If I need a laugh, these are some of my favourite selections on YouTube (and once I discover something that clicks with me, it is absolutely not difficult for me to watch it over, and over, and over again. And then one more time).
The already mentioned in this blog and always brilliant Lindsey Stirling posted this video a while ago about… dressing up as bees for Halloween. It’s cute AND funny. Nothing like grown-ups having fun in Disneyland. Plus Lindsey’s editing skills and presence in front of the camera.
Scottish comedian Danny Bhoy starts off with a comment on something else and then gets to the segment that cracks me up every time. It’s scarily accurate and ridiculously hilarious in its imitation of drunk women exiting a bar. I also think I could answer one of his questions.
Continuing on the alcohol theme, this golden oldie from very naughty and very talented Norwegian comedy duo Ylvis also successfully depicts the embarassing aspects of being drunk.
And finally, while this takes place in a bar and also includes drinks, it’s a very witty and elegantly acted scene from Criminal Minds, the kind of thing you’d like to see happen in real life.
Walking is one of the most independent things you can do. When I was little, I would be taken along on one, not yet knowing the magic, the infinity impression of what was going on. I just stepped in (my own, slower) time, my small hand held gently in someone else’s, looking at the world. “Let’s go for a walk” was always an exciting thing to hear. It still is.
On one of the first walks I remember, we followed a forest path. It was summer. The shade of it, the coolness from the open heat of the road earlier enveloped me. The earthy floor was sprinkled with sand that others had brought with their shoes on the way back from the beach. Tall pine trees lined either side. Roots occasionally popped up on the ground and I was quietly reminded to step carefully. Then we (slowly) ascended a staircase to a bridge, with my sturdy, but still short legs determinedly mounting every step. The same process followed at the other end, downwards.
The conclusion to this part of the walk was magnificent. We arrived on an open train platform and in a few minutes a regional one always rushed through. For a few seconds there was nothing but sunlight, rushing air and noise. I was ecstatic.
This love of walking was opened up in me, and nourished, by my parents. It was a gift, because no matter where I am, when I do it, I think of them.
Walks are contained slices of infinity that can repeat themselves. They are part of discoveries in new places that you make for yourself, and yourself alone, and that you digest at your own pace, literally.
I walked as I grew up, everywhere I went. From the days when a bigger hand held mine, we would gradually walk next to each other with those who had watched over me, and we would talk about where our journeys on foot took us. One day, in a city that became my home, I discovered a river, and being around it became My Walk. That river was my point of focus during multiple times in my life. No matter what was going on, no matter how unsuccessful a day had been, or how much happiness about something was filling me up, I had that walk. For two hours I could enter something like a dream, as my feet carried me through comfortingly familiar, but never boring territory.
“I’d forgotten what this town was like,” says Eilis, played by Saoirse Ronan. She doesn’t say it loudly, but she says it with a perceptable force. One sentence immediately makes it clear that in a second she has made up her mind and the viewer knows that a point of no return has been reached.
Brooklyn is a beautiful movie in every aspect, one of the key ones being the natural, flowing simplicity. Things simply happen, events do not feel orchestrated as we follow the story of one human life, and the others connected to it.
The many scenes in slow motion occuring in the film happen naturally as well, trickling from the normal speed so subtly that you barely notice the change in pace. They depict that moment when you briefly separate yourself from what has just happened, and seem to be outside of the speed of things around you just for a few seconds. The scenes are wonderfully timed, floating easily along to the soundtrack by Michael Brook. It’s that easiness, that intuitive identifying with the story in each scene that underlines just how much hard work of a high quality went in to the film.
Another subject examined is both the finality and the changing nature of a decision. If you sailed to the United States all the way from Ireland, it wasn’t necessarily likely that your family would be able to come to visit, and vice versa. Uncertainty was part and parcel of the package, letters and the very rare phone call were the main means of communication, and the joy of opening an envelope from home would be remembered for weeks before the next one arrived. On the other hand, when Eilis has to go back home, despite her repeating that she will be sailing again, her family and friends simply assume she will stay. The distance between the two countries actually feels as enormous as it is. If you leave, you leave forever. If you don’t, then you don’t. That seems to be the view of most, except for Eilis, who broke out of the circle. But the distance remains, stretching out in front of her again and again.
We can all fall in to a pocket and forget ourselves, despite the existence of a newly built life. Grief, loss, youth, physical distance (once again), love, death all converge on Eilis and subsequent events remind us how easy it is to slide in to an oblivion of sorts. The opposite of homesickness. The question is, as always, what will happen next? What will the heroine decide, and will she?
