My Turn as a Movie Critic
Pedro Almodovar's Bad Education with the much-acclaimed Mexican actor, Gael Garcia Bernal, didn't catch my attention like his previous works (2002's Talk to Her, 1999's All About My Mother, 1990's Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, etc.), nor like Bernal's previous works (which include 2004's Motorcycle Diaries - which I haven't seen yet but anticipate viewing very soon, 2002's The Crime of Father Amaro, 2001's Y Tu Mama Tambien, and 2000's Amores Perros). A very human element seemed to be missing, which is always so captivating in Almodovar's films. Even while he is directing a piece that is so twisted and out of the ordinary scope of your everyday person, he manages to keep their humanity intact.
In Bad Education, Bernal plays a character for whom the audience doesn't develop a very close relationship by the end. When the movie starts out and he is appealing to an old childhood friend for an acting gig in the friend's next movie production, you want to believe in his earnestness, in his desire to do well, and in his acting ability. However, when you finally realize who he really is and what he has done to get to this point in his life, the only faith you have left is in his acting ability. This is a movie about the very baseness of the human condition, the dark side of the soul that you take pains not to examine.
You continuously want to believe the people on the screen are basically good people, people who are well-intentioned despite things ending badly. However, Almodovar paints just the opposite picture: people are destined to be bad, with intentions or possibilities that look good from the outset but aren't really. People just aren't what they seem.
Somehow I think I managed the most amount of sympathy for the child-molesting priest and Bernal's childhood friend, the Director, which is a kind of tongue-in-cheek when you think about the moral depravity normally associated with child molestors and Hollywood types.
What I enjoyed most about this movie was Bernal's acting. He is simply an amazing actor, with a barely concealed sexuality about him and a penchant for taking on provacative roles. I haven't seen him play a character yet that doesn't truly enthrall the viewer, whether for good, bad, or ugly.
Then I saw Clint Eastwood's Million Dollar Baby, which has Clint up for for a Best Actor and Achievement in Directing Academy Award, Morgan Freeman up for a Best Supporting Actor, Hillary Swank up for a Best Actress, Joel Cox up for Achievement in Film Editing, and itself up for Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Motion Picture.
First of all, my opinion of the Academy Awards is very low, if not nearly nonexistant, but somehow every year my dislike of the Academy becomes murkily entangled with my love of movies and I spend four or five hours watching some of the worst programming on television, only to see the truly deserving nominees lose and the Academy finally give credit where credit is due, only for a completely sub-par role or sub-par movie. It's tradition.
And it will be no different this year. While I agree that Freeman, Eastwood and Swank are all gifted actors, I didn't fully revel in this movie. Granted, Vandra sobbed uncontrollably from about midway through the movie all the way until fifteen minutes past the ending, constantly penetrating the silence of the audience with a good nose-blowing that could wake an entire fraternity at 6AM on a Saturday morning...BUT I thought that the movie was missing some key dialogue in the first half to keep it totally on an Academy Award level.
From the previews, we all know the plot: Clint Eastwood plays an aging trainer who has a terrible, if not nonexistant, relationship with his own daughter and Hillary Swank is looking for a trainer. After some initial difficulties (i.e. "I don't train girls," and "Girly, tough ain't enough"), Eastwood finally agrees to take on Swank and she goes on to enjoy some success in the boxing ring. We all know this relationship somehow turns into a substitute father/daughter relationship that both characters need, but we are not prepared for the twist at the height of Swank's career.
I think what I felt through the first half of the movie was that I was being led somewhere all too familiar, with the underdog, I-don't-get-enough-love-at-home-and-I've-adopted-you-as-my-new-daddy-you-don't-have-no-one-to-love-anyway kind of a story. Morgan Freeman only helped emphasize that by playing a retired boxer who keeps up Eastwood's gym and serves as the mediator between Swank's character and Eastwood's character, before they finally start training together, and also as the narrator. Freeman, and especially Swank, are so g0sh-darn loveable, with nary a character flaw, that I find them both fairly flat and difficult to digest (the critic that I am) all throughout the first half of the film.
Then there's Eastwood's character. He's supposed to undergo some sort of major character transformation by the end, finally allowing himself to love someone like family, but I just don't buy into it. I think a lot of my reserve here has to do with the fact that the film keeps intimating that something terrible happened between him and his daughter that forever altered his life (i.e. "A man doesn't go to church everyday for 20 years if he hasn't done something wrong"), but the film never lets on what that is.
