled to the ground.
As my face made contact with the carpet, the face of the evil force that had lead to this late-night, lackluster climax (metaphorically, not literally) rushed up to greet me.
This was procrastination beyond anything I had ever known.
It must be noted that I had every intention of writing this post at the last minute –as any piece on procrastination is wont to be, I’m sure – and let the record stand that I did.
BUT.
I also decided to do a little bit of research.
For instance, did you know that the origin of the word is derived from the Latin pro, meaning “forward, forth, or in favor of,” and crastinus, meaning “of tomorrow”? And that it can be defined as “to voluntarily delay an intended course of action despite expecting to be worse-off for the delay”?
Synonyms include: frivoling, idling, dilly-dallying, loafing, puttering and trifling.
Examples of procrastination often cited include: frenetically cleaning, exercising, cooking, baking, watching television, completing crosswords, obsessively checking e-mail and trolling online gossip and sporting websites.
Very true. And also a great way to procrastinate.
(A friend who wishes to remain anonymous confessed to once visiting soapopera.net to read the episode recaps of shows she didn’t even watch.)
However this is not to say that there aren’t numerous inventive, creative and incredibly interesting ways to pass the time when you are not doing the thing (whatever it is) you are supposed to be doing.
I once met a guy, a then UBC MFA student who recounted how he makes lists whenever he procrastinates. I thought this to be rather mundane (everybody makes to-do lists!) and asked him to elaborate.
“No,” he told me. “You don’t quite understand. I don’t just make lists. I make lists and then I memorize them. For example, the 1987-88 NHL scoring race went as such: Lemieux 168, Gretzky 149, Savard 131, Hawerchuk 121, Robitaille 111…”
I sat there stunned as he rattled off the top ten point leaders as well as their totals.
“There are only so many times you can look at something until it sticks with you,” he told me. “For a while it was NHL stats. I pick and choose what I want to learn about I suppose.”
Another friend told me how when he procrastinates he obsesses over bicycling infrastructure.
“Does that have something to do with the actual construction of the bike?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “It means that I lust after places like Copenhagen and Amsterdam,” he explained.
I didn’t tell him that I thought that was pretty darn weird. I mean, who was I to judge?
So why do we procrastinate? There are four main theories on this topic. The first concerns a fear of anxiety, fear of failure or pursuit of perfectionism. The conceit being, the more an individual fears the task at hand the more anxious they become about starting. Therefore, they are more likely to put it off, hence a need to procrastinate.
The second theory is that of self-handicapping. This is when people place obstacles that hinder their own good performance. The motivation for self-handicapping is often to protect self-esteem by giving people an external reason, an “out,” if they fail to do well.
The third theory concerns rebelliousness. Certain personality traits, such as hostility and stubbornness supposedly leave individuals predisposed against schedules and authority and are therefore more likely to procrastinate.
The fourth is a theory that purports that we are constantly beset with making decisions among various courses of action, and as such, make decisions based on what we would rather do more. For instance, should we do homework or spend time with friends? Do we watch TV or go for a run? Study for a midterm or clean the bathroom? It suggests that individuals are more likely to take on the task that is both more enjoyable and easier to attain and put off those more difficult with varying degrees of personal satisfaction.
There are of course less academically substantiated hypotheses. These concern the beliefs that underneath it all there is a fundamental, human belief in the profundity of procrastination. Perhaps it is both part of a conscious denial of, or rebellion against the linear nature of time and the structured nature of the world that revolves around the completion of assignments, the writing of exams, and the never ending list of projects.
Procrastination is a conscious practice; it is an attempt to move beyond the moving forward; it is an exercise in existing only in a moment and trying to make that moment last forever.
Some academics believe that procrastination is a thoroughly modern invention, due to a move from an agrarian society to urban. Back in the 14th century, 98% of the population of the Western world lived on manor estates (take these statistics with a grain of salt) and spent their days working on the land of whatever lord, or earl held power. From sun up to sun down their day was mapped out – there was no time, let alone substantial resources for procrastination. It wasn’t until the advent of numerous deadlines, schedules and commitments, or ever, the advent of personal choice, that procrastination came into play.
There are a number of tests and scales that allow you to measure your own level of procrastination (just google “procrastination test.”) On the one I took I came out as a “moderate procrastinator” who “puts things off sometimes even though [I] know I shouldn’t.”
Oh yeah? What profound insight! Yeesh. (Thank goodness I didn’t have to pay money to take the test.)
Also, I couldn’t help but think as I answer all ninety-one questions was how great an exercise in procrastination it was in and out of itself. Which in turn took me back to hockey stats and bicycle paths, because it is interests like those and quizzes like the one I took that make me wonder whether or not procrastination is a bad as we have come to think.
Perhaps it less destructive and more instructive than we give it credit.
The popular adage goes: “procrastination is like masturbation – either way you’re just screwing yourself.”
I’ve come to consider that this may be the insignia of some puritanical, incredibly efficient sect, because if everyone felt as good after a day of procrastination as they did after a hour (or whatever) of self-loving, school libraries would reek less of desperation and more of quiet satisfaction.
I mean, depending on the day, the individual involved and the specific job at hand, people find themselves immersed in something they’d never before considered important and perhaps still don’t find important – yet are still learning and still growing nevertheless (Battlestar Galactica fan fiction not included.)
But the fact remains the same, we are still doing something. We are still learning something, or practicing something, or scrubbing something; at the end of the day, we will still have something to show for our efforts despite our lack of progress on our intended project.
Case in point: procrastination can lead to a tidier, germ-free apartment; knowledge about Danish cycling routes; and a windfall realization as to why identical evil twins are so damn popular on day-time TV.