What Was Left of February

Just as I was blabbering about how February is trying to be excessively kind to me this year, the sneaky bastard had a change of heart and bit me in the heel, first by sending a strictly no cameras Eagles of Death Metal concert my way and then by doubling the stakes with the mother of all end of winter flus. Well, actually, I can simply conclude that February is a heartless bastard to start with, and these were it’s vile intentions all along. So thank God for March being here in the meantime.

In March I will at least (hopefully, ideally) make it to a concert where they allow my right arm in as well- yes, it’s probably sad bordering on pathetic, but whenever I’m somewhere without my camera I tend to occasionally lift my arm to eye level, and then realize maybe I shouldn’t, and I pretend to have been just straightening my hair and the likes.

Even the much awaited Hail Caesar! felt a bit off, though that might have been on account of it being the first day I actually consumed solids after the flu incident. It’s of course still stratospherically better than most Oscar nominated films, but although I had a rather impressive guessing record- this year as well, let me brag just a wee little, even that left me slightly cold. The one thing I thoroughly enjoyed this February was Donna Tartt’s Goldfinch,  which is as addictive as it is long and leaves you with a total reading hangover which means most books you chance upon seem just too puny to even bother with anymore.

Actually, I might be overdoing the gloom and doom a little for effect- I quite enjoyed The Night Manager too- and not just because I am weak minded enough to hyperventilate over anything having to to with Tom Hiddleston and/or Hugh Laurie. To put things into perspective a little, I usually find Le Carré books and adaptations a tad too terse yet trying sophistication, but the first two episodes of the new series tickled me in all the right places nevertheless.