The turning point occurs at the height of Swank's career, as I said before, and this is where the movie actually starts to get interesting, and the characters formulate some depth. It is here where the actual movie lies. Up to this point, if I were to give it a rating of 1 to 5 stars (with 1 being "I hate it," 2 being "I didn't like it," 3 being "I liked it," 4 being "I really liked it," and 5 being "I loved it"), the film would get a lukewarm 3 (really, who doesn't like an underdog??!). Yet once we reach the turning point, where things don't go as the Director seems to be leading you to believe they will go, this is where my "Ah-ha!" factor goes up.
I now understand the Academy nods. It isn't your typical sports movie. The underdog doesn't always go on to overcome all the tragedies in his/her life and, just like in real life, movies don't always have to have happy endings. I think this is what I am starting to treasure the most in movies - that is to say, the movie that adheres to real life, real conclusions, real sorrows and real happiness. Sometimes the biggest heroes in life are just the ones who triumph in the face of adversity. Life isn't all saccharine sweet. And neither is this movie.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Temporary Departure
I must break into my daily accounting of my Punta Cana trip to make mention of the fact that my boyfriend is leaving me...for Condaleeza Rice!!! Anthony is spending the next ten days on one of the Secretary of State's jump teams, traveling from London to Luxembourg to Ramallah. Some boys have all the luck, no?
It is only in moments like this when I actually miss my old job with Diplomatic Security (well, that and when it comes time to pay bills). Granted, in the past six months or so, I have rafted the Grand Canyon and parked my butt beachside in the Caribbean, but all the same, I'm not sure I like it when my honey is more well-traveled than I. THE NERVE!
So I get to act like a State Department widow for the next two weeks. Whatever will I do with myself?
Although, speaking of travel: Anthony and I have decided (or was that just me?) that for our one-year anniversary, instead of buying some sort of materialistic gift that neither one of us will remember in 10 years, we are going to commemorate the occasion by taking a trip to Northern Ireland. DARWIN: Get ready, 'cause here we come!!!
I must break into my daily accounting of my Punta Cana trip to make mention of the fact that my boyfriend is leaving me...for Condaleeza Rice!!! Anthony is spending the next ten days on one of the Secretary of State's jump teams, traveling from London to Luxembourg to Ramallah. Some boys have all the luck, no?
It is only in moments like this when I actually miss my old job with Diplomatic Security (well, that and when it comes time to pay bills). Granted, in the past six months or so, I have rafted the Grand Canyon and parked my butt beachside in the Caribbean, but all the same, I'm not sure I like it when my honey is more well-traveled than I. THE NERVE!
So I get to act like a State Department widow for the next two weeks. Whatever will I do with myself?
Although, speaking of travel: Anthony and I have decided (or was that just me?) that for our one-year anniversary, instead of buying some sort of materialistic gift that neither one of us will remember in 10 years, we are going to commemorate the occasion by taking a trip to Northern Ireland. DARWIN: Get ready, 'cause here we come!!!
Monday, January 31, 2005
Mostly Day 2
Jimmy and I slept in, slightly affected by mild hangovers from our wild night of wine and gambling the night before. I slipped out to the lobby early to make reservations for dinner for the following evening (most of the restaurants require reservations, some of which fill up early in the morning), and to buy a US$21 bottle of sunblock. Yes, my friends, I, the perennially poor lives-like-a-broke-college-student Ryan, spent $21 on a bottle of sunblock. I only had about a tablespoon left in the old bottle I kept from last summer - especially after Vince and my trip to the Grand Canyon - and I thought Jimmy and I would need reinforcements. So $21 of the last $100 in my bank account went towards sunblock.
Keeping that in mind, we headed out straight for the beach, hitting the sand around 11AM. Jimmy used a drop of sunblock on his face and neck and proceeded to burn himself to a crisp by 3PM. Yes, we sat outside in the Caribbean sun during the least sun-friendly hours of the day and JIMMY DIDN'T WEAR SUNBLOCK. So by the end of the afternoon, Jimmy was read from his toenails to his neck. Due to the slight bit of sunblock he DID use on his face and neck, he ended up with a ring of red around his neck and shoulders, remaining pale from there up.
Mother Nature's little joke on him occurred when for the rest of our vacation, the sun didn't come back out again and he was forced to go home with an uneven burn, despite all his attempts to be shirtless and absorb the sunlight reflected off of the clouds. The sun seemed to be saying, "It just wasn't meant to be, little Jimmy."
