I was very sad to hear about Philip Seymour Hoffman, who died today. The news jolted me from my self involved pity this afternoon. I don’t pretend to have insightful things to say about him, I just thought he was very, very good whenever I saw him act. Most recently I watched Flawless and he was brilliant. You can read the news at Dlisted, since this is how I get most celeb news. His sentiment sums it up, it’s a horrible surprise.
Today, the SuperBowl happened. I enjoy the anticipation and camp drama and, obviously, the half time show but the game itself is so drawn out, I lost interest tonight. For a change we watched it in the evening instead of the early hours, thanks to Bolivia time. This might have taken away from it’s allure, because we’re all in bed before it finished. The Seahawks were winning and the Broncos hadn’t scored at all so I felt confident in the end result. Not that I’ll even care tomorrow. I don’t really care right now.
It felt good to do nothing much at all today, I fancy another day like it tomorrow. The boys (Oliver and the two Irish guys we’ve been travelling through Bolivia with – Diarmuid and Darren) fancy a bike ride down Death Road in the next few days. It’s a popular excursion in La Paz and more controlled than it sounds. I, however, have overcome enough fear in South America so I fancy a massage or a nice cup of coffee instead. There is a better account found here. The part about “once or twice a month, he gets riders who panic and cry because of the heights”? That’s me. I cried and panicked in a mine in Potosi and I’ll definitely cry and panic on Death fucking Road. No thanks.
We watched Philomena in the most shambolic multiplex in Cochabamba, Bolivia on Friday. It was a great film. I wept consistently throughout (measure of a good film) and grew to love Steve Coogan even more. I read that on being nominated for an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay he said “I failed my English O-level twice and I’ve got an Oscar nomination.” That’s pretty good. And he’s from (Greater) Manchester.
Other than that we’ve been collectively battling Bolivia belly and immersing ourselves in hostel life after 2 weeks in cheap, creepy hotels that smell, frankly, of piss. To be surrounded by people speaking English and recognisable food is a treat! Better go to sleep so my breakfast comes around faster!