Dance & Drink & Screw

The FBI believes 85% of the world's serial killers are in the U.S.A., and that 20 to 50 of them are active at any given time. I wonder if any of them watch Dexter, and if they enjoy the show. Do they feel a unique connection with Dexter? Do they have pre-orders with Amazon for the series' boxset as soon as it's available?

I didn't think much of the show when I watched it with desayuno_ingles in Brasil. We watched the sixth episode and, despite most of the plot being explained to me, I still found the show convoluted, badly acted and somewhat hackneyed. When I returned to London, I learned that Kevin and Sissy Jen had gone through a Dexter marathon, thanks to the episodes being available for free, on demand. I decided to give the show a second chance, from its start, seeing that I was unemployed and had nothing better to do all day.

Dexter comes close to being great TV. It's not quite there yet for me, but it's almost there (I'm currenly on episode 8 of the first season). The premise is brilliant: Dexter is a blood splatter specialist with the Miami police who also happens to be a closeted serial killer. However, Dexter was raised by a foster father with Nietzschean ideals, who believed his son's psychopathy could be used as a force for good, i.e. he trains Dexter to direct his bloodlust at bad people. From there, the show constantly pits Dexter against notions of good and evil in modern life. If you are a nurse who poisons patients, you deserve to die in his hands. But if you killed a boy who raped you, then it's OK to retaliate; Dexter will let you get away with murder because you fit his view of what is acceptable.

The supporting actors are the main reason why this show isn't excellent. From Dexter's stilted cop sister, to the horribly miscast Lt. Maria Laguerta, the characters vary between downright bad acting to passable work. The show would benefit from new characters being introduced after an explosion that wipes out most of the old ones. However, the bad acting could be due to first-episodes-shakiness; I'm hoping they'll get better as the show grows. Right now, Michael C. Hall plays Dexter to perfection. He's all-American charm as well as enigmatic and camp. References to the novel American Psycho, as well as a host of other serial killers in pop culture, don't go amiss. You feel for Dexter when he finally gets his chance to confess to someone that he's a serial killer. And you can't help worrying for his relationship with the perenially fucked up single mother Rita as their relationship grows. To go from being a traumatised victim of domestic violence to lover of a serial killer has got to hurt!

My biggest worry right now is that the free episodes will end soon (it was a month-long promotion for FX channel) and I will have to wait until the boxset is available. I'd rather face Dexter's chopping board then wait a whole year for my fix to be satisfied.

Henning Mankell, One Step Behind, 2003
This was one of the three novels I bought at Heathrow Airport with my goodbye book vouchers (the other two being Robert Harris' Imperium and Roger Zelazny´s Lord of Light). It's a tightly written crime novel that doesn't leave any stones unturned or plot holes unplugged. It's the seventh novel in a series featuring the Swedish detective Kurt Wallader who, amidst a struggle with his diabetes and an arrogant attorney, has to find the worst serial killer in Sweden's history. Swedish criminal procedure is minutely described and the tension builds nicely until the satisfying conclusion. However, the strongest impression to stay with the reader once the novel is finished is the deep melancholia that envelops the Swedish and rules their lives. A perfect read if you are stuck in a farm in the middle of nowhere, with incessant rain keeping you indoors.

Thank you hyong_jin for the recommendation. :-)

I was still a kid when I first read The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson. It was a version translated into Brasilian Portuguese, bought in a tiny shopping mall near the apartment I grew up in São Paulo (I asked the saleswoman for a ghost story because I wanted to give Agatha Christie a break.) I loved the novel even though I wasn't old enough to fully understand it.

A few years ago, while visiting Kevin's parents in Canada, we rented The Haunting (the 1963 version) from the nearest strip mall videostore. Kevin's mom told us later that it gave her nightmares (very understandable when you consider she lives in a remote farm). I was impressed at how faithful the film was to the novel and how it built the suspense purely on suggestion and on a few key scenes involving "the haunting". Many of the novel's themes -- unstable minds meeting an unstable house; "unnatural" sexuality in an "unnatural" house -- also survive in the film, making it a kind of perfect companion piece for Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. But, whereas Hitchcock's movie deals with dangerous human insanity in a remote location, The Haunting is about the power a place can have in destabilizing a person whose mind is weak. Hitchcock's psycho gets found out in the end while Hill House continues to stand after the characters are gone, with the implication that many more will meet a horrible fate there.

I bought the film on DVD over Christmas, when I saw it on sale, and last night we got the sour cream Pringles and chocolate biscuits ready before popping in the film. Although naive in some ways, and awkward in others (especially the interior monologues), the film still stands as one of the best ghost stories ever made. It's just so... classy. It's from a time when film-makers assumed their audience were intelligent and could come to their own conclusions, as well as tolerate plenty of dialogue between the characters. No blood and guts here.

I wish there were more ghost stories put to film, more creepy novels on the bestselling lists. Enough with all these chicklit novels and boring film franchises. Let's tell ghost stories to each other.

An anonymous brasilian woman called my work phone on Saturday and sang a children's song to my answering machine before hanging up. I'm incredibly creeped out!

I only know one brasilian woman in London, and it wasn't her voice (plus, she would never do such a thing to me.) So I've been cracking my brain trying to figure out:

a) Who is this person and how did she find my work phone?
b) Why did she leave me such a creepy message? (though my co-workers think it's more like the silly humour of someone stoned)
c) Will she be calling again and, if my boss picks up, what will she say?

If the caller was one of you, please let me know.

The song was Amiguinha Xuxa.

"Al Qaeda militants in Iraq have vowed to wage war on the "worshippers of the cross" following the Pope's controversial comments about Islam. The group said it would "break the cross and spill the wine". Pope Benedict XVI caused anger in the Muslim world over the weekend with comments earlier in the week that seemed to endorse a view that Islam was a violent religion." - from here

I don't know if I should cry or laugh when the news begins to sound like something straight out of The Onion.

I need a gym buddy. I miss Megan - Goddam, why did she have to quit this place months before me? Now I train all alone, and have to keep Ginger Minger's stalking tactics and other encounters in the locker room all too myself.

I went to the gym yesterday and worked on my legs and triceps. Today, I did the second part of my "training": upper body. You are reading this and thinking "Ollie is some meathead that looks like Mr.T" I don't and I'm not. I never push myself on those machines because I'm not after big puffy muscles. I just want to be lean and mean (until Ginger Minger cries.) Still, it's hard to motivate myself to go. It would be nicer to have an ally at the gym.

After I come back from Brasil, I'll be looking for a new gym. Thus, the quest to find a new gym buddy. It could work! We can arrive together at the gym, snigger at the ladies in the aerobics classes, exchange eyes when the macho guys bend over and we can see their tatty underwear. You know, fun stuff. Fruity cocktails afterwards and friendly punches to the shoulder. Glistening sweat and budding friendship smiles.

As for this week, I'm contemplating a marathon of exercise. I'm thinking of going in tomorrow for some cardio, then back on thursday and friday for a rerun of my cycle-of-muscle-torture. Vanity begets a lovely body to face the Brasilian sun.