Patrick Samphire (psamphire) wrote,
Patrick Samphire
psamphire

About everything

It's approaching the end of another warm, sunny day here in Florida. It's close on 6 p.m., and it's not even slightly dark yet. We're in a cafe, me drinking green tea, Steph drinking hot chocolate, and they're playing Deep Purple and Whitesnake over the stereo. How cool is this? How can this not be the whole point of life? Sadly, we've only got a couple more days here. Back in England it's now dark, the rain continues to fall and floods are spreading (again). I'm starting to get that feeling I get when vacations are drawing to a close; that enormous reluctance to back to the routine of work and chores.

I don't think I'm really designed for working a 9 to 5 job. Not that my job isn't the best one I could have if I have to be in an office, but what I'm really designed for is a job that involves beaches, cafes and the odd bit of writing (well, more than the odd bit would be ideal, but I'll settle for one or two thousand words a day). If anyone wants to offer a couple of thousand a month for me to do that, give me a call...

Yesterday was another beach day, on Fort Lauderdale beach this time. The weather was beautiful, sunny and warm, but not too hot. There was a breeze, but the sea was relatively calm. We went swimming. Steph--and she omitted to mention this in her blog--was a complete wimp about getting in the water. :) Of course, when she was in, she didn't want to get out again. There were sea gulls and pelicans, and some strange, long-legged big bird that wasn't close enough to identify. I have decided that pelicans are officially very cool. The way they can just seem to hover a few feet above the waves, their wings not moving, as they drift down to settle in the water: that's cool. It's almost magic, as though gravity is for other people.

Tonight, we have left-over Indian food from a surprisingly good Indian restaurant that we went to last night (nothing compared to Mumtaz in Bradford, but then what is?) and we're going to watch House (season 3 DVDs, that Steph bought me for Christmas) later on. If it wasn't for Maya waiting for us, I wouldn't feel the need to go home at all. As it is, we're missing Maya more every day. After a while, you just need your dog, for games and cuddles and playing. I have no idea how anyone manages without a dog.

Okay, as this is a fairly rambling journal entry, I'll ramble to the Sarah Connor Chronicles (I keep wanting to call them the Sarah Jane Chronicles; in fact, that might be cooler: Sarah Jane meets the terminators). Okay, this show isn't bad. It's perfectly watchable. Summer Glau is fantastic as the friendly terminator (even if she's essentially reprising her odd-but-kick-ass role as River from Firefly). The real problems with the show are that, so far, they're just repeating the plot from the movies. To carry a series, they're going to need a lot more than that: more depth, better characters, more ambiguity, more story. The other problem is that John Connor, future 'messiah', is just an irritating, obnoxious teenager. I can't help but think that the sooner some terminator blows him away, the better.  Oh yeah, and the guy playing John's 'father figure' can't act. Other than that...
Tags: florida, pelicans, sarah connor chronicles, writing
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