Much to the chagrin of one of our Outback Safari members, I even managed to have a little adventure all my own on the beach that Tuesday. For the first time in my life, I sunbathed topless. I figured, "What the heck! All the Europeans don't seem to give a crap, and why on earth would I try to please that one ignorant blockhead from Texas anyway?!!!" So, in an attempt to avoid tan lines, I went with the birthday suit plus bikini bottom look. Mother Nature's HA-HA on me was that I only developed one itsy-bitsy shade darker of a tan. I probably wouldn't have gotten tan lines if I tried, what with my 30SPF sunblock on.
The most amusing part of our hours in the sun was the half hour or so that Jimmy actually convinced me to go into the beachside pool. Of course, we jumped in and headed directly for the in-pool bar, where we were greatly amused by the bartender who only growled and catcalled at me:
Me: "Can I have a bloody mary please...por favor, un bloody mary?"
Bartender:"Grrrrr....." (in that rolling your tongue, happy to see you kind of way)
Jimmy: "I'll have the same. UN BLOODY MARY, POR FAVOR." (his Spanish spoken so slowly and obviously that even a drunk Texan could understand him, the bartender still growling)"You are so funny; you remind me of Ricky from The Lucille Ball Show. Grrrrrrrrrr....."
Bartender: "Grrrrrrr...."
Me: "Gracias. Um...Jimmy...shouldn't we go drink this somewhere else in the pool, it's not warm here in the shade..."
Jimmy: "He's funny."
Eventually, I got Jimmy away from our own little Ricky, with very little affrontery to my virgin sensibilities.
The other amusement was the group of several obviously drunk Spaniards at the poolside bar, who moved between singing the Macarena at the top of their lungs, to shouting, "Me llamo Fernando, Fernando Cortes!!!" Or something really close to that. It certainly made for some interesting background noise for my book reading.
Later that evening, we found our way to the spa and made appointments for Thursday for massages. We also found our way back down to the beach to have a quick massage poolside. The massage techniques are so completely different in the Dominican Republic - I am not really sure that these people go to school for massage therapy at all. I haven't had many professional massages in my life, but the American massages I've received seem to be a lot more educated. And the massages we got that afternoon were much too soft - I like to feel like I've really paid for something. However, all that being said, I still enjoyed having someone rub massage oils into my back while listening to the waves crash on the sand and feel the ocean breeze.
Now that it is a week and a half from our vacation, I can't remember when we met our friends, the Canadians, but it was either before or after the beach massage. Steve and Adrien, I believe, were their names. They joined us in the hot tub in the spa and we chatted for a while. They were part of a group of 42 Canadians who came down for a couple's wedding. They had all these ice-breaker activities planned for the week, group sports, yadda, yadda, yadda. It all sounded like a lot of fun - even if I can't ever imagine making all my friends and family travel abroad for my wedding! Anyway, they were a lot of fun and Jimmy and I had a wonderful time later trying to determine if they were gay or straight.
Our basic conclusion was that there certainly weren't enough gay boys at the Resort to compliment and harass Jimmy, to boost his ego. Granted, there were plenty of women lavishing him with attention, but he tends to not notice that kind of stuff from the fairer sex. Instead, it was a week all about me being overly catered to by the male staff... not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I would have rather have been overly catered to by Anthony for a week.
Our day on the beach was, of course, cut short by Jimmy's sunburn and our dinner reservations. Traveling with a gay man means that there must always be time for another shower and primping before dinner. So we're back to the apartment, admiring the columns and catching up on our Bush inauguration.
Speaking of which, let me just point out that the priest at the ceremony concluded with something to the effect of, "...and with due respect to people of all other faiths, I offer this prayer to Our Lord, Jesus Christ." Was I the only one listening??? First of all, having a priest or monk or rabbi or whatever at the inauguration certainly must violate the separation of church and state - not that this administration has taken ANY pains to uphold that! Secondly, isn't that only slightly ironic? I assume that he was serious when he made that statement, but am I the only one who can't see his logic?!! How is it at all respectful of all other faiths to offer up a prayer to Jesus? How is it respectful to all other faiths to necessarily pray at all in this kind of setting? I know it's just a small detail, when so many other things are wrong with this administration, but all the little things do add up and I only need one example of the ignorance of this administration to make my point, no matter how small. Really, what the hell!!!
So anyway, Jimmy got himself all worked up watching CNN while I was sponging the massage oil off my body, and it took me several drinks to calm him down and completely change the subject.
