Things are boring but in a good way. I don’t know if that
makes sense to anyone but me, considering boring is a negative term, but I
enjoy feeling bored sometimes. There is a sense of relief, of relaxation, of
rest. I have obviously had too much of said feeling, or else I wouldn’t be
writing this. But I choose to cherish it, because not being bored right now
would most likely mean me or someone I love would be in trouble, Boris Johnson
style. I believe I have mentioned that I am quarantined with three friends in
my summer house and, as much as we appreciate our work for university which
obviously never got the memo about a pandemic happening, we needed to find ways
to pass the time. Rather than acquiring a new skill or learning a new language,
we decided to return to the comfort of past pass times. That’s the kind of good
boredom I was referring to.
I, as a monad, did what I always do and started rewatching
one of my favourite comedy series. This time round it was Frasier, because
let’s face it, Scrubs would most likely give me medical nightmares. I have
enough of those already. I must have watched 99.9% of Frasier about six times,
I might even be downplaying the number. And I say 99.9% because I have only
watched the very last episode once. Because the way this brain works, is that
if it hasn’t been exposed to a finale it has no reason to believe the series is over. The way I have been watching Frasier is even more schizophrenic than referring
to my brain as a separate entity. I am watching season one, two and three in
parallel. Let me explain. I introduced a friend to Frasier, hence season one. I
had some spare time to watch it myself, hence season two. Me and my friend
started picking up the pace and I got worried we would catch up with myself and
began season three for an extra layer of insurance. And then I liked this system.
We, as a group of four, started playing Tichu again. This is
a game that is supposedly Chinese, but I haven’t met anyone Chinese that
recognises it as their own. And everyone in Greece was playing Tichu for a
couple of years there. It is the most racially colour-blind game ever. I won’t
try to explain the rules but just know that you have a partner and two mortal
enemies. And for some inexplicable reason, you tend to fight with your partner
more than your rivals. Also, for some reason, it is a game best played between
the hours 12-4am. That is my explanation for our messed up sleeping schedule
anyway.
There was one thing, however, that I thought I would never
do again, something buried deep inside, almost forgotten. And yet, in the
absence of the Internet we turned to it once more. We watched proper TV. And I
mean proper. I mean commercial breaks and all. I mean waiting to see what else
comes on after the program we were intentionally watching finished. I mean
leaving our entertainment up to faith. I entered proper grandma mode, putting
the commercials on silent, and rushing to the bathroom in order not to miss any
of the action. And when I say action, I am referring to Greek period
(melo)drama set in rural northern Greece, about three recently orphaned sisters
with a dark secret. To perfect this analogy, my housemate kept asking that we
turn up the volume because she couldn’t hear well.
On that note, we also watched a bunch of old Greek movies.
Greek channels have decided that the best way to beat the covid blues is
showing us the golden age of Greek cinema where the same 10 actors did all the
movies. And you know what? They were right! Would these movies pass the Tomatometer
today? No. God no. But, with their protective sleeve of nostalgia, they were a
good distraction. The first three anyway, I think I began watching Frasier on
the fourth old Greek movie. Old Greek movies inevitably lead to less old Greek
movies, and these are awesome. First and foremost, because they are parodies of
the aforementioned properly old Greek movies. After the four that I watched, I
needed a fun take on all their faults and exaggerations. For my Greek readers (look
at me, pretending my blog is widely read), I am referring to ‘Κλάμα βγήκε από τον Παράδεισο’, which is our funniest film
to date. And this film was as heavily featured in our quarantine, with quotes,
songs, but thankfully not fashion choices, every minute of every day. As a
tribute to this unlikely inside joke, we even filmed a half-finished dance
routine inspired from this movie, which will remain in deep archives; Assange
wouldn’t get to them even if he tried.
This next one is a past pass time that, for some reason, I
believe binds as all together. Disney films. Whoever claims they have not
resorted to rewatching Aladdin, Hercules or Moana during these trying times,
they are lying. And unjustifiably so. Never had the words of ‘How Far I’ll Go’
felt more personal than when we were in quarantine by the edge of the water
feeling like the line where the sky meets the sea called us. I am flirting with
plagiarism here. We decided to pair this trip down memory lane with the Spotify
Disney playlist playing on repeat. As I
am writing this, I became painfully aware that there is probably some
incriminating videos of me passionately dancing ‘Man Out of You’. I was happier
not knowing.
For this last one, I did not partake. This was two of my
temporary housemates. They started playing Club Penguin again. Club Penguin is
what online games looked like in 2005. There is no real reason for the avatars
being penguins; it is not like they have some penguin like abilities that are
of use in the game. And while I am silently judging my friends for playing this
I have to recognise that it is a game of 200 million accounts. But intended for
children aged 6 to 14. We are 25. I think what makes this regression even worse
is that they had trouble logging in. Again, intended for ages 6 to 14. And
these people have degrees.
