Vroom with a view

Tonight we're off to see Fast & The Furious 5, the fifth episode of The Fast & The Furious. Well, I think the fifth episode; things get confusing with the fourth one being a reboot. That's right, the fourth film was where they tried to bring it back to basics because it was becoming too outlandish. Because what you really want from The Fast & The Furious is nitty-gritty, kitchen sink realism. And a man with no hair (and no shirts that have sleeves) living his life 400 metres at a time.

Now I've got nagging doubts about the titles; I'm pretty sure they lost the first definite article around the time of the third film, but did the second one go too? Is it really Fast and Furious, or Fast and The Furious, or The 5 Fast & Furious for those who like abusing typography?

Anyhow, I got into the spirit of things by walking to the cinema to buy the tickets. That's a saving of $6 per ticket on the online booking fee, and because I like to live my life 2 furlongs at a time. Coincidentally, that is how far the cinema is from my office, and also how far I have to walk on a sunny day in Hong Kong before my shirt is completely soaked through with sweat.

Like a fool, I purchased seats D6, D7 and D8, when to commemorate the great film I should have booked E5, D5 and C5¹. All the fives, and we could have kicked the backs of each others seats and made revving noises at appropriate intervals. Oh well.

Luckily, latecomers to our party meant we spread out and got seat D5 too, and E8 so at least somebody can get kicked in the coccyx from time to time.

Enough of seating arrangements. We've yet to get to the cinema to watch the impending idiocy of The Rock, Vin Diesel and Some Amazing Cars, so I'm having to keep myself calm. Well, calm enough to remember to walk out afterwards, loudly declaring "the novel was much better" before hopping on a tram to go home.

Yeah, that's how we roll. Public transport to the maximum!

Sorry, I meant to say "I live my life one quarter tram ride at a time." That would have been the way. Mind you, my fiancee likes motor vehicles even more than I do: just this evening she volunteered herself, nay, demanded to sit outside the deli near our building, claiming it was "a nice day to sit outside" as bus after bus chugged past us, spewing diesel fumes everywhere. That's a lady who's keen on traffic. To my eternal chagrin, I fled upstairs to fresh/conditioned air in our flat.

Before I threw myself into this seething vat of testosterone of cars and hydrocarbons, I wrote a Franglais piece about schoolchildren and dangerous replica weapons, partly because I wanted to see if I could, and partly because I'll be watching Le Samouraii soon, and I thought I'd get the groundwork in early. But because I'm a stickler for detail, I'm having my Franglais carefully checked before I put it out to the world.

Checked by somebody who's not a native French speaker, mind, but I think that just shows what a completist, accuracy-focussed approach I take towards life.

I wonder if these two things are related. The Fast & The Furious doesn't have much in the way of Gallic charm, and the French aren't known for fast cars (ignoring the Renault Formula One team, I guess, and concentrating more on Citreon 2CVs, but this is my blog, I'm allowed to cheat). Perhaps my Francophoning is to atone for two hours of American muscles, or perhaps it's the other way round...

¹ I have nothing but respect for the electric moped lunacy of Clive Sinclair, you know.