Actually, I just realized that this CNN debacle occurred on Wednesday night, NOT Tuesday, but the message is still the same: BUSH SUCKS. Those of us who have a certain fondness for personal freedom, and the "right to pursue happiness" without infringing upon the rights of others of course, are having a huge problem with another four years of a man who wishes to impose his will on us and take away basic freedoms. What woman could vote for a man who wishes to make us second-class citizens again? What military personnel and their families could vote for a man who sent us to war for no good reason and no longer feels the need to give us one? What self-respecting citizen could vote for a man who works toward undermining the rights of gays, women, and non-Christians? What true Christian could, with the basic tenets of love, forgiveness, and tolerance, vote for a man who preaches disrespect and non-tolerance for life-views outside of that which he is comfortable? I completely understand why Jimmy was so upset, but I must admit that I refused to let that man ruin my vacation. After all, we were in another country, far away from his evil grasp....
So, what we really watched on Tuesday night was this really terrible 80's movie with Marky Mark and Reese Witherspoon, Fear. What is funny is that Jimmy and I have the same weakness - we will watch anything, no matter how cheesy, if it is in movie format. Although it is kind of amusing to watch Marky Mark play a psychotic teenager...
Unfortunately, we had to cut the movie short and keep up with our dinner appointment at El Pescador. This restaurant is in a building right on the beach, where they have a lunch-time buffet in the afternoons. During the day, the building just has one buffet, but at night, they separate out the rooms into three different upscale dining areas - or three restaurants. During the day, the chairs are plastic and the tables run-down; at night, the chairs have cushions and the tables are covered in gleaming white linens, with real cloth napkins.
So we had wonderful conversation with a side of lobster and shrimp, and an even bigger helping of wine. As we were still pretty worn out from traveling there, staying up so late the night before, and spending all day in the healing rays of the sun with a drink at our sides, we skipped the Miss Bavaro Princess competition and went straight to bed.
Jimmy and I slept in, slightly affected by mild hangovers from our wild night of wine and gambling the night before. I slipped out to the lobby early to make reservations for dinner for the following evening (most of the restaurants require reservations, some of which fill up early in the morning), and to buy a US$21 bottle of sunblock. Yes, my friends, I, the perennially poor lives-like-a-broke-college-student Ryan, spent $21 on a bottle of sunblock. I only had about a tablespoon left in the old bottle I kept from last summer - especially after Vince and my trip to the Grand Canyon - and I thought Jimmy and I would need reinforcements. So $21 of the last $100 in my bank account went towards sunblock.
Keeping that in mind, we headed out straight for the beach, hitting the sand around 11AM. Jimmy used a drop of sunblock on his face and neck and proceeded to burn himself to a crisp by 3PM. Yes, we sat outside in the Caribbean sun during the least sun-friendly hours of the day and JIMMY DIDN'T WEAR SUNBLOCK. So by the end of the afternoon, Jimmy was read from his toenails to his neck. Due to the slight bit of sunblock he DID use on his face and neck, he ended up with a ring of red around his neck and shoulders, remaining pale from there up.
Mother Nature's little joke on him occurred when for the rest of our vacation, the sun didn't come back out again and he was forced to go home with an uneven burn, despite all his attempts to be shirtless and absorb the sunlight reflected off of the clouds. The sun seemed to be saying, "It just wasn't meant to be, little Jimmy."
Much to the chagrin of one of our Outback Safari members, I even managed to have a little adventure all my own on the beach that Tuesday. For the first time in my life, I sunbathed topless. I figured, "What the heck! All the Europeans don't seem to give a crap, and why on earth would I try to please that one ignorant blockhead from Texas anyway?!!!" So, in an attempt to avoid tan lines, I went with the birthday suit plus bikini bottom look. Mother Nature's HA-HA on me was that I only developed one itsy-bitsy shade darker of a tan. I probably wouldn't have gotten tan lines if I tried, what with my 30SPF sunblock on.
The most amusing part of our hours in the sun was the half hour or so that Jimmy actually convinced me to go into the beachside pool. Of course, we jumped in and headed directly for the in-pool bar, where we were greatly amused by the bartender who only growled and catcalled at me:
Me: "Can I have a bloody mary please...por favor, un bloody mary?"
Bartender:
Jimmy: "I'll have the same. UN BLOODY MARY, POR FAVOR." (his Spanish spoken so slowly and obviously that even a drunk Texan could understand him, the bartender still growling)
Bartender: "Grrrrrrr...."
