One of my workmates was browsing the net for current movies on locally.
In N.Z., "The Incredibles" is not screening until Dec. 26th!!
Outrage!!
Horreur!!
Three Exclamation Marks!!!

Ah well.
Whilst looking over his shoulder, I misread one of the titles at the distance I was standing - I subliminally thought:
"Indiana Jones and the Edge of Reason!"
Wow! How did they sneak that one to completion without me knowing?
Uh. No.
"Bridget Jones" it turned out to be. However, I think "Indiana Jones and the Edge of Reason" would have been the better choice!

(Make way! Make way for the SYNOPSIS!)

INDIANA JONES and the EDGE of REASON

At the start, (in the university) Indiana Jones has to placate two women. One is good-looking and a compulsive liar, the other is good-looking in a grumpy way and is a professor of Ancient Histories at Oxford University.
At the same time, another (male) Archaeologist is trying to muscle in on his territory with a lot of blustering. (Why does David Duchovny spring to mind?)

They all seek the Sword of Damocles (The aforementioned "Edge of Reason", geddit? Snarf!), which a mysterious man from the desert (Viggo Mortensen or Antonio Banderas - trés sexy and mysterious! - masked in a black sheikish outfit), appears to know more about than meets the eye. If only they could find his tent. And horse.
We return to Petra (only because it is cool!), whereupon a ludicrously valuable item (e.g. emerald encrusted gold scarab) is uncovered, mere inches below the surface of the front steps. It points the way toward a little uninhabited island in Greece. We will know it is Greece, because of the ludicrous number of suspiciously realistic Grecian marble statues found in a small cave.
There must be a scene involving whips and snakes (both together preferably.)

The sword is guarded by the secret "Cult of Medusa" - headed by none other than Sallah (John Rhys Davis, resurrected from the first movie.)

All this time, he'd been sending Indy after other artefacts in the hope that Indy would be foolishly killed, to no avail. So with the rivalrous prompting of the evil archaeologist in Sallah's hire (David), and unwillingly abetted by "good girl at heart", who is also coincidentally excellent with a rapier, Zeta-Jones ("They have my entire family hostage!"), and some crack detective work by "Scully", they find the sword.
Due to all the handling over the ages, and the lack of decent oiling, it is completely a mass of rust.

BUT WAIT!

The real one is hidden behind a plastered recess in the wall. Discovered by Zeta Jones, she "fences her way "nearly" to freedom, but gets tragically killed.
Blood of good intentions on the sword causes all evil-doers in the room to die horribly!
Heck. Let's say that the Oxford Ancient Histories girly turned out to be bad as well - she drops dead mysteriously at the same time..!
As for those suspiciously lifelike Grecian Statues in the cave? Innocent victims (recent among their number, the Mysterious Man of the Desert), of the evil bad Cult of the Medusa, are released from their stone-like curse! Mysterious Man also turns out to have been the good ("I renounced the evil ways of my father, long ago!") son of Sallah!

The sword crumbles into dust, and Indy has nothing - no girl, no sword... but he still gets the golden Scarab - which later we will see him stash in a little velvet box and return to the mysterious desert man (with appropriate regret).
He rides off into the desert sunset (cue triumphant music), and the camera fades to good ol' black!

(damn I'm good!)

Cast:

Indiana - Harrison Ford.
Compulsive "very beautiful" liar - Catherine Zeta Jones
Ancient Histories - Gillian Anderson
Bad Naughty Archaeologist - David Duchovny.
Viggo Mortensen or Antonio Banderas as "Mystery Desert Man" (the outcast son of Sallah??)
and John Rhys-Davis as "Sallah" himself!



Damn, I love a good stereotypical epic... ;)

***

If you pay in peanuts, you get monkeys.
Imagine instead, what you could get for "free"!
(... Probably more monkeys... )

There is something awfully satisfying and comical about chasing a hapless naked man around a field, with an awfully big sword, yelling at the top of one's lungs. Especially when one is a female.

;)
It was the end time of the annual "Highland Games" in Auckland, and there was a bunch of young men sitting around, daring each other to streak across the field where the events had been held. Most of the crowd had gone, but there were a few stragglers still.
I had been at the tent of the Norsemen, dressed in my woman's wear, doing show and tell to small children (and bigger children ;) ) with the swords, letting them handle them and such. I'd put the swords away in the bag, and had commented to my friends (after the first couple of streakers had been and gone) that I wished I still had my sword out. I wasn't ready for the third, but the fourth... hah!!
"Right," I thought, and grabbed the claymore from the ski-bag.

He was running back across the field, and it took him a moment to register that a fierce looking woman "yelling all kinds of threats", was bearing down upon him with a very big pointy sword.
He made a very fast bee-line for the nearest Port-a-Loo! I gave the P-a-L a couple of whacks for good measure (not too hard ;) ) then left him to the none-too-gentle ribbing of his mates!*
The Norsemen swore he'd picked up an amazing burst of speed, once he realised what was going on.

Apparantly the Pub tent erupted in laughter when they saw the chase happening. It was extremely funny for all concerned, I believe, except perhaps for the streaker at first... ;)
I only wish I could have seen it from the perspective of a bystander, myself!
'Twas a very funny and satisfying end to a long hot day.
:D


(* - During the Port-a-Loo hitting, I inadvertently startled the man in the one next door, because he popped his head out at the noise, took one look at the sword, and I've never seen a door shut so fast again!)

Day Three of the Addiction to French Toast.
There must be a knack for making it the way I remember it tasting from my childhood, but what that could be, I just don't know!
Wheatmeal bread slices dipped in a mixture of egg, milk, mustard, salt & pepper, and quickly fried, is the current situation. It's close. I am hopeful that substituting butter for the olive-spready margarine whatchamacallit gloop might bring it closer still.

Cats run in a cool way - that skittering run where they don't wish to seem undecorously "boundy"! Much like the stereotypical "hurried glide" of a nun, I think. (Perhaps nuns have cats strapped to their feet?)

The university here has decided that "an introduction to Old Icelandic" is one of the courses NOT on offer in 2005. Grumple! I guess I'd better keep soldiering on, on my own then.

"Cats & Feet for beginners" would be a more popular subject here than "Old Icelandic", alas. (New Zealand being on the other side of the world, really. Despite its name, and its own collection of geothermic wonders, New Zealanders and Old Icelandic make for an uncommon mixture at best. We do however, have a reasonable assortment of cats. )

This evening, the author Terry Pratchett gave a talk at the Carlton Hotel, and graciously managed to sign his way through almost all who attended, afterwards.
It was entertaining, and nice in a bizarre way, in that everyone in the room knew about the characters of Terry's universe (discoverse?), so it was as if one person (Terry) was telling further tales of mutual friends to us all.

But with the signing, oh how I wished I had a nifty little device that would place my three-books-and-picture neatly in a row, and already open for his signing convenience! However, he did patiently sign his way through my impromptu juggling act, and put an "ook" on the picture. (The Librarian - my favourite character.) Thankyou Terry!

And to "William from the U.K.", with whom I chatted whilst waiting a'la queue, I hope the rest of your holiday goes well.

:)