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American Horror Story Season 1 & 2 (review)

I started watching this by accident, as I was looking for a scary film I could just turn off after 5 minutes for it being too scared.

It all starts with a house. A house that’s being sold to a couple who has had a rough time coping with all kind of things. What those things are, unrevels itself during the season (duh), but with interesting twists and turns during the whole process.
One that I loved was where the camera goes from one angle to the other to show the different views from both the husband and the wife.

There’s a few funny things about this series:
1) each season can be watched seperate from ever having seen the other seasons.
2) the actors playing the parts return into the same kind of character (but different roles) each season
3) not every season is as entertaining.

Watching the first season, which has a rich sauce of The Others, The Sixth Sense and The House of Spirits amongst it, I was immediately captivated with the first episode. This disappeared for a while, then it got interesting again. In my opinion: watch the first episode, then skip to 4th or 5th one.

The humour in this series is priceless. It’s extremely dark in certain episodes (this will be even worse at continuing seasons), but for who is into that, this series rocks at times.

My review about Season 2 is rather short: I didn’t like it that much, as it’s solely based on abuse of power within an asylum run by church people (nuns, priests).
It hardly has any ‘X-Files’ touch to it. It does, just not in a way that fits the season in my opinion.
I didn’t find much humour in it, so I skipped over most of the bits. It could be I missed a few spots because of that, sorry.

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Posted by on January 3, 2016 in Opinion, Uncategorized

 

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Burn After Reading

With Frances McDormand, Richard Jenkins, Brad Pitt, John Malkovich, Tilda Swinton, George Clooney.
A promising cast that doesn’t disappoint. Frances McDormand is Linda Letzke, employee at a sports center along with Richard Jenkins -who has a crush on her without her knowledge- and a lovely portrayed brainless Chad (Brad Pitt). I was truly taken by his masterly stupidity. Because let’s face it: in general, this man is cast to play the pretty boy, or the good guy at least.
In this film he is a fitness instructor, meant to be a karikature of that profession. He is the sidekick of Linda Letzke, who is planning a complete makeover of her body with the help of a plastic surgeon. Given that she works at a fitness center, she doesn’t earn enough money to complete this special quest.
Osborne Cox (John Malkovich) is a customer at this fitness center and at one day, looses a valuable item. It is, yes, but not as special as it seems to Chad, who happens to be the one finding it. Still, he and Linda Letzke decide to blackmail Osborne Cox to gain the money that Linda needs for her operations.
And yes, this is just one of the silly storylines. It’s a true beauty and I laughed myself in stitches.

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2015 in Films, Opinion

 

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Bomb

It had been one of those days, Adeline had to admit that. Running errands, making sure the boys were neatly dressed and pressed and out with their schoollunches, their homework done in their schoolbags and so on. After that making soup for the dinner party they had planned for that night, which meant going to the supermarket and buy fresh vegetables, herbs and meat for the soup as part of this occasion.

So she didn’t exactly expect this to happen.

How CAN one expect a thing like that, after all? It can’t be held into accountability, Not for Adeline. Who was the kind of person to plan practically everything. From her clothes to her hairs she always looked the way she wanted.

When she walked into the kitchen, arms full of bags filled with groceries, armpits keeping the mail she took out of the mailbox, her teeth holding the keys, she nearly froze when she put down the bags of goodies on the kitchen table. For a huge, ticking bomb was in the livingroom. Sticking out of the mantelpiece which held the boys’ prices for chess, tennis and waterpolo. The bomb made those prices look rather bleak.
Adeline didn’t like it.

‘Mark?’ she cried for her husband, ‘Mark, did you by any chance order a bomb to be part of our livingroom area?’ it was a bit of a ridiculous question, but an organised family as they were, it did seem the most logical explanation. That Mark had purchased an object for the livingroom.

Mark didn’t answer as he simply wasn’t there. Adeline started laughing hysterically, pointed her finger at the bom.

‘You were not invited for this party, I know that for very sure!’ she accused the bomb in a motherly tone that let no doubt about her seriousness in the matter. She looked around for a quick solution. But this wasn’t the kind of problem that could be easily solved by rubber bands, sticky tape or paperclips. Or even an ’emergency sew’. Adeline looked around nervously.

‘You aren’t part of my plan, young man, you don’t even match my bloody curtains!’ she did have a point there. The curtains were orange, where the stripes on this bomb were purple. Still, the bomb didn’t seem to be very impressed. It just hung there, more or less.

