Tom Charman

Tom is the main writer at atypicalreview.com, presumably because he’s the one with nothing else better to do. You can follow him on twitter if you’re into that sort of thing.

 

Statistics

A few numbers relevant to our exciting canada working holiday:
1: the number of us out of money.
1: the number of us who actually got here with $4000.
1: the number of weeks Andy and I have been looking for jobs.
1-3: the number of weeks we’ve been told is reasonable to look for jobs.
1.5: the number of weeks until ‘Return of the King’ comes out.
oodles: the number of resumes I’ve sent out in the hope of getting a job.

Anyhow, we don’t really want to have to bugger off, as that’d be quite a waste of a lot of money. I may have a fairly stable financial position currently, but that’s only coz this is my first overseas trip and hence my parents have been more than generous in throwing in extra funds.

Anyhow. Off to hunt for more jobs! I’m sure I saw one hiding under the rug in the hostel today.

Incidentally — Andrew fell in the icy river yesterday, just in case he doesn’t see fit to tell you. It wasn’t really his fault — he was just jumping up and down on the edge of the ice and it happened to break where he thought it would.

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Room 205

Ah, the joys of hostel accomodation. If you want to really save money, stay in a place with 10 beds to a room. You’re bound to have at least one really irritating person that way. Let me introduce some of them:

Matt. Andrew. Jackson.
OK, you probably know these ones already. And if you don’t, I’m sure Andy will put up some pictures soon to re-educate you.

Guy in white shirt and pants near the door.
Very affable, with a quiet voice. Oddly, he’s from New York. He sits on the bunk above Jackson and cheerfully admits that he can’t tell the difference between us. He admires our ability to transform from lazy bums to clean, nice job-seekin’ people though. He was a bit surprised to find out that at least 50% of us were computer geeks. And that another 25% could juggle.

Smelly Man.
Our senior roommate sleeps under Matthew. Or rather, used to. Matt has since evacuated to the bed under Andy for one very sensible reason – Smelly Man is smelly. Of cigarette smoke. I’m not sure what he does with his ciggies but when he comes back in after a smoke the stench manages to engulf the entire room. As has in fact happened as I type this. He’s also prone to long political discussions with Guy in White Shirt and Pants, often concerning the U.S.

Bradley.
A newly 31-year old Australian. Tall, thin, with a high pitched voice but appealing manner, everyone in the YWCA seems to know and love Bradley. Except that after three weeks, he finally got a job the other day, and moved out this morning. This is a bit sad as you can never be too sure who’s going to take people’s places.

Mike.
A tall Canadian who was down to about two dollars when by accident he got himself hired as an electrician’s apprentice at the pub one night. This sound and simple strategy for job seeking is one that I found my subconscious warming to, but luckily enough of my brain remains to dismiss this as a one-off. Mike put his alarm clock radio a fair distance away from him due to positioning of powerpoints, and it fell to me to wake him up the other morning, when the alarm started blurting out awful static. He disappeared after one night however. Hopefully he’s not sleeping outside, as we’ve all pretty much decided this is fatal.

Demented Andy.
A french bloke with massive tattoos on one arm, who looks rather like Andy would, if

  • the wind changed while he was playing Igor
  • Someone beat the front of his face soundly
  • He developed a reasonable level of psychosis
  • He took to wearing bandanas.

This guy scares me, but luckily he appears to have moved out.

This morning, we met a new canadian construction worker. Our friend in the white clothes informed him we were the laziest Aussies ever. I may have to kill him.

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1.5 minute entry

I’m at Calgary Bus Station, and it’s quite cold. Andy and I just walked through some snow to get here. It was a terrible and arduous journey, but we made it alive. Well, I had to eat Andy’s leg.

But he’s fine about it. Though he keeps spurting blood.

Kill Bill was good.

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Canada

Damn these US customs people. I had no problem at all but they’re so INTIMIDATING that I sweated more fluid than I thought was possible. I dread to think what it’s like when you have done something wrong.

They weren’t impressed with my iPod dock connector, I think they saw it as some kind of bomb detonator.

In other news I sat next to a lovely American man who sketched all sorts of wildlife and people from photographs, and who gave me a signed print of a dingo’s face he’d done, which was really nice. I just hope it’s in one piece when I get home…

Now, I’d better get back, I don’t want to miss out on anyone going out for dinner. A review of Tomb Raider 2 might be on its way, though obviously not covering any of the violent bits. What a strange world, where you just fall over after bad men walk threateningly towards you.