Reading all the positive praise Saoirse Ronan is receiving for her acting makes me happy, because I enjoyed watching her immensely. She is the perfect fit for making emotions of magnitude clear and felt in the audience, even while appearing seemingly understated, reserved, even.
There is a dance scene at the beginning. It all surrounds Eilis, and the camera just lets her look on after her friend gets asked to dance, staying on her face. She is not part of her surroundings anymore and she knows it. This is conveyed much more effectively through remaining with her, as opposed to circling to the dancers twirling around the room.
Another touching and significant part of the movie is Eilis’s bond with her sister, who unknowingly gives her a gift for life, writing in one of her letters, “I am still by your side, even if I’m not.”
From the visual point of view (and I haven’t read the book) it might be a simple story, but the stories of a continuing life and mastering it are ultimately the most compelling.
So obviously it’s winter and I’ve been reading quite a lot, though I do that generally. Make that regularly. No, wait, all the time! My reading speed and output (number of finished books) also increases dramatically if I have no internet. I morph from a bookworm to a book-dragon. I burn, baby, burn.
I recently came home one evening to discover that my Wi-Fi wasn’t working at all. Anywhere or on anything. The horror. I had to actually phone people.
While waiting for the problem to be fixed, I came up with lots of ideas on how to fill the time (I’m not someone who doesn’t know what to do otherwise, I do have a life outside of watching YouTube, for God’s sake!).
The aforementioned reading. If you have a list of books you wanted to read, use it. If a book has been lying around on your nightstand like a neglected sandwich, open it. It will not smell and you will experience a sense of achievement, even if you’ll get to read a few pages before the internet switches back on. No, seriously, reading is important and an experience all on its own, regardless of the internet.
Get rid of old, unnecessary things, like the weird present you got at last year’s Secret Santa (or Schrottwichteln in German. Schrott means crap).
Take out the trash – there’s always trash.
Do one household activity you strongly dislike and be reconfirmed regarding your dislike of said activity.
Stream something. Oh… OK. Pop in a DVD. Do you own DVDs?
Inscribe and sign birthday cards with creative messages of your own unique invention.
Cook! Eat! Food!
Get a colouring book.
Get some air. Outside of the internetless air of your apartment.
Talk to the real people in your life. They will understand your pain.
Lindsey Stirling is one of my favourite artists on the planet. So when I heard that she was co-writing a memoir with her sister, I knew at once that I would have to get my hands on it. It must have been the fastest pre-order I ever placed. When it arrived, I read it in a day.
The book is a crowd-pleaser for her fans, just as her performances are. It’s all that Lindsey is herself: lively, warm, attentive, dedicated and sparklingly engaging. It’s also a written extension of her talent to observe, process and create.
The relationship with her sister and co-author Brooke is a guiding factor throughout her life, work and the book. In fact, some of the most interesting chapters, besides the ones about her work and life as a performing artist, are those where she talks about her family and siblings. The searing depiction of the influence of her eating disorder on her life and how she reclaimed being a sister left me floored, blinking back tears.
I nearly jumped when I read the the title Chapter on my Young and Carefree Drug/ Alcohol Escapades – was there something I had missed? To everyone’s relief, and subtly pointing out certain expectations regarding famous people, Lindsey writes, “I have never done drugs or consumed alcohol, so this chapter is really short.”
As happy and as positive both her personality and her work are (not without effort), several chapters of the book are darkly honest, though while being direct, the stories and struggles Lindsey touches on are not delivered to shock – they are part of the journey that led her to being herself, and she chose to include them.
One can’t help feeling admiration for the amount of work Lindsey put in, continuing to tour and make videos while working on the book with her sister, especially considering the devastating loss of her keyboarder and close friend Jason Gaviati to cancer shortly before the book was published.
The Only Pirate at the Party is full of moments both heart-wrenching and endearingly funny. There were times when I wanted to shout, “Lindsey! Don’t base anything you do on some of those mean comments! And certainly not on those reviews in the paper! They just don’t get it!” or “Don’t you see, those other musicians were just jealous of you!”
I was very fortunate to see Lindsey play live two years ago. The keen feeling for beauty that she carries inside herself translates not only to her art, but to the way the book is written. By the end of it you understand who this girl is, and why she is the only pirate at the party.
I hope she will always know just how incredibly, uniquely gifted she is.
Writsomnia 
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