Is it the sixth of May already? How can it be? Is self dreaming? Is she still in Venice? Did she move to Trieste?
Self then gives herself a good shake and settles in to read reviews of last night’s “Game of Thrones.”
No, not last night’s “Game of Thrones,” because that one only had a teaser about Daenerys and some flying about of her loyal dragons.
Self is reading reviews of the episode before last night’s, the one with the hot tub scenes.
What? Dear blog readers didn’t know that in medieval times, there was easy access to hot tubs? Well, now you know.
In a nutshell, here is what happened the week before last to the mis-matched pair, Jaime Lannister (aka “Kingslayer”) and his captor/bodyguard, Brienne of Tarth. (Who thinks up these names? Definitely, not self!):
Jaime, recently gravely injured, joined his former captor during her bath and for the first time reveals why he infamously killed Mad King Aerys and earned the derogatory nickname “Kingslayer.” (James Hibberd of insidetv.ew.com)
- “Gravely injured” means Jaime’s right hand was chopped off.
- “Derogatory” does not seem to apply to the name “Kingslayer.” Not, at least, in self’s book.
Here’s another version of the same scene, this from the Vancouver Observer. Yup, that’s right. The Vancouver Observer. Apparently, the Game of Thrones thing has spread even to Canada:
Brienne of Tarth is taking a bath. Turns out there’s a woman under all that mud. Jaime Lannister slinks in, says “Don’t mind if I do,” drops trou and walks towards Brienne’s tub.
There are apparently other hot tubs in the area, as Brienne, fierce woman warrior that she is, is about to vacate and go to another one. Seems there’s a veritable spa in the castle where Jamie and Brienne are being held prisoner.
Jamie tells Brienne to stay, saying something like “Don’t worry, it’s just me.” And then he tells her a story, which is the most boring story in the whole world, self doesn’t know why a man and woman sitting in a hut tub have to do exposition. But finally, Jamie says something to Brienne that pisses her off and she gets up and stands to her full height. And Jamie gulps and – next thing you know, he falls in a dead faint (because he’s never seen a giantess naked before?) and Brienne has to hold him in her arms, calling for help for the Kingslayer. At which point, the guy who we all thought had fainted mumbles: “Jamie. My name’s Jamie.”
Last night’s episode, Brienne was dressed as a woman, and Jamie was trying to eat a steak with one hand and failing miserably, much to the sadistic enjoyment of their host, the Lord of the Castle. Brienne reaches out a hand and sticks Jamie’s steak with her fork (Holy Metaphor!), and Jamie then resumes cutting his meat with some semblance of dignity. There was some gratuitous hand-holding afterwards.
Note to male/female prisoners: When in the clutches of enemy, never hold hands. This only provides Captor with more sadistic ideas about how to get each of you so muddled you’ll do/say anything.
And now to the REAL quote of the day, which is from a story by Paul La Farge (“Another Life”) in The New Yorker of July 2, 2012. Yup, self is really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, in her Humongous Pile of Stuff.
The story needs to be placed in context: a long-married couple go to Boston to attend the wife’s father’s 60th birthday party. The husband finds the whole idea tiresome, he’d rather hole up in his room with Rousseau’s “Discourse on the Origin of Inequality” : “Nature commands every animal and the beast obeys,” Rousseau writes (Self can’t believe she’s never thought of Rousseau before, especially since she’s now completely hooked on Game of Thrones.) At some point, the husband decides to continue reading Rousseau in the hotel bar, so he brings his book down with him:
The husband is not trying to pick anyone up. His wife will be back in an hour or two, and besides who would dream of picking someone up with Rousseau? Of all the authors you could try to pick someone up with, Rousseau is probably the worst. Or maybe Kant. The husband orders a hot toddy. The bartender, an attractive young woman with crinkly black hair, brings him the drink and they exchange remarks about it. Is that what you wanted? Yes, it’s perfect, the husband says. Good, I’m glad. The bartender smiles. The husband reads more Rousseau. Upstairs, in his room, he was really understanding the Second Discourse, but down here at the bar he finds it hard to concentrate.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.