‘I’m gonna tell the bomb squat on you, that’s what I’m gonna do’, Adeline told the bomb, as she reached for her smartphone and googled the number, more or less hoping the bomb would be intimidated enough to disappear on its own.

A few hours later, the bomb was indeed removed by the bomb squat. The dinner was saved.

The End.

 

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2015 in Humour

 

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Bed & Breakfast

Nee, dit is geen review.
Gewoon een grappige anekdote.

Ik ben niet zo handig.

We, mijn man en ik, verbleven in een werkelijk schattig B&B in Engeland. Gelegen op een heuveltje wat was beplakt met lapjes grond en hooibalen hier en daar, parkeerplaats ervoor en onze auto die van onder tot boven was volgestouwd met vakantiezooi.
Ik ben fantastisch goed in het vergeten van zaken uit die enorme handtas op vier wielen.
We waren net bezig met onze  bedrituelen en dus met uitkleden, toen ik me realiseerde dat de toilettas niet mee was gekomen uit de auto.
‘Ik ga ‘m wel halen’, zei ik, nadat ik m’n jas en trui al uit had getrokken.
M’n man draaide zich om, zoals personen wel vaker doen, al is het alleen maar om degene die tegen je spreekt op z’n minst aan te kunnen kijken. Hij bekeek me kort.
‘Doe je trui aan, of een vest’, het leek wel een bevel.
U kent mijn man niet, dus ik zal u inlichten: het is niks voor hem om mij te vertellen wat ik moet doen. Totaal niet. Al helemaal niet als het op kleding aankomt.
De meeste kleren die ik draag heb ik ooit van familie of vrienden danwel vriendinnen gekregen. Een allegaartje van ongeveer elke smaak die je tegen kunt komen. Dus keek ik verbaasd naar beneden na zijn woorden. Daarna keek ik lachend op.
‘Och shit, ja!’ en trok haastig en lachend m’n trui weer aan. Snel de autosleutels mee grissen, trap af en de auto in duiken in die bergen tassen. Toilettas gevonden, terug naar boven. Ik zocht naar m’n borstel, maar zag al gauw dat die hier niet in zat.
‘Oh, die zal wel in m’n andere tas zitten dan’ zuchtte ik.
Die lag ook nog in de auto. Ik had m’n trui alweer uitgetrokken. Op m’n laatste ‘rit’ was ik de wat oudere eigenaar van dit schattige B&B ook niet tegengekomen, dus ik besloot de gok te wagen. Ik liet m’n trui voor wat-ie was.
Toen ik beneden kwam, viel me wel op dat het licht inmiddelsl uit was. Op m’n vorige tocht door de hal was het aanzienlijk lichter geweest. Ik ging op zoek naar de lichtknop, had geen idee waar dat ding zat, aaide kennelijk de muur. Toen dat niet lukte, probeerde ik dan maar zonder de licht de deur open te draaien van het slot.
Terwijl ik dat deed in het donker, ging achter me het licht ineens aan.
Ik draaide me wat verschrikt om.
Daar stond de ongeveer 65-jarige eigenaar, met overhemd maar zonder broek, aangezien hij onderweg was geweest naar bed.
Stonden we dan, beiden in de hal. Hij zonder broek, ik in een T-shirt. Waar de letters ‘LOLITA’ niet groter op hadden kunnen staan.

Ik ging ‘gewoon’ weer terug naar bed, hoewel ik amper uit kon leggen aan m’n man wat er was gebeurd, zo hard moest ik lachen.