Me: "Gracias. Um...Jimmy...shouldn't we go drink this somewhere else in the pool, it's not warm here in the shade..."
Jimmy: "He's funny."
Eventually, I got Jimmy away from our own little Ricky, with very little affrontery to my virgin sensibilities.
The other amusement was the group of several obviously drunk Spaniards at the poolside bar, who moved between singing the Macarena at the top of their lungs, to shouting, "Me llamo Fernando, Fernando Cortes!!!" Or something really close to that. It certainly made for some interesting background noise for my book reading.
Later that evening, we found our way to the spa and made appointments for Thursday for massages. We also found our way back down to the beach to have a quick massage poolside. The massage techniques are so completely different in the Dominican Republic - I am not really sure that these people go to school for massage therapy at all. I haven't had many professional massages in my life, but the American massages I've received seem to be a lot more educated. And the massages we got that afternoon were much too soft - I like to feel like I've really paid for something. However, all that being said, I still enjoyed having someone rub massage oils into my back while listening to the waves crash on the sand and feel the ocean breeze.
Now that it is a week and a half from our vacation, I can't remember when we met our friends, the Canadians, but it was either before or after the beach massage. Steve and Adrien, I believe, were their names. They joined us in the hot tub in the spa and we chatted for a while. They were part of a group of 42 Canadians who came down for a couple's wedding. They had all these ice-breaker activities planned for the week, group sports, yadda, yadda, yadda. It all sounded like a lot of fun - even if I can't ever imagine making all my friends and family travel abroad for my wedding! Anyway, they were a lot of fun and Jimmy and I had a wonderful time later trying to determine if they were gay or straight.
Our basic conclusion was that there certainly weren't enough gay boys at the Resort to compliment and harass Jimmy, to boost his ego. Granted, there were plenty of women lavishing him with attention, but he tends to not notice that kind of stuff from the fairer sex. Instead, it was a week all about me being overly catered to by the male staff... not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I would have rather have been overly catered to by Anthony for a week.
Our day on the beach was, of course, cut short by Jimmy's sunburn and our dinner reservations. Traveling with a gay man means that there must always be time for another shower and primping before dinner. So we're back to the apartment, admiring the columns and catching up on our Bush inauguration.
Speaking of which, let me just point out that the priest at the ceremony concluded with something to the effect of, "...and with due respect to people of all other faiths, I offer this prayer to Our Lord, Jesus Christ." Was I the only one listening??? First of all, having a priest or monk or rabbi or whatever at the inauguration certainly must violate the separation of church and state - not that this administration has taken ANY pains to uphold that! Secondly, isn't that only slightly ironic? I assume that he was serious when he made that statement, but am I the only one who can't see his logic?!! How is it at all respectful of all other faiths to offer up a prayer to Jesus? How is it respectful to all other faiths to necessarily pray at all in this kind of setting? I know it's just a small detail, when so many other things are wrong with this administration, but all the little things do add up and I only need one example of the ignorance of this administration to make my point, no matter how small. Really, what the hell!!!
So anyway, Jimmy got himself all worked up watching CNN while I was sponging the massage oil off my body, and it took me several drinks to calm him down and completely change the subject.
Actually, I just realized that this CNN debacle occurred on Wednesday night, NOT Tuesday, but the message is still the same: BUSH SUCKS. Those of us who have a certain fondness for personal freedom, and the "right to pursue happiness" without infringing upon the rights of others of course, are having a huge problem with another four years of a man who wishes to impose his will on us and take away basic freedoms. What woman could vote for a man who wishes to make us second-class citizens again? What military personnel and their families could vote for a man who sent us to war for no good reason and no longer feels the need to give us one? What self-respecting citizen could vote for a man who works toward undermining the rights of gays, women, and non-Christians? What true Christian could, with the basic tenets of love, forgiveness, and tolerance, vote for a man who preaches disrespect and non-tolerance for life-views outside of that which he is comfortable? I completely understand why Jimmy was so upset, but I must admit that I refused to let that man ruin my vacation. After all, we were in another country, far away from his evil grasp....
So, what we really watched on Tuesday night was this really terrible 80's movie with Marky Mark and Reese Witherspoon, Fear. What is funny is that Jimmy and I have the same weakness - we will watch anything, no matter how cheesy, if it is in movie format. Although it is kind of amusing to watch Marky Mark play a psychotic teenager...