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The Case Against Doing Work in Advance

I can’t find my damn assignment that I did 3 weeks ago!

Gaaaaaaaah!

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Hrrrrrmmmmmmmmmm

And suddenly, I’m starting to panic.

Panicking about travel, panicking about an exam, panicking about an assignment, panicking about doing something completely wrong in both, panicking about forgetting something very important, panicking about not getting a job quickly enough…

On the bright side, it does cast my normal, light-weight angst into sharp relief.

What in the name of all that’s holy compelled me to take ‘Electromagnetism (Advanced)’? Why not just ‘Electromagnetism’? What’s so damned exciting about that last word? Clearly it’s time to lead a time travelling strike force back to knock my October 2002 self unconscious.

Speaking of unconscious, the season finale of Alias was something of a disappointment. Not really a thrilling cliffhanger as much as a damp squib. I’m not sure I actually learned anything I didn’t already know.

That’s it, Tom. Focus on the important things.

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number9dream

“So you created our universe?”
“Quite. 9 days ago. […] May I propose an objective experiment to verify my claims?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Belgium.”
“Belgium?”
“I don’t suppose even the Belgians would miss it, do you?”

The books I’ve been reading for the last few years can all be broken down into three categories:

  • Read for Uni
  • Birthday or Christmas Present
  • Doctor Who

The most variable of these is the middle type. I’m still in the middle of Uncle Tungsten due to the narrator’s painful dullness. Dude, Where’s my Country took me two days to devour. number9dream took longer to read — but every page was a pleasure. Named for a song by John Lennon — who does crop up a few times in the book — number9dream is partially set in modern-day Japan, but mostly inside the head of its hero.

David Mitchell’s story is about a country boy searching for his never-met father in the big city. It sounds cliched, and for about three pages I was a bit concerned… but no more than that. The novel is dynamic, engaging and thrilling, but not so clever that you’re removed from the story. Despite all manners of amusing devices being used, the characters engage you firmly, and strong ideas shine through. The prose is a big part of this — some tracts are as dazzling as my copy’s cover proclaimed the book to be. “Every time I think of the girl, my heart sort of squid-propels itself.” I can’t think of a more perfect description.

The novel hits the ground running — I challenge anyone not to love the first chapter to pieces. After the initial obfuscation, we’re introduced to Eiji Miyake — perhaps the most perfectly drawn 20 year old I’ve ever read about. There’s a tendency for writers attempting to capture the spirit of young adults to just write themselves, but make them do something stupid every chapter. That’s not the case here. We spend a lot of time in Eiji’s head, and not a second isn’t both enjoyable and authentic.

Some parts of the novel aren’t quite as perfect. There’s segments of a children’s book that turn up at one point which didn’t engage me so much, and some of the organised crime that peppers the narrative flies just a bit further over the top than I thought suited the story — though this of course is very subjective. The introduction of an organ-trafficking conspiracy seems occasionally over the top. But these quibbles are easily balanced by a beautifully drawn love story, Eiji’s painful past, and the emotional path he traces as he follows his father.

The settings are also memorably written. Tokyo comes alive incredibly — though I’ve got no way of telling whether it does so accurately also. A crazy world of neon signs, organised crime and paranoid citizens contrasts with Eiji’s dreamy, mythical childhood. The memories of him and his twin sister growing up without their mother reminded me of Ahrundati Roy’s The God of Small Things, with their secret languages and enigmatic conversations. But this novel isn’t content to sit in one genre for very long. Though occasionally the narrative’s skipping may irritate a reader who was looking forward to a particular moment that has been glossed over, usually there’s something fresh to save you from your annoyance.

Comedy, romance, crime, family, techno-thriller, historical memoir, coming-of-age, tragedy. As a dodgy advertising campaign must surely have once claimed — there’s something in it for everyone. number9dream is lyrical, sad, happy and vibrant and eminently lovable. You’ll never think of bowling in the same way again, however.