No, this isn’t a review.
It’s simply a funny story.
About me being clumsy.
We, my husband and me, were staying at a cutishly small Bed&Breakfast in the United Kingdom. It being slightly up a hill, looking out over various pieces of ground with hay, a parkinglot just out front and a car stashed with all of our holiday-needs, I am, like any woman, great at forgetting things from that giant handbag on wheels.
We were about to go to bed and so getting undressed when I realised our toiletbag hadn’t come out of the car.
‘I’ll get it’, I simply said, after I had already removed my coat and jumper.
Hubby turned around to look at me, as persons who are being spoken to tend to do, in order to be able to at least look at the persons eyes. He looked at me briefly.
‘Put your jumper back on’ he seemed to order.
You don’t know my husband, so I’ll enlighten you: it isn’t like him to tell me what to do. At all. When it comes to clothes even less. We’re not very much into clothes. I’m not into fashion. Most of the clothes I wear I got from relatives, friends, second handshops. It’s every style you can think of and everything in between. So, surprised by his tone, I looked down. Then I laughed, said:
‘Oh shit, you’re right!’ and hastily and grinningly put my jumper back on. I quickly took the carkeys, ran downstairs and dove into the stash of bags in the car. Found the toiletbag, went back up. Searched for my brush in it. Realised it wasn’t in there.
‘Oh, it must be in the other bag’, I sighed. That one was also still in the car. By now I had taken my jumper off again. In my last run, I hadn’t run into the owner of this very cute little B&B, so I decided to take my chances.
When I did, I did notice the lights had gone out in the hallway. I tried to reach for the lightswitch, but it not being my house, I had no idea where it was, really. I caressed the wall, apparently.
Then, as I tried to open the front door just without the light, it was switched on. I turned around, and there was the owner, in his shirt but with no trousers on, as he had been on his way to bed.
So, there we were, in the hallway, him without his trousers, me in a T-shirt that had, in very big letters, written the word “LOLITA’ on it.
I ‘just’ went back to bed, barely being able to explain to hubby what happened as I nearly weed myself laughing so hard.

 
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Posted by on February 19, 2015 in Daily life, Humour

 

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Nacht met ex-vriend / night with ex-boyfriend

Ik moest twee dagen stage lopen.
Locatie: praktisch tegenover de woning van een ex. Er was vriendschappelijk contact.
Reistijd vanaf eigen woonplaats: zeker een uur. Begintijd op stage: 8:30u, ervoor zorgende dat ik al snel met ‘m aan de telefoon hing.

‘Hoi, zou ik een nacht bij jou kunnen slapen? Is voor een stage’ legde ik uit.
‘Ja hoor, prima. Je moet alleen wel bij mij in bed, ik heb geen logeerkamer’, praktische info, geen ondertoon van welke soort ook.
‘Haha wauw dat is intiemer dan we destijds ooit gekomen zijn!’ lachte ik. Hij grinnikte mee. Het was waar. We waren stuntelende tieners, toen.
Ik reisde op de dag voor de stage naar zijn woning. Hij toonde me zijn bed. Een hoogslaper.
‘Ik hoop niet dat je hoogtevrees hebt’, grapte hij. Nee, zeker niet.
We aten samen pizza, ik legde uit wat ik voor stage ging doen.
‘Vooral heel, heel veel rondlopen daar’, ik wees het gebouw aan. Het was zichtbaar vanuit zijn woonkamer.
‘Oh wauw, dat is inderdaad wel heel dichtbij. Je loopt er zo heen! Geen wonder dat je hier wilde slapen’. We babbelden en haalden herinneringen op, keken wat tv.
Bedtijd. Ik douchte, deed net of ik m’n haar afdroogde.
‘Moet je geen haardroger hebben?’ vroeg hij plagerig. Hij wist dus nog dat ik die niet gebruikte. Het was een van de dingen waar hij destijds op viel. Dat ik geen ‘meisjesachtige’ spullen gebruikte.
‘Aan welke kant slaap jij?’ vroeg ik.
‘Links’
‘Okee, ga ik rechts’, concludeerde ik, terwijl ik het trapje op klom. Hij klom over me heen in zijn slaapkostuum. Bestaande uit T-shirt en onderbroek. Mijne verschilde er niet veel van, al had ik mijn beha aangehouden.
Ik had nu al meer van hem gezien dan destijds. Dit amuseerde me meer dan ik kon uitleggen. Ik hield het op gegiechel, en hij giechelde mee.
Toen het slapen. Dat bleek toch wat gecompliceerder.
Hij had me destijds al eens verteld dat hij zich in z’n slaap nogal vastklampt. Vroeger aan zijn ouders, als hij daar weleens in bed lag. Als een mossel. Op zichzelf niet zo erg, maar ik had ooit ergens gelezen dat mannen in hun slaap een erectie konden krijgen. Onbewust of niet, ik wilde die van hem BESLIST niet tegen mijn lijf voelen. Spontane preutsheid? Wie zal het zeggen. Dus dat hij zich al slapende steeds aan me vastklampte, was enigszins confronterend te noemen. Dan maar m’n kont zoveel mogelijk naar achteren als we face to face lagen, maar dat was een houding die ik bewust aan moest nemen. Bewust= wakker en dus was ik dat de halve nacht.

Daarna was de stage een peuleschil, dat dan weer wel….