Unfortunately, we had to cut the movie short and keep up with our dinner appointment at El Pescador. This restaurant is in a building right on the beach, where they have a lunch-time buffet in the afternoons. During the day, the building just has one buffet, but at night, they separate out the rooms into three different upscale dining areas - or three restaurants. During the day, the chairs are plastic and the tables run-down; at night, the chairs have cushions and the tables are covered in gleaming white linens, with real cloth napkins.
So we had wonderful conversation with a side of lobster and shrimp, and an even bigger helping of wine. As we were still pretty worn out from traveling there, staying up so late the night before, and spending all day in the healing rays of the sun with a drink at our sides, we skipped the Miss Bavaro Princess competition and went straight to bed.
Friday, January 28, 2005
El Dominicano
Jimmy in the Sun
Originally uploaded by Pookah.
Jimmy and I left for Punta Cana the day of the first snowfall in Philadelphia. Granted, it was only a light dusting, but it was the coldest weather of the season, according to us, so we left for warmer climes. AT 4 FRIGGIN' A.M.!
Several hours later we were finally flying over the Dominican island and it was such a welcome sight - a sea of green, and green, and more green! I don't think I've ever seen anything more lush or, or...GREEN! This was my first Caribbean vacation, my first vacation in the winter to someplace where it is warmer.
The first step off the plane - and I mean I hadn't even gotten to the first stair yet - and this wave of warmth enveloped me, surrounding me in it's embrace, chasing away the cold that had settled into my chapped fingers. For the first time in months, I was warm.
The airport itself was beautiful. Although larger than the image I am giving you will lead you to believe, each of the buildings was designed to look like a hut, with straw roofs and no distinct walls. Everything was open to the tropical air, and rightfully so.
It took us some time to fill out our tourist cards, hit the bathroom, find our luggage and get on the right bus to the hotel, but eventually we were there: The Bavaro Princess Resort.
When you first arrive at someplace like that, you are overwhelmed with the newness of the place, with the beautiful architecture, the tropical feel. I would like to give you some of that awe before, like me, you settle into a groove of familiarity and forget to be awed.
The lobby is completely wall-less. There are marble columns, with ledges of tropical plants cascading down into the main area; rainbow parrots in tropical pools catcalling at all the patrons; foreign tourists in skimpy summer clothing walking around with an air of having come here for years; smiling Dominican employees sweeping up the sand, answering the phones, making reservations, talking to each other and the guests; a ring of stores to one side, selling paintings, sunblock, bathing suits, and souvenirs; and row after row of comfortable chairs and sofas, radiating out from the two lobby bars.
You just drop your luggage off with the porters and you can't take your eyes off this little island world, knowing that it was all made for you - for your comfort and enjoyment.
Jimmy and I checked in, but couldn't get into our rooms until 3PM so we found a few necessities, grabbed our second drink of our vacation (there was a free drink on our flight - would you believe it!? Treated like first class in the air!!!), and stripped down to our underwear to enjoy the sun by the pool.
I got my first view of European bathing habits when I realized that the grandmotherly ladies in the lawn chairs next to us were sunbathing topless, letting it all hang out and with their bikini bottoms snugly tugged up into the crack of their asses. I can honestly say that it didn't bother me in the least, but it was great fun to talk about!
We spent our time drinking and picking out the cutest boys in our immediate area. Once we ran out of people - and pina coladas - we decided we probably need some sunblock to avoid nasty burns in the Caribbean sun and decided to have a looksie at the beach and get me some food.
The ocean was AMAZING. As you can see by the picture of Jimmy at the top of this entry, which was actually taken on Day 2 of our trip, the water is simply fantastically blue. As for the sky, all the way to the hotel I actually kept singing the Simpson's theme song because the sky in the Simpson's title is the same sky I saw in the Dominican Republic. That perfect shade of blue. Those perfect cotton-ball clouds. The cleanest white sand. Topless sunbathers. Guys in speedos. Free drinks. Free food. Spanish conversation floating by. French words tugging at me. Not a single thing I would ever see or hear or taste or touch at any of the American beaches I've visited in my short life.
About 75% of the guests are European, mostly from Spain, some from France, and I'm sure still a few others from other European countries - although I didn't see any. Most of the English-speaking guests are Canadian. The one person I saw who I KNOW was American (other than Jimmy and I) was acting like a total ignorant prick to the staff and I realized why we have developed such a poor reputation as tourists. ASSHOLE.