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Eye of Harmony

Went to OPSM today, thinking of getting contacts… left convinced that I wouldn’t, mainly because:

  • My eyesight isn’t all that bad.
  • Contacts require three appointments over 2 weeks, which doesn’t really fit with my imminent departure.
  • Contacts cost more money.
  • I don’t look bad in glasses. Well, no worse anyhow.

Buying glasses is a pain — having to look at myself in a mirror, while being watched, repeatedly is no fun. I’ve realised however that shopping can be quite enjoyable if you’re flirting (or think you’re flirting) with the shopgirl. This of course is not a guaranteed method of making shopping worth doing of course, as there’s no way to ensure you only get female helpers. I’ll get back to you if I figure out a way. Of course, if you’re too busy flirting you may get a really ugly pair of glasses.

There’s been some subtle updates to grapefruit over the last week or so. It no longer specifies a font for the normal text, so you get whatever font you have specified in your browser’s ‘fonts and colours’ panel. The teeny blurbs on the index pages are now ‘in whiches’ in order to come after and not before the title. Boring? Yes! But fun to fiddle about with.

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The Matrix Revolutions

More astute grapefruit readers will notice that while every man and his dog[ftn] reviewed The Matrix Reloaded, I did not. This was because I had nothing nice to say about it. Boring, pointless and dull kind of sums up my opionion on that one. OK, I’ll grant you, the highway chase wasn’t ‘dull’. But I found the Wachowski’s final installment far better.

This time round, the characters know what they’re doing, and they make choices for reasons other than “The Oracle/The Keymaker/The Architect told me to”. Agent Smith actually has a clear objective, Morpheus shuts up, and we see even more of Monica Belluci’s…

Don’t look at me like that. It was blatant, I tell you, blatant.

The battle for Zion in particular is tremendous to watch. There’s a clear logic to the scene, and the audience has to do little of the usual head-fudging necessary to believe that the good guys really could have achieved what they did. The Kid from The Animatrix isn’t quite as irritating this time round, and Link’s wife stops moping about and does something. In general, Zion comes off a lot better here than in Reloaded.

The most important advantage this film has over its predecessor is DESPERATION, however. Morpheus has much less to do, because at this stage of the game, there’s not much call for people to swan about in arrogant declaration that they know what’s going to happen. No one does, not even the oracle, and the crazy foretelling logic established previously is put to good use here. Neo becomes slightly more interesting too, though it appears that there is some clause involving a lack of ability to smile when you become ‘The One’. He does start calling Trinity ‘Trin’, though.

Some have complained about the opening hour or so. While the little story here does seem curiously disconnected from the upcoming events, it does establish the adorable Sati, as well as allowing us a final nostalgic glimpse of original Matrix-style action. Well, final until we see any other action film about. This wasn’t a problem at all for me.

Not that I didn’t have some. The Wachowski’s could learn a bit of subtlety when it comes to love. “Love’s good!” “Love is wonderful!” “Don’t mess with her — she’s in love.” There’s a teensy theme in this film about how love’s nifty — watch out for it. It’s also apparent in how freaking long Trinity-Neo scenes go on for. At one point, having been separated for a bit, Trinity rushes to her lover… In slow motion.

Which would be fine, but I got the impression we weren’t supposed to be laughing at this. Basically, use your 6 year old sensibilities here, and tune out in the mushy bits.

The pointless philosophising is a little less pointless in this film, but amusingly, at the expense of the previous film’s already irritating conclusion. I may have missed something, but it certainly seems that the resolution to much of what the Architect said was “Oh, him. He talks bollocks.” At least, no one spends fifteen minutes explaining causality again. But still, the exposition is laid on rather thick. We’re a long way from the subtle ‘pick it up as you go along’ world-builing of the original Matrix. I counted three times I had the Trainman (who, presumably we can also refer to as ‘The Australian’) and his limbo explained to me.

In the end, this is a decent science fiction film. Dirty rebels fighting technologically advanced enemies, kung fu, lame character interactions, and girls with big boobs. Is it as good as The Matrix? Why, no, of course not. But surely we all figured out that we weren’t going to see anything like that again after Reloaded? You’ll probably enjoy it, but your socks will remain resolutely unblown.

Footnotes

  1. Don’t take this personally, Andy and Shannon.

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Best. Title. Ever.

Written by Charlie Kaufman.

This movie looks in serious danger of being absolutely awesome. Check out Lacuna Inc.’s website once you’ve watched.

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