I had to do an internship of two days.
Location: practically opposite an ex of mine. With whom I was still befriended.
Time to get there from my place: at least an hour. Time to start internship: 8:30. Which made the decision quite easy to contact him.

‘Hi, is it OK if I sleepover at yours? I have to do an internship’, I explained myself.
‘Yeah, sure, no problem. But you’ll have to sleep in my bed as I have no spare room’, practical info, no tone of teasing, provoking or anything whatsoever.
‘Haha wow, that’s more intimate than we’ve ever been!’ I giggled. He laughed along. For it was true. We were struggling teens when we were together.
I travelled to him the day before my internship. He showed me his bed. One of those high ones of Ikea.
‘I hope you’re not afraid of hights?’ he joked. No, surely not.
We shared a pizza, I explained what I was supposed to do during my internship.
‘Walk around a massive, massive amount, there’, I pointed my hand towards the building. It was visible from his dining room.
‘Oh wow, that’s very close indeed! No wonder you wanted to sleepover. It’s just a small walk from here!’ We talked, refreshed our memories about earlier times, watched some tv.
Then, bedtime. I took a shower, pretended I dried my hairs.
‘Not in need of a hair dryer?’ he asked teasingly. So he remembered. That I never use one. It was one of the things he fell for; me not using any ‘girlish’ items.
‘On which side do you sleep?’ I asked.
‘Left’
‘OK I’ll sleep right then’, I concluded, climbing the small stair. He climbed over me in his sleeping outfit. Which was a T-shirt and boxers. Mine wasn’t much different, though I decided to keep my bra on underneath.
I’d seen more him now than I did when we were dating. Which amused me more than I could explain. It made me giggle. He giggled along.
Then the sleeping part. A bit more complicated than I had assumed.
He had told me back then that whilst asleep, he would clamp himself to someone or something. His parents, if he ever slept in between them, for instance. Like a mussel. Not a bad habit in itself, but I’ve read somewhere once that men can have erections while asleep. Unconsciously or not, I did NOT want to feel his. I’m not that familiar with his body to be comfortable with it. So him clamping himself to me while he’s asleep is a bit confronting for me. I opt for keeping my bum as far away from him as possible when we lie face to face, but that’s a position I don’t usually have, so it’s conscious. If you have to use your mind = not a good night sleep.

After that night, the internship was easy peasy, it has to be said….

 

 
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Posted by on February 19, 2015 in Daily life, Humour

 

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Zitten/ Sitting

Ik had, in een zalig tweedehandswinkeltjes shopronde, een kort jurkje en mouwen (bolero) aangeschaft.

Stond prima, die outfit. Nog wat lippenstift en mascara op (mijn echtgenoot viel bijna flauw van het lachen, dreigde er foto’s van te maken. ‘Of nee, misschien moet ik eigenlijk meteen de krant maar bellen’) en daarna gewoon doen of ik dat elke dag op en aan had. Viel nog niet mee, met die Bambi-benen op hakken.
In de pub met onze vrienden meeten. Iedereen keurig opgedirkt in kleurige outfits, nette pakken met krakend leren veterschoenen -want gympen verboden in de club- natte haren van het douchen, glitters en glimmers overal. Het zou gezellig worden, dat was duidelijk.

Dat ik na een flinke lachaanval in de pub meteen m’n mascara al kwijt was (in een papieren zakdoekje), dat nam ik dan maar voor lief (dat gebeurd toch altijd). Toen richting club.
Het zag er leuk uit. Beetje als een kroeg, eigenlijk. We zetelden ons in een gebankte hoek met heerlijk jaren 70 oranje, poefjes die op half opgezette -maar onthoofde- pinguins leken en tafeltjes die later nog als plectrum konden dienen voor Guitar Hero bijvoorbeeld.

Een van onze vrienden, een koddig klein kereltje met bijna meer tattoeages dan huid, schopte zo’n opgezette pinguïn voor m’n neus.
‘Here, Piglet, have a seat’ werd me aangeboden. Dus ik ging zitten, zoals ik dat altijd doe.
Ik liet me zakken, want die poef was nogal laag bij de grond.
Met m’n benen wijd. En dan verbaasd het commentaar horen:

‘Wohow! You’re sitting down like a bloke!’ een hoop gelach en de herstelronde volgde ogenblikkelijk:
‘Go sit there, on the couch, much better!’ en gierend van de lach deed ik dat. Het werd heel gezellig.

I had bought, in a lovely second handshop, a nice little dress and a some sleeves (the bolero kind).