Well, we ate lunch and then decided to go see our room. Our apartments were closer to the beach than the lobby and were unreal. When you walk into the front door, all you see in front of you is a bed on a raised dais, surrounded by columns. You walk immediately into your kitchen/den area and up onto the dais. To the right of that was the bathroom area, and a doored-in toilet, bidet, and shower. It was just enough, even if the columns were a bit much.
Now, Jimmy swore up and down that we had no hot water, but the truth of the matter was that he kept turning the shower knob in the wrong direction. That was the closest to a problem that we had with our room. Thankfully, Jimmy doesn't have a problem with bugs because we had something akin to a grasshopper on the floor sometime in the middle of the week, but he just sat there and didn't bother us, so we didn't bother him. Secretly, I named him George.
So we finally settled in. Our luggage arrived, we showered and changed, and finally it was time for dinner.
Although I seem to have failed to talk about the Resort, outside of our master bedroom and the lobby. The Resort sits on something like 96 acres of land, with winding stone walkways, a small zoo, little bungalows tucked in behind different varieties of palm trees, and a bit of a rainforest in the middle. At one end of the Resort lies the lobby/reception area, and at the other lies the beach. There are five or six restaurants on sight, and diesel powered trams carrying guests from location to location. There are beautiful flowers and, most importantly to me, a plethora of GREEN. Peacocks, roosters, flamingos, what appeared to be herons, and other birds roam the property freely, wandering in and out of restaurants, walkways, the spa - wherever they wish to go. There are lakes and rivers, fountains and waterfalls, and everyone greets you with a distinctly friendly, "Hola!" You can't go more than three feet without being welcomed by another member of the staff.
Anyway, we had reserved a spot at Chopin for our first night out. Chopin is set up in the middle of the Resort, right on a lake, surrounding by palms and other fauna. Most notably, in the middle of your meal, a pianist comes floating by on the river, his little raft lit by hundreds of little lights, playing something that I'm sure was beautiful at the time (I was a bit more interested in the red wine I was drinking than the music). It really was a sight, so romantic, so fantastical... And although I love Jimmy with all my heart, it's moments like that when you wish that your lover were there with you, doing all the things you read about in sappy books: staring deeply into your eyes, holding out your chair for you, touching your hand in that oh-so-romantic-on-the-television-screen kind of way...
We had a very lovely dinner, with lovely conversation, and plenty of chitchat with our waiters. I got a lot of miles out of my limited knowledge of Spanish, and the boys invited us out to a local dance club - one that is not on the Resort. Unfortunately, after no sleep (Jimmy took a nap on the plane, and again in the afternoon), many more drinks, and our first show (they had shows daily at 10PM in the lobby area), the new friends I had made just didn't show up. We were stood up.
Jimmy then dragged me to the Casino, where I promptly lost all semblance of a human being around 1:30AM. I had finally hit my wall.
Dominican Countryside
Dominican Countryside
Originally uploaded by Pookah.
I don't have much time to spend talking about my Dominican vacation right now, as I should be doing what the rest of the world is doing(yes, that's right, THE WORLD) - which is sleeping. However, I was working with my photos and wanted to share one with you all. I captured this shot while Jimmy and I were on an Outback Safari into the "real" Dominican Republic. We put up with their winter weather - i.e. rain and wind - in the back of an open-air truck for this so you better enjoy it!!!
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Afterthought
By the way, it turns out Anthony didn't have to have surgery. Ah, the love of my life! Instead he traveled all the way to North Carolina to get some MRIs and physical therapy. Apparently he's a total freak when it comes to illness, disease, hospitals, etc. Whether it's a headache or triple bypass surgery, his response is always, "I don't do drugs." No tylenol, no Nyquil (a sin!), no Percocet, no Vicadin, no anti-inflammatories, no nothing. And he refuses to trust any doctor outside of his mother's personal network of friends. Since she used to be a nurse, I guess that's reliable, but at the same time, New York City has some of the most world reknowned doctors and hospitals in the world. I'm pretty sure they couldn't fuck up an MRI... (oooh!! Did I just say the "F" word?)
So, when the doctor said he didn't really need to perform surgery (after seeing the MRI), but another procedure could be done with local anesthetic, Anthony went ahead and turned that down too. After his mom force-fed him anti-inflammatory pills for a week, he promptly stopped that as well, i.e. he left North Carolina to come home to me. Mind you, this is the same man who deals with migraines by attaching a clothespin to his ear, claiming that hitting a pressure point takes his mind off the pain in his head.