That outfit was alright on me. Some lipstick and mascara (my husband nearly fainted from laughing when I did that, threatened to take pictures and put them on to facebook. ‘Oh no, perhaps I’d better ring the newspapers first ‘).
And then pretend I was used to doing this every single day.
Wasn’t so easy. Bambi-legs on heels.
Meeting our friends at the pub. Everyone was neatly spruced in colorful outfits, dandy suits and creaking lace up shoes -because sneakers are forbidden at the club we’re heading for- wet hairs from misty showers, glitter and glamour everywhere. We were about to have an excellent night, this was very clear.

That I lost all of my mascara (in a paper handkerchief) after nearly weeing myself laughing, I took that as a bonus (that always happens anyway). Then heading for the actual club.
It looked good. A bit like a pub, really. We sat ourselves down in a banked corner that was dressed warmly in seventies orange, poofstools that looked like stuffed penguins and tables that could function as an emergency-plectrum.

One of our friends, a funny little man covered in tattoos for as far as the skin could reach, kicked one of those stuffed penguins in my direction.
‘Here, Piglet, have a seat’ he offered. So I went for a seat, the way I always do. I’m not that elegant. At least, not automatically.
As it happened to be a poofstool, I lowered myself..
Legs spread. And then heard the surprised comment:

‘Wohow, you’re sitting down like a bloke!’ a lot of laughter and a quick recovery followed:
‘Go sit on the couch there, much better!’ and screaming with laughter I did. It become a fab night.

 
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Posted by on February 18, 2015 in Daily life, Humour

 

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Kerstcircus / Christmas circus

Een van de eerste baantjes die ik had was op een bescheiden kantoor. Toen de kerstperiode aanbrak, werd er een uitje georganiseerd. Het kerstcircus in de Schouwburg.
Omdat we vrij laat aan kwamen -de grote baas, laten we hem meneer Jaarsma noemen, kon zijn zin om op tijd te vertrekken weer eens niet vinden- was het al donker in de zaal toen we arriveerden. Voor het gemak werd ik naast meneer Jaarsma geplaatst. De andere collegae zaten op verschillende plekken naast en om ons heen.

Het duurde even voordat ik doorhad dat meneer Jaarsma niet alleen wat oud en vergeetachtig was, maar ook snel slaperig, als het op donkere ruimtes aankwam.
Toen er op het toneel twee springerige heertjes tevoorschijn kwamen en een vaag, clownsachtige figuur apestreken uit begon te halen, was ik verbaasd om een andere collega naast me te horen fluisteren:
‘Meneer Jaarsma, u bent toch niet in slaap gevallen he?’ waarop de beste man wat wakker schrok, en handig inspeelde op het beeld op toneel. De clown, in hesje met blauwe en rode kleuren, lag op z’n buik dramatische bewegingen te maken. Als een klein kind dat z’n zin niet krijgt.
‘Nee hoor, ik vroeg me gewoon af of dat de Amerikaanse of de Zweedse vlag was’, verexcuseerde hij zich haastig. Dusdanig dat niet alleen de hele zaal het verstaan had, maar ook hartelijk begon te lachen.

Vijf minuten later sliep Jaarsma weer.
Welbesteed, dat geld…

One of the first jobs I had was at a small office. When Christmastime arrived, we were going out as a team. To the Christmas Circus at the local theatre.
Because we arrived quite late -as the big boss, let’s call him Mr Birds, couldn’t find his mood to leave at a proper time again -it was already dark inside when we got there. As it was easiest that way, I was put next to this Mr Birds. The other colleagues were seated around us on various places.

It took me a while to notice that Mr Birds wasn’t just old and a bit forgetfull, but also had trouble keeping his eyes opened once exposed to a bit darker surroundings.
When two jumpy acting figures appeared on stage and a vague, clownesque idiot started moving around, I found myself being surprised to hear another colleague whisper: ‘Mr Birds, you haven’t fallen asleep, have you?!’to which the old man shamefully awoke and handily spoke, as if it was programmed as such on display (the clown on its belly on the stage, crying dramatically using arms and legs, being dressed in something blue, red and white) :
‘No no, I was just wondering if that’s the American or the Swedish flag’ he said so loudly everybody was able to hear it.
All of the people laughed and the show could go carry on its merry way.

Five minutes after that, Mr Birds had fallen asleep again.
Five minutes. Money well spend.

 
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Posted by on January 22, 2015 in Daily life, Humour

 

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