Now Anthony is supposed to be doing leg exercises on his own, and building up the muscles on the inside of his knee so his patella doesn't over-rotate to the other side and cause him these same problems again. He is supposed to be working on endurance exercises like running, biking, swimming, etc.
Although now that he is sick, I don't think he's been hitting the gym all that much. And goodness knows that if he does make it to the gym, all he'll likely do is lift weights, the meathead!
Ah yes, the loveliness that is the wintertime flu season. Did I mention I got really ill upon returning home from the lovely Dominican Republic? I had a Bond-athon, extreme stomach pains and diarrhea, which means that I kept having to interrupt Sean Connery to either clench my eyes shut as spasms ran through my gut, or run to the bathroom at a 50-meter-dash world-record pace. I thought that it might have been due to the chili Anthony brought me from Lupe's back in Charlotte, or perhaps a change of diet from the extremely greasy Dominican food I'd eaten for a week to a diet that was slightly less, but it appears that it was likely neither as I have now passed on my illness in all it's glory to my love, my Anthony. Yet he has had the added benefit of a black eye I gave him last Friday night (well, the boy DID GET OUT OF LINE), a pinched nerve in the middle of his back, and other actual flu symptoms such as all-over body aches.
But does he take good care of himself? NO. He sets himself up with a vitamin cocktail comprising of a lot of letters in the alphabet, from A to zinc, stuffs himself with fibrous fruits before bed so he can sleep through the night without having to "pee through his bum" (his words, not mine), and then puts on every item of clothing he owns plus all his bedding so he can "sweat it out." Although I am not a big fan of taking random drugs myself, I can't stop from thinking, "What a weirdo!!!"
By the way, it turns out Anthony didn't have to have surgery. Ah, the love of my life! Instead he traveled all the way to North Carolina to get some MRIs and physical therapy. Apparently he's a total freak when it comes to illness, disease, hospitals, etc. Whether it's a headache or triple bypass surgery, his response is always, "I don't do drugs." No tylenol, no Nyquil (a sin!), no Percocet, no Vicadin, no anti-inflammatories, no nothing. And he refuses to trust any doctor outside of his mother's personal network of friends. Since she used to be a nurse, I guess that's reliable, but at the same time, New York City has some of the most world reknowned doctors and hospitals in the world. I'm pretty sure they couldn't fuck up an MRI... (oooh!! Did I just say the "F" word?)
So, when the doctor said he didn't really need to perform surgery (after seeing the MRI), but another procedure could be done with local anesthetic, Anthony went ahead and turned that down too. After his mom force-fed him anti-inflammatory pills for a week, he promptly stopped that as well, i.e. he left North Carolina to come home to me. Mind you, this is the same man who deals with migraines by attaching a clothespin to his ear, claiming that hitting a pressure point takes his mind off the pain in his head.
Now Anthony is supposed to be doing leg exercises on his own, and building up the muscles on the inside of his knee so his patella doesn't over-rotate to the other side and cause him these same problems again. He is supposed to be working on endurance exercises like running, biking, swimming, etc.
Although now that he is sick, I don't think he's been hitting the gym all that much. And goodness knows that if he does make it to the gym, all he'll likely do is lift weights, the meathead!
Ah yes, the loveliness that is the wintertime flu season. Did I mention I got really ill upon returning home from the lovely Dominican Republic? I had a Bond-athon, extreme stomach pains and diarrhea, which means that I kept having to interrupt Sean Connery to either clench my eyes shut as spasms ran through my gut, or run to the bathroom at a 50-meter-dash world-record pace. I thought that it might have been due to the chili Anthony brought me from Lupe's back in Charlotte, or perhaps a change of diet from the extremely greasy Dominican food I'd eaten for a week to a diet that was slightly less, but it appears that it was likely neither as I have now passed on my illness in all it's glory to my love, my Anthony. Yet he has had the added benefit of a black eye I gave him last Friday night (well, the boy DID GET OUT OF LINE), a pinched nerve in the middle of his back, and other actual flu symptoms such as all-over body aches.
But does he take good care of himself? NO. He sets himself up with a vitamin cocktail comprising of a lot of letters in the alphabet, from A to zinc, stuffs himself with fibrous fruits before bed so he can sleep through the night without having to "pee through his bum" (his words, not mine), and then puts on every item of clothing he owns plus all his bedding so he can "sweat it out." Although I am not a big fan of taking random drugs myself, I can't stop from thinking, "What a weirdo!!!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
